Hollywood’s love affair with comic books is hotter than ever as superheroes continue to break summertime attendance records at movie houses. But not all of our old faves have been as well received as Captain America and Spider Man. Check out the following sad but true cautionary tale:
I saw him outside the unemployment office. He was hitching a white horse up to a parking meter. He was tall, thin, dressed all in black and wore a mask over his eyes and nose. He appeared old and sad. So did his Native American companion.
“Do you have change of a silver bullet?” he asked.
I told him I didn’t and offered him a quarter. He promised to pay it back soon as he could.
Sensing a story, I followed him inside and did some eavesdropping.
“What’s your name?” the woman interviewer asked, stifling a yawn.
The masked man leaned over and whispered something.
“Your first name is `The’? No kidding. How do you spell that?
What’s your address?”
“I came out of the west with the sound of thundering hoof beats,” he replied.
“Who was your last employer?”
“I think his name was Johnny Deep, or something like that. But in the good old days I championed the cause of law and order and brought justice to the untamed west.”
“Self employed security guard,” the interviewer muttered. “Any assets?”
“Only a silver mine hidden deep in Canada where no outlaw can ever find it. I use the silver to make bullets with which I avenge evil and defend injustice. But I’d really like to get a movie deal like my buddy Batman.”
“Dependents?”
“Two. My horse and my faithful old friend and companion.”
“How long has this guy been with you?”
“Like forever, right Keemo Sabe?”
“Have you been paying household employee’s insurance and Social Security for him? If not, I’m slapping you with a bill for 80 years of back taxes. You owe him big time.”
The Native American smiled broadly, made an obscene gesture and ran out to the parking lot. He jumped on the white horse and rode off, leaving the masked man standing alone outside the Social Security office.
A short time later, the deafening sound of a powerful engine filled the air. An ancient black sedan with winglike tail fins pulled up to the curb and two elderly men stepped out. “Hi Bruce,” the masked man said. “Nice to see you and the kid again. I’m meeting Tonto in Canada and I need a lift.”
copyright 2015 HARRIET LESSER
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Harriet Posnak Lesser is an award-winning journalist and social satirist whose articles have appeared in Long Island’s The South Shore Record and Nassau Herald, The New York Times, Cracked Magazine and others.