All sons who are not hotter than their fathers are disappointments in their fathers’ eyes and in the 1970s, I had to face the fact that Pietro was a massive fucking disappointment. 

—p. 334, Vol. 5, The Autobiography of Magneto X, by Erik Lensherr.

All sons who are not hotter than their fathers are disappointments in their fathers’ eyes and in the 1970s, I had to face the fact that Pietro was a massive fucking disappointment. 

—p. 334, Vol. 5, The Autobiography of Magneto X, by Erik Lensherr.

fruutcat asked: PRAISE JAYSUS HE HAS RETURNED AGAIN SHARE MORE OF YOUR MAGNIFICENT AUTOBIOGRAPHY O GREAT AND FASHIONABLE ONE

Dear, gentle reader, do not strain yourself by praising “JAYSUS.” 

Praise me.

Yours faithfully,

Magneto

I elegantly swam in the depths. My body moved through the waves like a violinist’s bow over a violinist’s violin’s strings. I compelled the anchor to weave through the ship like a needle through needlepoint pillow pattern. I imagined I was stitching a message: “I am awesome and you are not.”

Those were the days, gentle readers. Those were the days of wine and roses and modest sexual exploration. Those were the 1960s.

p. 247, Vol. 2, The Autobiography of Magneto X, by Erik Lensherr


One of my greatest joys in life is synchronized swimming and one of my greatest regrets in life is never competing in event in the Olympic Games. It is not enough, dear friends, that mutants are treated as second-class citizens by the ignorant apes who dare call themselves, “human.” There also is a swath of vile sexism in this world. “Men aren’t supposed to synchronize swim,” they told me. “Pfft! Pshaw! Poppycock! Poop-de-doop!  Puppies with meningitis!” I hollered back.
I never was able to show the world how beautifully I can swim upside down in a figure eight while my pointed toes seduce the crowd.
I tried to once in a beautiful shallow pool outside a shopping mall in Cincinatti, but that vile Hank McCoy took it as an invitation to try to ravage me. I can’t blame him. Most people take everything I do as an invitation to ravage me. Once I sneezed and an old woman named Bertha climbed me.

—p. 358, Vol. 5, The Autobiography of Magneto X, by Erik Lensherr

One of my greatest joys in life is synchronized swimming and one of my greatest regrets in life is never competing in event in the Olympic Games. It is not enough, dear friends, that mutants are treated as second-class citizens by the ignorant apes who dare call themselves, “human.” There also is a swath of vile sexism in this world. “Men aren’t supposed to synchronize swim,” they told me. “Pfft! Pshaw! Poppycock! Poop-de-doop!  Puppies with meningitis!” I hollered back.

I never was able to show the world how beautifully I can swim upside down in a figure eight while my pointed toes seduce the crowd.

I tried to once in a beautiful shallow pool outside a shopping mall in Cincinatti, but that vile Hank McCoy took it as an invitation to try to ravage me. I can’t blame him. Most people take everything I do as an invitation to ravage me. Once I sneezed and an old woman named Bertha climbed me.

—p. 358, Vol. 5, The Autobiography of Magneto X, by Erik Lensherr



Some men are afraid of the dark. I am not. When I stare into the shadows, the shadows are afraid of me. They flee from their gaze. My eyes burn like Maglight brand flashlights. That’s why I called myself Mag-neto…because my eyes are Mag-lights. The magnetism thing was a convenient coincidence. Like a windsurfer, I go with it.


—p. 29, Volume 2, The Autobiography of Magneto X, by Erik Lensherr

Some men are afraid of the dark. I am not. When I stare into the shadows, the shadows are afraid of me. They flee from their gaze. My eyes burn like Maglight brand flashlights. That’s why I called myself Mag-neto…because my eyes are Mag-lights. The magnetism thing was a convenient coincidence. Like a windsurfer, I go with it.

p. 29, Volume 2, The Autobiography of Magneto X, by Erik Lensherr



To be completely honest, I don’t remember much about the 1970s. I can’t tell if it was because of my love of recreationally imbibing laudanum or if it was because I was inexplicably a part of some time traveling hoo-ha jamboree. 
The thing about time travel is that there’s no way to know how often you’ve done it. Or if you’ve done it. It’s like sex like that.
Anyway, what little I can recall of the 70s now involves Charles somehow learning to walk again. He was a very smug bipedal and he wore his facial hair like Jesus. You know Jesus, right? He’s a drug dealer down on Santa Monica boulevard. Jesus knew how to make laudanum that made me feel like I could fly and so I decided to teach myself how to fly without it. I’m determined like that. 
The 1970s were also about neckerchiefs. There was a little boutique called JC Penneys in suburban Sedona that sold neckerchiefs for only $3. I often think about JC Penneys. Men need neckerchiefs like butterflies need wings: without them we are but worms.


—p. 17, Volume 5, The Autobiography of Magneto X, by Erik Lensherr

To be completely honest, I don’t remember much about the 1970s. I can’t tell if it was because of my love of recreationally imbibing laudanum or if it was because I was inexplicably a part of some time traveling hoo-ha jamboree. 

The thing about time travel is that there’s no way to know how often you’ve done it. Or if you’ve done it. It’s like sex like that.

Anyway, what little I can recall of the 70s now involves Charles somehow learning to walk again. He was a very smug bipedal and he wore his facial hair like Jesus. You know Jesus, right? He’s a drug dealer down on Santa Monica boulevard. Jesus knew how to make laudanum that made me feel like I could fly and so I decided to teach myself how to fly without it. I’m determined like that. 

The 1970s were also about neckerchiefs. There was a little boutique called JC Penneys in suburban Sedona that sold neckerchiefs for only $3. I often think about JC Penneys. Men need neckerchiefs like butterflies need wings: without them we are but worms.

—p. 17, Volume 5, The Autobiography of Magneto X, by Erik Lensherr

People will always try to control you. To this, I say, “Nay. I am beautiful, but unique. Like a tiger with spots or a leopard with stripes. It’s evolution. Love it, okay, compadre?”

Call me a rebel, but I have a cause. It’s called “completing an ensemble”. The greatest slaves to duty are slaves to fashion. They mocked me for wearing a helmet. They said capes were against the rules. They put me on notice for being “unfashionable” or “gauche”. Let me tell you something, gentle readers, “gauche” is French for “left”. It’s a compliment. It means you’ve left boring people who wear tweed indoors and who roll around in wheelchairs behind. I know French because after my time with the Nazis, I wandered Europe for a time sweeping floors and singing songs about castles. Cosette in the musical version of Les Miserables was based on me. That’s why she’s the only one who gets to be happy in the end, because that’s how I demand my life to be led.
But back to that time I fought a dinosaur…

p. 508, Vol. 6, The Autobiography of Magneto X, by Erik Lensherr


I don’t cry tears. I cry power.
If you ever see me crying, you’re about to fall under the spell of my charisma. If you offer me a handkerchief, you are offering me your soul.

— p. 129, Volume 7, The Autobiography of Magneto X, by Erik Lensherr

I don’t cry tears. I cry power.

If you ever see me crying, you’re about to fall under the spell of my charisma. If you offer me a handkerchief, you are offering me your soul.

p. 129, Volume 7, The Autobiography of Magneto X, by Erik Lensherr


Charles was very excited to team with the CIA and the CIA was very excited to team with me. I was not excited. American life is quite boring. In order to keep sane in those days, I invented little games for myself. One was ghost hunting. Another was bocce ball. A third was walking better than anyone else had ever walked before. One time, I walked into a public library with such sexual gusto that the entire building erupted into an orgasmic swoon and then fainted. The only thing to be done was to kiss all of the attractive people to bring them back to life and to leave the unattractive people passed out and drooling. One man never woke up, but he did die with a smile upon his lips.

— p. 19, Vol. 3, The Autobiography of Magneto X by Erik Lensherr

Charles was very excited to team with the CIA and the CIA was very excited to team with me. I was not excited. American life is quite boring. In order to keep sane in those days, I invented little games for myself. One was ghost hunting. Another was bocce ball. A third was walking better than anyone else had ever walked before. One time, I walked into a public library with such sexual gusto that the entire building erupted into an orgasmic swoon and then fainted. The only thing to be done was to kiss all of the attractive people to bring them back to life and to leave the unattractive people passed out and drooling. One man never woke up, but he did die with a smile upon his lips.

p. 19, Vol. 3, The Autobiography of Magneto X by Erik Lensherr


Now, I play chess in the park. On Mondays and Thursdays I play with a ex-con man named Leroy Reynolds. He doesn’t know I know he used to be a con man. He thinks he’s still a con man conning me, but he’s not conning me. That’s why he’s an ex-con man and that’s why I always beat him. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays I play with a drag queen named Madame Mad Dumb. She is fiesty. On Fridays I round robin tournament with the lads from Dalton Academy. They tell me about how rich their parents are and I pretend to be impressed. On Saturdays, I play with a bulldog named Pryce. He wears a hat very well. And on Sundays, I play alone. I mentally grasp for the pieces. They seem harder to reach now that I’m older. I keep the other seat open. There really isn’t a single opponent who can match me, so I keep the seat empty to signify that. 
Of course, there was someone once who could match me, but he’s a presumed dead smug cripple now.
I’m not sad though. I’m friends with a bulldog who plays chess and wears hats.

--p. 1476, Vol. 8, The Autobiography of Magneto X, by Erik Lensherr

Now, I play chess in the park. On Mondays and Thursdays I play with a ex-con man named Leroy Reynolds. He doesn’t know I know he used to be a con man. He thinks he’s still a con man conning me, but he’s not conning me. That’s why he’s an ex-con man and that’s why I always beat him. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays I play with a drag queen named Madame Mad Dumb. She is fiesty. On Fridays I round robin tournament with the lads from Dalton Academy. They tell me about how rich their parents are and I pretend to be impressed. On Saturdays, I play with a bulldog named Pryce. He wears a hat very well. And on Sundays, I play alone. I mentally grasp for the pieces. They seem harder to reach now that I’m older. I keep the other seat open. There really isn’t a single opponent who can match me, so I keep the seat empty to signify that. 

Of course, there was someone once who could match me, but he’s a presumed dead smug cripple now.

I’m not sad though. I’m friends with a bulldog who plays chess and wears hats.

--p. 1476, Vol. 8, The Autobiography of Magneto X, by Erik Lensherr

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