So here I am, El Conquistador, superhero, stuck in the tunnel in my Volvo. My tights are riding up on me, the cape pulling on my neck, the mask and boots too tight. A hostage situation in Bensonhurst, way out of my area of responsibility, but it's a holiday and I'm covering for Slab, who's off skiing.
I'm sweating like a buffalo, nothing is moving, people are honking. If I had better super powers I'd fly right out of here to fresh air. But my only power is talking fast and spraying strange saliva, which makes foes fall asleep. What can I say? Either you have it or you don't.
The problem with this ability is when I'm on a date and sneeze, the woman winds up face down in the mashed potatoes, snoring like a buzz saw. I usually don't get second dates.
I should find a tunnel worker, tell him who I am and ask for an escort. But these sweat stains are expanding and one in particular looks like I peed myself.
Maybe I can get Green Lantern on my cell. Whoops. Forgot. I'm in a stinking tunnel with no reception.
I hate my life.
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