No mascot has a stranger story than Popsicle Pete. Manly readers of Man Comics already know "him" as a harbinger of unmitigated fear. In sign language, you say his name by bleeding out of your eyes. Popsicle Pete is what an abortion sees when it imagines its parents. But it wasn't always this way.
Let's go back to the beginning.
In 1939, a 13-year-old named Carl McCready was a finalist in a nation-wide "Typical American Boy" contest. This was unexpected, since he has no memory of entering. He immediately left alone for New York because what's the worst that could happen?
Carl won! He was just that typical. They spelled his name wrong when they announced it, but that didn't matter since now that Carl was the "Typical American Boy," he was given a new name: "Popsicle Pete." Little Carl thought, That's weird, but still -- hooray! Little Carl thought, I'm going to be a star! Oh, Carl. The darkness never laughs, but if it did, this would be the time for it.
Once Karl was made into "Popsicle Pete," he started appearing in two-page adventures in All-American Comics. I'm about to tell you how boring these adventures were, and you will never believe me. He collected stamps. He sent in Popsicle bags for baseball mitts. The Adventures of "Popsicle Pete" were so dull that police used him to bore child molesters into comas.
These horrible adventures went on for years and when "Popsicle Pete" vanished, no one noticed, including Carl. A few months later, he reappeared in half-page advertisements that were almost criminally boring. It's like all his early adventures were just a testing ground for some advanced new type of pointlessness. Poor typical Carl McCready was having the happiness slowly squeezed out of him. Decomposing fruit leads a more interesting life than "Popsicle Pete." Take a look at this bullshit:
Imagine if it was your job to teach people lessons like "teachers are actual humans!" How long would it take until you went mad? A year? Six months? For little Carl McCready the answer is far less. These new "Popsicle Pete" ads vanished almost immediately. Carl didn't appear in comic books for a year. To the rest of the world, his suffering seemed to finally be over. The rest of the world was mistaken, and it was going to pay.
A year after his disappearance, the night's cervix opened and gave him back to us. But he wasn't the same. The old "Popsicle Pete" was gone. His name was no longer something he won in a contest. It was him. Popsicle Pete was among us.
His adventures became dark orgies of madness. Behold his deeds.
Just as suddenly as he'd arrived, he vanished again. His advertisements were taken over by the "Popsicle Twins"; excitable children who solved inconveniences with "Popsicle" prizes. It wasn't as simple as that, though.
Somehow the shade of "Popsicle Pete" remained. At the end of each of Tim and Tess's adventures, "Pete" would appear, maybe for no other reason than to remind you that he can. At any time.
There is no escape, no place to hide.
None of you are safe.