Superhero Origins Revisited

When I was twelve, I developed chronic back pain which prevented me from running and playing like normal boys. You’re probably thinking “Well, that explains a lot.” Do me a favor and smack yourself on the back of the head. Anyway, we went to a doctor who explained that I had a hereditary problem with my spine leaving the lower portion out of alignment and without proper support. He predicted a permanent need for a back brace and one day soon surgery to fuse the lower vertebrae together. As with most medical advice, I ignored it and the problem corrected itself. My spine straightened on its own and a later physical showed cartilage had grown around the weak area; it looked like spider webs on the x-ray. The pain persisted but subsided to a manageable level and eventually disappeared altogether.

At the gym I discovered a machine to work the lower back. It’s basically a chair with adjustable raised foot platforms, a seatbelt, and a padded bar on the back. You sit in it hunched forward, strap yourself in, and lean back until supine, raising the weights in the process. There are twenty numbered plates, but no indication of their weight. Judging from their size I would estimate them to be about twenty pounds each. I tried the machine, just a few plates at first, and found I could work it with almost no effort. Eventually I tried the full amount and discovered that I could do fifty reps without pausing or exhausting myself. I’m sure I could go to a hundred, but I didn’t want to push my luck.

So, we can add superhuman strength to my repertoire. Unfortunately it’s limited to my lower back since I’m about average everywhere else. Combine that with my indestructible head and my finishing move is obvious. If I can trick my opponent into bending over me I can straighten my back with surprising speed and power and smash the base of my nigh invulnerable skull into his or her face (I’m an equal opportunity destroyer).
“So, Super Evil Bad Dude or Dudette. We meet again for the first time for the very last time. Not only do you have a lame moniker and poorly defined sexuality, but you are about to taste…hey, is that a sawbuck at your feet?””What? Where?”
Thwakko!

The next logical step is to create my superhero name. Modifying my original yields Blow to the Back of the Head Dude, or BttBotHD for short, but there is an inherent danger in having too long a title. “Look out behind you, Super Sexy Dude with the Indestructible Head and Lower Back of…oh, never mind.” Unfortunately my powers do not lend themselves to my original alter ego, General Irony. I think I’ll pass on this in the hopes that the next step will solve the first one.

Phase two is to design my superhero costume with one question in mind: Will this make my hot, Oriental cherub of a dentist/torturer desire carnal relations with me? With that in mind, I thought of two prototypes from whom to draw, namely Zorro and Tarzan. But which is sexier? Do I pattern myself after Zorro: Latino, lithe, suave, and mysterious? Or do I go for Tarzan (the book version): brawny, raw, curiously smart and yet uncomplicated and innocent? Then it occurred to me. Why choose when I can do both? So, I shall become (drum roll)…Zorzan!

Donning my leopard skin loincloth and black cape, I shall swing into the dentist’s office on a vine carrying my sword in my teeth and my faithful steed (elephant) Tornado (who will also wear a cape) under my arm. Dropping lightly to my feet, or perhaps swinging by the light fixtures, I shall sweep her off her feet, into my bulging arms and utter those simple words every woman dreams of hearing. “Ahrrr. Give me some sugar, baby.”

Perhaps I failed to mention that I now have two gold crowns in the back of my mouth, thus doubling my piratey attraction.

Anyway, should you ever be in mortal peril and in need of super assistance, run to the rooftop, shout my name into the night air, and then wait for the police to arrest you for disturbing the public. Ask the police for assistance while you’re at it, because Zorzan plans to be up to his muscular waist in Asian nookie and can’t be bothered to help the likes of you. But thanks for thinking of me.

Boffo, out