sparkymat

Some quotes from various X-men comics

“Sit it out, boy, I have no interest in reading your mind. I might get lost in all that empty space.”

“I believe you people have something that belongs to us?”
“Short li’l fella.”
“All adamantium and attitude. He’s one of a kind. We’d like him back.”

“And finally, those of you with red in your costumes will follow attack plan D, schedule C — or is it plan C, schedule D…? Uh, any questions?” ‘I’m wearing red underwear, do I use plan D?’ ‘Hey, I just got here.. are we the X’s or the circles?’ I don’t know, Colossus, I thought it was shirts and skins!’” “Just beat up the ^&&*%$%# bad guys, all right!!!!”

Storm: “We are here to see a man about a rescue.”
Xavier: “Pity. I was hoping for a pizza delivery.”
Colossus: “Is Professor Xavier unwell, Storm? He is making a joke.”
Jean Grey: “Contrary to popular belief, the man’s only human. Complete with a sense of humor.”
Archangel: “Such as it is.”
Xavier: “Et tu, Archangel? Don’t I get respect anymore from anyone?”

“Dog bites man — that’s not a story. Man bites dog — *that’s* a story. and if the dog and man slug it out for six issues and then Wolverine shows up for a guest appearance, and the dog turns out to be a mutant; that’s a *Marvel* story.”

“Like, is that a cigarette? I am SOOOOOO impressed.”
“I have a small list of people I try to impress, chica. And surprise, surprise, you ain’t on it.”

“You have no idea what it’s like to have your entire life pulled out from under you!”
“Warren, please. You’re talking to the woman who’s been killed, cloned and kidnapped more times than *I* can remember. Let’s keep it in perspective.”

“Guido, go *with* her.”
“Why me?”
“Because I *ordered* you to, ‘cupcake’!”
“Okay. So long as there’s a reason.”

“I *hate* this! I’m a trained mercenary! I know 64 ways to kill a guy with a spoon and I’m stuck guarding an electric generator.”
“D’you mean you can kill a guy who *has* a spoon — or that you can kill a guy with your own personal spoon?”

“The truth is out there - and it’s got bloody great teeth.”

“If I had a nickel for every catatonic body down here….well, I’d have fifteen cents, but that’s beside the point”

“My name is Blink. Who do you *think* is faster…halfscan?”

“Why does everyone say my name like it means shut up?”

“Yeah, it’s Jaimie alright.”
“You know this guy?”
“No, Einstein, my hobby is looking at random stiffs and saying ‘It’s Jaimie all right.’”
“Oh. Well, it beats collecting comics.”

“With everyone assuming a fifty degree variant. I’ll propel the projectile at a maximum rate of nineteen feet per square…”
“Forge, this is a huddle…not a physics class. What he’s trying to say is ‘Go Long’.”

“So what’s her power? ‘Sides the ability t’stick her chest out?”

“If we nail X-Force, then we get… CABLE.”
“Oh, good! Including HBO? And maybe the Disney Channel for Rahne…”
“Quiet. You’re embarrassing me.”

Benjamin Jacob “Ben” Grimm was born in poverty and hardship. Orphaned at an early age, he was brought up by his uncle Jake and Aunt Petunia. His life in the rough streets of New York, moulded him into a street-wise scrapper.

Excelling in football in high school, Ben received a full scholarship to Empire State University, where he first met his eventually life-long friend, Reed Richards. When Reed Richards told Ben of his dream to build a space rocket, Ben jokingly offered to fly it.

Following college, Grimm joined the Air Force as a test pilot. Some years later, Reed Richards contacted him again. He had built his space ship and reminded Ben of his promise to fly it. The government had refused to give permission for Reed himself to pilot the craft. So, under the cover of darkness, Reed, Ben, Susan Storm (Reed’s future wife) and her brother Johnny Storm, sneak into the space ship and take off into space. During their unauthorized flight, they were pelted by cosmic rays from a cosmic ray storm against which the space ship had no protection.

Crashing on earth, the quartet discover that they have developed fantastic superpowers. Ben was transformed into a orange, lumpy thing and later evolved into a massive orange humanoid of slightly jagged earthy rock. The four decide to band together and thus was born the Fantastic Four - one of Marvel’s recognizable superhero team.

While the others had retained their human appearance and considered their powers to be a gift, Ben was trapped in a monstrous form and was very unhappy with his state, though he continued being a reliable member of the team.

To his fans, he is the ever-loveable Thing. His catch-phrase, “It’s clobbering time!”, is one of Marvel’s most famous quotes. The Thing’s most endearing quality is his indomitable spirit. Coupled with his excellent hand-to-hand combat skills that he had learned on the streets, and his tough rocky hide, the Thing is one of Marvel’s best scrappers.

When the Champion of the Universe, had challenged the heroes of Earth to hand-to-hand combat, with the Earth as prize to the victor, it was Ben Grimm who faced the unbeaten Champion in the final round. Even the Thing’s tough hide was not able to save him from the Champion’s onslaught. Though the battle lasted a long time, in the end, Ben was defeated. Bruised and broken, the Thing was knocked down and the Champion turned to the referee, who prepares to declare him the winner. Despite having broken both his legs, and several ribs, Ben drags himself to the ring corner and pulls himself up and turns to face the Champion. Amazed the Champion turns to face him, at which Ben declares that his body may be broken, but his spirit refused to be and as long as there was a single breath in him, he would continue to fight him. Impressed by Ben’s indomitable resolve, the Champion forfeits the match and declares Ben the winner.

Dr. Robert Bruce Banner was a military scientist working on a new weapon called a “gamma bomb”. During the first testing of the gamma bomb, Bruce watched with horror as a teenage boy strolled casually into the fenced test area. Instructing his assistant to cease the countdown, he rushes out to save the teenager. Unknown to him, his assistant is a Russian spy, who, having failed to obtain the secret of the gamma bomb, had received orders to kill the inventor of the gamma bomb. Reaching the teenager in time, Bruce pushes him into a military trench and needed one more second to save himself, a second that was denied him.

Catching the full blast of the gamma explosion, Bruce is wracked with intense pain and he blacks out. Hours later, he wakes up in a hospital bed. Agitated on finding his life’s work sabotaged and his life threatened, he gets worked up and loses his temper and in the process, transforms into the gamma powered being known as the Incredible Hulk. Originally grey and not much larger than a very large person, the Hulk soon mutated into a larger and emerald skinned form.

Bruce Banner has the most unique form of multiple personality disorder, in the sense that his multiple personalities manifest physically as well. The two most dominant personalities, apart from that of Bruce Banner’s, are the Grey Hulk and the Savage Hulk personalities.

The Savage Hulk was the largest and strongest of the Hulk persona and like all the Hulk variations, had immense strength that increased as he got angrier (”The madder Hulk is, the stronger he gets”). The Savage Hulk had the personality of a small child and just wished to be left alone. This personality represented Bruce’s inner child, a product of childhood abuse and emotional scarring caused by his mother’s abuse at his father’s hands. Not very articulate, the Savage Hulk’s frequent quote is “Hulk Smash!!!”.

The grey hulk was smaller than the savage hulk and considerably more intelligent and cunning. Adopting the name Joe Fixit, he worked for some time as an enforcer in Mardipoor, where he had a few run-ins with Logan (aka Wolverine). This persona represented the teenager in Bruce Banner.

Doc Samson, attempting to cure Banner of his disorder, tries hypnotic suggestion, which unleashes yet another persona, which calls itself the Professor. The Professor has the body of the Savage Hulk, with the face and mind of Bruce Banner. However, despite his thinking so, Professor is not Bruce Banner but just another persona of his multiple personality disorder.

Bruce Banner’s life is a sad one, always on the run, avoiding the police and the armed forces, forever hunted for the destruction he causes as the Hulk. The Savage Hulk persona (which is the dominant one of the Hulks) has also saved the Earth on many occassions and is also a founding member of the Avengers. However, his temper caused him to part ways (violently) with his former teammates. Seeking to escape his tormentors, he travels around the globe, wanting only to be left alone.

Frank Castle was a multiply decorated U.S. Marine Corps Captain who had fought in the Vietnam War. Later, he ran Special Black Ops training missions for Marine Commandos in the upper New York state area. One day, while picnicking with his family in Central Park, they become witness to a Mafia execution. Seeking to eliminate all witnesses, the Costa Family murdered them on the spot.

Castle was believed to be dead until he awoke sometime later in a body bag. Furious and confused, Castle struck out at the medics. It took the entire police squad on the scene and several tranquilizers to incapacitate him. He was hospitalized. Though two assassins attacked him in the hospital, he managed to kill one of them and savagely beat up the other. Though he was able to identify the killers who shot his family, the police were unable to help him as the killers were well tied with the Costa Family. Depressed, Frank turned to drinking and nearly shot himself in the head. Another attempt on his life resulted in the total obliteration of his house. Everything that had been left of his family, had gone up in flames.

From the flames of his anger and frustration, was born the persona known now as The Punisher. In his own words, “Frank Castle is dead. He died with his family. In certain extreme situations, the law is inadequate. In order to shame its inadequacy, it is necessary to act outside the law. To pursue… natural justice. This is not vengeance. Revenge is not a valid motive, it’s an emotional response. No. Not vengeance. Punishment“.

Armed with a wide variety of weapons - mines, pistols, a shotgun - and his extensive combat experience, he started his Holy Crusade against war by first eliminating the Costa Family - only the first of a four-figure body count - making Castle’s vendetta, a very bloody one. Ruthlessly, the Punisher hunted down and killed any one whom he deemed should be punished. Waging a one-man war on organized crime, he savagely and ruthlessly killed many villains, more than any “hero” ever. Highly skilled in martial arts, stealth tactics and marksmanship, Castle used killing, kidnapping, extortion, coercion, threats of violence and torture to wage his war against crime.

His willingness to kill has brought him into conflict against other costumed crusaders, often ending in a battle between them. Undeterred by others’ opinions, he continues his war on crime, maiming and killing evildoers and striking fear into those who prey on the innocent.

[This is a text version of Amazing Spiderman v2 #36. This is in memorial of the 9/11 incident, an incident that destroyed the lives of countless many and forever scarred many more. Let us take a moment to honour those brave people who stood up in this moment of adversity, stood up for themselves and for others, stood up to show that you can crush monuments but you can't crush the human spirit. This story is narrated from Spiderman's point of view, who arrives on the scene after the incident has occurred.]

We interrupt our regularly scheduled program to bring you the following Special Bulletin.

I follow the sound of sirens and reach the towers. Or where the towers used to be. I was not prepared for the sight that confronted me. Words fail me, for some things are beyond words, beyond comprehension, beyond forgiveness.

“Where were you?! How could you let this happen?“

“I…“

How do you say we didn’t know? We couldn’t know. We couldn’t imagine. Only madmen could contain the thought, execute the act, fly the planes. The sane world will always be vulnerable to madmen, because we cannot go where they go to conceive of such things. We could not see it coming. We could not be here before it happened. We could not stop it.

But we are here now.

You cannot see us for the dust, but we are here. You cannot hear us for the cries, but we are here. Even those we thought our enemies are here. Because some things surpass rivalries and borders. Because the story of humanity is written not in towers but in tears. In the common coin of blood and bone. In the voice that speaks within even the worst of us, and says This is not right. Because even the worst of us, however scarred, are still human. Still feel. Still mourn the random death of innocents. We are here.

But with our costumes and our powers, we are writ small by the true heroes. Those who face fire without fear or armor. Those who step into the darkness without assurances of ever walking out again, because they know there are others waiting in the dark. Awaiting salvation. Awaiting word. Awaiting justice. Ordinary men. Ordinary women. Made extraordinary by acts of compassion. And courage. And terrible sacrifice.

“We’ve voted and we’re going to try to take the plane. It’s the only way to to stop them hitting Washington. I love you.“

“I love you..“

Ordinary men. Ordinary women. Refusing to surrender. Ordinary men. Ordinary women. Refusing to accept the self-serving proclamations of holy warriors of every stripe, who announce that somehow we had this coming.

“..probably what we deserve.. All of them who have tried to secularize America.. the pagans and the abortionists and the feminists and the gays and the lesbians and the aclu..“
“I point the finger in their face and I say, “You helped this happen“.“

“.. it is God’s will that America should fall through their iniquity and their sin..“

We reject them both in the knowledge that our tragedy is greater than the sum of our transgressions.

Bodies in freefall on the evening news. Madness in mosques, shouting down fourteen centuries of earnest prayers, forgetting the lessons of crusades past, that the most harmed are the least deserving.

I see a kid sitting by a car, among the rubble.

“Hi.. Listen, you shouldn’t be here. This isn’t a good place for you to..“

“My… my dad went in there to get something. He said just a minute..“

“You shouldn’t..“

“.. and if I wait and stay and I don’t leave he’ll be okay, because I’ll do what he told me, and …“

As if on cue, two firefighters come out of the building carrying a grown up’s body on the stretcher.

“.. and .. “

“DADDYYYYY!“

There are no words. There are no words.

The death of innocents and the death of innocence. Rage compounded upon rage. Rage enough to blot out the sun. And the air is filled with questions.

“Is it going to happen again? What do I tell my children? Why did this happen?“

They ask the question. Why? Why? My God, why?

I have seen other worlds. Other spaces. I have walked with gods and wept with angels. But to my shame, I have no answers.

Steve stands ahead, his face grim and fists clenched. He’s the only one who could know. Because he’s been here before. I wish I had not lived to see this once. I can’t imagine what it is to see this twice. I just can’t imagine.

What do we tell the children?
Do we tell them evil is a foreign face?
No. The evil is the thought behind the face, and it can look just like yours.
Do we tell them evil is tangible , with defined borders and names and geometries and destinies?
No. They will have nightmares enough.

Perhaps we tell them that we are sorry. Sorry that we were not able to deliver unto them the world we wished them to have. That our eagerness to shout is not the equal of our willingness to listen. That the burdens of distant people are the responsibility of all men and women of conscience, or their burdens will one day become our tragedy.

Or perhaps, we simply tell them that we love them, and that we will protect them. That we would give our lives for theirs and do it gladly, so great is the burden of our love. In a universe of Gameboys and VCRs, it is, perhaps, an insubstantial gift. But it is the only one that will wash away the tears and knit the wounds and make the world a sane place to live in.

We could not see it coming. No one could. We could not stop it. No one could. But we are here. Now. With you. Today. Tomorrow. And the day after. We live in each blow you strike for infinite justice, but always in the hope of infinite wisdom. Because we live as well in the quiet turning of your considered conscience. The voice that says All wars have innocents. The voice that says You are a kind and a merciful people. The voice that says Do not do as they do, or the war is lost before it is even begun. Do not let that knowledge be washed away in blood.

When you move, we will move with you. Where you go, we will go with you. Where you are, we are in you. Because the future belongs to ordinary men and ordinary women, and that future must be built free of such acts as these, must be fought for and renewed like fresh water. Because a message must be sent to those who mistake compassion for weakness. A message sent across six thousand years of recorded blood and struggle. And the message is this:

Whatever our history, whatever the root of our surnames, we remain a good and decent people, and we do not bow down and we do not give up. The fire of the human spirit cannot be quenched by bomb blasts or body counts. Cannot be intimidated forever into silence or drowned in tears. We have endured worse before; we will bear this burden and all that come hereafter, because that’s what ordinary men and women do. No matter what. This has not weakened us. It has only made us stronger.

In recent years, we as a people have been tribalized and factionalized by a thousand casual unkindness. But in this we are one. Flags sprout in uncommon places, the ground made fertile by tears and shared resolve. We have become one in our grief. We are now one in our determination. One as we recover. One as we rebuild.

You wanted to send a message, and in so doing you awakened us from our self-involvement.

Message recieved.

Look for your reply in the thunder.

In such days as these are heroes born. Not heroes such as ourselves. The true heroes of the twenty-first century. You, the human being singular. You, who are nobler than you know and stronger than you think. You, the heroes of this moment chosen out of history. We stand blinded by the light of your unbroken will. Before that light, no darkness can prevail. They knocked down two tall towers. In their memory, draft a covenant with your conscience that we will create a world in which such things need not occur. A world which will not require apologies to children, but also a world whose roads are not paved with the husks of their inalienable rights. They knocked down two tall towers. Graft now their echo onto your spine. Become girders and glass, stone and steel, so that when the world sees you, it sees them.

And stand tall.

Stand tall.

Stand tall.

[Many thanks to the Marvel group for bringing out this fine and touching book.]

‘I’m telling ya.. Giambi’s gonna be the man.’

‘What’re you, nuts?’

The silence is broken by another argument from the poker table. I lazily mix another batch of cocktails while listening to them argue. Most days go by peacefully with the guys arguing about something silly, over a harmless game of poker. A few of the big guys too drop by once in a while, usually staying in a corner, keeping to themselves. Many just come by to have a moment of peace in their violent lives. A moment to live like a normal human being, to socialize like a normal human being, to argue like a normal human being, without any bloodshed. Today the argument seemed to be about baseball.

‘Yeah, kid. I mean, Giambi’s good, but better than the Iron Horse? Fugedaboutit!’

‘Baseball ain’t your thing, kid. Stick to what you know.. .. nothing!’

Apparently the new kid was getting heat from others, for a radically different opinion on who’s the best in the game. I smile to myself, understanding very well how the kid feels, for, once I too was a hot-blooded youngster who thought he knew the world better than the older senile generation. I take the cocktails over to the poker table. One of the patrons requests for yet another cup of coffee. I nod and head back to the counter. Meanwhile, at the poker table, the argument continues.

‘Laugh all you want, but remember you guys heard it here first .. When all’s said and done, Jason Giambi’s gonna be the greatest first baseman the Yanks ever had.’

Suddenly an old timer from across the room joins in the argument,

‘You’re just saying that ’cause he’s italian. Nobody who actually seen Gehrig play would say that. Listen to your uncle on this one.’

‘Oh I forgot.. everything was better “back then”, right? Ballplayers were better, groceries were cheaper, the sky was bluer. Five cents got you three hot dogs and a hooker, right?’

‘I repeat: Nobody who actually saw the man play.. and not on this fancy-schmancy SportsCenter B.S., either.. but actually saw him in the flesh, standing twenty feet away from you.. would ever say that Gehrig wasn’t the best first baseman they ever saw.. period.. ‘

‘.. who the @*&$# is this guy?’

All our heads turn towards the direction of his pointed finger. A stranger is sitting at one of the tables. How come I never saw him enter? None of us saw him enter. He was sitting at the table near the cappuccino machine, sipping on a cup of coffee. It was amazing that none of us heard him come in. There was something sinister about him. My thoughts were interrupted by a shuffling all around the room. All the patrons scramble to their feet, pulling out their guns.

‘How’d he get in here? Anybody see him come in?’

They walk upto him, guns covering his every moment. He, however, seems to be least bothered and continues to sip on his coffee nonchalantly. One of the big guys goes up to him.

‘What.. you “no speaka da English”? Who are you and how the hell you get in here?’

The stranger continues sipping on his coffee.

‘Okay, I’ll explain it so even you can understand, ya friggin’ green-horn: This is a private club. That means somebody can’t come in here unless we invite ‘em.’

The stranger doesn’t even bother to look up. Enraged, Big Al swats away his coffee.

‘That also means we can.. ‘.

He never gets to complete his sentence as a foot long knife shoots out from the stanger’s knuckle, impaling his palm. The stranger gets up with a devilish grin.

‘I was drinkin’ that’.

A deadly silence falls in the room. For a long moment, no one moves.

What happened next can only be described as a massacre. While scrambling for my gun, brief glances tell me that the stranger was fighting like one possessed. He was taking on everyone at once, butchering them with what looked like knifes protruding from his knuckles. Some tried shooting him but he seemed inhumanly oblivious to the gunshot wounds. At the sight of this, I stand confused whether to run and hide or to shoot this monster who seemed like the devil incarnate. I cower behind the counter, trying to keep myself invisible. The inside of the hall looked like a blood bath with red everywhere and bodies littered all over. Some even went out the window.

Minutes later, the stranger alone was left standing, his hands and “claws” soaked in blood. With a grim face, he walks up to the old timer.

‘Nineteen thirty-nine. The house that Ruth built.’

‘D-dont come any closer! I’m an old man for $%^ sakes!’

‘”Today I am the luckiest man on the face a’ the earth.”‘

‘An old man, ya ^&%^$%!’

‘Cripes, what a speech. Not a dry eye in the house. Hell.. even I got a little choked up.’

The stranger picks up the old timer’s coffee and slowly sips it. He then looks up.

‘Lou Gehrig was the best first baseman who ever lived’.

His eyes twinkled.

‘Anybody who actually saw the man play would know that..’

N.B: This is not an original composition. This is a narration of the events in the comic Wolverine v2 #183.

Dog Logan is the antagonist in the Wolverine mini-series, Wolverine : Origin. Dog is the son of Thomas Logan, gardner of the Howlett estate.

It can be deduced from Thomas Logan’s and Elizabeth Howlett’s words, and Wolverine’s appearance, that James Howlett aka Wolverine may be, in fact, Thomas Logan’s and Elizabeth Howlett’s son. However this is only conjecture and James has always acknowledged John Howlett as his father (and role model). However, Wolverine’s short temper and bestial nature further strengthens this supposition. If so, Dog Logan would be James’ step-brother and if he was aware of it, his hatred for him would be even more justifiable. Yet, James is noble unlike Thomas Logan. Maybe this can be attributed to Elizabeth Howlett’s genes and not Thomas
Logan’s.

It is not shown what happens to Dog Logan at the end of Wolverine : Origin. There is wide conjecture that Dog must’ve grown up into one of Wolverine’s foremost enemies. The two candidates suggested are Sabretooth and Cyber. Cyber was Wolverine’s commanding office during WW2. He treated him roughly and on one occassion beat the living hell out of him and put out one of Wolverine’s eyes. Cyber later went on to become a super-villain (his former name was Silas Burr). With adamantium laced to his skin, single claws and healing factor, he became one of Wolverine’s worst foes AND the only person Wolverine accepts as his superior. However, times have changed and Wolverine has returned the beating he had recieved along with the eye-removal.

Sabretooth (real name: Victor Creed) has hounded Wolverine from time immemorial. Some of the earlier incidents were during the Weapon-X program where the two were team-mates. Sabretooth can be percieved as the equal and opposite of Logan. Bestial, similar powers. Where Logan fights to keep his inner demons in check, Creed embraces it. Where Logan is noble, Creed is back-stabbing and selfish to the extreme.

In my opinion, Dog Logan grew up to be Sabretooth. There are just too many co-incidences. Firstly, the similarity in appearance. Dog Logan is about the height and build of Sabretooth. They both have blond hair and razor-sharp teeth. However, during Wolverine : Origin, Dog Logan doesnt seem to have a healing factor as he still carries the scars James gave
him. It is possible it got activated later. Also, Sabretooth has been hounding him since time immemorial. Cyber came into the picture only during WW2 and they came into contact only because Cyber was his commanding officer. If not, they never would’ve met or become enemies.

However, even after Sabretooth dies (in Wolverine : The End), Logan is unaware that Sabretooth is Dog Logan. Either unaware, or doesn’t mention it. Marvel is yet to spin out who Dog Logan became.. Till then all we can do it wait..