I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends.
Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages?
I am Hatboy.
Fuckin’ potato famine out here with you people.
*wipes tears from eyes*
Then Mrs. Harbor should start writing a god damn book
Why is the sailor sad? Because he Mrs. Harbor.
I’ve given up on telling my phone it’s Mrs. Hatboy.
Bah. I’m whiter than Marc. I’ve been accused of blinding people when I take my shirt off outside.
TYT should use this video, they get this bullshit critique all the time too. LMAO
Fair. Marc is pretty damn white for an Australian though.
All the girlies say he’s pretty white, for an Oz guy.
And, yeah, I figured as much.