Being Black Superman isn’t easy. I’m only 33, and I’ve already gone through five alter-egos because the cops keep shooting me. Every time I drive through a white neighborhood and hear sirens, I think “oh shit, here we go again.”
I’ve been a plumber, a doctor, a lawyer–I even joined the Merchant Marines and somehow, a cop shot me out in the ocean. I’m running out of names to think up for myself. Maybe next time I’ll be a basketball player or NFL star, someone with a name these cops will recognize, so instead of shooting me, we can just laugh about football. As long as I’m not one of the uppity ones who takes a knee.
White Superman never mentions this, but it must have happened to him, too, so go easy on him. The first thing that popped out of my ship was a kryptonite paddle with a note that said “use this every day or your baby will kill you.” When I first found out as a kid, I was pissed, but doesn’t anyone wonder how the hell you would raise Superman, especially during his rebellious teenage years? Or even toddler Superman when he’s throwing a tantrum?
Even after I got my heat vision—hell, even now—I’m still afraid of that damn paddle. I was about to fry my dad once, I could’ve killed him and we both knew it, but he kept waving that paddle at me and daring me to try, and I backed down, so I guess my space parents were right about that paddle after all.
Anyway, I was thinking about running for President, because no cop is going to shoot the president, right? But after Obama and other recent events, I’m having some serious second thoughts.
Any advice you could give would be seriously appreciated,
Calvin Ellis, AKA Black Superman
PS: You might have noticed I’m back to my original name. None of you honkies can tell us apart anyway.
I’m hardly what you would call a “honky;” in fact, to some people, I’m as black as Superman. In my day, getting shot by the cops was called “crucifixion” and they made me wear a crown of thorns and carry my own damn cross before nailing me to it and hoisting it up for the world to see and throw rocks at. As is the case for most black Americans today, I barely got a trial before being sentenced. An angry mob of prehistoric Karens woke up Pontius Pilate in the dead of the night and demanded that he execute me, and because he wanted to get back to diddling his boy servant as quickly as possible, he appeased them. My point is, life has never been easy for our people and it never will be. Being a God helps, of course, because bullets and nails don’t really kill us, but when it comes to hate crimes, sometimes it’s the thought that counts.
My advice to you is to just go out there and use your powers. Be the plague that wipes out the White Nationalists and the Neo-Nazis and the trigger-happy cops. Write the Old Testament version of Final Crisis #7. You can go back to being the Jesus version of yourself once the world knows you mean business.
P.S. As for you becoming the President of the United States, I’d say don’t waste your time. Not with Mitch McConnell still hanging around in the Senate. The guy is like Solomon Grundy in that he’s already as dead as he’s ever going to be, and he’s never going away.
I, too, take exception to being called a “honky.” My skin is bright red like a Honey Sriracha chicken wing, I’ve never lost a rap battle, and I can Samba like nobody’s business. Also, I play a mean jazz trumpet. Anyway, for the most part, I agree with Jesus’s advice, only I say make your violence more personal by going after individuals. Call a press conference and melt Derek Chauvin’s face off on national television. Fly George Zimmerman to the top of the Empire State Building and drop him onto a taxi cab. Crush David Duke into a fine paste and spread him on your toast. Choose a few of these giant assholes and make examples of them. Sure, destroying an entire city can be fun, but just remember: you have to live in that city afterwards. As Superman, you can do a lot of things, but you can’t make xiao long bao as good as the chefs in Chinatown, or bagels like they do in Brooklyn, or paint like the old masters in the Met, or even tailor your own suits. God is going to be kicking off the Apocalypse soon enough, so you might as well enjoy the comforts of modern society for as long as possible.
Have an uncomfortable question? Need some advice about your deviant behavior? If so, then it’s time to pray. Email your question to firstname.lastname@example.org, and it shall be answered in a Divine Advice column by Jesus and Satan.