Mr. Me

Clark Kent, super idiot

I’ve been thinking about superheroes a lot lately (I know, I know, I’m so conceited). Saturday, I dressed up as Mr. Incredible.

Mr. Me

Don’t ask.

Anyway, my short stint as a mild-mannered page designer hiding his secret costumed identity led me to two realizations: (1) I like baring my chest to women I wish to copulate with.


(2) Superman is full of shit.

Super Pixel

I had to button up my shirt to the highest button in order for nobody to see the red poking out through the top. Now, I understand that Clark Kent is supposed to wear ties all the time and this will provide a good excuse for him to button up his shirts all the time, but isn’t that asking for a bit much? I mean, what about casual Fridays? I am positive that even Jimmy Olsen will figure out that something is amiss when Clark refuses to be fun for the 52nd Friday in a row.

And what the hell is the need, anyway? Does he really have to have his costume available at all times? Can’t Superman just fly home and change? He’s fast enough, isn’t he?

I think the whole reason behind the hidden outfit is a visual metaphor. Clark Kent is the catterpillar to Superman’s butterfly, but he is also a man getting down to the bare-essentials, ready for a job to be done. It is a transformation from what is an apparent phenomena and the true noumenon.

It is super visual, super awesome, super manly, super changing and superfluous.

Screw visual metaphors. They super suck.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *