Tuesday, August 03, 2010


So, Felix has been reading a lot of comic books lately, and then Emer seems to have picked them all up and read through them as well.  The down side to their shared interest is an excess of comic books strewn about on the floor.  In the process of picking them up I've become distracted with the visual incongruities.

Did anyone think to tell the Hulk how unattractive that shade of green is?  And is it a coincidence that much of his demeanor seems like roid rage?  And all the women of these comics have the perky well rounded breasts.  It's not fair, or realistic.  I was at my most stupid and least focused when my breasts were in that condition.

Superman, the Hulk, even Spider man, all scratch a fantasy itch of sorts, a kind of justice for the awkward geeky boys.  So where is our heroine?  Where is the saggy-breasted, down trodden mother figure's alter ego, and what would it be?

Or better yet, what if there weren't an alter ego?  What if her super power was her previously perceived imperfection?
Sagorilla and the swinging pendulum breasts of doom.  With a quick turn of her shoulders, whole armies are decimated.
Or Stretchmark Sally, the bluish white glare of sunshine bouncing off her scars blinds people while simultaneously making them appreciate that they'll never have to see that again.
Nagalicious.  Her constant nagging and reminders lull unsuspecting victims into a sleep-like stupor.
Refrigor-raider.  She empties refrigerators of all but the most rudimentary and unpleasant condiments while failing to cook any palatable meals.

There might be some material there to work with.
Any resemblance between me and the fictional characters mentioned is just unfortunate and sad.

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