Okay, so, no author's note. This is just complete, utter randomness about my hate (and many others') for Joker-loving Mary-Sues, even though there are many fics like this already. Remember, only you can prevent Mary-Sue creation. And that there can never be enough bashing.

Enjoy my epic masterpiece of failure.

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Supercalifragilisticexpialadocious was walking down the streets of Gotham City one beautiful, glorious day. She was wearing nothing but a bikini and sunglasses because she wanted to show off her gorgeous bod and protect her perfect gold colored orbs from the raging fire that was the moon's brother, or sister, or cousin, or whatever, which wasn't as beautiful as Super (that's her nickname because her real name is too long and she likes to keep it simple), like the rays of sun that let her glossy, blond hair look like waves of bronze.

Lips bigger than Angelina Jolie's, boobs bigger than Pamela Anderson's, hair silkier and blonder than another famous person no one can think of right now because their brains have been fried by Super's beauty, and curves more voluptuous than Beyonce's, Super was the envy of all of the female population and the date rape target of all the males.

But, you see, Super wasn't like any other sixteen year old who lived by herself because her parents and entire family were with Bruce Wayne, the second richest human being, behind her, and his parents when they all got shot by the same hobo who wanted money and needed a better education, girl. She wanted a man who cared for her differences, her simplicity, her smarts, her perfection, her deep depression she sometimes got from watching puppies die as she worked part time as a vet, watching old people crap in their depends as she worked at a nursing home, children getting stuck in burning houses as she worked as a firewoman, and many other jobs no one could pronounce or remember because she was God and Goddess of Gotham, and possibly, the entire world. She controlled existence. She was like a dictator. Even Hitler bowed down to her.

She also wanted a man who cooked.

But no one was as tortured or as perfect as Super. Super was all alone.

Slowly, as she strutted down the sidewalk like she was on the cat walk and as people were all shot and killed by her bullet-like stare and her piercing face that was so gorgeous, even Rachel Dawes was burned to a crisp again and the other half of Harvey Dent's face was charred as he stirred in his grave, a tear slid down her cheek. And as that tear hit the sewer, a loud earthquake-like sound was heard and a large, white utility van that every criminal in Gotham City owned, bounded up like the circus was, at last, back in town.

Super stopped in her tracks, but not before she bumped into an insanely hot psychopath who murdered people like he was the Boss, instead of Bruce Springsteen (he's going to have to find another title), and wouldn't give a damn if you were ripped apart by his invisible pet shark. In his mind.

And when this clown thing spoke, all in one breath, Super forgot about his scars and obvious need for not needing a woman because he didn't care about anybody (how in the hell could anyone fall for him? He was the symbol of hatred; what did she see in him? This was so utterly confusing), and fell in love. She knew that he was the man for her. "Whysoserious?WannaknowhowIgotthesescars?Well,hello,beautiful," was what the beautiful, tortured man spoke. Super could hear doves. And then, she could see them as they all cooed in harmony, landing on her shoulder, the sun glowing behind her, a chorus from the nearby church popping up out of nowhere, a perfect picture of pure, pure bliss. And then, Jesus showed up, clapping for their joy.

"I love you," Super said in her rich, honey sweet voice, even though she had only known him for two seconds. The Joker, who was the evil clown thing, smiled like he had never smiled before.

"Oh, Super. I have been watching you many a day, like the creepy stalker I can be. Because, finally, I have found my soul mate. We shall rule together and, maybe, someday, I will cook for you," he told her, wiping her tears away and cursing at the one in the sewage. (Okay, what? First off, the Joker would never say that. Second, he could never fall in love because he is incapable of such a happy feeling. And third, he doesn't take a shower, so why in the hell would he cook? He probably just steals all of his food anyway. Or maybe, he's some kind of paranormal being who doesn't eat food. Anyway, back to the unrealistic story about two undeniably cute people probably about to get their freak on...).

Super grinned, blinding everyone but him with her pearly white teeth.

Suddenly, everything was ruined as a storm settled in and Jesus had to say goodbye. The Joker started cackling. Super was utterly puzzled, but she still looked so hot in her swimwear, despite the all of a sudden cold weather that made her shiver like a puppy about to piss everywhere, like they did on her when she helped them when she wasn't saving the world as a crazy dictator, and was a vet.

"I could never be with such a hideous thing as yourself, Super! I have only known you for maybe ten seconds, and already, I want to kill you. From this day forward, you can eat in Hell while the devil cooks for you! HAHAHEHEHOHO!" And then, Super was dead with a flick of his wrist. The Joker laughed, hacked up a lung, and got back in his thundering, gas guzzling vehicle.

Meanwhile, about five minutes later, Super was seated at an abnormally long table. Fire licked at her from every angle. Her bathing suit was somehow torn and tattered, but her face had no mark; only the mark of an angel.

A little red man with horns and a tail poofed in front of her with a plate with chicken on top. Super started crying.

The man started crying, too. He quivered at the site of her precious beauty. "Oh, I'm so sorry! It's okay, I'll run back to Hell's Kitchen and make you something else if you really don't want this! Don't cry!"

And that then caused the world to end because if Super wasn't happy or clean, the world wasn't happy... or clean.

And the moral of this little, pointless tale is to please keep the earth clean. Especially if Super becomes the world's dictator, even though she already is. It's just that nobody knows it. Yet.

The world is not Uranus.

THE END