"Because, Hap, if any of my employees can't call me, they can send me an email that I'll be sure to see before they can complete hours of difficult technical work. Barring that, they could consult Pepper or any of the many, many Stark employees that work at my multi-billion dollar corporation. It's not like it's just you, me and a guy in a van."
The newspaper strip format affords such little space or time for any kind of rich visual or narrative texture, and so I find myself transfixed by the Parkers' decor in panel two. The gold pitcher/bowl combo on the table, the tall, thin painting of squiggly lines -- were they gifts? Are they mementos from a special shop they found together? Did they find them in the trash? I mean, who are these people?
"I called Tony Stark and he's gonna lend us another robot, see..."
"Wait, maybe I could be his psychiatrist! Do psychiatrists take pictures of Spider-Man? I'm really good at taking pictures of Spider-Man."
"That's too bad, lady. By the way it's J. Jonah Jameson. Three Js. Jonah is actually his middle name, so it's J. Jonah Jameson like I said. It stands for John."
And not the insufferable sociopath he loves!
Jameson holds Manbot more tenderly than he's held his wife in twenty years. Manbot's eye slits stare back, dark and empty.