. . .

Spiderman

People, you've been strangely silent for long intervals. You aren't the freaks I know and love. You need something. You need a change.

You need Spiderman.

After all, if Spiderman can, as the saying goes, "spin a web, any size", doesn't that mean that the mass for the web must come from somewhere? Logically, he must consume something which provides the webmass. The answer is and must be simple.

Spiderman is a vampire.

Look at the originators, the spiders themselves. They "suck the juices" out of the flies they catch. Spiderman, for his own reasons, catches criminals. What we aren't shown is the part where their dessicated corpses are delivered to the police. We've seen them hanging there, a message dedicating them as being "From your friendly neighborhood Spiderman", but we don't zoom in on the sunken cheeks, the whitened complexions.

Of course, the police look the other way. "They're just criminals", after all. I refrain from commenting on the political situation with difficulty, but I hold myself back! With valor!

You may object that _of course_ Spiderman can't be a vampire. After all, he goes out during the day. Well, that may be true, but notice the allencompassing fullbodycovering costume. No portion of his anatomy can be touched by the direct rays of the sun.

His "secret identity" is another matter. He goes outside with impunity. Well, there are a number of possibilities. Good ol' P. P. may be a complete construction by the comic books, giving some explanation as to where Spidey's powers come from and providing handy angst. Or he may simply wear sunblock SPF 250 at all times.

A side note. As Spidey travels through the city, he must leave strands of webbing hanging everywhere. "Dammit, Jenkins, I thought when I was moved to a corner office with a view that it was a promotion. The view is always convered with that damn webbing! That one time I left my window open in summer, my poor secretary got hit by it and dragged out the window! I'll miss Miss Sommers. She would always go down. To the Coke machine! To get me a soft drink! And then we'd have sex. On the desk here. I keep the mark of her sweaty buttcheeks unwashed as a memento."

And another thing. Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?