My mind is a dangerous place. Make sure you wear a cup.

Monday, December 26, 2005

Secret Origins

When I was a kid, one of my favorite comic books was Secret Origins. Each issue would detail the genesis of a particular superhero.

I need a secret origin. The secret origin of Mr. Fabulous.

I like to think it would begin in a bunker somewhere in rural Costa Rica. Perhaps I would have been the brainchild of a rogue scientist at Bell Labs. Or the love child of Bela Lugosi and Doris Day. Or I would have been stolen away from the hospital under cover of darkness by a roving band of howler monkeys.

I might have stowed away on a tramp steamer bound for the Phillipines. Or have hijacked a cargo plane and diverted it to a hidden airstrip outside Mexico City. Or hiked out of the jungle with only my wits and a bottle of milk of magnesia.

I may have attended university at Oxford. Or had to quit school in the eighth grade once daddy died so I could work the cotton fields and take care of my mom and sisters. Or lived on the mean streets of Tulsa, Oklahoma, selling dime bags for a dope pusher named Marco.

I may have been recruited early by the CIA and been trained to kill foreign agents in exotic locations. Or gone to work as a fry cook in a greasy spoon diner in Brooklyn. Or become a sales manager for a Cracker Barrel in Alabama.

I may have been befriended by a wise old martial arts master who took me under his wing. I may have joined the French Foreign Legion and learned to love camels. I may have been bitten by a radioactive caribou and spent the rest of my days reading sonnets and collecting mason jar lids.

I think I am feverish.


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