(My unedited column today)

Spider-Man lost his job as a photographer this week.
On the other hand, I am employed. I don’t want to tempt the fates (or my bosses) by hiring a sky writer or anything, but I just can’t help rubbing it in Spidey’s face a little. (Also, I can’t afford a sky writer.)
Haha, Spider-Man! I have a job and you don’t! You may be able to shoot webs from your appendages, but I get to carry around my little reporter’s notebook and write really, really important things in it — like made up words. (Sarclaptic: The long, hesitating applause of one person, preferably in a sarcastic manner.)
In the imaginary world of one-upping imaginary people, I am just about level with Spider-Man. Before, he was ahead of me because he had a job (originally at a newspaper) and he could climb walls. Now he can only climb walls, whereas I am gainfully employed.
Spider-Man can’t really rest on his laurels, if you ask me. It’s not as if he had to work for his abilities. He got bitten on the hand by a radioactive spider while on a science field trip and the next thing you know, he has super strength, speed and agility.
My best friend accidentally stabbed me in the leg with a scalpel while we were dissecting fetal pigs in sixth grade, but you don’t see me going around rooting arrogantly through the mud, do you? Probably not.
Also, I face my weakness every day. Spider-Man seems to be allergic to relationships, stairs and mumbling, but he runs from those things like a skittering insect.
Everyone else mumbles sometimes Spidey. Get with the program.
What is my weakness? I am allergic to newsprint. Puns abound:
• This job is killing me. 
• I’m allergic to work. 
• When the newsprint kills me, you can just wrap me up in it like a dead fish.
• I realize that last one was a stretch.
I don’t recall Clark Kent being allergic to newsprint. I can’t remember what he was allergic to, garlic or contact lenses or pollen, but it definitely wasn’t newsprint.
Nothing about the profession of journalism is simple, but if “Zombieland” taught me anything, it’s to enjoy the little things. Occasionally it feels like I’m doing the jousting dance on a shifting pile of expectations, but I try to stop and hold still when I realize the prismatic learning experience of any given situation. Also, I take time out for puns and stupid jokes.
Thanks to reporter Jessica Oliver for this column idea at 9:50 p.m. on Monday night when I remember I have a column due.
In addition to blaming Jessica for everything, I also mercilessly steal her ideas. If I were to ask her (which I won’t) if she thinks I am a superhero or supervillain, she would probably lie and say I am a supervillain.
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