If watching two hot prehistoric babes lock limbs and wrestle is wrong, THEN I DON’T WANT TO BE RIGHT – Anthro #6

There’s nothing more boner-inducing than two hot Betty and Veronica proxies pulling hair and entwining legs and tugging hair and almost accidentally kissing. If you want proof, just look at Anthro and that face of contentment. Friends, I live a rich life. I’d bet my own stash of hides and stone tools — hell, the whole cave — that he’s crossing his legs to hide his flagpole. Ladies, ladies, please…There’s plenty of me to go around!

As the cover tells you, this issue (Story & Pencils: Howie Post, Inks: Wally Wood) brings us Anthro’s senses-shattering wedding. To get to that point, though, our pubescent Cro-Magnon has to find his bride-to-be Embra (the blonde), who’s out in the forest somewhere. He sets out to track her, deploying his full panoply of hunting skills:

Horse sniffles are a tracking tool? Really?

It’s not his babe that Anthro finds first, but a savage white lion. After a pitched man vs. beast battle in which he loses his horse and barely escapes death, he’s bailed out by a hideous bow-wielding racial caricature:

Is this World War II propaganda? Did I miss something?

Hoy Sen — might as well call him that — provides a penumbra of safety for Anthro, but our teen eventually wanders off and then finds himself trapped — but it’s a good kind of trapped:

Inventor of the copout. Groovy.

Anthro tags along back to his bride’s village, and after some preliminaries we get to the advertised Stone Age nuptials. Interrupted Stone Age nuptials:

I don’t know about you, but I love it — LOVE IT — when a raven-haired beauty fiercely and defiantly strides.

Nima, our fetching brunette, had given Anthro an amulet for luck (Hey, maybe a Conan or Spider-Man medallion!), and such a gift binds the givee to the giver. It also means that we’re about to watch TWO BABES CATFIGHT FOR HIS LOVE:

I’m saddened to report that neither Embra’s nor Nima’s tattered dresses fall off their nubile young bodies. Nor did they grease themselves up. Can’t win ’em all. They do however batter each other into unconsciousness, and it’s then that Anthro gets the “bad” news:

Maybe I’m blinded by beauty, but I’m not seeing the downside here.

And that’s it. Poor Anthro’s series got torpedoed after this, rendering that “NEXT ISSUE” blurb a taunt. That means we didn’t get to see the Big Love domestic bliss play out. Tragedy.

Anthro, who along with Kamandi formed teen bookends for DC’s human race, had a title that didn’t work all that well. Post’s light comedy was ineffective, and the pre-historic adventures lacked the savagery that would put the “first” of our kind to any sort of true test. The art was satisfying, but that couldn’t raise it up. It was Archie in loincloths (there’s a hellish picture). It was a jack of two trades, yucks and cavemen, and master of none. God help me for saying this, but Korg was a better read. A CHARLTON BOOK was a better read!

All those Anthro faults can be seen in this final issue. The copout jokes, the buck-toothed Asian caveman and the sweaty grappling of two supple young babes weren’t enough to levitate it out of the muck and mire.

WOULD IT HAVE BEEN TOO MUCH TO ASK TO HAVE THEM GODDAMN KISS?!