I was half expecting him to say he goes home to Starla every evening.

There’s something about a fellow volunteering to be a human crash test dummy without the crash I find appealing, of course. Check the masthead. And damn if he can’t stab trees near to death, or at least the slow-moving ones. But I have a sneaking suspicion that his suit is of no use in research into grizzly bear behavior, because they must see this guy coming and whisper whoo boy, what a fargin’ loon under their salmon-flavored breath, and pretend they hear their mother calling them and shamble off, before they catch the crazy from him.

That’s before they even get a glimpse of his interplanetary, extraordinary, weapons-grade mullet and porn stache. Nothing could withstand the hirsute firepower he brings.

(Thanks to Gerard at American Digest for bodyslamming that into my inbox)