It’s true! Women are generally mean and spiteful creatures who, like vampires, love to suck the fun out of absolutely everything. I’m convinced it’s an evolutionary adaptation such that, after they temporarily sublimate those tendencies just long enough to woo us into marriage with their feminine wiles, they immediately commence to making our lives so miserable we wouldn’t even consider a furtive glance at another female.
What man could possibly cope with the unbridled “joy” of having two women in their lives?
The irony of course is, after they fatten us up and wear us down with years of mental torture and fashion advice, unhappy with their handiwork, they leave us for the Neanderthal they just met at Jiffy Lube who treats them like absolute crap.
Then it’s rinse, lather, and repeat!
Why am I going off on this too typical Jeff Ward rant, you ask? Because the Chicago Tribune just ran another insipid female-superheroes-are-sexist-skanks article authored by Naomi Darom, a doctoral student in sociology and gender at Northeastern University in Boston.
I should’ve known!
Only someone who’s spent the better part of their lives on an ultra-liberal east coast college campus, where they create fictitious realities like “microaggressions” and “cultural appropriation,” could actually believe that female superheroes are a social threat.
C’mon! A Ph.D. in “sociology and gender?” She’s gotta be making that up. I’d hate to see that ridiculous student loan balance.
With the caveat that she has eyes for Chris Evans’ Captain America, Ms. Darom postulates that while the Hulk is big and green, the Thing is “basically a pile of rocks,” and Thor completely let himself go in ‘Avengers Endgame,’ all the hot, “double-D” superheroines must have had at least two ribs removed to have waists like that.
She cites Gal Gadot (Wonder Woman), Scarlett Johannson (Black Widow), and Brie Larson (Captain Marvel) as examples of this dastardly double standard.
Like I said, women ruin everything.
To be fair, I’m not sure why Supergirl has to wear a micro mini-skirt, Black Widow needs a pushup bra, or Zoe Saldana requires a skin-tight outfit. Perhaps it’s to distract the bad guys while they kick their asses.
But don’t tell me that every last one of you women don’t wonder exactly what’s in the Hulk’s pants as you lament whatever laws of comic book physics permit them to expand while his shirt completely vaporizes. And, trust me, if a shirtless Chris Hemsworth comes on the silver screen, my wife wouldn’t take the time to spit on me if I was on fire.
But here’s what Ms. Darom, and most women, completely fail to understand.
My favorite day of the week is Wednesday. No! It’s not because it’s Prince Spaghetti day, it’s because it’s new comic book release day. And as soon as I complete this column, I’ll eagerly head over to Graham Crackers Comics in St. Charles, Illinois, (Bricher and Randall) to pick up this week’s offerings.
But my unmitigated Wednesday glee involves much more than just the latest ‘Batman Detective’ issue. I look forward to talking about the plotlines with Dan, Sean, Sam and any fellow customer who might happen to be hanging around the counter at the time.
It’s kind of a like an alcohol-less Cheers where everybody knows your name. And just like they did on that vaunted TV show, we tend talk about stupid stuff like what’s the sweatiest gladiator movie. Our latest deliberations involve how the eyes on the full-size Brie Larson cardboard cutout eerily seem to follow you around the store.
Who knew a 5-foot, 7-inch woman could be so scary?
But while the comic book clientele isn’t quite as over-the-top as ‘The Big Bang Theory’ would have you believe, it’s not that far off, either. I know I’m gorgeous, but let’s just say that most of those men probably don’t get a lot of feminine attention – no double standard there, right ladies? And I’m still somewhat surprised whenever a woman walks into that store without children.
So, when someone like Ms. Darom starts bitching about unrealistic female superheroes, it inevitably comes off as some ivory towered bleep trying to take away one of the last bastions of collective male absurdity. Isn’t having to endure female sportscasters bad enough? (With the clear exception of Kelly Crull.)
And while we’re at it, why don’t we talk about romance novel covers! We certainly don’t buy that stuff. They’re emblazoned with ridiculously rippled men with long flowing manes who passionately gaze at their women in the most awkward embraces imaginable. First, you’d think they’d made men’s shirts illegal in the romance novel world, and second, if I bent my wife over backwards to kiss her like that, I’d be looking at a double hernia operation.
Why don’t those publishers portray something much more realistic like Fabio getting smacked in the face by a goose on a rollercoaster ride? (Yes! That actually happened!)
The bottom line is, not everything has to involve social justice. I’d simply ask Ms. Darom to tell her daughter that most women don’t look like a digitally enhanced Ms. Johannson, just as most men don’t nearly resemble Mr. Evans. Just enjoy the bleepin’ movie!
Meanwhile, my male compatriots and I will be more than happy to let you have your book clubs, bridal showers, and spa dates, but we’re gonna keep our female superhero fantasies because female superheroes are just that, fantasies!
God! It’s hard to be a liberal these days!