This time around, I’m going to do something a little different. Instead of recapping a single story from one issue, I’m doing the entire issue (aside from the letters to the editor bit, of course). Doesn’t that sound like fun? WELL, DOESN’T IT?

Okaybee, let’s get started!

Talk about an occupational hazard. I guess St. Canard newspapers don’t care where or at what time they send their paperboys. This is St. Canard; evil is always afoot. For all we know, the Liquidator could be that stream of trash-soiled water, just waiting to kidnap the poor kid for whatever nefarious plan he’s boiling. Which would have been a far better story than what we’re about to read.

Thanks, Captain Obvious-Exposition. We’d be hopelessly, tragically lost without that kind of input. It’s not like the flu epidemic is making headlines or anything.

But, yes, it’s true. Darkwing Duck, currently in civilian mode, is out of commission because of the flu. What a wuss. “It doesn’t make sense that you’re so sick,” Launchpad says. Why, Drake should be just bouncing off the walls! “Didn’t you just get a flu vaccine shot?” continues LP. “Just last week,” Drake replies, “along with half the people in this burg. Dr. Turnancoff–” ACTUAL NAME. “–was giving out free flu shots at the mall.”

Determined to continue his duty as the city’s defender, Drake climbs out of bed. “But never mind the sniffles, my faithful nursemaid,” he says, fueling at least twelve more Darkwing/Launchpad slashfics. “I have no time to be laid up in bed!” Most of the police is sick, so it’s up to Darkwing and friends to stop a masked marauder terrorizing the city. Just as Drake says he’ll take an “asp… asp… aspa… aspa…” he sneezes himself clear across the room, right into Gosayln. Hey, a twofer: a comedy bit and a saved trip to a dictionary to look up the word aspri… aspi… aspa… headache medicine.

“Just what I need to keep from getting sick,” says LP, assholeishly drinking Drake’s orange juice. As for the chicken noodle soup, it’s all over Drake’s head. “HAH! HAH! … ahum. Just what the doctor ordered,” Gos chuckles. “Maybe next time you’d like a spoon!” LP adds. Maybe Drake should be more concerned about their cannibalistic tendencies. I mean, a duck eating chicken noodle soup. It counts, right?

Early the next morning, Drake is still dead-ass sick. Gos and LP while away the morning watching the news and commenting on how Darkwing Duck is still too sick to do a damn thing to the masked marauder. “DW’d wrap this guy up tighter than a wad of used tissues.” The less we think about that image, the better.

And we’re back to seeing people when there shouldn’t be any. Seriously, didn’t the writers understand that most Disney cartoons featured exclusively anthro animals and not a single human? It’s almost like they didn’t care. (And as my husband pointed out, Dee Dee looks more like a waitress than a news reporter. Well, in the 90s, it was becoming more common for people to work two jobs.)

Anyway, Dee Dee shows off her internal dictionary/lavender prose while describing the scene: “The dastardly fiend had more on his mind than mere money. Not only did he leave in his wake the sad depositors whose cash he pilfered… but, except for these meager crumbs, this vile villain made off with the morning supply of fresh donuts as well!” Gods, Dee Dee, you’re only in seven panels in this comic, but you suck so hard. I’d rather see you show off your word skills down at the local senior citizen’s home and meat packing factory.

Dee Dee goes to interview someone more useful and less show-offy than herself. The baker is more than happy to describe the marauder, or rather, his mask. “It looked like something you’d see on one of those doctor TV shows–it only covers his nose and mouth and ties in the back.” Yeah, that would be a doctor’s mask, sir. Thank you for describing the intricacies to St. Canard’s dumber citizens. “And it’s camouflaged like a soldier’s clothing.” Turns out the marauder’s hair wasn’t even visible; he was wearing a camouflaged cloth cap, too.

“Did he leave any clues?” asks Dee Dee, which is the least dumb thing she’s said so far. “Nope,” says the baker, “not even fingerprints. He was wearing thin rubber gloves.”

Launchpad, you moron.

No clues, it’s all hopeless, so why not have some breakfast? Launchpad goes to make a healthy meal for their breadwinner. Since he needs adult supervision, Gos goes with him. But our brave hero isn’t going to sit down for breakkies. While the others are in the kitchen, he’s going on the case. And since Launchpad will undoubtedly set fire to the entire meal and explode the kitchen sink, Darkwing will have more than enough time to find a lead before Gos brings out a bowl of cold cereal.

To us: an ad for a product that treats a fairly common ailment. To DW: unrefutable evidence of chaos.

I like this story less than getting popcorn hulls stuck between my molars, so I’m going to zip through these two pages. Blah, blah, DW on the trail, going to the busiest part of town except it’s not right now, yadda yadda, nasty sneeze, blahdy blah, finds cellophane lollipop wrappers and comes to the conclusion that the masked marauder must have dropped them during his raid, so he figures the marauder works at a candy factory.

Go ahead and read that last part again. Darkwing actually says that. Of course he’d have to work in the candy factory! It’s not like he could have bought lollipops in bulk or anything, or that the marauder works in a cellophane wrapper factory and decided to take his work home with him the day he became a criminal. If you think that logic is stupid, DW comes to the second conclusion that the thief must be in the factory, and there aren’t too many suspects, because most everyone is out with the flu. Odd this may seem, but evil does occasionally take a day off.

“Show yourself, you candied creep!” DW screams like a dink. “I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the secret center of a cherry candy-pop! I am Da… Da… Da…”

Who should come by and pull DW out of the orange candy coating vat than Launchpad? No, he didn’t bring DW’s cold breakfast with him, though you’d probably expect this dumber incarnation to do just that. And how did LP find Darkwing, you ask? “I followed the trail of used tissues.” With that, the duo stroll out of the candy factory, with Launchpad telling DW to finally go see the doctor.

HOLY CRAP THERE ARE DOUGHNUTS ON THE DESK IT’S A CLUUUUEEEE. But Drake doesn’t seem to jump to the obvious conclusion, finding the officer more interesting than finding clues. Seriously, check out that expression. I think after this, you need to get home to Launchpad, Drake.

It's funny because it happens for real.

Finally, Dr. Unfortunately-Named sees the officer. Strangely enough, he doesn’t call the officer into the exam room. How else will DW find another clue otherwise? The cop isn’t feeling too well now, so the good doctor gives him an all-day sucker. “I give them to all my flu-shot victims. Heh heh. I mean patients.”

Drake notices. “A lollipop! Perhaps I should find out where he buys them. It might just lead me back to the masked marauder.” Perhaps you should jump the dink and be done with it, Drake.

Now you'll learn why they call him Turnancoff. Heh heh heh...

DW quickly recounts seeing the doctor last week for a flu shot for the benefit of us who have super short-term memories. After another hearty sneeze, the doc comments on it. Maybe he should give Drake another shot, just to be on the safe side…

Yes, it’s finally coming together for Drake. “Yoiks!” he thinks, backing up into the wall. “Have I been barking up the wrong robber-tree? The doc’s flu shots are just that–flu shots! He’s injecting people with a virus to clear the way for his robberies!”

It looks like our hero is done for. But just as the doctor is going to pump another load of sick juice into Drake, what should come up but Chekhov’s sneeze?

(Hold a sec, folks. I’ll be right back. I’ve got some plants to, uh, water.

Well, that was pointless. Better write a note to get the vacuum out later.)

Back at home, Drake is in bed, enjoying a warm dinner. “Let’s see you EAT the soup this time, instead of WEARING it *snicker*!” laughs Gos. Drake is understandably insulted by this display of idiotic humor. “Hardy *sniff* Har. Har. How very DROOL… I mean DROLL.”

While LP hooks up the TV, he informs Drake that he’s now locked in the bedroom until he gets better. Quality health care! On the TV, Drake is interviewed by Dee Dee Downs, who looks like she’s just gotten off her shift at the local eatery. “Mr. Mallard, how’d you do it? What enabled you to bring down a criminal that no law officer has been able to get his hands on?” “Well,” Drake says modestly, “I was just imitating my favorite hero, Darkwing Duck.” God, just plug the hell out of yourself.

One mostly unbearable story down. How about a clickable full-pager?

Click to view full size

I don’t care what anyone else says. Gyro is awesome, and his inventions are pure win.

Let’s get on to another story, this one featuring non-Darkwing characters from an unappreciated Disney Afternoon cartoon for a bloody change. Finally, the potential for real humor.

It's the legendary fridge of King Tutancockmun.
(Oh, don't tell me you didn't notice the nose.)

Only P.J. would have the idea to eat lethal leftovers. But, you know, I remember some documentary I watched years ago (so you know this next bit is ultra reliable) where some kind of food found in a ruler’s ancient tomb was still considered edible. So maybe P.J. is just food conscious and looking at cutting down on wastefulness.

Max has other idea, as you can read. So just how much would something like a fridge full off dusty leftovers be worth? “Around 200 million dollars, give or take a mil!” says the guide. Kind of makes you want to dig around your own backyard for ancient treasures, huh?

The boys have a sweet Alfa-Linguini car in mind, so they have the very same idea, but they’re going to do it in a sort of reversal.

True, everything is a collector’s item. Just like these comics I’m recapping. Following true kid logic, Max and P.J. decide that they’ll bury all their favorite things in the backyard so their collective value will increase over the years. Twelve-year-old Ellie would have considered this a genius idea, but twentysomething Ellie would be content to let the stuff gather dust in a battered box in the attic. Preferably behind the trunk that contains original Superman sketches, Civil War diaries, and the map leading to Jimmy Hoffa’s remains. Use the “boring barrier” to protect the soon-to-be valuable stuff, that’s what I do.

The boys enlist the help of the Pete family’s dog, Chainsaw, to dig a hole for their cardboard time capsule. It will surely last ages, most certainly up to high school, when the boys plan on unearthing the thing. By then, that pizza will have grown enough mold to culture at least a few dollars’ worth of penicillin.

But what’s this? Chainsaw has found something? What is it, girl? A prehistoric skeleton? Another crumpled, moldy cardboard time capsule?

It looks vaguely Egyptian. It must be valuable!

Yep, Goofy has seen the dog before, though he can’t remember where or exactly when. That doesn’t matter to the boys, as they’re too busy figuring out what to do with it. Give it to the Spoonerville Museum? Nah. Give it to P.J.’s mom? No way!

The sad thing is... they're right.

The next afternoon, the boys head off to the Upper Crust Antiques shop to sell their newfound… find. But, no! The sign on the door says “NO Children Allowed.” P.J. goes into mope mode. “Now what do we do? Go home and grow up?” Max spots a store called Grandma’s Attic Vintage Clothes. “We don’t hafta go home, P.J…. just next door!”

And wouldn’t you believe that the ploy actually works? And that the shop owner is willing to give ten thousand dollars for the dirty old thing?

Now the boys are in heaps of trouble. Instead of simply giving the lady the dog, they have to pay for everything they’ve broken. Now what are they going to do? Pressure their dads into paying for everything and sending themselves into debt? (Hey, it was the 90s. Most parents used credit cards like they breathed air. It was the popular way for parents to sacrifice for their children.)

Inspiration comes when Pete drives off to attend one of his own used car auctions. “[They] always bring home the bacon! And the pork chops, too!” No idea what Pete means by that, but that doesn’t matter. The boys are going to hold their own auction to sell the dirty old piece of crap.

Thing is, they can’t afford TV commercials. Back in the 90s, that’s what you did if you wanted to get noticed. That and radio. Seems strange now, what with online advertising and viral marketing. If YouTube had been around then, Max and P.J. would have made a few Flash videos and watched the hits rise, and get offered to put ads on their videos to make money. But they’ll just have to settle for an old-fashioned phone call…

“… gone to the lady with the big, fat bankroll!” Yes, news of the auction has gone 90s-fashion viral, and people from every corner of the world have congregated on the Goof family lawn for their chance to own a piece of history. Max and P.J. have got to get a high bid, or they’ll be spending the rest of their tween years paying back the shop owner through blood and sweat. (Trust me, I’ve worked for an independent business owner. They’re not the folksy, simple, kindhearted folks movies always make them out to be.)

A crazy bidding war erupts! Tenthousand tenthousand do I hear a twenty? Twenty! Twentythousand twentythousand do I hear a thirty? Thirty! Do I hear a one million? One million! And on it goes up to four million and ten, going once, going twi–

No, no, NO, YOU DINK. With a puff across the dog’s plate, we finally learn of its true form…

The crowd is livid! And just like any civil gathering that learns that it’s been swindled, they start to throw shit on the boys. It’s the perfectly grown-up thing to do.

Welp, the auction was a bust. Max and P.J. have accepted their fate. Sigh.

All in all, that wasn’t too bad. Everyone was in character, the plot moved smoothly, and it had the comedy of a genuine Goof Troop story. Plus, the sentimental bit at the end tied everything up nicely. Sure, the old couple swooping in to buy a cruddy old artifact from their first meeting place has been done, but it’s sweet. My husband and I managed to save the milk crates we used as chairs from the restaurant where he worked. It’s not the sign, but if I had to spend money to keep those warped and broken plastic boxes, I would have. So, hooray for old-timer romance!

I think it’s time I took a break from Disney Afternoon stuff. Sure, I only visit these, like, two times a month, but some of this stuff is really inane. Like eye-rolling-until-you-get-a-migraine-ly inane. I needs me another kind of classic. So I’ll dig through my box o’ comics for next month’s venture. Stay tuned!

We come to St. Canard in the middle of the night. All is nearly quiet. But “one dedicated citizen remains alert, attentive, and attuned [Editor's note: Ugh.] to the slightest hint of danger.” (Oh, dear, a man has just tripped on the curb! Someone catch him before he stumbles and scuffs his shoes!)

Our hero, Darkwing Duck, is patrolling the streets on his valiant mechanical steed, the Rat-Catcher, which seems to have gained flying abilities. While soaring through the air, the motorcycle starts making ominous “check engine soon I MEAN IT WE’RE GONNA CRASH” sounds.

And there's the title of this story for added imagery.

I hope DW plans on using another vehicle, because there’s no way Launchpad is going to look under the hood while DW is still driving around looking for hoods. (Yuk yuk.) He can’t very well use the family station wagon. Fuel economy and side paneling just doesn’t strike fear into the heart of evil.

Suddenly, more car trouble arises. “Hey, what’s going on?” cries DW as he frantically spins the wheel in a futile effort to regain control. “Who’s making the car turn?!” (Yes, the Rat-Catcher is a car now.)

“No one takes the wheel from the scourge of one way streets!” Fancy that, DW harasses not only villains, but streets designed to direct traffic in a single direction. “Someone better move that lamppost before it gets hit!”

Ooof. Damn, DW, you better call Aflac right away. HO HO YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE? Because the mascot of Aflac… is a duck… and… ah, hell, I’m too lazy to wiki Aflac to see if they do auto to make sure that joke will fly.

Without warning, a car smashes into the same lamppost, jarring DW and knocking the whole thing over.

“Some fantastic force is turning St. Canard’s main street into an amusement part… but it’s not so amusing,” DW says, making light of possible debilitating injuries and death. “Looks like a mechanic’s dream! And an insurance agent’s nightmare!” he adds as another car totals an iron gate.

The carnage finished, Darkwing Duck marches bravely off, obviously confident in the victims’ ability to care for themselves. “This car-tastrophe certainly challenges the ingenious, infinitely insightful mind of St. Canard’s suddenly pedestrian protector!”

This would be the perfect time for the villains of the week to make their introduction.

Yeah, Wrecker, why are potentially life-threatening injuries so funny? If you think Wrecker’s laughter is psychotic, check out the calm amusement on his buddy’s face.

“My plan is working!” chortles Wrecker. “My super magnet will pin all the metal cars, including police cars, against each other. Then, we’ll be able to hit all the banks in St. Canard and no cops will be able to chase us. They’ll be stranded!” Because they’d never think of running to the scene nor will vigilantes ever step in.

And the key to the plan’s success: The getaway cars his henchmen will be driving are made of plastic! They’ll be unaffected by the super magnet’s force! But I have to ask… are the engines of these plastic car also made of plastic? Or is everyone pulling a Flintstone and running to get the vehicles running?

Enough of stretching holes in villainous logic and short term planning. Let’s check in on DW, now in civilian mode as Drake Mallard. He and his adopted daughter, Gosalyn, are enjoying a pleasant day, strolling down the street, and–holding hands? That’s a bit too fatherly and daughterly for these two. But that’s not nearly as interesting as Drake being yanked away by forces beyond his control.

Gos attempts to wrench Drake away from the can. “Don’t worry, Dad! I’ve been working out with weights!” Which, actually, was kind of common for 90s preteens. (Which was what we called tweens back when I was young. Gods, I’m so old.)

[Editor's Digression: Ah, memories. See, with all the action and martial arts movies in the theaters, nearly every kid wanted to get buff and muscly. We all dreamed of the day that we'd be so pumped, the kids in the upper grades would be challenging us on the playground. Never mind the fact that they'd be too busy hanging around the cafeteria listening to Milli Vanilli (before they were found out) or making out. We had DREAMS. So we'd sneak into our parents' bedrooms or weight rooms and start messing with the sacred weight sets. No one ever got past ten pounds because, let's face it, lifting weight is boring shit. Anyone who claimed to be able to lift thirty pounds was obviously a liar who spent the rest of the afternoon playing Genesis or SNES games. Hey, beating Robotnik on the Death Egg was a more pressing concern.]

Chaos erupts around Drake and Gos. “It’s starting again!” Drake yells. “Cars are slamming into each other, and I can’t move to put whoever is causing this into the slammer!” Try as she might, Gos still can’t pry Drake off.

Meanwhile, Wrecker stands by his super magnet, zapping the city at random. “The magnetic power’s on!” he exposits for our benefit. “It’ll stop all the cops’ cars any second now…” He gets on a walkie-talkie to order his men into action. “Okay, gang, hit the banks! And don’t leave behind any loose change!”

Looks like the urban planner might have had plans of his or her own if all the banks are on the same street. Nefarious!

Yes, Gos, the police are incapacitated, and there’s obviously no other way they can stop the robbers. They can’t walk, they can’t run, they can’t call in the bicycle division, and they can’t even fire their guns. I’m beginning to wonder if Darkwing Duck is the only competent law enforcement in this city–and right now, he’s not even the only choice.

(“And I–the hairball that clogs your drain–can’t stop those odious outlaws from making their illegal withdraws!” says Drake, never once looking to see if anyone else is within earshot.)

Well, who should happen by but the only character with brains in this story? Honker! Gos immediately decides to take advantage of brain cells other than her own. “Maybe you can figure out why Dad is stuck to the garbage pails,” she says, momentarily forgetting that these are cans.

“Well, there could be several scientific explanations,” Honker says as he waddles over. Sparing us textwalls of theories, he analyzes Drake. “Fascinating! He’s not tied… he’s not glued to the metal… that’s it! The garbage cans are metal!” Then he pulls back, holding out a hand in a dramatic manner. “A magnetic force must be holding you–”

“Why me?” Drake interrupts. “No one else is being held.”

Honker points at Drake, and says, with absolutely no trace of kiss-assery. “Because only you have a magnetic personality!”

The robbers escape with their loot, and the magnetic powers subside. Drake is freed from his garbage can manacle. While Honker explains that Drake has a magnetic personality and the citizen’s cars are made of metal, and that non-magnetic material won’t be affected… you know what, this is crap we learned in elementary science classes. It’s almost like the writers can’t trust readers to retain information that occurred less than a page back.

In any case, Drake is relying on Honker “to overcome the force” (the magnetic force, for those of you who don’t remember). So how is the problem managed?

Oh, sure, Honker will go into laborious detail about magnetic personalities and how cars are metal, but he won’t explain how an anti-magnetic cord words? Do we have to take your word for it now, Honk?

In any case, Launchpad’s working on a heat beam. (Plastic and heat? I wonder what will happen? Please explain, Honker.) Too bad they can’t use it now, as the magnetic power is once again wreaking havoc all over the St. Canard business district.

Our heroes jump into action!

Surely Darkwing Duck will save the day!

The hell? You just stood there and let the villains get away? What is your defect today, DW?

No matter. It’s time to let a machine do all the heavy work. “Is Honker’s heat beam ready to turn up the temperature?” DW asks. “If Honker’s design works–!” Launchpad begins, then stops abruptly. “If you built it the way I designed it,” Honker reminds him.

The robbers are escaping, so it’s time to stand around again and do nothing–oh, wait. The heroes are actually going to save the day? “Let the sharpshooting scourge of scoundrels at it!” DW yells, taking the heat beam by the handles.

You’ve got the aim of a blind cave fish, Darkwing. The plastic cars still bump around the streets like oversized Fisher Price toys. They’re getting away! DW aims once again…

The police are finally able to run in and apprehend the thieves. Melting the bad guys in place sure helped them, huh? Above in headquarters, Honker pulls out a compass. “[This] should indicate the source of the magnetic ray.” Darkwing thrusts his fists on his hips. “Just direct this dedicated duck to the dastardly fiend behind this mess!”

One panel later, Honker’s found out–and it’s right in front of them across the street! Why couldn’t they have used that compass earlier? They could have saved themselves at least three pages of trouble.

Wow. Reading that one almost hurt. Okay, every story can’t be a winner, and a lot of the stuff pumped out in the 90s were pretty pedantic. Besides, there were a few spots that had me chuckling like crazy. The stories are slowly improving, and the jokes are more clever.

TDA fun continues next month, when I tackle ish 6!

Hold up… the Time Tripper isn’t working. This is still 2011. Forget it, just read along.

We open the story as Darkwing Duck is summoned to SHUSH headquarters. What awaits our hero at this honorable institution dedicated to eliminating the scum of St. Canard?

How about a brutal beatdown?

The dogs are ruthless, yanking out feathers (“These feathers are real!”) and stretching out his beak like a ribbon of taffy (“This oversized beak can’t be real!”). But the dashing defender isn’t going to take this abuse! Get ‘em, DW!

The hell?… Please, keep beating him up, guys. Maybe you can pummel some better word play into his noggin.

SHUSH director J. Gander Hooter rushes in before the heavies can grind Darkwing’s spine into dust. “Cease! Desist! He is one of us!” One of the dogs looks at him incredulously and gulps. “W-whatever happened to SHUSH’s high recruiting standards?” Ouch. You want some aloe for that burn, DW?

“DW is an exceptional agent,” explains Hooter. “So in his case, we made an exception to our standards.” He helps Darkwing up, rather gingerly. “Why were they trying to physically fix my fine-featured face, Hooter?” Darkwing groans, possibly wondering about the possibilities of astrally fixing one’s face.

It’s the worst danger a crimefighting agency can encounter: a mole is among the ranks. But which one is it? “To my expert, eagle-like eyes,” DW says, scanning a wall of portraits, “they all look somewhat suspicious!” Time to fly into action. So what does DW do?

He stalks down the hall. “The mole could be behind any one of these doors, but he will not elude the scourge of spying skullduggery.” So Darkwing’s a tormentor of those who practice unfair and dishonest methods meant to deceive others?… Eh, guess it makes sense. Kind of an odd way to refer to oneself, though. I mean, you’ve never heard of a psychic hero who targets bank robbers calling himself a mindrapist of those who shift economical redistribution, have you?

What’s this? A suspicious sound! Darkwing Duck bursts through the door!

Darkwing Duck officially has the coolest job in the world, and not just because he gets to run around the city in a gaudy costume and toss ne’er-do-wells in the pokey. He can burst through his superior’s door and accuse him of a heinous crime that could topple the institution and not get fired. Try doing that at your 9-to-5.

Later, at DW’s hideout, our intrepid hero paces the floor, pondering over the persistent problem. Honker, of all people, is with him, burning some midnight oil as all child geniuses employed by caped crusaders do. DW is absolutely “baffled, befuddled, bewildered” by the mole at SHUSH, and although he assures his young assistant that it’s temporary, we all know that he needs a little nudge in the right direction.

Honker’s brilliant brain thinks of a clue. “Isn’t there a supersecret personnel file of agents–” “Of course!” interrupts DW. “Probably in Hooter’s safe, but no safe is safe from the terror who tickles the tumblers!” Before Honker can stop him, DW is flying off in the Thunderquack.

EMPHASIS MEANS SERIOUSNESS!

For some unfathomable reason, instead of entering the building like normal–I’m sure the night guards have no objection to a SHUSH employee investigating the mole problem doing some after hours work–DW decides that he’s going to sneak in through a window on one of the higher floors. I don’t think he’d even need to state that he’s going to investigate Hooter’s office. I mean… Okay, let’s just get back to the story.

DW giggles over his cleverness. “HAH! IF the name Darkwing Duck wasn’t so well known, they could call me Spider-Duck.” Which would be apt if you spent your time climbing buildings and shooting webbing from your wrists. “I’ll enter Hooter’s office unseen, unheard, unless–” His foot slips! “I become the splat that stains your sidewalk!”

Hey, that was actually in the style of the cartoon! Wonders!

Darkwing gets on it, searching for the file through the filing cabinet (oh, really?), the desk, the wall safe, the bookcase… and finds nothing. What does a grown duck do when he can’t find a supersecret document that could mean the future of a top crimefighting agency? He throws a hissy fit, of course.

Ah, the days before identity theft, when you could just THROW any old document in the trash.

Now to use some high-tech skill and copy that sucker. But DW is about as tech-savvy as a cross-eyed centenarian with nerve damage, and ends up making 205 copies of the sensitive document. After crawling out of the pile of papers, he returns the original list to its “secure file”.

Back at the hideout, DW has Honker scan the list, because apparently his own brilliant brain can’t pick out a possible clue. Kid Genius picks it out: an agent named Al T. Ration, “someone who changes his identity.”

DW’s stumped. “How do I find someone who keeps changing his identity?” Honker, ever helpful and interrupted, replies, “Easily! The file says he has a birthmark shaped like a star behind his left knee. Go look–”

Back to SHUSH!

All of SHUSH’s agents gather for the line-up, and none are too pleased about it. (“Hooter’s listening to that featherhead again!” whispers one.) DW has everyone face the wall, then tells Hooter (while facing the reader), “You’ve been fooled by Al T. Ration because he is posing as another agent!” The search for the birthmark begins…

No go. DW has failed to find the mole…

WHAAAAA

Fight! Fight! Fight!

Ah, hell. I’d hoped it would go on for at least another page. But SHUSH is safe once more. No, Ration’s true identity isn’t discovered, but at least he’s put away. (And as far as I know, he never makes a comeback. You gotta have a throwaway villain every now and again, or the bread and butter villains get overworked and cranky and less likely to commit evilry.)

Aside from the brain-numbing overdose of annoying yet astonishingly adroit alliteration in this one, it looks like Marvel had started to hit its stride with these comics. Seems the writers sat down one afternoon to actually watch DW in action and siphoned some of that good ol’ magic that made the cartoon such a beloved classic. (Hey, I’m a poet, didn’t even realize it.) Plus, there were a few moments where I actually laughed out loud.

Dare I say it? I actually had… fun… with this one.

Next week, the second and final story of ish five.

Remember when I said last time that I’ll be posting full-page examples from this issue? Turns out I’ll only be doing one or two more. Saves me some scanning time and webspace, and lessens the chance of legal trouble, right? Oh, quit complaining. You’re not missing much.

Like with this Talespin comic. Kit’s been hard at work repainting the Seaduck. Apparently, his method includes slapping the brush around willy-nilly and hoping that a gob of paint lands on its intended surface. And it doesn’t help that he can’t get the right equipment to continue the job.

Fortunately, Baloo’s got a smart idea…

So, were they both too lazy to look for a ladder? Couldn’t Baloo have just held Kit up? Well, no, he probably would have been painted over. Hope burning the fuel for that stunt was worth it, Papa Bear.

Next up, the antics of Pete, Honest Salesguy! (Click for larger image.)

Admit it. You enjoy seeing karma give him what for. Frankly, I enjoyed this comic the first time around when I read it in Disney Adventures Magazine… when it was published in March 1995. (Click for larger image.)

Yep, same writers, different artists, different publications. To be honest, the TDA version looks better. (And as a DAM fan, that smarts.)

Ohhh. Does this really need a setup? Well, I guess. Turns out the Thunderquack’s canopy blocks out all sound, so DW can’t hear Launchpad ask him if it’s “left to loosen, or right?” No wonder Scrooge McDuck fired his incompetent ass. Still a wonder why DW kept him on. (Yeah, yeah, I know they were a big mismatched family in the cartoon.)

Impatient, bullheaded hero that he is, Darkwing searches in vain for the canopy switch. “DW, don’t try the ejector seat yet! I’m still having some trouble…” Comedy awaits.

Yes, Darkwing. It does help if you can read the labels.

That’s it for the February ’95 issue of TDA. Next month, I’ll begin issue #5, an installment surely packed with more Darkwing Duck than you can stomach!

What catches your eye when you see a comic book? Your favorite characters? The pretty colors? The impossibly skintight costumes showing off all the dips and crannies of the human anatomy? Hey, me too! I like to think that I have an eye for detail, so issue #3′s cover kind of threw me for a loop. It’s not often you find a comic book where the production team fell behind schedule and released a holiday-themed cover at the beginning of the new year.

How about a double-whammy?

New Year’s in February. Kind of makes you wonder what prevented Marvel from publishing these two issues on time.

This issue is a busy one, packed with not two or three, but five stories. Four of them are shorties, though, so one-page deals will get the clickable thumbnail treatment. Less work for me, more clicking for you!

Like this one, “featuring Ducktales.”

(Click to view slightly larger image... if you want. Doesn't matter.)

A money bin, a boat, a giant-ass harpoon… The rich get all the neat toys. Bastards.

After that bit of fun, it’s time to get into the meat of TDA comics. Namely, Darkwing Duck. If you’ve read the other TDA recaps, then you’re already familiar with Marvel’s intense, obsessive love with the Terror that Flaps in the Night. He’s in every issue, usually in a story that takes up a great deal of pages, and he’s on every cover. It’s almost embarrassing. It’s certainly tiring after a while. Hey, I love the cartoon, but I also love variety.

Good thing for me this story has quite a bit of variety. From miscolorings to additional body parts, there’s plenty to keep a reader guessing what will happen next. So, come along with me! We’ve got a lot of giggling to do!

We join our heroes in a harrowing pursuit of Marvel’s second favorite DWD character, Megavolt. Joining DW and Launchpad are none other than Gosalyn and Honker, tomboy extraordinaire and kid genius. Don’t worry, they’ll become somewhat useful in this story. (I remember reading an article on a now-defunct fansite that the only reason Gos came into existence was because some Disney exec thought that a cartoon based on a full-grown crime fighter would turn kids off. Keep that in mind when you watch an 80s or 90s cartoon with obnoxious prepubescent sidekicks.)

In a moment of startling clarity–and questioning Darkwing’s lifetime purpose–Honker asks if maybe the police shouldn’t be chasing Megavolt. “Nonsense!” Darkwing declares. “The police deal with common, everyday criminals. I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the umbrella that reverses in the rain!” The letterer went all crazy with the bolding there, didn’t he?

Megavolt’s getting away with his loot from the Second National Bank. He’s got evil projects to fund, you know, and maybe a basement to finish. What better way to get rid of his nemesis and his meddling sidekicks than to blast him with some thingamajigga that blasts electricity? Consistency is the key to being an arch-villain.

But just as our heroes are blasted by Megavolt’s “evil weapon,” the sky burns with lightning.

If you know anything about 80s/90s cartoons and comics, the laws of the natural world aren’t only thrown out the window. They’re thrown out the window into the thorny bushes, beaten with rusted tire irons, tied behind a pick-up truck and dragged down meandering backroads, and finally taken to a copse in the middle of that creepy forest the ax murderer’s ghost is said to haunt where they’re shot execution style.

No one back then gave a crap about the laws of nature when it came to making kids’ cartoons or comics. Why let pesky science get in the way when you’re writing fiction? That would take the fun out of the story, as you’ll soon discover.

(By the way, I like how Launchpad is reading a comic book in the middle of a chase scene. The duck knows his priorities.)

Our heroes are okay, but have you noticed something… unusual? If you have, you’re several hours ahead of them.

Wouldn’t DW have noticed that he was significantly shorter than normal? Or that he possessed different plumbing? For a detective cum crimefighter, he can be awfully dense at times. (*snerk* “Times…”)

In any case, Launchpad–er, Honker-in-Launchpad concludes that there’s nothing anyone can do except wait. But as we all know, Darkwing Duck doesn’t wait. Not even when he’s possessed by the personality of a tween girl. There’s an arch-villain to apprehend, so Gos-in-DW and Honker-in-LP dash off to certain injury!

DW-in-Gos would give his daughter a piece of his mind, if only he could reach the lever that opens the secret door. Funny how childproof precautions come to bite you in the feathery butt, huh? But DW-in-Gos and LP-in-Honker have other concerns…

Oh, yeah. Kids need to go to school, don’t they?

Meanwhile, Gos-in-DW and Honk–damn, this is going to get old fast. Everyone’s aware that they’ve switched, right? So, let’s refer to the characters as the personalities inhabiting their new bodies. Gos and Honker are in headquarters, ogling the Rat-Catcher. Driving this badass motorcycle with gadgets galore is a kid’s dream come true. But getting it started…

Thank goodness for regular bikes. On to the bank to find a clue!

Mean-meanwhile, DW and LP elude the truant officer as fast as their shorter legs can carry them. It’s not the natural loathing one feels for school that’s got our heroes running. After all, if they’re stuck doing algebra, how will they save Gos and Honker? Useless equations that will never be applied to the real world can wait!

Mean-mean-meanwhile, the kids arrive at the bank. Right there, in plain sight, is a clue! A 101/C/305/21 D diode! Whatever the hell that is. According to Honker, “it’s just the kind of thing Megavolt would need for that weapon of his!” How Honker would know is anyone’s guess.

Gos isn’t sold on the idea that Megavolt would have accidentally dropped a crucial piece for one of his inventions. And she’s right. It’s a trap.

Don’t you love how they killed any suspense by marching right into the next panel? There isn’t even a full-page ad to block the reader from knowing immediately what happens next; this is in the middle of the page! Shoddy layout work, Marvel.

Anyway, as you’ve probably guessed, DW and LP don’t foil the truant officer and are carted off to school. Mean-frigging-while, Gos and Honker are still alive and still on the case. Honker informs us that the exploding diode is available at one store in the whole city. A store means receipts, and receipts means finding out who bought the diode and where he lives.

Now, I’ve been working in retail for longer than is healthy or normal, and while I don’t know how buying hardware worked in the 90s, I do know that these days and in some stores, giving out your personal information is optional. I’m also aware of the fact that some customers will fudge their details, either because they think they’re being clever or they’re paranoid nutbags who actually believe they’re important enough to stalk. That said, would an arch-villain like Megavolt–who’s probably been on St. Canard’s Most Wanted List more times than the planet has rotated–really give out valid information pertaining to his residence? Moreover, why didn’t he just steal the diode? Did he have a burst of conscientiousness? Or is this just bad writing?

Mean-godawful-while…

I never understood why the artists included humans in these comics. As far as I know, the only human to appear in the cartoon was a visitor from another dimension or planet. (I’m sure I’ve got that episode on DVD, but the bookcase is ten feet away from the bed and, well, I just don’t feel like getting up.) It’s a gross inconsistency that would have had thirteen-year-old Ellie ranting about the unfaithfulness of comic adaptations. And on top of all that, they color Gos and Honker’s bodies flesh tones and give Honker ears.

Didn’t comic books have quality checkers?

Mean-blippity-while, Gos and Honker slam on the pedals to Megavolt’s place. Mean-bluh-while, DW and LP run away from their teacher. And whaddaya know, there’s a storm brewing outside, complete with lightning! “It’s raining again!” LP says. “Rain or no rain, we’ve got to reach the kids before they get hurt!” DW adds. “Or before those other kids hurt us!” Don’t worry, LP, your fears are completely unfounded and stupid.

Finally, we can end this!

Gos and Honker are right at Megavolt’s place, a rather nondescript two-story house located on a steep hill. LP claims there are a lot of wires surrounding the place, but I don’t see them. What I do see is Megavolt warming up his attack ray in his sweet burnt orange van–whoa!

That was kinda cool! After a one-page chase scene where Gos and Honker pedal their borrowed legs to rubber bands, they meet up with DW and LP.

Oh, fear! Completely unobstructed by the wreckage, our heroes literally have probably minutes to run to safety!

So a regular blast ray decimates a tree, but coupled with lightning, it just switches personalities around… Makes sense in this world.

Order is restored, Megavolt gets fins, and the kids are carted off to detention. A happy ending for all!

That’s it for part one of this installment. Stay tuned next week when we’ll finish up the shorties. It’ll be my easiest recap yet!

Something tells me I should have done some serious couch potatoing
myself with those Darkwing Duck DVDs.

We join our hero in his civilian form as he prepares for a night of extreme laziness. Drake gets a little antsy, as the remote isn’t working, and he’s stuck on the Home Swapping Channel. (I’m too lazy to include the image, but the schmuck on the screen is advertising a “Portable Patented Pulsating Potato Peeler for $1.25, plus $59.95 for shipping and tax.” Can the channel really be called the Home Swapping Channel if money is involved?)

He’s got only two more minutes before he misses the World Wrestling Fight Fest with Frank the Fearsome Facing Off Against the Menacing Mauler from Milwaukee. Yes, that’s the whole title of the program. What surprises me is that they didn’t choose a more animal-theme name like Mule-waukee. Isn’t that what most of these Disney cartoons do?

Nothing. So Drake goes for a more scientific approach: “Lessee… the hypotenuse of the tangent minus the cosine and shift my weight on a right axis–” You know, I got straight C’s in most of my math classes (except for those two miraculous moments when I actually got A’s), but I suspect that that formula is bunk.

Being mathematical hasn’t helped, so Drake goes on to “Plan B.”

Hellacious Demon Child Tantrum Mode! You know you’ve gone off the deep end when Gosalyn is the voice of reason. She suggests that Drake use the buttons on the TV set… which was what her dad knew all along. (By the way, Honker is also not colored in the next panel. Did the colorist just not care?)

But what d’ya know, Drake is too stupid and desperate to use the buttons on the TV set. He scrambles for all the batteries in the house. Not a single one is working in the remote. A nightmare lazy people the world over know all too well, I’m afraid. (Whatever did happen to plug-in remotes, anyway? Or was that just the ancient VCR my parents had back in the 80s?)

In the days before e-mail, we had to throw bricks through each other’s windows…
and we liked it that way!

Emergency message from SHUSH! Apparently, they’ve forgotten how to use phones. Darkwing Duck is needed immediately. “I wonder what dastardly deeds are dashing the city into the depths of despair that need the services of Darkwing Duck,” Drake muses as he sits in a chair. “Whatever, it’s time for Drake Mallard to become Darkkkwwwing Duck!” (Try to emphasize the triple K’s. Sounds like a hiss, doesn’t it? That’s why duplicating consonants is a bad idea, unless you speak a Scandinavian language.) With the chair rapidly spinning, Drake is transported to his secret headquarters.

Believe it or not, that’s a chair spinning around.

At the super secret headquarters, Darkwing checks in with J. Gander Hooter. Batteries are failing all over St. Canard! “Cars won’t start, flashlights and emergency back-up equipment are powerless!” Hooter cries. “Even the remote control for my T.V. is out! I can’t change channels, it’s most distressing!”

DW is on top of the job! Then he asks Hooter if he’s tried the buttons the TV set. Such an idea had never occurred to the SHUSH head honcho, and he’s relieved for DW’s wisdom. Are the adults in this world just lazy and stupid, or what?

Never mind that. We’ve got a crime scene to get to! Except that neither the Thunderquack or Ratcatcher seem to be working. Launchpad had tuned it up earlier… and threw out some “leftover parts.” I’m not mechanically savvy, but even I know that every nut and bolt in a car has its use. I also know better than to fiddle around with the parts that could possibly render my car a very expensive and ugly lawn ornament. But Launchpad–the pilot and mechanic for DW–doesn’t know this. Fortunately, the Ratcatcher hadn’t been “tuned up,” but with the battery issue at hand, it’s not going anywhere. Which leaves our heroes with…

… a nine-year-old girl’s bike. Yes, Gos was kind enough to donate something to the cause. It’s even got streamers flowing from the handlebars! Using his patented Triangulating Electromagnetic Power Pointer and Handy-Dandy Nail Clipper, Darkwing picks up a massive power source on the road. What could it be? Batteries, failing devices, city-wide chaos? Which villain is best known for his electricty fetish? (I’m pretty sure there’s a word for it. There’s a word for nearly every fetish, you know.)

Yes, it’s Megavolt, and he’s got a serious case of road rage. He drives his boxy car over DW and Launchpad. How those tires aren’t banged up after crunching that bike, I’ll never know. But what fun! I wish my little Honda were capable of such destruction.

DW immediately uses his powers of deduction, or pondering, to figure out why Megavolt is draining the power from batteries. My guess is that he has something evil planned for St. Canard, but that’s pretty vague, even if it’s the basis for most DW universe villains’ plans.

Launchpad asks if maybe they should call Gos about her mutilated bike. “At least send her a fax,” he says. He pulls a shovel out of hammerspace and says that they could always tunnel back into the house past Gosalyn. To which DW replies, “Soon as this case is over, I’m calling the Sidekick Union to see if anyone has returned your brain!”

All right, honesty time: I’m sick of this story. It’s stupid, dumb, and the inking makes me want to hurt cute, fluffy things. So let’s speed through this, shall we? I’ve got to get back to the kludge site, anyway.

In less than one panel, DW has figured it all out: Megavolt wants to drain all the batteries and main power plant in the city so that no one will stand in his way. Seriously, that’s what he says. LP decides to take this time to mention some other modifications he made, but DW won’t hear it. He’s got some planning to do.

While Megavolt chortles and gloats about his plan coming to fruition, DW makes his grand appearance. “I am the terror” and all that… and then he notices that something is amiss. Namely, his scent. Yes, that’s the other modification LP made: a floral bouquet scent to go along with the purple smoke that helps our hero look so damn awesome. Honestly, LP, what the fuck were you smoking?

Megavolt does exactly what I want to do to this story and zaps DW and LP with a blast gun. It just knocks them back a few feet so Megs can run over to his Triple Tank Titanic Turbo Tansformer (exact name) and attempt to finish the energy transfer. DW wails about how they need to stop him or “St. Canard is doomed to darkness!”

To which LP replies, “Uh–couldn’t we just ask him to quit? Doesn’t he know electricity can be dangerous?”

LP, Megavolt probably snacks on batteries like we snack on popcorn. He probably has a blow-up doll hooked up to an outlet. The guy lives to have his nerve endings fried and re-fried every day. While he’s aware of the dangers, he doesn’t give a shit.

DW tries to get close but nearly gets zapped again. Curses! It’s time to use his own handheld weapon and bubble the shit out of that evil-doer–

Yes, LP messed up again.

Just kill him, DW. Kill him.

And just like that, DW tells Megs that they’re leaving. Naturally, this pleases the Villain of the Week, and DW keeps his word. Personally, this feels too out of character for DW, but this is the Marvel DA comic we’re talking about.

Gotta love that exposition/fast-forward technique. What does DW create out of all that rushing around? Why, a giant plug. Did they just have that lying around in a construction site? Did the crew lock up any of their materials? Why do I even care?

All that’s left is to fly into action and defeat that megalomaniacal mole. (Megavolt is a mole, right?) DW’s going to “use my suction cup to anchor myself to that girder so I can get above Megavolt and lower this power-draining plug onto the prongs of Megavolt’s helmet… thus grounding him and shorting out his plans.” Why mention his name twice in the same sentence? C’mon, grammar, people!

Of course, it’s not meant to be…

DW, you should seriously consider just setting aside all your paternal fears and let Gos follow in your crimefighting footsteps. Hell, Honker’s a smart kid. What hero couldn’t use a genius kid?

DW hurtles through the air, straight for “eight quazillion volts of electricity” flowing through a transformer. Below, Megavolt is screaming in pure orgasmic ecstacy with all the power going through him. If the the Funk Island episode of The Great Eastern has taught me anything, is that lots of energy can certainly produce some rather interesting physiological reactions. So… the less you think about Megavolt getting an electrical stiffy, the better.

So what happens when DW finally comes crashing down to earth?

Success, natch. What, do you think they’d actually write a story where he fails utterly and miserably? No, we’ve got fanfic writers for that, but they’re all too busy writing emo Mary Sue alternate universe stories. With some slash thrown in.

Finished! Gah! It only took me a few months to finish this issue, but that’s because it took for-freaking-ever for my laptop screen to get repaired. But, woof, what a dog of a story. The first story in this issue was definitely the stronger of the two. Drake/Darkwing in this one seemed a little too scatterbrained, childish, and cowardly. But maybe I just need to sit my butt down and do some character study with the first season.

Yep, it’s another week without my biting commentary on the Marvel Disney Afternoon comics. After looking through pages of confusing troubleshooting and threatening the two inanimate objects like the crazy homeless guy downtown who screams at the fire hydrants, I’ve managed to make the scanner and laptop communicate… just in time to take my laptop to get repaired.

No, I didn’t break my laptop. Again. See, back in November, I made the mindbogglingly stupid mistake of leaving my iPod earbuds on my laptop. I left the screen up, went away for a while, and returned, having completely forgotten what was resting on my laptop and set the screen down. Noticing that it wasn’t going down all the way, I stepped back. Then my husband, even less aware of the situation, tried his hand at it…

I’ve been able to work on the machine. It’s just that I’ve had to contend with a black blob in the left bottom corner, a series of horizontal gray bars taking up the bottom two inches of the screen, and a series of colorful lines cutting through in a vertical fashion. Turquoise “icicles” also make an appearance, much like that annoying character that pops up every few episodes in your favorite sitcom. You know the one.

Last month, I called “the computer guy” to order a new screen. And I’m happy to say that after a month of waiting on the damn thing, it’s finally come in. So I’m taking my broken baby in today to get it fixed, and with luck, I’ll have it back tomorrow. (It shouldn’t even take a month to replace a screen.)

So while I have no new installment of a TDA comic, I do have three scans from the superior and more engaging Disney Adventures magazine. I couldn’t help but be impressed with this comic. It’s so in-character, and it’s just so awesome and sweet to see Launchpad ponder about the intricacies of the universe.

Enjoy! And with luck, I’ll see you guys next week with some comic fuckery, and maybe even a new layout, ’cause I am just sick of all this green.

And I apologize for the slight crookedness of the scans. I did my best to get them as straight as possible. But at least you can read them.

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!

Last week, we left our fashionably-dressed hero trapped in a device created by the unfortunately named Dr. Anna Matronic, who is quite possibly one of the worst villains, I’d ever seen in a kiddie comic. The ill-fitting device is none other than a mind-controlling helmet that will render Darkwing helpless to the commands of his ineffectual foe once he’s fallen asleep. As part of her dastardly plan, Dr. Matronic had her robo-hounds committing breakins around St. Canard, thus running Darkwind ragged. With sleep gently tugging at the caped crimefighter’s eyelids, it won’t be long until DW meets his doom.

But first, some lighthearted frolic…

Either that’s one bizarre curvature of the spine or she’s just bootylicious.

Gadget Hackwrench (AKA the only Rescue Ranger that fans really, truly, obsessively like) is showing off her inventions to Professor Sniffsnout, one of the scientists on the judging committee for the All-City Technology Competition. Look closely and you’ll see a puff-topped tail on the professor. That’s right, she’s a poodle. A damn poodle in the Rescue Ranger headquarters. Which is in a tree. Which fits the smallest of creatures, like mice, chipmunks, and flies. A fucking poodle. And don’t tell me she’s one of those teacup dogs that old biddies love to collect like Precious Moments figurines.

Anywhoodle, Sniffsnout is quite bored with Gadget’s inventions, disparagingly describing them as “cute” and saying that her fellow scientists will “get quite a giggle out of [Gadget's] tinkerings.” Naturally, Chip is offended that someone would insult his unrequited love interest’s works.

“HOLD IT!” he screams unnecessarily. “What about Gadget’s invisibility machine?” True to her stuffy scientist training, Sniffsnout doesn’t believe that such a thing is possible. Chip invites her into the kitchen where they begin gathering supplies to create Gadget’s wondrous machine.

First a tureen, which is nothing more than an acorn. Then some of Monty’s Limburger cheese sauce. I’m sure ol’ Monty won’t mind. He can always head down to the alley to his cheese dealer and get another shipment–after he’s murdered everyone in a junkie rage.

Then Chip adds some garlic cloves and baby onions. But now he has to touch the “pot” to the ceiling. He innocently wonders aloud how he can ever do that. Professor Sniffsnout, ironically asking if Chip himself is dim, offers to perform the incredible feat. Now all she has to do is turn the pot over and…

Wow! I’m amazed! A pompous, arrogant, educated elitist hoisted by her own petard in an incredibly see-through scheme!

“How can I report to the other scientists like this?” Sniffsnout rages as she stomps away from the headquarters. A brilliant scientist such as yourself can’t go home to take a shower?

Gadget and Chip watch on from the doorway. Gadget thanks Chips, but he shouldn’t have lied. That wasn’t an invisiblity machine, after all.

“Sure it was!” Chip says. “It made Sniffsnout disappear, didn’t it?”

No, Chip, you just made her go away–and stink to high heaven and beyond. Stop trying to be clever. By the way, you’re nowhere closer to getting into Gadget’s jumpsuit.

Let’s get on over to St. Canard and see how DW’s doing.

Not that well. Either Dr. Matronic must have lined the inside of that helmet with Crazy Glue, or the sheer size of Darkwing’s brain created a vacuum. Whatever the cause, that thing isn’t coming off. What else could our heroes do?

DW tries a device that emits a signal strong enough to interfere with Dr. Matronic’s remote signal. It should render the mind-control helmet useless. The signal is pitched so high, only dogs can hear it.

Left no with other option, DW orders Launchpad and Gos to tie him to his bed. (Suddenly I feel the force of a million fangirls shuddering in ecstasy. Brr.) “Without my body, Matronic can’t have my mind!” he reasons. Sounds like a failproof plan. I don’t see how it could possibly go wrong, except, say, Matronic finds out where he lives using some sort of tracking device that’s in the helmet.

Anyway, with DW incapacitated, Gos gets her chance to watch the Senseless Gore & Violence Film Festival on the eleven o’clock movie: Body Count 2000. Reminds me when I used to stay up watching Saturday Night Live–you know, back when it was good. (Mine’s the Bad Boy Era featuring Farley, Spade, Sandler, and Schneider. What’s yours?)

CRASH! Holy crap, what was that? Did DW fall out of the bed? That was some pretty flimsy ropework if that’s the case. But it’s something far more worse…

How the hell did they fit the bed through that window?

I’d worry more about the fact that Dr. Matronic found Drake Mallard’s residence. I think outright destroying her instead of locking her up is a surefire way to eliminate this problem in the future. But my ideas are far too violent for a kiddie comic such as this.

“We’ve got to get him back!” Gos cries obviously. But Launchpad ixnays that: “Drake would never forgive me if I brought you along.” So he hops into the Rat Catcher (DW parked it at his civilian home?) with the declaration that he won’t let anything happen to his best friend and the only person in the Disney universe who will ever put him on a payroll.

But ho ho, dear reader, Launchpad is going to get some much needed assistance after all…

Bless you, you little rule-breaking, snot-beaked rebel. Bless you.

Soon, we’re in Dr. Matronic’s high-rise apartment or wherever the hell she keeps her top secret science-y crap. “Forget the promised crime spree, Darkwing,” she says. “I’ve decided to get rid of you! With you out of way, I can do whatever I want and no one can stop me!”

See anything wrong with that sentence? I see three: 1) Why did she suddenly decide to not make DW go on a fantastic crime spree? That would have made up for the uninspired first part. Is Dr. Matronic indecisive? What’s she like in different scenarios? “I’ll have fries. No, forget the fries, I’ll have tater tots!” “Let’s go with the powder blue satin finish. No, forget that shade, my living room needs to be fuschia!” “I do. No, forget matrimony!” 2) “With you out of way.” I can take lazy coloring in a cheap comic, but grammatical errors in a professional publication really grates my cheese. 3) “No one cane stop me!” Is DW the only law enforcement in St. Canard, or has Dr. Matronic never heard of the police?

With Darkwing completely under her control, Dr. Matronic commands him to step out of a window and “plummet to your doom“… in a totally nonchalant way.

What an inspiring gesture. Just sends shivers of fear down my spine.

Launchpad comes running in, screaming for DW to snap out of it. DW mutters something about breakfast, and Dr. Matronic breaks into song: Rock-a-bye Darkwing/My little mind slave/Lis-ten to my voice/Just ig-nore that knave. Sure enough, the nursery rhyme lulls Darkwing right back to sleep–on top of a pillow with a blanket, no less.

Dr. Matronic sics Robo-1, one of her robo-hounds, on Launchpad. The bulky, dim-brained duck grabs the nearest device and shoves it into the metal mutt’s maw. And believe it or not, this action electrocutes the robo-hound and dismantles it in the next panel. What the hell did LP pick up? A mega-remote that fries circuits and loosens bolts? If so, I want one. I have an enemy whose car needs a little fixing up.

With Launchpad suddenly out of action, Dr. Matronic sings another verse: Sleep-walk to the window/This building’s so tall–/Take my troubles with you/When out you fall…

Darkwing is right on the balcony ledge, just inches away from certain doom… clutching a pillow to his sleeping nogging, natch. The obituary writer for the paper is really going to have a ball with this one. As the clocktower bongs in the midnight hour, who should come in but our favorite stowaway?

Gos blows a whistle–the same whistle Drake used to rudely wake her up in part one. This comic may be corny as all hell, but at least the writer had some knowledge of Chekov’s Rule: If a whistle appears in part one of the story, then it needs to appear at a critical time near the very end of the story. Or something like that.

Dr. Matronic seizes Gos, but she won’t let up. She screams for Darkwing to wake up, but he just talks in his sleep. He’s just inches away from certain doom…

Finally, he wakes up, just as he falls over the edge. “Twelve o’clock?! Gosalyn! It is way past your bedtime! What are you still doing… up?”

Quite a lot to say as you’re falling to your doom, huh? By the way, the clocktower rang eight times on the whole page, even if its face did say 12 o’clock. Crappy clocktower or poor page planning? You make the call.

As Gos cries for the loss of her adoptive father, Dr. Matronic cackles with glee. “HA HA HA! At last! Darkwing Duck sleeps eternal!” Which is a really overwrought line that a lame-ass villain like Dr. Matronic really shouldn’t say. I sure hope the writers saved these lines for Negaduck or some other, better villain.

But wait! DW’s alive! And why wouldn’t he be?! He snatches the remote from Dr. Matronic and smashes it on the street below.

Oh, shut the hell up, you half-bit stock villain.

Dr. Matronic has had it! “Fetch with extreme prejudice!” she screams lamely at her two remaining robo-hounds. The mutts launch themselves at a woozy Darkwing, who slumps down to get some much needed rest. Totally missing their target, the robo-hounds go sailing over the balcony. “MY PUPPIES! NO!” Dr. Matronic shrieks, thus securing herself a spot on my People Who Need to Be Burned for Fuel list.

I mean, what self-respecting villain out for blood is going to scream like a banshee about her easily repaired mecha-mutts falling from a high-rise building? Moreover, what fearsome villain is going to call said mecha-mutts “puppies”? Ugh, she reminds me of every middle-aged woman who insists on calling their dog a puppy, no matter how fucking old they are. It doesn’t keep them young, you dumb bitches. Argh.

Yes, I’m assuming those robo-hounds are easily repairable because this is a comic based on a cartoon. Don’t argue with me!

Look at that. She isn’t even putting up a fight. You fail, Dr. Matronic. Cripes, I’d rather see the ineffectual Phantasmic Four again. At least they were fun.

Whee-hee… two issues in. Cripes, it feels like it’s been a month since I’ve started this. Next week, it’s part one of issue #3, crammed with more Flapping Terror than you can possibly fit in your mouth.

Fine, you come up with a better hook. Stay tooned, scuzzbags!

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