Crybaby, No More


“Cry baby cry, make your mother sigh, she’s old enough to know better.”

It had been a stretch of time since The Silver Surfer last wept. He viewed this more a sign of maturity than a sense of complacent jadedness. Considering his vital role in the cosmic universe, it was this sole concept that kept him sane. Especially now, as the threads of reality slowly unraveled descending Earth into uncharted dark deviance, the likes of which we have never seen before.

The truth was, back on October 2nd, 2017, The Surfer was devastated by the untimely death of fellow cosmicnaut, Tom Petty. As any human with empathy tends to do, he mourned, which meant he bawled like a baby being kidney punched. His caterwauling drew the attention of Spider-Man.

“Yo, Silvie, cry much? I mean, you do this sentimental alien thing too far. By the way, Glenn Beck wants some of his tears back.”

The Silver Surfer gurgled, “Glenn Beck? Who is this Glenn Beck?”

“He was a political pundit, barely, back in- ah, forget it. My bad, I should have used a more relevant source, like the weeping willow, but funnier.” The Spider-Man thwipped off, still prattling. “If I come up with something better, I’ll definitely be back to tell you. You’re a great audience. It’s very cool how you can see yourself in your shiny face.”

The Surfer returned to his wailing. The profundity of loss, especially when it is an artist, is unbearable. It is a smashing blow to the soul, a hunger, which will never be fulfilled again. He screamed to the heavens, “Damn you, God!”

A puddle of tears formed at his knees, and it reflected the light of the moon, which made it appear yellow in color. It is then that Iron Man and The Black Panther appeared.
“Spidey told us we could find a crybaby show here tonight, but this is a bonus.” Iron Man’s robotic voice bellowed.

The Black Panther chimed in, “I had no idea that you enjoy the pee as much as Trump allegedly does.”

Being compared to Trump hurt, so he blubbered more. The Surfer examined himself and recognized his compromised situation. He felt as if he was blushing under the chrome. “No, no. It is not what it appears.”

Little did he realize, the bullies were actually crying behind their masks. Everybody loved Tom Petty, even wisecracking heroes. He was the embodiment of love. He shared that love through his music. You would have to be a Communist not to love him. For whatever reason, it was fun to mess with The Silver Surfer. He was just one of those gullible sorts. Sure, it’s wrong. It’s easy. But damn, if it ain’t fun.

Meanwhile, back in the present, The Silver Surfer was severely unbalanced, ill at ease; his emotions repressed, his body constipated. He was on the verge of releasing the cosmic vengeance scream, and that’s a bad thing, as in total annihilation bad thing.

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