Niiiiiice...
Call me deep but sometimes I like to pause the game I run on the weekends to look around. I feel a need to compare myself to the competition. It's reassuring to look and to mentally confirm that I am indeed better than everyone around me. When I see a late thirty something in a trendy blazer talking to two hard bodies, my anxiety is mollified when I see he is wearing jeans. In my occasional glance of the scene, I realized looking around the bar on Friday that I overall I was keeping up with the competitors. After all, the brohams all think monosyllabically and therefore look the same. However, I did notice one thing. Besides the loudly striped button down shirt and spiked hair in the front, I saw that everyone had tanned skin. Well, tanned is a relative term. They all had the skin color of tomatoes. After asking one maroon bronze broham if he got sun that afternoon, he replied, "Nah, broham, tanning bed."
While reassured that the worlds' idiots would voluntarily kill themselves in pods emitting radioactive waves, I realized my office's florescent lights did not give me a healthy hue. Therefore, I spent Saturday reading the weekend Journal next to my pool with some SPF 15. After reading the Money & Investing and headlines, I discovered that there was this new film called "Watchmen" coming out this weekend. Instead of heeding the poor review, the concept piqued my interest.
I considered the pros and cons of being a superhero, and I must say that I am happy that we don't have 'em. First of all, why do I need others to be born with powers? I already have every desirable super power . I mean, would you rather have the power of flight or a pilot fly your G5 while you chat with the air hostess? I already have the power to read minds. It's called investing in emerging market trends and playing girls off each other in the bar. Finally, I also have the power to time travel, or 'black out' as I like to call it.
Ultimately, the concept of the comic is a fantasy for puerile high schoolers and middle aged virgins. The fantasy is based in the alter ego, being someone stronger and significant etc. One of the main types of alter egos for superheroes is what I am on the cusp of achieving. Your Iron Mans and Batmans are billionaire international playboys. Yet, these men do not feel fulfilled with their lives for some reason. As an escape from their wonderful lifestyle, they put on tights and run around at nights looking for clowns. The specious premise of the super hero is puzzling to me. What's the matter Bruce Wayne? Was the thrill of punching the high school dropout thug really greater than closing the LBO? Ridiculous. The other typical alter ego is also utterly incomprehensible. I refer to the Clark Kent/Peter Parker, mild-mannered newspapermen who serve the greater good as flying boy scouts. I never understood their motivation to help others, but then I realized these men actually want something. This superhero thing all is just a huge ruse to impress the top shelf Louis Lanes. Let's face it, Louis wouldn't think of Clark as a copy room fuck even if she was sloshed at a Christmas Party. Besides, Clark is too nice (read, there's an office rumor you like guys!) to ever take advantage, so he needs a baller alternative. The need for the mild mannered superhero is to get ass. Costumes are admittedly a great way to peacock.
At the end of the day, I feel flattered that these comic worshipping dweebs just want to be a little more like me. Whether they want to be billionaire playboys like Bruce Wayne or rail the hottie Louis Lane, it is certainly pitiable yet slightly endearing. Better to have a hundred jealous people rather then one who would pity me! I gotta admit, it feels great being a superman.
While reassured that the worlds' idiots would voluntarily kill themselves in pods emitting radioactive waves, I realized my office's florescent lights did not give me a healthy hue. Therefore, I spent Saturday reading the weekend Journal next to my pool with some SPF 15. After reading the Money & Investing and headlines, I discovered that there was this new film called "Watchmen" coming out this weekend. Instead of heeding the poor review, the concept piqued my interest.
I considered the pros and cons of being a superhero, and I must say that I am happy that we don't have 'em. First of all, why do I need others to be born with powers? I already have every desirable super power . I mean, would you rather have the power of flight or a pilot fly your G5 while you chat with the air hostess? I already have the power to read minds. It's called investing in emerging market trends and playing girls off each other in the bar. Finally, I also have the power to time travel, or 'black out' as I like to call it.
Ultimately, the concept of the comic is a fantasy for puerile high schoolers and middle aged virgins. The fantasy is based in the alter ego, being someone stronger and significant etc. One of the main types of alter egos for superheroes is what I am on the cusp of achieving. Your Iron Mans and Batmans are billionaire international playboys. Yet, these men do not feel fulfilled with their lives for some reason. As an escape from their wonderful lifestyle, they put on tights and run around at nights looking for clowns. The specious premise of the super hero is puzzling to me. What's the matter Bruce Wayne? Was the thrill of punching the high school dropout thug really greater than closing the LBO? Ridiculous. The other typical alter ego is also utterly incomprehensible. I refer to the Clark Kent/Peter Parker, mild-mannered newspapermen who serve the greater good as flying boy scouts. I never understood their motivation to help others, but then I realized these men actually want something. This superhero thing all is just a huge ruse to impress the top shelf Louis Lanes. Let's face it, Louis wouldn't think of Clark as a copy room fuck even if she was sloshed at a Christmas Party. Besides, Clark is too nice (read, there's an office rumor you like guys!) to ever take advantage, so he needs a baller alternative. The need for the mild mannered superhero is to get ass. Costumes are admittedly a great way to peacock.
At the end of the day, I feel flattered that these comic worshipping dweebs just want to be a little more like me. Whether they want to be billionaire playboys like Bruce Wayne or rail the hottie Louis Lane, it is certainly pitiable yet slightly endearing. Better to have a hundred jealous people rather then one who would pity me! I gotta admit, it feels great being a superman.
No comments:
Post a Comment