My wife and I brought a friend to bed with us last night. And I'm bearing the marks of that little threesome still today.
Apparently, a spider insidiously inserted itself into the place where I lay my pretty little head to escape reality sleep. When I awoke, my neck was ringed with raised red bumps, and down my chest and over my belly were marked with the remains of whatever attack I endured during my restful hours last night.
While the bite marks don't hurt and don't itch (they are slightly irritated by the collar of both my shirt and my labcoat rubbing against them), they do carry one specific annoyance: a distinct lack of super abilities.
*sigh*
I'm getting a little tired of this. I've been bit at least a dozen times, and yet there's no super strength, no webs coming out of my wrist (or my ass, where spider webs should originate), no wall-scaling ability, no chitin exoskeleton, no book lung, no spidey sense. Nothing. I'm the same pudgy little fucker I was when I went to bed last night. 
Unfortunately, that's not it. I've endured being blasted by X-rays, sonic waves, microwaves, intense localized magnetic fields and gamma rays, and yet all I have to show for it is a strange spot on my leg and a thumb that sometimes wiggles involuntarily. These are not exactly the sorts of things that one can hang a crime-fighting career upon.
I've even endured explosions in the lab, and yet, nothing. Fortunately, I don't even have a scar from those particular mishaps, though I am a touch gunshy when I go to put one of my reaction vials on a vortex mixer in the lab.
On the plus side, I guess, my parents haven't been gunned down in an alley after taking me to see The Mask of Zorro, nor has my home planet been destroyed, so I guess I shouldn't complain too much, right?
Still, it's enough to make a guy not believe in what you read in comic books.
20 hours ago
