Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh-Jennings have never blocked a spike from bikini-clad She-Hulk, NOW HAVE THEY? – Marvel Age #53

As we start to wind down the summer, it seems as fitting a time as any to delve into Marvel’s in-house hype mag, Marvel Age, which featured a number of beach/picnic/general summeriness covers over its length run. I recently acquired a whole pile of them, and I was surprised how enjoyable they were to read. They’re like snapshots of what comics were like back in the day — this is helped by the run starting right in my 1980s wheelhouse — with original articles and fresh art that catches the eye. This month I’ll highlight a number of them here on the blog, and then spread them out a bit more going forward. They make for a nice change of pace. I think you’ll agree.

So, about this one. Let’s start with the cover. Though She-Hulk isn’t the only bikini-clad babe, she’s the one that draws your eyes first. It’s not a Marvel summertime without She-Hulk half-naked, you know? There’s something about her that’s so conducive bared flesh — probably because her earliest incarnation was always clothed in shredded fabric. Plus she got so hyper-sexual as her character progressed. But she’s not alone here, with the unmistakable hair-dos of Rogue, Storm and Medusa, Wasp with her wings and Tigra doing her high-flying beach volleyball thing. All jiggling and giggling and lounging to their hearts’ content.

And then you look closer, and it occurs to you that not even Marvel characters gave a hoot about the New Universe. Rogue’ll stick with her Amazing Spider-Man Annual, thank you very much. Merc and Star-Brand can try again some other time. ROGUE AIN’T NO FOOL, and their can be no more stinging commentary than this. A subliminal dagger. (An argument could be made that she has them, so she or someone else bought them. But image is everything. And their they lay, forlorn and unread.)

Amongst the features inside is a brief summary of what has to be one of the nicest things ever done in the comic book universe. Timmy Cox, a sixteen year old kid, had spinal cancer. (SPINAL CANCER. SPINAL. CANCER. There but for the grace of God…) When the Make-A-Wish folks came calling, he had a burning desire that I think a lot of us would have. Here’s the brief blurb, including a shot of Tim with Spider-Man and the 40-foot tall Jim Shooter (in a photograph far less intimidating than some others):

Balls are busted on here at times. None to be busted here. Good for you, Mr. Shooter. (And whoever pitted out that Spider-Man costume.)

What forgotten tales was Marvel pimping in the Summer of 1987? Emperor Doom. Silverhawks. The pornographic-sounding Transformers: Headmasters. The yearly crop of annuals. Nothing all that interesting in the coming attractions department.

But there’s that cover. Horndog men — and lesbians, I guess — can imagine the ladies rubbing lotion all over each other. SO THERE’S THAT.

If you want some more beach fare, I’ll leave you with this Fred Hembeck strip featuring the Vision and the Scarlett Witch and a gratuitous dig at the Defenders — enjoy (I keep waiting for Cathy to pop up and say “Ack!”):

More to come.