Day 22. 58 pages, 28,201 words.
This month in The Zoologically Accurate Spider-Man:
Spider-Man wakes to find himself reduced to approximately 7” in height, and robbed of every superpower he ever possessed except for one: the ability to make gargantuan, horrifying flesh-mound Spider-Woman briefly want to tolerate being fucked by him slightly more than she wants to eat him!
The Cooper Gang is back in town, but that’s really pretty irrelevant because everyone is too piss-scared of Spider-Woman to even think about breaking the law. In New York City there is only one law: I AM SPIDER-WOMAN, THY COLOSSAL BLUBBERY GODDESS!
While a miniscule and feeble Spider-Man struggles to overpower a medium-sized schoolyard bully through the entire first act, all while commuting on public transport due to the fact that he can no longer even make web, Spider-Woman shits out an enormous super-complicated hammock of death for herself and then just lies back and eats motherfucking cream pies while she waits for hapless criminals to ensnare themselves and die in abject struggling terror for her amusement.
And now, it will take every scrap of Spidey’s willpower and endurance to scale the vast spandex slopes of his lady love’s sumptuous, obscenely fertile rump! And every scrap of his audacity and cunning to distract her with some inordinately-hard-won gift-wrapped bank robbers! And every scrap of his gag reflex control to quickly rub out a load of come while she is busy smooshing the fuck out of the poor bastards with her mighty she-jowls and drinking their bodily fluids like a Goddamn thickshake oh my sweet, sweet Jesus Christ our saviour!