Not to disappoint all two of my readers out there, but today I’m feeling a bit more introspective than usual. So, if you’ll indulge me in postponing part Deux of my journey to becoming, well, me, I’d appreciate it.
I rather speak plain, to be as transparent as I can. I can think of no better way to start than with this.
Since December 2020, I have lost 25lbs of fat off my butt, my gut and everywhere else except certain places I hope will never shrink. I don’t THINK it will, but I’m also a stranger to the fragility of the human shell you earthers call your bodies.
At least I was until recently. If any of you have been following my Instagram #therealcaptaindadbod, you’ve probably seen the post touting that one day I will NOT be too fat to fly. And I’m not talking about getting an extra-wide seat on a Southwest flight. I’m talking full airborne. Me, the suit, the cape, the clouds and that’s it.
The fact is, folks, unlike the OTHER guy wearing the red cape, I wasn’t given my powers at birth. I had to earn them. And I took them for granted and they were stripped away from me.
In addition, I wasn’t sent to your planet to serve as some messianic beacon of hope. I leave that job to more suitable icons like Sam Wilson. Thank the cosmos that guy came along. Am I right? Don’t get me wrong. I love the Tick, and the Greatest American Hero is a guy I could have a beer with. But both of those guys are more sidekick than hero. And they don’t really inspire the way Cap does.
Bottom line, while I am your “friendly neighborhood Dadbod,” it isn’t a moniker that has been thrust upon me. I chose to come here. Not to save you, but to hang out with you.
Why? Because, aside from a few standouts, the majority of you are pretty cool. I like your diversity. I like the music, the movies, the food, and the overall attitude. Also, I like the food.
And, it is here, my friends, that I will get my mojo back. YEAH BABY!
You see, I’m not that far from the goal weight that will restore my power of flight.
But, even then, I may not even use it. I think that kind of thing alienates people more than it inspires them.
It says, “Look at me! I can fly and you can’t. I’m so stinkin’ special! I can change my clothes so fast the city lets me use their discontinued phone booths to do it just because I’m SO AWESOME! Whoa! Check me out! I’m like totally Super. I can cook a burger from medium to well done with one blast from my bad-ass heat vision!
Hey! Is that a wart on your foot? Here! Let me freeze that off for ya!
Enough, Clark! We get it! You’re better than the rest of us!
Oh, so you think. I got news for your Daily Planet, Son of Krypton. You’re not that perfect.
First off, you’re a plagiarist. That’s right “man o’ steel!”
Your cover story sucks. Moses called. He wants his life back!
Next up, you’re supposedly all shredded muscle. If that’s the case, why do you need Kevlar Underwear, stud? Be a MAN! Go Adam West style like I did. Let’s see you in compression undies where it shows EVERY imperfection, Clark!
Which, by the way, your last name is Kent! Not Griswold!
Lose the damn glasses. You’re NOT fooling anyone!
I’ve got glasses, too. You know why I wear them?
BECAUSE I CAN’T SEE!
It’s not part of some stupid costume to fool my enemies or seduce my partner into falling in love with me!
Which, by the way, deserve some scrutiny. Let’s take a closer look at the Mrs, shall we? I mean, seriously, man! How did she NOT figure out the “big secret!” She’s supposedly the world’s GREATEST reporter. But you slip on one pair of frames from an optics place in the mall and she thinks you’re a completely different person? You CHOSE to breed with this woman?
Take a breath, DB.
It’s cool. You’re still the Chunky Wonder.
People respect the struggle. Perfect is boring.
(insert heavy sigh here).
Sorry folks. As you can tell, I have some issues related to my, ahem, peers.
In any case, I’ll get back to my full origin story soon enough. In the meantime, remember this. You may be too fat to fly. But so am I.