Poetic inclination

There would be this game we’d play until it got banned then a few months later we’d change the name and start playing the same game until the teachers finally noticed and it was banned again.

You’d line all the kids up against the school building, mixed ages so between six and sixteen, decide on an end point, one kid would be “it” and their job was to tackle another kid to the ground while everybody else tried to run to the other side. If anybody got tacked to the ground they were then also it, and the number of people you’d have to run past would get larger and larger until every kid playing had been tackled at some point.

While you’d usually start with a high schooler being it, it was never the biggest most athletic highschool kid. Not the jock, or what we had which passed doe a jock which was just Ben. It wouldn’t be much fun if you started with the fastest and strongest kid. Nobody would stand a chance.

The first person also never goes straight for the little kids. That wouldn’t be fun either. You’d tackle a few kids your own size to the ground. A few of the brave would try to get Ben but you’d always fail.

The you gotta get the little kids. The tactic is simple. A bigger highschool kid would pick them up, flip them over, and place them (relatively) gently on their backs and the go hunt more kids.

And then comes the best part. A gaggle of tiny kids all with ceaseless determination and zero fear of man or gods would all put their tiny little bodies to the sole persuit of bringing down the largest highschool kid there was. And while Ben had no issues pushing to to the ground anyone vaguely his own age, he could not harm a small child. His only options was to be faster. And to run away. Individually their grip strength was weak and his legs were strong. One small child he would just step to the side and get away from. Two small children and he had to be a bit careful where he stepped but he was only slowed and not stopped. But eight. Nine. Ten small children. It was like watching a pack of wolves bring down a full sized elk. If in this case the elk was concerned about not hurting the wolves. It was amazing. They only had to slow him enough to get enough tiny hands on him and down he’d go. These tiny children were always the only ones who could ever succeed.

Mog is a good friend. Always there to offer words of advice, and sit uncomfortably close to you.

I think sometimes Superman makes the wrong decision, not necessarily to the result of extreme catastrophe, but something like this, where everyone is standing around clapping and cheering and the kid’s parents are weeping in gratitude and they want to pose for a picture for the 6 o’ clock news with Superman and the conductor, and in the crowd someone is like “Why didn’t he fly the kid out of the way?” and rather than rolling with the fact that the emperor is naked his friend just says “Shut up, Drew, it’s Superman.”

And then, because I also love Batman for very different reasons, I imagine that later on the same day Bruce Wayne gets a phone call and Clark Kent is like “Hey, Wayne, I uh, need a favor.”

“Do you now.”

“Yeah, I, uh, kind of owe the Union Pacific Railroad $60,000.”

“Oh, and why’s that?”

“Come on, don’t do this to me. It was all over the news.”

“I’m prepared to write you a no-strings-attached check for the full amount on the condition that you explain your entire thought process from beginning to end.”

Eddie: “Yes Venom, Hannibal Lecter is a hu-”

Venom: “No, that is a human, ON YOUR PLATE.”

Eddie:

Venom:

Eddie: “…nope. Nope. Nu-uh. V, eat him and I’ll buy you McDonald’s.”

Venom: *gets up and throws the whole table to tackle Lecter:

FOR LARRY WALTERS, WHO DREAMED SINCE HE WAS A CHILD OF USING BALLOONS TO FLY; WHO IN 1982 SPEND FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS OF HIS TRUCK-DRIVING DELIVERYMAN SALARY TO BUY SUPPLIES, INCLUDING ONE LAWN CHAIR, FORTY-TWO BALLOONS, AND A HELIUM TANK, WHICH HE USED TO INFLATE THE BALLOONS, ARRANGING THEM IN A RING AROUND THE LAWN CHAIR, A STURDY ALUMINUM TYPE FROM SEARS, IN WHICH HE LAUNCHED HIMSELF ALONG WITH HIS PELLET GUN AND WATER JUGS A THOUSAND FEET A MINUTE INTO THE CALIFORNIA SKY, WITH THE GOAL OF CLEARING THE SAN GABRIEL MOUNTAINS TO REACH THE MOJAVE; WHO AGAINST ALL ODDS FLEW, FROM A BACKYARD IN SAN PEDRO TO LONG BEACH, AN IMPERFECT MAN ON AN IMPERFECT FLIGHT PATH, WHO BROUGHT HIS CAMERA BUT DIDN’T USE IT; WHO, UPON HIS ARREST BY THE LONG BEACH POLICE, WAS QUOTED AS SAYING A MAN CAN’T JUST SIT AROUND…..

FUCK YES LARRY YOU DID IT BABY