Superheroes’ Domestic Lives     If there is a lesson to be learned from these columns it is that superheroes could not exist in our world. In the 1930s, Clark Kent was able to maintain his duel identity from Lois Lane, his friends, and rogues gallery. Lois Lane, an award-winning reporter, was mesmerized by the fact that Superman is wearing his underwear outside of his pants, with HD pictures, in today’s world, a person would think she would be able to figure out that the nerd she keeps on turning down for dates is “The Man of Steel”.      A pair of glasses and spit curl don’t change a person’s looks that much. Heck, it would only be a few minutes after his last appearance battling Brainiac that Pez Hilton would have a photo of Supes with drawn-on photo shopped glasses, inappropriate comments, and other objects to evade copyright laws on his website.     “Hum, the Last Son of Krypton looks familiar. He looks like… Oh, he is sporting his underwear over his pants again. He must be from France or something. What was I just thinking?”     Even Thor, the hammer-wielding god of my people, is just another schmuck down the street the first time the rest of the neighborhood sees him carrying the trash out to the curb on garbage day. “I am Thor, son of Oden and Fjorgyn (Jord), god of thunder and lightning, protector of mankind, the embodiment of strength, healing and fertility.”     “Well, Thor, you might be a god and such, but you put your glass in the paper bin, and you might want to clean up that bit of baby barf on your breast plate. Also, that cape of yours, it might not be the best idea in the world to mow while wearing it.”     On one or two occasions the Marvel Universe Thor storylines have picked up the Scandinavian mythology that Thor is drawn around on a sled pulled by two Giant Rams, Toothgnasher and Toothgrinder. Growing up, my dad brought home two goats, Lenny and Squiggy. The last time any male member of my family saw them; they were perched on top of my mom’s station wagon. I doubt Jane Foster, Thor’s girlfriend, would tolerate the stench of goat in her clothing, hoof prints on her brand new car, or their child playing in the midst of goat feces.     It would be tough on his god-like image for the neighbor kids to see him bent over with a plastic bag in his hand, cursing his father’s Oden’s name.   “Mr. Thor, can I have your autograph?”   “By my father Oden, I would be honored to sign your paper. Can I use your pen?”   “Sniff… sniff… thanks, anyhow, but I can comeback later, Mr. Thor.”   Quick to fly off the handle, Thor certainly would not abide phone sales.   “This is Thor, son of Oden.”   “Mr. Thor, I am calling from Allstate to see if we can meet your insurance needs.”   “I am busy. My brother, Loki, is running amuck in my home of Asgard.”   “This will just take a second. Are you currently happy with your insurance provider?”   “I am a god! I have no insurance needs! I don’t drive a puny human car. I need none of this Obamacare.  I will live forever.”   “Now, Mr. Thor, it is just Thor, like Madonna or Cher, right? We all think that way, but none of us live forever. You don’t want to leave your wife and children…”   “I have lived a thousand of your human lifetimes and will live a thous…”   “That is why I have been authorized to offer you such a good deal.”   “My brother just threw Skurge the Executioner’s head down the grand staircase. I have got to go.”   “Just a few more seconds, Mr. Thor. Aren’t a few seconds worth your family’s peace of mind? For just $47.50 a month, mere pennies…”   “I have to go. My Uncle Buri just…”   Watching superheroes grow old would be tough as well. The Hulk running around in Depends instead of purple ripped up pants would be just sad, especially when battling someone like The Rhino or The Abomination.   “Hulk  smash!... Hulk make smelly… Hulk embarrassed.”   Catwoman’s grandchildren would be begging grandma not to fight crime or steal a jewel in skintight leather.   “Grandma, please, can’t you go with a tracksuit or some of those stretchy pants grandpa and you wear to the early bird special? You look like ten pounds of sausage  stuffed in a five-pound case.  We are getting beat up at school. Please, grandma.”   Superman, being late for an epic battle with Doomsday because of old man bladder would make him a little less heroic in a lot of people’s eyes.     “Sorry, I am late, guys. I would have saved Smallville, but I had to stop at the Quick Trip. My bladder is not so super anymore. They only let customers use their restrooms. If you haven’t noticed, I have no pockets in this costume, which meant bumming enough for a candy bar from a couple filling their car up. I would have let nature call on the way, but last time I didn’t notice I was flying over a hipster party. Who knew they could tell the difference from the Old Style they were drinking? A few days later I was served with the restraining order. So, which way did Doomsday go? And yes I noticed the dark stain on the front of my trunks. I told you, I tried to hurry.”     Poor Plastic Man and Elongated Man, being able to stretch your body in all kinds of directions, lengths, and positions is a wonderful thing when a person is young, but gravity is not your friend when you are older. What stretches does not stretch back !   I think that is it one of the reasons none of the major companies, outside of Pixar, have created an Elastic Lass or a Gummy Gal.       Super villain: “I was battling Elastic Lass, and yes, her Elastic Lass cycle’s left hand turn blinker was constantly blinking as she rolled up to fight me.  Well, I went to body slam her. I grabbed her by the hips, and I realized I wasn’t grabbing her hips. Dear god, I think I might have gotten to second base with Elastic Lass. She is like a grandma or great-grandma. I need to go scrub my hands. All the soap and water in the world is not going to make this memory go away.”     Batman, going over his Medicaid bills as his great-grandkid’s teach him how to Skype and Instragram just would not be Batman. On the oppose end, Spider-man is the eternal teenager. Let’s be honest, teenage boys are creepy. No matter how good they are, they are still creepy. It is just apart of their DNA and hormones.     A teenager with spider-senses tingling? Forget about it. Aunt May would be finding all sorts of strange things in Peter’s bedroom covered in cobwebs. Peter would be swinging around Manhattan. His spider sense would tingle. At the same time he would notice some women laying out, getting some sun, on a rooftop. With great power comes great responsibility, but there is no greater power than testosterone in a teenage boy.  I am sure there would be many a wall that Spider-Man would accidently slam into.   Laying there, Peter Parker could say, “At least I am not Aquaman.”
Superheroes’ Domestic Lives     If there is a lesson to be learned from these columns it is that superheroes could not exist in our world. In the 1930s, Clark Kent was able to maintain his duel identity from Lois Lane, his friends, and rogues gallery. Lois Lane, an award-winning reporter, was mesmerized by the fact that Superman is wearing his underwear outside of his pants, with HD pictures, in today’s world, a person would think she would be able to figure out that the nerd she keeps on turning down for dates is “The Man of Steel”.      A pair of glasses and spit curl don’t change a person’s looks that much. Heck, it would only be a few minutes after his last appearance battling Brainiac that Pez Hilton would have a photo of Supes with drawn-on photo shopped glasses, inappropriate comments, and other objects to evade copyright laws on his website.     “Hum, the Last Son of Krypton looks familiar. He looks like… Oh, he is sporting his underwear over his pants again. He must be from France or something. What was I just thinking?”     Even Thor, the hammer-wielding god of my people, is just another schmuck down the street the first time the rest of the neighborhood sees him carrying the trash out to the curb on garbage day. “I am Thor, son of Oden and Fjorgyn (Jord), god of thunder and lightning, protector of mankind, the embodiment of strength, healing and fertility.”     “Well, Thor, you might be a god and such, but you put your glass in the paper bin, and you might want to clean up that bit of baby barf on your breast plate. Also, that cape of yours, it might not be the best idea in the world to mow while wearing it.”     On one or two occasions the Marvel Universe Thor storylines have picked up the Scandinavian mythology that Thor is drawn around on a sled pulled by two Giant Rams, Toothgnasher and Toothgrinder. Growing up, my dad brought home two goats, Lenny and Squiggy. The last time any male member of my family saw them; they were perched on top of my mom’s station wagon. I doubt Jane Foster, Thor’s girlfriend, would tolerate the stench of goat in her clothing, hoof prints on her brand new car, or their child playing in the midst of goat feces.     It would be tough on his god-like image for the neighbor kids to see him bent over with a plastic bag in his hand, cursing his father’s Oden’s name.   “Mr. Thor, can I have your autograph?”   “By my father Oden, I would be honored to sign your paper. Can I use your pen?”   “Sniff… sniff… thanks, anyhow, but I can comeback later, Mr. Thor.”   Quick to fly off the handle, Thor certainly would not abide phone sales.   “This is Thor, son of Oden.”   “Mr. Thor, I am calling from Allstate to see if we can meet your insurance needs.”   “I am busy. My brother, Loki, is running amuck in my home of Asgard.”   “This will just take a second. Are you currently happy with your insurance provider?”   “I am a god! I have no insurance needs! I don’t drive a puny human car. I need none of this Obamacare.  I will live forever.”   “Now, Mr. Thor, it is just Thor, like Madonna or Cher, right? We all think that way, but none of us live forever. You don’t want to leave your wife and children…”   “I have lived a thousand of your human lifetimes and will live a thous…”   “That is why I have been authorized to offer you such a good deal.”   “My brother just threw Skurge the Executioner’s head down the grand staircase. I have got to go.”   “Just a few more seconds, Mr. Thor. Aren’t a few seconds worth your family’s peace of mind? For just $47.50 a month, mere pennies…”   “I have to go. My Uncle Buri just…”   Watching superheroes grow old would be tough as well. The Hulk running around in Depends instead of purple ripped up pants would be just sad, especially when battling someone like The Rhino or The Abomination.   “Hulk  smash!... Hulk make smelly… Hulk embarrassed.”   Catwoman’s grandchildren would be begging grandma not to fight crime or steal a jewel in skintight leather.   “Grandma, please, can’t you go with a tracksuit or some of those stretchy pants grandpa and you wear to the early bird special? You look like ten pounds of sausage  stuffed in a five-pound case.  We are getting beat up at school. Please, grandma.”   Superman, being late for an epic battle with Doomsday because of old man bladder would make him a little less heroic in a lot of people’s eyes.     “Sorry, I am late, guys. I would have saved Smallville, but I had to stop at the Quick Trip. My bladder is not so super anymore. They only let customers use their restrooms. If you haven’t noticed, I have no pockets in this costume, which meant bumming enough for a candy bar from a couple filling their car up. I would have let nature call on the way, but last time I didn’t notice I was flying over a hipster party. Who knew they could tell the difference from the Old Style they were drinking? A few days later I was served with the restraining order. So, which way did Doomsday go? And yes I noticed the dark stain on the front of my trunks. I told you, I tried to hurry.”     Poor Plastic Man and Elongated Man, being able to stretch your body in all kinds of directions, lengths, and positions is a wonderful thing when a person is young, but gravity is not your friend when you are older. What stretches does not stretch back !   I think that is it one of the reasons none of the major companies, outside of Pixar, have created an Elastic Lass or a Gummy Gal.       Super villain: “I was battling Elastic Lass, and yes, her Elastic Lass cycle’s left hand turn blinker was constantly blinking as she rolled up to fight me.  Well, I went to body slam her. I grabbed her by the hips, and I realized I wasn’t grabbing her hips. Dear god, I think I might have gotten to second base with Elastic Lass. She is like a grandma or great-grandma. I need to go scrub my hands. All the soap and water in the world is not going to make this memory go away.”     Batman, going over his Medicaid bills as his great-grandkid’s teach him how to Skype and Instragram just would not be Batman. On the oppose end, Spider-man is the eternal teenager. Let’s be honest, teenage boys are creepy. No matter how good they are, they are still creepy. It is just apart of their DNA and hormones.     A teenager with spider-senses tingling? Forget about it. Aunt May would be finding all sorts of strange things in Peter’s bedroom covered in cobwebs. Peter would be swinging around Manhattan. His spider sense would tingle. At the same time he would notice some women laying out, getting some sun, on a rooftop. With great power comes great responsibility, but there is no greater power than testosterone in a teenage boy.  I am sure there would be many a wall that Spider-Man would accidently slam into.   Laying there, Peter Parker could say, “At least I am not Aquaman.”
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