Paul Constant

Spider-Man single-handedly kicked the X-Men's ass in Secret Wars #3, so with my Spider-Man mask firmly in place, I enter the X-Men-themed party secure in my superheroism. Turns out, though, there's more than just the X-Men at this party: The Hulk, covered in what must be a gallon of green body paint, is making a stiff drink. The Tick's sidekick, Arthur, is over by the fire, talking to Winnie-the-Pooh. There are two Cyclopses, a bitchin' Wolverine, and a world-destroying Dark Phoenix.

There's a bald man—obviously Professor Xavier—standing by the keg. I ask a question I've always wanted to ask: "Excuse me, but aren't you a cripple?" "My wheelchair's inside," he answers. "And I'm going to sue the homeowners for not having a ramp." Soon enough, the Professor's being wheeled from room to room and doing what he does best: bossing people around. "We can forge an X-Men team right here and now!" he shouts in the living room. Rather than fighting villainy, though, the guy dressed as the Forest giggles nervously and passes the pipe along to the guy dressed as the Mexican.

The Hulk, as always, is the life of the party. "Hulk drink!" he shouts as he guzzles another beer. "Hulk smoke!" he exclaims when the pipe gets passed to him. I go outside and Wolverine threatens to kill Cyclops over Phoenix. Meanwhile, the Hulk is upstairs getting acquainted with the toilet. Someone tells me that he manages to mutter, "Hulk sick!" before he passes out in the doorway to the bathroom. Poor Hulk. recommended

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