Some superheroes are just misunderstood. I mean to say, that saving the world (once again) ought to be applauded, right? If I could do something like that... I can just see myself coming back, my nose bloodied, yet a triumphant grin remains on my face... "No flowers, please! Just jewelry and designer scarves. And money. I also take major credit cards." The crowds cheering, some woman weeping over my shoulder, kissing the very pavement I walk upon, ("Oh, my baby! You saved my baby!") And... wait a minute. We seem to be getting off track here. At any rate, superheroes, the job of superheroes, is very overrated. All glam and gloss, it would seem, but it is actually quite tough. The bad-guy part isn't so bad, that's effortless compared to all their other problems. Some of them are just born with problems, which are strangely misinterpreted, and thus the name "super" is somehow associated with them. Don't ask me how this happens. For instance, look at Superman, the superhero. What do you mean, you don't see what I mean? O.K., listen, we'll go back a ways, and I'll tell you a real typical day on the job. Let's visualize:
Here we see the respectable Clark Kent, journalist, walking down Any St, New York. In his right hand, swinging gently with each step, his smart, brown leather briefcase. He is clad in an equally smart, well-pressed suit and tie. His glasses resting up on the bridge of his nose have begun to slip down, so, transferring the briefcase to the left hand, he pushes them up with his right. In his mind, he is trying to concoct ways to impress the lovely Lois, fellow journalist who thinks him a boring loser. Normal enough, right?
Suddenly, there's a cry for help across the street. "Help, help!" A damsel in distress! He can see her right across the street, surrounded by a gang of burly, rough-looking men. Clark jots a few notes on the scene, for use in the paper later, then springs into action. He makes a mad dash for the nearest phone booth, which happens to be four New York city blocks away. He shoves people out of the way, followed by curious and pissed stares alike, trips, stumbles, hits SMACK into a flashing parking meter, recovers, recollects himself, and moves on, groin of steel aching from hitting steel, and recovering from what was recovered, or so he thought when a coin from his pocket fell in to the parking meter, setting it aglow.
Dashing into the sleek, glass phone booth, he slams the door and begins instantly undressing, clothes coming off like a prom dress. People turn from all directions to stare, as a crowd gathers round to witness the disrobing of this Man of Steel, muscles gleaming like oiled bronze, in all his naked splendor. The crowd attracts a passing patrol officer (these occur at about every five feet in New York), who plows through to see who's disturbing the "peace". (If you can call it that in New York) At the sight of Kent in his socks, tie, and absolutely nothing else (in his haste, he absentmindedly threw off his briefs as well), the cop came up to wrap his knuckles smartly on the glass.
"Hey, you! What're you doing in there?"
"I'm changing my clothes officer."
"You can't change in there!"
"But officer, I'm Superman!"
"Right. Listen, buddy, you dress yourself now and come out of there!"
"But officer, look. Right here on my chest, my big, red S!"
"Yeah, and I'm going to give you a red S and a black eye if you don't come out of there!"
By now, a crowd of cops had banded together, guns down and ready when signaled to break all hell lose to bring this lunatic to justice. That's the only way they come in New York.
Kent emerges, donned in naught but Spandex, his briefs absentmindedly placed on the outside, but still he appeared quite impressive, what with those muscles, like Bands of Steel shining through. Yet, at the sight of the stern-faced army surrounding him, he seemed to falter.
"Did he get away? *GASP* Don't worry, fellow Keepers of Law, I'll find the perpetrators of this dastardly deed!" and away he went. The entire squad opened fire.
Now, why did they fire? Superheroes aren't given any breaks, no credit. Just massive responsibility with a lot of people in their way. Yet children aspire to be one. They are a dying breed. Really, superheroes have it rough.