Let's pretend for a minute that you have no idea who I am. You look at me and go “Oh, my god! That is one of the most attractive guys I've ever seen in my life! No other man can compare to him!” And you'd be telling the truth because no other man is like me. I'm a superhero. Not just any superhero, but the only one.
I'm Johnny Panic.
But you knew that already. You're pretending that you don't. Let me give you a little back story on me. I found out I could fly when I was a kid after some idiot brought an eagle to school for us to look at and it broke free, I panicked, and flew. Later I found out I was stutardedly strong. That's a word me and my lady Ronica came up with. Yes, I have a girl. She used to run my fan page and helped me out years ago when the president tried to frame me for a plane explosion. She's hot. I got her pregnant, too.
My baby is better than yours.
I'm getting ahead of myself. This isn't about my life story which you can purchase in audio book with a movie coming soon. This is about three idiots that are ruining my trip to Los Angeles by taking hostages at a bank. I normally don't handle small things like this but they asked for me specifically. I usually fight bigger things like meteors heading towards us, super AIDS, and giraffes. I fucking hate those things. They just creep me out. With their long necks and black tongues. Ugh. Just...ugh.
So I'm doing a morning show interview pretending not to stare at the tits on this reporter when Zazz tells me there's a problem. Oh, right! Zazz is my best friend. His real name is Oswald but he gets mad when I call him that so I call him that all the time. When he gets mad he sweats and then I can make more fat jokes. His wife is hot which makes about as much sense as giraffes existing.
“Johnny, police say there's a robbery they need your help with” Zazz says while also trying not to look at this reporters tits. “They got hostages.”
“Hot hostages?” I ask him and he sighs not answering my question. “I said--”
“I know what you said, you animal” he says sounding like an angry woman. “You gonna help or not?”
“Of course I will” I say as I stand. “I'm...Johnny Panic.” Oh, that is gonna be played on every news station later! That was perfect.
“You going to leave or just pose?” the hot reporter asks me. I give her a look that'll make her have to take a morning after pill and I fly off.
On the way there the police tell me that there are three guys dressed like clowns holding about fourteen people hostage. They tell me that they asked for me specifically which bugs me because this has happened so many times before. Someone does something stupid and hopes that I respond and then they ask for an autograph. Sometimes I thwack them in the stomach and make them shit themselves. I'm at the bank in less than half a minute.
Hello, Korea Town!
Look at all these chicks! Shit. Only problem with Asian chicks is that they all look young so I gotta keep myself in check. Last thing I need is to have another lawsuit against me. NASA and some other nerds say that I never put the moon back in its right place. I think they are really mad that I put them out of business. Why spend millions to send a raggedy spaceship that will blow up if somebody sneezed on it when I can just fly to Mars and check things out?
The cops tell me that the guys want to speak to me in person and then tries to tell me all this other hostage negotiation shit that I don't have the time nor the patience to listen to. He hands me some phone so that he can coach me but I tell him that my sponsor would get mad if I used another product. I walk into the bank and these three clowns raise their gun at me. I stop, get my wallet out, and walk over to the ATM.
“The fuck do you think you're doing?” one of them with a rainbow wig asks. I don't hate clowns the way some people do. To me, they are the fat chick at the club version of entertainment. They will be loud and obnoxious to get your attention, but if you ignore them long enough they go away. This is not a knock against fat chicks! I love fat chicks. Most of my fans are fat chicks. Lots of them are cute. I have to be careful with the shit I think. I tend to say it out loud.
Oh, right. Bank. Hostages. Korea Town.
“I'm just getting some cash” I tell him.
“You're really Johnny Panic, aren't you?” one other clown asks me. He is bald and I can smell him from here.
“My government name is Walter Toner but, yes, I am Johnny Panic.” I enter my password and get $500 out. I walk over to the two clowns and offer it to them. The third clown who I figure is the leader fires a shot in the air. Everyone screams, I can hear the cops outside start to move closer, and one of the clowns pees just a little bit in his pants. Yes, I can smell it. “Was the really necessary?”
“You think we're playing?!” the lead clown shouts.
“Well, you are clowns...”
“Shut up!” he screams and fires another shot. “You ruined my life, you son of a bitch!”
“How rude of me. I'm sorry.”
“How can you say you're sorry when you don't even know what you did?!”
“I'm...just that kind of guy?”
“You're a dick!” he shouts scaring his two buddies. I doubt they knew he was gonna be robbing a bank just to get to me. I have things to do that are far more fun than talking to this jackass. “You ruined my life!”
“So you've said.”
“You know how you did it?”
“Does it involve pussy?”
“N...no. What? Why would you even ask that?”
“I've had a lot of sex and I doubt every girl was single” I tell him. “I am the only superhero in the world.”
“How about Rick Rocket?” one of the hostages asks.
“He was created by the government!” I say. “Listen. You need to just tell me what I did to ruin your life before I get bored.”
“He hates being bored” rainbow wig clown tells him.
“Fan?” I ask.
“Of course” he says and actually blushes. Lead clown fires another shot and I zip over and snatch it from him and snap it in half. He throws a punch and I move. He ends up punching a big potted plant. I know that if he hit me he'd break his hand and try to sue me.
“My hand...”
“You got a boo boo?” He nods. “Aw...” I grab him by the wrist and slam it down on the counter, breaking every bone in his hand. “You moron.” His two friends drop their guns and lay down. I whistle and cops swarm the building.
“This is just like that movie Hancock!” one of the hostages says. I trip him when he rushes past me. Dick. What a horrible interpretation of a hero that movie was. Plus, it stars the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. As if he could ever play anything believable other than a straight, married man.
I fly back to the TV studio and tell Zazz that we should head to Paris to grab something to eat. He's mad that he doesn't have the right clothes. I tell him we'll stop at a Lane Bryant on the way. He gets mad. He sweats.
I laugh.
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