heromachine.com. Forget the StorToopers, this is much cooler.

Since USA TODAY doesn’t archive their newbits, here’s an excerpt from the site mention today…

But when he created an online “HeroMachine” that generates made-to-order characters, complete with customized costumes and fighting gear, there’s one accessory he didn’t count on users asking for: more cleavage.

“Exaggeration is part of the genre, but it’s always bugged me,” says Hebert, 31, of Georgetown, Texas. “You’re supposed to be this athletic figure; how would you do all that if you had these breasts flopping around in the wind?”

So, like a true superhero, Hebert, a former tech support guy for the likes of Dell and 3M, just said no. “I’m not going to have ‘Superboobs’ here. It’s just a personal point of honor.”

All day I’ve been intriqued by the idea of a superhero with “Super Boobs.” What would she use them for? Would she shoot laser beams from them and destroy asteroids hurtling towards Earth? Would she use them to knock over run-away bank thieves?

No. I think she would use them to feed the impoverished children of Third World countries. What I haven’t decided yet is if she would do that with 2 large breasts, or a multitude of smaller breasts (kind of like the alien from Total Recall). Or would she just hook herself up to a breast pump to harvest her powerfully nutritious mother nectar?

And was she born with these breasts? Did they have magical powers from birth or did those abilities develop when she hit puberty? Were her breasts bitten one day by a radioactive cow? Or is she like Batman, who has no super powers of his own and relies upon special gadgets. Does she wear a customized Water Bra, outfitted to provide perfectly-heated baby formula?

Oh, yeah. If I were a superhero, I would be The Flamer.

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Superbowl XXXV. I’m not really a sports fan. The only reason I can fathom to watch the Superbowl is the halftime show and the commercials. Both let me down tonight.

I thought it was an ad parody all the way until the end of the commercial, but no — George Foreman has actually introduced iGrills. And I was looking forward to seeing my beloved *NSync, but the half time show was a dull mishmash of random singers (Britney Spears and Mary J. Blige?) screaming at the top of their lungs while a hugh crowd thrashed about on the football field. Was Britney really wearing a sock on her arm? And where were the silly floats and synchronized streamer dancers?

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The Blogger, XML, PHP tutorial I wrote has been picked up by xml.com and hotscripts.com.

I made a few additions to it today, including a version with a search function.

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I talked to my folks today and got badgered again by my father because I haven’t set up any kind of retirement fund yet. All that money stuff confuses me. I’m glad I get my apartment/utilities and meal plan for free with my job, so the only bill I ever have to pay is for my car insurance every 6 months. And I started paying back my student loan two months ago. Otherwise, all my money has been sitting in my savings account.

I asked a few people around on campus about those Roth IRA things, but they were as clueless as me. Someone said he heard you could set them up online. Anyone got any advice for me?

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Dancer in the Dark. Against all expectations, I actually got to see Dancer in the Dark on the big screen tonight as part of the campus film series (the film not surprisingly never came to Kirksville’s family 3-screen theatre during its summer release).

What an amazing movie. I’d already fallen in love with the soundtrack (available for download from selmasongs.com) and have been listening to it almost daily for months, and now I see how the music fits the plot. Suffice to say, I don’t think I’ll be able to listen to the songs for a while because I am still reeling in sorrow about the sad fate that Bjork’s character met and the noble sacrifice she made for her son. As a life long lover of the musical theatre, I totally empathized with her character — it’s strange, but my greatest fear for a long time has been that I would either go blind or deaf and then be unable to once more perform on stage again.

I don’t think I’ve wept so openly at a film since 1996 at — don’t laugh — Grisham’s A Time to Kill (when that shot rang out on the courthouse steps at the end of the film, I burst into tears and my friends had to help carry me out of the movie theatre).

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