A note from the o-o-o-o-o-o distant future of 2016: oh my gosh people still read this? Um. Okay. Well. Some quick background: this story was written in a fit of pique in 2006 because...well, let's be honest, Smallville wasn't very good. Whatever might have been good about it slipped quickly down the tubes, shoved down by painfully obvious cliches, writing that threw its female characters under bus after bus, and just really awful melodrama. Basically: this fic was therapy for a haggered young comics fangirl who lived with a Smallville obsessed family member who basically kept her hostage during that hour every week for five. damn. years. It was never meant to be taken seriously; it was barely even meant to be left up! But, I can't bear to delete old reviews because they make me warm and fuzzy, so...a compromise.

I'll admit this is petty, reactionary teenage crap, you read it as such. Deal?

Techie (hereby referred to as 'The Author') sat at her desk, fingers poised over the keyboard, prepping to write. This was her first free evening in about a week and she intended to use this time to catch up on her fanfiction that she had been neglecting as of late.

However, she found herself instead pondering the imminent doom of several teleplay authors at her hands for their latest travesty.

She had tried to avoid watching Smallville, but living with someone obsessed with it had made that task nigh on impossible.

So, she gritted her teeth and sat through week after week of canon ignoring soap opera-ish tripe, muting her screams of distress by attempting to smother herself with a throw pillow during the hour that it was on the tube.

She'd been doing that for close to five years now.

It wasn't that the show itself was bad, nay, far from it. Instead, it was the little slaps in the face to DC comics canon throughout the series that made her fangirl's heart ache and turn black with melancholy.

Techie could overlook the fact that Lex and Clark were growing up together (ugh), or Lois Lane meeting Clark Kent years and years before she was supposed to. The premature death of the elder Kent had pained her, but she let it go because it gave John Glover an excuse to step in and shine...

She even squeezed her eyes shut and thought of England when they revived Zod and made him possess Lex Luthor (and that's another thing: it's pronounced Loo-THOR, not Loo-thEr, that 'O' ain't there for looks, you know) because it gave her a reason to watch Rosenbaum do that evil voodoo that he does so well.

But there was something that had happened recently that she could not ignore or gloss over, no matter how many guest spots were given to Green Arrow, The Flash or Perry White.

Jimmy Olsen had just been introduced as a peer to Clark and Chloe...a peer- as in a person in the same age group!

Allow me to repeat that so that you may grasp the severity of the situation.


At his appearance onscreen, Techie's mind suddenly conjured up a vivid vision of half a dozen 'Smallville' staff writers, prancing through a field of more than half a century of established comic book canon, trodding on it carelessly, all of them laughing and throwing wads of ill-gotten cash through the air, celebrating the fact that they were making scads of money while simultaneously ruining one of the longest running and most resilient universes in comics history.

Something inside The Author cracked as her left eye twitched angrily.

How dare they. How dare they!

Jimmy Olsen, it seemed, was the straw that finally broke the camel's back, for at this very moment, Techie sat at her keyboard, prepared to work out her frustrations by causing the Smallville universe to implode via scathing commentary in fanfiction form.

She took a deep breath, rubbed her hands together in a villainous manner that would have made Gorilla Grodd proud, and set to work on the most evil, cliché filled, canon fodder Smallville ficlet the world was ever likely to see.

And it started...