Love: Unreality Style

From: The Fanboys

To: Our Fangirls

Re: Pon farr

What is love?

I think it was Peter Parker – after he fell head-over-heels kissing Mary Jane Watson upside down in the rain – who first said, “The course of true love never did run smooth.” The Tobey Maguire version, not that other Jean-Ralphio knock-off in the God-awful reboot.

Or … wait a minute: was that, maybe, Shakespeare?

I forget.

That ain’t our love, darling. No way. You and me? We’re smooth. We’re smooth sailing. In hyperspace! But, this time, there isn’t any great disturbance in this Force, sunshine. This time, we’re on Naboo, and all we can see are the sunsets from that pretty terrace. You know the one? The one that looks like the patio at Olive Garden? Just you and me. No Trade Federation. No Nute Gunray. Not a Gungan in sight … but meesa luv yous muay muay much!

Like Tony Stark has Pepper Potts, like Rocky had Adrien, like Bilbo has the One Ring, like the Green Arrow has the Black Canary, I have you, and you have me. We – the two of us – have each other. Moth to a flame. White on rice. Targs in a blanket. Katy Perry in latex.

And love?

Baby, love ain’t easy. It ain’t all Hugh Grant. Sometimes, it’s Jason Statham. Sometimes, it’s Arnold. Sometimes, it’s even Channing Tatum … ‘cause that’s all you can afford. Way to go, Rise of Cobra! Not! But this G.I. Joe? I’ll never surrender without a fight … except to the love of my very own beautiful, beautiful cosplayer.

Look, all that really matters right now is pon farr, and – dare I say? – you’re my pon farr. Together, we’re gonna undo what JJ did – we’re gonna put Vulcan back on the map, honeylamb – and we’re gonna boldly go where no one has gone before.

So gimme some sugar, baby.

The point is that you know me, and I know you know me, and you know that I know you love me. So, let’s not kid ourselves, okay? If it wasn’t written by Geoff Johns; illustrated by Jim Lee; said by William Shatner; or directed by Joss Whedon then I probably wouldn’t remember it anyway.

But pon farr? Today, that’s you and me.

Though our after-hours would be all Frank Frazetta. I’d have better abs, and you’d have a butt men would proudly trap, frame, and hang in the Batcave. Together, we’d stretch out before a roaring fireplace on an imitation Wampa pelt. We’d roast marshmallows by phaser-light. We’d toss back a couple of cold Slushos. And we’d snoo snoo ‘til dawn.

How’s that sound, calisi? You ready to explore the Seven Kingdoms?

All I know is that, if love is a battlefield, then today is a great day to die.

How much do I get you?

Well, to be honest, I probably don’t ‘get’ you. I possibly never will. I don’t think that makes me a Bad Grandpa, but I’m still no Jackass, either. And I know you’re probably pressured to think poorly of me because I don’t ‘get’ you. Don’t listen to your mother. She’s never even seen Pacific Rim! Don’t listen to your girlfriends. They’ve never seen The Walking Dead! Don’t listen to that which makes you so decidedly (ahem) biologically female … say, once every 28 days or so. I don’t hate her, them, or … that. It’s just I’m a fanboy, and, as part of that club, we’ve all a long-established track record of blaming that which we don’t understand. Like mothers. Or girlfriends. Or menses.

And don’t get so angry when you say “I love you” and I reply with “I know.”

It’s a culturally relevant response! It captures a moment. It captures a feel. It’s the perfect time and the perfect place. It was good enough for Harrison Ford. It was good enough for Carrie Fisher. It was part of the highest rated film in the entire Star Wars Trilogy – the only really good trilogy – and that film went on the gross $290M (thanks IMDB.com), so that’s gotta count for something! Instead of claiming I’m unoriginal, why not see that dollar amount as how much your love is worth to me?

Snake Plissken ain’t dead. You heard wrong. He’s me. Consider yourself the New York Maximum Security Prison. I’m about to break in and pillage.

Like the Tardis, my heart is bigger on the inside. It’s squishy like David Tennant’s and not all prim and proper like Matt Smith’s.

Plus, my heart only beats for you.

So … lower your shields. Take those inertial dampeners offline. Dial it up to eleven ‘cause it’s about to get warped in here. Hulk smash! Oh, mighty Isis! Shazam!

That’s okay: you can be Iron Man if you want.

I’ll be Stan Lee.

Get ready for my cameo.

In the spirit of fandom, let me be the first to say, “Happy Valentines, Day!”

And may the Force be with you. Always.

Bazinga!