I never asked for much. I never wanted to be number one, I never asked them for anything. I didn’t have any “wonderful toys”, or crazy bionic-geo-thermal-night-gear-infrared suits. It was a hat and an overcoat, and I even got a little mask to cover part of my face. I got a neat car, no, not the Hornet-mobile, the Black Beauty. Yes, the name sounds like a horse, and it’s considered a “clunker” by today’s standards. It didn’t even talk, or cocoon itself.
Sure my sidekick Kato just happened to be Asian. I have nothing against Asians, but just because of his nationality he thought he was some martial arts “expert”. He was always trying to show off, making me look like a total incompetent tool. You might know Kato from “The Kato Show” oh no, wait…that’s what my show “The Green Hornet” was called in Hong Kong. Villains? Rogues Gallery? No such thing. It was about as exciting as a bank tellers banquet. No one with face paint, split personalities, serum injecting psychos, and especially no crazy reptiles. No, there was no Hornet-signal to light up the night sky, but I owned a newspaper, The Daily Sentinel. Excitement personified.
My great grand uncle was the Lone Ranger. Do you know how hard it was living in his shadow? The man carried silver bullets! He was a legend and they made him hang out with an angry Native American. Wow, aren’t we a stereotypical bunch! Tonto must’ve been some prick though, always poking fun at L.R calling him “Kimosabe”. I’da belted him one. That wasn’t too long before Wayne Enterprises bought the Daily Sentinel and re-named it the Gotham Globe. Publishers revolted: “Britt Reid’s not cool enough to own a newspaper.” (direct quote)
Apparently I wasn’t cool enough for DC comics, who wouldn’t even touch me with one of Penguin’s umbrellas. Marvel said let’s tell Stan about him and see what he could do with him. The next month SPIDER MAN debuted in the comics, that’s how effed up Stan is. I finally signed with now-defunct NOW comics, the publishers of the ever popular Ralph Snart, Married with Children, and Robocop titles. (among other quality books)
What about show biz? Hollywood you ask? Well, when my glory days of radio were over, my TV show wasn’t fun and exciting enough so they teamed us up with Batman and Robin. Those caped clowns were gayer-than-gay in their leotards. I was so much more of a bad-ass. You’ll notice in that episode I was such a hardcore outcast compared to the others. I got no respect. They were in talks to make a movie starring GREG KINNEAR playing myself, but it never got off the ground. Not enough “Flash and Balls” they said. I said, Eff ’em. I don’t need them. But the franchise and merchandising rights alone would’ve made me rich beyond my wildest dreams.
God knows I haven’t been in a film since they re-created a scene from the TV show for “Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story”. As of now the Green Hornet film is in limbo and the licenses and options belong to Miramax. Last I heard Seth Rogen was writing a script about me. I’ll remember him in my will since by the time he finishes the damn thing I’ll be dead. Chances are if Seth Rogen writes the script, the movie will be about how some old time pothead radio announcer, who couldn’t pronounce his “R” sound, began calling me Bwitt Weed instead of Britt Reid. One of my tag lines that shows up in the teaser trailer will probably be “They don’t call me the GREEN Hornet for nothing” as I exhale a cloud of green smoke which also doubles as a sleeping gas that I use to fight criminals. Maybe I should just write the damn thing? (sswswswswsw whispers…..WAIT WHAT? They want Seth Rogen to play ME?”) What a joke. Why don’t they just kill me on the spot and cast Jonah Hill? Whatever, f-ck it. They won’t listen to any of MY thoughts on who should play me! After all…who knows me better than me??? TED “JEFFERSON” MCGINLEY BITCHES! If we’re going to make this funny then we may as well go for the gold here.
Oh and for those who’ve been pretending to care about what I’ve been doing lately then here it goes: For the last six months I’ve been living with Big Aunt Bertha. The sad part is she’s not even my aunt. I’m not even related to her. She’s a prostitute. I couldn’t pay her, so she’s forced me to stay here with her. She’s smelly and enormous. I hate rubbing her feet. I’ve learned to try and enjoy giving her oral pleasure, and some of the other God awful things she makes me do. It wouldn’t be that bad if she didn’t have a DING-DONG down there. I do get a meal every two weeks. It’s not anything exquisite, but then again, I’m living in a rat infested shack with an enormous prostitute. I cannot keep writing, because Bertha is behind me.
But I’ll leave you with this: I wasn’t a flying squirrel, not even a cool bird or serpent, I was a bug, just a fly on the wall. But I wasn’t just a fly, I was a HORNET! A Hornet who couldn’t fly. A Hornet who’s writing this wearing the old Hornet mask and green lingerie, bent over getting “Bertha-fied”, with a gun in his mouth.
BERTHA: “Ohh my Britt…You are onnee horrrnny Hornet!”
I’ll try…to…keep one shred of …de…decency… if I could just reach my Hornet sting…
Ahh, Thank goodness you’re here, get this Fat Piece of Shit off my ass!