Hoowah! Welcome to another installment of the critically acclaimed Disney Afternoon comic book. Well, it might have been critically acclaimed by kids back in ‘94 and ‘95, but… well, let’s just say your mileage may vary and get on with the show. Issue. Whatever.
Somewhere, a Merry Christmaser is frothing at the mouth with RAGE.This is one of the more unusual comic book issues I’ve ever come across. First of all–and I know you can’t see it that well–this ish is dated January. Yep, in bright red letters, in that little white box in the upper left corner. Yet there’s a cheery Christmas scene on the very same cover. An obviously, blazingly Christmasy scene with Goofy playing Santa Claus and his son, Max, happily catching him in the act. There’s even snow. There are lights on snow-decked evergreens. And the comic book is dated for January.
Yes, I looked at the copyright info on the first page. The Disney Afternoon Vol.1, No. 3, January, 1995. Yes, I’m aware that some cultures don’t consider Christmas to be over until January 4. I’m half-Puerto Rican and I observe Three Kings Day. But it’s a freakin’ Christmas scene on a January issue! (If you think I’m babbling now, wait until I show you the next issue’s cover.)
Now that I’ve had my fill of incongruity-inspired discontentment, let’s get on with the first story. Remember in the last post when I said that this issue would be filled with more Flapping Terror than you can fit in your mouth? Ignoring the fact that that was a terrible analogy, you’ll soon learn that I wasn’t kidding. Both stories in this issue concern nothing but Darkwing Duck. Either Disney had some strict proviso in its contract with Marvel, or the Marvel guys just couldn’t get enough of DW. Don’t get me wrong, I was obsessed with the show as much as any other kid back in the 90s, but I knew when I’d had my fill.
At least they got the alliteration right, but is the characterization spot on? I just recently got DW Volume One, but I haven’t watched any of the eps yet. I do vaguely remember puns. Lots of puns. Megavolt and Bushroot don’t have any. I mean, “You big-billed busybody?” Bushroot might have been kind of a pansy, but he would have said something far more cutting. [insert rimshot]
While the villains keep shouting about getting ‘im, and letting me at ‘im, Megavolt declares that DW is down for the count! “If he can count!” Bushroot adds.
Just before the villains can move themselves from their spots, Darkwing flies for the far end of the room, only to stub his webbed foot on the open drawer in a dresser. At least it looks that way. Stars fly everywhere as our hero just lies there, wrinkled like an accordian from his bill to his tail feathers. “Darn it!” Megavolt seethes. “He’s not hurt–he landed on his head!”
Okay, that was kind of funny. I’ll give the writer a point for effort.
Drake Mallard wakes up on the floor with a blanket over his head. Confused, he tries to get his bearings and comes to the realization that it was a recurring nightmare “of all my enemies ganging up on me!” I guess the other two of the Phantasmic Four and other solo villains went to terrorize other cities if that was all of DW’s enemies.
Later, Darkwing heads to SHUSH Control to discuss his personal issues with J. Gander Hooter, the director of SHUSH. Knowing that even the best nighttime warriors need to recharge every now and again, Hoover authorizes Darkwing to go on a vacation. When your boss practically orders you to take a break, you’d be a fool to pass it up.
Darkwing ogles the brochure that a nameless, anonymous person dropped off at the headquarters. It’s a resort called Club Mud. What a charming name! And look at the amenities! An Olympic pool, lovely cabanas, great food, and tennis courts! Pictures never lie! What a wonderful idea!
Wow, food! I’m sold!Soon, Drake Mallard is on his way to the vacation of a lifetime. (Yes, that’s what the little text square says: “soon.”) He gets off the plane, carrying all his luggage, floaties, and sports equipment. But instead of having the staff fall at his large webbed feet and praise the gods for his beautiful presence, Drake is met by a surly taxi cab driver who asks him, “You opening a sports shop?” And he’s smoking a cigar. In a kids’ comic! Something sinister is going on!
Club Mud is really just that: mud. Run-down shacks, overgrown grass, dead trees, stray animals running about, and mud, mud, everywhere. I highly doubt this place gets repeat business, except from the lowliest of trailer trash who liken WalMart to Nordstrom’s. Worst yet, the pool has been replaced by a mud bath, which is “much healthier,” according to a staff member. As for competitive sports, they moved the tennis court to Wimbledon. But there’s always mud wrestling!
After an afternoon of fun and frolic, Drake retires to his cabin, lucky number 13! Even his mattress sucks, since it pops out its springs and curls up around him. Sleeping on the floor would be a safer option–but I imagine there are mutant termites living there.
But what’s this? Drake hears something in the other room… “At least the weather isn’t foul–” says one of the voices. “Shut up!” says another. “Never use that word or SHUSH will discover this is really a F.O.W.L resort!”
Drake uses his “marvelous mechanical mind” to improvise a high-tech listening device… which is a glass cup. Pressing the mechanical wonder to the wall, he listens in on the two F.O.W.L agents. Turns out that this resort is an R&R destination for F.O.W.L agents. Really? This old dump? Personally, I think agents like Steelbeak would find this resort way beneath their tastes.
But wait! The F.O.W.L agents know that someone dropped off one of their professionally published brochures at SHUSH Control–and they’re expecing one of the SHUSH agents any time now! (By the way, they really do write the headquarters names like that. F.O.W.L and SHUSH. Don’t ask me why. I’m just copying what I see.)
Drake is aghast. They know about him! But never fear, kiddies, Darkwing Duck will boldly leap into action to take down this horrible, hated haven of F.O.W.L–
What the hell, Drake?! You’re Darkwing Duck! DW wouldn’t be running for his life. He’d be concocting a plan to capture these corny criminals! But it’s just as well, because the next plane out of this hellish hellhole from hell doesn’t come for two days.
Two whole days to hide. Don’t worry, Drake. I’m sure you can forage for food in the wilted grass around your delapidated cabin. That, or you can pull up a few floorboards to eat. They’re high in fiber!
Drake looks for a quick disguise, and I’m beginning to suspect that he didn’t pack along his DW costume. This might have been a vacation for SHUSH’s top agent, but you’d think he’d be prepared for a crimefighting emergency. Despite this setback, Drake searches diligently for a dandy disguise. What luck! The resort offers mud paks!
Just as Drake enters the spa, he gets a face full of mud. “Here’s mud in your eye!” the staff member says clicheingly. The two staff guys waste no time in pouring mud all over the harried hero. “When we finish, you won’t recognize yourself–that should please you!”
A staff member tells him to lie down for half-an-hour, after which they’ll wash off the mud. But Drake lumbers off, telling the guy that he wants to enjoy “this marvelous muddy mug much longer!” He does for a short while, and that’s when he sees…
What the hell are you talking about? Your kid’s dumber than a bag of hair.
He’ll be lucky to see the sixth grade… for the third time.The two agents shoot the shit, talking about how awesome it’d be if Darkwing Duck was the one who got the brochure and how he’d only need a “one-way ticket,” yuk yuk. Drake escapes to the Wreck Hall, formulating a plan. Plane doesn’t come for two days, mud pak probably won’t dry off for two hours… Trust me, Drake, that thing is going to fucking dry.
For your squinting pleasure, here’s a full page scan, because this one was actually kind of funny.
Hey, I was under the impression that Drake didn’t bring his costume! Oh, what the hell. At least he fits in. By the look on his face, he’s in heaven, what with being in a room filled with nothing but his lovely likeness. Personally, I’d be weirded out by so many Ellies in one room. (“Holy shit, why do I wear my hair like that?”)
But his joy is short lived. An announcer tells the crowd that it’s time for his “fair F.O.W.L brothers” to unmask themselves. DW runs off to another part of the building where he finds a tool box and a microphone. “While those fiendish, fetid F.O.W.L agents dump their Darkwing disguises, I will cleverly convert this mundane microphone into a sophisticated short-wave transmitter. Let’s get technical!” Yeah! That’s the DW we all know!
No worries. DW’s got this in the bag!
Oh, sheeeeit. The F.O.W.L agents are ready with their own attack: mud mortars! Well, if you’ve got enough of a resource, you may as well us it, right? “Fire at will!” screams an agent. “Sir, I don’t see Will,” says another. “Can I fire at Jim!” (No that wasn’t my typo.)
The SHUSH paratroopers are pelted with mud and fall out of the sky like mud-caked flies. “Uh-oh! This messy mud barrage is turning my rescue into another muddle!” Darkwing quips. He quickly hops into action–by hopping into a… I guess it’s a bulldozer or a front loader truck. Anyway, he starts going crazy over the controls. “Beware, F.O.W.L! I am the bar of soap you slip on in the shower!”
A SHUSH agent screams that the baddies are driving them to sea. If that’s just secret agent slang for “they’re kickin’ our asses” or if the dumbnut actually believes there’s a major body of water, we’ll never know. In any case, Darkwing scoops up the baddies in the construction vehicle’s bucket and dumps them in the mud.
It took me fifteen minutes of Googling to find the name for this damn part.Not one to pass up a chance for justified torture, Darkwing turns up the head in the mud bath, which bakes the F.O.W.L agents way past a golden brown and straight into third-degree burns. A SHUSH agent is impressed by DW’s work. “They look like a row of cookies, Darkwing,” he says. “I knew this was more than a half-baked idea right from the start!” Darkwing grumbles. Then it’s time to whisk away into the inky night… and maybe go on a real vacation.
Flee for the hills!Okay, I’ll admit it. I didn’t have high hopes for this one, especially with the corny beginning, but things started to pick up right around when Darkwing declared that Club Mud was almost worthy of his presence. Having Drake panic when he learned that the agents were expecting him felt a little out of character (as if my reaction didn’t convey that). But it’s forgiveable since there were a few parts that got a genuine chuckle out of me.
Maybe there’s some hope for this series after all! But we still have another story to get through before I can declare this one a dud or a… non-dud. Stay tooned, kiddies!
Comments (0) 
Themocracy