Sloth and the Ley Line Talker

I haven't been up to snuff as of late. It took me a few days to catch Spiderman 3 (not that it mattered, really), I'm behind at my job (insert joke about the silliness of considering my position as a job here), I woke up too late for the Mayweather/De La Hoya bout, couldn't thwart the diabolic schemes of one Mola Ram, and I have yet to watch the Departed (because I'm a hipster like that, cheesy E.).

Forgive me, cruel world, for my lethargic depravity. For a while, I was caught up in an emotional tug-of-war, as I couldn't decide upon the superiority of the inhuman versus the preternatural. Sure, they're both winners, but really, which is the bigger winner? This is just the tip of my decidedly intellectual woes; as one could -just as- easily become lost in the mire of 'What about Supergirl/Power Girl, or Spider-Woman/Arachne?' Fuck, my head is already spinning, so let's not complicate things any further. I dwell within an ivory tower, sure, but it was built upon the dreams of a prepubescent, maize-raised lad. (So, to rephrase, it's easier to topple than 'Hurricane' Peter McNeely and, thus, be gentle with me.)

Speaking of dreams, one of mine was shattered just earlier today. I had been giving some serious thought to the notion of comparing the vaunted members of the PK braintrust to superheroes, specifically Superman and the related Supermen of the Death of Superman story arc, but that notion was demolished by my better half; the elusive, reclusive progenitor of Psychedelic Kimchi. Sure, he's better looking than me, and smarter, and better with the ladies, and more affluent, and has better taste in music, but that doesn't change the fact that he pulled some Scanners action on me. Just last week I had asked him to stop that shit, and he had promised not to set anyone (else) on fire, but I should have known that anything else was fair game. Basically, my entire plan has gone to shit, faster than you can say 'gone to shit.'

In light of such events, I have decided to go ahead with my aforementioned, half-assed plan, albeit slightly modified. Despite the best advice offered by Stevie Nicks, I shall not keep these crystal(ized) visions to myself. The difference? Supervillains, baby. Some folks may contend that it's been done before, but then again, so has my mom*.

Sparkles is Ultron. You can knock him down, tear his body apart, steal his cash, smoke his stash, engage him in a frivolous lawsuit, demand Canadian citizenship from him, and smash his genitals with Mjölnir. It doesn't matter; he'll be back from the grave. You may as well get used to it, just like you should get used to the fact that he's infiltrated Dallas with several Sparklebots, each intent upon the destruction of that fair city.








TMH is the Mandarin. Yeah, TMH isn't Chinese, but so what? The guy has more bling than Flavor Flav, snags more pelt than Prince, and routinely benefits from ancient, stolen technology.












Kmart is the Hobgoblin. Let's set the record straight: at times, he comes across as a cheap imitation of something upscale (dare I say it, a doppelganger), flies around like he's a PCP addict 'trying' to walk through a wall, babbles incoherently on a regular basis, possesses a shabby wardrobe, and is occasionally inhabited by a demon of vacillating intellect. Nonetheless, he can throw a mean pumpkin-bomb, and has been known to work some magic with that elongated tongue of his.






Denz is Mister Sinister. Don't let his suave demeanor fool you. Beneath his veneer of civility, the man is a calculating, maniacal genius. The beauty of his posts belie his intent, which is to destroy the framework of modern society. Believe it. He is wonderfully, nay, poetically (you guessed it) sinister, and if your surname happens to be Summers, then only God can help you.






Mr. T is the High Evolutionary. You won't see him (post) often, but rest assured he's hard at work, laboring to bring humanity to a higher state of being, by force if need be. The world is often unaware of his greatness, and what awaits, but that doesn't mean he isn't thinking about you. He's an oft misunderstood brainiac, enshrouded by an insatiable desire to elevate the masses. He also has a fetish for Korean songstresses.









That's the conclusion of my hodgepodge. Sort of. Didn't care for it? Blame Sparkles, and telepathic defilement.


Jessica Drew's Boyfriend



* People think we're joking about that 'brother from another mother' line, but it brings me to tears regularly.