Ma Kent vs. Aunt May
Martha Kent took her seat by the window and peered out at the tarmac. She never liked flying, but she promised herself she'd look out on the clouds once she reached them. She'd look out on the world the way her son could see it, marvel at its patchwork. As a teenager, Clark had gone out on his first cross-country flight, over the towns and cities, over the wide world. He'd breathlessly likened it to a quilt, described the feeling of spiraling through a cloud. Clark took his father up there one afternoon, but Martha always waved him off when the boy would laughingly take her by the waist and try to coax her into the sky. She got vertigo from his stories alone.
Soon they were in flight. Clark could have been anywhere in those moments. Metropolis. Any continent. The farthest reaches of outer space, farther than any mortal man had ever been from his doorstep. But looking at those clouds, Martha felt close to him.
***
May Parker was angry. It was obvious that no one else had read Eat, Pray, Love for the book club. That dunderhead Martin Coffeetable had spouted on for the longest time about eastern philosophy, no doubt scavenged from the computer. Why had Ida insisted on joining Emily Faber's group again after last year's nonsense. No one read the books. No one baked their own desserts. Just a lot of fluff and posturing and grocer's freezer coffee cakes. Martin kept bringing Cheese Nips of all things.
And May loved this book. She read it on the subway. She read it at the kitchen table. She even took it to the park and read it on the grass. No blanket at all. She just sprawled out there on the grass like a teenager. And she was swept away.
"Does anyone think it was a little, well…" said a woman in a country blue cardigan. It was Francine's friend Martha from the country. She was staying with Bud and Francine for the week. Painting the town. "I'm not sure of the word. Haughty?"
May blanched.
"How so?" said Emily Faber. She seemed delighted.
"Well," said Martha. "It just seems a little high and mighty to me. This woman seemed to be claiming ownership of eastern culture. Like a pet project. It rang a little false to me."
May stood then, brandishing Ben's old switchblade.
Ma Kent vs. Aunt May
Who wins?
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I want to see this DC/Marvel crossover written by Mark Millar. Oh the horror.
A. Uncle Ben owned a switchblade? AWE-SOME!
B. Put them in bikinis and a kiddie pool of Jell-O, I’d say we all win.
I could see the 616 Uncle Ben running with some street toughs back in the day (20’s? 50’s? depends on when "now" is), before setting down.
Regardless, Ma Kent is just some country bumpkin who probably doesn’t even know how to hail a cab. She is going down.
Ma Kent takes a swing with her purse and knocks the switchblade from May’s hand. Startled, May looks at the watch Jarvis gave her on their last date. She raises it to her mouth and says "Wheat Cakes" into the tiny receiver. Suddenly an object flies through the window and clings on to May’s hand. It’s a red and gold glove made of steel and rage, filled with repulsor tech. May raises her hand and spreads her fingers out, a low hum eminating from the glove. Martha’s face is bathed in blue light for just a moment before she’s knocked onto the floor. May puts her hand down and glances around the room. "Does anyone else feel like bad mouthing this wonderful book?!?"
Aunt May for sure. She’s a tougher woman than Peter gives her credit for, she’s a New Yorker, and apparently she’s got a switchblade.
Aunt May shouldn’t have brought a switchblade to a tractor fight.
Ma Kent for the win.
At the first gasp of surprise from Martha, Supes flyes in (or does he power walk in these days) to subdue May, who has a heart attack because of the surprise of seeing Superman suddenly appear in her living room (or due to how ridiculous Superman would look power walking). Peter comes home just then to find May dying, and promptly makes another deal with Mephesto to keep Aunt May safe. Since Peter’s running out of meaningful things in his life to take, since most everything in his life causes some sense of miseray that Mephesto finds delicious, he makes Aunt May the Herald of Galactus that she was always meant to be, and she then promptly defeats the farmboy and his elderly mother, exactly what the Power Cosmic was always meant for.
@Paul: Awesome thanks for picking my suggestion!
I’d have to give this one to Ma Kent. The reason, quite simply, is a matter of health. Aunt May always seems to be unhealthy and at risk for a heart attack. Maybe it’s the life styles. Martha lives on a farm, she is an early riser, and eats home grown foods. Even in the pics above May appears frail where Martha seems stocky. Martha will out muscle May Parker for the victory!
Aunt May is from New York, Ma Kent is from Kansas. Ma Kent graciously offers Aunt May one of her piping-hot biscuits straight from the oven. Aunt May accepts. When Ma Kent turns toward the oven, Aunt May slides a knife between her ribs.
Then she takes all the biscuits.
That Aunt May panel made me laugh at the unintentional dirtiness of it.
Aunt May wins. She’s a NYCer, who’s survived for at least 10 years in the city on her own. She owns a switchblade. She almost married Doc Ock that one time. She knows her way around a fight. The only thing Ma Kent has ever done battle with is a cow’s udders.
Handbags at dawn!
May backs Ma Kent out the door of her house, wildly swinging the small switchblade. “How dare you call this literary treasure high and mighty,” May yelled while continuing to march toward Ma Kent. “Please, May” says Ma Kent “I was only being honest about what I thought about the book”. “Honest, smonish” mutters May “you’re just simple country bumpkin that should keep her simple mouth shut. You’re not in Kansas anymore, deary
“. “So be it” replies Ma Kent. It was at that point that Ma Kent realizes that Ma Kent hadn’t been retreating in fear, but had simply been walking backwards to her trusty pick-up truck that she drove to May’s house that day. With the grace of a wild prairie dog, Ma Kent reaches to the gun rack in the back of her truck, and pulls out a hunting rifle. “Betsy here has helped me deal with pesky critters on the farm a time or two, and I’m guess’n she’ll do my talk’n for me today”. May, shocked by the sight of the gun has three heart attacks and several strokes simultaneously and drops to the floor, though does not die. Ma Kent quickly calls the paramedic, then says “I’m sorry, May. But I think this big city book club’n may be a little too much excitement for me. Thank you for the hospitality.”. Ma Kent drives the pickup into the sunset, leaving a cloud of dust behind her.
THE END
May takes it.
Flicking the blade out of it’s stock, May advanced on the chubby stranger who’d dared challenge her supremacy of the Forest Hills Book Circle. The other group members scattered shrieking, leaving behind just the faintest hint of lavender eau de toilette.
“You rube. Barging in on my literary turf with your hicksville ideas on eastern philosophy. What do you know about the inner workings of an ashram, hayseed?”
Ma Kent was taken aback. “Snakes Alive!” she exclaimed, “Is this what you townies call a rumble?” Folding the corner of her page neatly back to keep her place, Martha put her paperback down on the table. “I’m so glad Clark warned me to come to the city prepared. Won’t you excuse me a second.” She reached down to the carpet bag at her feet and pulled out a six foot pitchfork. It’s sharp silvery points gleaming, she swung it around to within inches of May’s face.
Ducking beneath the wooden shaft, May lunged at the country woman, jabbing at her foe’s abdomen with the ugly blade. “How the hell did you manage to get a pitchfork into that little carpet bag?” she demanded.
Ma Kent span on her heel with an elegance that belied her girth. The pitchfork swung in a wild arc that ended with the hefty handle catching May a blow on the temple. “My bag? Oh, my son gave it to me. He said it’s a souvenir from someplace called Kandor!”
May staggered backwards and Martha launched the pitchfork at her adversary. With a terrible splintering sound, the twin points of the implement thudded into the wall either side of May’s neck, pinning her.
“Now,” said Martha, quietly, “Seems to me you city types could stand to learn a little about hospitality.” Reaching down into the mysterious carpet bag, Ma Kent retrieved a blue china plate holding a pile of home-baked oat cookies, a jug of milk and two glasses. “Buttermilk?” she asked, ominously.
“Nooo!” screamed May, clutching her chest in an acute spasm of angina, “Think of my cholesterol!”
Ma Kent is a farm girl she takes aunt may round the back of the barn and pops a shot in the back of her head.
Ma Kent gets the nod for being spot on about that Eat, Pray, Love drivel. God, that’s a week of my life I can’t get back. Almost swore off bookclubs after that hunk of whiny goat snot.
– speaking of goat snot… that Aunt May panel is disturbing.