Dr. Cornelius Hamilton took a deep breath and paused, as if waiting for logic to kick him squarely in the behind and bring him back down to earth. He was more than surprised that his hands were trembling. He was actually nervous. He flexed his muscles and liked what he saw. It gave the blue and red unitard credibility to be filled out with such a sheer hard body. All the hours at the gym paid off, but not as much as the steroids. Yet, he was still filled with trepidation.
He was the greatest superhero of the 21st century, and truth be told, he knew it. With each successful achievement, his humility eroded to nothing. Now the hero, once known as Side Effect, was dubbed The Cocky Side Effect Megalomaniac. In some parts of the country, he went by the moniker, Oh No, Not Another Trump Guy. All that aside, today, he faced a challenge that would alter his life forever.
Like most impotent paradigms and empathy short cuts, the expression ‘thoughts and prayers’ was born from a congregation of old white wealthy elites with more money than they needed. Especially detached from sweat, blisters and all else that reeks of a day of honest work. It was the worst case scenario of unchecked privilege and greed gathered in one place, all nickel and diming their way to millions, then billions, leaving their dog shit footprints on the back of those less fortunate, crushing the weak, infuriating the survivors. This was the lugubrious collective known as the one percent. It smelled like dust, mold and spiderwebs.
The silence grew as suspicious eyes darted around the small waiting room, for there was another presence, and it was disgusting. Someone had callously expelled flatus through his or her anus. An educated guess was that the gas originated from either Mexican or Korean cuisine. No one dared speak because of the old adage, he who smelt it, dealt it. By this law, everyone was a suspect.