Superhero Diaries

The Superhero Diaries: by those who truly wear their underpants on the outside.

Today’s Author: Batman

When I was a kid, I wanted a family so badly that…well, I can admit it: I used to play house. I’d sit around, imagining what it was like for all of the other kids, with their, y’know…“parents” and all.   Sometimes I’d set the dinner table with extra places, or I’d play Scrabble against my imaginary younger brother “Chuck” (who always cheated.)  I wrote lists of names I’d one day give to my kids, and a lot of days when I was down in the cave “practicing with my batarangs”, in my head I was playing catch with my dad, like some subterranean Rockwell scene.

Go ahead and laugh if you want.  A kid in my boarding school did once.  Then I broke his jaw.  By the way, I was eight.   Now, if you want to hear something really funny, Green Arrow’s favorite movie is “Beaches”.  We’re all a little screwed up. 

I’m reminded of my childhood obsession with family because it was always tougher for me around the holidays, particularly Christmas.  Sure, I always got the best presents, but you have to understand that basically I was buying them for myself.  Yes, my butler wrote the cards and wrapped them, but he’s on the payroll.  He’d “give” me a Slip N’ Slide or a mass spectrometer, I’d give him his bonus and a week’s vacation.  (I can’t imagine what it was like for him, reading all of those letters I wrote to Santa where the first two items were “My Mom” and “My Dad”.)

I only mention it because, while I know reality never manages to live up to expectations (for example, I always expected to have a living set of parents,) when I think of how desperately I wanted a family, I’m shocked at how horribly mine has turned out.

To recap:  I impregnated Talia al’Ghul years ago, yet had no idea despite the fact that I’m the world’s greatest detective.  (I thought she was just getting a little fat, and I learned not to ask that question a few years ago when Catwoman’s leather jumpsuit looked a little tight in the waist.)   Now I’ve missed the formative years of my son’s life: his first words, his first steps, the first time he incapacitated a grown man.  Talia didn’t even keep photo albums.  What kind of mother is that???  It makes me feel awful.

But still, I have two sons now, and I should be grateful for that.  It’s what Thanksgiving is all about.  Except this kid is a son of a bitch.  I understand how he could have some legitimate resentment and parental issues, but no matter what his feelings were, it’s pretty inexcusable for him to beat my butler unconscious and kick my adopted son (Robin) hundreds of feet down into the cave.  He’s going to have to learn that that’s not how we do things in this family.   Unfortunately I can’t get too mad at him; not after all those times I beat up Green Arrow.  And Green Lantern.  And Superman.  And Dick Grayson, my ex-Robin.  And Jason Todd, my other ex-Robin.  Still… not cool, especially because he beat up Alfred, who’s now going to ask me for the thousandth time to put him on some kind of health plan.  (It’s not like I can’t afford it, but if I cave on this issue, next thing I know I’m matching his 401(k) contributions and offering him discounts at the local health club.  I didn’t get his rich being a sucker.)  I had really had it up to here with the kid. 

It turns out this was all part of his mom’s plan.  She dumped him off with me so that I’d be distracted while she and her army of ninja Man-Bats (remember those?) took over the rock of Gibraltar with a submarine.  She says it’s because Gibraltar is a vital European military outpost.  Sure, if this is 1714.  I know she’s immortal, but apparently in the last three hundred years she forgot about the advent of missiles.  It’s like planning an attack on China and making your first step “Occupy Taiwan.”

I grabbed the kid and a booster seat and we took off in the Bat-Rocket for Gibraltar.  Yes, I said the Bat-Rocket, but I want to say for the record that while I know there are a lot of single dads who buy their kid’s love with lots of cool stuff, this is completely different.  I need that rocket for work.  (Still, I’d like to see his mom top that one.) 

But there was a great surprise waiting for me at Gibraltar.  I don’t know what it was I said that got through to him, but all of a sudden I saw Damien fighting the Man-Bat’s with me, and words can’t even describe how good that felt.  Oh wait, there’s one: AWESOME.

Of course there’s nothing that can ruin good old-fashioned male bonding more than a sexy woman.  In a classic example of the impeccable timing of women, I’m knee deep in Man-Bats, the British Navy is about to sink the submarine I’m standing on, and she asks me to marry her.  She says she’ll never threaten the world again if I agree.  Now, we’ve had this discussion before.  Ain’t no room on this finger for a wedding ring AND brass knuckles, and you know the brass knuckles aren’t going anywhere.  Then she tells me that all of her future destruction will somehow be my fault, just because I wouldn’t marry her.  Except guilt trips don’t work on me, because I’m not Jewish.  We would have continued the discussion, but the submarine blew up.

Now that I can look back on it through my writing, I realize that while Damien and I did have some special moments, overall, he really was a shithead, and I’m glad he’s gone.  Maybe family isn’t what it’s cracked up to be, because honestly, if that’s what parenting is all about, then I’ll stick to humping Catwoman through two layers of spandex and a Kevlar codpiece, thank you very much.

This Bat-Blog was brought to you by Batman #658, by Grant Morrison.  He’s an awesome writer, and I imagine that it would have taken him less than two weeks to write a post like this.

One of my favorite fanboy hobbies is sitting around asking, “what would you do if you had so-and-so’s powers?” For the most part, answers consist of either exacting revenge on some people or very contrived methods of seeing girls naked. But if I was given superpowers, I’d be using them for EVERYTHING. So what would happen if I had the powers of…

Bullseye

I may just be speaking for myself, but I think a lot of the reason that comic book fans love Batman is that his lack of any superpowers makes him the everyman hero.  I only need two or three beers before I can flex my pecs in the bathroom mirror and convince myself that with a whole lot of karate training, some reading, and a convenient underground cave, I could totally be Batman.  

The best thing about Bullseye is that doing what he does would require significantly less work.  He’s not a particularly good fighter, he doesn’t speak eighteen languages and he’s never had to change a tire on an amphibious rocket-car.  Essentially all Bullseye does is throw stuff at his enemies while staying out of arm’s reach.  When I used to fight my brother, this is what I called “Plan A.”

Bullseye’s whole gimmick is that he never misses and “can turn anything into a deadly weapon” though he tends to limit himself to a custom pack of playing cards.  I say it’s a custom pack because no matter what he’s doing and no matter how many cards he throws, the next one he draws will ALWAYS be the ace of spades.  

But while the potential for murder definitely spices up a game of pinochle, I honestly don’t see a ton of uses for these powers other than winning free drinks at darts.  Still, what would happen if I had his abilities?  Let’s see.

Day 1: Some guy at work asked me if he could borrow my pen.  He was like, “just toss it to me.”  Whoops.  Okay, it was definitely my responsibility to just hand it to him, but I want to go on record saying I believe he has an unusually thin-skinned neck. 

Day 2:  Down at the Y, I’m the small white guy with a great outside jump shot.  Go me; way to fight the stereotype.

Day 3:  Supernatural aim, yet I still came home drunk and pissed all over the toilet seat last night.  Face it, ladies; it’s just a fact of life.

Day 4: The roommates are pissed at me.  They want to play hearts, but they allege that every deck in the house is missing the ace of spades. In an unrelated story, I have a watermelon that can beat a royal flush.

Day 5:  Now that guy from work is suing, which is so uncalled for; after all, they say he’s probably going to be able to talk again in a few years, and in the meantime, he gets one of those cool little voice boxes that makes him sound like a Speak-N-Spell.  I don’t see what he’s monotonously complaining about, and when I say monotonously, I don’t mean that figuratively. 

Day 6: Okay, I threw a gum wrapper in the trash and killed a 250-lb man.  I still don’t understand how that happened, and my lawyer for the co-worker thing says I’m not helping my case.

Day 7: Whoo.  Beer pong champion.  I skipped a rock across Lake Michigan. Fucking terrific.  These powers suck.

The Superhero Diaries: by those who truly wear their underpants on the outside.

Today’s Author: Batman

Y’know, I told myself before I even sat down that I didn’t want to write another post about the Robins. I’ve been sounding like a whiny little girl lately, and what’s worse is that I’m whining about my family, the very thing I’ve wished for ever since my parents were gunned down in front of me. But maybe I should have taken the hint that bachelorhood was the way to go.

As I mentioned in my last post, my “son” Damien recently came to stay with me. Now, I’ve seen “Annie”, and I won’t lie to you: I was kind of hoping it’d turn out like that. I’ve been humming ‘Tomorrow’ for the past week and a half. But I swear sometimes he makes me so mad I could just drown him in the river if it didn’t mean I’d have to administer some kind of vigilante ass-kicking to myself.

The kid is a nightmare. Now, I know how hard it can be on families when there’s only one parent in the child’s life. I’ve seen a ton of specials on Oprah about it, and they always break my heart. But until he watches his parents get shot in an alley I really don’t have that much sympathy for him. Yet from the first moment he got here he’s been throwing some world-class tantrums that have made me wonder if teenage boys and hand-to-hand combat training are a good combination. It’s less like he was raised by the League of Assassins…more like the League of Assholes! (Hah! I have to remember to use that one.)

I tried locking the kid in a room, but he broke out. Then he tried to impress me by killing one my weirdo villains, the Spook. It’s cute when a kid wants to be like his old man, like when you see a kid putting on his father’s suit, or learning how to shave. It just loses a little something when the kid beheads a guy and wants to get a pat on the head for it. Admittedly, one part of me just wanted to give him a big ol’ hug, but this was one of those times where I had to be ‘the dad’, because we have a very strict “don’t kill people” rule in this house, and as long as he’s living under my roof he’s going to do what I say. (I also wish that, as long as he was going to kill a guy, that he’d have killed a better one. I mean…the Spook??? The guy was as dangerous as an ingrown toenail. If you want to make dad’s life a little easier, kill Two-Face next time. I mean, I don’t even really want that, but… nevermind. I’m just tired and I’ve got a lot going on at work these days…)

Then he and Robin apparently got into a little spat in the cave. You know how boys are. But it would appear that Robin got his ass handed to him, and I can’t help but be disappointed in Robin. I’ve read that you’re not supposed to tell your children that, but Tim is Robin, for cryin’ out loud. I don’t care if Damien did grow up with the league of Assassins, Tim’s the one wearing the mask, and he let down the entire bat-family. I hate to say it, but this never would have happened to Dick.

Now, obviously I’m concerned for Tim. He’ll live, but he’s obviously banged up; Damien kicked him about a hundred feet down the Cave. And I’m sure he only let his guard down because he wanted to be nice to the new member of our little family, but I have warned him about compassion before. (Also, this really reinforces my whole “family equals pain” thing, much to the happiness of my therapist’s checking account.)

The worst part is that I have no idea what to do about this. I hit them both with a couple of tranquilizer darts and tied them up in different wings of the house, but it’s only a matter of time before explosives start flying. Meanwhile Alfred’s been too busy looking after Bratty McShithead to do his other work, and if he doesn’t get to the laundry soon I’m going to be fighting crime in sweat pants.

Obviously parenting is hard. If it weren’t, there wouldn’t be so many self-help books on the subject. But those books suck. I bet a lot of people say this, but none of them seem to address my particular issues. For instance, I went on a message board and posted the question, “my teenage son beheaded a guy and kicked my other son into a cave. What do I do? (Just for the sake of accuracy, they’re not my sons; they’re adopted.)” Now I’ve got Social Services breathing down my neck. Obviously I need to turn to people who really understand the unique type of situation I’m in

Superman seems like he’d have good advice about raising a kid, but the other day I asked him and he said, and I quote: “Well, my Pa used to always say that when you’ve got gophers, sometimes you can’t grow wheat.” It really helps if you try not to think about it. Meanwhile Wonder Woman was made out of clay and still doesn’t quite see the difference between human reproductive organs and the Play-Doh factory. The only guys who I can talk to as Batman and have kids are Commissioner Gordon and Green Arrow, and Gordon only has a girl. When I need to know how to braid hair, he’s my go-to guy, but I have real problems right now, and that leaves Green Arrow. Green Arrow, who was dead during his son’s formative years while the kid grew up in one of those kung-fu monasteries. Green Arrow, whose advice is always, “I don’t know… maybe you should just die for a year or two until things blow over.”
This is why there’s no daycare center in the JLA’s moonbase.

This Superhero Diary was brought to you by Batman #657, written by Grant Morrison.

I just started a new job this week, and things have been a little hectic.  I haven’t had as much time to write lately, so I figured I’d point you guys to this hilarious Aquaman Monologue to tide you over in the meantime.  It’s funnier than whatever I’d have written, anyway.

This is why I want to be published on McSweeney’s so badly.

Put any two comic book fans in a room together, and sooner or later a sentence is going to begin, “Who would win between…” It’s similar to the well-known bit where a kid puts Insect A and Insect B in a jar and shakes it see “who wins”, as if eight earthworms will eat a beetle if they are sufficiently vibrated.

Well, this is me, doing that.

Today we pit Aquaman vs. Namor. Both men call themselves the King of Atlantis. Anywhere else in the world and this would result in a devastating civil war, but we can settle it here, man-to-man. (Note: For thematic purposes the match will be held in an aquarium rather than a jar.)

In the Red Corner: Aquaman. Aquaman is the DC Universe’s Go-Bot. He is the son of a mermaid and a lighthouse operator (a union whose sexual logistics are nightmarish to consider), born with abilities beyond that of an ordinary lifeguard. He has above-average strength, can swim at above-average speeds, and best of all, has a telepathic rapport with all sea creatures. They say that he can cause small tidal waves by “throwing water”, but since a “small tidal wave” is really subjective, I get the idea that he’s just splashing around. I can make the bed shake with a fart; doesn’t mean I can call it an earthquake.

Somehow he managed to turn all of that into a membership in the Justice League of America, though I suspect there was also some Atlantean Affirmative Action policy in place as well. Or maybe the JLA is like any Ivy League school and he just bought them a library. In any case, Aquaman likes to make himself seem important by pompously reminding everyone that 70% of the Earth is covered by the ocean. Everyone else is polite enough not to mention that all of the interesting stuff happens in that other 30%.

In the Blue Corner: Namor. Namor is Marvel Comics’ Aquaman. I have no idea who came first, and I’m too lazy to look it up on Wikipedia. Namor and Aquaman have practically the same powers, and the same aversion to wearing a shirt. The only difference is that Namor has wings on his feet that allow him to fly, because Marvel writers realized that without them he’d be entirely worthless. Bizarrely, Namor’s wings are the feathered kind.

The Handicap: To reduce Namor’s single advantage of flight, the fish tank will have a closed cover and Aquaman will enlist the help of a flying fish named Rick. To make sure Rick listened to his telepathic commands rather than Namor’s, Aquaman promised Rick that he’d help him move next weekend.

Round 1: The two combatants tread water, sizing each other up. Namor asks, “why don’t you have wings on your feet?” Aquaman replies, “Because that would be moronic.” Rick the Flying Fish murmurs, “Y’know, I’m floating right here.” Aquaman apologizes.

Noticing Aquaman’s distraction, Namor rushes forward. He and Aquaman grapple and exchange several blows, though the damage seems minimal. Rick the Flying Fish finds an out of the way corner, vaguely uncomfortable at the sight of two shirtless men in codpieces rolling around in the water. Scoring is low at the end of the round, but Namor holds a slight lead.

Round 2: As soon as the bell rings, Namor rushes down to the bottom of the aquarium and scoops up an armful of those little blue pebbles. When he rushes past Aquaman and out of the water, it becomes clear that he intends to launch a campaign of aerial pebble bombing, but Aquaman is able to dodge easily, just as Namor is able to evade Aquman’s anti-aircraft pebbles.

Ever the strategist, Aquaman sees that it is time to call forth Rick the Flying Fish. With all of his might, Rick thrusts towards the surface and leaps into the air, turning his body into an airborne missile. Unfortunately, like most fish, Rick’s eyes have difficulty focusing on targets above the surface. He misses badly, and his head collides with the top of the tank. Namor and Aquaman both stifle giggles, and Rick retreats to the bottom of the tank, muttering disparaging remarks involving both of their mothers and a pod of blue whales. The round ends without further incident.

Round 3: Believing himself to be ahead in the judges’ scoring, Namor again takes flight and intends to wait out the rest of the match. Suddenly Aquaman remembers his talent for creating “small tidal waves”, and sends a barrage of them in Namor’s direction. For the most part, Namor protects himself by shielding his hands in front of his face, but water keeps getting in his mouth and it’s really annoying. Namor dives back into the water.

Namor has noticed that while Aquaman launches his “tidal waves” with relentless fury, they lack precision and accuracy. Clearly this is a result of Aquaman being an only child. Namor, on the other hand, has several younger siblings and cousins, and has learned a much more effective splash-fight strategy. He sends several smaller, faster splashes through Aquaman’s flailing and directly into his eyes, temporarily blinding him. Namor then presses his advantage and uses the confusion to grab Aquaman in a headlock and “noogie” him mercilessly. Aquaman struggles in vain to free himself, but Namor’s grip is too strong. Aquaman has no choice but to tap out and concede the match.

The Winner: Namor, by forfeit. Two weeks after the match, Aquaman is further disgraced when the Justice League of America offers his membership to Namor and informs him that he is no longer eligible for their twenty percent discount at participating AMC Theaters.

The Superhero Diaries: by those who wear their underpants on the outside.

Today’s Author: Batman

Ah, the joys of parenthood.

A couple nights ago I decided to go on a vacation.  I flew to London to attend an art opening where there happened to be several attractive ladies wearing very attractive dresses that made their boobies stick out.  Yes, Batman says boobies.  I also call a you-know-what a hoo-hah.  In my defense, my parents died when I was a kid, and studies have shown that type of trauma stunts one’s emotional growth in all kinds of ways.  Any guy who likes having his thing-a-ling kicked is free to make fun of me.

Anyway, I was working my “game” (as Robin calls it) on a girl with a nice pair when Man-Bats came through the window.  Man-Bats with swords, no less.

Note: The original Man-Bat was a man by the name of Kurt Langstrom.   Like many scientists in the 1960’s, Langstrom had some very advanced theories, but not a lot of patience.  He developed some serum based on bat genetics (I think he was trying prevent balding) but rather than wait for lengthy and costly FDA approval, he just up and injected it into himself.  As a result he was turned into a giant bat-creature (with thick, luxurious fur) that everyone named “Man-Bat.”  Get it?  Batman, Man-Bat…we’re like the green-yellow and yellow-green crayons: one of us is really superfluous.

Dealing with multiple Man-Bats with samurai swords was certainly a new twist on things, but luckily Alfred always carries a Bat-suit around in a briefcase, and after a quick costume change, I was ready to kick some arse. (Alfred’s teaching me to talk more “English”.)  Unfortunately, Arse (in the form of thirty flying ninja Man-Bats) was more than ready to kick me back.  I’m big enough to admit that I lost, but I also want everyone to point out again that there were thirty or forty of them, while I didn’t even have a Robin with me.  I also think I was still a bit jetlagged. 

Whatever the reason, I woke up in a cave in London’s sewers, captured by Talia al-Ghul.  She’s the daughter of Ra’s al-Ghul, a man who discovered a fountain of youth and over centuries formed the mysterious and powerful “League of Assassins”.  I first met the al-Ghul family when Ra’s discovered my secret identity and kidnapped Robin in order to force me to mate with his daughter and provide an heir for him.   From his hard-sell approach I always thought his daughter a real she-beast, missing some limbs and weighing in at a deuce and some change, but it turns out she’s smoking hot.  I’d have gladly done it if she had just walked up to me in a tight t-shirt and asked nicely (or just asked… or just made out with me…), but when an old man with a hairless manservant named Ubu tells you to have sex with his daughter, you say no, because that’s Pulp Fiction type stuff, right there.

Standing next to Talia was a small boy, probably about eight or nine, who she introduced as my son.  Then she asked me if I remembered the night we “shared under the desert moon under the Tropic of Cancer.”  (I certainly don’t remember her being such a chatterbox.)  Yes.  We slept together once.  She thought I would forget because at the time she had drugged me and raped me, but the only part I don’t remember is the moon, because I don’t look at that crap anyway.

As it turns out, when you sleep with the daughter of the head of the League of Assassins, there are about twenty guys with swords in the room with you.  It’s kind of a memorable experience.  Not only did I not forget it, considering the drugs and THE GUYS WITH SWORDS, just getting it up has got to be one of my most incredible achievements.  Ever. Just hearing her mention it made me want to give everybody a round of high-fives.

I’ll admit, the kid was handsome, but I was skeptical.  Modesty aside, I am rich, good looking, and I keep myself in shape, which means I get false paternity suits the way other people get the newspaper.  I may have been drugged that night, but I distinctly remember her saying she was wearing a diaphragm.  Unfortunately, before I could demand a DNA test, Talia took off and just left me with the kid.

And do you know what the first thing he said to me was?  “Father, I imagined you taller”.  What a tool. Who talks like that?  I was like, “Yeah, well, I imagined you as a single-celled gamete floating in a pond of Nonoxyl-9.  Life’s full of disappointments.”

This sucks.  As some of you may recall, I just adopted Robin like a couple months ago.  In less than a year I’ve gone to carefree billionaire playboy to Mr. Mom, and now I’m looking at twice the number of soccer practices, dentist appointments, runny noses…

This Superhero Diary was brought to you by Batman #655, #656, written by Grant Morrison, one of the top names in comic writing, and the author of one of my favorite Batman books, “Arkham Asylum”.  The story is great so far, though it’s odd how Batman immediately accepts the kid at face value as his son. 

One of my favorite fanboy hobbies is sitting around asking, “what would you do if you had so-and-so’s powers?” For the most part, answers consist of either exacting revenge on some people or very contrived methods of seeing girls naked. But if I was given superpowers, I’d be using them for EVERYTHING. So what would happen if I had the powers of…

Mr. Fantastic

A little background: During an ill-fated trip into space, Reed Richards was bombarded with “cosmic radiation”, giving his body the ability to stretch to nearly any shape and size. His elasticity makes him practically invulnerable to bullets and knives, and while that’s certainly impressive, it doesn’t take a huge stretch of the imagination to figure out why he probably got the title of “Mr. Fantastic” from his wife.

Day 1: These powers have sexual ramifications I could spend the next year exploring. Without getting too graphic, I’m going to make my Ear, Nose, and Throat Doctor look like a pansy. Okay, that was actually very graphic.

Day 2: My roommates asked why my girlfriend and I have been holed up in my room so much. I explained it to them with as much tact as I could, and they’ve requested that I never do the dishes again. Bonus.

Day 3: During Wonder Woman’s latest “Fantasticoscopy”, I put my head someplace a head was only meant to come out of, and… wow. That’s certainly not the prettiest part of the human body. It’s almost enough to make a guy stop eating red meat. I’m double bagging it from now on. On a side note, I’m still working on my rendition of “Do Your Ears Hang Low”. Ironically, it’s the singing that I’m really struggling with.

Day 4: I’m going to have to send out an email, because everyone seems to think it’s funny to greet me by kicking me in the nuts. It doesn’t hurt, but I’ve started to question my relationships. It was really unsettling when Mom did it.

Day 5: I was doing my “What’s twelve feet tall, has two thumbs, and likes blowjobs?” joke and accidentally ran my head into my ceiling fan. It was like a taffy pull, and I ended up with my nose a half inch from my asshole for a half-hour while I got myself unwound. Talk about an unfortunate twist. (zing!) Oh yeah, I gotta buy a new fan.

Day 6: I was watching cartoons this morning before work. Y’know when an attractive woman walks by and the guy’s eyes bug out, his tongue rolls on the ground, and his heart jumps three feet out of his chest? A couple hours later I found out that in the professional world that constitutes sexual harassment. So what if it wasn’t my heart that stuck out three feet? We’re all adults here. That’s funny.

Day 7: I went to the movies today, sat in front of the tallest dude in the theater, and then stretched myself six inches taller than him. Let’s see how you like it, Dr. J.

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

By Mitchell Hundred

Introduction: Since Ex Machina is not a pop culture phenomenon like Batman or Superman, allow me to set the scene a little bit.  The comic takes place in the “real” New York.  The hero is a man named Mitchell Hundred, (yes, that’s his name).  He was an engineer, investigating an alien-looking device at the bottom of the Brooklyn Bridge when it blew up and somehow it gave him the ability to talk to machines.

Hundred tried being a superhero.  With a jetpack and sort of a raygun, he went around calling himself The Great Machine, which apparently is a Thomas Jefferson reference, and I bet it’s a big step up from his childhood nickname, Nerdy McKnow-It-All.

Now that’s all in the past.  In the present, Hundred has given up crime fighting, publicly revealed his secret identity, and become the mayor of New York City, largely because (and here’s quite the twist) on September 11, the Great Machine saved one of the twin towers. 

If this sounds weird for a comic book, that’s because it is.  But it’s one of the best-written comics out there.  On with the blog…

It’s 3am and the alarm clock keeps telling me to go to sleep.

That’s one of the things most people don’t realize about my powers.  Everybody focuses on the positives, like being able to change the channel without a remote, but when you talk to machines you find out they don’t exactly excel in people skills.  You want to know why you always lose socks in the washing machine?  Because washing machines are assholes and they think it’s funny.  (Though if I spent all day chewing on underwear I’d probably be testy, too.)

As you might imagine, alarm clocks tend to be annoying, anal-retentive bastards.  Right now it’s reminding me that it’s 2:49 AM and I only have three hours and eleven minutes left before I’m supposed to wake up.  Thanks, mom, but who could sleep after the day I’ve had???  For days, someone has been terrorizing the city, robbing people’s houses dressed as a fireman.  I’ve been having weird ass dreams involving a talking, pun-making dog, and on top of all that, a woman sat down on the steps of City Hall and lit herself on fire, because when I was the Great Machine I busted her son for selling weed, and this week he was stabbed to death in prison. 

So why am I smiling?

Because I finally have a superpower, that’s why.  I don’t know how, but just when things were at their worst this afternoon, I got really pissed and all of a sudden…KABOOM!  Lightning came through the window!!!! 

Up ’til now I was never a big fan of my so-called “powers.”  If I’m at a party and people hear that I’m a superhero, the first thing they want me to do is lift something heavy. “Hey Mitch, bench press my car.”  “Hey Mitch, move my refrigerator.”  Then I have to explain to them that I’m not super strong and if I move their refrigerator I’ll throw out my back, but if they’d like I can talk it into making the freezer compartment a little colder.  Suddenly I’m not so popular, and I spend the evening gossiping with the bathroom sink.

Wait ’til they get a load of me now.  Press conference not going so well?  Kaboom.  Some asshole makes a crack about me dating a vacuum cleaner?  Kaboom.  I just got promoted from The Great Machine to the Incredible, Outstanding, Fantabulously Stupendous Machine.  Write it down.

The only problem is I can’t get the lightning thing to work again.  I can’t figure it out.  I’ve done everything I can think of.  I even shouted “Shazam!”, though I felt really stupid doing it.  (The light bulb, who thinks he’s a goddamn comedian, flickered.  I told him to go screw himself.  It’s about as good as light bulb humor gets.)

I’m being told that I only have three hours and two minutes before I’m supposed to get up, so I’m going to try and get to bed.  I just had to tell somebody.  Also, if there’s a weird talking dog in my dreams, he better look up and hope there aren’t any clouds overhead.

This Superhero Diary was brought to you by Ex Machina #23, written by Brian K. Vaughn, who writes some of the best comics in the business.

Put any two comic book fans in a room together, and sooner or later a sentence is going to begin, “Who would win between…” It’s similar to the well-known bit where a kid puts Insect A and Insect B in a jar and shakes it see “who wins”, as if eight earthworms will eat a beetle if they are sufficiently vibrated.

Well, this is me, doing that.

Today we pit Iron Man vs. Green Lantern in a battle to see who can violate Newton’s laws the most.

In the Left Corner: Green Lantern Test pilot Hal Jordan wears a ring that that can make solid objects out of green light in whatever shapes Jordan wants. Unfortunately, the limitless number of possibilities causes Jordan to solve problems with overly complex methods. For instance, if he locked himself out of the house, he wouldn’t make a giant green key, he’d make a giant green janitor with a giant green keyring.

The Green Lantern ring is often called the most powerful weapon in the Universe, yet one of his greatest enemies is “Shark”… a mutant shark with arms and legs. Apparently the one shape the Green Lantern ring cannot make is a fishhook.

In the Right Corner: Iron Man Iron Man is the alter-ego of Tony Stark, who wears a state-of-the-art suit of armor of his own design. Similar to Green Lantern, Iron Man’s primary weapon are “repulsor rays” mounted in his armor’s gauntlets and chest plate, and capable of applying great force without any sort of kickback. This is about as scientifically valid as a one-way two-by-four, and while Hal Jordan is only a test pilot, Stark has a Master’s in Electrical Engineering from MIT, so this really oughta be twisting his brain into mush. Maybe that’s why he has such a drinking problem. (He really has one.)

The Handicap: Hal Jordan wears the most powerful weapon in the Universe. This makes me believe the Universe is alarmingly deficient when it comes to weaponry, but if the book says his ring is the most powerful, then it’s the most powerful. I’m going to put three Iron Men in the jar.

Round 1: From the opening bell, Green Lantern goes with his ol’ favorite, a gigantic green boxing glove. Fortunately for him, the Iron Men didn’t realize they were facing combat technology from Bugs Bunny cartoons and one of them is caught completely off his guard. (As he lies on the bottom of the jar, illustrated bluebirds and stars are seen floating around his head, indicating his unconsciousness.) The other two Iron Men take off using their jet boots and fire repulsor rays. Green Lantern attempts to remove one of the Iron Men from his armor using a pair of twenty-foot chopsticks, but he has much difficulty wielding them as he does with real chopsticks, and the Iron Men take advantage of his confusion by getting a couple shots in. Green Lantern constructs a giant green pillow fort for protection, and the round ends in a stalemate. The two conscious Iron Men land to debate strategies.

Between Rounds 1 and 2: Hal Jordan creates two green girls in bikinis carrying boards that read “Round 2″ as the first Iron Man regains consciousness. A notorious (but unfortunately confused) lothario, Stark attempts to flirt with the girls. His companions try to stop him, but he refuses to listen and they quickly give up. The girls pretend not to be able to hear him, so Stark removes his helmet, and when the second round begins he is whopped with another green boxing glove. The air in the jar is becoming crowded with birdies and stars, but once the fighting begins they are quickly obliterated.

Round 2: The two Iron Men spent the break discussing tactics and have decided to go with a summer camp favorite. One Iron Man lobs a small, ominous looking canister in the air. Green Lantern follows it with his eyes, preparing to form a gigantic green catcher’s mitt, but as his head tilts back, the Iron Men hit him in the stomach with repulsor rays. It turns out the canister is nothing more than a one-time use can of Tag Body Spray. Worse, it’s already used.

Jordan retaliates by forming a large keyboard in the air with a cable leading to one Iron Man’s armor. When large green fingers press “Control, Alt and Delete”, the armor’s task manager pops up, freezing all activity and rendering him useless. Unfortunately the round ends before the last Iron Man can be similarly disabled.

Round 3: At the start of the round Jordan attempts his control-alt-delete tactic again, but without affect. After the match, it is discovered that Iron Man used the break to switch operating systems from Windows XP to Linux, and was heard muttering “I should’ve done this years ago.”

From the opening bell the fighters warily circle each other. The fight seems to be in Green Lantern’s favor; after all, two Iron Men are eliminated, and Iron Man’s repulsor rays are no match for Green Lantern’s shields. But as Green Lantern attempts one Byzantine attack after another, Iron Man proves to be too quick. Green Lantern pins Iron Man in an image of a large green Italian Sub, but Iron Man escapes before the sandwich can be eaten by a larger green fat man. Iron Man also steps off of the green railroad tracks before being flattened by a green locomotive. For the rest of the round, Green Lantern seems confused, mumbling to himself, ” Green Dragon? No…Green Tommy-Gun Wielding Prohibition-Era Gangster? No…”

The Result: With both combatants still standing, the match is ruled a draw. As the lid of the jar is removed, Green Lantern slaps his head and shouts “GREEN CAN OPENER! FUCK, WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT?!?”

To the tune of the “Real Men of Genius” Bud Light ads

Today we salute you, Ms. Attractive Girl Working at the Comic Book Store.
(Ms. Attractive Girl Working at the Comic Book Store!)

When cupcakes and breasts are the only thing that could make a trip to the comic book store better, you show up with the one that’s illegal to purchase.
(Show me those wonder girls!)

What more could a man possibly want, when he’s got a cute girl who can talk comics?
(DON’T forget that employee discount!)

Every day you go to work, you bridge the gender gap, bravely sidestepping the stigma of nerditude and the lusty stares of fat men, because you really want to know how long Kid Devil will continue to be a Teen Titan.
(He’s so very LA-A-AME!)

So here’s to you, Super Girl, from all the men hoping that you’ll come back to their Fortress and help get rid of the Solitude.
(Ms. Attractive Girl Working at the Comic Book Stooooooooore…..)