Ohhh, what did I get myself into with this hero business? Everyone wants a piece of me! I've turned down I don't know how many endorsement deals, for everything from energy drinks to evening wear. Granted, although I was taken aback by the sketches they showed me at first, the pajama capes were cool. However, I've decided I'm not selling out.

I don't have the patience to bring legal action on every yahoo that decides to put my face on a T-shirt, and really those don't bother me so much. Metrocity's denizens seem to enjoy having the opportunity to stop me and ask that I autograph their garment which only increases my popularity, so more power to them.

But some things ... I wonder what the manufacturers were thinking. For instance, there was this… item Roxanne found on eBay ... damn them! Without that online swap meet, all of this particular collectible would have been safely tucked away in Germany… Italy… anywhere but here!

But noooo. My inquisitive little reporter had to sniff around 'til she found this tasteless inflatable chair. Well, it actually looked pretty normal at first glance ... while she was sitting in it. It even has little speakers on either side of the headrest, perfect for rocking out in air-cushioned comfort! I might have even given it my seal of approval if someone in the design department had put on their thinking cap. They either suffered a massive senior moment, or they're sick in the head and obsessed with sex.

I'm looking at this thing, wondering why Roxanne is sitting there ... or should I say bouncing, clearly losing the battle to contain the inane grin on her face. Then she stands up and reveals that they've plastered my handsome visage across the seat of the cursed thing! I mean, come ON! Just the thought of how many derrieres will be flattened against my…. ugh…

Oh, but of course she's standing there howling like a hyena over it. Funny, I still love hearing her laugh, even at my expense. She's never mean about it. She just gets a thrill out of teasing me. And the feeling is mutual. I should have asked her if we could drag it in the bedroom and do our best to pop it. I'm sure she would have cackled like crazy at that, probably making a comment about having me in stereo.

When I intimated that she had full access to the real thing for the asking, she pointed out that I don't play music. Oh, that little minx! Her silliness gives me an idea though… I think I'll meet her under the covers tonight wearing one of those MP3 players… you know, the kind joggers strap to their arm with Velcro ... and nothing else. "Some mood music, milady? Rock, pop or contemporary? Ladies' choice..."