OK, this was originally going to be a 'Why it would kick arse to be...' article. In this case, 'Why it would kick arse to be a super-hero'. But sadly I have found myself unable to write it, as my research into the subject has been a little unsuccessful. Before I write a Kick Arse article I like to get into the role I want to explore, and I just couldn't manage it.

I tried everything, believe me. I tried every single documented way to get superpowers and none of them worked. So, in order to prevent other silly people damaging themselves with the techniques, I shall detail each of them and explain what actually did happen.

1. Being born with superpowers

This one went straight out of the window right away. The idea of regressing myself back to my birth didn't hold much appeal to be honest. It's not a very dignified period of my life and dignity is one thing I prize above all else, even more so than my beanie baby face hugger.

2. Coming from another planet

Seemingly another implausible one, but I always keep an open mind. I figured that, if I didn't have superpowers on this planet, I might have them on some other one. I began to research alien sightings and abductions like billy-o. All rather pointless, as I eventually found myself jumping up and down in Salisbury Plain shouting "TAKE ME WITH YOU YOU BASTARDS!!", a code of behaviour which alerted the local constabulary. So I then stowed away aboard a space shuttle as it docked with some half-built space station thingy, and sneaked from one to the other. You know, I spent six whole months sitting up there and NOT ONE bloody alien race came to pick me up. Well, there was one, but they were more interested in jamming needles up my arse.

3. Undergoing scientific experimentation

I was extremely well-disposed to those aliens. They spoke an odd language but, since I spent all my time on the space station reading every book ever written, I knew every language ever and realised they were speaking a variation of 16th-century Welsh. I asked them very nicely to fill my body up with bionic implants and cool stuff. But no. They just held me down and stuck needles up my arse. I even said please and everything. I tried to be courteous as they stuffed probes here and there. I asked for the ability to run the two-minute mile. I asked for super hearing or super smell. I asked for an implant that would give me the ability to read minds. I would have been happy with a bionic duodenum or spleen. But did they give me anything? Did they bollocks. Being nuked is too good for these stroppy outer space gits.

4. Exposure to toxic waste

My earlier plans having left me unsatisfied - and unwilling to sit down - I decided to opt for probably one of the more obvious ones. I toddled on down to my friendly, neighbourhood landfill site, slipped the foreman a bunch of fives and 'borrowed' two large canisters of top-quality chemical slop. I then emptied the whole lot into a paddling pool 'borrowed' from my next-door neighbour, stripped down to my smiley-face underpants, and jumped right in. I was prepared for a small degree of physical mutation, which I thought would be pretty fair in exchange for superhuman strength and laser vision. But what happened? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even webbed toes. Well, my hair did turn bright yellow, and I now seem to glow in the dark, but none of that really counts as a superpower. I suppose it must have been the wrong sort of chemical slop.

5. Witnessing your parents' deaths and pledging to battle the forces of darkness

Obviously this was a tricky one. I obviously couldn't kill my parents. Not personally, anyway. I spoke to a contract killer and arranged for him to shoot them both and film it, sending me the video. I watched it. I watched it a few times. I don't think he was doing me right, that contract killer. It was very badly filmed and they didn't look much like my parents. More like a couple of balloons tied to sacks of potatos. It didn't really make me feel like taking on the forces of darkness, but I went down to the local council estate anyway, broadcasting loudly that I intended to kick the arse of everyone who dared to take me on. Fortunately, I started glowing quite alarmingly, and my potential murderers were turned right off by that. I returned home, none the worse, but still devoid of superpowers.

6. Being bitten by a radioactive animal

The first hurdle was getting hold of a radioactive animal. They aren't exactly ten a penny round our way. After scouring my local woodland for glowing squirrels I decided the only way to get one was to make my own. I chose the animal I wanted to bond with (my pet lemur Simon) and took him down to my friendly, neighbourhood power plant, where I slipped the foreman a bunch of fives and 'borrowed' their nuclear reactor. Once I'd plugged it in I locked Simon inside, turned it on full blast, counted to ten, turned it off and opened it up. I wasn't sure, but I think the puddle of bubbling fur on the floor might have been Simon. Unperturbed, I decided to find an animal that would survive a small-scale nuclear holocaust. Remembering a science magazine, I found a humble cockroach under my toilet bowl, locked it in the Blistermaster 4000, turned up the blast, and opened up.

It took the combined efforts of myself, a chainsaw, the zest of half a lemon and the SAS to subdue the ... thing that emerged. Needless to say I was bitten, fifteen times in various body parts, as well as licked, nibbled and violated, but I did not grow any superpowers. A few blisters, sure. And total sterility. But that's it.

So there you go. Comics lie. If you want superpowers, hone your latent psychic ability or learn astral projection. Or go down the gym every day for two years and become a He-man. Otherwise, just hang the stupid idea and get by on the merits you're given, you lazy scum.

ADDENDUM: The other day I was inspecting my curtains when they suddenly caught fire. Obviously something worked. I shall continue to hone my new skill and give the details in a future article. I'm too good to you lot.

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