OH SURE, you could make an argument for Superman, the Man of Steel. You could wax poetic about the Flash being faster; Wonder Woman prettier; Wolverine meaner; Professor X smarter.

For me, though, these aren't true heroes. Running fast? Give me a break. One could presume the Flash would be able to escape crime well. But fight it? Not unless he challenged criminals to running contests, with the loser having to put down his gun and stop robbing things. Wonder Woman? Please. What kind of a power is a magic lasso that makes people tell the truth? It can't be terribly difficult to determine someone's guilt when they're dressed like a giant penguin, have a lair, and leave enigmatic clues taped to the door of your apartment.

No, I'm afraid none of these so-called "heroes" really add up -- but for one. That hero? A certain green-skinned monstrosity with big ham-thick fists and ham-thicker brains. That's right -- they simply don't make them like the Incredible Hulk anymore.

There's something poetic in the idea of a man turning green, then getting real big, and then breaking things. For highly intelligent people like myself, this transformation -- this metamorphosis, to use a big word -- has always been a fairly complex metaphor for life. We, like the Hulk, are born. Also like the Hulk, we grow bigger. Sometimes we break things, even things we care about (as Hulk did in Incredible Hulk #139.) And yes, sometimes, albeit rarely, we turn bright green. Green with jealousy? Perhaps. I leave that to the philosophers.

Clearly, the Hulk is a hero who resonates with the public consciousness entire. But his beginnings were much more humble. The Hulk came into being during a time of intense nuclear paranoia; a time when the atomic bomb had been dropped on Hiroshima, and the world reeled in terror at the devastating power of man. That's right -- 1962. The Hulk epitomized our hopes and fears in the wake of atomic power: sure, it was incredible. But it was also very very bad.

More than just a protector, the Hulk was also a warning -- a warning to those of us who would set off an atomic blast, then accidentally walk into said blast. The Hulk became a bogeyman to a nation of scientists, potentially lurking within even the most honest and all-American of our scholars. "Look out!" people would say, cowering in front of a scientist when he got mad, then standing back up awkwardly. "Oh," we'd say. "He's not the Hulk. Well, good. That was a close one." This was the state of science for a long time. Not a lot got done.

Part of the Hulk's immortality spans from how immortal he is. Though he is known best as the Incredible Hulk in North America, his fame as El Increible Hulk in Spain has led to many folk tales and festivals. Villagers will meet in the town square and regale one another with stories taken from the Hulk's past in comics -- perhaps chilling the crowd with the macabre tale Hulk vs. El Maestro Del Metal, or spinning the lighthearted yarn El Ingreso Del… Camaleon! (Known stateside as Enter… The Chameleon!) In Germany, Hulk is known as Der Vunderkind Uber-Mensch Mit Der Grenskinn, and exists only as a dark phantom to haunt the dreams of children. Man, are those Germans weird.

And who could forget his theme song?

Oh, he's the Incredible Hulk! The Incredible Hulk!

He's the Incredible Hulk

In! Cred! Ibb! Bull! Dahh-dahh-dahhhhh!

Okay, maybe there was no theme song. If there was, though, I'd like to think it would sound something like that. Maybe with a a horn section to spice things up a bit in the chorus. Bah-dah-dah-daht! and like that.

Hulk was a noble hero. His tortured existence -- a long, tawdry waltz across the infertile plains of backwoods America -- could be summed up in two simple words: Hulk Smash. Oh, and smash Hulk did. Smash at the walls of inequity. Smash at the power structure of an unfair political system. Smash at a typewriter, writing some of the greatest contemporary novels of the Twentieth century (as anyone who read his '67 Pulitzer winner Hulk Smash at Nothingness can attest.) Smash a Buick parked in the street into a fist-shaped lump. Smash at the very state of smashingness itself.

Nobody cares much for the Incredible Hulk anymore. His notorious brand of green-skinned retarded justice no longer strikes a chord in the hearts of youngsters. Now the kids like their Playstations and their big cakes and their G.I. Joes. But some of us still look wistfully back at a simpler time, when our heroes big, and walked among us, and didn't too much, and meant well even if they broke a few things along the way. And some of us miss him. Some of us don't. It's all somewhat complicated. There are charts.

Anyway.