From Catawampus Tales

What if there really was such a thing as a superhero, what problems might he or she face? Supermale's Gone and Left Us provides some humorous answers.

Supermale’s Gone and Left Us

“Yeah, he’s gone. Some people don’t know a good thing when they see it. He was the straightest shooter I ever met, bar none. He came into this town and squared it away in a hurry. Had gangsters, murderers, con men shaking in their boots. Bad guys such as Lou Lucifer and Brainless either were incarcerated or hightailed it back to where they came from. The average Joe and Jane breathed a lot easier just knowing he was around. I know I did.”

       We were sitting in the fifth floor office of Benjamin Dimwitter, immigration attorney, located in the Card Building across the street from the Daily Orb in the city of Megalopolis. Since Dimwitter had been reported to be a confidant to Supermale as well as his lawyer, I had talked him into giving me the inside story on the superhero’s disappearance. I took in his hangdog face, the sorrowful eyes, the gloomy mouth. It was easy to see he was deeply troubled. He looked as if he had lost his best friend. And maybe he had. I opened my notepad and looked back up. “When did it all start?”

       Dimwitter frowned. “Hard to say, Marcus. From day one if I don’t miss my guess. Some nuts were against him right from the get go. You know, because he was an alien, didn’t have a license to fly, or they thought he had religious overtones like the second coming of Christ.”

       He gazed at me so sadly I thought he was about to cry, or maybe I was, he appeared so woebegone.

       “You know, sometimes I wonder about the people in this burg. At times, they seem to think and act as though they are the most ignorant and stupidest human beings on the face of the earth. They’ll believe, or at least a good percentage of them will believe, anything the politicos tell them. Imagine, assuming Cal was a socialist because he wanted to help the poor, or thinking he was a fascist like General Sod and wanted to take over the world. What a bunch of hooey.”

       “Did you say Cal?”

       “Yeah, that’s his real name, Cal-El. I felt a little stupid calling him Supermale all the time. It was the moniker he was given on his native planet. He was an alien, you know.  That’s where all the trouble began.”

      

One Thursday afternoon, Dimwitter was hard at work in his office when his secretary buzzed him and gushed that Supermale was on the phone. He grinned. He figured the call was just a joke and that one of his friends, probably his good buddy, Mario, was trying to put one over on him. But, no, Mildred, his secretary, insisted the caller was the superhero. “Okay,” he said. “Put him on.”

       “Hello, Mr. Dimwitter?”

       The voice surprised him. It was pleasant enough, but it sounded gentle, almost like a fruit or a fairy. He couldn’t believe it belonged to the man of alloy. Nevertheless, he said, “Yeah, this is Mr. Dimwitter. How may I help you?”

       “Mr. Dimwitter, this is Supermale. I would like to come in and talk with you, sir. It seems I’m in trouble with the Department of Homeland Security. It appears they want to deport me.”

       “Is this some kind of a joke?”

       The next thing he knew, his buzzer rang. “Supermale’s in the waiting room, Ben,” Mildred said. “Should I let him come in?”

       Dimwitter almost swallowed his teeth. “Sure, send him in.”

       The door opened and in the crime fighter marched. He was a very imposing figure in his lemon-drop tights, bigger than he came across on the tube. And he was handsome as all get out. With his all-American good looks, anyone would have guessed he came from the Midwest somewhere, somewhere such as Kansas or Indiana. Anyway, he strode across the room, they shook hands, and Dimwitter invited him to have a seat.

       “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, sir.”

       “You’re welcome. And you can forget that sir stuff, Supermale. Just call me Ben.”

       “Okay, Ben. It seems that the DHS has issued a notice for me to appear before an immigration judge because I entered the country illegally and have no official permission to be in the United States. If I don’t appear, I could be in a whole lot of trouble, maybe even deported.”

      “That’s ridiculous, absolutely absurd. After all the good you have done for this country. Have you been served the notice?”

       “No, I saw it on television, on the evening news.”

       “Then you don’t have to go. They have to serve you the notice in person.”

       “But I know they want me, Ben. It would be dishonest and unpatriotic for me not to appear.”

 

“Well, I couldn’t talk him out of it, no matter what,” Dimwitter said, shrugging and peering at me with downcast eyes.  “One of the criticisms tossed at him is he’s too honest, too noble. Yeah, can you imagine somebody being criticized because he’s too good? But, sadly, that’s what the world has come to. In a time when everybody’s out for number one, it’s simply inconceivable to some people that a guy like him would not have an ulterior motive. That’s the way the yahoos think nowadays.”

       Dimwitter ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Anyway, as I said, I failed to talk him out of it, so off we go to the judge. Sure enough, they’ve started removal proceedings against Cal. The judge was real snotty about it too. I managed to post bail, get a Relief from Removal, a kind of a temporary stay, so we could go back, and get our ducks in order to fight this miscarriage of justice. Otherwise, she would have put him in the slammer right then and there, and God knows what would have happened to him.”

       Dimwitter grinned, or at least I thought it was a grin. The way he bared his teeth, it was hard to tell. “It was pretty nice traveling with Supermale though,” he continued, “sailing through the sky like that. As you can imagine, it was really something special. I was a little spooked at first, but he’s so strong he carried me like a baby and I felt perfectly safe. When we got back to my office, I asked him a few questions. The situation didn’t look good.”

 

Dimwitter leaned back in his chair and stared at the superhero. “Now let me get this straight, Supermale. You have no visible means of support and you’re not the child, sibling, or spouse of a US citizen, correct?”

       Supermale blushed. “Well I was married once but that was under another name, my alter ego.”

       “So you live a double life? You have a secret identity and pretend to be just an ordinary slob like the rest of us?”

       “Correct.”

       “Is this alter ego a US citizen?”

       “Yes, I believe he is, but if I identified him, he would never have any peace. Even if they meant well, people wouldn’t let him alone.”

       “Yeah, I can see that, people being people. This place you came from, Cramden, I’ll check but I’m almost sure it doesn’t have a reciprocal visa arrangement with the US. Since your deportment wouldn’t result in any undue financial hardship for anybody, I guess we’ll have to go with outstanding ability or maybe asylum.”

 

Dimwitter nodded at me, pushed back his chair, and stood up. “I have to go to the can. Perhaps after, we can take a break and have some lunch.”

       “Sounds good,” I said.

       I loosened my tie and glanced at my notes. So Supermale had a wife. It didn’t seem possible. With his super strength, if he took a female in his arms and embraced her, he would crush her like a grape. Even if he had control over his body, in the heat of passion, he was liable to lose it, especially when he ejaculated. During orgasm, all living creatures lost control over their muscles. It was a scientific fact. And what about his sperm? The wad would probably come out like a guided missile and go right through her. Even if it didn’t, his dick would. Like the rest of his body, that thing was made of steel. It would be like having sex with a high-speed power drill. He might use a condom, but what kind of a rubber would it take to hold a super load?

       I chuckled. He could always pull out. But who knows where the sperm would end up? Possibly impregnate females all over the city. In nine months, there would either be an army of super babies or deformed monsters if his semen wasn’t compatible with the human egg. At any rate, sex with him would be pretty dull with him holding back all the time so he wouldn’t hurt the woman he was making love to. Either that or because he was faster than a speeding bullet, it would be all over before the woman got any pleasure from it. No wonder his wife had divorced him, if that’s what happened. What self-respecting female would want to put up with lovemaking such as that?

 

The restaurant was pleasant enough, a highly burnished hardwood floor that smelled of polish, overhanging lamps, attractive pictures on the walls. Dimwitter ordered a steak with onions, fries, and a beer. I had a fruit salad and a glass of milk. The service was slow, either that or I was hungry. Nevertheless, when it came, the food was delicious.

       Dimwitter pushed away his plate, put his hand over his mouth, and burped. “Right now I’d love to have a big fat cigar, but of course a man isn’t allowed to smoke anyplace nowadays. Next thing you know they’ll prevent you from doing it in your own home.”

       Perhaps, but I was eager to get on with it. “How did your hearing with the immigration judge go?”

       Dimwitter shook his head. “She was one tough cookie, strictly by the book. I hate to say it, but I think she had it in for Supermale.”

 

The judge, the only female in the small, barebones courtroom, sat high on her bench as Dimwitter stood abjectly before her. Supermale was at a table behind him.

       “Are you claiming that because your client is a superhero that qualifies him as an alien with extraordinary abilities?’

       “Yes, I am, your honor.”

       “Do you have proof of the extraordinary abilities your client is claiming, such as prizes or certificates of excellence in his field of endeavor? Authorship of scholarly papers or pay stubs as evidence he has commanded a high salary for his services?”

       “Well, no, but he’s an honorary member of the Megalopolis 4H club, the Royal Order of Raccoons, the Boy Scouts of America, and other organizations.” Dimwitter cleared his throat. “And he has received letters of commendation from Dogs Against Drugs, Camp Fire USA, and the League of Women Voters, among others.”

       “‘Be that as it may, Superhero does not appear on any list of preferred occupations that I know of. I’m afraid I’m going to have to detain your client for removal.”

       “You mean deport him? Now hold on a minute, your honor. Surely, Supermale can apply for asylum since it is impossible for him to return to his native land. It no longer exists.”

      

Our waiter came over and put down the check. “I got it,” I said. “It’s the least I can do for your help with this article.”

       “Yeah, okay. Thanks for the lunch, Marcus.” He started to get up.

       “And the asylum defense, how did it go?”

       Dimwitter sat back down. “She would have none of it. She said although there was no precedent for Cal’s situation, it didn’t matter. The law states that an illegal must file for asylum within the first year of entry into the US, which Cal had not done. Otherwise, he’s not eligible. Really stupid, but as she said, that’s the law.”

       “That’s when they put him in jail.”

       Dimwitter’s eyes clouded up again. “Yeah, it was one of the saddest spectacles I ever witnessed in my entire life, to see this paragon of virtue, this noblest of men, treated as a common crook.  They actually made him put his hands behind his back, cuffed him, and carted him away as if he was a serial rapist or something. It was all I could do to stay in my chair and not try to help him.”

       “Why didn’t he just break the cuffs and escape? Nobody could have stopped him?”

       “You don’t know Cal. Breaking the law was the last thing he would ever do. How would that have looked to the kids of America, huh? Nah, he took his job as a role model very seriously. He would never have done anything to harm America’s youth.”

       I paid the bill and we left. Once outside, Dimwitter said he had some work he had to finish that afternoon, and asked if we could continue our discussion in the morning. Of course, I agreed.

 

The next morning I was at his office at nine sharp. After he offered me a cup of coffee, which I refused, Dimwitter got on with it.

       “Naturally, the media vultures had a field day. They ran that clip of Supermale being led away in cuffs on the tube ad nauseum, until it made me sick. And the number of hits on YouTube was in the millions. It was disgusting. Did you see it?”

       “Why yes, I did. It was, well, disgusting, just as you say.”

       Dimwitter nodded. “Well poor Cal was dazed and confused. First, they stripped the poor guy of his outfit, disinfected him, and subjected him to a humiliating body search. You know, they made him lift his gonads and bend over to make sure he wasn’t smuggling in any dope. Then they made him wear one of those ugly jumpsuits with a big P on the back. Next thing he knew he was on a bus with a lot of losers on the way to the state prison. It was rough for him to accept.”