And yet in spite of the universal acclaim, the boys are overwhelmed with stress and angst. They all live with a rich, wild woman they call Auntie, a jet-setting world traveler prone to arriving by parachute and departing by jet-pack between adventures. In the first episode, she offers them a deal: Her niece Sunako is moving in with them, and she needs to be trained to be a "real lady." If the boys succeed, Auntie will cover their living expenses; otherwise, she'll triple their rent. Since the boys are perpetually short on cash (some are lazy, others are so beautiful that any attempt to work leads to overwhelming sexual harassment, regardless of the boss's gender), they have no choice but to accept the deal.

But when Sunako shows up, she's a crazed hermit; with her long, unkempt black hair covering her face and her perpetual muttering of strange morbid things, she's frequently mistaken for a Japanese ghost straight out of horror movies like The Ring. She also dresses like a garage-sale remnant box. Why? Two years ago, she confessed her love to a boy who responded, "Listen, kid, I hate ugly girls." Since then, hating herself, she's hidden her face and eschewed femininity, and she's become obsessed with all things dark, violent, eerie and gothic. While the boys enjoy posing, preening and watching girls fall over them, Sunako is happiest alone in a dark room, talking to her anatomy models (a skeleton and some half-dissected men) and watching slasher films. None of which is particularly "ladylike" by Japanese standards, let alone over-the-top silly-comedy standards.

"Queer Eye for the Strange Girl"

There's something inherently sexist about the premise behind The Wallflower, which centers on the boys' fainting horror over a girl who doesn't dress to impress men or take proper care of her skin. ("I'm shocked that there are girls in this world who aren't princesses," the sluttiest boy grouses at one point.) Actually, just about everyone is horrified over Sunako, and they go out of their way to call her ugly and persecute her, even though she is, of course, strikingly beautiful and commanding and martial-artist tough when she isn't hunched over and cackling over a horror movie or a haunted house.

But it's just about impossible to take offense at a parody executed in such ridiculous fashion. Like Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo or My Santa, The Wallflower is the kind of joke-a-second fantasy that goes off the rails into comedic craziness at every opportunity. Characters turn to stick figures or pale, wavering outlines or super-deformed midgets every few seconds to indicate their moods. Half the dialogue is delivered by all four boys in unison, screaming in horror at the top of their lungs. There's a great deal of running and panic, with emotive words like "Throb!" and "No!" appearing all over the screen as people talk. The animation isn't sophisticated—in spite of all the drooling over the boys, they look kind of squashed and scratchy half the time—but it's hilariously expressive.

And while most of the story is delivered at a yell—Sunako is as horrified at the prospect of a makeover as the boys are with the prospect of having to deal with a non-princess, and she spends half of her time screaming and the other half actively fighting back—it does have the occasional touching moment. Early on, Sunako develops a crush on the prettiest bishonen, Kyohei; seeing him as a "Creature of the Light," whom she's unworthy of, she sets out to kill him. And yet they periodically find common ground in the way they're judged and limited by their looks. It's fairly sweet when they connect. But it's a lot more manic fun when they don't.