She-Hulk… BLOG!
Published by z March 30th, 2006 in Diaries, OtherThe Comic Blogs: by those who truly wear their underpants on the outside.
By She-Hulk
I feel like I should be writing to Dear Abby. This morning, a good friend of mine asked me to represent him in a civil suit. Unfortunately, my firm is already representing the plaintiff, so I had to refuse him because it represents a conflict of interest. Then he saw the plaintiff in our offices, and he’s understandably insulted. It’s not that I don’t support him, but the requirements of my job have to come first. What makes things a little more complicated is that the friend I’m referring to is the Thing. I’ve seen him skip Buicks across a lake. I know he’d never hurt me, but if he gets mad enough he’s likely to put my car into orbit.
And if that were the end of my problems, I’d be grateful.
Another friend of mine wants me to defend him on a rape charge, and I don’t know how to handle this either, because I’m pretty big into feminism. I can leg press sixty tons, which means I’m like Gloria Steinem’s wet dream. Back when I was on the Avengers, Hawkeye and Captain America used to always joke about having me clean up after them, make them dinner and get them beers. Then I folded Hawkeye in two and shoved him in the washing machine. When I turned it on, I could practically hear the glass ceiling shatter. (Turns out it was his tibia, but whatever. The jokes stopped, and that’s the point.)
No, Clark Kent looks like ME
Published by z March 27th, 2006 in MiscellaneousThe following sentence was said to me on 2/15 at 9:05 PM, according to my notes.
“You look like Clark Kent.”
I don’t look like Clark Kent. There are blond Asian women who look more like Superman than I do. I can’t even pretend I’m Superman for an hour after I’ve seen my reflection. The only reason this girl could possibly have thought I looked like Clark Kent was because I was wearing glasses and it was an open bar that night. Even then I think she might have been having a stroke.
Doesn’t matter. Whatever she was selling, I was buying. I looked her dead in the eye and said, “Yes. Yes I do. Now excuse me while I go write that down.”
Moments like these are why I carry a notebook.
Diary of a teenaged superhero
Published by z March 24th, 2006 in Diaries, OtherThe Comic Blogs: written by those who truly wear their underpants on the outside.
Brought to you by: Superboy
When you’re Superboy, the highs in life are real high. But the lows are real low. This morning I woke up in a tank, and I’m a test-tube baby, so that’s, like, not cool. Even worse, Wonder Girl was standing in the room with me. At first I was embarrassed, right? I’m thinking, “Fuckin Robin and Beast Boy.” Those guys know I hate being teased about being a test-tube baby. (I keep telling them I’m a clone, but they never listen to me.) Every time I get drunk with those guys, I always pass out and wake up in a tank somewhere, usually with the word “Dick” written on my forehead. (It’s alright; sometimes when Beast Boy is sleeping, he’ll turn into a dog or a cat or something, and then it’s fun to shave him. When he wakes up he says it actually really hurts, but I’m like “shouldn’ta put me in a tank, dude.”)
Bap! Pow! Zing! The Bat-Blog!
Published by z March 15th, 2006 in Batman, DiariesThe Comic Blogs: Written by those who truly wear their underpants on the outside.
With everything that went on between me and Jason, it reminded me of another friend of mine who wasn’t such a fan of staying dead: Hal Jordan, everybody! A bunch of years back, Hal was a Green Lantern, which is like an intergalactic cop with a ring that makes shapes out of green light. As always, the “please don’t question what I say” policy will be in effect. If I say that there’s a guy who makes solid objects out of green light with a ring, it’s going to be easier for everybody if you just nod your head and hope I don’t hit you with a boomerang.
Hal Jordan was Green Lantern back with me in the Justice League, and we always got along well. When Hal was a kid he watched his father die in a plane crash, so we’re dead-dad buddies. (It’s not a conversation that comes up a lot, but we always get together on Father’s day with a handle of scotch and watch Field of Dreams.) Back when I’d throw barbeques at the mansion, Hal and I were the two guys drinking beer by the cooler. Superman started the coals, Green Arrow brought a quiver full o’ shish kabobs, and Aquaman brought salmon, even though he’d cry whenever we threw it on the grill. I don’t care what the fish’s name was; I’ll call him Delicious.