Dear Clark Kent,
I wrote you a few weeks ago and I have yet to receive a reply. Are you really that busy? I mean, come on dude. I’m on the edge of being/not being a Superman fan. But wait… it may be a good thing that you haven’t written me back yet. I’ve done some tests on my own, about your whole identity, and I want you to know that Metropolis is indeed the dumbest city on the planet.
I too wear glasses, Clark. A week after I wrote you my initial letter, I did the glasses technique you’ve often exercised in your comics and television shows and films, and not one single person fell for it. I’d walk up to my friends and tell them to take a good look at me. Then I’d have them close their eyes. Once closed, I’d take my glasses off, and then tell them to open up.
“Do you recognize me?” I would ask them. They would say, “Of course, do you think I am retarded?”
I did this trick to Hoops down at the Dunkin Donuts and he said, “N***a, you crazier than a crack head at a bar mitzvah.”
Retarded. Mentally Challenged. Hmm. Could it be Mr. Kent, that you’re living in a city full of citizens suffering some sort of mentally challenging problem? That would make sense. Lois is pretty stupid.
But what does that say about your fans? Are they all this way too? That sure does explain a lot Clark. If only I could somehow prove my hypothesis.
The reason for my letter to you this time was not really to get into the minds (or mind diseases) of Metropolis’ people or of your fans, but instead to ask you about certain events in time demonstrated by the story advertised in your new film trailer (Superman Returns).
From what I gather from the advertisement, you went somewhere for a long time. You finally returned to Metropolis to and you find Lois Lane got married to some other dude and had a kid. The Daily Planet welcomes you back with open arms too. That’s good.
So, why does Lois look like she is only 24 years old? Shouldn’t she look older? I mean you did leave for a bit and she did have a kid… how come everyone now looks younger than they ought to be? Ah, I get it. You like the high school girls, don’t you. I can see it. Some little high school girl telling her friends that her boyfriend is coming to pick her up after school, and her friends are like, “What kind of car does he drive?” And this girl would say, “You’ll have to come and see.” Then, after school lets out, her friends would stand in awe as you come out of the clouds and scoop her up. She’d be the most popular girl in school.
Even Lex Luthor looks a bit younger.
But Luthor is still mad as hell, and he isn’t going to take it anymore. I told you in my previous letter that he’d be doing the world a great favor by ridding us of Metropolis. If only his corruption and evil deeds seeped through the screen and out onto your fans.
Do you know what else you did me Clark? You took away my dreams and shattered them on the pavement like that plate of glass in Final Destination 2. You stole Bryan Singer. Why did you do that? Did you see X-3? I did. Singer left and they replaced him with Ratner. David Hayter left and they replaced him Simon Kinberg. And sadly, it shows. The effects are a giant step down from the previous film, which, I can’t really comprehend. How can a movie filmed years later look worse than a movie shot before it? Does technology downgrade as time goes on?
The most troubling thing about The Last Stand is how incredibly average it is. I think I would have been happier hating it in its entirety. After X-2, in my opinion one of the greatest comic book films ever, the conclusion should have been extraordinary. Instead, we have a film where the story is sort of there (I stress “sort of”) with ridiculous dialogue exchanges, poor effects (the blue screen horror!) and apparently in Ratner and Kinberg’s world, every mutant has amazing jumping abilities.
And this film’s faults are that of your own. It’s your fault Clark. Singer left for you, a guy who fools the world by taking off his stupid glasses. Your outfit is ridiculous too, you know that Clark? I just want to punch you in your stupid head and break your dumb glasses. Then what? You’d have nothing to protect your identity then. But, as long as you stay in Metropolis, no one would ever know. Your city is stupid.
Damn, I am sorry about that. That was a little uncalled for. I’m just a touch on the frustrated side and your puny fanboys aren’t willing to help me out with either the age thing or the glasses thing.
So, when you get a second, drop me a line. I’d love to hear what you have to say on these issues and about the issues in my first letter. I hope all is well. I anxiously await your response.