Dear Clark Kent,
I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. It’s been a long time since anyone has heard from you but after that whole Nuclear Man fiasco, I would have vanished too.
It’s actually quite surprising that you are back. Perhaps some day soon, you and I can meet up for a drink or two and celebrate your upcoming success (since you do have a new film coming out and all). Before that happens though, there are a couple of things I’d like to get off my chest first.
I don’t know how you do it. You’ve been around for longer than anyone can remember, yet, people are still fascinated by you. But I am not. And I never was.
I never understood anyone’s enthrallment with you and your flying shenanigans. Sure, you can fly; I’ll give you that. That is pretty admirable. But did you ever think about wearing something to protect your face? Look at all of your super brothers and sisters. Take a look at the Green Lantern or Batman (or even his sidekick Robin) ““ they all wore a little something to cover their faces in order to prevent them from getting noticed. All you do is part your hair to the other side and take your glasses off. Well, I am telling you this straight, you never had me fooled Clark. Whatever spell you have over Metropolis, you don’t have on me.
How did you even find that city anyway? How you managed to find a city that can’t figure out your real identity when you’re wearing your silly little tights is mind boggling. And they’ve taken pictures of you flying around and published them in the paper you work for. Yet, your boss and your peers can’t figure it out, no matter how hard they try. Obviously you are glad that they haven’t figured it out, as it could put you and your loved ones in danger, but doesn’t it bother you to be surrounded by so much stupidity? Maybe you get some pleasure out of it.
If I were you, I’d be angry to no end. I’d want Nuclear Man to blow the city to smithereens. I’d fly around with my silly little tights on and punch buildings. I’d pick up little babies and toss them at moving busses while their parents were watching. That’s how much idiocy bothers me.
And Lois Lane ““ I know I shouldn’t shoot down the love of one’s life but this is too easy a target. When the real Clark is around, she seems a bit disgusted. But when Superman (also known as Clark) is around, things get wet. She loves him. But if she does love Superman so, doesn’t she know what his face looks like? Are you not angered by her inability to put two and two together? Her love must not be very strong Clark. When I have loved someone (okay, so that doesn’t happen very often but roll with it son), I memorize everything about them – the shape of their lips, the curves of their cheeks, the color of their eyes, the white in their teeth ““ everything. When I have been with someone, and they changed their hairstyle suddenly, guess what? I was able to recognize them each and every time. Face it Clark, Lois is an idiot. She deserves whatever bad happens to her. Move on dude. You want someone who loves you for you, not just someone who loves you only when you are strong and can fly. You need someone to love you as a whole, not just a half.
I imagine that a lot of this may sadden you a bit. You must have thought of this before, no? I guess you are good at hiding your anger, even your sadness.
Maybe that’s what makes you so Super. Maybe that’s the reason everyone loves you and your stories so much. That must be the reason why everyone in the world (besides me) can look past the ridiculousness of Metropolis. Everyone but Lex Luthor and I. Take it easy on him Clark. He is just pissed off that he lives in a city full of dummies. Surely you can’t blame him for being so angry, can you?
I guess that is all I really have to say to you. There is probably nothing I can say to change your mind or the millions of people that love you. I’m just a nobody on the fast track to extinction ““ a dying breed if you will. Promise you’ll speak at my funeral. Even though I may sound angry with you, I’ll get over it. I always do. Unless you’re a fat dude with a large chin/neck area that always wears flannel shirts and constantly changes his old films. I’ll never get over something like that.
Oh, and Superman, I have one last piece of advice for you. Stay off the dancing horses. Wherever they may roam.