(Note: Originally published on my other blog, the following is revised and expanded--and no less demented--for your entertainment and delectation. Enjoy!)
Ok, so it is no secret that Spider-Man comics have been locked into a rather dreary holding pattern for some time now and are in desperate need of a shot in the arm to move things forward. Marvel has decided the ideal way to do this is to give him some kind of silly-ass Tron-like costume (like you do) but in the name of really shaking things up, really kicking the whole Spider-Man concept into high gear, I offer the following proposal. I am confident that the following bold new direction I propose, will reinvigorate the franchise by basically saying NOT ONLY is everything you thought you knew about Spider-Man TOTALLY WRONG, but everything you're going to find out will BLOW YOUR FUCKING MIND out of your skull and into that ditch behind your house. Yes, that one.
Our story begins as these things usually do, with Peter Parker being yelled at by his Aunt May. Aunt May will henceforth be portrayed by a large black man in unconvincing drag (Think Tyler Perry's Madea. Can you see that now? Good, that means it's working) with a shrill, sassy voice, who proceeds to throw things at Peter, declaring "you can make your OWN goddamned wheat cakes!" Peter finally runs out of the house, recoiling in horror at the shrill, emasculating transvestite, and Aunt May returns to her meth lab, which he/she is busily snorting up all the potential profits and acting like a chicken for no adequately explored reason.
Cut to Gwen Stacy, alive and on a plane a mere hour away from New York. She will arrive with news that with change everything Peter Parker knows about himself. She stares out the window and thinks wistfully of Peter Parker for a while before being killed in the next panel by a falling safe.
Peter arrives at the Daily Bugle, which is in utter disarray. J Jonah Jameson has decided to stop selling Spider-Man as a threat and/or menace and decided to take the fight directly to the wall-crawler by creating crude Play-Doh sculptures of him (with abnormally large genitalia) and smashing them with his fist. The staff stands around watching him do this several times, then decides he's just old, goofy and drunk and decides to get back to work selling PCP to the nudist colony in the offices two floors above them.
Meanwhile, Mary Jane is walking through Central Park, looking wistfully into the sky as she thinks of Peter Parker, the man she loves and the man for whom she carries a secret that will tear them apart. Before her internal monologue continues, a bird flies into her head, makes its nest in her hair, and suddenly explodes, killing her.
As this is going on Spider-Man fights the Green Goblin for what must be the one millionth time. Having decided he (like the rest of us) is tired of seeing Norman Osborn in every respect, Spider-Man punches him so hard the Goblin's head flies off his body, whereupon he learns a mind-boggling secret--The Green Goblin's body does not contain organs. Rather, it has the same stuff as Cadbury Creme Eggs. Torn by his hatred of the Goblin, his love of Creme Eggs (which in all fairness are delicious), and the fact he didn't really mean to decapitate him, Spider-Man does the only thing he can do and eats the Goblin, triggering a sugar rush which will rock Spider-Man's world to the core.
On the other side of town, Gwen Stacy, once again not dead, is crossing the street and heading for Peter Parker's house to reveal something which will change his world forever. Unfortunately, before she can reach his house, two Chinese Vampires push a cow off of a tall building and it falls on her, killing her again.
Now completely out of his mind on sugary goodness, Spider-Man is going apeshit. Deciding that real Spider-Men would fire their webbing out of their posterior, he sheds his pants and tries unsuccessfully to poop webbing. This, thank God, doesn't happen, so Spider-Man instead decides to simply swing around New York, gibbering like a lunatic with no pants on on the one day, when New Yorkers decide to look up. We cut briefly to a shot of Doctor Doom, who is crying because this is really fucking funny to him.
Meanwhile, Mary Jane, also not dead. . .again . . .is trying to get the the Daily Bugle, desperately clutching at a letter, the contents of which will rock the world of Spider-Man to its very core. Before she can enter the offices, Joe Don Baker leaps from a mailbox and devours her.
Later, Spider-Man continues his pantsless, sugar-fueled madness and runs into the Shocker, who is just recovering from a crisis of confidence. He explains to Spider-Man that since he doesn't actually shock anyone and he refuses to be called The Vibrator, he has decided to become "The Shocker" in the sense that he will do weird and unlikely things to shock people. He demonstrates this by boring holes in walls and having sex with them, because "man on building sex is SHOCKING!" Spider-Man pretends to listen, steals the Shocker's pants, and fashions an crude and utterly idiotic kilt before swinging off, now declaring himself to be Scottish.
In the Village, Harry Osborn sits alone and despondent. Despite his best efforts, no prostitute will have anything to do with him, because they keep confusing "Harry Osborn" with "Rusty Trombone." I bet you thought I was going to kill Gwen or Mary Jane again here, didn't you? Despondent, he gives birth to an egg, because we've all done regrettable things when depressed.
Meanwhile, Spider-Man, now deep into the sugar blues, starts feeling sorry for himself, goes back home, and reveals his identity to Aunt May mere seconds before he punches her through the wall. Then, upon realising that not only is Aunt May is not filled with Creme Egg stuff and he has no idea how to make his own wheat cakes, cries for the next twenty pages, wallowing in his sweet, sweet, angst until he sniffs out the meth lab in the basement and decides to snort all that up in the name of making the voices stop.
Cut to the next morning, with a big splash page featuring Spider-man, now clad in nothing but his mask and a kilt, completely brainfucked on meth, shouts to the blue skies above those immortal words: "IT BEGINS!"