Sunday, November 27, 2005
Speaking of handicaps...
I'm thankful Superman never wanted my parking space.
Face it, the Supermobile ain't a compact. Superman needs room to park that sucker and it must be conveniently located, because when you're a big-time hero, time is often of the essence. This means ... Superman takes Handicapped Parking spots. Because he can get away with it.
"Excuse me, sir, your supermobile is blocking the full access ramp and -- say, that's a handicapped parking spot!"
"Sure is, 'wheelie'; wanna make something out of it?"
"But--but that's for folks who are handicapped like--like me!"
"I'm Superman, sweetie; from where I sit, all human beings are handicapped and I can't tell the difference. Besides, without me, your planet would have been long since incinerated into space dust by one of the weekly comets I save it from.
Tell you what; I'll go easy on you. I'm going to toss you a couple miles away from here, but, because I'm such a nice guy, I'll throw you in the chair and maybe it'll help break your fall.
And if you're lucky you'll land somewhere near the crumpled up ball of steel and plastic that used to be your hydrolift-equipped van."
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Haw! And if she's really lucky, she'll land on top of the crumpled up ball of tweed and hair that used to be "the Chief" from the Doom Patrol!
I just posted the new Fury costumes on my blog.
That "Supermobile" was an early example of a "toyetic" story.
The vehicle on the cover was also (and, I'd wager, originally) a toy from the Corgi company.
The fists, plastic painted silver, could be retracted into the housings along the side of the ship. Push down on the top of the ship's exhaust port and the fists would pop out in a "punching" motion.
Young Harv adored his Supermobile, despite knowing that Superman wouldn't need such a thing. Six year olds don't care about logic, dammit.
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