Why, just today, I used my awesome powers to get an answer from our Legal department by the time I got back from lunch … and that never happens unless I’min trouble!

But before I can give away my methods, we have to keep slugging through the many principles that make up the backbone of my new religion. And today we look at Part The Third - The Need For the Idealized Mythical Figure.

Sure, in a comic book-based religion, you might have thought Superman, or Captain America would be the ideal. Nope. Think again (and think more westernized American culture). It’s Richie $ Rich.

"And my title is 'Master,' bitch!"

Not only does Richie Rich HAVE everything we want – Eternal Youth, a Sidekick Who Can Do Anything AND  So Much Money He Uses It As Stilts For Poor Kids … Richie is NICE.

"Just don't get your homeless foot germs on my money."

His sunny disposition assures us he won’t fall from grace like rock stars and athletes with cribs on MTV. Richie’s country-sized estate would take up a year on MTV.

Richie genuinely cares for everyone. His robot maid, his faux-girlfriend, his dog and butler … even his bratty cousin, Reggie.

Reggie is the dark side of Richie – needing to fill his time pranking people, haughty and uncharitable. But no matter what, Richie  and his family- ever altruistic – forgive Reggie anything.

The key to defeating your enemies - loving their stupid shenanigans!

Why do we need this as part of our religion? Because forgiveness sets the forgiver free. Richie always forgives, secure in his own wealth. His self-esteem isn’t measured in dollars, but in how helpful he is. Is Richie ideal because he forgives … or does he forgive because he is ideal? And, of course, it make your enemies feel like crap (if they have hearts and not frozen pieces of tundra embedded in their chests like me).

Look at the lengths Richie goes to for anyone.

"There must be a solid piece of Dollar's unscooped poop around here somewhere she can use ..."

Like Samantha from Bewitched, Richie is willing to negate all the things that make him what he is for a friend. But he doesn’t do it to make Gloria feel bad, but to be what she wants him to be – like her (though, probably not as bitchy … she wouldn’t want him throwing any “Don’t come back here with a vagina, either!” shit at her. Thus, his paradoxical nickname ”the poor little rich boy.” He is what he is … but suffers annihilation of the self to make others feel better about themselves.

Surely no one is born ideal – if Richie was a poor kid, could he be “the rich little poor boy”? Or would he wallow in his bitterness. Which path would Reggie choose? Truly, Richie is a figure of Christ-like proportions.

What can we learn from the lesson?

1) If your significant other can’t say your middle name (or title) properly, perhaps it’s time to let go.

2) If you’re going to annihilate your self-worth anyway, you might as well give me your money (there are short poor kids waiting for me to make them stilts out of stacks of cash).

3) Forgiveness is great and all, but most of my enemies need a proper smiting.

Next time, we delve into The Need For Enemies That Unite Us.

You can unite by donating large sums of cash below!

Go on ... we dare you!

You know this is important, since we Capitalize Sacred Mysteries, for this is

Part The Second – The Need For An Eternal Mystery

2. All religions must have a central, unknowable core mystery, that keeps people studying it.

I mean, what’s the point if you can follow the doctrines and get what you want without your leader. You need someone to interpret the doctrines and tell you what you’re doing wrong.

In this case, we look at The Brave and the Bold’s “Most Bizarre Team-up.” Batman and ?

I admit, as learned as I am about the Sacred Comic Book Texts, I didn’t see this one coming. Ruby Ryder, a business tycoon, hires Batman to bring back her missing beau. He ends up dead, she’s accused of murdering her boyfriend until, moments before the electric chair, Batman the Great Knower, points out that her boyfriend is still alive!

Wait ... did he identify Plas before or after he started stretching?

But why did Plas do all this?

Dude ... if you want love and can stretch your body parts ...

See? You may figure out the technical details, but a Great Knower is needed to put all the pieces of the puzzle of your life together.

So, what have we learned?

1 – You’re not as smart as a Great Knower like Batman, so don’t try to send him to South America to throw him off the trail.

2 – Being able to change shape is great, but you STILL have to know your place in the world to be happy (Plas went back to being a clown and had his own cartoon, and joined the Justice League. Stretchy people are not meant to be grim and gritty.)

Somebody call the wah-mbulance.

3 – Figuring out people’s motives is like saying “I’m rubber and you’re glue.” You’re just projecting. Because no matter if you figured out Plastic Man was the mystery star, you will never figure out why the editors thought this was what a fun-loving stretchy guy should be all depressing.

Next sermon, we discuss Part The Third - The Need For the Idealized Mythical Figure :

Donate below, so I too, can use stacks of money to make poor children be temporarily taller.

It really DOES have it all!

I’m a sucker for The Secret, Louise Hays’ books, even the cultish proselytizing of What the Bleep Do We Know? Who doesn’t crave an answer to why life isn’t fulfilling, why people suffer and why the hell am I not a rich pimp daddy with my own island?

So for weeks, I’ve been wondering – what makes a good New Age religion? I’ve been studying and I have some commonalities – and how I can fashion my own.

Part The First – The Need For Hope

1) All religions must promise that adherence to the doctrine will get you what you want. Jesus saves, Buddha enlightens, craft a dream board and you get a new house. Oversimplifications all – but rooted in hope.

If FF113 truly does hold that promise, where is it found? Sure, the Grit newspaper ads and finish your high school diploma at home ads promise goals if you follow their dogma. But within the story itself is a powerful metaphor, and tropes we can use to explain the mysteries of life.

The issue starts with Ben’s apparent death at the hands of the Hulk. The team is devastated and of course, all they want is for Ben to live again. But that’s impossible. Johnny slides quickly into Stage Two of Grief, Anger.

All of a sudden, Reed, scientific genius, realizes some critical thing that could save Ben. But it depends on the rest of the team precisely following his orders without question. “Don’t think! Just move! MOVE!” he screams as they fly back to the Baxter Building.

"Oh, that ... I bumped my face on the Negative Zone portal. Reed loves me!"

10 panels later, he is calm enough (and safely ensconced in the lab, his Safe Place and Place for Miracles) to explain that while they were so upset at the shock of seeing Ben laid out by a punch fro the Hulk, they forgot one key thing …

"Tell you in the Fantasti-Car? I could have choked on a bug!"

And only through Reed and Johnny’s tumultuous cooperation, they can revive Ben.

"Face it, Big Mouth -- Yer always right." Remember that.

What have we learned, brothers and sisters?

1 – To achieve your goals, you must listen to only one leader, who is smarter than the rest of you, looks good in blue and is graying at the temples.

2- You must do whatever he says, no matter how irrational he sounds, what demands he makes or even if he refuses to give a nine-word explanation of his reasons during however long it takes to fly the Fantasti-Car across Manhattan or how many seconds it takes to pick up Alicia.

3 – You must use your powers (be they flame-based or the ability to PayPal unneeded currency donations below) for people you barely know or don’t get along with so that Ben may rise again!

Join us next post for Part The Second – The Need For An Eternal Mystery

"I'll pay 75 cents for Canadian shipping! Just tell me the secret of Spidey's mask!"

Last night’s stunner finale of RuPaul’s Drag Race capped for me, as a marketing guy, the culmination of years of work on Ru’s part. Four seasons of ever-growing popularity and ratings, B+ List guest judges and now, a live crowning of America’s Next Drag Superstar that may OR MAY NOT be dependent on Twitter and Facebook input.

Why do I care? I don't even know. I guess it's the branding.

54K+ comments on the Drag Race FB page for the one after-show post asking who deserves the crown. Added to that the mystery of why Willam was let go for breaking a rule and the expected drama of 13 queens getting back together in one room after months of seeing what goes on in the Interior Illusions Lounge … this will be some TV magic.

I’m not sure what lesson to take away from all this. RuPaul has been in the public eye since the early 90s, but the building of this franchise just amazes me. And I worked on three concurrent branches of the Star Trek brand in the late 90s!

I guess I’d say:

1) Never give up, never surrender (Commander Taggart of Galaxy Quest, of course)

2) Keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars (Casey Kasem)

and of course,

3) Good luck, and don’t f#$k it up! (Ru)

Me? As much I dig Phi Phi’s brazen attitude and Chad’s poise … I’ve become a fan. GO #TeamSharonNeedles!

Everybody say “love!”

Let’s dive in to my finds, shall we?

Amazing Adventures #8. I have to say, had I realized earlier that Neal Adams was pencilling the Inhumans, I’d have sought these out years ago. Neal Adams, people! And if this cover wasn’t enough …

Take a look at the splash page. A cameo by Goliath (nee Hawkeye) in his half-shirted 70s glory! Vision posing dramatically! Scarlet Witch not knowing who the Inhumans were (did the Avengers’ reciprocal agreement with the Fantastic Four  to share computer files not start until 1973?)! This one has it all, True Believers!

Polychromatic as peacocks!

It also has typical Roy Thomas scripting (“polychromatic as peacocks” – are they at an Elton John Oscar soiree?), and a story about an embittered black guy named Lionel Dibbs getting a cyborg gun hand (from Stark Industries  - Tony what were you thinking?) and using it AND a fake Black Bolt to wreak havoc in San Francisco.

Thor says he alone has to stop this guy, and the Avengers have to stay behind. The reason for this, we find out later, is that as his alter-ego, Dr. Don Blake, he diagnosed Dibbs with terminal cancer, so he feels responsible Dibb’s rampage and control of Fake Bolt.

I get that, though I think Tony Stark may need to step up and admit he shouldn’t be (pardon the pun) handing out cyborg gun hands to anyone with cancer. Would they not do a background check?

The point of the story was, of course, racism is bad but violence isn’t the answer. Given the current Trayvon Martin/George Zimmerman situation, it’s disheartening to see that we’ve come no farther than this in 40 years. But while we’re speaking of dangerous hands …

I think you can still buy these at any good leather fetish shop ...

Is that … The Governator? Selling leather studded wrist bracelets? Could be … after all – it takes a MAN to wear them! I’m not sure if wearing these will really “turn my arm power on” at the gym, but I’m sure I will get some extra stares as I take on the appearance of ferocious strength!

Perhaps Tony Stark offered these to Lionel Dibbs said, “No way, I want the cyborg gun hand.” Alas, we’ll never know.

The Black Widow story did NOT tangle me in her web. I love Madame Natasha, but a villain whose power transforms wooden floorboards into straitjackets (I can’t make this up, people) was actually too boring (and poorly drawn) to scan.

However, this house ad at the bottom of the letters page gave me a new comic to search through the back-issue bins for …

A whole month???

I want to know how Red Wolf rated a whole month. Believe me, I’m on a mission to find Marvel Spotlight #1 to find out!

See you next post, True Believers!

Heartbreakingly, my dad (gone just over a year now) warned me there would come a day when I was old enough to spend more time going to funerals than weddings. Two people I know – it may be romanticizing to call them friends, perhaps – but people I knew, worked with, partied with – both gone within the space of a week.

It is enough to make you climb back in bed and pull the covers over your head.

I AM DEATH, NOT TAXES. I TURN UP ONLY ONCE.

I fight the inevitability of age. I work out, dye my beard, believe that 50 IS the new 35 and I can keep on wearing Abercrombie & Fitch cargo shorts because they’re comfortable. I don’t drink, don’t smoke, and fill up on those positive affirmations that I will stay young and healthy forever.Until the day this year that a motorcycle fell on my foot, nearly shredding an already weakened tendon. It’s taken months to heal. And why? Age. That’s all, no way around it. 46 years inhabiting the same body and I simply can’t bounce back like an 18-year-old, no matter how low my body mass index is, or how much Egyptian Licorice tea I drink.

That injury rocked me. Rocks me still. Because it demands I address my aging and my mortality. And once you do that, every death near and far is the slap in the face of your limited time, the unseen tumor, the heart that could just stop beating. I grieve and we all grieve that “They were taken too soon!” And we pray to God, real or not, “Just don’t take me! I’m too young!”

“I’m Calista Flockheart. Who the hell do you think I am? I’m Death!”

I want to believe in an afterlife. That the delicious, sweet moments we can know –  from sitting on a back porch watching a squirrel scrabble his way up an ivy-strangled trunk during a humid Southern summer twilight, to walking the red carpet for a movie premiere  you get invited to at the last minute – won’t be snatched away from us unfairly.

“When the first living thing existed, I was there waiting. When the last living thing dies, my job will be finished. I’ll put the chairs on the tables, turn out the lights, and lock the universe behind me as I leave.”

I want to believe the hours of laughter with friends and the crying of teething babies MEANS more than a few neuro-chemical synaptical flashes as we lose consciousness for the last time. That the taste of ice cream sliding down your throat and the smell of jasmin blooming at night can go on and on in another form. That there is an answer to the greatest question of all – Why is there something instead of nothing?

I can believe it as much as I want, but I won’t know till I get there.

THAT’S MORTALS FOR YOU, Death continued. THEY’VE ONLY GOT A FEW YEARS IN THIS WORLD AND THEY SPEND THEM ALL IN MAKING THINGS COMPLICATED FOR THEMSELVES.

Goodbye, Matt. Goodbye, Amy. Goodbye, Dad. Goodbye, Tim. I don’t know what happens next, here or there … but I’m going to try and get a laugh out of it.

Luckily, I’ve already found some.

I’m only recently discovering the cult of the Brony (the tribe of mostly straight guys who unironically like My Little Pony) but this would no doubt be the envy of my new Brony pals …

No, seriously ... I want this. It's only $1600.

I also have to plug MLP producer Lauren Faust’s NEWEST effort, the charming Super Best Friends …

I dashed off a text to my college bud, Complain-A-Lot Lass with this pic – We used to drunkenly worship at the altar of St. Mary of the Cacti when we discovered a homemade shrine to her in North Carolina – and now, time zones away, someone else has the same idea!

"Hail Mary, full of needles ... blessed is the fruit of your prickly spines ..."

This one is what I’d like to claim I am … a stalking tigre … but even on Kung Fuesday, I am usually more of a skulking gato …

Can you feel the love tonight?

and finally, for my chaplain brother, guardian of all things inappropriate (like my life), an avenging angel!

Serra Angel? Sorry, Magic: The Gathering reference ...

So, tonight’s Kung Fuesday feature looks like the 200y Beowulf. Not very Shaolin, to be sure – but I need to get it back to Netflix at some point …

No, NOT that kind of steroids. I finally went to a podiatrist. I’d just incorporated the word “orthotics” into my daily life (which – ugh, just makes you sound old … the Depends are next, I reckon), and now I find out my tendon was nearly (and this is his word) shredded.

Ow.

The motorcycle landed on the side of my foot, but he asked if my ankle rolled. It’s possible, I don’t remember. I do remember searing amounts of pain, and no swelling, which made everyone think I was just a big baby. Turns out, the tendon along the outer side, the one connecting to the heel, was so stretched thin (possibly from all the ankle injuries I had in rugby) that he was surprised it didn’t snap then and there.

And … (again, his words) the healing was done. If I’d come to him earlier, more might be done. Now, it’s steroids to alleviate the last of the inflammation, more orthotics and an ankle brace for physical activity.

What does it sound like this company makes motor oil?

I went through all the stages – anger, denial, grief … and ended up in denial. I can’t live with a shredded rubber band of a tendon. I’ve kept myself staph-free for 2 1/2 years by using manuka honey – I’ll find a way to regenerate this bloody tendon.

Otherwise, what sort of Time Lord can I claim to be?

The steroids ARE doing a great job on the pain. And I’m convinced I’ll figure out a way to heel — heal, myself.

In other, more awesome news, I finished the first draft of my new novel. I will set it aside for a week, then start rewrites. I’m as stoked about that as I am bummed about my foot.

Happy St. Paddy’s and be careful of all your tendons!

Still … it’s Pi Day, and in just glancing at the Wikipedia page for pi, there’s a number of things I could philosophize about about (3.1415926535 8979323846 2643383279 5028841971 6939937510 … to be exact) from Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle to the Feynmen point … but as I need to get to work so as to keep the uncertainty of getting fired from becoming a certainty …

I’ll just say, Happy Pi Day!

Always trying to be rational in a constantly irrationally world ...

The fire appellation comes from the huge, randomly jutting protuberances of reddish sandstone – in effect, it looks like fire frozen in mid-flame. 

Apparently, some giant heads were frozen as well ...

There’s also so petroglyphs in the frozen scarlet flames. It’s a little fascinating to stand there and try to figure out what these ancient people were trying to say – and why it was so important. to carve it into rock. My own interpretation was something along the lines of the people saw the sun, and built a ladder to reach up and touch (or block)  the sun to help (or prevent) it from growing (or killing) the plants.

"All your base are belong to us"???

Hard to translate out of context.

In our age of blogs, what will be left? What will future generations make of the zillions of words and e-glyphs we’ve left behind?

Let’s hope they have an easier time figuring out what we’re doing with our lives than we are …