When learning a new language, the hard part isn't memorizing a bunch of new words to substitute for the ones you already know. To truly master a language, you must understand idioms. Figures of speech don't translate directly even across the same language--Bob is not my uncle, you limey! Stop saying he is!--so you can imagine how difficult it must be for a native Russian or Spanish or Greek speaker to figure out what Americans mean when we say we're beating a dead horse because we have a chip on our shoulder

If, however, you ever find yourself in a scenario where you are teaching English to someone and he takes pause at the phrase "phoning it in," the solution is a simple one. Hand him a copy of Incredible Hulk Annual #17 because there is no more clear example in history and that includes all the times people have literally used a phone to complete a task.

I consider myself a bit of a connoisseur of bad comics. My first paid writing gig and my first published book both owe a debt of gratitude to my obsessive dissection of stories about Lois Lane bathing in mercury and radiator fluid and Jimmy Olsen trading brains with an ape and Mr. T fighting inner city ninjas. As such, I wish Incredible Hulk Annual #17 was half as terrible as a Superman, Wonder Woman, and Supergirl shilling for Radio Shack. Unfortunately, it can't quite muster the effort to be bad enough to be accidentally entertaining.

The book gets off on a dull foot with a story about the soldier who gave Hulk his name nearly slapping his kid, drawing a parallel to Bruce Banner's own abusive father. Peter David wrote that and the second story, in which Betty Banner makes friends with Tyrannus by teaching him about makeup.

Both stories are boring, but competent. Neither felt like it was begging to be told. But compared to the rest of the filler in this issue they seem to rank right around the Warren Commission Report in terms of importance.

The third "story" is a two-page parody of the old Mean Joe Greene commercial for Coke. In this case, five people who won a drawing to appear in a Hulk comic learned just how terrible that prize could be. Instead of getting to be in a Hulk comic drawn by Dale Keown, they wound up in a "Popsi" joke drawn by some anonymous Bullpenner.I have to say the part that annoyed me most was that the kids later call Hulk "Mean Joe" and he throws them his torn shirt, which winds up the size of two king-sized comforters sewn together by the time it reaches the kids. Of course, had I won what I believed to be a legitimate contest and bought a double-priced comic book to find my "likeness" was used in a throwaway joke that neither the writer or the artist wants to be credited for, my "part that annoyed me most" might have been different.

The next story focuses on Rick Jones, who is on a book tour promoting his autobiography, "Sidekick". After a signing, someone tries to run Rick down with a truck, but a kid who considers himself Rick's biggest fan shoves Rick out of the way. Rick goes with the kid and the kids' girlfriend to a diner and gets up to leave after fifteen minutes because he's tired of listening to the kids go on and on about how great Rick is. The art for this story was done by John Statema, who is probably best known for not actually dying back in 2001 when it was reported that he did. What's a shame is that in Jerry Ordway's obituary, he neglected to mention the mind-blowing fact that Statema went his entire life without ever seeing an actual human being eat an ice cream cone."Woman in foreground is eating an ice cream cone? Where am I supposed to find reference for that? I supposed I'll have to lightbox the cover image to this VHS copy of Fat Black Cock Worshippers Vol. 5... again!"

The kid follows Rick out to the parking lot and the same truck tries to hit Rick again. Rick subdues the driver and we learn it's a former member of Rick's Teen Brigade who is jealous because Rick has had a good life while his own has been mediocre. Rick then takes the opportunity to shit all over his biggest fan.That's the guy who's on a national tour promoting his book about how he's been buddies with Hulk, Captain America, Rom: Spaceknight, and Captain Marvel and became a card carrying member of the Avengers simply by hanging around celebrities--often in spite of Bruce Banner warning him to get away for his own safety--belittling an emotionally stunted teenager who gets bullied at school regularly and has toilet bowl caliber self-esteem for being excited about saving his idol's life and knowing a lot about Rick Jones at a signing of Rick Jones's autobiography.

Of course, the kid sees Rick is completely correct and apologizes for being a weirdo and wishes Rick well, leaving the reader to wonder what the point of any of it was. There is no compelling reason to tell this story. Rick comes off as an asshole. The pathetic bullied caricature remains a pathetic caricature now bullied by his idol. The obsessed former fan club member angle comes out of nowhere and is given all of one panel to be explained. The only moral to the story appears to be that a complete lack of understanding of perspective and anatomy or ability to transfer same to paper does not preclude one from being paid to be an artist for the world's largest comic book publisher.The only redeeming think about Rick's story is that it's followed by an even more pointless story starring even less interesting characters, Achilles and Ulysses of the Pantheon. And the only redeeming thing about Statema's art is that it's followed by inker John Stanisci's attempt at being a penciler.If my eight-year-old son drew that, I would spill a glass of iced tea on it before he could ask me to hang it on the fridge. When Hulk editor Bobbie Chase saw it, she said, "I'm going to put this in a book that dedicated fans will have to pay twice as much to read as they do for the monthly comic drawn by a man who is already coming to be known as one of the quintessential artists in the decades long history of this beloved character."

The story is about a kid with superspeed who gets recruited by Justin Hammer to help Whiplash, Ringer, and Barrier (I've heard of 33% of those guys before) steal some plans to an experimental aircraft. Ulysses and Achilles show up, the kid realizes Justin Hammer is a criminal, and everyone fights for a page and a half, which allowed John Stanisci to cash a fat paycheck for drawing this.Ultimately, the bad guys are beaten up, though it's not always clear how it happened because Stanisci makes an effort not to draw action whenever he can instead show the aftermath of action. (In Stanisci's defense, writer Eric Fein likely shares some blame here for trying to fit so much action into four panels tightly backed on the bottom half of a page.)While the kid expresses concern that his family is in financial straits due to his mother's medical bills, and feels guilty for taking a job without considering it might be illegal to break into a high security technology firm, but laments being out of work regardless of the morality of said work when one's family is in need, Achilles and Ulysses congratulate themselves on a mission accomplished.

What? This was a decade before George W. Bush declared "Mission accomplished" prematurely, so this isn't an ironic, timely reference. Rather, it appears the comic book ran out of pages and Fein had no choice but to end his story by having the heroes be completely blind, self-obsessed shitheads.

Again, the story seems utterly pointless. The kid isn't joining the Pantheon. Achilles and Ulysses are not developed as characters (which is the subject for another post at another time). The villains are D-list characters who, likewise, do not develop and could be any number of interchangeable mediocre, barely known villains.

Overall, Incredible Hulk Annual #17 is a dumping ground for what was probably audition material for artists like Statema and Stanisci that Marvel then threw into a giant-sized package and sold in bulk. None of the stories in it makes even the vaguest attempt at capturing anyone's imagination, much less out attention.

I think I would like "The Walking Dead" TV show a lot more if it wasn't called "The Walking Dead" and if the characters all had different names. Robert Kirkman let it be known early on that the TV series would take a different path than the comic, but it's hard to understand why.

The Walking Dead is an established story that has won awards and become the flagship title at Image Comics despite plenty of doubts. A friend who works at Dark Horse found a rejected, decade-plus-old pitch for the series amidst a stack of boxes in one editor's office a few years ago. I met Tony Moore at a comic convention in Las Vegas trying to push the first issue on me. I recall reading it and dismissing it as a 28 Days Later ripoff as soon as Rick awoke from his coma in the abandoned hospital on page 3.

Obviously, Kirkman has a good thing going to have overcome many doubters, so why change it? I know the comic book community is infamous for treating minor continuity changes in other media as apocalyptic, but this is different from giving Spider-Man organic webshooters or making the Punisher a Gulf War vet from Miami instead of a Vietnam vet from New York.

Most comic book movies or shows are based on the characters, and as comic readers, we've see a lot of different takes on those characters. Superman's powers have fluctuated depending on writers and editors, going from being extra tough, strong enough to bend a steel bar, and able to leap over tall buildings with a single bound to being able to push a planet out of orbit and fly faster than time itself. Batman, who refuses to ever touch a gun or kill a criminal, used to carry a gun and, in his first appearance, punched a dude into a vat of acid and remorselessly declared it "a fitting end for his kind."

So we come to accept that, as long as certain key elements about the characters remain the same, we can overlook some changes. As long as Spider-Man lets a crook get away only to have that crook murder Uncle Ben, it doesn't matter if the crook is burglarizing the Parkers' home or carjacking Uncle Ben. As long as Bruce Banner turns into a green mass of muscles when he gets mad, it doesn't matter if he was exposed to gamma radiation through medical experimentation or the explosion of a gamma bomb.

However, turn Daredevil, the ultimate "justice lies in the hands of the court" advocate, into a vigilante who tracks down guilty criminals who get off on technicalities and murders them in cold blood or replace the British John Constantine with Keanu Reeves and move him from London to Los Angeles and you lose your audience.

The difference is that "The Walking Dead" is not a character. It is a story. And unlike Bruce Wayne being a rich guy who dresses up like a bat and fights crime to avenge his parents' deaths at the hand of a mugger, "The Walking Dead" is not just a few key elements. It is all key elements. It is a chronicle of the activities of a group of characters as an event unfolds. And once you decide to change those, you are no longer telling the story.

Perhaps the best way to illustrate this would be to consider if Marvel announced it was making a Daredevil: Born Again movie. Not a Daredevil movie, but a film specifically adapting Frank Miller's Daredevil #227-233 story arc.

But when you go to the theater, eager to see one of the greatest comic stories every written projected on a forty-foot high screen, you find it opens not with Karen Page selling Daredevil's secret identity for heroin, but instead Typhoid Mary revealing it on a radio talk show. And Kingpin doesn't ever get the secret identity because he's murdered by the Owl around 20 minutes into the movie. So instead, Matt Murdock's life is driven to ruin by a completely new character made up by the screenwriter (and who is later written into the current Daredevil comic). And Nuke attacks Hell's Kitchen around the 40 minute mark instead of the movie's climax and the entire second act is about Daredevil and him palling around and fighting crime and Nuke struggling with how to tell Daredevil that he's asked Karen Page to marry him until the third act turn where Bullseye shows up to kill Daredevil, but Nuke leaps in the path of the bullet, saving DD.

While all that might work in a generic Daredevil movie (albeit a terrible one), it is not Born Again. Likewise, while it makes sense that Rick and his group might try to get to the CDC to learn more about the zombie plague and see if there's a cure/immunization, it's not The Walking Dead.

Instead, we have a TV version of a Walking Dead What if...? comic. Now, I am on the record as loving What if...?, but there's a reason the stories in them are one issue long. While we may be curious how the world would be different if the Avengers lost the Evolutionary War or if the Fantastic Four never got their powers, we don't want to read about it open-endedly month after month. That's why so many What if...? stories end with everyone dying.

Sure, it's interesting to find out what would happen if Carl didn't kill Shane within the first few days of Rick arriving at their camp.But that moment in issue #6 is a key element of The Walking Dead. Similarly, Dale is one of the most important characters in the book, briefly serving as the leader of the group and saving the lives of most of the current group by leaving the prison before the massacre there, and his relationship with Andrea is a cornerstone of the story, but instead he's been killed by a zombie before the group even reaches the prison... if they get there at all, and he and Andrea argued from the start of season two through to his death.

Adding to the What if...? air--and making things more frustrating--as pointed out by David Anaxagoras, is that the show keeps visiting certain key moments from the comic, making it just similar enough to remind you that you could be watching an adaptation of the comic you love.

Overall, what I find most frustrating about "The Walking Dead" is my inability to objectively tell what I think about it. Is it a bad show, or does it just fail to satisfy my desire for an adaptation of The Walking Dead? Would I enjoy it more if I didn't know who these characters were and how they were supposed to interact or would I realize they are flat and undeveloped without that knowledge I am bringing to the table?

Ultimately, as is the case so often for comic readers, I will continue to watch no matter how far short of my hopes and expectations the show falls because I want to keep hoping it will get better and don't want to miss out when it does, then cursing myself for continuing down this disappointing path.

In light of Chris Sims's love letter to Nextwave not-so-cleverly disguised as an answer to a question about monster hunters in comics--in which he disqualifies one character from being comicdom's greatest monster hunter for not having been around long enough then hands the title to a character who's been in one 4-issue miniseries and a 12-issue team book that wasn't about monster hunting--I dug up my 2006 review of Nextwave #1.
----------------
I'd heard varied reports around Comicblogtopia. Some people said Warren Ellis's Nextwave was great; others took the stance it was terrific. A few bloggers have indicated Warren Ellis's semen has a rich buttery flavor and is delicious on a baked potato.

I've made no attempt to hide my utter contempt for Fell and Ellis's lame, forced pseudo-weirdness within. When I picked up Nextwave, it was with the promise from Chris that "even though [he knew I] didn't like Fell, [I] would really like Nextwave because it's completely different."

All I needed was one frame to tell me Chris is a dirty, dirty liar.

This is what passes for humor when you are Warren Ellis or when you are eleven years old. Absurdist humor is much more difficult than it looks, and sadly, as it looks extremely easy, it's quite inviting to people who think they are funnier than they actually are the world over.

All you need is to list a bunch of really bizarre images and you're a comedian! Right? A weasel is only mildly funny on its own, and a giant weasel is even funnier. Dress it as a cheerleader and you're getting somewhere. Have the giant weasel dressed like a cheerleader use a human as a bucket and pants everywhere are being wet with laughter.

The fact there is no art accompanying that caption tells me one of two things, possibly both. Either Ellis felt that caption was so funny on its own, no imagery Stuart Immonen could provide could possibly live up to the idea people would form on their own, or he hadn't quite decided exactly what he was going say there by the time Immonen started drawing it.

The follow up to that frame, which actually came earlier making it the "I'm pretty sure this book is going to suck but Chris promised me it was good so I'll give it the benefit of the doubt and keep reading" frame:Oh, no, you di-in't! New Jersey is so burned right now! Making fun of New Jersey is so not cliche! I also am proud of myself for recognizing that Dirk Anger is a parody of Nick Fury. Hang on... Fury... Anger... Those are synonyms! Damn, that's sweet!

Making jokes about New Jersey is on par with jokes about airline food being bad or how "black folks and white folks be different, y'all."

The greatest example of successful absurdism is Monty Python. Unfortunately, Monty Python tends to convince more people than any other source of the seeming simplicity of absurdism.Just put together a singing trio of vikings in a diner that serves Spam with every dish and you have a classic sketch that will be quoted by teenaged boys for decades to come.

Nextwave has a very basic plot: a superhero team crosses paths with Fin Fang Foom. The absurdist moments should be garnish to that, but instead become blaring sirens and flashing neon signs announcing "Warren Ellis is SOOOOO fucking clever."

Why is Fin Fang Foom wearing purple underwear? So Ellis can refer to it repeatedly because it's SOOOOO fucking clever. Why was "The Captain" originally known as "Captain "? Because it's SOOOOO ing clever. Why are the Human Resources henchmen made of "slabs of genetically modified kelp"? Because as I learned when I was at the beach in 1986, "kelp" is a funny word.

I could go on and on, and in fact, I have. Instead, maybe I'd be better off discussing all the parts of Nextwave that didn't suck and/or were actually funny.

Dirk Anger's hightech, top secret communications device:Admittedly, that's pretty fucking clever.

I recently watched the entirety of BBC's "Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares" on Netflix. In every episode scales back, limiting the chefs to smaller menus and simpler ingredients.

I bring this up because I've been putting off writing a review of Superman's Girl Friend Lois Lane #16 because I haven't had a lot of free time to write of late. Then, as Gordon Ramsey explained that a good broccoli soup can be made from broccoli, salt, and water, I concluded this story need no embellishment.

One day, Lois gets jealous of Jimmy Olsen's Superman signal watch...

But when he gives her one of her own, Superman forgets to consider that women are stupid and worthless (per 1960's comics written for adolescent boys). She calls Superman when she has a nightmare.



On the note of Superman's temper, compare how he speaks to Darkseid when the latter comes to destroy the Earth...... to the way he speaks to Lois about calling him to spring her from a stuck revolving door.As always seems to be the case when Lois, Jimmy, or Superman says anything in public, a petty criminal happens to be standing nearby, overhears, and devises a plan to use this new development to his advantage.The plan is to have Lois draw Superman away from a bank robbery. But Lois flips the script and refuses to signal Superman because not doing so allows her to lay a guilt trip on Superman.

I am trying to write three books and am constantly complaining about how little time I have to accomplish anything due to my 50-60 hour a week day job, so a lot of blogging about comics has fallen to the wayside. However, since I read the first three issues of Fear Itself this weekend despite rarely reading any of the big crossover events, I thought I would weigh in, albeit briefly.

I don't get it.

Less briefly, I don't know why I'm supposed to care about this story. Granted, I've been out of the mainstream of Marvel for years, only checking in briefly when X-Factor has an obligatory tie-in to the major event or getting summaries from Twitter that lead me to Wikipedia to learn why and how Norman Osborne is in charge of the world or whatever the hell that was about. Still, I don't think my ignorance of current storylines is what's holding me back.

It just seems like a by-the-numbers "major threat is posed to the world and the superheroes band together to fight it off" story, but without anything to get me actually interested. It feels like it's been put together by a committee that drew up specific guidelines based on past event comics. Destroy major cities, turn heroes against one another, kill off a notable character who also happens to be totally expendable,, etc. In this case, the committee also realized the series would kick off during the hype of the Thor movie, and that the general public would expect Steve Rogers to be back as Captain America in time for that movie, so in addition to the other points, the threat should be Norse-related and Bucky would have to die or otherwise be removed from his role as Captain America.

In reading the third issue, one moment really stood out for me as even more out of place and awkward than everything else.I assumed this was Matt Fraction's nod to the old tradition of the Yancey Street Gang razzing the Thing whenever he came back to the old neighborhood, but this seemed a little extreme. Why would you heckle the superheroes who have saved the world multiple times when another threat is being posed to the planet as we know it? This feels like a Jew during the liberation of Auschwitz yelling, "Hey, Americans, I sure hope you unlock those gates faster than you fought the Battle of the Bulge, ya jerks!"

Then I realized if I lived in the Marvel Universe, I might feel this way, too.

For nearly a decade, Marvel citizens have lived under an almost-constant threat of annihilation. The disassembling of the Avengers and subsequent demutanting of the populace were minor blips compared to the Civil War that saw a nuclear explosion wipe out Stamford, Connecticut and a battle between superheroes that destroyed several blocks of Manhattan.

Significant chunks of New York City have also been destroyed in the Skrulls' Secret Invasion and World War Hulk, as well as Hell's Kitchen being transformed into a demonic feudal kingdom under the leadership of Daredevil. At this point, if Galactus comes down and says, "I'm going to eat your planet," the average guy must think, "Ho-hum, speaking of eating, what should I make for dinner?"For shocking twists to be shocking, for tense moments to be tense, for dire consequences to be dire, there needs to be some downtime. Otherwise, the rebirth of an ancient Norse god of fear taking control of the most powerful heroes and villains and bending them to his will with the intent of razing the planet is just another day in the Marvel Universe.

Previously, Superman challenged Batman and Robin to figure out his secret identity, which necessitated his erasing his secret identity from their Batbrains with a Superbraineraser. Despite Superman's cheating and completely missing the point of his own challenge, Batman figured out he was Clark Kent in two days. This made Supes declare he could figure out Batman and Robin's alter egos in the same 48 hour time frame without using his superpowers.

So, what's his plan? To fly after Batman and Robin and learn the location of the Batcave... since apparently the ability to fly is not a "superpower" today.

But Batman is prepared for Superman's liberal interpretation of the rules.

Oh, shit! Batman don't play! This may all be in good fun, but Batman will fucking kill you, Supes!

Completely tapped for ideas, having exhausted all of one, Superman turns to Batman's playbook. The plan to find Superman's true identity kicked off with a public appearance, but the Dynamic Duo is to busy fighting murderous clowns and acid-scarred former district attorneys to waste time opening grocery stores.

But since Superman has no other fresh ideas, he stays up all night building a Batman Museum.Remember, crafting an entire building and creating and collecting enough Batman memorabilia to fill an entire museum overnight through the combined use of superspeed, superstrength, and flight are not superpowers.

While the mayor and various other Gotham officials arrange a hasty dedication ceremony and rezone the area where Superman dropped the building, the Last Son of Krypton shrinks himself down and goes to visit a bunch of other Kryptonians in Kandor. There, he borrows a Kandorian telepathic hound from a pet store.

Like bloodhounds follow scents, Kandorian telepathic hounds track their game by picking up on brainwaves. So to recap, Superman's plan is to do exactly what Batman did, only find an encephalograph that will run itself so he doesn't have to learn any technological mumbo jumbo.It's not very clear why Batman and Robin feel the need to escape their own ceremony, but considering they were able to tunnel their way out of a building that's only existed for a few hours and build a handy trapdoor to cover the exit, maybe Superman's speedy construction of the Batman Museum could be accomplished without superpowers after all.

The better strategy seems to be remaining in their superhero identities all day. If Batman and Robin remain at the ceremony, then go on patrol, and spend the evening in the Batcave defragmenting the Batcomputer's hard drive, Superman will never learn their true identities without snatching the masks off their faces. Of course, Batman has a reason for running away... to totally rub Superman's nose in his own ineptitude.Anticipating Superman's plan to boost his own plan, Batman anticipated that he should figure out a way to convert the encephalograph from a receiver to a transmitter. That's like turning your TV into a television station.

However, this scene raises so many questions. How close are Gotham City and Metropolis? I'd always assumed they were at least in different states. Looking it up, it appears that they are either on opposite sides of New York City or across Delaware Bay from one another. Either way, it's safe to assume they are at least a few miles apart. Since Kryptonian dogs gain similar superpowers to Kryptonian people when they arrive on Earth, how is it Batman and Robin are able to outrun Superman and the telepathic hound all the way back to Clark Kent's apartment? And how does Superman not recognize that the dog is leading him up his own stairs and into his own apartment until he actually opens the door? And once Superman gets shown up, why not turn it off and continue pursuit since Batman and Robin must be right around the corner?

Apparently, it's because he's plunged into a terrible super-depression.Superman gets so distracted by his inability to accept that anyone might be better at something than he is that he forgets what he's doing in the middle of a task that should take him about seven seconds and has to be reminded to stop a falling satellite from crushing a neighborhood.

Recognizing this as a genuine threat to humanity, Batman tells Robin he is concerned about Superman's mental state and tries to call the whole thing off.Superman starts to reveal that he's been visiting the Bureau of Vital Statistics because it holds a vital key to finding the Caped Crusader's secret identity, but is interrupted by a cartoonishly Hispanic man who asks "Super Hombre" to chase off the killer whales that are ruining his unnamed nation's fishing waters.

The next day, Batman and Robin find a mysterious golden dome in Metropolis. When they approach it, alarms go off. Superman steps out and explains that the alarm system is set to go off anytime anyone wearing a grey body suit with a blue cape and cowl or a red shirt with green panties and a yellow cape approaches. He escorts them inside and shows them a computer from the Bureau of Vital Statistics and explains that it's going through the 1960 Census data and will be able to determine Batman's true identity from that.

Batman and Robin have a brief sideways glance to one another and agree there's no way Superman can figure out their secret identities from census information, but Superman just laughs and warns them not to try to sabotage the computer while he's away on a top secret supermission since he will know if they come anywhere near the building... in their costumes...Unable to think of any possible way to foil a security system designed specifically to recognize the colors of their costumes, Batman and Robin have no choice but to bumrush the computer building in their civvies. The only thing missing are the "Hello, My Name is BRUCE" and "Hello, My Name is DICK" nametags. As they approach, however, they find that Superman wasn't on a secret mission at all but has been hiding inside with the computer waiting for Batman and Robin to take the bait. Presumably, in the hours that passed several banks were robbed and countless people perished and Lois Lane fell off three buildings and Jimmy Olsen drank a radioactive potion that turned him into a bunny rabbit and a handful of people grew concerned that Clark Kent had just vanished around lunchtime and never came back to the office.

Superman has a good gloat about how smart he is and how he's proven himself the equal of the world's greatest detective while Bruce and Dick "Aw, shucks" for all they're worth and curse themselves for falling into the oh-so-clever trap. But when Superman flies away to spin the Earth backwards and undo all the tragedy that's befallen mankind while he hid out waiting to surprise Batman, the Dynamic Duo breaths a sigh of relief that the contest is finally over.And thus the lesson: The only way to win with Superman is to let him beat you quickly so he stops wasting your fucking time.

Lots of love to Gregg Schigiel for the Bunny Olsen

My son is a terrible sport. He cheats at every game you play with him and when he can't cheat, he will announce abrupt changes to the rules. While in the midst of a pinfall while wrestling, you will be informed that you get zero points and he gets 5000 because you weren't allowed to use your arms. Footraces hinge not on the first person to arrive at a predetermined destination but on the youngest participant.

It's terribly annoying and everyone in the family has at one point or another told him, "I don't want to play with you. You are not any fun."

Of course, we can say this because my son is a six-year-old boy with the average size and strength of a six-year-old boy. Were he an alien with the strength to push the Earth out of orbit and the ability to shoot heat rays and radiation from his eyes, we'd probably change our attitudes.

A recurring theme in World's Finest stories is Superman deciding it would be fun to challenge Batman to some kind of contest or to pit himself against some other renowned figure and prove himself an equal. Unfortunately, any time Superman gets even a hint that he might lose--just like my son--he either changes the rules or pouts until he gets his way. And worse, he doesn't recognize the hollowness of the resultant victory.

Take for example World's Finest Comics #149's "The Game of Secret Identities."

Clark Kent gets a scare that his secret identity might be in jeopardy, not because the investigative journalist he chooses to spend every day sitting ten feet away from has finally nailed down another irrefutable piece of evidence proving he has god-like powers, but because someone left a flier under his door. Never one to take advertising lightly, Superman puts a chicken in his Ronco Rotisserie, sets it and forgets it, and flies to Gotham City where he breaks into the Batcave.

While the flier proved to be a false alarm, Superman explains to Batman and Robin that he's worried maybe someone could see through his true identity if they tried hard enough. He wants Batman, as the world's greatest detective, to see if he can figure out his alter ego.

The only problem is that Batman and Robin already know Superman is Clark Kent... but they don't have to! Superman--passively making it clear he's already decided Bruce Wayne is going to take him up on the offer--has brought along his Selective Amnesia-Inducer.Forget for a moment that Superman has just suggested zapping the world's greatest crime-fighting mind with a alien brain-erasing laser to satisfy a curiosity raised by a snake oil advertisement found on the floor. For a moment I want to focus on the example used to illustrate a typical Selective Amnesia-Inducer's success story.

What do you expect our sad Kryptonian friend up there to do as soon as he leaves the Selective Amnesia-Induction Center? I'm guessing it won't be too long before he calls his buddy Khal-Kar to suggest they grab a few Kryptonian ales or go see the new Lyla Lerrol flick, gets into an argument with the Widow Kar, and learns that his best friend suffered a tragic death that he knew nothing about. Yes. That's a much better outcome.

Batman and Robin agree to the Kryptonian mindwipe and set about trying to learn Superman's secret identity the very next day. At a media event, they hide an encephalograph in a news van and scan Superman's brain, figuring his brainwaves will be different from those of a human. But they get no reading whatsoever.Bear in mind that Superman's excuse for the potential riskof lobotomizing one of his best friends and one of history's greatest crimefighters was that he wanted to know if he might be tipping his hand and risking his secret identity. To learn what he claimed he wanted to know, he needed to continue on with his normal life and allow Batman and Robin free reign to discover his identity.

Instead, he's decided to make it a game of Show Up Batman! All he's proving is that if Lex Luthor loudly declares, "I am going to figure out Superman's secret identity through intense scrutiny and advanced technology," Superman has a few tricks up his sleeve. But unless he intends to allow his Superman Robots to take over all his superheroic duties moving forward, the entire exercise is pointless.

Batman, however, is nothing if not resourceful. He trails the Superman Robot back to the Fortress of Solitude and manages to break in only to find that Superman, who'd been hiding out there until the robot warned him Batman was coming, had removed all evidence that revealed his secret identity.What should be a lesson of "Don't keep wax figures of yourself in your civilian identity on a display that reads 'Clark Kent is Superman' in your publicly known hideout" instead becomes a "Fuck you, Batman" and a pat on the back for being sooooo clever.

That's when Batman pulls a little "Fuck you" of his own. He deactivates all the Superman Robots before leaving the Fortress of Solitude, forcing Superman to make an actual appearance at another media event the next day. There, Batman finally gets the unique brainwave scan he wanted and is able to track Superman back to an apartment building in Metropolis.Superman--again, knowing someone is trying to expose his secret identity through encephalographic means--alters his brainwaves, preventing Batman and Robin from getting absolute proof of his secret identity. So, Batman presses forward with the pointless exercise and invites the four men to a place where he can hook the up to the encephalograph and monitor their brainwaves while they watch a slide show of Batman and Superman's varied adventures.Is the encephalograph really necessary at this point? Superman must be one of these four men, but which one? The jug-eared horseface, the one with the mustache, the bald one, or the one who looks exactly like Superman wearing glasses and a business suit?

Despite the answer being pretty obvious, Batman goes ahead with the experiment and while Superman masks his brainwave patterns for a while, his interest in hearing Batman say nice things about him during the slideshow overwhelms his cautiousness and exposes him.

Having been found out within 48 hours despite not really playing fairly, Superman listens to his wounded ego and declares he can learn Batman and Robin's true identities without using his superpowers. His plan? To use superpowers, of course... but that'll have to wait for Part Two...

In my last post, I noted that Superman considered the story of World's Finest #87 to be the "strangest adventure" he'd ever had with Batman and Robin. After all, it's not every day that Superman loses his powers or some other hero close to him gains superpowers.

No, maybe not every day, but it is close...

It should also be noted that these examples are only taken from issues of World's Finest Comics collected in the first two Showcase trades, a span of 75 issues from #71-145. There are many more stories of this type that take place before and after and in Superman or Action Comics.

Also, to qualify, an example had to be taken from a story where Superman losing his powers was a central part of the plot. Scenes where a thug tosses a chunk of kryptonite and knocks out Superman for two panels were unacceptable.