Lavaman was drunk again. He sat in his threadbare old armchair, the one that rocked only because it was missing two legs, and poured himself scotch after scotch. He would have gladly watched television, but he had melted it in a fit of drunken rage the previous week. He would have asked Electro-boy to fix it for him, but they hadn’t been talking since the “Lavaman not showing up to the dual with the evil Zoborg and Electro-boy having to take him on alone” incident.

Just why was Lavaman so disenfranchised with life as a superhero? One word, he would tell himself wryly every morning when he woke with a hangover and re-evaluated his life. Civilians. He was bitter because he had been lumped with Impartiality City. Impartiality City was by far, at least in his opinion, the worst city to defend against evil in the world. Lavaman did not expect that much from the people he was defending. He was fair. What was unacceptable, however, was their behaviour when attacked by a super villain. He had discussed this with Electro-boy many times.

‘Electro-boy,’ he would say, exasperated anew by another incident, ‘if you were a civilian and you were attacked by the evil Zoborg, what would you do?’

‘Shivering salami Lavaman, I don’t know,’ Electro-boy would reply. (This was his stock answer to anything Lavaman asked him these days.)

‘Well you sure as hell wouldn’t run around screaming and waving your arms like a headless chicken would you?'

Electro-boy saw the sense in this. ‘No, no I suppose I wouldn’t. But really, Phillip-’ ‘Don’t call me by my real name, Electro-boy.’

‘- Sorry, Lavaman, but really you shouldn’t expect so much from civilians. They can’t be too smart or we wouldn’t need to be here to protect them.’

‘But that’s not the half of it!’ He was getting worked up now, the veins standing out on his temples. His mask always started to itch when he got worked up, which only made matters worse. ‘They don’t even pay me! I mean, I’d have to turn them down of course, I’m a superhero, but they don’t even offer me any money! The nerve of them. Getting in the way, then expecting me to protect them for free. Well I’ve had enough.’

He pulled his mask off, hurled it at the ground, and stomped off home to his secret lair (a tenement in a nondescript part of town).

That had been the last he had spoken to Electro-boy, and the last time he ever wore his spandex and mask. He was through with being a superhero. He knew deep down that he was just a washed up bitter old hack. That was what life was like, he mused, pouring himself another scotch. Then something occurred to him. Something wonderful. He did not know why he didn’t think of it before! He leapt up and started for the door.

‘I know what I’ll do!’ he shouted aloud, ‘I’ll go out and buy a new TV!’

And that’s what Lavaman did. He never again used his powers to thwart evil, though he did use them to fry eggs for breakfast every Saturday morning.