Get me pictures of the supers! No, Lee, I want pictures… sufferin’ succotash, what’s a lowly reporter to do? Twelve-thousand words on the average airspeed velocity of unladen African swallows as compared to that of unladen European swallows, but the Daily Star only has eyes for one thing– what is this, the CW? This week on “Dating… with Super Heroes:” people die, civilizations perish, the world as we know it— hold up, what about that thing that we have? You know, that thing?
I don’t know that thing. What thing? All I know, is they better clean it up before mom and dad get home. So unless I was about to cut up some old shower curtains and stitch together a remarkably regenerative spandex jumpsuit, I had better think of something quick. Up next: The Real Reels of Chico! Maybe I should get a reel job.
Turns out, the Daily Star didn’t think that pun was clever, and no, dijon mayonnaise is not a super hero… shucks deluxe, where does one find a hero in this day and age? What does it mean to be super in 2017? Down on my luck, I kicked a stray can. It kicked me back, threw my shoes over the telephone wire, and insulted my mother. That “S” used to mean something, now it’s just a shape for children’s spaghetti dinner, a label on a can accidentally taken off the shelf before the expiration date.