Like most men, I have very limited insight into the higher neurological functions of the American female. So, as far as discussing the themes that women find appealing in their television and movies, I have to take a scientific approach and only hypothesize about why the ladies like the things they like.
I do know what escapist fantasies dudes harbor, and why. We crave excitement, adventure, speed, and an unprecedented level of nudity. We crave movies based on comic books or similarly unrealistic premises. And summer blockbusters love to oblige us.
They don’t delve into the possible downsides of being incredibly wealthy, intelligent, and having your own cybernetic battlesuit with rockets in the arms and emergency flares in the nipples. There’s just the right amount of adversity; a prosaic and straight-forward evil villain generally puts the hero in a tough spot, and then forces the hero to do something epic. Not so secretly, my ilk envies the hero. We would love to clench our fists and solemnly vow not to rest until justice is delivered to every ass within a 2 mile radius via our mighty feet.
But movies aren’t enough for me anymore. As a dude, the appeal of watching a crime-fighting, justice-avenging hero has simply become mundane. As such, I’ve designed my own super team.
I’ve put a lot of though into this. A lot. For instance, as many of you may not know, there is inevitably a rivalry between the team leader and the resident loose cannon that doesn’t play by the rules and goes his own way.
That will not be an issue here, however, as I plan to be both the leader and the loose cannon. I might sometimes disagree with myself, but I’m sure I’ll be able to resolve the issue by dropping giant boulders onto myself, and then watching them shatter on my abs. Additionally, my biceps will be named Zeus and Odin, and they will probably star in their own spin-off movies.
My methods of heroing will be unconventional and – I think – well received by the public. For instance, if I have to stop an earthquake from destroying Los Angeles, I won’t use my super-strength or my super-speed. Rather, I’ll free-climb Mount Olympus, retrieve Aphrodite, and make out with her so hard in front of the earthquake that it will just become depressed. Then it‘ll go home.
I haven’t thought of a good team name yet, but I will. For some reason, I keep coming back to “Fantasma Banana-rama, which would almost certainly force us to fight both super villains and high school jocks that (rightfully) would want to beat us up. Anyway, this is my current hypothetical roster:
Zinedine Zidane: This is a man of accomplishment. He’s one of the only men ever to score in two World Cup finals. He was awarded the Golden Ball of the last World Cup. He’s also only the fourth man in French history to earn 100 caps. But, most importantly, Zidane has both the temper and combat style of an enraged rhino.
If you watched the finals of the World Cup, you know what happens when you piss him off: he will literally stamp his foot in the dust, lower his head, and charge your ass. Now, soccer players are generally very strong in the leg, and can run for hours; so I have no idea when, why, or how he developed the neck muscles and bony headplate necessary to become a human battering ram, but he has. And this could be incredibly useful in our quest to save lives.
Imagine, if you will, a burning building filled with orphans and baby dolphins. There’s a fallen beam blocking the front door. We would simply tell Zidane that the east wall mentioned his mother’s widely accessible, battleship-sized ass, and BAM! Instant new entrance.
DMX: Common knowledge about The Incredible Hulk indicates that the madder he gets, the stronger he gets. DMX is similar, and yet completely different; the madder he gets, the madder he gets. The most advanced mathematical theories cannot plot his rage. DMX even sleeps angrily. He is a living embodiment of the philosophy, “temporary insanity is for losers.” His anger is directed at any and all things, both living and non-living. It has been well-documented that he once rammed an SUV into the side of an airport. What is less often mentioned is the fact that airports no longer f*ck with DMX.
Furthermore, DMX is egalitarian. There is no bias in his heart; he hates equally. He doesn’t hate men or women, he hates people. He doesn’t hate people of different colors, he just hates every last color on the color wheel. Here’s a little-known fact: he once drove 50 miles just to poop in Blue’s mailbox. That’s the sort of passion I want on my team.
Ralph Nader or Lex Luthor: Ralph Nader is a real-world living embodiment of ‘swing-and-miss.” In his heart of hearts, he has to know that the only way he could win the presidency if the Republicans fielded a clone of Judas Iscariot and the Democrats nominated a duck in a party hat (actually, considering how many memes the duck would give rise to, he could definitely win if he could just get the hardcore internet users to brave the sunlight long enough to vote). But does he let that stop him? Nay. He actually seems to thrive on predictable, repeat failures.
In parallel, Lex Luthor has been fighting Superman for decades now. His only strengths are that he’s pretty smart, and he’s bald. And frankly, I’m not sure that second one is an advantage, since it just makes him fly more aerodynamically when Superman flings him through a wall.
Both of these men are pretty much made of pure willpower. They face insurmountable odds, and remain hopeful. It’s mind-boggling. Ralph Nader’s entire platform consists of loving the earth unconditionally and mandating the use of Flintstones-style automobiles. Lex Luthor pits his fairly high SAT scores against a man who can laugh off the freight train that rams into his groin, and then melt it with his eyes. I don’t know how much good they would do us in a fight, but I know who I would pick to inspire children or compete in a hot dog eating contest.
Pikachu: For those of you who don‘t know or may have forgotten, Pikachu is a pudgy, electric cat. I actually got to play the game Hey You, Pikachu for the Nintendo 64: you attached a special microphone to your controller and screamed instructions at Pikachu. Sometimes he listened, but more often, he would sit on the ground or try to go fishing. Between my lack of patience and his inexpert grasp of the English language, our experience together became a wistful, inevitably tragic symphony of failed tasks and eventual deaths.
I grew to love Pikachu. I would gently try to explain he had to learn to defend himself, and use his goddamn thunder attack, or he would just be pushed around for the rest of his life. Things were already hard enough, since he was basically an adorable, mentally challenged cat that had been dipped in yellow paint and then had a car battery shoved up his butt. So why put him on the team, you ask?
Because Pikachu has the greatest power of all: a bottomless capacity for unconditional love. You could yell at him, get him killed, or instruct him very firmly to “hump that boulder, Pikachu,” and he would always be cheerful, and always try his inadequate best. When I came home upset after a hard day, turned on the game, and poured my woes into the microphone, he would soothe my troubled heart by cooing “Pikaaaa” and “Chuuu.” Then, I knew everything would be alright. He would be just like Charlie Conway from The Mighty Ducks movies: he wouldn’t be “tangibly useful,” but he would be the heart of the team.
Plus, if we happened upon a bunch of bad guys in a pool, we could just throw Pikachu in with them and go home early that day.
Star Wars Kid: This guy is, at the very least, a top 10 finalist for “Most Unfortunate Bastard” of the last decade. He has been, is, and will always be known as nothing more and nothing less than the Star Wars kid; his only hope of ever getting lucky is to find the one girl out there with a “hilarious internet video“ fetish. His video-shame is one of the most watched and publicized videos in the entire history of the internet. I cannot imagine that he doesn’t exist in a perpetual state of sizzling, humiliated rage.
I want to give him a chance to channel that feeling. All of that pent-up anger will explode, like a nuclear warhead that routinely got stuffed into trashcans and spent prom night playing multiplayer Quake because “the whole concept is stupid, and anyway, there was nobody [he] wanted to go with.”
But rage or no, I‘m positive he would get his ass kicked. And I’d do more than just sit in a lawn chair and laugh; I would actually set up fights. I would tell him things like “Floyd Mayweather is has taken the entire candy factory hostage, and he’s making demands. You know that we can’t negotiate with this kind of terrorism. You’re the only one that can stop him” And then I’d sell the video on pay-per-view.
You: Yes, you. I want you to fill out the following application to be on the greatest force for Justice that this world has ever seen. Follow this link to follow your destiny!