And then there's this guy.
Let's get the obvious, inevitable juvenile stuff out of the way before we get into any unforeseen juvenile nonsense: You know who this is, right? And you know his name, right? Yeah, that name.
Unus. Unus The Untouchable.
I'm sure every Real Frantic Marvelite Zombie has called this idiot Anus The Untouchable at one time or another. I mean, could it even be helped? We're all human (except for those lizard people who run the world, but let's be reasonable here, folks) and sometimes these things can't be helped, even if we're trying our best to act civilized and upper class like the appalled gentry in the "Would you please pass the jelly?" Polaner All-Fruit Spread commercial. It can't just be me that eyeballed the name "Unus" for the first time and immediately saw that "U" morph into an "A", leading to a giggle fit. It can't be just me who wondered just what the hell Smilin' Stan and Jolly Jack were thinking. I mean, besides:
STAN: Gotta get this book done, Jack.
JACK: I know, I know. Gimme a minute. Okay...we did a magnetic guy, a vanishing guy...a fast guy, a fat guy...so...how about ...uhhhh, an untouchable guy?
STAN: An untouchable guy? What do you mean?
JACK: (gesturing with his hands to evoke a force field around himself) Yknow, he's got a force field or something. Nobody can get to him if he don't want them to.
STAN: Huh. Untouchable. Okay, not bad. What'll we name him?
JACK: I dunno. How about something like...Onus?
STAN: Aha! That's it! Unus! Unus the Untouchable!
JACK: It's O --
Stan CLAPS Jack on the back as he moves towards the door, throwing his sports coat over his shoulder.
STAN: Okay, Jack, go home and make some magic! I gotta get going, got a licensing meeting with Marty!
JACK: Hey, uh, Stan, about that thing I asked you about, y'know --
STAN: Can't, Jack! Gotta go! Gotta go!
The door SLAMS as Stan exits the office.
STAN (os, fading): I'm gone! Excelsior!
Jack stares at the door for a beat or two. Nothing moves in the silent office save for his cigar, playing back and forth in his clenched jaw.
Anyway, is.anyone a fan of this Unus guy? Really? You're lying. You are! It's UNUS fer chrissakes! Nobody draws Unus unless they have to, or they're stupid and want to make fun of Unus on their lame blog. UNUS!
Listen to me!
I'm not sure, and I'm not looking it up or worrying about it any, but besides his name being stupid -- it might actually be his actual birth name, for all we know while reading his first lame appearance in X-Men # Whatever-the-Fuck. Unus was this doof's ring name in the professional wrasslin' game, as exciting a handle as Bastion Booger or The Red Rooster. Actually, it might be more exciting than The Red Rooster. Actually, it is, but so is "Mr Wrestling 2". Or, "Dondi". So, before Unus became a boring super-villain, he was called Unus by his friends, loved ones and associates. As in, "Hey, Unus, while you're up, get me a beer, too!". "Unus, my man, hey, it's been a while!". "I'm sorry Unus, but we're repossessing your vibrating bed.".Is Unus a first name or a last name? Johnny Unus? Unus O'Brian? Dondi Stuart Unus?
I say thee ewww. I'd rather be called "Dorkin" than "Unus". And I hate that name. That...that name of mine.
Wait a minute. Back it up.
Another wrestling digression, with feeling: Being untouchable, I have to say, is a very, very boring wrestling gimmick. I'd have rather watched Gorgeous George or Tricky Ricky Starr any god-damn-day than this dopus standing there while his opponents don't touch him. He stands there, and somehow is a popular attraction. "Tonight! See --Unus The Untouchable --Not Get Touched!" They say them tickets sell like hotcakes, Joe, like hotcakes. I say bullshit, Joe, because this premise DOES NOT WORK. Wrestling, like boxing and pornography, is all about people getting touched, getting touched with style. Or...something. Wrestling is not about not-touching. So, Unus as a big draw, nuts to that. He'd be covered in tossed plastic cups and half-eaten hot dogs in the middle of the ring. Or not covered, I guess, clearly he wouldn't want to let that stuff touch him, because he's not a monster heel like, say, Scott Hall, who in his prime (?) could work with a beer tossed in his face. Anyway, I don't believe in Unus as a wrestler, and this doesn't allow me to believe in him as a super-villain. So there.
And it doesn't help Unus' case any that his origin stinks. His origin is...oh, hot diggity, it's that old lazy standby, the comic book writer's friend -- he's a mutant. No origin story. Unless you count being asked to be evil an origin story:
MASTERMIND is talking to Unus in his trailer.
1) MASTERMIND: So, Unus...want to be evil?
2) UNUS: I dunno. I gotta think about it.
3) MASTERMIND: Oh. Um. Okay.
On Mastermind, fists clenched, thinking to himself.
4) MASTERMIND (thought balloon) Bah! I wasn't prepared for things to turn out this way!
5) MASTERMIND (thought balloon): Must report back -- to Magneto!
Unus wears stupid wrestling gear, which, by and large, translates into stupid evil gear: Black trunks with an odd design that might look comfy in an Erik Von Daniken book, worn over itchy-looking longjohns. Or something. The longjohns have a turtleneck collar. I guess Unus can be touched by sudden chills and drafts. His boots are okay. Wrestling boots are almost always okay, as long as they don' t have fringe on them. You may notice I have a lot more to say about professional wrestling than Unus The Untouchable. He's dishwater dull, this fellow. A silly gimmick, a terrible name, a boring costume, a nothing personality. I'd be surprised if they made a Heroclix of this guy. Uninteresting. Uninspired. Double-plus ungood. Unus is in the same sinking lifeboat with the Vanisher and The Toad, in my opinion, two other mutant mishaps whose main ability is to bore readers. And since this is my blog, my opinion counts more than anyone else's, yes, even more than the late Donald O'Connor's.
Unus stinks. I wouldn't touch him with a you-know-what. Those lines I drew around him? Yeah, they could be taken for a visualization of his force field in effect. They could also be traditional stink-waves emanating off his stinky ol' self. You know where I stand.
Away from Unus. Far, far away from Unus.
I thank you.