Wednesday, May 31, 2006

The F-Team (the "F" is for "F-Team")

When doing a bit of yard work today (read: searching for buried treasure—according to a map I bought from some neighborhood kids, I live directly on top of a giant, crayola-red X!) I was bit (bitten? bote?) by a rather fat, squat, hairy little spider (it was one of these, I believe). He was a tenacious bugger, I’ll give him that—I swear he swung around like a hairy, bulbous pendulum when I tried to shake him off.

Anyways, that’s my tragic backstory. Right now, all I got to do is lean back and let the super powers develop. Currently, the needle on the Superpower-ometer is resting at “Redness, Swelling, throbbing pain.” But tomorrow? Well, lemme just say that whatever happens, the t-shirt printing place has told me that they won’t take back the custom Lycra costume I bought there, with “Spiderwoman” (uh, copyright issues—it was just easier this way) printed across the bust region in the most crime-avenging font you've ever seen (courier, that is).


Anyone up for a crime fighting duo, trio, possibly even quadro? Spiderwoman is taken, obviously, but the way I see it, I still need a “The Amazing Cerebellum!” or some such to act as the brains, some sort of minority-centric hero (“The Affirmative Axeman”?; “Generic Asian Ninja Man”? "Black Man"?) to help our play with the hip-hop demographic, as well as a boy liege (“Boy Man”?) to act as a deux ex machina to get us out of tough spots when our writers overzealously ensare us.

Also, I’m in the market for a spiritual mentor. Must be gruff and cantankerous, but with a heart of gold and a penchant for random epigrammatic exclamations. May need to die at the hands of my future arch nemesis in order to fuel my rage and signal my full maturation as an independent crime fighting entity. Good dental and health plan available, salary negotiable, must provide own transportation and underground armory filled with fantabulous weaponry.


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