The Shame of Spoiler

I had a really excellent weekend chock-full of friends, making new maybe-friends--me, I know, it's so rare--and discovering that Fatburger is a frighteningly delicious place. I still cannot read the advertising for it, because I am in denial about my horrible eating habits. But it was really nice and I was vigorously reminded that I really should be getting out a bit more. And am regretting the snow which forced me to go home and miss out on New Home Viewing and movie-watching. And I need new shoes, because I am apparently wearing Mom Shoes.

Dammit.

In a nice, unified (aw, they're getting along) revenge strike against me having a social life and abandoning them to the devices of their father for several hours, both my spawn have runny noses. This is gross and anyone who thinks mothers are naturally immune to the disgusting attributes of their own children are wrong. Last night at the especially gorgeous hour of four in the morning I found myself surrounded by snot-sniffling, snoring, too-hot humans. What's more confusing is that this year, we've all gotten sick not once, not twice, but now three times. I'm not actually sick. I've apparently been the Lucky One this year (read: I will be coming down with some horrible disease soon that I can only hope will end me up in the hospital where I will get catering and a turn-down service). But everyone else has been getting sick and I am now almost convinced our new house is a Disease Monger and I am now having badly-plotted yet vividly paranoid fantasies about it killing us slowly.

Sometimes being a writer isn't the best thing.

Onwards to what actually pertains to the title of this entry.

I absolutely one hundred percent loathe the fact that Stephanie Brown might be alive. Loathe. From the bottom of my vicious, razor-edged soul do I loathe this. Unless I see a editorial/creator/whatever note someone can prove is from the time she died stating that they were planning to bring her back all along, this has clearly been done to appease the female masses over her hideously-crafted death because of all the angry Memorial Now! buzz and other nonsense. The worst part? The absolute worst and most embarrassing part of this horrible little gesture to make the cranky girls feel better?

PEOPLE ARE ACTUALLY FALLING FOR IT!

What the SHIT, women?! Seriously?! This is like believing a half-drunk, uber-horny date when he says he'll stop WHENEVER YOU SAY SO! Jesus CHRIST on a pogo stick, where's the common sense?

Gee, thanks DC for bringing back Tim's dead girlfriend that he hasn't shut up about in years. Thanks so much for not bothering to make a believably stable teen female superhero, hey, don't fix the fact that Supergirl is an idiotic, time-traveling TWIT and Wonder Girl is a selfish, whiny asshat. Don't worry about Ravager's on-again-off-again characterization that makes her look like Super Bitch or Super Whore. And hey, seriously, don't worry about not putting Mia anywhere she can properly shine by herself. We totally understand that Stephanie Goddamn Brown was a way more important a factor to deal with. And I'm totally cool with M'Gann's future self having control of her, because as clearly demonstrated with all the other female teen heroines, they are so susceptible to mind control/invasion! Woot! (I'd complain about Batgirl, but that'd take forever).

Personally, I am so thrilled to see what Steph's gonna be like! Oh, hey, can she be under the manipulative control of Penguin? I totally haven't gotten tired of the teenage girls being controlled by men--and am also sorely disappointed that both Ravager and Batgirl got off Slade's Evil Man Juice so soon! Darn! That was so gripping. I was really looking forward to more of those plot points.

And oh, hey, I think I just threw up a little in my mouth! Whee!!

Assholes.

And shame on you, fellow breasts-havers, for being appeased by this sleight of hand magickery*. It's perfectly okay to be excited about the return of a character--personally, anything that makes Tim miserable makes me happy, because I'm twisted--but please, please do not congratulate DC on anything.

Also, don't let a guy bring you a drink from a bar.







*like trickery, but more Marvel-y.