Dear, The Undersigned,

I would like to thank you for your recent petition, encouraging me to become Sunnyvale's resident superhero. You collected an impressive number of signatures which, now, are spread across my living room floor. No doubt you were called to action by my apprehension of The Murderous Duo, as captured on security camera and spread across Youtube. Well, I have to tell you that was more of a one-time thing-- like bungee jumping. It was scary, and I never want to do it again. I did it just so that I could say I did. That's the main reason that I must politely decline your invitation. Of course, there are other reasons that I consider to be equally valid.

• My unique brand of vigilante justice, it turns out, isn't so unique. The guy at the comic book store told me it was actually insultingly hackneyed.


• I have a well-known and documented aversion to conflict. It took me ten years to divorce my unfaithful wife because every time I'd bring it up, she'd say "What?" and I'd say "Nothing."


• I'm not fashionably bold enough to pull off a super outfit. I've worn Dockers khakis for fifteen years, and it took a leap just to get me out of the pleated ones into the flat fronts.


• Finally, while I do have a mysterious past, tons of money, and a butler, I feel I know the best way to maintain those things: avoid public scrutiny, refrain from investing in supergadgetry, and keep the scope of my butler's job description as-is.

Now, my butler, on the other hand might make an excellent superhero. I often give him Saturday nights off because he wants to go "cruisin' for some action." On those nights, he tells me he's going out looking for bad boys in tight pants. I must admit that I have long suspected him of maintaining a secret life that he can only hint at.

Sincerely,
Superstrong Heronius, III

PS. Thank you for sending the first season of Greatest American Hero on DVD. I enjoyed it.

Josef: OK, so you know how you've been on me to remodel the basement?

Rosemarie: Yeah…

Josef: And you know how you've been wanting more kids.

Rosemarie: Right, but it's so messy...

Josef: Exactly, exactly. Well, this is going to sound crazy

Rosemarie: I hate it when you start things that way.

Josef: Now, just hear me out, OK? I've got many birds and one stone here. Daughter--loud music. Always with the attitude? Stick her in the basement and we get her pregnant.

Rosemarie: We?

Josef: Well, that would be mostly me, but I promise it would be a joyless gesture.

Rosemarie: It always is with you.

Josef: Hey, don't be hurtful! I'm just trying some creative problem solving here.

Rosemarie: There's a problem with your plan, genius.

Josef: Really?

Rosemarie: Who'll deliver the babies?

Josef: What?

Rosemarie: The doctor... what doctor would do that?

Josef: Why do we need doctors? Listen, people gave birth without doctors for centuries. They redesigned their basements without interior designers for centuries. They impregnated their daughters without remorse for centuries!

Rosemarie: Sounds like you're being cheap.

Josef: I'm being practical!

Rosemarie: Listen, if this is just your way of getting out of hiring an interior designer…...

Josef: No, no! I can take care of all of this myself! I swear!

20 Years Later

Rosemarie: So you still haven't finished the basement.

Josef: Well, I've given you a ton of kids. As promised. On time and under budget!

Rosemarie: I knew this was just an excuse not to hire an interior designer.

Four years later
Josef and Rosemarie are being led out of their home in handcuffs.

Josef: So, I'm prepared to admit that maybe I was being cheap.

Rosemarie: I can't believe they're going to see the basement looking that way. This is so embarrassing!

Yesterday morning, 1991 called me. Luckily it called me on my VOIP program, Gizmo5, and I was able to record the call and transcribe it for you. What follows is an accurate transcription of that telephone call.



1991

Is this Earnest?



Earnest

Yes, Speaking.



1991

Hey, Earnest, this is 1991, and I was calling to inquire about the possibility of my resuming ownership of those track pants...



Earnest

Excuse me?



1991

I was wondering if I could get those track pants back.



Earnest

I'm not sure what you're talking about.



1991

Come on, man. You know. Your aunt gave them to you two years ago. They make you look like either Rob Base or DJ EZ Rock. They make that vwhip-vwhip sound when you walk.



Earnest

OK, so I suppose I do know which pants you're referring to. What do you need them for?



1991

Let me answer your question with another question. How ya livin'?



Earnest

What?



1991

How ya livin'?



Earnest

What?



1991

In Living Color.



(17 seconds of silence.)



1991

I'm sorry. It's just been so long.



Earnest

Why do you need these pants back?



1991

I'm going into training... I'm thinking of making a comeback.



Earnest

You're kidding!



1991

No, I mean, I was pretty good the first time around, right? Married With Children. Simpsons bootleg T-shirts, Nirvana and Metallica-- not to mention the good Gulf War!



Earnest

And don't forget that recession.



1991

That was a low blow. Just give me back the pants. I need them more than you.... Unless you're trying for the anachronistic drug dealer look. Need a pager?



Earnest

I think I'm going to keep them, but if you happen to see 1998, tell him I've got some shiny club shirts he can have back. Actually, you know what? You can have the pants.



1991

Really?



Earnest

Not!



At that point 1991 hung up the phone, and I checked to make sure that my 1991 track pants still fit and looked just as cool now as they did back in the day.

A kid got a butter knife stuck in his head and end up on morning news shows, this week. I managed to transcribe one of the interviews. This starts just as the show comes back from break.



Wendy and Charlie, morning news anchors, are seated at the newsdesk.



Wendy: I’m Wendy May, and thank you for watching Good Morning to News. OK, next up, we have our exclusive interview with the–



Charlie begins cracking up.



WENDY: Stop that.



CHARLIE: I’m sorry… I was reading ahead. I’ll stop.



WENDY: As I was saying… our exclusive interview with the kid who has a butter knife stuck in his (she starts giggling)…. Now, I’m doing it. Thanks, Charlie. OK, the kid with the butter knife stuck in his head.



CHARLIE: Hey, don’t forget to ask if it makes it easier for him to get the point.



Wendy stares at Charlie.



CHARLIE: See? Get it? Because there’s a knife, and–



WENDY: –I get it.



Gary (O.S.): Hey, ask if it was brainless steel.



Charlie and Wendy give death stares to Gary, who’s standing in front of a green screen. The weather map turns on behind him.



CHARLIE: Hey, listen, Gary, when we need a joke from you, we’ll ask for your resume, OK?



Gary’s smile fades. We return to the newscasters.



WENDY: OK, I believe we have Greg, the kid with a butter knife sticking out of his head via satellite from his home. Good morning, Greg!



Greg appears onscreen. He’s a young teenager with a butter knife sticking out the back, right side of his head. Wendy stares for a second and then breaks out in hysterics. Charlie never had a hope of keeping a steady face.



WENDY: Turn it off! Turn it off!



Greg disappears.



WENDY: That kid has a butter knife… sticking out of his head!



She’s regains her composure.



WENDY: OK, turn it back on. I’m ready. I’m better.



Greg is back onscreen, but the image is snowy.



WENDY: It’s a little…



Greg’s mother enters next to him and begins adjusting his head.



MOTHER: Just a minute.



As she turns his head completely sideways, knife sticking straight up in the air, the image becomes crystal clear.



MOTHER: Better.



Wendy nods.



WENDY: Thank you, but it looks like we’re out of time. (turning to main camera) What a brave, little boy.



CHARLIE: A profile in courage, indeed.



GARY (O.S.): Hey, it’s too bad you didn’t get to ask the dad how he supports his knife and kids!



Wendy and Charlie glare at Gary again.



CHARLIE: Hey, we’re trying to run a professional newscast here, OK, Gary?



Gary’s had enough.



GARY: Hey, I’m a person, too. I may not have a butter knife sticking out of my head, but I deserve just as much respect as someone who does!



Gary presses some buttons on his weather remote device, and all the suns become rainclouds.



GARY: What do you think about that?



CHARLIE: (sad) I was going to go on a picnic tomorrow….



And then they cut to a commercial