Infinite Sky

I stand atop Kilimanjaro. My red cape flapping in the breeze. I stare off into the infinite sky, deciding the fate of mankind. But I’m tired of the struggle. I’m only one man in the universe. Let them fend for themselves.

Okay, I‘m pretty unique among men. But I’m a man just the same. I cry, laugh, sing and dance just like the rest. I was the best square dancer in Smallville, Kansas, I’ll have you know. Won several blue ribbons, three years running. Busted many a barnyard floor, too. But I can‘t help it if I‘m also gifted in the super power department. Leaping tall buildings in a single bound, blah, blah, blah.

But I also need some me time. Away from all the heroics. A simple walk on the beach would be nice without someone yelling, “Shark!”

Don‘t I deserve a day off?

“Superman! Oh, Superman!” they shout. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“My cat’s up a tree!”

“My parachute didn’t open! Hurry!”

Bunch of weasels. Nothing wrong with these people that a good can of gumption woulnd’t cure.

I’m being harsh. Forgive me. But when is it my time? When does somebody rescue me? Rescue me from the dreariness of once again coming to the rescue of some poor slob who didn’t look both ways when the bus was coming. They’ve become so dependent on my being there, that they make no effort to help themselves.

Now I know how God feels.

When the lightening struck, Superman was stunned by its power. It knocked him flat on his back and held him to the ground with its long pointy bolt.

At the end of that bolt appeared a cloaked figure.

“What do you know of my feelings?” said the figure. “You’ve been at this, what, seventy some odd years? How long do you think I’ve been at it? Go on. Take a guess.”

The figure put his weight on the bolt of lightening and Superman let out with a scream.

“Your holiness,” said the Vatican butler. “Wake up, your holiness. You’re having a bad dream.”

The pope rose from bed and blinked himself awake.

“So I was,” he said. “So I was.”

“I suggest," said the butler, "that you stop reading those awful comics before going to bed. They’re very unseemly for a pope.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said the pope. “But sometimes that bible is a bit much even for me. From now on, just some warm milk and a foot massage.”