Diary of a Superhero.
Today I tried to thump a melon for freshness in the market. It shattered all over my pants. Same with grapefruit, tomato, bag of Fritos, and three pounds of pork tenderloins. Mind clearly elsewhere. Apologized to store manger only to hear, “It’s you, isn’t it? It’s really you!” Shoppers began to crowd. Only then did I realize that, in haste to complete errands, I left the apartment without my fake eyeglasses. By evening news everyone knew that I shop at the Food Emporium on 82nd and Third. Momentarily considered reversing Earth’s rotation to erase incident, but I’ve done that so often lately I’m not even sure what month it is anymore.
When co-worker asked where I went to lunch today, I accidentally blurted out “Istanbul.” She laughed it off as a joke. Went to make duplicates of some old columns, and woke up two hours later in the copy room, drooling and unable to lift my limbs. Great, I can be felled by Xerox machines. This is on top of the Kryptonite, red sun rays, and certain dairy products (plus I’ve had noticeable difficulty digesting raw vegetables recently).
Later, co-workers planned to gather at the Pig and Whistle across the street for a few drinks. Would have loved to go (naturally, Lois was going to be there) but what’s-his-face, the guy with the name I can never pronounce, is holding City Hall hostage again, so I begged off. No wonder I don’t have any friends at work.
Woke up this morning to find crocus dead on bedroom windowsill. Initial autopsy revealed complete neglect might have played a factor. Tried to revive plant through touch but that power never seemed to work for me. Later, usual dry cleaner suggested that I wear my “Halloween costume” a little more than would be considered seemly for a man my age. I tried to convince him it’s for a community theater production, but he was clearly not buying it.
Mental note: Ignore their cries for help next time.
Late for work again due to early morning scuffle with the Glock, who proved to be nothing more than a recently laid-off executive with a German pistol and some personal issues. Bullets bounced off my chest with ease but still have severe migraine from those that ricocheted off head. Perry chewed me out for tardiness and reassigned me to the Home and Garden section, thereby defeating whole point of reporter job since few crimes occur at Macy’s Flower Extravaganza.
Returned to desk. No voice mail from commissioner. No late-breaking calamities on the news. Just a humor link forwarded from another reporter to everyone on the staff (turns out my mob nickname on The Sopranos would be “Blanched Nuts”).
Investigative feature on aggressive milkweeds interrupted by appearance of the Perennial, a master villain who attacks Botanical Gardens once a year if the conditions are right. Turns out he’s retired, currently living in Boca, and looking for a partner to help him run his bait shop. Handed Perry my resignation and left city just ahead of fireball attack by the Green Goblin, who isn’t under my jurisdiction anyway.
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Open Letters: An Open Letter to the Human Resources Department of the Superfriends
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The Personal Journal Of Zan, The Male Half Of The Wonder Twins
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RECENTLYA Generic College Paper
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Norse History for Bostonians: The Prose Edda for Bostonians, Gylfaginning, Part X
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