Nerding Day: Mr. Muscles (Patreon)

The "worst of all time" has been applied so casually to so many things for so many years it's all but meaningless. And yet when I come across a Worst Something of All Time, there's still a part of me that wonders "is there a way to check that? To prove that?" And after a lifetime of research, I may have found the Worst Superhero of All Time. Our story starts with The Blue Beetle, who is not the guy I'm talking about.

The original Blue Beetle debuted in 1939, but by 1956 they were running out of Blue Beetle ideas. On the cover of issue 18 he was flying past a disaster and crusading against crime. On #19 he was flying past a disaster and crusading against crime. Number 20 was, and I quote, "another fast-moving crusade against crime," and issue 21 just had him waving to a submarine and promising to help out law and order wherever he could. Blue Beetle was out of foes and things to do, so they brought in a replacement with less astounding powers: Mr. Muscles.

Mr. Muscles had trophy-winning strength and the modest dick basket of a man 1956 ladies could handle. He moved right in and took over Blue Beetle's comic, meaning the first issue of Mr. Muscles is Mr. Muscles #22. To put it in ways rad dudes can understand, this is like your subscription to Hot Rod Magazine being replaced with Two Carburetors and a Windshield Wiper We Found in the Trash Magazine.

The first page of his comic was not an origin story because his name is Mr. Muscles, and what part of that was confusing?

"I am holding two men," declares Mr. Muscles silently. He's in his favorite place– nowhere in particular, surrounded by only the squirting of bulgy adjectives. His description sounds like the 9-1-1 call of someone buried alive in vitamin supplements. And I should mention he's not the work of some random replacement creative team. This was written by Jerry Siegel, who co-created Superman! His follow up to one of the most enduring cultural icons on the planet was the exact same thing only way, way, way, way less. If I could talk to the rad dudes again, it'd be like the editor of Hot Rod Magazine saying, "Guys, I have the next million dollar idea: only Rod. Wait no, just the last two thirds of the letter d. And give it blond hair. It's pictures of ladies, homely, fully clothed, sitting on old tires. Lose the last third of the d."

Brett Carson, Mr. Muscle's, first adventure opens with him performing feats of strength at the zoo. He's clean and jerking, what is that, 185 pounds? He's set up a stage next to the gorillas to challenge the local middle school weight lifting record? "Jesus moistening Christ, put it inside me," exclaims every person in the crowd.

One of the zookeepers is disgusted by this mediocre display of vanity, and maybe he's right. This is weird as fuck. But this crowd won't tolerate haters. "If I had a magnificent body like that, I'd show off!" says a grotesque version of Mr. Muscles. This isn't a clue or anything. This man isn't his alter ego or a twin brother who stores Brett Carson's fat when he transforms into Mr. Muscles. He's just a guy at the zoo telling another guy at the zoo how much he appreciates a magnificent body.

Speaking of unending weirdness, the first thing we hear Mr. Muscles say is that line he's screaming at a boy: "THUMB FUN EH, KID!" The next is counting to 81 as he does 81 knee-bends for the crowd. I'm not joking, Mr. Muscles sucks!

One of the most revered comic creators in history thought, "You know what'd be exciting for the readers? Several minutes of ordinary calisthenics. The stakes? Someone who works at the zoo hates it." If this was set in a cardboard box factory you'd turn your attention away from the man doing 81 knee-bends, but this is a zoo! Amazing, sad animals are in every other direction! Luckily, Mr. Muscles moves on to his next feat of strength– pointing his pelvis up and asking the crowd's fattest man to jump on him. What? What kind of act is this? It's easy to joke this is some kind of elaborate pervert scheme, but wouldn't that be more sane than maiming a volunteer with a human trampoline?

Like, what the fuck are we looking at?

His closing act is to fling a middle-aged man onto the top of a ladder with a dick trebuchet! That's not a feat of anything. That's how He-Man toys fuck after an enchanted boy goes to sleep. And I don't want to get too technical with the panel-to-panel comic book criticism, but look at how they chose to draw a "chubby chap" getting bounced from ladder to man to ladder. It took four panels, he is at the top of the ladder in three of them, and the other one is three onlookers describing what he looks like falling. Did the artist not know how to draw "down?" It's nuts. It's how a color blind person would explain blue to a regular blind person. But never mind that; you're probably wondering what Mr. Muscles, you know, does. He's a fitness instructor! That's it! Here's the very next page:

He gets a phone call at the gym from someone being eaten at the zoo. "WHO IS THIS?" he asks the phone, but he doesn't hear the answer. He's already jumped out the window closest to the zoo.

"HEY! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" asks one of his students. "SORRY, KID! NO TIME TO DRAW A DIAGRAM!" he says, instead of "zoo." We find out after a front flip into a parked car that the student's name was Kid Muscles when he shouts to himself, "KID MUSCLES HATES TO BE LEFT OUT WHEN ACTION'S POPPING." I love Kid Muscles, and you will too when you see the very next panel:

Kid Muscles waits for Mr. Muscles to drive past a different open window and leaps into the back of his car, already nude. He doesn't have any idea what's happening, but he knows he won't be needing his gym clothes. He screams, "THE ONE AND ONLY KID MUSCLES!" I think you get it. I think you have a full understanding of Kid Muscles.

Between panels, Mr. Muscles explains to Kid Muscles that the phone call to the gym was from the top half of a man being devoured near the zoo's payphone. A fitting adventure for the World's Most Perfect Man, but Kid Muscles suggests it might be a prank. Which means the naked teenager jumping at moving cars from a second story window is the brains.

I'm not skipping panels, by the way. We're reading the first issue in its entirety. It went from phone call to front flip to sudden boy to second thoughts to tiger cage this quickly. And while I can see how luring a mighty mound of muscle to the zoo was simple, it seems unlikely a 90-pound zookeeper could shove this rippling crusader for clean living and justice into a tiger cage so easily. I'm just saying this is the adventure introducing the flagship character, Mr. Muscles, to the world and he is instantly fooled by the dumbest plan and immediately defeated by the weakest nerd. This story could have been him dying to a thimble of weed killer labeled "candɘɘ baᴙ" and he would have come across more impressive.

"Why are you murdering me with tigers, buddy?" Mr. Muscles asks. "I hate your splendid physique!" he explains, word for word. Do you get it now, reader? Mr. Muscles is so sexy, so perfect, that people want to kill him. The legendary co-creator of Superman explains this four different ways before remembering the man-eating zoo tigers.

Oh, right! The tigers! Raahr.

Mr. Muscles throws one tiger into the other tiger as "KID MUSCLES REVIVES." I guess he was unconscious somewhere? It is so goddamn weird how the writer, lauded Jack Kirby Hall of Fame honoree, Jerry Siegel, never told us about that.

Kid Muscles is great at slipping into the back seat of a speeding pervert's car, but he is real fucking noisy when he's sneaking up on an armed zookeeper. He didn't count on the man he was taunting to turn slightly and point a gun at him. Everyone saw the next thing coming, though– some weird comments from the zookeeper about the boy's strong body.

We were led to believe Mr. Muscles was merely hot-guy strong, but I guess he's bend-steel-bars strong? Anyway, here he comes out of the cage, preparing the tiniest little pinch.

"Nothing, no wisecrack" says Mr. Muscles as he tackles a zookeeper. "Me neither, I've got nothing," adds Kid Muscles. The man who tried to murder a man with a tiger for being too fit has one last card to play: standing firm on the idea that men with magnificent bodies deserve to die.

Instead of getting squeezed into tiger food, the zookeeper gets an origin story. You see, young Brett caught polio and doctors told him he would be paralyzed. Not doctors in general– one specific doctor who was there during every step of his recovery telling him he could never do it, he would never walk.

Most tales of recovered mobility involve "doctors telling them they'd never walk again," but this might be the first doctor actively rooting for the paralysis. "STAY THE FUCK DOWN, KID, I MAKE EIGHT BUCKS ON EVERY WHEELCHAIR SALE."

That's his story, and once again I'm not skipping anything. He had polio, a suspiciously bad doctor, and then got really into weight lifting. There's also something in there about "developing his mind to absolute perfection," but this definitely seems like part of his sacred vow he hasn't gotten to yet. Which leads us back to the present: what to do with a zoo caretaker who is using the animals in his care to murder anyone for any reason? Mr. Muscles lets him decide. Jail? Or be made a man of? Word for word!

The zookeeper chooses MAN! Which just means hiring Mr. Muscles as a personal trainer. Mr. Muscles is a fat guy launcher and a zoo investigator, but first and foremost, he is a high pressure gym membership salesman. And in a million years you will never guess how this adventure ends:

The weakling failed murderer has become what he hated most– ripped to shreds. After this transformative journey, he has something he wants to say to Mr. Muscles, something that will wrap this story up neatly. "Shut the fuck up, don't bother," interrupts Mr. Muscles, like word for word. The only character with an arc was about to resolve it and the comic book said nobody cares what you think, the end.

Next up is a story about Miss Muscles, a spinoff character I'm also just now learning about.

As Miss Muscles lifts weights, two women at the gym read a news article about her date with handsome movie star Ronald Twelvetoes later tonight. They decide absolutely not. Not on their watch. Because as it was in Mr. Muscles, Miss Muscles' entire rogues' gallery is envy.

The girls hatch their sinister and complicated scheme, and let's take a special look at that last panel:

This is beautiful. Miss Muscles is casually juggling 295 pounds. She's apparently so famous for her strength that this world's newspapers report on her upcoming dates. The headline was probably "FILM PRODUCTION IN JEOPARDY AS RONALD TWELVETOES PLANS TO BREACH THE PENIS-RIPPING VULVA OF REAL 'MISS MUSCLES' NAME UNKNOWN." And their entire plan to defeat her was one leotard worth of sudden karate! It doesn't go well!

I'm not sure if the chop landed or not because in the next panel Miss Muscles is moving her attackers by their faces so she can blast them both with the same drop kick. It's a real power move, and the first of many.

She mounts their helpless bodies and forces them into a puppet show about giving up. She could have just caved their heads in with a dumbbell, but she is all about power moves. Her next one is showing up to her date without changing. "I came straight from the gym, you son of a bitch Hollywood star Ronald Twelvetoes. Take it or leave it."

Up to this point I might have accused revered Will Eisner Hall of Fame inductee Jerry Siegel of not understanding women, but look at Miss Muscles' final power move. She tells her movie star date to drive past her gym so those women she destroyed have to see her living her best life. That is raw, authentic feminine power.

And that's how it ends! The male version of Mr. Muscles spared his misguided enemy, turning his life around with clean living and fitness. The female version of Miss Muscles snapped her skank enemies into parts and taunted the remains. She drives into the night saying, "I know you can hear this Hollywood star slobber over me! You wrecked cows can't fight for shiiiiiiit!" This is the first and only appearance of Miss Muscles in anything for the rest of all time.

Before I even read Mr. Muscles #22, which was the first issue of Mr. Muscles, I was sure I understood this character and the lady and child spinoff of him. But after finishing it I was so confused. They're… not crime fighters? Their only enemies are jealous weaklings from their ordinary lives? We'd better read another issue to wrap our heads around this.

The cover of Mr. Muscles #23 doesn't help. Is he a first responder or a construction worker? Did he cause this? The text doesn't help either. It promises "THRILLING DISPLAYS OF PHYSICAL STRENGTH AND POWER," and who the shit is that for? Were there children in 1956 looking at drawings of objects and thinking, "No drawing of a man could lift that, I stake my astonishment on it!"

None of my questions are answered. The first Mr. Muscles story is about a carnival boss asking Mr. Muscles to take a dive in a fight fixing scheme. Mr. Muscles, his wit honed by dedication to mind perfection, says nothing. And in the next panel Mr. Muscles is tearing his opponent apart like a bear who can't figure out how a child's sleeping bag opens.

I don't want to spoil the twist, but it was not a good idea for this carnie to bet everything he had on a non-verbal agreement with a paragon of virtue to throw a fight, especially when he had no leverage. I need to be clear he didn't have Kid or Miss Muscles tied up in a trunk somewhere. He really thought Mr. Muscles would betray all that is good for an undisclosed amount of crime money. That's like betting everything on there being an arrest at a children's hospital after leaving a voicemail with John Cena that says, "Hi, I run a Gravitron ride, would you mind punching a sick boy in the face? It could mean big money, if you agree, say nothing and don't call back."

Instead of taking a dive, Mr. Muscles keeps beating his opponent to death with his own organs. He's not confused about the plan, though; he is doing this because he wants to financially destroy the carnival. When the carnie realizes he's being betrayed he sounds the carnie alarm, but if you send this many carnival workers against Mr. Muscles and Kid Muscles, don't forget one thing…

a good supply of carnie bags.

Mr. Muscles went undercover as a catch wrestler to kill a carnival with his bare hands! A criminal one, sure, but no more than you'd expect! END. I sort of love the comic now, but genuinely don't know how I would describe it. Mr. Muscles isn't quite a crime fighter or detective, but he has a 50/50 chance of mangling crime if it comes right up to him and announces itself. Let's see if we can learn more in a story called Mr. Muscles: MR. MUSCLES in "THE BIG FOOTPRINTS."

So Mr. Muscles, local zoo performer, fitness instructor, and carnival buster, is also available for Himalayan expeditions upon request. This is silly enough to joke about, but I don't want to keep us from what has to be, oh please fuck yes, a Yeti fighting story.

It begins with Mr. Muscles abandoning his team to follow the trail of unusually large footprints in the snow. It took us two full issues, but the bulges and loins of the World's Most Perfect Man are about to finally have a real adventure! Bigfoot fight! Bigfoot fight!

Wait. Wait, wait wait. Mr. Muscles tracks down the elusive Bigfoot and it turns out to be a… a six foot eight guy? But instead of saying, "What a hilarious mixup, this is simply a man with large feet," Mr. Muscles decides it really is the monster of legend and asks it for a picture!? It's just a… Mr. Muscles, it's just a guy! I mean, are you seeing this? Am I losing my mind?

Mr. Muscles physically dominates the confused man or -at best- unfrozen viking into submission. The absolutely-not-a-Bigfoot knows he is beaten. It sucks. Disappointment is too light a word. I was expecting splash page after splash page of man against beast and the fight went Grab, Judo, Sexually Charged Understanding Transcending Language, No Fourth Event.

In the next panel, Mr. Muscles brings the "subdued creature" back to camp where the men say, "Oh, you b-brought the… the abominable snowman back with you. Wow, it's really him." They've spent enough time around this violent maniac to know not to tell him, "You stupid fucking asshole, that Bigfoot is a human man. You kidnapped a human man. Hi, sir! We're sorry for our perfectly honed muscle guide."

The burly man who is so not the abominable snowman sees the others and didn't know this was going to be a group thing. He leaves, cursing himself for ignoring his own rule about following strange hunks to a second location. "I got a picture of that Bigfoot running away," shrieks Mr. Muscles, satisfied he did something. "Boy, I sure wish I sold that legendary creature a gym membership," he adds, almost word for word.

That wasn't anything, it wasn't fucking anything, so let's read the last story in Mr. Muscles #23…

It's called "STEEPLEJACK," so it's probably another story about Mr. Muscles climbing something and not finding Bigfoot.

It is, but worse, because that's not even Mr. Muscles. It's a rookie steeplejack named Mike Webber who loves safety, but the old guys on his crew think it's for pansies. They think it so strongly that one of them literally falls off a platform while he's making fun of Mike's safety line and it doesn't change his mind. But then, get this, a couple other accidents happen and the old boys decide Mike Webber and his thoughts on safety could be right. The way of the future even!

This is trash. I get 1956 had different labor laws, but this is nothing other than a training manual for rambunctious child steelworkers. It's something you'd show a safety inspector responding to a series of window washer splatters. "I make all my guys sign n' date dat 'dey read Mr. Muscles #23 before 'dey go up, inspector. Ya can't touch me, s'all above board." It's the opposite of interesting and exciting, and I only included it because there was never a Mr. Muscles #24. This, a smug guy who wasn't Mr. Muscles gloating about his victory in a safety line argument with an accident survivor, was the very last panel of any Mr. Muscles story.

This is Mr. Muscles' legacy! A luscious, perfectly bulged man of might knocked a 17-year superhero veteran out of his own comic book, did nothing of note aside from taking a blurry picture of a hairy man, and killed the series one issue later. To make matters worse, they didn't see this failure and go back to being Blue Beetle– they said fuck this whole thing. You're all fired. And like I've said many times about Mr. Muscles, that's it! The story of Mr. Muscles has no twist! Sometimes things are simply terrible, THE END!

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Moexu, who is frequently mistaken for bigfoot and kidnapped by forest hunks. 

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