A Letter From Superman

A Letter From Superman

Sep 09

Dear DC Comics “friends,”

What the fuck?

No, seriously, what the fuck? W. T. F?!

You guys change up the whole show over there and I don’t even get a phone call, an e-mail, a tweet? A little early warning? Shit, I gave DiDio that stupid goddamned signal watch. USE IT.

Anyway, I’m not sure you give a shit what I think at this point, but on the off chance you do, here’s the gist:

I KNOW WHO I AM.

I’m goddamned Superman. My pal Bruce, he’s the goddamned Batman. Diana? WONDER WOMAN.

We know who we are. I hope you do too. I’m not some bright-ass icon that needs to be “darker” so that Spike Jonze can run my life through a blender and make a cross between Starman and Crank. I’m not the underpants you shove on your toddlers when they’re done with the diapers, and I’m not even the comic book bullshit that comes out on a monthly, or bi-monthly, or whenever-the-fuck-you-feel-like-it basis.

I’m goddamned Superman. Like I said. People come along every so often and try to fuck around with me, but I endure. I’m death and taxes; I’m Jesus with a cape. I’m not going anywhere, so give it your best shot, if you want. Hip me up; cram me into animated mobile webisodes with optional ringtone bonus and make me swear because Joel Silver thinks it’s cool. I don’t give a shit. I’ll still be here; you might not be, but I will.

And I don’t even know if you’re gonna fuck everything up; for all I know, you’re going to get off your asses and finally put comic books on the damned COMPUTER like every other free-thinking non-caveman creature on the planet. And maybe you’ll hire some decent people to do decent things with our movies for a change. Maybe I won’t feel like I’m flying around working for the goddamned publishing version of the Edsel corporation anymore. I hope you rock it out, but if you fall flat on your human faces, it don’t matter.

One more time, cause I kinda like saying it: I’m goddamned Superman.

I hope we’re clear on that.

Up up and whatever,
Clark