Maybe it’s because I’m a child of the 80s and a teen of the 90s that, sometimes, when I look out into the vast realm of the internet, I get disgustipated.

I mean, suffering fuckballs what the hell happened?

I know this is an old man rant, but holy shit. Generation “meh” is now Generation “waah.” Nevermind the repackaged, repurposed, rebooted, race-swapped, and gender-swapped IPs. When tasked to come up with something original, they dish out something like this:

Welcome today’s superheroes. There’s Snowflake and Safespace; an Asian nerd (of course) named, Screentime; and a famine-resistant girl called, Trailblazer. Like many others before me have said, this ain’t no joke. I shit you not this is real and the fact that it is Marvel makes it mainstream.

I mean, superpowers used to mean something— like super human abilities, super speed, super strength, flight, force fields, healing factors, telekinesis, telepathy, teleportation, raidoactive-Asgardian-super serum muscles, abs, ass and titties.

Nowadays, superpowers equate to gender, race, body-type, sexual orientation, socio-economic status, immigration status, physical disabilities, mental disabilities, dietary preference and a bunch of other non-binary, intersectional, supernormal traits.

As a “person of color”, I find this most heinously condescending. Apparently, me and my kind are now segregated to the oppressed, powerless, minority class when it comes to superheroes. And who decided on this kind of representation?

But why? Where does this lamest-of-the-lame idea come from? Why are things once fondly remembered now zealously hated?

Everybody knows why.

It’s because of this massively smug, Woke crusade that only sees things in a purely semantic lens when profiling “evil” and canceling everything that is “bad” so they don’t have to deal with bad feelings. Such mob hypocrisy is equivalent to fake martial arts, in that it simply doesn’t work in real life.

Adversity should be greeted with grit and not bubble-wrapped. No one asked for this pandering intervention that paints us as though we all have some sort of special burden greater than others; as though we don’t have pride and honor; as though we’d just be content in being victims while quietly defecating on our own ancestry and legacy.

I don’t want superheroes who look like he never once interacted with his manhood. I don’t want superheroes with flabby, diabetic physiques or with a bone structure of a lunch money victim. I don’t want superheroes who are weak as shit.

I want classic hero physiques— y’know, Greek Godly and Superhuman as fuck. I want high stakes in their narrative arcs— millions of lives at risk, cosmic terrorists, soul-decimating demons that causes pentagrams to appear on the earth’s fault lines. I want it in your face with a lot of cheese just like it used to be— uncompromising, unrelenting, and will only write a suicide note on a hundred dollar bill.

Y’know, something standard, something badass. Hell, even Meatloaf’s album cover was badass:

Whether it’s a stairway to heaven or a highway to hell, I want heroes with no agenda— he is not in it for your revolution, nor to save the world he woke up to, and yet he does it anyway. He does it for his own reasons, for fun or for profit. Or maybe he just wants to hear the sinners scream as he plays his chainsaw guitar and paint the walls red— Chuck Berry Red!

Either that or I’m just getting old and I can’t go to sleep hence these rabid, trivial thoughts.

Now get off my fuckin porch!

Till the next rant.

– R