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Greg Gutfeld: No kid cares who Superman kisses

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Happy Tuesday everyone! And what a beautiful Tuesday it is. Perhaps the greatest Tuesday in Tuesday history! And why is it you ask? Well I woke up this morning to find the new Superman is bisexual!

Ultimately! As powerful as a locomotive! Able to go from women to men in one leap! I haven’t been this excited since learning the Joker’s true identity!

* Clips of Kamala Harris laughing *

Now, it’s not really Superman, like in the original Superman. He is retired, lives in Hoboken and buys gold from William Devane. This is Jon Kent, the son of Superman and Lois Lane.

He was Superboy for a while, before Daddy said, “Hey, it’s time to become a man.” And then was immediately canceled for using gender stereotypes. So he became Superman, and befriended a young male reporter. Yeah, so Superman is bi – and I say it’s a long time coming. Jimmy Olsen, it was worth the wait.

Because if there was one thing that was important to me as a ten year old who read comics, it was who the characters were sexually attracted to. It drove me crazy. I needed to know who Batman was sleeping with – other than Robin. Yeah, calling him the wonder boy, it made me wonder. And he couldn’t slide along that bat stick just for fun.


I also wanted to know if the Archies were in bondage. And I just assumed Aquaman was into watersports. So the rubber sheets.

True – I hadn’t even hit puberty yet; I’m still waiting in fact! But it pained me to think that our fictional superheroes were trapped in traditional sex roles. Spiderman could swing between buildings – but he couldn’t swing back and forth.

Ever since I was a kid, reading comics I’ve seen that they have more boots, gloves, and masks than a leather store in the West Village. It was like Brit Hume’s closet. And yet, I was as frustrated as a porcupine in a balloon factory.

Where were the superheroes who reflected who I was? A sexually confused young boy, with acne, no friends and an obsession with macrame. It wasn’t about finding something outside of my life, but something that reflected my life. Because if they don’t reflect my lifestyle, I can’t take advantage of them. Every movie has to have someone like me in it – or I refuse to watch it.

Of course, there were some comic book characters that shared traits with me. Scrooge McDuck was rich, but didn’t wear pants. Astroboy was small. But looked great in red boots and black shorts. Luke cage looked great in shirtless jeans – it’s as ragged as a sack of Sargento mozzarella. We shared this together.

Hmm – no pants, great abs, red boots. Just described Kilmeade at the last FNC Christmas party!


My point – who really cares? No child cares or wants to care who Superman kisses. The guy is faster than a locomotive and able to jump tall buildings in one leap! I think that might pique a child’s curiosity more than what or who they’re dating. Especially since kids who read comics usually don’t have sex until their 30s.

So this raises a question: why is this happening? Why is this forced in a medium where it is not necessary? It’s like announcing that they have gluten-free crusts in a pie-tasting contest. No one asked, and no one cares. But it doesn’t matter.

It is not for the consumer. It’s up to companies to cover their buttocks. There is a desperate need to signal virtue to those who don’t even read comics, as a way to protect businesses from criticism for their pasts. And the criticism is always the same: lack of diversity.

Something you never hear about in the NBA. But companies end up trying to appeal to people who don’t even use your product. You see this with ESPN.

This network sucks because it continues to lecture sports fans in order to please a crowd that couldn’t tell the difference between a jockstrap and a sports bra. A mistake that I will never do again.

Everyone everywhere is so terrified of the awakened crowd, that they will turn their art into propaganda. So they hire a miserable gender studies graduate to help them create aroused products that protect them from the online crowds.

Suddenly, it is no longer a question of adventure, but of indoctrination. I wonder what the angry white male has to say.

Tom Shilue: Me, I have no interest in the personal life of superheroes or comics for that matter. I guess I’m old school, but I think adults should act like adults. Either way, I have to get to work.

But this media stunt also sets a trap for critics. In other words, if you say it’s the dumbest thing since salad, then you become the target. Instead of mocking this desperate wokism, the media will instead mock those who find the idea absurd.

So, like in a Chaplin movie, nobody says anything. Why? Well, we are nice people. But, unfortunately, we are now in a world that insists we have to care.

They demand our advice, and if we don’t give it, then we are part of the problem. And imagine how Superman feels when you tell him about his character update …

* Sketch of agents telling Superman he needs to get more awake *

And so, the gap between your public position and what you really feel widens. Publicly you say “wow, Superman – go ahead boy.” But in private, you know what a *** bunch of bulls it is.


So go ahead. Turn Superman into a political theater. I do not care. But every time you expect me to care, I’ll piss you off. Even though you haven’t paid me before.

Because, in a just world, that’s none of our business. I don’t need to know what you like sexually, nor do you need to know what turns me on … and why that requires a sock full of 9 volt batteries.

This article is adapted from Greg Gutfeld’s opening monologue in the October 12, 2021 edition of “Gutfeld!”

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