Seriously, the JLA can reform without me all they want - I mean, it's not like I've never snuck in the back door looking like a totally different guy before - but when you've got enough of a crisis to warrant a team up with the JSA on your hands, I'd appreciate a call.  You know, make me feel wanted.  So I've been spying on them again.  Oh, come on, it's not like I didn't spend my first couple years on earth keeping files on these shmucks or anything. 

I'm still not even entirely sure WHY they need the JSA, other than the fact that the JSA had a magical crazy person from the future on their team and the JLA happened to run into some more magical crazy people from the future.  Hell, I hope no one decides to, you know, commit any supercrimes while the two most powerful collections of people on earth are wandering all over creation on a hunt for time-displaced teenagers.  I wish I could've been there when Power Girl, the freaking Chairwoman of the Justice Society, announced that it was a four-man job to go to Thanagar and pick up one girl.  Especially since her reasoning amounts to "I want to have sex with Hawkman." 

Bitch, please; who doesn't? 

Yeah, I'm confident enough in myself that I'm okay with saying that I'd at least make out with Hawkman.  He's just so damned gruff. 

Back on point, the squad groupings are totally insane.  Batman and Sandman going to Arkham Asylum together I can buy - that kind of insane person nonsense is their entire collective wheelhouse - and bringing Starman along at least gives them a lead on the their future jackass target, but why bring Geo-Force?  Did he just volunteer to smugly point out that he's got Starman's powers and Sandman's?  He's that big a dick? 

I can totally understand sending the Hawks to Thanagar - and, H'ronmeer, isn't it fantastic luck that of all the inhabited planets in the galaxy, one of the time-lost McGuffin punks ended up on one that two local superheroes have a baffling connection to? - but riding along because you want to plow one of them just isn't how superheroes roll.  Oh, and Hawkman, you haven't "travelled time" for four thousand years - you got reincarnated a couple times, sure, but by your definition, an eighty-year old man has lept eight decades into the future since he was born.  And that's retarded. 

Does it really take four people to find the one freaking not-a-monkey in Gorilla City?  Seriously, just send Flash down there, it'll take him ten minutes, round-trip.  By the way, when the Hell did cheetahs get to be as fast at the Flash?  And why hasn't anyone pulled Vixen aside and said "you know what might be a huge liability in a fight?  Hoop earrings"? 

These people need leadership, obviously.  The JLA isn't a social club, where everybody hangs out and forgets about their secret identities for a while - it's a control center for crime fighting and world-saving.  And they need somebody who isn't a jackass running mission control.

You know what?  I'm going to go punch Geo-Force in the back of the head, lock him in a storage closet, shapeshift into looking like him, and act like I belong on the team.   Because I actually do.  

I'm not gonna bitch that I'm not on the team.  Hell, what do I need a team for?  I can take anybody in their little clubhouse out in a straight fight, anyway.  Except for Plastic Man, so long as Joe Kelly's around.  Who knew that guy was immune to psychic powers?

Well, Batman, for one.  H'ronmeer, I hate that guy.

Anyway, I'm sort of curious what the standards of admission are for joining up with the Justice League in this day and age.  Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman are gimmes - nobody ever takes that team seriously if those guys don't show up, and if they aren't there, we get stuck with, like, me bossing Agent Liberty and the Black freaking Condor around. 

Fine, I'll accept Canary.  Maybe even Hawkgirl.  But nobody can fill me in on why they aren't in the Justice Society, where all you need for membership is a picture of one of your parents wearing a fetish suit or evidence that you once punched a Fifth Columnist in the balls back in the Big One.

I don't fit the JSA profile because I didn't get here until the fifties, so I couldn't kick Hitler's groin to powder.  Way to retroactively screw me again, Dr Erdel.

I'm all for Black Lightning - anybody with a name that on the nose is okay by me, and the guy's more than paid his dues.  And they can chuck any old Green Lantern in there; I don't care which so long as there's some shmuck all worried that he can't overcome his fear of the color yellow.  I sort've like lording over Kyle, but now he's been pretty much a god a couple times and I don't know how hard I can screw with somebody that's been known to accidentally create supervillains with his unconscious mind.  Whatever; Hal's a reasonably good guy and it's always fun to see him get beaned in the head with stuff.  I swear, that man's noggin is like some kind of awesome danger magnet. 

Roy Harper's a nice kid, but, I mean, isn't there some b-squad he could shore up?  It's not like Green Arrow's dead, or anything.  And, Hell, there's another Green Arrow who was already in the League.  What's that guy doing?  Wandering around karating the bejeezus out of Onomatopoeia? 

Vixen's alright by me; I was just shocked the rest of the League remembered that whole period where it was me and Gypsy and a bunch of scrubs.  I guess being able to be as powerful as animals is handy, and she's certainly prettier than Buddy Baker.  But she's never once sent me a fruit basket. 

They don't have a speedster, because Wally went and buggered off to the future or something.  But Bart's just as fast and probably a little smarter, now that the powers that be decided that he was more interesting as a whiny adult than an entertaining, if mildly irritating child.  Maybe they're just holding out until Barry inevitably comes back again.  I swear, that guy's on better terms with death than Kid Eternity.

Red Tornado, I don't get.  I could wing some Legos at Gorilla Grodd and we'd be in about the same position as having Reddy handy.  Maybe it's super-stuffy in the Hall of Justice and he was cheaper than an exhaust fan, I don't know.  I dig how they've got one of his old heads on display in the museum, though.  That's just a stone-dick move - the tour guide's all "and on your left, you can see a chunk of Red Tornado, torn off by a villain trying to prove he was powerful enough to take on the whole Justice League.  Red Tornado was offline, in a storage closet, for three years, until Batman got bored one afternoon and put him back together during a light lunch" while Reddy's choking back tears he can't produce because he's a soulless automaton thinking about the years he lost because Kanjar Ro winged a Gamma Gong through his neck.

Seriously, though, who the Hell does Geo-Force think he's kidding?  Is he even on the team?  Did he just walk into the building at the right moment to be swept up in a holographic training simulation with Wildcat which led directly into a mission that doesn't seem to really require two entire teams of superhumans?  I mean, were he not there, would the League have run their night janitor out to Arkham with Batman?  It better not be a Right Place, Right Time situation, because that's stupid as Hell.  Did Superman even have a picture of the guy to dramatically burn for no real reason after six months of deliberation was settled by a massive coincidence singularity in an apartment building's front lawn?

Did they even consider me?  I've got all of Superman's cooler powers plus mind-reading plus shapeshifting plus intangibility plus I'm not a monumental d-bag like Geo-Force.  Ooo, lava blasts?  Martian Vision, bitch.  Oh, you say you've somehow gained the powers of your turncoat-dead-not-dead-anymore-possibly-from-another-timeline sister?  That doesn't even make sense, you inbred prick.  Seriously, have fun with your inability to properly clot, freakshow.

Okay, fine, I was lying when I said I wasn't gonna bitch. 

Well, television and Aquaman, but that guy's all squid-beardy and crazy.  Plus he smells like a Goddamn Red Lobster.  So I see a lot more of the TV.

When you've got no social life (I mentioned the whole "everybody from my planet's dead except for TOTAL ASSHOLES who WANT TO KILL ME" thing, right?), you tend to watch a shit ton of TV.  Hell, I learned how to pretend to be from your stupid planet by watching the damn thing.  That's why I karate punch everybody who wrongs me and become inconsolably angry when problems take longer than twenty-two minutes to resolve themselves. 

So what do I, the Manhunter from Mars, like to watch?

RAW:  Wrestling's like what I do everyday, except slightly more retarded.  Fighting the same guys over and over, without any real resolution save a slightly BIGGER fight that suckers have to PAY to see.  It's the same thing over and over again, but I don't care - it's like sweaty man-ballet.  I mean, I don't have to be a freaking psychic to know John Cena's going to end up hanging onto his belt at the end of the show even though the mighty powers of the Heartbreak Kid-channeling-Jesus Christ-Himself oppose him.  Cena doesn't lose.  Cena's like Batman, except nobody likes him.  And Batman actually sells an injury every now and then.

Scrubs:  Scrubs is like the Flash - both of them were fun a while ago, but now they're just drudgery I pay attention to out of sheer force of habit.  Oh, you know how annoying it is to hear JD's thoughts?  I hear EVERYBODY'S thoughts, and none of you are all that much more interesting.  Most of you are way the Hell less preachy, though.  And almost nobody thinks they're as clever as that whiny little punk.

VH1:  Say, do you remember things that happened a couple years ago?  I'd love for them to do "I Heart (Any of the) Time(s) Martian Manhunter Stopped Having a Weaknees Towards Fire" so maybe half of DC editorial would stop throwing lit matches my way every time they need to sideline me in a crisis.  Also "I Love New York."  That bitch be crazy.

Speaking of, vote for this pasty white child.  I wish to see him on television, being pastily white for my amusement.  Aliens enjoy weird shit, what can I say?

America's Funniest Home Videos:  Humans taking shots to the groin will never cease being funny to me.  Hey, suckers - Martians don't HAVE gonads!  We reproduce by budding!  Or splitting our mass and producing a new Martian!  Or rolling around in fire!  Or something!  Either way, no gonads here!  We're totally safe pitching wiffle balls to our young or attending events involving pinatas.  I think that absolutely proves Martians are the superior race.

Aside from all of us being dead except the assholes, I guess.

Why do you think people are on MySpace to do business with you?  I'm a shapeshifting alien from a long-dead Martian civilization who stole the identity of an Earthian police detective after I squatted - INVISIBLY, mind you - in his house without his notice for a period of months; do you really think I'm using a social networking site where literally EVERYONE is in my "extended network" (and don't think I haven't noticed that, TOM) to consolidate my debt?  Bitch, please; I mindwipe bankers without a second thought. 

No, Hank, I'm not here for the low-APR refi - I'm here for the Earth pussy.

So I warm up my MySpace account, hoping for once that somebody out there loves me (besides John Ostrander - is he on this stupid thing?  I miss that guy), and what do I get?  Friend requests from a bunch of totally slutty-looking broads.  And also some emo kids. 

I mean, I guess that's pretty much the best you can expect from a website owned by Fox - but couldn't they shoot me, like, that girl from The OC?  You know, not Gangly McDrunken, but the cute one?  Yeah, her.  Help a brother out, Fox. 

But I digress - my original point was that I got some mail on this thing.  From total liars.  Example?  Here:

"So, my name is Makenzie. I think you and I should be friends, cause you seem pretty fun, and maybe even cute! (it's everso tough to tell in this digital world :)" 

Unless Makenzie has a thing for both ridiculously low-riding jeans AND guys that look like David Ogden Stiers covered in Floam, she either never looked at my pics or she's my freaking dream girl.  And since my dream girl died in flames on the cold, unfeeling red soil of Mars four thousand years ago, I guess that makes Makenzie a TOTAL LIAR.

There's more!  From Page: "Enjoying yourself with the ladies? I know I am! I like meeting cool guys. I don't want to sound rushed but I hope your still single."

Man, I'm from SPACE and I know that's the wrong form of "your."  And is she implying that she enjoys the company of ladies?  Because I can totally cater to that sort've thing.  Shapeshifting effing rules. 

Page goes on: "I was showing things to my friend and she found you darn cute. she BEGGED me to give you her email since she doesn't have an account on here."

Well, I mean, if she BEGGED...

"You should reach her at [redacted fake email address] at yahoo. She's a very nice person, always horny (that's what she says) and cute. She's also in great shape!"

I can be in any great shape I feel like, baby.  I think the ladies dig my giant collar.  And my boss medallions. 

Or, you know, maybe they're just advertising their shoddily-made porn sites.  What sounds more likely to you?  (I know the truth already.  Because I'm a freaking psychic, is how.)

Did you nerds see this?  Look at that!  Look at my jaw!  I look like Jennifer Garner and Jay Leno fucked inside of some kinda giant microwave and I'm the hideous end product!  The next scene had damn well better be Batman cleaning his brains off the ground after I Martian Vision a hole in his WASPy little skull, or I swear to H'ronmeer I'm writing an angry letter. 

Those faceless corporate scum will taste the wraith of my bitter pen, so swears the Martian Manhunter.

I'd totally cut myself, but I can shapeshift, so what difference would it make?  Somebody get me a Goddamn Bic, and we'll talk about pain.  Five minutes with a book of matches and I'll be feeling a million times better.