Who F*#%s the Watchmen?

To start I want to reiterate how much I appreciate my little slice of heaven. I have it good, I have it good enough for two men my size. Actually, there are times when ‘the nurse’ will even make the excuse for me, she often blames my bad behavior on ‘THAT BASTARD’. I think this is why I live this double life, mild mannered media cog by day, dastardly bastard by night.

After ‘watching The Watchmen’ however, I’ve been struck with the dread that I should be lying low. Recently I’ve been having a series of nightmares where I’m being pursued by authorities for having a secret identity. Speaking of which, I’ve never been sure what they meant by Secret Identity, take Batman for instance, is Batman his Secret Identity or is it Bruce Wayne. If his Secret Identity is his public identity, how come Batman has to wear the mask. It all just seems so silly. I mean, Supervillians don’t seem to have Secret Identities, if they do, I’m sure they are way more fun to be around then some stuffy hero.

Of course it’s not enough to run around with some sinister alter ego, you have to have some superpower or something that justifies donning spandex besides your typical Saturday trip to Walmart. I have a superpower, although it doesn’t seem terribly dangerous. My superpower has proven to be somewhat useful when it comes to enjoying a simple night of drinking myself under the table. I have the uncanny power to guiltlessly drive women away crying. It’s not enough to drive them away, no I seem to only drive them away crying. I would probably be willing to trade powers, however I don’t want something stupid like the ability to make cheese smell worse, no I want something cool like the ability to make everyone nekkid. Yeah, that’s it….

Of course, I suppose I should do a sit up or two in case I inadvertently get caught up in my own reign of bare-er. Oh that was horrible, I’m getting rusty, I better make a quick getaway… hey look, nekkid people!