Clark Kent was no illegal alien, he was as American as guns, endemic societal racism, and some brands of apple pie.
Born to a man who made billions from whaling and stock market fraud and a woman who stayed at home and did as she was told, Clark knew from an early age that he was best.
As a two-year-old he first displayed his astonishing strength by stamping on a puppy. At the age of three, young Clark stunned his mother when he approached a man collecting money for a charity that helped godless foreigners pursue their heathen ways and punched him over a house.
Confused and worried, the Kents took the toddler to their family doctor who explained that exposure to vast wealth as a baby had given Clark super powers.
In the wake of such stunning news, his father did everything he could to teach Clark the awesome responsibility of his new abilities.
“Clark,” he would explain, as he stroked his pet moth, “you must use your powers only to protect the rich, powerful and fat.”
Clark idolised his father and resolved never to help the poor and needy.
Tragedy struck at the age of just fifteen when Clark’s father died in a bizarre accident involving a prostitute, a pound of butter, and a four foot custom-made diamond-encrusted anal dildo.
Clark left home for Metropolis because he figured that spending too much time with his mother would be pretty fruity. He resolved to strike out on his own and so left the family estate behind him, taking only a limousine, two butlers and $9m.
Stepping out of his car into the heart of the city, Clark was horrified by what he saw. Homeless people, beggars, the miscegenation of races, women with bare arms, all going about their business with impunity.
He resolved to clean up Metropolis, to make it a city where the wealthy and prominent would never have to look at these ghastly people again.
Seeking to blend anonymously into city society, Clark used his millions to buy up a number of slum housing blocks and immediately introduced sweeping rent increases. When one of his tenants, an elderly lady with failing eyesight, came to him pleading for a reduction in rent he laughed in her face and pushed her into the gutter. He’d momentarily forgotten his own strength and smashed her hip to bits which, although very funny, could draw unwanted attention. He dumped her outside the hospital with a threat that telling anyone what happened would get worse done to the other hip and a final demand for the rent. He then returned home and began designing a disguise.
Days later the city saw, for the first time, streaking through the sky, a man in a red costume with an intimidating codpiece and a dollar sign emblazoned on his chest.
Superman!
He then set to work cleaning up Metropolis. The homeless and the beggars he flew to the edge of the city and sent them on their way with a super-kick up the pants. The others he allowed to remain, provided they kept to their ghettos, paid their rent on time, and didn’t bother decent folk.
All the while, no one suspected that the person responsible for the city becoming so much more pleasant was the mild-mannered, slightly clumsy slum landlord; Clark Kent. No one, that is, except for one man; Lex Luthor.
Luthor was the country’s most brilliant man. Scientist, businessman, TV chef, bass player for Maroon 5 and psychopath. He had a plan to become President and was determined Superman would not stand in his way. He sought out Clark, explained that he had discovered Superman’s true identity. He told him that he, Lex Luthor, was going to be President, so shut up.
Clark’s father’s words echoed in his mind. He had a responsibility. His handsome face broke into a smile and he asked if there was anything he could do to help.
A little taken aback, Luthor laughed – “My friend, with your power, my brains, and our complete lack of guiding morality, we can become the most powerful and corrupt rulers this country has had for two, maybe three years.”
Luthor’s rise to power was unstoppable and, behind the scenes, there was Superman. If campaign funds were needed, Superman used his super-strength to compress coal into diamonds, if an opponent started to gain popularity, Superman flew them into the sun, and if Luthor was late for a campaign event, Superman would fly really quickly round the world backwards which would turn back time for some reason and allow Luthor to arrive on time.
However, what Luthor, with even his boundless intelligence, hadn’t realised was that he didn’t need Superman’s powers to achieve his goals. If he just told really obvious lies that chimed with the electorate’s most base prejudices, then people would simply vote him into power anyway.
He had no further need for Superman so using his scientific intellect Luthor developed Kryptonite, a peculiar rock that gave off a strange radiation that was deadly to Superman. He slipped the Kryptonite into Superman’s pocket and when the great hero became too weak to move, Luthor dumped him into the harbour. The Man of Steel was never seen again.
Good, frankly. There’s no room for that sort of mutant freak in modern America.
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