Wolverine’s Wound
Losing his spleen was more complicated than he thought. The process of regrowing the shark bite shaped chunk missing from the side of his lower abdomen stung him even more than that little Canadian bastard expected and he winced like a barefoot squaw in the snow as the dusty breeze brushed up against exposed nerve endings and that lower rib sheared clean off but still sticking out an inch into the afternoon air. Of course it wasn’t a shark that took the chunk, a shark he could handle. It was goddamn lasers, always the lasers, that did it. Mortar shells he could handle. Hell he could handle a nuclear bomb. But the goddamn lasers just take the flesh right off a man. And the worst part of it was how hungry he was. Your normal trauma patient doesn’t even think about hunger, forgets their stomach exists. But the sawed off runt with the adamantium frame had to grow a pound of flesh in the next two hours, and if anything was to make a man hungry that would be it. It didn’t come from nowhere. It wasn’t goddamn magic. He may have been a mutant, but his body still worked by some kind of natural order, just not one that was well understood quite yet. The stinging got worse and he craned his veiny neck over to see why. It was a candy wrapper. It had blown out of the wreckage of the blast site and right into his goddamn body cavity. Fun size M&M and already the crazy viscera of his rapidly returning insides had grown over it. He popped one claw and removed it like a surgeon instead of the natural born butcher he really was. He put the wrapper in his pocket. He wasn’t afraid to make a mess, but goddamn it he hated to litter.
Spiderman’s Stain
At first he didn’t think he should masturbate in the suit. That it would defile it, that it would betray the whole premise of being a superhero, of being superhuman, of being something, someone better than who he really was. Cuz really, that was an important part of it for him. Being Spiderman meant not being Peter Parker, and he was more glad to not be Peter Parker than you could imagine. But even Spiderman couldn’t always fight being 17 and single, and a virgin, and after a couple of months he started jerking off in the suit. His uncle had just died, every day somebody new was trying to kill him, he needed some kinda comfort.
Iron Man’s Ire
Lets just get to it. Everyone has the same question. How does he go to the bathroom in the suit? There’s no sense in dancing around it, I don’t care if I am talking to school kids or the white house press corps, they all wanna know, only the adults are too chickenshit to ask it. Not polite enough to leave the rest of my personal life alone, I do not have any love children, or any children, I don’t even like children, especially the kind of children who wanna know how, when I am out saving the world from problems that the NSA couldn’t imagine, even if they could tap my phone, which they cant, is how it is old Iron pants makes a pee pee or a doody in his super suit.
Biology lesson number children, and adults, its called adrenaline response, and it happens to people like me, superheroes, super athletes, super soldiers, super ceo’s, people who have to get things done instead of sitting on their asses all day exercising only their fat little thumbs on all those toys you just had to have but couldn’t afford, but put on your credit card, that ultimately will only keep you from rising up against the system that sends all your hardly earned money into my bank account and that of my late buddy steve who dreamed up that little digital proletariat pacifier while making doody on his jet coming back from Davos. A trillion dollar doody, I might add, and that is a true story, as some of you public school graduates might say: I shit you not.
Anyways, suit, toilet, bodily functions, you all wanna know. Here goes: I can’t shit in the suit. If I shit in the suit it stays in the suit. Hasn’t happened I am not gonna say that it never will happen but I am gonna say one thing about it: healthy colon. It makes a difference. If the first question you have for Iron Man is what happens if he has to take a shit in the suit than you need to pay more attention to your own diet and exercise because obviously you have a problem. Obese people shit more it’s a fact, look it up, more goes in, more comes out. I have been in this suit for fourteen hours straight, it never occurred to me to take a shit, never thought about it once. Don’t even ask about farting, take your lazy self and eat some plain yogurt or kimchee, get a Korean taco for all I care, they’re fabulous, that little food truck on fifth, tell them Tony sent you, and do a sit up and think about a future that involves core workouts and excludes elastic waist bands, because if you need an elastic waist band than you are going to know the smell of every public toilet in every town for the rest of your life and you have bigger small problems than I ever will.
Back to number 1, OK school children ready for it? I drink my pee. That one I did plan for. It’s true. Five hours without proper hydration is just silly, so is carrying excess water weight in a metal suit filled with circuitry. I had Jarvis build in a mini treatment plant which is basically a sealed charged line coming off the arc reactor (thumps chest) that ionizes any liquid: sweat, urine, tears, yes tears, this man is not afraid to cry, does anyone ask about that? Have you held a dead afghani baby? Have you let your father’s best friend basically your surrogate father and mentor die after he betrayed you but honestly you still loved the guy and half admired the cajones he had to try and take you out. Have you fallen out of another dimension after nuking the alien mothership to save the entire planet, maybe the galaxy, all the while thinking you are never going to see earth or your friends or the one true love in your life that you basically treated like shit for years and who you never properly said goodby to, no you haven’t even made it a week without an extra value meal so your priorities are no better than the basest primates, so much so that you need to ask the man who saved the entire planet where he makes a tinkle instead of saying thank you, thank you super iron man for enabling the sad continuation of my miserable wretched useless existence.
Sure I’ll sign that, who’s next. On your boob really? Does your mother know, oh that is your mother, madame you are a model parent. You want me to write what? Iron Man was here, oh came here, charming, my apologies. This is a sharpie you know that, of course you do. Can I use my real name instead of Iron Man, I can? Great, it, it means a lot to me, I am a human underneath the all this metal, you know. Here we go: Steve Rogers Came Here. Don’t wash that boob now, you hear me? Promise. Because now that I touched it it’s a super boob. Ok, who’s next. Sign your baby?
