Seeking Asylum

By Shayne Terry <>

Rated G

Submitted October 2000

Summary: Who knows what goes on behind the closed doors of the local insane asylum?


"The stars trembled with my birth. Greatness was in my blood and bone from the moment I was conceived, and it was only a matter of time before the world shook with the weight of my stride. I am Lex!"

"What are you doing, Lex?" The tired-looking orderly sighed as he saw that yet again Luthor was standing on top of a chair in the middle of the recreation room. Luthor was wearing institutional whites, and unlike the other patients, he managed to keep his clean.

"I'm working on my autobiography. If you people would allow me to have access to a tape recorder, or even a decent notepad, I wouldn't have to write on the ceiling like this." The ceiling was the only place the orderlies refused to clean. Lex had lost three chapters before learning that vital fact.

The orderly smirked. "Get down from there. Nobody is interested in your story—not anymore. Besides, we have at least two other Luthors in this wing alone. Who's going to want to read it? These days, nobody takes a villain seriously if he has an idiot for a henchman. What was his name? Otto? Otis?"

"That's the other fellow—the impostor down in 13b. I never would have let myself get that out of shape. Besides, he thinks he's Gene Hackman half the time." Luthor stepped off the chair. "I'll have you know that my henchman was quite competent, a renegade ex-spy named Nigel St. John."

"Oh, you mean the guy down in 12d? The way he tells it, you were just his patsy the whole time." The orderly smirked. "Maybe you could write one of those comedic books. Those things sell like hot cakes. I can see it now, '1001 stupid villain tricks'"

The orderly grabbed Lex's arm. "Now the Luthor down on the fifth floor, he's got something to brag about. How he managed to build a set of alien battle armor with only a fountain pen and a transistor radio, I'll never know."

"That one is even worse. Not only is he a fake, but he's arrogant and uncouth. The man has no appreciation for the finer things. He simply cannot adapt to modern day life. As far as he's concerned, the last thirty years never took place." Luthor sniffed. "Starting a criminal career simply because nobody had invented Rogaine yet-"

"Better that than rambling off at the mouth. What did you accomplish that was so great?"

"I managed to rise from the dead. I built a clone of Superman and of the president and his girlfriend — well, I must admit that the Lewinski clone was a bad idea, but nobody is perfect." Lex tried to pull away from the orderly. " I almost succeeded in switching this body for another, stronger body."

"Like I said, kid's stuff. I hear Bill Gates has Walt Disney's head in his basement." The orderly shook his head. " All you rich nuts do stuff like that. Now the guy down on the fifth floor managed to build a bomb using bread pudding, a soda, and his own digestive juices."

"Are you sure it's not MacGuyver you have down there?" Luthor's voice turned sarcastic. "Do you know how hard it is to become the third richest man on the planet?"

"Not that hard. I heard you won a billion from the tobacco companies. You were twelve years old. How many cigarettes could you have possibly smoked?"

Lex chuckled. "I love the American jurisprudence system."

"Well, rich guys don't get any special treatment here." The orderly punctuated his statement by pulling Lex along behind him.

Lex managed to pull them both to a stop. He looked at the orderly slyly. "Not even if I offered you a million dollars and a yacht?"

"The best you could do is monopoly money and a rowboat these days …" The orderly grabbed Luthor again and continued dragging him down the hall to his cell.

He threw him into his room and locked the door, then sighed when he saw the giant hole in the wall of the next cell.

The Luthors were bad enough. The Supermen were worse. Somehow, they always seemed to escape, and it was hell getting them back. What a way to run an insane asylum.