Real Heroes Don't Wear White After Labor Day
As is the wont of all ambitious youth
To fantasize about their future truth
Clark Kent sat in his living room one day
Imagining the crimes he would defray.
And as he fancied triumphs great and small
Young Clark just could not help but to recall
His admiration paramount for those
Who battled crime but never changed their clothes.
For years he'd watched them nightly on TV
Confronting evil men heroically
And striving to keep cunning foes at bay,
Their outfits steadfast with each passing day.
From Mr. T, ashine with chains of gold,
Suspenders and worn camos, ever bold
To Hercules with leather pants divine.
(He'd gladly worship at that woven shrine!)
And then and there Clark vowed to fabricate
A uniform to suit his noble fate.
For who would praise a hero grimly clad
In mismatched socks and hand-me-downs from Dad?
A warm, enduring garment would be nice
But practical alone would not suffice.
He had to find, although it would be tough,
The perfect mix of Fabulous and Buff.
Since even heroes sometimes get the flu
Long underwear's a must. But in what hue?
A blue! The shade that matched his azure eyes
Would nicely compliment his new disguise.
Now what could lend his suit a touch of chic
And emphasize his well-endowed physique?
Of course! Tight briefs would fill his foes with dread
Whene'er they saw his bulging swath of red.
A symbol of his quest he now required
And he recalled the breastplate so admired
By Lex, who kept it safely locked within
Museum walls, protected from his kin.
And on this armor so with diamonds rife
That Ru-Paul would begrudge the hero's life
Was beautifully emblazoned on the chest
The letter for which Clark was so well-dressed.
A golden "S!" Or was he just a fool
To think that Lex would gainfully bejewel
The man by whom his offered gifts were spurned
(Whilst secretly for his affection yearned)?
Yet something more he knew he had to find.
He scanned the room and fast it came to mind:
A crimson curtain stirring in the breeze
Could reign supreme among accessories.
He pondered fondly long into the night,
Imagining the glorious suit in flight.
And not to mention the enormous wealth
From modeling for G.Q. and Men's Health.
At length, Clark realized these idle dreams
Would aid him naught in thwarting evil schemes,
For heroes are not made by what they wear.
He thought of Buffy. Maybe it's the hair...
As is the wont of all ambitious youth
To fantasize about their future truth
Clark Kent sat in his living room one day
Imagining the crimes he would defray.
And as he fancied triumphs great and small
Young Clark just could not help but to recall
His admiration paramount for those
Who battled crime but never changed their clothes.
For years he'd watched them nightly on TV
Confronting evil men heroically
And striving to keep cunning foes at bay,
Their outfits steadfast with each passing day.
From Mr. T, ashine with chains of gold,
Suspenders and worn camos, ever bold
To Hercules with leather pants divine.
(He'd gladly worship at that woven shrine!)
And then and there Clark vowed to fabricate
A uniform to suit his noble fate.
For who would praise a hero grimly clad
In mismatched socks and hand-me-downs from Dad?
A warm, enduring garment would be nice
But practical alone would not suffice.
He had to find, although it would be tough,
The perfect mix of Fabulous and Buff.
Since even heroes sometimes get the flu
Long underwear's a must. But in what hue?
A blue! The shade that matched his azure eyes
Would nicely compliment his new disguise.
Now what could lend his suit a touch of chic
And emphasize his well-endowed physique?
Of course! Tight briefs would fill his foes with dread
Whene'er they saw his bulging swath of red.
A symbol of his quest he now required
And he recalled the breastplate so admired
By Lex, who kept it safely locked within
Museum walls, protected from his kin.
And on this armor so with diamonds rife
That Ru-Paul would begrudge the hero's life
Was beautifully emblazoned on the chest
The letter for which Clark was so well-dressed.
A golden "S!" Or was he just a fool
To think that Lex would gainfully bejewel
The man by whom his offered gifts were spurned
(Whilst secretly for his affection yearned)?
Yet something more he knew he had to find.
He scanned the room and fast it came to mind:
A crimson curtain stirring in the breeze
Could reign supreme among accessories.
He pondered fondly long into the night,
Imagining the glorious suit in flight.
And not to mention the enormous wealth
From modeling for G.Q. and Men's Health.
At length, Clark realized these idle dreams
Would aid him naught in thwarting evil schemes,
For heroes are not made by what they wear.
He thought of Buffy. Maybe it's the hair...