Issue 10:
Various and Sundry
By
Statica
“The aliens will be striking at midnight,” thought one of the students. “No,” stated another thought that resides in the same student’s head, “aliens are not real because I have never seen one.” “Actually,” stated yet another thought, “aliens do exist because mine eyes have seen them.” This thought was strange, yet different. It had a different scent and commanded a different action. This thought, as they say, spoke in British tones. It was, therefore, sophisticated and charming. Somehow, its knowledge and validity was founded upon the rock of its own accent.
This aforementioned exchange took place in the head of one Pedro Mooney. Pedro was an intelligent…… perhaps I am being generous with this term. Let me begin again. Pedro was alive and breathing, mostly due to his enlarged heart. However, this will come into play later. For now, be patient. I, the author, command it. He was not Spanish, to clarify for the racial profiler who might be reading this story. He was, in fact, Canadian. Well, actually he was ½ Canadian, ½ Swede, and ¼ Dutch. He was a large boy and his mother was 100% whorish.
Pedro sat in his seat in Senior English, pondering the existence of aliens and the validity of the Brits. He had no idea what he wanted to do in life. He just could not find his place in this world. For the most part, he was a normal boy. But Pedro never knew the value of a dollar. Perhaps that is why he grew up poor. He was constantly working, but never really made any money. Still, he grinned incessantly like an idiot.
Actually, now that I think about it, I remember Pedro in my English class. He really wasn’t that intelligent at all. I began this story as a fictitious one. Who knew it would be based on actual events? Yeah, Pedro was the kid of whom we used to make fun. He had an enlarged heart which explained his disproportioned body. We used to call him “tub-thumper,” not because of the Chumbawumba album, but because his heart could literally fill an entire tub. I bet that heart pumped a lot of blood. Is that why he died…too much blood? That can’t be true. As the old heavy metal saying goes: “there is no such thing as too much blood.” And metal is the most valid form of music on the planet today. I would highly consider anything metal over a doctor’s report. It’s harder and more durable. Come to think of it, the doctor wasn’t even British. There is no way his reports could even be in the vicinity of valid.
I bet Pedro’s death has something to do with his getting hit by that car. And you know what? I saw the scene. There really wasn’t that much blood at all. I think Pedro never really had an enlarged heart. I knew it! He was an illegal immigrant from Mexico who feigned this illness in order that no one would send him back. He played on our sympathies and knew that our superior Christian ethics would not allow us to even consider suspecting a boy with such a moral crime. I thought he did extremely well in Spanish class for a ½ Canadian, ½ Swede, ¼ Dutch boy. This is exactly why we should build a highly secure barbed-wire fence between the U.S. and Mexico.
Issue 10:
Superhero Information Initiative
By
Medulla Vesuvius
We here at Nerd City have a lot of respect for superheroes in all their incarnations- print, movie, and myth. Thus, this new Superhero Information Initiative. I figured it would be a good idea to kick things off in grand style with the granddaddy of them all…
On Superman
In a few days, a new movie will open, featuring a certain character by the name of “Superman.” Have you ever heard of this guy? He flies around by his own locomotive power in blue tights and a red speedo and a cape. His hair is perfect. Just like the Werewolves of London. I would say he is stronger than Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime. So, you have heard of him?
Of course you have. Superman is the omnipresent pop culture archetype of a superhero. I don’t even read comics or get overly excited by comic book movies and even I know something about Superman. I mean, the red and yellow S crest is burned into my retinas as deeply as the Coca-Cola logo. And there’s all the songs. I can think of tons of songs that mention or allude to him just off the top of my head: REM, Our Lady Peace, Crash Test Dummies, Blindside, Five for Fighting, Three Doors Down… Even that goofy bastard Sloth in The Goonies knew who Superman was. Is there any character that even comes close to his identifiabilty?
I’m sure there are comic book historians much more knowledgeable than I who can tell me which superheroes came before him, but in my book Superman is the OG hero. First of all, he’s strong. I’ve seen him lift busses and other heavy stuff. He’s got a six-pack. And like I said, he’s quite handsome, in a fifties kind of way. What I’ve always liked about Supe was his insistence on using his powers for the good of humanity, unlike Nietzsche’s ubermensch. Superman could just as easily have used his super strength to break into all of the banks in the world, flown around the globe really fast to reverse time and do it again in the past multiple times, and then used all the money to finance an unstoppable presidential campaign and then muscle all kinds of crazy self-serving legislation through Congress with his good looks and charm. But that’s not Superman’s style. Instead, he tries to help people in need. I think that’s probably a requirement to qualify as a superhero. There’s a pretty big Messianic thread running through the character of Superman, but that’s fodder for another, much more in-depth discussion.
But here’s one of the really interesting things about Superman—the alter ego. Everybody knows, (well, not everybody), that Superman also has a day job as a “regular guy.” (Whether or not he is in fact a “regular guy” is up for debate. Are regular guys so reticent around a woman like Lois Lane? Stammering out the simplest greeting seems so hard for him. Is this “regular” or is it socially awkward?) I wonder why his creators felt the need for this weakness as well as his famous aversion to kryptonite. Can we not handle perfection, both outward and inward? Do we need weakness in characters so as to better relate to them? Are flawed heroes more interesting? If the purpose of a hero is to inspire us, can we not find equal inspiration in perfection? Or was weakening Superman more of a plot concern? Maybe the Kryptonite weakness allows for more interesting plots in that it makes it possible for Superman to have actual enemies. I guess no one wants to read issue after issue or watch movie after movie of Superman kicking ass without a challenge.
Anyway, Superman raises lots of questions, as a good character probably should. In many ways, he is a flying dichotomy-superhuman yet human, a symbol of strength with a debilitating weakness, an avatar of justice and pragmatist morality yet still susceptible to loneliness.
All this merely to say- “Hats off to the Man of Steel.”
Issue 10:
Tournament of Villainy
By
Rascal Stallion
| Name: Zod |
|
Name: Scott Farkus |
| Occupation: General |
vs. |
Occupation: Bully |
| Origin: Superman mythology |
|
Origin: A Christmas Story |
General Zod was on his way home from the grocery store when he decided to take a shortcut through the alley. As he neared the end of the alley he scarcely had time to hear “Hey kid, c’mere” before he was struck in the face by snowball. Enraged, he quickly spun around to discover the identity of his assailant. As Zod turned, his eyes met the vilest pair of yellow eyes he had ever seen.
Scott Farkus stared General Zod down from the opposite end of the alley, slowly licking his lips as he bounced a second snowball in his hand.
Zod spoke softly yet authoritatively, “Do you dare speak to General Zod?”
Farkus glared back and quipped “I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to your Aunt Tilly.” He fired the second snowball at Zod. “Now get over here and give me your milk money.”
General Zod didn’t flinch as he responded with a laser shot from his eyes. The laser continued straight through the snowball and knocked Scott Farkus’ coonskin cap from his head, singing it beyond repair.
In an instant, Zod was upon Farkus. Fueled by rage he punched Scott in the face as hard as his might would allow. Zod’s fist went straight through Scott’s head like a cannonball hitting a watermelon. Brains and skull exploded across the alley, glistening in the sun in a rainbow arc. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men would have little chance of putting Farkus’ head back together again.
Scott had clearly bitten off more than he could chew this time. He should have known if he couldn’t win a fight against Ralphie that he stood little chance against the might of a Kryptonian on a planet fueled by our yellow sun.
View Tournament Bracket
Issue 10:
Tournament of Villainy
By
Rascal Stallion
| Name: Grendel |
|
Name: Elle Driver |
| Occupation: Monster |
vs. |
Occupation: Assassin |
| Origin: Beowulf |
|
Origin: Kill Bill |
Silently, Elle Driver stalked her prey through the forest. It was easy enough to follow the monstrous Grendel with his pungent musk and husky breathing cutting through the still night air. Gazing at his hulking form, she steeled herself for the impending battle and hoped it would be quick.
Grendel stopped at the brook to have a drink of water. He was quite thirsty after feasting on the denizens of the village in the valley below. As he knelt and savored the cool water he thought he detected movement behind him.
California Mountain Snake struck with a flash. Her Hanzo blade split the air and struck Grendel soundly in the soft spot where his neck met shoulder. She had hoped to end his life with a single, quick blow. Unfortunately, she was unaware that special magics protected Grendel from damage by a sword.
With a shriek, Grendel’s backhand sent Elle sprawling. Staggered, she struggled to compose herself but Grendel was upon her. Grasping her leg in his meaty mitts he swung her body against a nearby Oak. The blow broke three of her ribs and shattered her pelvis. Fortunately, Pai Mei taught Elle everything she needed to know about pain and she was able to focus past it to the task at hand.
Elle’s fingers found the familiar grip of the .45 holstered at her side. She whipped it up and emptied it into Grendel’s hairy chest. Grendel howled in shock and pain and then crumpled in a heap. Evidently his protective magics had never heard of bullets before.
Elle smiled with the satisfaction of accomplishment and whistled a happy tune as she settled into the grim task of dragging herself out of the forest.
View Tournament Bracket
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