Jennifer Walters and She-Hulk (She-Hulk #21, art by Greg Horn) © Marvel Comics
I’ve always loved single, female lawyer turned jade Amazon monster, Jennifer Walters, better known as She-Hulk. She’s smart and classy and turns into 6 foot 7 inches of evil and outfit busting awesome. She-Hulk is my kind of Avenger. So, once I spotted the violently purple cover of The She-Hulk Diaries by Marta Acosta, I knew it must be mine. I’ve consumed the super-fun read and described it to a friend as part romance novel, part fanfic, all nerd. It’s got everything a gal who spends her Sundays at the local comic book store could ask for. Jennifer watches Game of Thrones, has a LARP team, inspired a song called “Flesh-Eating Bacteria Girl”, and kicks ass in court.
Jen also can’t decide between the two deliciously sexy dudes in her life. While searching for Mr. Right, she foils a super villain plot and rocks designer clothes specially made for Shulky’s ample… biceps. I totally identify with the anguish of being called “ma’am” and now refer to myself as “Sulky” when I’m moping. Seriously, it’s fun.
What The She -Hulk Diaries doesn’t do for me is get smart or smutty enough. Sometimes it feels like name dropped nerd talk, like Big Bang Theory, with a few too many OMGs and valley girl freak outs. Someone as smart as Jennifer Walters might teasingly throw in a few LOLs and STFUs, but I feel like overall, her diary would have more introspective moments of self-doubt that get dark and creepy. Doesn’t that happen when you write in your diary? I know I get all existential and moody. If you free write long enough, I think the emptiness of our mortal existence starts to seep in. Those pages get bleak, man. Shit gets real. I’d like to see JW break out of her Mary Sue persona and dig into a little bit of herself in her diary. Let’s read about the nuggety center of the Jennifer gobstopper. I did all that work licking, give me the goods.
That brings me nicely into my desire for more sex. In the book, I mean. Not that I’d turn down a little somethin’ somethin’, wait, getting distracted. I know it’s a Marvel approved novel, so maybe that means you can’t have She-Hulk dance the freaky tango explicitly, but come on. Jennifer doesn’t bang her sexy client Sven, or anyone else during the several months we follow her. When she does land Mr. Right, the action is all off page. I realize it would be weird to describe it all in your diary, so maybe format is an issue, but are we to believe she doesn’t masturbate at all? Do you report that in your diary? Either way, let’s get some sexing on the page. She-Hulk is unabashedly a sex machine. She’s confident and sensual in ways that I can only dream about.
One of my favourite parts of the book is a discussion about She-Hulk’s slutty activities, and the way men judge her for being as sexually active as they are. Jennifer responds that She-Hulk “resents that inequity and isn’t going to let the double standard restrict her, um, enthusiasm.” Can I get an amen, sister? In that same conversation, She-Hulk told Ruth, “Male is not the default gender for superhero.” We should start a church of She-Hulk. Imagine the uniform! Bright green robes and underneath, sweet purple bikinis and fuck-me boots. Come in and celebrate your inner jade goddess, all genders and sexual orientations welcome!
I hope someone writes a book from She-Hulk’s perspective next. I imagine her diary might start something like this:
January 12, 2014
Saturday, bitches! Slept in until 10:30 because, fuck you, because I wanted to. Laying here naked and enjoying the cool air across my lady parts. It’s important to let the vagina breathe, although the drying out may fight yeast infection, extra oxygen could promote bacterial growth. Not worth getting worried about, I have super human healing. I can stop bullets and Candida albicans. Considering what my cousin is up to, will text him.
Texts to Bruce:
Me: Wakey, wakey, hands off enormous green snakey.
Bruce: It’s 11. I’ve been up for hours.
Me: Did you see my big case win? I’m relaxing.
Bruce: Yes, congrats. Don’t forget about the Avengers meeting tonight.
Me: It sounds lame.
Bruce: It’s logistics. And important.
Me: Exactly, lame.
Bruce: Tony invented a new laser gun.
Me: Go on.
Bruce: It demolished a meteor in space.
Me: I’ll meet you there. Dibs on laser.
I tossed my phone across the bed and rolled in the sheets a bit. Shaved legs + Egyptian cotton sheets = Tactile orgasm. That’s math so it must be true. As glamorous as my life can be, I still have to shave and shower. No one gets sweaty like She-Hulk gets sweaty. Black Widow glistens while I’m watching rivers of high salinity water pour off my muscles. I’ll die of dehydration before Dr. Doom or one of his inventions get me. Texting girlfriend to meet me for eggs and bacon. And waffles. And piles of fruit. And toast so I can slather on peanut butter and make a bacon-PB sammich. Fuck, I’m so hungry.
Arrived at favourite brunch style restaurant apparently too late for brunch. Luckily, the manager made allowances for me when I started to fume. The cost of feeding me is much less than the carnage of a full out Shulking, plus I tip really well. The waffles were amazing. They even added green food colouring, which was a nice touch. We left a huge wad of cash and I chased down some dude that tried to dine and dash. I don’t think he expected the large woman at table five to tear her trendy trench off, vault over the entirety of the buffet area, and back flip off of the hostess podium. They never do. I gave him an epic noogy. Note to self: Send thank you to Victoria Secret for gravity defying bra.
You know what? This is super fun. I think I’m going to have to keep going…
– Roz Y.