Super Powers v. Skill

Part of being a superhero is training.  While SOME superheroes have, like, “powers,” from government experiments, gamma rays or alien birth, the rest of us who don the cape are not starting with such advantages so we must train and practice in order to elicit fear in our foes.  Frankly, I feel like those superheroes are basically on ‘roids and, well, of COURSE they can leap tall buildings with a single bound.  Big deal.  I still leap tall buildings, but I rely on skills rather than freak juice.  But I digress.  So a lot of my time is spent in training.  I have a state-of-the-art training facility in the Burrow (my secret underground hideout for those who are unfamiliar with the habits of wombats) and spend sometimes up to 45 minutes at a time pushing my body to its limits.  Today I was drilling my digging skills.  Wombats have large claws which allow them to dig up soil quickly and effortlessly (and, no, the claws are not retractable and made of adamantium).  So I have designed a pair of leather gloves with wombat claws to dig.  My first trial run with the Wombat-Claws today proved very effective.  I was able to dig up a huge part of the front lawn in the matter of hours!  One of the holes was almost a foot deep.  Gladys, who is my devoted housekeeper but in no way possesses a superior crime fighting mind like mine, can’t fathom the infinite amount of uses the Wombat-Claws have.  But the next time a criminal buries his stolen loot from Slothum City First National Bank in a cemetery cleverly disguised as a newly filled grave, Wombat Man will be able to dig it up and retrieve the stolen money!

Official Wombat-Apology

Okay, so you may have read my last post about apprehending the suspect outside of a residence.  As it turns out, I transposed the numbers on the address Commissioner Borden had given me for the home with a break-in in progress.  So I was several blocks from the crime scene.  It seems I apprehended a teenager who actually lived at the residence and was just arriving home from school.  He was trying to open the door, not realizing his mother wasn’t at home and, therefore, the door was locked.   To my defense, he never identified himself as a resident of the home, nor did he offer any explanation to me at the time of apprehension what his business was at that location.  But I have been encouraged to give an apology here to Brandon and his parents.  So, sorry.

Picking Up the Trash

Have you ever had one of those days when everything goes just right? In crime fighting, those days are rare, I must admit. Because criminals can be super unpredictable. But then there are those days when it all works out. Today I got an urgent call from Commissioner Borden about a break-in in progress. He’d sent Police Chief Leibowitz, really out of protocol, but he wanted me to be there in case the break-in was anything more than ordinary. I got there and I could see a young white male wearing jeans and a black concert T-shirt (I can’t recall the name of the band but they apparently had toured in many U. S. cities) struggling to pick the lock on the front door. I didn’t see Police Chief Leibowitz anywhere in the vicinity, so I knew I had to act and act fast! I pulled out my Wombat-Lasso and flung it around the assailant. I have to say, I am pretty darn skilled at the Wombat-Lasso. I practiced hundreds of times on the La-Z-Boy in my rumpus room, so I was totally prepared. I restrained the assailant and tied him up, securing him to the front porch. Now some people don’t realize that part of being a superhero, is capturing and securing criminals, but then leaving them in a nice little package for the police to discover and take in for all that legal booking and so forth. Superheroes don’t do paperwork. So I left him there and called Police Chief Leibowitz for what superheroes refer to as “picking up the trash.” Cut and dry, easy apprehension. Man, I wish all days were like this.

At the Car Wash

Sometimes crime fighting is about being in the right place at the right time. Today I was at the local car wash giving the Wom-moped a good scrubbing in the self service area. While I was digging around in my Utility Pouch for more quarters so I could thoroughly scour the tires, I happened to notice a car come out of the auto wash. It stuck out to me because it was a bright yellow and I really like the color yellow (the color of my tights, which I have to order special on the internet). Well, the yellow car, a banana cream yellow not really a canary yellow, was parked with the car wash attendant who was hand drying the vehicle. When the attendant was done I witnessed him leave his towel on the trunk of the car. The driver did not notice this, and neither, apparently, did the attendant. Suddenly, the driver began to drive off with the property of the car wash! Even though the Wom-moped was still soapy, I couldn’t allow this divergence from justice, so I leapt upon it and took off after the offending motorist. Unfortunately, the Wom-moped did not accelerate as quickly as the yellow car, but I was gaining ground and right up on their bumper when the towel flew off the trunk and into my face, obstructing my view of the road and the newly changed red light, causing me to collide with the back of the yellow car. I will save you the description of what transpired immediately afterward, but suffice to say, the car wash was not appreciative of my efforts and the insurance for the Wom-moped is now considerably higher.

What Am I???

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.

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Problems

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.

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Really?

$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.

My First Post

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.