A Commissioned Tribute To An Icon: Wildcat

[WEDNESDAY 09/05/05 UPDATE, 1pm: Figures that the day my image host, photobucket.com, starts seriously crapping out is the day The Mighty Spurge puts up a very nice link to my Wildcat tribute. Sorry folks; if you don't see any images below, check back later. And often, visit often. Endemic Treponematosis sucks. Warranty void if case is opened.]

I got Paypal'ed to post something really long that's comics-related, and since I've written bits & pieces about this issue in blog-comments sections for a few years now, I might as well get it out of my system:

If you were to poll cartoonists and discerning comics nerds on who their top-five favorite DC characters are, Wildcat would be in almost all of them. Why? Because he fucking rules.

No powers, no origin to speak of, a streamlined costume that still manages to be tacky and no accessories save for the occasional stock motorcycle. Give this unstable asshole a tank of gas, a case of domestic beer and a pack of cinnamon gum, point him toward the nearest docks and he'll raise hell and cave ne'er do well's heads in all night long. He's like Wolverine but without the pussifying mutant healing factor, the creepy knuckle-knives and the pathetic projection fantasies of dozens of comics writers who wish they could have been badasses and turned the tables on their childhood bullies. You never see Wildcat giving long soliloquies about how he's the best at what he does or that he's King Shit of Fuck Mountain so no one dares to mess with him. You know why? Because he's a real badass -- or at least he will be, so long as he's not written by puny writers -- and the only drinking-class hero in comics.

Here's a textbook example of how Wildcat rules, from JSA #54. The Justice Society and Justice League are having their Thanksgiving meal together, and while it's being prepared, the teams are mingling and chatting up in the penthouse. Wildcat is apparently the only hero with a rational set of priorities when it comes to choosing between tapping an open bar or chatting with bland tools like the new Dr. Fate or Firestorm.



I'm violently allergic to alcohol, but even I would be pouring it back in order to avoid long conversations with The Atom, who I imagine as the Scott McCloud of Earth One.

Wonder Woman, written here with an invisible broom handle up her ass, is lecturing some of the womenfolk:


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Let me do the math on this panel: Wonder Woman's ass + Power Girl's boobies + the word "syphilis" - the word "smallpox" x the word "genocide" = a boner at half-mast, memorializing the death of no one.

Wildcat shows his stand-up comedian skills by saying exactly what we're all thinking:



The artist really likes drawing sneers on faces, whether they require them or not. Alcoholics could make an excellent "Elvis face" drinking game out of just this issue. [Look at Wonder Woman and say "Priscilla!" It's fun.]

Wildcat elaborates on the above thesis, leading to this confrontation:


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At first glance, I could swear there's a fly or two buzzing around his head every time I look at these panels. I admire any man who takes the the time to palm the back of someone's head but doesn't put his drink down in an argument. See how ramrod straight Wonder Woman is? Invisible broom handle.

THE MONEY SHOT, SO PAY ATTENTION: Power Girl, having no personality of her own, decides to act on Wonder Woman's behalf:


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Let's take a moment to think about this. Wildcat is:

1. without the power of flight.
2. without the power of flight, a grappling hook or anything other device to save himself.
3. very old.
4. very old and very very drunk.
5. flying head-first out of a skyscraper's top floor to his death.
6. flying head-first out of a skyscraper's top floor to his death, and the only person who seems troubled by this is Stargirl.
7. Not staring at Power Girl's ass like you dorks are.

Captain Marvel and Superman save Wildcat on the next page -- without asking any questions about his being shotgunned out the window in the first place. No wonder these dipshits were almost outfoxed by the leader of The First Wife's Club Revenge Squad. By the way: Just to show that DC characters have feet of clay, note that Wildcat failed to achieve a W.C. Fields and hold onto his bottle as he rocketed out of the building.

Anyway, how unsavory a character is Wildcat, you ask?


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So unsavory that even Captain Marvel will lie [lie!] to keep Wildcat's warty dick and saggy nuts away from his sister. Even making an unwarranted Elvis Face in the second panel isn't enough to pry Mary Marvel's digits out of Senor Shazam. [And she fucked Swamp Thing once! Solomon Grundy watched and masturbated.] Wildcat: The Fictional Embodiment of Lenny Bruce's Bit About How An Injured Man Could Be Dying But Still Make A Pass At The Nurse.

Mr. Westmoreland once told me that a man has to be good at at least two of four things to live a full life: Three of them are Drinking, Fighting and Fucking. A great man is great at all of them. This is what makes Wildcat a hero to us all.



*******

Some leftover images from that JSA issue I thought were too funny not to share:


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More "heroes" should trash-talk and threaten each other while brandishing drumsticks.



A freelancer friend of mine told me that the Batman-as-Asshole character cycle is winding down, so perhaps Bats will have some potatoes next Thanksgiving. Why would he sit down to eat if he's not eating? One of the wretches at the kids table would be delighted to have his seat, the prick.


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A pair of obscure villains attack, of course. The bowl on Power Girl's head just fucking slays me every time.

The teams take turns beating the crap out of the villains and order pizza pie instead: twenty "meat lovers" [which always sounds dirty to me] and one vegetarian, because superdupers love their crapping to be irregular yet high-volume. It takes two guys to just deliver the pizzas -- who knows how many minimum-wage slaves to make them -- on time, but Batman tips both teams 25 percent at best. What an asshole.



They forgot a thought-balloon here; the deliverymen thinking "YOU STINGY COCKSUCKER" which gives the free-breadsticks line the piquant aftertaste it deserves.

The End. Paypal jar and e-mail are to your top right; go in peace.

6 comments:

Bill said...

You need to do this more often . . .

Dorian said...

I'm glad to see another person come around to seeing the glory of Wildcat.

Goody said...

Brilliant!

evaristo said...

I can't help wondering what the fourth thing you have to be good at to live a full and happy life is. Minding your own business? Not asking stupid questions? Math(god forbid)? Anyway, loved the post!

Dean said...

I like that the artist has evidently decided that Wonder Woman is seven feet tall.

TK said...

'He's like Wolverine but without the pussifying mutant healing factor'

Er, except, you now, in the literal sense. He is a giant pussy. But, luckily, there are few parts of anatomy that are stronger and more adaptable!

Love Wildcat, especially when he's roaming with the Birds of Prey.