Figures.

Pass the cold shower.

A Song For June

( The Animal Song )

Where have all the heroes gone?

Currently, in a thread entitled "Reinventing Superman (LONG)" on rec.arts.comics.dc.universe, people are debating the various versions of Superman and some are disparaging the Big Blue Boy Scout mode of Superman, saying basically that's too perfect. I didn't really want to get involved in the discussion because it's all a matter of opinion, anyway, but something pushed my buttons again and I came up with this. It's not for everyone, but if you're at all interested in my views on Superman or have a peek into my hero complex, it might just be worth a read, and tell me what you think.

( Cut because it's long )

He's wearing my shoes!

http://www.penny-arcade.com/images/2002/20020607l.gif

But this is the best bit, actually, from the website itself:

Gather round kids and let Uncle Gabe tell you a story. I was maybe eight or nine years old and living with my family in Spokane. The house we lived in was constantly invaded by large black beetles. As a young boy I was never keen on disposing of them in a reasonable fashion. So I would take my mothers Tupperware bowls and simple cover the little bastards up. When my father would come home from work he would find the bowls and get rid of the offending insects while discouraging me from ever doing that again. One day apparently sick of my antics my dad simply moved the bowl a few feet towards my bed. I returned to my room to find the bowl in a different spot and immediately attributed it to the massive strength of the bug contained within. Its choice of direction and distance covered not only implied that he knew where I slept but that he would reach it in short order. Needless to say I was scarred for life. Flash forward 13 years. In every marriage there needs to be one person who accepts the role of bug killer. Kara and I discovered early in our marriage that neither one of us can stand insects. Mere weeks after our glorious union we sat huddled on the couch cursing and shaking our fists at a tiny spider who had somehow managed his way into our home. As we looked at each other we realized that we had no bug killer. “I just assumed you would kill them” she said. “Well I just assumed you would kill them” I retorted. As the years went by I unwillingly took up the mantle of exterminator. I was eventually able to handle all the various bugs Spokane could throw at me. It wasn’t until we moved here to Seattle that I was once again reduced to a blubbering fool huddled on the couch, too scared to even move. These spiders are huge. I’m talking Land of the fucking Lost huge. This is some serious science fiction shit I’m dealing with here. I sucked one up with the vacuum cleaner and then backed away from it slowly. I looked at Kara and she told me to throw the vacuum away and we would just buy another one. Immediately I made my way with it to the dumpster. As I went though I calculated the expenses associated with purchasing a new vacuum cleaner each and every time we saw a spider. At the rate we were encountering these mutant arachnids we would spend the rest of our life in debt to Target. It was then that we made the decision to have our apartment filled with poisonous gas. The next few days were like a fucking vacation. We were walking around barefoot again like we were on some kind of tropical beach. Then I found a note scrawled on a piece of notebook paper and left near my bedside table. It said in shaky handwriting as if written during the agonizing moments before death, “This is not over.”