I Am The Spider Man

Hello, ma’am. Do not be afraid. It is only me, the titular The Spider Man. Yes, you heard me correct. Not a spider man. THE Spider Man.

Behold as I turn you from frazzled to dazzled with the following information: you are no longer in danger. The reason for this? Is me. Confusing, I know. One minute you are standing in this Kohl’s parking lot smoking a smooth and satisfying cigarette, the next minute you are absolutely pleased to discover that I– the wickedly talented titular The Spider Man, have saved your life from the boney fingers of grim death. I alone know the true danger that I– me– have berescued you from. How can you repay li’l ol’ me? Just a friendly nod and maybe give me one of your cigarettes.

Look, if you must know the horrible fate I have prevented you from having to deal with, I will tell you and it is this: I regret to inform you that it was my nemesis, Doctor Octopus. He had used his gargantuan lizard arms or whatever to throw a cyclist right at your legs with the clear intention of fucking your shit up, and I stopped it in the nick of time. You did not hear the cyclist being thrown because of my webs. They muffle sound and are moisture wicking. I’d love a smoke. The cyclist? He is nestled safely in a tree.

Please, of course, feel no need to thank me. I only saved your life. I do not Spider Man (using it as a verb now) only for glory, but for the good of humanity as well. Yes, I am the real The Spider Man, like from the films. Five or six movies, they made, I think? I am also one of the X-Men. Am I one of the X-men? Sure, I am one of the X-Men. Let me have one of those cigarettes and I will tell you that Wolverine Man is nice in person.

Before you answer about the cigarette thing, consider this: what will your friends think when you tell them that you gave a smoke to the one and only The Spider Man? Hmm? HMMM? They will love you. They will pay big money to take pictures with you.

All of my villains are green!

Behold as I spider-mansplain my origin story at you. Yes, it is true that I am very much part spider and also part man but somehow I have eight human lungs which doesn’t seem to be a spider thing or a man thing. Maybe it’s just a me thing. You see, months ago I was bitten by a radioactive spider at The Spider Museum on Staten Island. One of the glowing whooping spiders broke free of its leash and the thing made a straight shot for my jugular. WHOOP! I do not especially like spiders, especially that one, but I am also grateful because now I am The Spider Man and I have met you and then I saved your life and now you can give me a cigarette.

Sorry. I’m sorry, I am boring you with my life story. My dead uncle once told me, he goes “power? Without responsibility? Good freakin’ luck, pal” and then he was killed by The Sand Man. By the time the cops found my uncle’s body it was so full of sand you would think he was king of the beach. His clothes were unwearable. You and he would have gotten along like a whooping spider and my jugular. You don’t believe my uncle was killed by The Sand Man? Then why’d they make a whole one of the films about it? Gimme a smoke!

Wow, is that your car? I like your car. It is blue like the blue parts of my Spider Man garb. I garbed it myself. The garb, I garbed, not your car. LAUGHTER! You are funny and have cigarettes. You know, a lot of the people I rescue ask me if I have big bug mandibles in my mouth under my mask. You want to ask about the mandibles, don’t you? Go ahead and ask me. No, I do not have big bug mandibles, just a regular man’s teeth and eight lungs craving hard smoke.

My webs, lady, they hurt. People do not know this. It hurts me to shoot my spider webs at criminals but I have to do it or else I can’t solve crimes and it ends up in the god damned newspaper. I feel like– a lot of times– no matter what I do, it ends up in the newspaper. I actually work at the newspaper taking photos of me. How’s your life? Still on? You’re welcome. Give me the cigarettes.

Give me your cigarettes, please.

Wow, thanks. You did not have to give me your cigarettes but I’ll take them. Please feel free to get a kick out of watching me, The Spider Man, smoke seven of these hot pups (I call cigarettes “hot pups”) at once before taking one of my trademarked tethered leaps. The Spider-Man, awaaaaaaay.

Uhff, hold on.

Okay… Take me to a hospital

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