Ten of a Kind: PWNED!!!

(More Ten of a Kind here.)

Separated at Birth: The Fastest Man Dead

L: The Flash #174 (November 1967), art by Carmine Infantino and Murphy Anderson
M: Secret Origins #41 (June 1989), art by Mike Mignola
R: Countdown Special: The Flash #1 (December 2007), art by Ryan Sook
(Click picture to Big Sir-size)

Saturday Morning Cartoon: Little Wolf

"Little Wolf" by An Vrombaut (1992)

Today's cartoon suggested by the ever-delightful Lucy-Anne

Friday Night Not Fights, Ladies Night: H+I 4Ever

Okay! It's Friday and you know what that means, buckaroos: Friday Night Fights! I've been trainin' my fighters all week, setting them up with reps on the speed bag, drinking raw eggs and wrasslin' Wonder Dog, and now I'm ready to let loose, Hilary Swank style! Let's ring the bell and let the fights begin!

What's that? Friday Night Fights is postponed?

Well, poop.

Huh. So, if it's not Fight Night, then I guess I have to show some ladies not fighting, right? Some women being friendly and pleasant to each other instead of trading punches, huh? Hmmm, I think I know a couple what fits the bill poifectly:

Ivy loves Harley.

All panels are from Harley and Ivy #1-3 (June-August 2004), scripted and co-plotted by Paul Dini, pencilled and co-plotted by Bruce Timm, inked by Shane Glines, colored by Lee Loughridge, lettered by Tom Orzechowski

And, Harley loves Ivy.

Yes, even when our cheerful couple of criminal cuties have a falling-out, you just know there's a reconciliation on the horizon:






Yup, that's our larcenous lassies! These gal pals never let the world get them down, and they're always gonna be the best of friends forever. And...

...and...

Sheesh, Friday Night Fights is boring when there's no fights. Um, Miss Ivy, could ya...


Poifect. Thank you, goils!

Bahlactus has declared/Never turn the other cheek/And he said with might/Get ready to fight/I'll be back again next week!

Now these two I'd vote for.

A Wodehouse a Week #66: Indiscretions of Archie

I am not allowed to read Cosmopolitan magazine. Every week John takes me to the newsstand and I am allowed to buy some magazines with my pocket money. I am allowed to get Time Out London and Games and MAD and Starlog and Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine and especially Bull's Life. But I am not allowed to get Cosmopolitan magazine. Why? Because it looks like this:



No, I am not allowed to get Cosmo no matter how much I ask for it:



No matter who is on the cover:



But it didn't always look like that! Here, take a gander:



Fact is, once upon a time, Cosmo was a literary magazine, especially under the ownership of William Randolph "I am not Charles Foster Kane" Hearst, Cosmopolitan was a leading fiction periodical. Isn't that right, Wikipedia?

...it was subtitled The Four-Book Magazine since the first section had one novelette, six or eight short stories, two serials, six to eight articles and eight or nine special features, while the other three sections featured two novels and a digest of current non-fiction books.

But by the 1970s, Cosmo had turned into a women's magazine featuring fashion, advice, and models who have trouble bundling up for cold weather. I blame Helen Gurley Brown, the little-known older sister of Charlie Brown, because I sure would like to plunk down my twelve cents on the counter of the newsstand, fix the newsagent with a firm stare, and ask him for a copy of a magazine that contains four whole books for me to read. Also, some M&Ms and a packet of Doublemint.

What's all that got to do with Wodehouse, you may ask, Kind Reader? It's because tonight's Wodehouse a Week, Indiscretions of Archie, originated in that now-sexy magazine: Indiscretions of Archie was first serialized in short stories that appeared in Cosmopolitan during 1920 (and turned into book form in 1921). Man, what I woulda given to get that magazine in my postbox once a month throughout the year of 1920! (Plus, all those saucy daguerreotypes of Mary Pickford on the cover!)

Indiscretions of Archie is a series of linked stories that are a bit of a departure for Wodehouse: they feature a married hero, the titular Archie Moffam (pronounced "Moom"). Affable but aimless Archie has gotten married to the lovely Lucille Brewster, daughter of Manhattan hotel magnate Daniel Brewster, who loathes Archie's very presence, and that, as they say in the sitcoms, is where the fun begins. In fact, the basic premise of Indiscretions of Archie is very much an early situation comedy, with each chapter an episode in Archie's adventures to ingratiate himself with his bristly father-in-law but failing miserably (until book's end, of course). That traditional sitcom triangle of sweet daughter, bumbling son-in-law, and prickly father is a comedy classic, as, say, f'r instance, in the John Ritter Three's Company spin-off Three's a Crowd. But just like Cosmopolitan magazine for its time, it's all very innocent and G-rated for every audience—probably a little too tame for ABC-TV's Tuesday night late-seventies line-up but a perfect frothy comedy for this little stuffed bull.

In many ways it's also a predecessor and a practice run for Wodehouse's Bingo Little short stories: the adventures of a cheerful but aimless young man and his adoring wife, and aforesaid young man's frequent attempts to make a bit of ready cash on the side without dear wifey finding out. Wodehouse didn't feature too many married protagonists—he was more interested in getting the booted towards the altar rather than hanging around after the rice had been thrown to see what happens—so this early comedy-romance is a bit of an unusual duck for Plum's work. Which in my book makes it absolutely a delight: it's different enough from the later more-predictable (but always fantastically entertaining) country house plots, and his dialogue and description is, nearly twenty years into his career, sparkling and witty. Which is not to say that there isn't a handful of clichôs in Indiscretions of Archie: in a plot—later much used in movies and sitcoms—Archie accidentally bids for an expensive item at an auction. Nowadays we can look at a scene like this and shake our heads at the predictability of Wodehouse, but hey, it was 1920! In the words of Montgomery Scott, "how do we know he didn't invent the thing?"

'Willie,' he observed, eyeing that youth more with pity than reproach, 'has a face like Jo-Jo the dog-faced boy, don't you think so?'

Archie nodded briefly. Precisely the same criticism had occurred to him.

'Forty-five-five-five-five-five,' chanted the high-priest. 'Once forty-five. Twice forty-five. Third and last call, forty-five. Sold at forty-five. Gentleman in the fifth row.'

Archie looked up and down the row with a keen eye. He was anxious to see who had been chump enough to give forty-five dollars for such a frightful object. He became aware of the dog-faced Willie leaning towards him.

'Name, please?' said the canine one.

'Eh, what?' said Archie. 'Oh, my name's Moffam, don't you know.' The eyes of the multitude made him feel a little nervous 'Er—glad to meet you and all that sort of rot.'

'Ten dollars deposit, please,' said Willie.

'I don't absolutely follow you, old bean. What is the big thought at the back of all this?'

'Ten dollars deposit on the chair.'

'What chair?'

'You bid forty-five dollars for the chair.'

'Me?'

'You nodded,' said Willie, accusingly. 'If,' he went on, reasoning closely, 'you didn't want to bid, why did you nod?'

Archie was embarrassed. He could, of course, have pointed out that be had merely nodded in adhesion to the statement that the other had a face like Jo-Jo the dog-faced boy; but something seemed to tell him that a purist might consider the excuse deficient in tact. He hesitated a moment, then handed over a ten-dollar bill, the price of Willie's feelings. Willie withdrew like a tiger slinking from the body of its victim.

...but Lucille is a good deal more understanding than Rosie M. Banks (Mrs Bingo Little), even suggesting he pop into a pawn shop for a bit of ready money:

'That's all right. You can pawn that ring and that bracelet of mine.'

'Oh, I say, what! Pop the family jewels?'

'Only for a day or two. Of course, once you've got the thing, father will pay us back. He would give you all the money we asked him for, if he knew what it was for. But I want to surprise him. And if you were to go to him and ask him for a thousand dollars without telling him what it was for, he might refuse.'

'He might!' said Archie. 'He might!'

'It all works out splendidly. To-morrow's the Invitation Handicap, and father's been looking forward to it for weeks. He'd hate to have to go up to town himself and not play in it. But you can slip up and slip back without his knowing anything about it.'

Archie pondered.

'It sounds a ripe scheme. Yes, it has all the ear-marks of a somewhat fruity wheeze! By Jove, it IS a fruity wheeze! It's an egg!'

...which has a lovely callback when Lucille uses the same phrasing in reply to Archie's joy:

'This really does begin to look like the point in my career where I start to have your forbidding old parent eating out of my hand.'

'Yes, it's an egg, isn't it!'

'Queen of my soul,' said Archie enthusiastically, 'it's an omelette!'

What a lovely little lady! I'm sure that when Keira Knightley and I am married, she will be as understanding and as ready for me to go to the pawnbroker's.

No, no problems here with the lovely Lucille. The fly in the ointment is dear old Papa Brewster, who (of course) didn't approve of Lucille marrying this Englishman, much less Archie sponging off him by living rent free in his finest hotel.

'Have you really inflicted this—this on me for a son-in-law?' Mr Brewster swallowed a few more times, Archie the while watching with a frozen fascination the rapid shimmying of his new relative's Adam's-apple. 'Go away! I want to have a few words alone with this—This—wassyourdamname?' he demanded, in an overwrought manner, addressing Archie for the first time.

'I told you, father. It's Moom.'

'Moom?'

'It's spelt M-o-f-f-a-m, but pronounced Moom.'

'To rhyme,' said Archie, helpfully, 'with Bluffinghame.'

'Lu,' said Mr Brewster, 'run away! I want to speak to-to-to—'

'You called me this before,' said Archie.

...and every attempt to ingratiate himself with dad-in-law sets Archie further down the path:

Mr Brewster snorted.

'I am informed that this precious friend of yours entered my grill-room at eight o'clock. He must have been completely intoxicated, though the head waiter tells me he noticed nothing at the time.'

Archie nodded approvingly.

'Dear old Squiffy was always like that. It's a gift. However woozled he might be, it was impossible to detect it with the naked eye. I've seen the dear old chap many a time whiffled to the eyebrows, and looking as sober as a bishop. Soberer! When did it begin to dawn on the lads in the grill-room that the old egg had been pushing the boat out?'

'The head waiter,' said Mr Brewster, with cold fury, 'tells me that he got a hint of the man's condition when he suddenly got up from his table and went the round of the room, pulling off all the table-cloths, and breaking everything that was on them. He then threw a number of rolls at the diners, and left. He seems to have gone straight to bed.'

'Dashed sensible of him, what? Sound, practical chap, Squiffy. But where on earth did he get the—er—materials?'

'From his room. I made enquiries. He has six large cases in his room.'

'Squiffy always was a chap of infinite resource! Well, I'm dashed sorry this should have happened, don't you know.'

'If it hadn't been for you, the man would never have come here.' Mr Brewster brooded coldly. 'I don't know why it is, but ever since you came to this hotel I've had nothing but trouble.'

'Dashed sorry!' said Archie, sympathetically.

'Grrh!' said Mr Brewster.

Archie made his way meditatively to the lift. The injustice of his father-in-law's attitude pained him. It was absolutely rotten and all that to be blamed for everything that went wrong in the Hotel Cosmopolis.

It's not just these three that populate mid-town Manhattan's most hotel: like any good sitcom, the cast is bolstered by grand appearances of characters and guest-stars galore. There's the Sausage Chappie, a pal of Archie's so hideous that his future as a horror movie star is ensured the moment a movie producer walks in the hotel lobby; The Growing Boy, the small son of a diet guru whom Archie enlists to win a pie-eating contest, and Roscoe Sherriff, the gung-ho movie publicist whom we've met in Wodehouse's Uneasy Money. In short, enough plots and personalities to populate an entire BBC series of half-hour sitcoms, and enough left over for the spin-off following the happy event of the final chapter finally pleases Mr Brewster with his son-in-law: the announcement that soon they'll present him with a bouncing little grandbaby:

A curious change had come over Mr Brewster. He was one of those men who have the appearance of having been hewn out of the solid rock, but now in some indescribable way he seemed to have melted. For a moment he gazed at Archie, then, moving quickly forward, he grasped his hand in an iron grip.

'This is the best news I've ever had!' he mumbled.

'Awfully good of you to take it like this,' said Archie cordially. 'I mean, being a grandfather—'

Mr Brewster smiled. Of a man of his appearance one could hardly say that be smiled playfully; but there was something in his expression that remotely suggested playfulness.

'My dear old bean,' he said.

Archie started.

'My dear old bean,' repeated Mr Brewster firmly, 'I'm the happiest man in America!'

The Grinch with his triple-sizing heart? Ain't got nothin' on Daniel Brewster at the end of Indiscretions of Archie.



While we wait for some brilliant telly producer to snap up the rights to a weekly Indiscretions of Archie situation comedy, there's better way to while the hours than to read "The Book That Inspired The Hit TV Series!": the original stories, now back in print in an expensive paperback edition, thanks to our old pal Public Domain. Pick up a copy by clicking on the Amazon link to the right, or, if you're as low on cold cash but as savvy as Archie Moffam, read the whole bally thing online for free. For the most authentic results, lounge about in the ornate lobby of your cranky pa-in-law's hotel, mooching free wifi and putting shrimp cocktails on your wife's tab. Mmmm, yummy shrimp cocktails.

A Wodehouse a Week Index.

Bully's Sketchbook: Phil Foglio

Here's another lovely drawing of yours little stuffed truly from my sketchbook. This one's by Mr. Phil Foglio, the cheerful, friendly and talented cartoonist who I discovered with his funny and fanciful MythAdventures comic books and one of my favorite space adventurer series, Buck Godot, Zap Gun for Hire. In those days I never dreamed he'd someday be drawing me!:


Phil was drawing sketches at San Diego Comic-Con to benefit the Cartoon Art Museum in San Francisco, a fine museum and establishment that I highly recommend. If you're on the left coast, it's well worth a visit, and wherever you are, you can help support the museum. Tell 'em Bully said to do so!

Phil, with wife Kaja, is currently creating the gaslamp-era mad-sciency Girl Genius, which is pretty awesome except in one respect. Hey Phil...doncha think Agatha needs a small bull sidekick? Huh? Huh?

Thanks for the sketch, Phil...and everybody else, enjoy my cartoon plumpness!

So long, Jerry.

Rest in peace, Jerry Reed.
1937-2008

You and what army?

These armies, bub:


Click all ads to Patton-size











And when you get tired of toy war, why not move on up to the next level?:


Just remember, in the words of Nick Fury:


Isn't that right, Martika?:

(Read more about comic book toy soldiers and ads at the excellent website The World of Comic Book Toy Soldiers!)

It's a great day for a picnic

...which means...