You know what I find endlessly entertaining? Idiots.

Idiots who leave reviews that SHOUT at me about how wrong I am are especially hilarious. Considering I know more about DC comics history than...oh, my entire neighborhood, I love it when people scream at me for being wrong.

Seriously, people...flame all you like: I know more than you do; Smallville is an abomination in general, it will never equal the Superman legacy in the comics and your hissy fits only make me giggle and point and say 'Ahahaha...what an immature moron'. If you want to argue with me at least have some pride in it...dazzle me with your sarcasm and biting wit. Cut me down to size with a legitimate argument, not a temper tantrum.


It was a dark and stormy night on the Kent farm. Dark and stormy because that was the most cliche thing that the author could think of and because it served her purposes.

For some reason, one that would make no sense to any sane outside observer, but should make perfect sense to the typical Smallville viewer, both Clark and Martha Kent were sitting at their kitchen table, having a nice, companionable meal with Lionel Luthor.

Lionel, of course, taking the seat that had once been occupied by Jonathan Kent because it was a way of developing the Martha/Lionel ship that everyone seemed so desperate to see develop.

Suddenly, without warning, there was a knock at the door, startling the three diners. None of them were alarmed, however, when the door burst open, revealing a man of average height with thick red hair.

Clark, suddenly realizing that this might be a good time to actually take action in a superhero-y fashion, albeit about a minute too late, sprang from his chair and demanded "Who are you?" in a show of cheesy B-Movie grade acting skills that would have made even Bruce Campbell wince.

The man in the doorway put his hands on his hips dramatically, "I'm Lex Luthor's long lost son!"

The redheaded man turned and winked at the audience conspiratorially, before saying in a harsh whisper, "Not really. Lex Luthor cloned himself when he recently found out that he was dying of a mysterious cancer, then transferred his consciousness from his dying body into that of the clone. Hence, I'm really the REAL Lex, but in a new body."

The son of Lex (who was really Lex) flipped his long luxurious red hair, "That storyline doesn't actually happen until about ten years from now, but I've shown up because it's a convenient plot device that'll keep the ratings up while making the fanboy purists froth at the mouth."

"That makes perfect sense," Martha said, turning back to her plate as she resumed playing footsie with Lionel.

Son of Lex (who, just in case you forgot already, is actually Lex) strode up to Clark and clapped him on the back while simultaneously handing him a small box, "Here, take this and completely ignore the old adage about Greeks bearing gifts."

Clark, being an unintelligent naive hick (since that's the way he's been written lately), took the offered box without a seconds thought, flipped off the lid and took out the item inside.

It was a rainbow colored rock, all stripey and shiny in the light.

Clark glared at the meteorite, "Oh look, a new kind of Kryptonite that will no doubt have a strange non-canon effect on me. The writers must be running out of ideas." He blinked a few times, "I feel the need to go to the barn to do some quality teen-angsting and pouting while bemoaning the fact that Lana doesn't love me, if you'll excuse me."

Clark left abruptly because the author said so and believable scene segue ways were not all that important at this point.

When he got to the barn, however, he found an uproarious party being thrown by Lois Lane.

Why? Because the author wrote it that way, and if the staff writers for this travesty of a television show can get away with warping reality to the point that it doesn't make sense anymore, so can I.

"Who are all these people?" Clark demanded, going from 'angsty sissy boy' to 'force to be reckoned with' in two seconds flat.

Lois, who was well into her cups (meaning she was three sheets to the wind...and for those of you unaware of what that means, we'll call it 'drunk off her ass'), bounced up to Clark, completely ignoring her canon personality traits by acting like a bimbo.

"These are my friends whom you've never heard of, seen, or otherwise know, but who I know quite well because it's convenient for the writers!" she said happily, "Come on! I'll introduce you!"

Lois grabbed Clark's hand and yanked him into the sea of people, pointing at them all in turn, naming them off for his benefit.

"That's Arella!" Lois shouted over the music, pointing at the dark, broody goth chick in the corner, "She's not from this dimension and she's currently pregnant with the evil demon spawn of Trigon! Her baby is going to be Raven of the Teen Titans in about fifteen years or so, but in the meantime, she's here to party!"

Lois tugged the farm boy a few feet foreword and pointed at a cluster of people in the corner, all of them wearing green and one of them being at least seven feet high and bright pink, "That's the Green Lantern corps, and over there-" Lois indicated a couple of women in the corner making out, "Is Pamela Isely and Harleen Quinzel. They're a cute couple, aren't they? It's too bad that they don't really meet until about ten years from now and that they're only here to show how open minded Warner Brothers is about lesbian relationships in television."

"They're lesbians?"

"Well...not really, but hey, if they can change my personality traits in the interests of ratings, why not the sexual identities of two mildly ambiguous characters? Like...nobody will actually notice and it'll help reel in a new demographic. Come on, let's go get some punch."

When Lois and Clark reached the refreshment table, which had miraculously appeared out of thin air, Clark found himself being introduced to about half a dozen different people.

A short haired blonde offered him her hand and introduced herself, "I'm Mercy...I shouldn't even be in Smallville. I'm supposed to be a street kid in Metropolis who gets employed as Lex Luthor's bodygaurd and then falls head over heels in unrequited love with him, but for the purposes of this episode I'm passing through with my friend here, Livewire."

"For the last time, I'm not Livewire," The petite, blue haired woman who was standing next to Mercy gave her a swift kick in the shin, "I look like Livewire, have all of Livewire's super powers, but for reasons of copyright law I'm not Livewire."

"Won't the viewers be able to see the similarities between you and this 'Livewire' person?" Lois asked curiously, breaking the fourth wall quickly and effectively without provocation not for the first time and certainly not for the last.

Not-Livewire smiled, "Nope. Mutant X was able to blatantly rip off The X-Men without anyone raising a stink, I should be able to do the same."

Chloe decided to take this opportunity to pop up out of nowhere and lament bitterly:

"Oh, Clark, Clark...I don't exist in canon but I love you and want to be with you because apparently, two love interests for one soon-to-be superhero aren't enough for the rabid teenage fangirls that watch this show."

She then disappeared once more, mostly because her 'I love Clark but know I can't be with him' moment of self sacrifice was over, much to the relief of the audience.

Seriously, that got old back in season one...let it go already. You're beating a dead horse.

Once Chloe's mild angsting was over, Clark was introduced to a tall, handsome and debonair young man in a suit.

"Clark," Lois said, "This is Bruce Wayne: Boy Billionaire of Gotham City."

Clark turned to stare at Lois strangely, "He came all the way to Kansas for a party in a barn?"

"Well, Brucie here has a new movie coming (cough-The Dark Knight-cough cough-) out and the producers figured that a nice tie-in would help boost ticket sales."

"If ever there was a sound marketing strategy..." Bruce said, sipping at his punch, "Never mind the fact that I'm, at this point in time, still off on my quest to find the ultimate combat training with The Demon's Head."

Which never happened, by the way...

But far be it from me to dispute a movie's accuracy. If it's got a fifty million dollar budget: nay, we do not dare to argue it's validity just because it spits on comic book history because apparently, Christopher Nolan is Warner Brothers idea of DC comics' messiah and can get away with anything.

"Ahem," Bruce interrupted, "If we could get back to the story at hand?"

Sorry. Fangirly rant over. Where were we?

Oh, right.

"Anyways," Bruce said, "While I would love to stay and chat, I've got to go change...Batman has a cameo appearance coming up in a few minutes and I don't want to be caught with my tights down. Pardon me."

With that, Bruce Wayne was gone. Poof. Not a trace that he'd even been there.

Mostly because Techie didn't want him in the room when the place collapsed. That would have been too cruel...especially since she actually likes him.

And speaking of collapsing...

A great rumble erupted, shaking the foundations of the barn and yet, no one stopped dancing and drinking.

The 'Smallville' universe collapsed in on itself with a loud bang, unable to hold up under the unraveling of it's reality by tired plot devices and overused cliches.

Lost in the aftermath, were the interpretations of Clark Kent that made Superman look like a naive, farm boy idiot without the sense God gave a goose; Lana Lang, who was great as a 'first true love' sort of character but was a walking, talking Mary Sue after the whole 'descended from a witch' storyline; and Chloe Sullivan, who, regardless of the fact she was the one female character Techie could stomach, didn't belong in canon and therefore had to be wiped out of existence for the sake of fandom purity.


Techie's roommate, who had been reading over her shoulder as she wrote, glanced at her. "Feel better?"

The geek at her keyboard gave a predatory grin that rivaled that of the Joker, "Immensely."

A/N:...Yeah...I totally phoned this one in. I can see it. I can smell it. I can practically feel it coming off this story in waves.

I guess that's what comes of writing in a universe with the attitude 'Who gives a crap?'. There have been aspects of Smallville that I like (John Glover: prime example), but the good parts just don't make up for the horrendous parts.

Seriously...Lana being taken over by that evil spirit and finding that she has magical powers granted her by a great and powerful bloodline? Hmm..where have I heard that before?


Huh…I had no idea I was quite this bitter about this whole thing. Hm. Oh well, this was just therapy…probably delete this story later. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to writing real stories in the DC universe that aren't craptacular.