As you may have heard, there has been some rough times in the Hogan household. That’s right, mother Hogan has filed for divorce from the Hulk. It’s hard to believe when you look at the family portrait of these commodity mutants; it’s practically the new American dream, reified and galvanized in silicone. But if you look closely, you can see mother Hogan standing a little despondent in the back, and you can read in her face what all that bleach blond and fake-bake cream is really concealing: the abysmal lacunae at the essence of these empty people. I can picture it now: one day, as mother Hogan slowly began to come out of her alcohol and Valium induced daze, at four o’clock in the afternoon, right before the strangers she calls a family come home, ready for their afternoon snack of steroids and ritalin, she suddenly felt that black hole that was swallowing her from the inside out, sucking a little bit harder. And alas, having enough of the attempt to fill her metaphysical holes by filling her physical holes with drugs, alcohol and the pool-boy’s member, she sat on the edge of her bed, and silently wept, in the dark, with the door closed, so that no one could see how her saliferous secretions would react with whatever her face is made out of. Has Hulkamania finally reached its breaking point?
