*(A Fifteen year old throw back from my old site, with a touch of modern editing)
I don’t know if they were a bunch ursine empathic vampires trying to pass themselves off as good Samaritans, or just some cosplay midgets that couldn’t mind their own business. Either way I found them intrusive and unsettling. As a race they were the weird girl at the office that cries when someones lunch is stolen and extends a harassment seminar by a half hour so she can recount the contentious tone of her last book club meeting. Nobody gives a fuck, toughen up.
If I’m having a shitty day, and feeling a tad surly, the last thing I need is some talking bear getting on my back about it. Yeah, maybe I forgot to say thank you. Or I slapped my assistant because he makes crap coffee. Who are you to tell me how to live my life? You are not even person. Maybe if I lived in cloud city I would be nice all the time too. But I don’t. I live in the real world. And the real world fucking sucks. You care so much; where were you when my wife left me? You want to help; get her to stop turning my kid against me. Can you stare your way out of that one? Cause I tried, a thousand miles worth, and the only thing shooting out of my belly is stress ulcers.
Get your own house in order before you think about interfering with mine. And speaking of house, who the fuck let you in here? You got a warrant? I don’t care how low your caring clock was it’s still break and enter. Looks like you’re doing hard time, baby. Let see how full of love you are after you become an amorous throw pillow for some hard luck trucker doing eight years for aggravated assault. Say high to your cousins for me.
Let me state right off that I have no problem with Hercules’ being a sexual omnivore. It’s a lifestyle choice and no ones business but his. What I do have a problem with is him being a disturbed closet case that torments and manipulates anyone who loves him.
Look up in the sky, children, Hercules is falling towards us and he appears to be wearing… a shirt, , and a belt. Real classy Herc.
But that petty exhibitionism is nothing compared to the constant emotional abuse he heaped on his lover Newton
Hercules: Hey Newton, go get my giant sword that is way too heavy for you.
Newton : Yes sir, where did you put it
Hercules: I don’t know, maybe in some log or behind a rock. I don’t keep track of that shit. Just look around until you find it. Oh, and I’m about to enter a life and death battle so be quick; if I die it will be all your fault.
Newton (in tears, running to fetch sword): Why would say that Herc, why would you say that.
Classic displaced rage fueled by his inability accept his poorly suppressed romantic inclinations. He even had a sham girlfriend he’d feign interest in now and again, to keep the non existent heat off. Helena “The Golden Beard” Princessia.
Helena : Why won’t you make love to me, Hercules?
Hercules: Uh, I think I hear the Hydra. (makes Romp Romp Romp noise)
Helena: What about my Hydra Hercules? When will you fight my hydra?
Hercules: Damnit, Newton, did you find that sword yet?
At least Newton knew who he was; the gayest centaur walking the planet. Were it not for his penchant for mythological rough trade he had every chance at a rich and meaningful life. Instead he chose bad love from a weird dude.
If Herc would just relax and embrace what was already painfully obvious to everyone around him maybe he’d find his heroic center. At the very least he wouldn’t have to take off the power ring all the time, for fear the flashy jewelry would give away the game. It’s ancient Greece, for Zeus’ sake, everybody is down with everything! Maybe the thrill of being caught is part of his kink, but there is no need to conduct business in such a callous manner.
Oh, and Herc, a school of young boys that can summon you by unbuckling their moon belts?
Come on man, have a little respect.