Lt. Jon Jarl was not the only two-fisted space explorer to grace the text pages of yesteryear’s comic books. Joining the space patrolman in the glorious Brotherhood of Thick-Headed Dudes Blundering Through the Cosmos was the magnificently-named Monongahela Munroe (because “Youghiogheny Monroe” lacked a certain pizzazz).

Monroe’s exploits as the first man on Venus were chronicled in the lucidly-titled two-page text feature “VENUS!” which ran in Marvel’s Strange Tales #104 (January 1963), the issue that also unleashed Paste Pot Pete on an unsuspecting world.  (Gods truly walked the earth in those days.)

The Favorite Son of the Allegheny Plateau begins his mission on a high note, replete with accolades and some good ol’ fashioned subtext….

While Munroe aced the Space Academy’s “Zero-G Catheter Use” and “Advanced Ray Gun Training” seminars, he apparently missed the “Watch Where You Step When Exploring an Alien World” lecture. Hindsight mocks the best of us.

Munroe uses his fixed vantage point to familiarize himself with the Venusian environment, which includes stunted trees, purple grass, strange rock formations, and acrobatic chain-smoking fish…

The baffled earthman responds to the mindboggling spectacle in the only way he knows how — with a ride on the white syntho-horse.

Things get even weirder for Munroe after his date with the needle. First the fish swipe his ray-blaster from its belt holster, then they organize themselves into a collective humanoid form to mock the tripping space-traveler by echoing his own agonized cries…

It’s a fact: Venusian two-headed fish are real pricks.

The experience sours Munroe on the whole “Fist Man on Venus” gig. Trapped, injured, and without a means of contacting the rescue ship, he resigns himself to his inevitable fate.

Munroe’s last hope lies in using the copycat behavior of the fish to convey his S.O.S. message to a visiting survey team via a cross-continental version of the “Telephone” game. It’s a long shot, but one that eventually pays off…

After a few moments spent clarifying what Munroe meant by “whelp pee, snapped,” the strung out explorer was shuttled back Earth for medical treatment and some long overdue detox. He received an honorable discharge from the U.S. Space Force and retired to a nice inland cabin far from any sizable bodies of water. There he lived an uneventful life, apart from the unfortunate incident on Christmas Day 2127, when his brother-in-law gave him one of those “singing bass” novelty gag gifts. Luckily, cybernetic replacement eyes are fully covered by 22nd Century HMO plans, so there was no lasting harm done.

As for the mystery of the archaic bear trap? It was left behind by Carson Napier, who had a reputation for being a notoriously careless and sloppy sportsman.

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