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Gorillas, Robots, and Spider-Man

24 Feb

February 24, 2011

 

Remember that old commercial for Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups? A guy is walking down the street eating a bar of chocolate, caught up in such gastronomical pleasure that he totally fails to see the guy coming the other way, who is dipping his fingers in a jar of peanut butter and licking the peanuty goodness off his paws and not looking at anything but his own sticky hands. The two guys collide and the chocolate ends up covered with peanut butter, leading to those immortal words: “You sank my battle ship!”

No, no, sorry, These immortal words: “You got peanut butter on my chocolate!” “You got chocolate in my peanut butter!” They then proceed to share their commingled goodies, and as the scene fades out they discover new depths of love and candy.

Well, the subject of this blog is a lot like that, just without the chocolate, peanut butter, or blindsiding. As the title implies, (actually it explicitly states it) this blog is about gorillas, robots, and Spider-Man.

Spider-Man needs no introduction. If you absolutely feel that you must have one take a look at the top of the page. Recognize him? (If you don’t, then where have you been- under a rock all your life?) He’s the guy dressed in a suit that absolutely does not make him look like a spider.

If Spider-Man needs no introduction, then surely gorillas don’t either. Why bother with introductions anyway? It’s not like you are you going to meet a gorilla at a dinner party. “Here you are, Lord Snottington. You’ll be seated between Koko and Kogar.” Who are you, Tarzan?

Behind curtain number three we find a robot. Not just any robot but a Robot Monster-style robot. Guys in gorilla suits are already funny, especially when they do kung-fu in 1970’s flicks, but a robot gorilla? Priceless. You may just remember a little film called King Kong Escapes. What did King Kong fight? A giant robot ape. ‘Nuff said.

By now, or likely much earlier, you may be starting to wonder what the point is of all this. Slow down, sailor. I’m getting to it.

The other day I was cleaning out a closet and in a folder filled with otherwise normal stuff I found three Spider-Man newspaper strips I cut out back in 1998.

Ah, 1998. Remember that long ago year? Before we had Justin Bieber we had The Backstreet Boys, before Lady Gaga we had The Spice Girls, and before Britney Spears we still had Britney Spears, whom I was shocked to discover has been assaulting our ears far longer than I thought.

In movies, 1998 boasted both Armageddon and Deep Impact, proving that two giant asteroid films still can’t be as bad as one Sony’s Godzilla, also released in that year.

In comics, Wikipedia reports that something called Gay Comix published its final issue, Batman creator Bob Kane died, and Marvel cancelled The Spectacular Spider-Man after a 263 issue run.

But have no fear, Spider-Man was still alive in the newspaper (and about a dozen other titles Marvel published) in stories written by Stan Lee. Stan Lee in his time was a genius. He created nearly every iconic Marvel character in the 1960’s, from the Hulk to the Fantastic Four. However, that time has long passed. Later in life he created Stripperella so debate his legacy for yourself.

He also wrote these Spider-Man strips which combine gorillas, robots, and Spider-Man in one small package, like a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.

“That gorilla– so powerful, so fearsome– if it had a human brain nothing could stop it!” Who hasn’t had that thought at one time or another? The problem is that none of us has the ability to do anything about it. Of course, that is no obstacle to New York’s richest man. (I am tempted to wonder if “New York’s richest man” would wear an ugly suit like that, but I am also thinking of Donald Trump’s hair. My theory on Trump’s hair is that it is one big F-you. It says “I am so rich I don’t have to look good.”)

Now that is journalism! Even the Weekly World News never printed a headline as good as that. But look at the last panel- that’s no gorilla, that’s a robot!

A couple of days (and missing strips) have passed, and that’s a shame. I wonder how it defeated Spider-Man? And what does the richest man in New York have against him? If I were that rich I’d have better things to worry about, like where I am going to get a money vault as big as Scrooge McDuck’s so I can swim around in all of my cash.

That’s all I found. I’m sure that Spidey managed to beat the gorilla-bot and save the day. I imagine that the Spider-Man strip has gotten much better since then. Here’s one from 2009:

What the-? That’s it? Some meeting! That Stan Lee is one big tease.

Maybe that’s just one bad day. Let’s see one from earlier this month.

Stan Lee used to be a writer, right? What happened? That’s the single worst strip I ever saw. I get that there is a larger story going on, and some days will be more exciting than others, but who thinks that strip is worth wasting your time on?

This strip has got to get back to the robot gorillas and rich guys in bad suits.

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The Fast Life of Johnny Exeter Junior

21 Feb

February 21, 2011

Johnny Exeter Jr. lived fast and died young. He was the apple of his father’s eye, but the apple was rotten.

My name is Russell. Hollywood they call me. Hollywood Russell. I hear things. And this is a story of wrecked cars, wrecked marriages, and wrecked lives.

From a young age, it was clear that Johnny Exeter Jr. was trouble. By age 13 Sr. had had enough. More than enough. It was off to the military academy for the kid. It was 1915 and Sr. was angling to get the kid a commission. But like a bad penny, the kid was back- and so were his hell-raising ways.

Sr. pulled some strings and got the kid into Stanford when he was old enough, but they cut the strings soon enough and tossed Jr. out. Allegations of booze and fast women were only the printable rumors.

Records show that Sr. shelled out a lot of dough covering the kid’s bad habits. The small checks were simple- $274 to pay for a wrecked car. The big ones not so simple- $25,000 to send pregnant girlfriend Flossie Windsor to France for a couple of years.

By 1926 Jr. was engaged and it was Daddy buying the ring. And the house, and the honeymoon. In Sr.’s mind, little Johnny Jr. could do no wrong, and his marriage to Helen Audubon was just the thing. Never mind the little matter of the Windsor woman and her little Exeter Junior Jr. cooling her heels in France.

By 1928 Johnny Exeter Jr. had a house in New Haven, a wife, and a blackmailer.

A tiger can’t change his spots, and Jr. was a tiger when it came to women. This is where Tony Sponetti entered the picture.

Sponetti was a cheap hood I’d rolled up a few years before for some petty larceny. Now he was back and the skell had an eye on the Exeter cash. On a trip to Atlantic City while his wife was home, Sponetti noticed that Exeter Jr. was making time with Michelle Lander, a dancer in a small speakeasy off the Boardwalk.

Michelle Lander was a sexy platinum blonde with an eye for money and a body to get it. Exeter was no easy mark- he was the easiest. He hooked himself. Soon Sponetti was getting $500 a week, from daddy Sr.’s account, to keep his trap shut. It was sweet.

Sr. spared no expense when it came to his son. First the wedding expenses, then the Sponetti dough, then the quickie Reno divorce.

By 1929 Helen Audubon, a woman who looked the other way, and often, finally had enough and Jr. dropped her without even a thank you. That put Sponetti on ice, especially when Jr. did the legal ring-a-ding and remarried. But not to Michelle Lander. That honey pot had been left in Atlantic City to attract the local bees.

From here the Exeter Jr. story falls into the usual mess a man with limited morals and unlimited cash makes for himself. Married and divorced three more times by 1935, in debt and bailed out a dozen more, Exeter Jr. was finally making a go of a small gin mill when Sponetti came back.

Sponetti had stewed since he lost the cash from the Lander deal, and now he had a way of making some more. Johnny Jr. was into him for a ton of dough from the dog races and Sponetti was calling in his marker.

But daddy wasn’t going to save him this time. It was 1936 and the balance in the bank account was low enough to notice and Sr. told little Johnny that enough was enough.

Gathering his courage and acting like a man for the first time in his life, he stood up to Tony Sponetti.

And Sponetti shot him dead.

No moral here, no lesson to be learned. Just another story I picked up in the hills of Hollywood.

I’m Hollywood Russell and that was the singular tale of Johnny Exeter Jr.

 ——-

This story originally appeared in 2007

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