(Note: This month's column is one big spoiler. As you may know if you follow the comics gossip columns on the 'Net, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy has a special tie-in to the upcoming Spider-Man 2 movie, in which a famous comics creator gets a makeover from the Fab Five. Exciting stuff, moreso since the makeover recipient's identity has been kept, in best superhero fashion, absolutely secret...until now. Yes, once again, thanks to my sterling reputation in the comics field (and my photos of Ed Brubaker, dressed as Beppo The Super-Monkey, being fondled by a certain higher up in comics publishing), I have a rough master of the upcoming Queer Eye episode and have transcribed excerpts to help facilitate that warm fuzzy tingle forbidden information inspires in us all. Enjoy, and please don't hesitate to dash to the Internet and rub other people's noses in it! (I find that nicely stokes that pleasant glow.)

[Queer Eye’s theme music, “All Things (Just Keep Getting Better,” plays and then segues nicely into clips from Spider-Man 2 which then, at the end, explode into a star-burst wash of the Fab Five, riding in a stretch limousine on their way to their next fashion emergency.]

CARSON: Pow! Zap! Fashion isn't just for gay people anymore!

TED: Absolutely, Carson. We're on our way to the home of one of the greatest creators in comic book history...

THOM: Where we're going to give him his very own fashion sense secret origin!

CARSON: Yes, he’s going to be bitten by a radioactive fashion queen!

KYAN: Why do you always get all the good lines?

CARSON: It’s because I have no shame whatsoever. It’s almost sad.

JAI: Not half as sad as the look of this guy! Here, look at some of these photos!

KYAN: We’ve got our work cut out for us, that’s for sure! We’re gonna take this Green Goblin and turn him into a Toby Maguire when we’re done! I can only imagine what he’s going to say!

[CUT TO: ALAN MOORE, standing sleeveless at the door of his huge Northampton house, enormous spliff dangling from his lips.]

ALAN MOORE: But I’ve got nothing to do with Spider-Man 2. Absolutely nothing.

JAI: That may be, but everyone we talked to said you needed our help anyway!

THOM: You beat out an impressive list of fashion disasters to get selected by us, Mr. Moore!

KYAN: Pretty much every straight man in the industry except for Neil Gaiman! That guy could probably teach me some moisturizing tips…

ALAN MOORE: Well, that’s all very well and good mates, but I think you’d just be wasting your time. I’ve got a beautiful companion and she loves me just the way I am, isn’t that right, Melinda?

[MOORE turns to a wide-eyed MELINDA GEBBIE.]

ALAN MOORE: Mel? Mel?

[MELINDA GEBBIE bursts into tears.]

MELINDA:  Oh, God help me, Alan! I’m sorry but it’s true! You could use a makeover—I, I feel like I’ve been having sex with a Fabulous Furry Freak Brother all these years!

ALAN MOORE: But…I thought that was part of the turn-on for you, Mel…

KYAN: That’s what men always think, Mr. Moore! One side!

[At this point, The Fab Five take over Alan Moore’s house, and rummage from room to room, sizing up what needs to be done to happy-sounding techno.]

THOM: Oh, dear God, what…is this?

ALAN MOORE: It’s an altar to Glycon, the imaginary snake-god I “worship.” It’s been made, paper-maché fashion, out of old copies of Eagle, Whizzer & Chips, and, of course, my own semen.

THOM: You erected an altar from old comic books and sperm?

CARSON: Hmmm. In principle it sounds great, but the execution leaves something to be desired.

KAI: Maybe if it had been old Hugh Grant news clippings, we could’ve let it slide…

[CUT TO: The study, where two antique writing desks are surrounded by moldering stacks of ancient tomes, issues of the Image 1963 comics, old scripts, and tobacco stippled rolling papers.]

ALAN MOORE: And this is where the magic happens! Literally, of course.

CARSON: Wow, it’s like Malibu Barbie’s Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath!

THOM (waving his hands): Don’t you find it’s a bit hard to work when you can’t breathe?

ALAN MOORE: Actually, I find breathing an impediment to true creative work. Ancient shamans regularly restricted their own breath to bring on visions to help them in…

TED: I’m starting to think we should have stuck to the original plan and raided Stan Lee’s house.

JAI: You’re just saying that because he got you drunk!

TED: Well, he does make a mean vodka gimlet…

KYAN: Forget it! That wasn’t a toupee, that was a tribble dipped in web fluid! At least, here I’ve got all-natural material to work with. Come with me, Alan!  We’re going to see if we can make you a little less Dr. Octopus and a little more Dr. Luka Kovac.

[CUT TO: Salon montage, where Kyan clips, trims and at some points, shears, Alan Moore’s beard and hair.]

KYAN: A well-groomed beard and hair are easier to maintain, Alan, which can free up more time to hit those deadlines of yours.

ALAN MOORE: I’m afraid I must disagree, Kyan. There have been times when only by weaving lit thatches of marijuana into my beard—much like the pirate Blackbeard—have I been able to sustain the creative energies able to finish three comic scripts in twenty-four hours. [The phone rings.] Excuse me. I have to answer this. Hello?

DAVE SIM [voiceover]: Alan, it’s me, Dave Sim! I hope you’re happy now! Homosexualists are gathering at your home to do the will of their Feminist Allies, and make sure you have completed your transition from Man to neutered “Male.”

ALAN MOORE: Funnily enough, Dave, although you call me every day at this time to announce that, some might actually consider you correct in this instance. The gentlemen from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy are here, giving me a fashion makeover. Thanks to my involvement in Spider-Man 2, apparently.

DAVE SIM: I knew it! It serves you right for disparaging my Rational arguments regarding the Male Light jeopardized by the Devouring Rapacious Female Void! Now you have to be brought into the Merged Void—not unlike Edward G. Robinson at the end of Soylent Green.

ALAN MOORE: Hmmm, although my memories of that film, being as I have not seen Soylent Green in over twenty years, are dim, I don’t remember anyone advising Edward G. Robinson that, “if it’s in a plastic tube and blue, it probably doesn’t need to go on your face.”

DAVE SIM: You have to admit that Queer Eye for the Straight Guy is precisely the sort of show that validates my theories. The Homosexualists rush up to some Frumpy Void (who doubtlessly imagine themselves as some beleaguered Mary Richards when they inevitably actually resemble dowdy Brenda Morganstern) and cheeringly celebrate the toppling of the Male Light’s last refuge—his study or his model railroad room—with many happy whoops and hollers. Then, when that’s accomplished, they visually emasculate the besieged Male Light to make him more attractive. Attractive to whom? Why, to Feminists and Homosexualists, of course!  But do any of the Homosexualists ever turn to Brenda Morganstern and say, “You look like a sagging sack of wet—”

ALAN MOORE: Oops. Have to go, Dave: Kyan is ready to apply my ginger-avocado mask. Ta.

KYAN: Who was that?

ALAN MOORE: In the hopes of causing the caller additional psychic distress, let’s just say it was my mother.

[CUT TO: ALAN MOORE and CARSON KRESSLEY stand face to face in front of several ebon wardrobes while the soundtrack warbles Morricone-style showdown music.]

CARSON: All right, Alan Moore! It’s time for a little less Ralph Dibny and a little more Ralph Lauren! A little less Mr. Mxyzptlk and little more Mr. Mix-It-Up! A little more Armani and a little less Our Army at War! I have just one word for you!

ALAN MOORE: Psilocybin?

CARSON: Sleeves, Mr. Moore. Sleeves! Apart from Jude Law’s buttocks, there isn’t a lot of pasty English skin people willingly want to look at. Which is where a helpful invention like sleeves come in, particularly if your arms are less Morpheus from the Matrix and more Morbius, The Living Vampire.

ALAN MOORE: But I can’t wear sleeves.

CARSON: Of course you can. You just have to put down the bong and get out of “Ideaspace” long enough to figure out how they work. See, there’s one sleeve for each arm…

ALAN MOORE: No, I mean I bartered my ability to wear sleeves to Asmodel in exchange for only needing three hours of sleep a night.

CARSON: You made a fashion deal with the devil?

ALAN MOORE: Asmodeus is a vain and covetous creature, much like ourselves. It couldn’t pass up the chance to be the first creature in the celestial spheres to actually be wearing sleeves, now could it?

CARSON: Well, then, let’s discuss those finger rings. Maybe you should be trying to look less like The Mandarin and more like Mandrake the Magician. In fact…

ALAN MOORE: I’m afraid, Carson, those rings also serve a magical purpose. With them, I have bound the Ifrit, wind spirits, to my fingers, allowing me to write three times as fast as formerly, and without any fatigue or cramping setting in, ever.

CARSON: And what did you have to exchange for that?

ALAN MOORE: Any sense of shame, whatsoever. Which is why you can’t help me.

[The other members of THE FAB FIVE walk into the room.]

KYAN: But we’re not here to shame you, Mr. Moore. We’re here to help you!

TED: I’ve spent the last six hours creating recipes that weren’t a variation on either Shepherd’s Pie or pot brownies!

JAI: And Melinda and I have spent the last two weeks preparing a surprise performance of The Birth Caul…On Ice!  We wouldn’t be committing all of our time and energy to projects like these just to shame you. We love you and the devotion and talent you bring to your writing and all your creative projects!

ALAN MOORE: I know, mates, I know that. But at my heart, I’m a formalist, which means I’ve spent long years figuring how to turn my weaknesses into strengths. Any attempts to undo them will simply throw a spanner in my creative working process.

THOM: Then…then…it’s almost as if, for the greater good, the Fab Five has to fail!

CARSON: And we can’t do that! Fairies only exist as long as you believe in them!

KYAN: You’re right, Carson. [Pause] You do have no shame whatsoever! Quick, everyone! Back to the Queermobile! If we hurry, we can catch Warren Ellis as he’s leaving the pub!

[Exit all, to the strains of happy, albeit slightly more desperate sounding, techno music.]