I was asked today, while I was dining in a restaurant during the busy lunch hour, “What the heck are you supposed to be?” (Please note the language has been cleaned up for this blog.) I felt this kind of question is why I am writing my blog. Being a superhero, sometimes you operate beneath the public’s eye. Because crime fighting’s reward is serving the community, not in fame or notoriety. So as a superhero, there are times I am not recognized. Even though I did receive the Slothum City Citizen of the Year Award 2012 presented to me in front of city hall by the mayor. And I was featured in the Slothum City Gazette, on page two BTW, as the city’s secret weapon against crime. Plus, I have been the MC at countless store openings, including the newly remodeled Slothum City Westside Mall. But still some people are not aware of my tireless efforts to protect the citizens of this fine city. Which doesn’t bother me, truly. I am above the need for the public’s attention. But please do not assume someone dressed in a superhero uniform (not costume) is an entertainer at children’s shows (even though I am invited to do so, I always politely decline). Nor are those of us who don such wardrobe “freaks.” The next time you see someone in a superhero uniform, shake their hand and simply tell them “Thank you for all you do to keep this city safe.” And carry on with your day. Laughing, pointing, and taking cell phone pictures that you post onto Instagram with nasty and hurtful captions are counterproductive and really, really mean.
Okay, I have found a significant drawback to using the Wom-moped as a means to track down and apprehend misguided miscreants. While the Wom-moped does comfortably seat two, the driver and a passenger positioned directly behind the driver sharing the long banana seat, the layout is not ideal for securing scoundrels who may flee the vehicle when stopped at a stop light. Indeed, since I could not leave the Wom-moped blocking traffic at the intersection, but instead had to make a left turn to find a viable location to park before I could engage the villain in a foot chase, he was long since removed from the immediate location. I would like to reach out, however, to the lady in the 2001 Ford Winstar who was directly behind me in the left-hand turn lane. I believe, madam, that your usage of your vehicle’s horn far exceeds the legal allotment for the given situation and not only should you be cited for your moving violation, but also entered into an anger management program.
$500? For one measly air intake valve? The mechanic claims the Wombatmobile, a 1982 Plymouth Sundance, requires special parts and labor. While I would never deprive a local merchant of his or her right to make a living, I do like to point out that for my services of ridding the city of evil villains and those who would seek to do harm to our good citizens, I charge nothing. Nadda. Zero. I do live on a small trust my parents left me after their unfortunate demise when I was only eight years-old, but with the rise of property taxes and the value of antique clocks dropping drastically, there are times I have to pinch pennies. And this is one of them. I have asked Gladys to bring my Wom-moped out of the storage shed. I originally bought the Wom-moped to ride in the Slothum City Days Parade, the event that launches the week-long celebration of our fine city. Unfortunately, I was waylaid and ultimately unable to attend the parade due to a robbery instigated by the greedy Hamburgler. He actually attempted to steal hamburgers from the local McDonald’s restaurant! After I had apprehended the tiny tyrant, it was later explained to me that the robbery was a staged publicity stunt for the restaurant in conjunction with Slothum City Days and the Hamburgler was actually an actor. Well, if you ask me, someone willing to play a villain has villainous leanings in his heart, so the fact that he spent 72 hours in a holding cell I believe was the best way to scare him straight.
This is the first Wombat Man entry. I started writing this blog because I wanted to give the good citizens of Slothum City a chance to see inside the world of a superhero. Their superhero. For I am a servant of the city. Well, today started as a typical day. My first order of business is a robust breakfast of cereal which could be anything from Lucky Charms, Froot Loops, or, if I’m feeling saucy, Count Chocula. Side note, while I do think a vampire is a poor choice of a role model for children, I cannot deny a big bowl of chocolate is a great way to get your morning energy. Anyway, after breakfast, I put in a few hours in the Wombat Gym which is located in my secret home base The Burrow. After a rousing 45 minutes on the Wombat Stairmaster (where I was able to catch up on important world events through shows such as Gotham, Arrow or Agent Carter), I hit the streets in the Wombatmobile to patrol the city. While normally by noon I have already apprehended a score of unsavory ne’er-do-wells, today the Wombatmobile decided to have problems with the air intake valve and I spent most of his day waiting for road side assistance. I have to give a wag of the finger to AAA whose tow truck driver refused to aide a stranded motorist simply because his membership had lapsed. I mean come on, when you are the savior of a whole entire city, you can’t be expected to keep up on such trivial matters! Needless to say, my daily quota for capturing villains was drastically reduced.