Aguaman, not to be confused with the slightly more popular, Aquaman, was on the brink of a tantrum. He was in a meeting with Makeover Schlatz & Sons 2.0™, a P.R. firm known only for their untimely destruction of Mayor McCheese® and the accidental birth and branding of Chester Cheetah™. He wanted a new identity, one not associated with being called Mexico’s Aquaman. In fact, he wanted Aquaman to be called the American Aguaman.
Papers with new costume designs were strewn all over a slightly dirty glass table, smudged with fingerprints and splotches of coffee. This is one of many reasons why one should always use a coaster and wear white gloves.
Aguaman was past the point of impatience as Joseph Schlatz III doodled on a giant white erase board, squeaking, and breathing heavily. He was gesticulating like MSNBC’s Steve Kornacki on crack. By the by, crack is never, and never will be cool, for it is truly whack. “As you can see, by enlarging the ‘A’ on the belt, you will be easily identifiable from afar.”
“I get that, but how the hell am I supposed to move around in that thing without banging up my hoo hah?” Rage nearly made Aguaman’s eyes pop out of his head.
“Not to worry, your Excellency, this is just your press conference outfit. This, on the other hand…” Joseph revealed another outfit, which had been shrouded on an easel.
Aguaman’s facial expression could best be described totally aghast, as if seeing a baby’s head slowly crushed by a foot.
One thing led to another, as Aguaman exploded, tossing Schlatz and his sycophant associates head first out of the office. One exclaimed, “But, but that’s our office.”
Aguaman took great pleasure ripping up the costume that offended him so. It was him wearing only a green Speedo® and a sombrero.