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N ow you have Tina Turner’s “Thunderdome” song in your head. You’re welcome.

Anyhow, guess what? I have a Halloween costume figured out already. So when I start freaking out at the beginning of October and whining that I can’t think of any rad outfits, remind me of The Red Bee.

It came to me while researching the upcoming summer movie preview…It was late, my eyes were like two red rubies from staring at the computer for so long (that’s probably why, anyway) and all of a sudden, BAM! I noticed for the eighth year in a row that a good chunk of the movies feature superheroes.

Want to see the eleventieth version of Spider-Man? Coming right up, bitches, right along with another reappearance of the Hulk, and Thor, and Iron Man. They’re joined by Black Widow and some dude calling himself Hawkeye. I’d never heard of either of them because until this week, my knowledge of comic book peeps was entirely gleaned from the movies and the current Underoo selection at Target. (Batman dominates. Damn straight.)

It was time to begin my edumication.

But THAT led me far, far away from the work at hand. Instead of looking up who’d directed what, I spent a solid hour daydreaming about what powers I would have (probably laser eyes), who my sidekick would be (a laser cat named Cattack!), what toys I would have (probably a monster truck with more lasers) and what I’d be wearing (probably a bikini with a force field around it. Made out of lasers.)

Then I went on a hunt for the worst superheroes ever and discovered why they keep making movies about the same ones over and over again: There are some severely lame superpeeps out there.

So far, the worst group I’ve found is called “Section 8,” led by a drunk superhero named Sixpack, who beats baddies up with broken liquor bottles. In his gang: Bueno Excellente (who uses the power of perversion), The Defenestrator (carries a window to throw people through), Friendly Fire (predictably is the team’s weak link), Jean de Baton-Baton (accosts people with baguettes), Flemgem (he, uh, has a super gross chest cold) and Shakes (a hobo who does not bring all the boys to the yard, if you know what I’m saying.) The group is rounded out with a guy named Dogwelder. Dogwelder literally welds dead dogs to bad guys.

I’m not sure that’s the superpower I’d choose given the opportunity, and I’m not convinced this is even possible, given dogs and faces don’t tend to have much in the way of solder, but I suppose it’s hard to find the way back to your evil volcano lair with a decomposing Chow Chow on your face.

Hands down, though, the best horrible superhero I’ve found is dubbed “The Red Bee.” All those years spent finding creative ways to answer the question, “What are you wearing?” and coming up with outfits comprised of cowboy hats, Manolo Blahniks and chocolate thongs … wasted.

Right on the cover of Issue No. 1 of the 1940 “Hit Comics” is possibly the worst outfit of all time. He’s mild-mannered, Oregonian assistant DA Rick Raleigh by day, and The Red Bee by night — rocking a pink, puffy pirate shirt, knee-high boots, red- and yellow- striped tights, and a belt. Hold on, I’m not finished…

He keeps his sidekick in his belt buckle, prepared to release when danger is nigh. And his sidekick is a bumblebee named Michael.

A bumblebee.

Named Michael.

I just sat there, staring at the Wikipedia entry, wondering how in the hell a superhero so fabulously weird could have fallen to the wayside. And then wondering if it was even necessary to slut up a Halloween costume like that. The bee is already nekkid.

We don’t need another hero. All we want is life beyond “Thunderdome.” And some red and yellow tights.

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