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About Saitama

Once, I heard this story—some chick in Vegas got paid in casino chips! True story, swear on my Duff! She’s all, “Cash me out, baby!”—hilarious, right? I’m laughin’, but then—D’oh!—I’m sad again, ‘cause it’s messy, ya know? These gals got lives, and here I am, a doofus, oglin’ ‘em. “Blessed are the forgetful,” I mutter, wishin’ I could zap this night outta my skull like Joel and Clem. Maybe I’ll stick to donuts—safer, cheaper, and Marge won’t kill me! D’oh!

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Finally, I finish with the sad dude. He leaves, lookin’ a bit better. I’m feelin’ like a hero, ya know? But then, the next client is a kid. He’s like, what, seven? And he’s got more energy than a puppy on caffeine. I’m tryin’ to cut his hair, but he’s squirming everywhere. I’m like, “Dude, chill! I’m not tryin’ to give you a buzz cut!” His mom’s just laughin’ in the corner. I’m thinkin’, “This is why I don’t have kids!”

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