This is the man called Aquaman. He was in the middle of his darkest day. No lie. I know this, because I have been burdened with the role of omniscient storyteller. In some circles, it would be comical for a man to be surrounded by eight dead bodies skewered through the head by swordfish. I can tell you this: Aquaman was pissed beyond words and at the same time terrified. This was a set up and he was being framed. But who? Who?

This was not going to sit well with the Justice League. He was already on double secret probation after the psychedelic jellyfish caper and the rank plankton affair. In retrospect, it’s never funny to hide smelly ripe sea things in someone’s lunch bag. Or is it? Aquaman pressed the back of his hand against his mouth attempting to suppress a smirk. Smirk 1, Aquaman 0.

A situation of this severity called for one thing. W.W.J.D. What would J’onn J’onzz do? He would hide in plain sight. Aquaman needed a secret identity in order to pull this off. Here is the thought process of a dolt: His given birth name was Arthur Curry. But no, that sounds too stupid. How about Art Vandelay? Yes. A little known fact about Aquaman, he loved the Seinfeld show.

He swam to the surface and rummaged through a Salvation Army store. He grabbed a hat, big sunglasses, an ascot, and a leisure suit with bell-bottom slacks. He looked at his reflection and liked what he saw. In truth, he looked like a blind pimp.

Now, he had to find the telepath capable of mind controlling sea life. The list was long, so he decided he’d beat some thugs, and see what turns up. It was a hot day in Boston, and this was not faring well for the secret identity life of Art Vandelay. The sun was drying up Aquaman’s pores and it was not a pleasant smell. He stunk of ocean, algae and three day old shrimp, nauseating barely scratches the surface of that stench.

Within minutes, Aquaman was surrounded by the Justice League of America, the Justice Society of America, and the Teen Titans. As eerie as it may be to see a sky full of superheroes, it is eerier when they say in a monotone unison, “Aquaman, you are under arrest.”

Identity