Superman #76 (February 1993)

I do not like this cover but I can't explain why.

It's times like these when I wish I'd done more work throughout my life coming to terms with my emotions and exploring my feelings more deeply because then maybe I'd know why this cover depresses the shit out of me. Don't get me wrong! I know it's not the sentiment that's depressing me! I'm not a pussy and nobody has the right to bully me and call me a pussy because I'm an adult and not in junior high anymore so don't even think the cover made me feel actual emotions like a junior high school kid who deserves to get thrown in a trash can after school as he scuttles from wall to wall trying not to be seen. It depresses me because it's, like, bad. But I don't know why. If only I were as good at expressing things as David Foster Wallace who might be one of the first novelists I've read in my fifty plus years of reading who makes me see exactly what he's describing and in a way where he's not even trying or smacking you in the face with your own science textbook while trying to find the stankiest trash can in the quad. But then again, look at what happened to Wallace! He hung himself from his back deck! Is that what happens to people who have looked inward so deeply that they can easily express their perceptions and feelings of the world in such a casual and illuminating way? No thanks! I don't even have a back deck! What am I going to do? Hang myself off the rickety stairs leading up to my front door? They barely hold me while I'm carefully ascending or descending them! They'll definitely collapse in a spray of splinters, moss, and probably termites if I drop my fat, pussy, still-not-over-Pig body from the bannister!

I've never been to a Funeral for a Friend before. Not that friends of mine haven't died. I've just never been to a friend's funeral for complex reasons that probably have nothing at all to do with the way I've called my feelings pussies and shoved into mind trash cans. I have been to family funerals though and let me tell you, those are not a good time. Are they supposed to be a good time? At my grandmother's funeral, one of her sister's kids got up to speak and all she kept talking about was how she hounded my grandmother on her death bed about Jesus and making sure that Ann, my grandmother, had accepted Jesus before she died and then happily declaring before everybody gathered that my scared, dying grandmother who was probably sick of being browbeaten by this Jesus lover had finally accepted Jesus as her lord and savior before dying and how that was supposed to make us all feel better. I should have gotten up and rescinded all of that with actual facts about my grandmother, like how she distanced herself from the church because she couldn't understand the casual antisemitism, as if she was supposed to just go along with everybody else's hatred of Jewish people because of the historical fact that Jesus was crucified by, well, you know, his own people? I mean, who else would have crucified him? Oh, sure, the Romans did but as a Catholic, you can't go around hating Romans because they crucified Jesus! Plus that one guy washed his hands of it or something so that probably explains why the Romans couldn't be blamed, right? It was also at my grandmother's funeral where the priest presiding over the ceremony (is a funeral a ceremony?) didn't know shit about my grandmother so began with, "I Googled Ann's name to see what her name meant," and then went on as if he knew her because he now knew that Ann meant, I don't know, merciful or something. Fuck that guy and fuck Connie. I think it was Connie who said the Jesus stuff. Fuck if I can remember my 2nd cousins!

The saddest funeral I have ever been to was my grandfather's funeral because his little brother, the last living one of my grandfather's siblings, was sitting at the viewing in the front weeping and there wasn't a trash can in sight so I couldn't do anything about it. Actually, what I did about it was go up front, sit by him, put my arm around him, and cried with him. I would use my grandfather's brother's name here but I don't know how to fucking spell it! Melio, maybe? I don't know! I only ever just said it growing up! In that moment, I might have been sadder than Pig made me. But definitely not sadder than the end of Guardians of the Galaxy just a week after my cat and soulmate and familiar and best friend had died, my boy whom I often called my Raccoon Boy. And then when Rocket is so sad and needs to be comforted and I'm crying now but I didn't cry in the theater and it wasn't until we left Laurelhurst and we crossed the street on the way back to the car and I just fucking exploded and was weeping and wailing and I scared the absolute shit out of the Non-Certified Spouse because I'm not generally such a pussy.

If you haven't understood by now that I'm mocking the idea of calling people who feel emotions a pussy than maybe you shouldn't read anymore of my stuff. Or just throw me in a trash can, I guess.

Oh, I also think my mom punched my sister at my grandmother's funeral but fuck if I know for sure because I generally just try to stay out of their shit. I think my grandmother might have died in the same room as them while they were screaming at each other and they may have blamed each other for my grandmother basically "Noping" out of their fucking shit way grander than I've ever managed.

Everybody is here? This is everybody?! What the fuck?

Supergirl had way more people at her funeral. Is that because she was more popular than Superman or did Crisis on Infinite Earths actually decimate that much of the DC Universe?! It's actually kind of sad that so few heroes managed to make it to this memorial. My favorite part of this panel is Aquaman's legs sticking out from under the Daily Planet logo. If I saw Aquaman trying to hide from the rain, I might think twice about standing in it. How fucked up is this rain if Aquaman — who's only known for two big things: loving water and molesting fish — won't let it touch him?

The second page destroys my whole Aquaman theory almost immediately because this comic book is like comic book fans on the Internet: neither one wants to see me have fun.

Here's Aquaman saying the most boring and expected thing. No wonder everybody hates him and the people who don't hate him are lying because they secretly hate them but have decided being a contrarian is the meat of their personality.

Can you imagine having the Wisdom of Solomon and yet everybody still argues with you and questions your opinions? It's kind of how like my friend Bob who always said I was the smartest person he knew grew up to be a huge Christian and devout Trumper (mostly because he was blown up in Iraq and found solace in the unthinking, virtue-signaling lifestyle of "patriotic Christians") ignoring me now as an adult every time I tried to point out how the man he seemed to worship was actually a huge know-nothing ignorant moronic demagogue. Captain Marvel's situation is exactly like that! Not that I'm claiming to be the smartest person! I'm just claiming that the guy whom I once dared to eat tape who then complained after eating it that it was "stuck in his throat" and I was all "of course it is; it's tape!" thought I was smarter than he was. That's not a huge bar to leap is what I mean.

While the heroes gather on top of the Daily Planet to remember their friend while people down below think, "Why are they gathering at the Daily Planet to honor Superman? What's Superman's connection to the Daily Planet? Maybe Superman worked there in his secret identity?!", the coolest kid in the world has traveled to Metropolis to apologize to whomever he can because he thinks it's his fault that Superman died. Why? Did this skateboarding, heavy metal loving, mom bitching at, school hating, long-haired lover create Doomsday? Was this kid so cool that he jerked off on a rock and the rock got pregnant and it gave birth to Doomsday?! Am I even close to figuring out Doomsday's origin here?

The coolest kid in the world travels to Metropolis for a press conference called by a woman who wants to report that she was Superman's wife!

Wait. So that woman is Mrs. Superman? I'm confused. Also, did I miss the issue where Lois's head was transplanted onto the frame of an ex-football player?

Is what Lois doing here an example of dramatic irony? If so, it's not as good as that moment in Les Misérables where the innkeeper is scavenging the dead after the battle and he's all, "God in His heaven, he don't interfere. Because he's as dead as these stiffs at my feet!" Except we, the audience, know Marius, the stiff he's currently stealing the watch off of, isn't dead at all! I'm an atheist because however the universe came into being, it definitely wasn't some magic creature made in our image but that's still an awesome line because I love literature and musicals and the human mind and feeling feelings and philosophy and Sailor Moon and all of those other things that caused me to see the inside of several trash cans over my lifetime.

The coolest kid in the world runs into the lamest kid in the world (Jimmy Olsen) and they decided to go get something to eat at Bibbo's Bar and talk about Superman and, I'm guessing, possible blow jobs in the back room. Jimmy Olsen is gay, right? Isn't that why he became the Elastic Lad? Wasn't that an allegory of being "not straight"? Especially since he became Elastic Lad whenever he drank semen.

What's that? It was a serum and not semen? Are you sure? I'm pretty sure it was semen.

Later at Clark Kent's apartment, the "How Do We Convince the World Clark Kent is Dead Without a Body Gang" meet to discuss options.

My guess is the plan will be "Call Batman and have him figure it out."

The heroes have not gathered in Metropolis for a wake; they've come to answer letters sent to Superman every Christmas by kids who understand writing to Santa Claus is a huge waste of time. Apparently the main Post Office in Metropolis has a huge room devoted merely to storing letters to Superman, mostly because Superman only reads them once a year on Christmas Eve. Presumably these aren't just Christmas letters though and they build up all year and the employees at the post office fucking hate Superman. You can tell because they just toss the letters on the floor.

Why is Guy here? Can he even read?

Guy cynically assumes that every letter is going to ask for something and Wonder Woman is all, "Guy! Many unfortunate souls find themselves without hope or power to affect their situations. Superman realized he can't be a beacon of hope without helping those he's shone his light upon." Or some shit. But then Nightwing and Aquaman open up and read the first two letters and Guy is all, "In your face, Wonder Woman!"

Unfortunately, Guy reads a letter when a dying woman wants to once again see her son estranged for 30 years and Guy is all, "Fuck! Why couldn't I get the space debris kid?!"

The rest of the issue is a montage of the heroes doing good things for people to prove they're actually heroes and not just authoritarian fascists who beat the shit out jay walkers and shoplifters. Plus Wonder Woman helps get the cool kid's dad back in the picture and Flash and Green Lantern rebuild their house. My brain tells me this is an uplifting story but my heart has been yawning for the last ten minutes. Is this what a World Without A Superman is like? Super boring?!

The only exciting part of the issue is the end when we see Cadmus has decided to get into graverobbing to steal Superman's body. Christ, that Westfield is super horny for dead aliens.

Superman #76 Rating: C. My favorite part of this comic is the bit that wasn't expressly stated. In the montage part where all the heroes are helping out and answering letters to Superman and just generally doing good work, Batman is nowhere to be seen. Of course he wouldn't waste his time with this sentimental bullshit! Mostly because his whole thing is based on sentimental bullshit and also insanity. You can't be a grown man running around in kid pajamas trying to end crime because you're super sad about the death of your parents and think people are going to see it as grim and dark when it's just sad and sentimental and fucking insane. I swear to God Alfred might be the worst character in the entire DC Universe. How many years did he simply not get poor Bruce some therapy?! Did he have too much British stiff upper lip to allow Bruce to work through his feelings in an appropriate manner?! With therapy, Bruce might have been able to see his life more clearly and understand that he isn't stopping the death of somebody else's parents by donning the mask; he's actually causing more kids to lose their parents when he breaks all their limbs because they were so desperate in their poverty to work for The Joker or The Riddler or The Penguin and then almost certainly died of shock and sepsis later after Batman had long stopped thinking about them and then, technically, could go on believing he doesn't kill. Although after watching The Sopranos, I suspect therapy wouldn't have necessarily stopped the violence.