I envision Al Sharpton living in a two or three story house. The house is filled with TV monitors. There is a command post with phones and police scanners. On the top two floors there is a big metal pole like the ones in a fire house that Al can slide down whenever there is a big news moment. At the bottom of the pole is a collection of Al's finest, most hideous clothes, perfectly pressed...ready for the superhero to wear. And of course there is a huge can of hair gel.
When the call comes in....like Michael Jackson dying.....Al and his team leap into action. He slides down the pole, puts his mustard colored superhero outfit on gives a generous slap of the old hair grease and it's out to find the TV cameras. I don't think it was 3 minutes after the 911 call and Al was set up at the Apollo theater doing I don't know what. It was a combination of vigil, circus, speculation and pontificating...all from the Rev Al.
He is a master.
He is everywhere.
He can talk ad nauseam about anything.
He is a Superhero.
Actually, when I see him, I usually have to take about 10 Tums.
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