Rampaging through the bosco city of Cleveland, Howard the Duck on a downtown bus viciously attacks the Kidney Lady. "Aaah, shuddup, ya bug-brained old bag! Who cares about your kidneys?!" He gives her a swift kick in the old,gut, his webbed-feet flapping against her belly. "Im goin for the throat!" he froths.

Now, I havent read a comic in umpteen years. The escapades of Marvel heroes like Spidey and Conan usually only lead me to another cigarette, a yawn, and theh its time for McHalesNavy. Ive always, however, been very partial to DUMB COMIX like Not Brand Eech, Spoof, Herbie, and The Inferior Five. Any comic that possessed a spirit similar to Harvey Kurtzmans Help was a delight to behold; anything else was for bumblers who were into Perry Rhodan sci-fi:

Marvels Howard the Duck, though, reconciles both camps: the'klunks who dig Nancy and the fans who swallow the Fantastic Four whole. Often the message recalls the satirical bent of Pogo: more often, though, its just plain fun (the•word Jay Ward practically invented). "Trapped in a world he never made," Howard the Duck must hustle to survive (finally

comicdoms answer to Sgt. Bilko). The premise is wild enough: interweave the world of "funny books" (Uncle Scrooge) with the world.of Marvel "comix" (heroes spouting morals at breakneck speed), add a hunk of cynicism, and you got one great cjamn comicbook.

Nothing illustrates this formula better than in #5 when Howard picks up a copy of "Quakie Duck" at a newsstand. Two kids watch Howard mesmerized, stoned-cold as if Rocky the Squirrel had swooshed from their television into the living r6om. "Im tellin ya, Rudy— its a duck!" Meanwhile, Howard grumbles at Quakie:

"Waitaminit—What in the name o literature is this?!" He thumbs through the comic and sees a Daffy Duck character being pursued by a bear. Quakie runs to a cliff, the be^r misses him and tumbles to hjs death. "Of all the biased stereotypic trash!" screams Howard as he whams the comic onto the floor. "This is an unfair representation of Ducks! It makes Us ?out as sadists—picking on the poor stupid bears!" And? Thats right, Howard has to fork over the 36f( for the mangled comic. "Thats highway robbery! I remember when a dime—"

Despite constant grumbling, Howard maintains a perpetual state of wackiness. His idea of a good time is smoking disgusting cigars and hanging out at bars until someone beats him up. Although he lives with a stacked red-headed honey nahied Beverly, their relationship remains platonic (her boyfriend, Arthur, becomes a turnip and battles Howard in #2). Like all true

heroes, Howard exists to fight corruption and smother evil (even if only in Cleveland). His destiny has entangled him with giant frogs, vampire cows, macho martial arts fanatics, and even wrestlers (Chief Jay Strongbow Beware!). Despite the energies involved, Howards heart keeps pumping.

In fact, Howard the Duck resembles a Robert Mitchum character more than he does a dumb cartoon duck. His sensibilities transcend the comic landscape he inhabits. In #5, trying to earn a few bucks to pay for the baloney, Howard tackles a job as a bill collector. He arrives at a destitute womans house to repossess her color TV. Her husband has deserted her, leaving her with the chore of raising four whimpering kids. It seems he also left her with the TV payments. "He believed the ads, yknow? “Color TV for pCkzf a day?

They dont tell you its for five years. .. or that a $400 set winds up costin $900 ... or that the set wont last the five years youre payin on it. . . and the repairs run to sixty, seventy dollars a year, and its only guaranteed ninety days. I been keepin qp the payments all this time ... cause the kids love it so much. " Through the smoke of his cigar, Howard the Duck looks down at v Lis webbed feet, his shoulders slumped gloomily; he looks out of the corner of his big duck eyes at the tired woman: "Stop it, lady—youre tearin my heart out!" Then he chomps down hard oh his cigar, walks out the door, tears up thebill, quitsthejob, and wrestlesa gorilla so he can pay for his rent. Now tell me that aint a swell guy!!

Roll Over Ted Mack, And Tell George Fenneman the News

THE GONG SHOW A Chuck Barris Production (NBC-TV)

"Its all art," chuckles Chuck Barris as he wraps his elongated arms around Jimmy Sterno. The guest panel (two . celebs is copnpany & three celebs is a game show) screams for Jimmy Sternos blood. Rip Taylor cannot hide the hatred he feels towards Mr. Sterno and his Flames. The mans crime?

Why, no more than a wild exhibition of his private delirious self: Jimmy Sterno the Elvis Impersonator! "Lets gong him til he cracks under the strain," squeals Phyllis Diller. Tyromania is the obsessipn of The Gong Show, a daily televised wonderama of screwy acts, vicious insults, and hyper bobos.

The zaniness which fostered Supermarket Sweep or Almost Anything Goes is apparent here,' except that decadence infiltrates the shows plausibility. Tallulah C.

Ramatam hails from Miami Beach. Chuckie Barris, chewing gum, intros: "Little Miss Tallulah C. is gonna put us right to sleep now, folks, with some incredible spastic tapdancing." Chuck grins real big, the curtain pulls back and a ten-foot tall, colossal woman, her head swallowed by an enormous hood, begins kangaroo hopping to the tune of "Tea for Two." The audience groans. Arte Johnson assumes the J. Arthur r Rank pose and prepares to GONG. Tallulah quickly removes her cocoon only to reveal that she has four arms (ONE PAIR RUBBER). As her hooded cape falls to the stage, its absence also discloses the secret of her high bounces: SLINKIES ARE ATTACHED TO HER WEDGIES! Arte Johnson does not gong but walks off the show. The audience is totally disgusted and starts hurling prunes. Chuck Barris wants to know what Tallulah has scored (DISQUALIFI.CATIONS ARE NOT ALLOWED). Prof Irwin Gorey makes a guest appearance and does his usual bit of walking into the TV camera.

The appeal of The Gong Show is that its a vehicle for seeing kooks. Not since the reactionary Joe Pyne Show have the zitpits of society surfaced in such a mass movement. Old ladies dressed in rubber assuming the most suggestive positions. A Tiny Tim lookalike who does a lion-taming act with plants. Zombies with a flea circus. Death-defying leaps into tubs of lard. And the usual roster of spoon performers, saw players, wine goblet crooners, folksingers, magicians, too many impressionists, clowns, terrible comedians, and even Blockhead Gonzales (who did absolutely nothing but stand perfectly still until Shecky Greene got so pissed he knocked him down and sat on his face).

The winner gets five hundred someodd bucks; the losers get Jiffy Pop and a subscription to the National Star. In the end, though, NO TALENT wins. The point is to get GONGed and make room for the next fool. Emcee Chuck Barris reads a letter from an addicted fan: "Even stooge Chuck Barris deserves the gong." The essential selling point of The Gong Show, then, is that its really the only game show which turns upon itself. The acts which can carry a tune may score the most points, but its tfie crummiest routines which attract the viewer. When a midget dashes out and thfows confetti on the winner, this celebration represents nothing more tbaq the victory of , dehumanization.

TV Grimes Cleveland Ovary will pan The Gong Show. Pauline Kael, if sheiwatched TV, would spit in disgust. Ann Landers would scream in terroL The common slob, though, makes the switch from Lets Make a Deal and leans back in his armchair with beer in hand and says: "Aaahhh, whattafix!"

Robot A. Hull