Supah Stah

What is it with guys and comic books? Are they hard-wired to love this stuff? Is there some undiscovered teeny tiny mutation on a chromosome somewhere in the shape of the Superman logo? Is this really a mystery we should unravel? I'm thinking, no. One thing I'm certain of, it's some serious shit. Do not get between a man and his Super.

I've never dated or hung out with a guy that was in to this. Until now. And even then I was fooled for a long time because it just didn't come up. But as Hollywood churns out one action flick after another I've come to the realization that I'm in love with a comic book geek. A person who has carved out and saved a very large portion of his mind for storing, organizing, cataloging, and recalling more comic characters than I could guess.

He seems normal enough on the outside. Multiple tattoos, piercings, likes girls. You know, the regular stuff. And not that he still isn't the coolest mother fucker I've ever known, but I have to tell you. It's more than a little disturbing when you're watching Spiderman 3 (a complete ass-fest, may I add) and when a seemingly nondescript by-character picks up a shirt to replace his prison jumpsuit and your boyfriend casually mentions, "Oh. It's the Sandman." It makes one stop.

"And how the fuck do you know that", I asked. "Can you tell FROM THE SHIRT??"

"Yea", he says, like that saved bit of info in his genius brain is not only important but vital.

And that's not all he knows. We've watched, and I'm not exaggerating here, a few dozen movies that I had absolutely no idea had anything whatsoever to do with any minuscule relation to a comic book and he's busting out detailed trivia so specific I can't believe he still doesn't have a four foot stack of comic books next to the toilet for daily in-depth review.

"Oh", he'll say, "That's the Crap Man. His poo dissolves metal." "And that's Projecto. He blames everything on his friends and makes them feel really bad." "Aww, look, it's Porcupine Pete. He shoots deadly quills from his ass. He's one of my favorites."

I did not make the last one up, I'm sorry to say.

I just had no idea, and unfortunately now I have some idea, the massive scope of comic books, companies, heroes, villains, super powers, semi powers, lame powers, cool powers, and useless characters in existence. I know who Stan Lee is by sight, people. By sight!

And what's with these boys hating any girl that comes near their beloved Boner Boy? What? The poor kid from planet Copulate who fell to earth and right into a giant vat of Viagra isn't allowed to have a girlfriend? What's up with that? Are you afraid his 10 foot phallus won't work if he gets some on the side? How do you know she's a bitch?

But I guess us girls don't have anything to complain or be judgemental about. I'm sure there are a million chicks out there who can tell you the names of every My Little Pony what his or her body color was, butt markings, mane color, and personalities. (Let's not get into their particular scents, shall we?)

As I was doing my journalistic (4 second) research while writing this I came across a site that, well, stunned even me. This gem on one of the pages took the cake:

"It could be said that Pony Utopia is a happy place in my imagination, a land filled with frolicking ponies, green leafy trees, soft yellow butterflies, pink buildings, and blue sparkling water. Then again, it could also be said that I am a raving loonie for loving these little plastic horses with the silky, brushable hair."

Yes. Yes you are. A raving loonie. Hair on fire fucking freak. You. Are.

So I guess boys have their things and we have ours, neither sex is innocent from the lame or weird or obsessive compulsive mania. Let your freak flag fly, brothers, just don't get mad when I make fun of your strange little ass.