People always pester me with the same questions: “Are you chicken or are you man?” “Do you fight the crimes of men or the crimes of, um, chickens?” “You are the stupidest superhero ever.” My answer, regardless of the question, is always the same: “You’re the stupidest superhero ever!” This works well enough most of the time, but it tends to fall flat whenever people try to have normal conversation with me. Thankfully, this almost never happens, since apparently people don’t like talking with overweight, sweaty middle-aged men who dress like chickens. Yes, this leaves me with crippling loneliness and depression, but I have learned to channel these feelings of despondency into unparalleled chicken powers.
For instance, did you know that my adamantine beak can peck through the marrow of 1000 black holes? Well, I hope you didn’t know that, because it’s blatantly false. In fact, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t even make sense. But here’s what I can do. I can, like, totally scratch you, and stuff—trust me, it’s uber impressive. I’m pretty much the most powerful chicken-man I know.