By Locke Van Kempe

“I think the Penguin might fuck birds!”

Today I’m standing in my local comic book store, drinking an early morning beer and talking to my main man-behind-the-counter, Rik Kirby. We have a spectacular talk and I’m nicely roasted on good coffee and decent alcohol before I leave, now absolutely knowing the subject of what I need to write. I won’t yank your chains any longer than necessary, crude believers, so let’s grab a beverage of choice and step face-fucking-first into:
The Top Four Super-Villains Who Desperately Need To Get Laid.

1. Doctor Doom.
Take one look at this freaky fucker and you’ll have zero problems figuring out why he might have difficulty obtaining a partner. LOOK AT HIM. He looks like the Grim Reaper playing Halo. Victor Von Doom is the Fantastic Four’s primary nemesis and, more to the point, he straight hates team member Reed Richards AKA Mister Fantastic. The Doc of Doom blames ol’ Reedy-poo for the lab accident that created his filthy visage, and that very visage is reason number uno why no one wants to fuck with Doom... Literally. I’m not exactly sure what’s behind that iron-forged mask of his, but suffice to say that those unlucky enough to be privy to what lies beneath have thrown up on their own private parts. Add in the fact that he speaks only in the third person (“Doom needs some sweet tang or Doom’s penis will explode!”) as well as his affinity for trying to destroy one of comicdom’s favorite super-families, and you can easily see why Vic Von Doom needs to keep the mask on and pony up for a Latverian hooker.

2. Kang the Conquer.
The only thing Kang has ever fucked is history. This guy is the self-proclaimed master of time, and he’s responsible for a bitchload of the bullshit that makes fans’ heads hurt regarding Marvel’s past and current continuity. Constantly going back and forth in time like a purple & green Domino’s delivery driver, Kang attempts one failed coup after another, and succeeds only in making himself an unfuckable failure of a super-villain destined to be alone forever. Forever is, unfortunately, a subjective point when you semi-control your own timeline, and Kang makes himself even more dislikable by having multiple incarnations of himself strewn throughout time. That’s right. And the Kangs are all different ages as well. So imagine, if you will, you’re a lady who finally decides to give poor blue-balled Kang a chance; he’s nice enough, the night’s gone well, you end up at his place -- and mid-coitus -- a child walks in.
“Oh my god!” you scream.
“It’s okay,” Kang says. “That’s just me. The child me. He -- me -- I like to watch.”
Yeah, so, that’s why no one’s fucking Kang.

3. Lex Luthor.
This bald, evil, hero-hatin’ mega-genius needs no introduction. If you’re the DC universe’s first and foremost brilliantly dangerous super-villain, one would assume you would have no trouble finding a date on Saturday night. This is, unfortunately for Mr. Luthor, not true when you have an obsession with a childhood crush who can never be yours. You all know who I’m talking about of course: that Boy Scout in blue, that Clark Kent frontin’ do-gooder, that heroically hot vision of super strength: the goddamn Superman. Now, recent comic book issues have revealed that Luthor believes Superman has a thing for him, but that’s classic misdirected obsession, isn’t it? This chrome-domed mofo has more money than God, he’s not a half bad looking dude and he has the smarts to back up the whole package -- and yet, hasn’t been on a date in 30 years because he spends 24/7 dreaming up ways to snare the Man of Steel in some kind of man-trap. What it comes down to is that if Lexy ever actually got Supes in the sack, right where he wants him, he wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with him. There is simply no hope for Luthor ever being satisfied, barring giving him a life-sized pillow with Clark Kent’s alter ego on it and a hole in the mouth.

4. Solomon Grundy.
HE IS MADE OF SWAMP CORPSES. That would be enough. That will always keep you from getting laid. If dead bodies and swampy water and old garbage and pieces of shit-caked vines are your game, you have an uphill battle at the local bar, no matter what. But let’s get past that fact and dive into a few more reasons that this old dirt-dick gets no play. Solomon Grundy has gone through many incarnations. At his best, he’s an innocent half-tard that smells of mold & flora; and at his worst, he is a (still stinking) super-genius bent on kidnapping Red Tornado and getting all up in Red’s robot body. Ew, man. Come on. Nobody wants to hear that you have a creeped-out desire to put your rotting index finger into a robotic butthole. [Editor’s note: This never happened. -Seth] Compound that with his constant rhymes (“Solomon Grundy, born on a Monday, fingering robots on Tuesday, that’s called abuse day.”) and you have a Tinder disaster case on your hands. Not only is he in need of a good lay, but before he can even take a cab to the club, this filthy motherfucker needs a bath.

That’s it, man! List over! I’ve got a gallon of scotch calling my name and Rip Branagan insisting I get my intoxicated ass to the studio for some work related horseshit. Join us back here, in the house that Wood Rocket built, next week for more sexually charged comic book insanity and remember -- I’m Locke Van Kemp and I miss you already.

“Locke” is the writer of several nationally syndicated & critically acclaimed comic books, countless published short stories and the occasional questionable low budget movie.