He’s a seven foot tall, three hundred and fifty pound stack of throbbing, peaking, USDA choice beefsteak who flies, chews steel, and laughs at point-blank atomic blasts. Don’t expect adult gallantry and confident sagacity from this man mountain; inside he’s a virginal, acne-ridden, insecure, fourteen year old nerd!
Distorted through the fun-house mirror of modern alienated and desensitized youth culture by the ingenious minds of Gerard Jones and Len Strazewski, Captain Marvel was skewed into the form of Prime. I took the ball and ran with it, over-emphasizing every anatomical detail, every vein, artery, tendon, muscle, pose, explosive lunge, and every blistering, bombastic battle. After years on Batman, the contrast was exhilarating to me. I was in my prime physically and professionally. It was Prime time!
The primates are still awaiting his return.
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