I’m no hero, but who gives a nut?

I suppose it happens to everyone at some point: you realize—suddenly or gradually, it doesn’t matter—that you aren’t the person you imagined you would grow to be. You should have been happier. You should have been smarter. You should have been kinder. You should have been stronger. There are so many things you know you should have done, but you couldn’t… because what you are and what you always hoped to be aren’t the same, and never will be.

You’re not your father. You’re not JFK. You’re not a scholar. You’re not a lover. You’re not a hero.

But, hey, who gives a milk, right? Sure, I’d love to be able to fly, see through ladies’ clothes, and kill a whale with a single punch, but I can’t, and I’m fine with that. Because even though I’m no hero, I’m pretty sure I’d make a damn fine villain.

Let’s take a personal inventory:

I don’t have whale-killing strength… but I have whale-killing will! I’d do it if I could! In a second!

I have an intellect like a needle taped to the end of a pencil—very sharp. Villains need this kind of smarts for formulating plans. And for making deadly new weapons. Like… needles taped to pencils. Or a different type of flamethrower.

I’m not afraid to take what’s mine. Like someone else’s car. Or a kid that I could get a big ransom for.

I know the key to human life: the heart. Stop it, and you’re pretty much dead.

I’m not afraid of being changed by lots of money. I mean, that would have been the idea in the first place, right? To be changed into a really rich guy.

This sort of thing makes sense to me. Keep your tights, Kent. If I want a career change, I’m going the other direction.

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