Krueger rapidly unrolled his shirt sleeves, covering his shitty stick-and-poke swastika tattoos.

Jorge put on a mask and began coughing, hiding his teardrop tattoos.

“What say we heroes go out for a brewski?” Captain Man said.

“Are you sure, sir?” Sergeant Woman said; their hero organization was still sexist, I realized in that moment.

It struck me with the same rapidity as, when I was a child, I realized how sexist Catholicism, which I was a part of, was. I didn’t really think about how women couldn’t be deacons, or priests, or bishop, or cardinals, or the pope.

I looked at Sergeant Woman with pity, wishing I could ask her into our gang, from which no sexist vibes exit. Yet, sadly, my pro-woman, nonsexist organization does not accept woman; for their own protection, of course.

We hire them for more menial labor, such as cleaning or catering and the like.

Regardless of that tangent, Sergeant Woman had just asked Captain Man if he was sure about brewskis.

“Of course I am sure!” Captain Man declared. “What say you, boys?”

My peers and I awkwardly agreed. We appreciate free brews. We appreciate praise.

I encouraged my boys to order the most expensive fair possible, after which we snuck out the bathroom windows.