“Actually, I’m just here to use the bathroom.”
— Spider-Man

Because you’re normal, you have no idea that for the last six months, America has been wracked by civil war. Precipitated by the gruesome death of hundreds of elementary school children, the body count has risen as friend turns against friend, husband against wife, teammate against teammate.

Meanwhile, the giant, omnipotent, bald-headed guy living on the Moon does nothing to stop it.

Since last summer, a civil war (in a miniseries called Civil War) has raged in the pages of Marvel Comics between forces led by Captain America on one side and Iron Man on the other. At issue, is a decision by the federal government to license superheroes after a battle between heroes and villains in Connecticut killed hundreds of children. Heroes and other costumed adventurers who do not register and join the federal payroll are sent to prison. Iron Man and his supporters believe the law is a reasonable response to the dangers posed by powerful beings run amok. Stark also thinks heroes ward off harsher measures in the future by embracing the current law.

Captain America and his forces view the law as an unjust abrogation of their constitutional rights. Rogers doesn’t believe the government should control their actions when they operate out of civic mindedness. He also suspects those supporting the law hide ulterior motives.

(If you want more details about the story go here.)

The series was inspired the current geopolitical zeitgeist created by the war on terror and the editors pledged the series would not skew to one side of the debate. That was a false promise. Basically, the series reads as if MoveOn.org was given editorial control. If you found yourself nodding at anything said by Michael Moore this century, this story is for you. And that’s fine, I guess. Anybody looking to the X-Men for political inspiration had their name removed from the “Useful” category long ago.

The grievous sin of Civil War is not the ideology, but the complete neglect of these characters’ 40-plus year history to shoehorn them into the story. Captain America is a left-wing conspiracy theorist. Tony Stark is a wartime profiteer with fascist tendencies. Reed Richards is an unfeeling mad scientist who pushes his wife away. Spider-Man (who revealed his identity to the public in issue #2) is a moron easily manipulated by Iron Man, then Captain America.

These are not the characters given life and soul by Stan Lee 40 years ago. The sales number for Civil War are fantastic (357,000 copies for January’s issue), numbers I attribute not to the story’s quality, but the “Gee, look at that car wreck” urge to purchase. The final issue of the series arrived in stores on Feb. 21. Believe me when I say the series finale was as creatively bankrupt as the concept itself.

My burning critique — who thought comic books are the best avenue to explore the complex issues of the war against Islamic terrorism? Comics do have a history highlighting pressing social issues (the X-Men are chief example of this.) But this usually occurs in very broad terms, not on such an epic and specific scale. The X-Men found time to save people from burning buildings too. Is the medium too complex and expensive for children that it’s become an adult soapbox?

Thank God these jokers aren’t in change of other favorite characters from our childhood. Could you imagine the burning issues of the day debated inside the Technodrome or on Cybertron? Hmmm, I wonder … (leaning back in chair, stroking chin as wavy flashback lines wash over me.)

The editor who can bring back Marvel’s heroes from wherever they went.

Optimus Prime v. Rodimus Prime — Whose side are you on?

THE ARIZONA DESERT — Optimus Prime, heroic leader of the Autobots, bent over the body of a jackrabbit he accidentally ran over while doing donuts outside their desert headquarters.

“Poor creature,” Optimus rumbled. “Life never appears fragile until its spark is extinguished. Hopefully, its next configuration will prove more resilient than this one.”

Behind him, Rodimus Prime arrived in his station wagon form. Transforming into his humanoid form accompanied by the traditional wokk-wokk-wokk-wokk-wokk sound, Rodimus looked down at the one he replaced as Autobot leader for a time.

“Optimus, I don’t understand why you waste time mourning the death of a single biped when our actions will result in the destruction of every life form on this planet,” Rodimus said with as much frustration a robot can muster.

Optimus sighed. This again. “Rodimus, I keep telling you again and again. We are locked in an epic struggle against the Decepticons — the closest thing to evil you will find on this world. Their every thought, their every action is always towards destroying us, all humans and their way of life. I’m not that concerned our vehicle forms are not carbon neutral, Rodimus,” Optimus said, spitting out the last word.

“But Optimus,” Rodimus said, putting his hand on Optimus’ shoulder. “What’s the point in defeating the Megatron and his cronies if this world is doomed to flooding and climate change that will eliminate hundreds of species, destroy cities and end the humans’ way of life? Every time we transform into VW Beetles, tractor trailers and cassette tapes, we doom the Earth to a slow death at our hands versus a quick death thanks to Megatron.”

Optimus would have narrowed his eyes had he the ability to do so. “I told you not to touch me. How about if I touch you?” he said, shoving Rodimus hard.

“Ow. Stop that.”

Optimus did not. “Huh, do like that?” Shove. “What are you going to do?” Shove. “You gonna cry baby?” Shove. “Is baby gonna cry?” Shove.

Does this bug you? How about now?

“Stop it!”

Shove. “‘Carbon neutral.’ Are we supposed change Omega Supreme from a rocket ship in a windmill? Then how are we going to get to Cybertron?” Hard shove. Rodimus falls to the ground. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to find a crazed robotic grizzly bear and punch it in the face.”

Rodimus slumped to the desert ground, sobbing softly with his head in his hands. “But who will think of the children?” he asked as Optimus transformed and rolled out.

Cobra Commander v. Serpentor — Whose side are you on?

COBRA ISLAND — “Yes! YES! THIS I COMMAND!” bellowed Serpentor, Emperor of Cobra.

“So that’s onion rings instead of curly fries?” his secretary asked.

“Yes, you brainless sycophant. Now, leave me! I must ponder my latest plan to crush G.I. Joe and conquer this world.”

The secretary left the chamber and former leader Cobra Commander entered. “You sure love onion rings, sssssnake head.”

Serpentor’s eyes narrowed. “Watch you tongue, worm, lest I stomp it flat under my boot.”

“Relax, oh mighty Serpentor,” Cobra Commander said in a calming voice. “I bear good news.”

“You have a terminal illness?”

“No. Thank you for your concern. Our ssssscientists have discovered a method of extracting cellsssss from our best troopers to re-grow damaged limbs, nerves, maybe even clone the sssssoldiers themselves,” Cobra Commander said.

“What?! This is outrageous!” Serpentor stood up and paced around the room. “This is an affront to the glory of the human creature! Our bodies our temples, not science laboratories!”

“Umm,” Cobra Commander said. “Aren’t you a genetic abomination?”

“No!” He lunged at Cobra Commander, grabbing him by the throat. “I am the amalgam of history’s greatest leaders — Caesar, Napoleon, Gengis Khan, William ‘The Refrigerator’ Perry. I am descended from the gods themselves! I was not born in a test tube.”

“Yes you were,” thought Cobra Commander. “I had it bronzed and placed on my mantle.” But all that came out was “Ack.”

He released his grip on Cobra Commander. “I will have this work destroyed and the scientists’ dismembered and strew across the four corners of the Earth.”

The Commander massaged his throat as Serpentor stalked from the room. “Then I guessss we won’t be able to use the technique to cure that tiny problem between your legs the Baroness discovered last year during Mardi Grassss.”

Skeletor v. Hordak — Whose side are you on?

SNAKE MOUNTAIN — “And I say the most effective tool in the business manager’s arsenal is the mace,” said Skeletor, king of Snake Mountain and foe of He-Man, while reaching for his teacup. His minion Beast Man lay on the floor, spitting out his teeth after getting hit in the face by the aforementioned weapon.

His tablemate Hordak, lord of the Fright Zone, dipped a scone in his tea. “I certainly see your point of view. But rather, I prefer the tool of electrical current. It’s so … encompassing. There’s no place an employee can go in his mind to escape it.” His henchman Grizzlor writhed on the floor feet away.

“Oh, my friend. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but again you’re neglecting the structural costs of your choices to favor the visceral thrill,” said Skeletor, rising from his throne to kick Beast Man in the face, breaking his nose. “How much will my overhead increase using all that current? Hard and spiked metal to the face is just as effective and a tenth of the cost.”

Your Chamber of Commerce leadership.

“But Skeletor, to rule by force alone is insufficient,” Hordak responded, jumping to the floor to sever Grizzlor’s tendons with a ceremonial hunting knife. “One must rule through the threat of force. Electricity evokes a terror wrought by gods.” Grizzlor shrieked in agony.

“Ah, I love our little talks,” Skeletor said, raising his teacup in salute.

“Indeed, my friend,” said Hordak, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

“Now, let’s go eat some kittens,” Skeletor said and kicked Beast Man in his testicles.

Han Solo v. Luke Skywalker — Whose side are you on?

IN ORBIT OVER YAVIN 4 ABOARD THE MILLENIUM FALCON — Han Solo yelped in pain as his right fist connected with the jaw of the Stormtrooper tied to the chair. “Well, that was a great idea.”

His Rebel Alliance compatriot Luke Skywalker looked more nervous than the time Chewbacca was in heat. “Han, that won’t work. We need to earn his trust if we are going to learn the schedule of that Imperial supply convoy.”

Han grunted as he massaged his knuckles. “C’mon, kid. Didn’t an ox ever get stuck in the mud back on the farm? Doesn’t a stick work better than a carrot?” Han looked at the Imperial, now slightly slumped over. “The Imps need those supplies to maintain their siege on our outpost. Thousands of lives are in danger. This guy is a ticking time bomb! We need that information now!” He stomped on the Stormtrooper’s foot, which elicited nothing more than a groan.

“That idea is more ridiculous than your feathered hair cut,” Luke said. “You look like Farrah Fawcett and I don’t even know who that is. You’re sacrificing the Alliance’s ideals about the value of the individual over the needs of a collective society. If you take one more dump on his head, you take a dump on everything the Alliance believes. Do you really want to take a dump on Leia?”

“I bet that royal stick-in-the-mud would like that,” Han muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Han said, pushing himself away from the semi-conscious Imperial. “Fine. You think you can do better, by all means,” he said, running his hand through his hair.

Luke crouched in front of the Stormtrooper. “Alright.” He tucked his hand under the prisoner’s chin. “Hey, friend? We understand your feelings of allegiance. I respect the seriousness with which you treat the oath you swore to uphold the ideals of the Empire. But the ideals of the Empire are corrupt and twisted. At best, the Emperor practices brutal subjugation. At worst, genocide. Help us stop this evil and we promise to treat you with the dignity and respect all thinking beings deserve.”

The prisoner thought about Luke’s words for a moment. Then he spit in Luke’s face.

Sighing loudly, Luke said “Fuck it. I’ll use the damn Force.” One moment. Two moments. “The convoy will be passing through the Bpfassh system in 20 hours.”

Han looked surprised. “Why didn’t you do that in the first place?”

“I needed an excuse to insult your hair.”

Han smirked. “Thanks a lot. Ass.”

Mario v. Luigi — Whose side are you on?

MUSHROOM KINGDOM — “Hey-a, Luigi! Where-a da hell are you?” his older brother Mario yelled from the balcony of the Princess’ parapet. “Come look at what-a I saw on the TV!”

Luigi sighed. He trudged up 113 steps to reach the Princess’ bedroom. Tax receipts fell after Bowser stomped to death 30 percent of the population. There wasn’t enough money to keep the elevators running.

He slammed the door open. Mario was sitting on the edge of the Princess’ bed. “Where’s the Princess? Was she kidnapped by another box turtle?” Luigi asked.

“She’s on-a da can. Look-a what’s on da CNN! They’re gonna let more eye-talians inna da kingdom!” Mario said, bouncing up and down so hard his hat fell off. “Now Momma and Poppa can come visit!”

“You idiot, Mom and Dad died in a plane crash last year. You’ve been hopped up on junk since them.” Mario looked confused. “Don’t you see what’s going on? They’re going to bring in replacements for us!”

Mario put his hat back on. “What-a, are there more princesses that need-a saving?”

“No, they need cheap plumbers!”

Mario thought about that for a moment. He thought real hard. “Well I think-a dats da free market ata work. You can’t-a interfere inna da free market just-a because it-a doesn’t fitt-a your preference.”

Luigi’s eyes grew wide with realization. “That’s why she’s banging you and not me! You’re the hero throughout the kingdom! She’s brainwashing you into supporting their immigration plan. We need to keep out those filthy eye-talians and protect our jobs!”

Mario put his hat back on and stood up. “You-a just jealous you-a can only sodomize talking mushrooms. Do you-a secretly wish-a to be a catcher?”

Luigi balled his fist in rage. He reached into the vase on the table and grabbed the flower. Filled with power, Luigi conjured a fireball and flung it at his brother. Mario caught the fireball in the middle of his face and was knocked backwards out the window. He fell, screaming.

“Stupid grease ball,” said Luigi. “Hey princess, you put your underwear on yet?”

Questions? Comments? Labor Management Techniques? E-mail me at mlucinski@yahoo.com.

Michael Lucinski lives, loves and works in the Washington, D.C. area. He’s a graduate of the University at Buffalo and the George Washington University. I bet Rainbow Brite throws a mean right hook.