Superhero Diaries

The Superhero Diaries: by those with their underwear on the outside.

By The Hulk

It’s good to be me.

Hulk here. What’s that you say? “It doesn’t sound like the Hulk”?? That’s probably because I’m conjugating my verbs now. For the most part, I’m through with the whole “Hulk Smash” sentence structure. True, it gave me a unique voice, but I found it limited the range of ideas I could express to merely who was smashing (me), and occasionally what was being smashed (other stuff). All rationale and reason behind my smashing went unspoken - no one ever knew if I was smashing to express my existential angst stemming from my monstrous exterior, or if I really had to pee. I believe it was this shortcoming in my communication skills that led to several misunderstandings between myself and my peers; misunderstandings which then resulted in extensive property damage. So a while back* I decided to change, and I’m smart now. Smart as a tack. A big, green tack that can punch through a tank.

Here’s where I should admit that some time ago I destroyed a significant part of Las Vegas. In my defense, a nuclear bomb went off in my face. Luckily that’s not lethal to me, but it is a lot like stubbing your toe, so understandably, I got a little “teed-off”. And even though I’m trying to be the type of Hulk who uses words to solve his problems, nothing feels quite like the ol’ Smashy-Smash. So yes, I did it, Hulk Smash Las Vegas. Looking back, I felt bad about it, sure, but in my opinion, there’s no need to rehash old stuff. Water under the bridge, bygones being bygones, no crying over spilled milk and destroyed casinos…that sort of thing. Unfortunately, several of the world’s most powerful people didn’t see it the same way.

I’m referring to Reed Richards, stretchy brainiac from the Fanatstic Four; Black Bolt, leader of the Inhumans and world-class mime; Doctor Strange, “Sorcerer Supreme” (Siegfried sans Roy and tiger); and Iron Man, tin-plated asshole. These four guys decided I was too “dangerous”, and therefore had to be “put on a rocket” and “sent into outer space”. (Sorry, I tend to overuse quotation marks when I get angry. It’s an outlet I’ve found for my “murderous rage”.)

In an attempt to make a long story short, I landed on a barbarous planet where I was enslaved and made to fight in gladiatorial combat. Eventually I inspired an uprising against a sadistic emperor, killed him, and was declared king. People often point out (rather derisively, I might add) that this is the plot from Gladiator, and as much as it hurt to spend several months not doing much else than get stabbed, to come back and hear that my ordeal was one big case of copyright infringement is a kick in the big green nads. But rather than get angry and throw those movie geeks into orbit, I use art to release my frustration, such as when I fold their cars into origami swans. Besides, I haven’t seen the movie, but I say that my story is more tragic, because my wife and unborn child were killed. I bet that didn’t happen in Gladiator! Oh. Apparently it did. Goddamnit! HULK SMA- no, Hulk. Hulk be cool. Hulk take deep breath. Hulk be like one giant green Fonzie…

Yes, that’s right, I had found a wife. Her name was Caiera. She was a warrior, she was strong, and she understood me. She also had a great rack. And just when I had finally found peace among a people that accepted me, the shuttle that landed me on that godforsaken planet blew up, destroying the entire planet, including her. It’s true what they say: breaking up is hard to do.

(Also, earlier, when I said that it was good to be me, I meant aside from the whole “dead wife” thing.)

The survivors were an eclectic mix of aliens who fought alongside me in the arena. We are friends, despite our differences, because above all we share an interest in, and are highly proficient at, destroying stuff. Plus, when you’re fighting lava monsters and death robots in a giant pit, you kind of become blood brothers whether you like it or not. (Luckily, no one in my posse has intergalactic hepatitis.)

Here’s my roster:

Korg: a big rock

Hiroim the Shamed: He’s got a lot of fancy names for it, but really he’s a ninja made out of stone. He and Korg insist there are huge differences between the two of them, but I say they both beat scissors and lose to paper. I forget why he calls himself the shamed; it’s in the middle of an incredibly boring story I’ve heard like five times and it would be rude of me to ask him again. It probably has to do with some frat prank or something.

Elloe Kaifi: She’s like Rizzo, from Grease. If they raced space ships.

No-Name of the Brood and Miek the Unhived: Insect-like alien creatures. Also known as “Slimy”, “Icky”, and “Oh God it touched me again!”

We had a serviceable spacecraft, and we headed back for Earth, to take our revenge in a very smash-like fashion. And here’s where things get good for not-so-little old me, because I am kicking ass. As of my last count, we have kicked the living crap out of everyone. Not just the guys who sent me out into space, I’m talking about the Avengers, the X-Men, every miscellaneous hero in New York City and three branches of the U.S. Military. I’ve chained them in Madison Square Garden, where soon I will make them fight to the death. I can’t wait; my newfound mastery of words has given me an appreciation for irony. Plus, I’ll get to wear a toga.

I feel like a little kid. I mean, c’mon, who hasn’t dreamed of being the star at the Garden??? Sure, I always imagined I’d be wearing a Knicks uniform, but the warm feeling one gets when he fulfills a boyhood fantasy isn’t diminished just because he had to kill a bunch of people to get there.

But that’s enough for now. The betting windows are going to close soon and I need to put ten bucks on She-Hulk. People think that’s it’s terrible for me to bet on my cousin’s fight to the death, but so what? I don’t care if she is a long shot; she’s family and I want to support her.

*I have no idea when this happened, because I don’t usually read The Hulk.

This Superhero Diary was brought to you by recent events in Planet Hulk and World War Hulk, mostly by Greg Pak, who has done an amazing job making me care about a character I always thought was dumb.