It’s not always about taking over the world
I’ll start small. Get my groove back. Knock off a couple coffee shops. Hardware stores. Surprisingly, the Salvation Army is bountiful because who would be a big enough dick to rob a store that only the poor and hipsters shop in and could you really get that much loot from a non-profit? Let’s just say second hand clothes are a legal racket. Those registers are filled.
The places to avoid are gas stations, liquor stores and pizza and Chinese places. Gas and liquor places wait to get robbed, the guy is probably packing and hoping someone comes in and just eyeballs the register in an odd way. Pizza places and Chinese restaurants employee too many Rocky-types and sneaky black belts. The last thing I feel like doing is shooting some bus boy coming at me like Sho-Nuff.
You can’t just walk right back into it and pull off a mother job. This isn’t a Michael Bay flick. Baby steps. Get the timing back. Think on your feet. Make sure there is no chance for human error. Plan what the hell to do when one of the costume freaks shows up.
It’s also important not to shit where you eat. Shit where you shop. Rob where you shop in this case. I once robbed a deli that I also frequented twice a week for sandwiches. Because I was young with balls bigger than Epcot Center, I went in a few days later for a ham and swiss on this great pumpernickel bread that was made fresh daily. Guy behind the counter said my voice “sounded familiar”. I can’t be sure but I think he spit in my side potato salad.
To be sure I tasted it again the next day and it tasted different. Took a big spoonful in my mouth right before I took $700 from the register and broke his picture of the World Cup Italian soccer team. --Abe
Is she really going out with him?
She got in around 3 last night. She was out with him. Not that I was paying attention to the time but I was still up doing things in the basement. If she didn’t come home I might have been a little…not jealous…envious with a side of jealousy?
We usually bump into each other in the kitchen. She makes coffee, I make small talk to squash the awkward silence, she finds a reason to spill coffee on my crotch. It’s as regular as the morning paper and my visits to the crapper. I’m a bran man. Always have been. All-Bran for years though Kashi is really turning out some tasty alternatives.
Nothing but a t-shirt. Honestly, she does still get me hard, especially in her morning outfits. I never got tired of her physically, but mentally, ugh a butter knife to the ear drum just for a few moments of silence.
Do I ask her how it went? Do I really give a shit about the answer? Does she really give a shit to tell me? I don’t care how things went with him but more about what exactly happens on a date with a superhero. Would any destination be a real surprise? Where we going? Paris. Oh, hadn’t thought of that, I imagined pizza and mini-golf. Wouldn’t a woman be disappointed if the date wasn’t extravagant? I’d think he wasn’t that interested.
“How was your..”
“None of your business.”
Bitch. Under my breath.
Did the paper really not come yet? Guess it isn’t as regular as I thought. I want to take the classifieds into the john. Scan those FOR RENT sections again. - Abe
5 odd questions for a superhero
5) Do you like taffy?
4) Can I get a lift?
3) Can you see my penis?
2) Do you do kid’s parties?
1) What are your BM’s like?
There is no day of rest(room)
The rough thing about the job is no off time. I don’t just mean vacation, I’m talking a moment in the day where I can say “hey, I’d love to save that burning building of octogenarians but I’m enjoying a nice tuna melt right now and catching up on past episodes of Archer.” The job doesn’t work where I can take a personal day, sick day, or an “I’m busy alphabetizing my bookshelf” day.
A couple weeks back I had an immense case of the Hershey squirts. The kind of day where you just don’t want to be too far from the bowl because you’ve got more stuff gushing out than a busted septic pipe. I was guzzling bottles of Kaopectate like Aquafina.
I get the call. Emergency downtown. Hundreds of lives in jeopardy. So I wipe, get there toot suite, and I’m pulling people to safety left and right. I’m flying this one guy to awaiting medical personnel and he is screaming his face off, stops dead in his emotion and goes “did you just fart?”
His screams continued after I fake dropped him a couple hundred feet. Swooped back down and grabbed him with a “my bad”.
I wasn’t the only guy that shit his pants that day. — Mr. Phenomenal
Look! Up in the sky! It’s Microsoft Word!
Choosing a name was damn near impossible. It’s easily the most important part of the supe persona. The industry is built on name recognition. It’s also built on names very elementary in thought and scope. Aquaman lives in the ocean. Batman is a guy dressed like a bat. Parker got bit by a spider that gave him, wait for it, the powers of a spider. The Green Lantern might be the saddest of all. Almost stupidly simple.
I already had the powers. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred to procure them like an animal or insect attack. I had no prefered habitat and no source of power that also came in handy while camping. I’ll admit I screwed with more than a few four legged foes just to get some type of persona going. Hung around a ton of farms. I reaked of cow shit on a daily basis.
Do me a favor, go to your closet right now and pick out an entire outfit. Shoes, socks, pants, the whole nine. Put it on. Now pick out another entirely new outfit and put that on over top the other outfit. Try and move about your day comfortably and without sweating until you pass out of heat stroke. Not so easy. I’ve tried stashing outfits around the city and buying XXL clothes to balloon over the other layers of clothes but nothing works.Years of experience have taught me to bag the underwear. Literally. I carry an extra pair of drawers around.
At one point I considered a business suit as actual costume especially since getting a cow to bite my ass was proving futal. This way I could be dressed for work and ready for action at any moment.
Chairman of the Board
They all were in the running. They even dreamed up corny catch phrases like “Excel says spread ‘em!” and “You’re being protected by the Anti-Virus!” Also had name ideas should I ever take on a partner. Ready for it? The Coffee Mate.
If inspiration didn’t strike I was a day away from christening myself The Power Pointer. — Mr. Phenomenal
Want to find a good future criminal, scout out some Catholic schools
I remember the exact moment I became an asshole. The moment I aspired to do asshole things. My father lost his job. He worked for the company for fifteen years. Started right out of college. Took an entry level job and made it to manager before thirty. Fired three years after that promotion. Told him they were going in a different direction. That direction involved the owner’s son who was fresh out of Wharton. I don’t blame anyone but my old man. He was too much of a pussy to put up a fight. It was happening right before his eyes. The kid worked there throughout school. He always let everyone walk all over him.
I was 9. I wanted a fighter for a father. No luck. So I decided to be the fighter in the family. It would have to be a fight against the law because look what falling in line got my old man. Monthly trips to unemployment. I kept up appearances but in private I plotted. Brooded. Planned. The prototypical criminal type displays rebellious tendencies. Why bring attention to myself at an early age? Why get tagged the future criminal in elementary school? Why be another Todd Carroll? Todd was the biggest pain in the ass all of elementary school. He tormented teachers and other students. He spent afternoons hogtied to his desk with jump rope because our third grade teacher Ms. Cleary had it up to her Quaker Factory hair clips with his antics. Every time he uttered a word she would hurl an eraser at his head. He told his parents who commended Ms. Cleary on her ability to get him to sit still long enough to tie him down.
Even when Todd was innocent he’d shoulder the blame for anything that went wrong. If he was too quiet the teachers assumed he was guilty of something heinous. He was watched all day. The teachers paid so much attention to Todd they didn’t notice when loose change when missing from their desk or the VCR taken from the TV cart in the teacher’s lounge. I got $50 for that VCR at a local flea market. Todd got two weeks detention. I made it up to him years later by occasionally including him into my various plots of world domination. I bail him out of jail. I let him drive me around. He still doesn’t get my coffee order correct. He should have paid more attention in school. Maybe he’d remember the second Splenda and realize there is a difference between 2% and half-and-half. Great at killing people though. No regrets. — Abe
People have this misconception about criminal hideouts
I’ve never, nor do I ever plan on, owning an exact replica of the world that raises up from the floor in the middle of the room. I don’t have a high back chair that spins around and there aren’t hundreds of men all dressed the same running around like this is air traffic control at Dulles airport. I’ve got a table, chairs, remainders from old jobs and four boxes of Christmas decorations piled in the corner.
My first criminal hideout was my parent’s basement in a split level in Jersey. The basement had two huge perks; the first was a side entrance that led into the backyard. Todd and I could come and go at all hours of the night without having to pass through the family room while the old man was watching Family Feud and yelling out answers at the top of his smoke-caked lungs. He had a serious smoking problem which escalated after he got canned. He smoked so heavily the scent of his fingers needed their own Surgeon General’s warning label. The old man filled out an application for us to audition for the Feud once a month for at least four years. They never called.
The other great thing about the basement was parking. It’s something few criminals think of when choosing a hideout. My old neighborhood afford tons of street parking with easy access in and out of the house. The rest of my crew from the early days all lived in condos. Terrible parking with only one spot each for guests.
People think it’s all about world domination. In the beginning it was all about carpooling. — Abaddon (Abe to friends)
Thanks for saving lives. Here is a fake key to nothing.
These public appearances are dripping with women. I’m slightly above President of the United States in popularity. People just want to say they were in the same room. Of course, I did get that prick elected he should be kissing my ass. It’s hard to vote against the man that is best friends with a human weapon of mass destruction that used to save his ass from atomic wedgies every day of the sixth grade.
That chick is staring right at my crotch rocket. She might have X-ray vision. If not, she at least has heat vision because I think my balls are on fire she is gazing so hard. See what I mean about super sensitive privates. If she ever decides to make eye contact I’ll let her know the feeling is mutual.
Am I expected to keep all these damn awards? I’m running out of closets. What is the standard length of time to hang onto these hunks of junk? A month? I’m honored really but I’ve got hundreds of keys to every major city. If I put them on a ring I’d look like the world’s personal janitor. I’ve tried putting…that chick is STILL staring at my crotch. Time to make the boys dance. Get her to unlock the gaze or at least let her know I’m on to her. Oh, yes, well hello young lady. Nice to get your attention. Yes, my smile is a big as my bulge.— Mr. Phenomenal
Meanwhile, back in my pants…
Sexual powers are where people seem to have the most misconceptions about superheroes.
The rumors are flattering but not factual. My penis is the same size and width of any many of my stature. Fortunately I’m pushing 7 feet tall and built like a brick shit-house. Do the mental math. The rest is folklore and wives-tales. My semen doesn’t travel at super speeds, it doesn’t rip a woman in half or destroy her insides.
If I were to procreate I’m not sure if the super powers get passed down. Luckily I never have to worry about it because I’m the master of the pull-out method. Supersonic speed makes all things possible. I’m out the moment I feel the tingle. Super-sensitive penis tip.
I’ve been asked to wear a condom but I tell women it’s against my inter-galactic faith. I love dropping that line. I’m freaking Baptist I just don’t feel like wearing a rubber because it chafes the hell out of my junk. Having sex for hours with a raincoat on and then having to squish your package into a pair of spandex doesn’t make for a comfortable flying experience. — Mr. Phenomenal
A man in tights
Women get wet over the costume. More men should invest in a cape instead of a BMW when their dick starts going on the fritz. It will boost their confidence.Of course, they will be minus the super powers but they could at least bag some of the lower level groupies that will hump anything that mentions a secret liar in casual conversation.
Yes, I’ve got groupies. Thousands of them. Some obvious and some not as up front about the level of admiration.
The groupies fall into two categories; the flat-out stalkers that read the comics, buy the mags with my mug on the cover, show up to every personal appearance in a hundred mile radius of their house even put their lives in danger at the off chance I’ll show up to save their ass. I’ve seen it all; walking into a burning building and jumping onto the tracks of a train just so I’ll swoop down and pull them by the purse straps and to safety. I can’t be everywhere.
I’m a God but I’m not the God. Huge misconception.
The second groupie type are the women that accidentally get put into danger. The damsel in actual distress. So I save them and they get smitten. They write emails, letters of thanks, bagel gift baskets and fall head over heels. Those are the chicks I end up banging. Not date. Just bang. Couple times. Until they start dropping mentions of meeting their parents or wanting to spend the night at my secret liar.
No woman sees the lair. Off limits. — Mr. Phenomenal