A wise man - I believe it was Mr. Green Jeans from "Captain Kangaroo" - he once said, "Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster, man." This pithy quote may in fact be the inspiration for this week's offering, a tale of men, monsters, mayhem, betrayal, bikinis, and a comic book company desperately trying to stave off bankruptcy.


Atlas was a short-lived Marvel challenger, a mid-1970s attempt by Marvel's old publisher to capture some of that Marvel magic and some of that Marvel market-share. In spite of an ambitious slate of projects and some impressive creative talent, the comic book buying public remained indifferent, and neither retitled Tippy Teen reprints nor the advent of the Man-Monster here could stave off creative and financial disaster. But while we're here, why don't we see what all the fuss is about?


Look out Paul Sanders, former Olympic swimmer and disgruntled oil dynasty scion! Ignore the buxom young swimsuit-clad writers from Women's Lib Magazine (?!?) and look out for the Man-Monster behind you!


When you're out there digging up those relevant stories, choosing the right bathing suit is important. Woodward and Bernstein, for instance, were never seen without their trademark orange Speedos.


I can see the stunning expose now. "Hey Ladies, It Turns Out Rich Dudes Are Creeps."


Wow, Paul Sanders Sr. gives all his employees yachts? I bet that parking lot is crowded!


Oil rig work is dangerous, highly skilled labor that requires focus and concentration. So Bob, quit staring at the boats, huh?


Well, enough journalism and petrochemical engineering! Time for some man-monstering courtesy subterreanean bacteria and a "tidal wave of gigantic proportions" which is, what, four feet? Five feet high?


I don't want to say this will happen to you if you ignore the water quality warnings at your local beach. But, why take chances?


Well, it sure looked like we were going to get some exciting sea rescue visuals concerning Dusty and Liz rescuing Paul from certain doom, not to mention them figuring out how to pilot that yacht, that's the REAL adventure, avoiding that swinging mainsail boom as it swings around and clonks you in the skull. But the story just handwaves past all that action, in favor of "parking."


The wind, sun, and ocean water can really do a number on your skin, guys! Don't be like Paul here - never neglect your moisturizer!


We have man-monster, repeat, we have man-monster. We also have that other comics standby, the character who is written and drawn as a Black person but for some reason is not colored that way in the final product.


Who are the real monsters here - the dude turned into a scaly red fish man, or the reporters ignoring ethical and humanitarian considerations for the sake of a good story?


"Dear Penthouse Forum, I never thought it would happen to me. But there I was, my nearly nude body being practically kidnapped by two sexy liberated females who wanted me for their own nefarious purposes! Also, I was a red scaly sea monster man. You can edit that last part out if it isn't sexy enough."


Note: Dusty had a fifty dollar bill and a note that read "you didn't see nothing" in her bikini


Where exactly is it taught that the best remedy for Sudden Onset Sea Monsterism is a shower?


Well, hey, I was wrong, turns out a hot shower IS the best treatment for Acute Monsteritis!


This dialogue is all "make a quick split" and "let him kick off", it's like watching a football game in a Dairy Queen.


I feel like the nearly drowned, clearly ailing man ought to get the bed instead of a hotel suite couch, but it's not my call. Anyway, if he wasn't by the open window, he wouldn't be menaced by the anything that's happening!


Comic book pacing is a delicate business, and if you aren't careful in your storytelling, you might wind up with a panel that's just somebody's hand hovering in mid air over somebody's head. Also difficult is comic book writing, in that I believe this is the first time the character of "Hell-Blazer" has appeared anywhere, so what sort of emotional investment we're supposed to have in one brand new character menacing another brand new character is kind of questionable.



That is... that is not a plan. That's just a goal. Why are you even giving this the courtesy of the "thinking real hard about this" gesture, Sanders?


You - - dare to threaten some trespassing, embezzlement-suborning masked lunatic with the police? Because that is a perfectly appropriate course of action.


ZAT! Right in the trunks. That will teach Sanders to not fix swimming matches or to not agree to vague, practically nonexistent plans delivered by freaks in masks!


And here's why you should just stick with your snubnose .38 instead of going through all the research and expense of building your own laser pistol - because that laser pistol is what turns mild-mannered Paul Sanders Jr. into the Man-Monster on the cover of this very comic book! A .38 would just turn him into a corpse. Which is what you wanted!


Hell-Blazer is well equipped, he's got a magic flying suit and a laser pistol and everything. What he DOESN'T have is a dime for the phone call that this failure of a meeting could easily been replaced with. Just think of the amazing team they would have made - Hell-Blazer and the Man-Monster doing the Money-Stealing from the Dad-Father!


Hell-Blazer is off to get a brown trenchcoat and some cigarettes and start hanging out with demons as Keanu Reeves plays him in the movies. Meanwhile, if you want to please *your* man-monster, my advice is to turn up the heat, give him some sensation-pleasing heat. Yeah, I don't know what that means either.


Slowly, painfully, the memory of a feeeeeemale wells within his amphibian brain cells - a girl whose earlier internal monologue told us she was a light sleeper, and yet apparently she slept through a loud conversation, a laser blast, a man-monster eruption, and the crackling of a hotel fire. "Light sleeper," my foot.


Many dangers here, one of which is how Man-Monster's leg looks like it's going to keep on stretching until it reaches all the way to the ground.


Another difficult part of comic book creation is when you have a dialogue balloon that's clearly supposed to be coming from policemen talking about a man-monster, and instead somebody in the process turns it into a man-monster thought balloon and gives this entire business a real schizophrenic touch. Well done, Man-Monster.


Don't you know who he is? He's Paul Sanders Senior! He'll call the Governor and have you thrown off the force unless you start, uh, I don't know, you aren't firemen, I don't know what he wants you to do. Cut the bull? You can cut some bull, right?


"I demand you arrest that man-monster, HE'S the one responsible for the shoddy, flammable construction and lack of alarms and sprinklers! Not me, him!"


Why do you hate that man, Man-Monster? He seems like such a nice, calm, undemanding fellow! Well, can't wait to for that first exciting issue of Man-Monster in his very own comic book so we can find out what happens to... what's that? Man-Monster never got his own comic? In fact this is the last anyone would ever see of Paul Sanders Junior and Senior, and Hell-Blazer, and the Bikini Reporters, and Man-Monster? Gosh, that certainly is... extremely understandable. Let this be a lesson to everyone who tries to swim near oil rigs, or bankrupt petrochemical millionaires, or start their own comic book company. Avoid the Man-Monsters.

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