Aquaman never gets any respect.
Sure, he’s in the Justice League, but what can he do?
He can swim. And he can talk to fish.
This doesn’t faze criminals in the slightest. Unless they’re robbing the aquarium. Which never happens.
However, he filled a super-soaker with Vietnamese fermented fish sauce, and things took a turn for the better.
Now, criminals are scared that they’ll get dowsed with the stinky crap.
Okay, compared to getting punched in the face by Batman or thrown into orbit by Superman, it’s nothing, but that stuff’s a bitch to wash out.
Just shoot him, boys.
Tag: superhero
Pray For Them
Sometimes, people ask for me to pray for them.
I don’t pray.
If the invisible man in the sky needs for me to put my hands together to tell him what shit in the world needs fixing, fuck him.
He’s an idiot for not knowing, a pathetic sack of shit for not being able to do anything about it, or an asshole for not wanting to do anything about it.
And I’m certainly not going to thank him for all the blessings, either. Because whatever he doesn’t take away through death or entropy, the government takes away through taxes.
Amen.
That’s Super
Remember when Superman would hear someone shout “HELP,” and he’d run into a phone booth, and then run back out as Superman to save the day?
Well, there are no phone booths anymore.
So, how does Superman change?
Potable toilets.
Which, if you think about it, is what he should have been using all along.
Unlike glass phone booths, portable toilets have opaque walls, and no matter how fast Superman is when he changes, there’s still the possibility that someone’s going to catch a subliminal dose of Supercock or Superass.
I assume that’s how Lex Luthor became such an asshole.
Snapshots
Clark Kent asked Jimmy Olsen about a good sturdy camera that would stand up to travel.
“Oh, one like mine,” said Jimmy, handing Clark his spare.
Clark developed his own shots, framed a few.
Typical Metropolis street scenes. Sunsets. Lois smirking.
Clark eventually bought his own, returned Jimmy’s camera.
Jimmy saw that Clark had left some film in there, but he didn’t want to bother him, so he developed it himself.
The Eiffel Tower? The Grand Canyon?
On the same roll?
Jimmy fainted as the final shot on the roll appeared through the developer’s solution.
The whole earth. From space.
###
Perry White called Clark Kent into his office and handed him a smartphone.
“Use this to tweet and facebook,” said Perry. “All that new stuff.”
“Um, how do I do that?” stammered Kent.
“Read the fucking manual,” said Perry. “Lois figured it out, so do it!”
Jimmy Olsen helped Clark set it all up: signing up for accounts, friending people, and testing the camera.
Everything went great, until someone noticed the GPS tags.
From Paris to Metropolis in 20 minutes?
“Um, someone hacked my password?” stammered Clark.
“At least you didn’t tweet your dick like that Weiner guy,” said Lois.
The Lantern
Biff was into The Green Lantern.
Really into it.
Wore green underwear, a green shirt and a green cape.
His older brother Joe laughed at him as he ran around, pointing his ring at everything… the dishes… the cat’s litterbox…
“The Green Lantern doesn’t have a cape, retard.”
Then he’d grab Biff and yank his underwear up.
Biff would run to his room, crying.
Then, he’d sit on the roof outside his window and wishing… wishing…
One morning, he was helping an old lady cross the street, when a speeding cab ran them down…
Yep. A Yellow Cab.
Poor Biff.
Mr. Eight Ball
Captain Infinity signed for the package, closed the door, and went into the kitchen for a boxcutter.
When he finally pulled out his new costume, he was horrified.
Black jumpsuit, white circle on the chest, and a golden 8 in the circle.
He dialed the customer service number on the invoice, and wasted the next 2 hours getting the run-around with the costume manufacturer and his credit card company.
The replacement wouldn’t arrive for two weeks.
He sighed, put on the costume, and met with the Avengers.
“Are we behind the Eight Ball today?” Iron Man sneered.
Captain Infinity fumed.
Mister Invisible
809135
Mister Invisible is a member of our superhero team, but I’m not sure why.
He will only attend meetings when we use a sign-in sheet and lock the conference room doors.
It’s an insult, he says. We don’t make Mystic Seer demonstrate that he’s not astrally projecting away, right?
Right.
I checked the call logs and saw that he hasn’t been calling The League Of Evil as much as he used to.
So, I inspect his suite, and find the cell phone.
And the nuclear bomb.
“It’s armed,” he says, and hits me in the back of the head.
Blackness.