Because how do you remember Elvis? You KNOW how you remember Elvis.

You know that bit from Denis Leary's No Cure For Cancer where he talks about how someone should have shot Elvis in the head back in 1957 -- before he got fat, pretentious and bloated -- so we could remember him in a nice way?

I've just been thinking about that bit a lot lately, is all.

Love comes in four colors. (And yes, I'm still bitter over Sue Dibny.)

Another day of work is nearly over
You must have seen the whole thing on TV
Seventeen more city blocks and I can almost smell you
Waiting at the windowsill for me

It's our forty-first anniversary

But we don't look a day over twenty-three
Not in this life
Not in this universe
We were still in high school when I met you
If you believe the continuity

I rescued you from robots
And untied you from the tracks

And you pretended not to know that it was me
We didn't even kiss
Until issue #26
This world still feels like 1963

I love this life
I love this universe

And you'll keep my identity a secret
And you will know the touch beneath my glove

I may go out every night and risk my life for strangers
But you're the only girl I'll ever love

Gwen Stacy isn't dead, she's only sleeping
And Elektra isn't evil or insane

Those bastards at the Pentagon can't really kill Sue Dibny
No more than they could kill off Lois Lane

And I swear to God there'll be hell to pay
If anybody tries to take you away

Forget this life
Forget this universe
You're everything I need

You are my life
You are my universe


They'll have to go through me



Lyrics from "Four Color Love Story," by The Metasciences.

Happy Valentine's Day, folks.