Lex's Great Big Supervillain Super Genius Master Plan (Supes defeat Short story)

Lex Luthor’s Great Big Supervillain Super Genius Master Plan

Written by SteeleBlazer

Ah, the Man of Steel. Superman. The so-called big blue boy scout, with his big blue bulletproof morals and morality—which is sadly just as bulletproof as him. The mighty protector. The not just hero, but superhero of all superheroes. The super-er-iest of all heroes and men…

But for all his strength, I’ve always said—always—that his head’s just as dense as steel. He just flat-out refuses to see the big picture, the real picture. I’ve painted it for him with all my diabolical plans, I’ve more than spelled it out for him with my genius plans from my super genius super villain brain, but that big dense dunce always seems to foil my plans.

Which is super irritating!

Especially when I don’t think there is anything especially super about him… Sure, he’s got great big super muscles and super strength… Big deal!

That’s when the idea hit me—my biggest and boldest and buffest plan ever—and I am so happy that I, Lex Luthor—the evil genius that I am—have finally found the perfect way to humiliate him, to belittle him in a way he’d never expect. A way that would really make him not such a big deal anymore. Something that would finally marginalize his stature and hopefully his influence.

My plan was as foolproof as the Man of Steel was bulletproof.

So I wasted no time and put my plan into action. Each meticulous step, lined up like dominos, ready to fall exactly how I wanted. First, I used the spying software in all my Lex-Corp manufactured devices nationwide—you’d be surprised how many I have out there, but then again, maybe you wouldn’t. I am Lex Luthor, the CEO of Lex-Corp—the biggest tech corporation in the whole world, after all.

And that’s how I found her—the perfect candidate. A super fan of Superman. A cute, insignificant little girl who lived, breathed, dreamed Superman.

She won the national charity sweepstakes prize of having a one-on-one workout with the mighty Superman.

Funny enough, getting Superman to agree to the charity event was the easy part of my plan, the hard part, wasn’t making super his cute little insignificant super fan win the sweepstakes.

And what’s really funny about that is, she won that sweepstakes and she didn’t even remember entering. And that’s what she’d tell the news when it was announced that she was the winner, in her surprise interview announcement.

That’s because she didn’t enter it.

But she didn’t need to know that. All she needed to know was that she had won an exclusive one-on-one workout with her hero. The ultimate prize for the ultimate fan—and the ultimate setup for the ultimate fall. Oh, but I didn’t stop there. No, that would be too easy. I made sure to subtly—and not so subtly—plant the idea in her head that she might fail. That she might embarrass herself on national television. That she might blow her big chance on the big national stage. And that’s when I offered her my services. My help.

I gave her something that would help grow her confidence—among other things…

I gave her my Super Muscle Growth Super Steroid. And oh, did she take it. She didn’t just get swole. She got super swole. She didn’t just bulk up. She packed on mighty female muscle like nothing the world had ever seen. Bigger and bigger. Beefier and bulging. So far, so good. My plan was a big success thanks to her big, beefy, and bulging muscles.

Yes, the easy part of my plan was having her win the sweepstakes, and the hard part was turning her into—and transforming her from—the cute, insignificant little fan girl into a rock-hard hardbody. The next part of my plan would be child’s play. Or rather, sit back and watch this not-so-little super fan of his play and toy with... I mean, work out one-on-one with Superman.

And much as I detest super puns, I was feeling super confident in my plan, and I had a great big super feeling everyone was going to be surprised by this super fan and her great big super surprise. And that the world would see that super hack Superman for the super charlatan he really is.

Yes, I had no doubt that my plan was working out—just like how that super fan of his was working out… and those were exceeding even my lofty expectations.

But the real success?

The best part?

The day of the workout…

Oh, I watched it all—from every angle, thanks to my hidden cameras, my closed-circuit feeds. And you should have seen his great big smile shrink when he saw his biggest super fan wasn’t the nervous and timid little girl he thought that one-on-one charity workout would be, but rather the towering, super-swole super fan with muscles so big that the mighty Superman looked small. Nothing escaped my view. My tiny electric eyes captured everything—from her great big bulging muscles to the tiniest ripple of her steely feminine sinews.

And it should come as no surprise—there ain’t anything tiny about her…

Ahem. Sorry. In all the surprises and excitement I lost my head for a second—just as, no doubt, Superman was losing his mantle of being mighty, as he was looking tiny next to those mighty female muscles of hers. Because, quite honestly, there isn’t anything tiny about her.

Believe me, you can take my word on it. And if you think for once it’s a surprise that I, Lex Luthor, am telling the truth—well, you’re in for more surprises. There will be lots more, and they won’t be ending soon.

Just like the surprises wouldn’t be ending anytime soon for Superman. My plan—just like those two working out—had only just begun. And the gym was packed with my little surprises. Surprises in the form of red sun lamps, of course! They were there to discreetly sap his strength and level the playing field as he was about to get leveled and humiliated in his one-on-one workout with his super-jacked super fan. He was going to help show the world that he really isn’t so super… at least not without his powers, he’s not.

And best of all? Nervous and humiliated as he was from just standing next to his super-enhanced, super-muscled freak of a super fan—thanks to my super muscle growth super steroids—he was going to find himself further humbled, and you better believe humiliated, from the start of the very first lift.

The weight, which he should have easily lifted with one finger—let alone one hand—took him both his arms, and even then he struggled to lift it. And it didn’t get any easier for him. But his super fan was such a hardbody she sure made it look easy.

And from the first curl, she outmuscled him. She outlifted him. She made him look small. And as the workout went on? He didn’t just look embarrassed. He looked little. And after each failed lift kept mounting up, and his super buff super fan kept on lifting and pumping iron—pumping her muscles up and up—he wasn’t just a little embarrassed—he was downright humiliated. And he never looked so little and small in all my years that I had the misfortune of seeing him…

But now was the time of his misfortune—and the whole world was watching right along with me.

And we watched as she just kept getting stronger. As her muscles swelled larger and bulged bigger and grew harder and more and more steel-like as she kept on lifting and pumping iron, she didn’t grow tired, but you better believe she kept on growing bigger, harder and stronger thanks to my super steroids.

It was all gains and no pain—well, for her at least. Throughout the entire workout, Superman wore a pained expression. With each hefty lift, he was further humbled. His shoulders sagged, and—no doubt—so did his ego, getting tinier and tinier by the rep.

With every failure, I saw not just his pride deflate, but wither. His so-called superhuman—or should I say super-alien—physique diminished before our eyes. While his super fan hoisted weights meant for him, her mighty female muscles swelling to monstrous perfection, he was left struggling with the kind of weights any average man could lift. Frankly, I lift more than him. And now, thanks to this little contest, the whole world knows his super fan lifts way, way, way more than him.

He still tried. And I’ve never admired his pathetic can’t-quit, never-surrender attitude more than I did in that moment—because it made the humiliation so much funnier. He kept trying to puff out his chest, to readjust his cape and his hair, both of which had lost their usual spring and went limp, flaccid, utterly impotent.

He didn’t look like a god among mortals. He looked mortal. Just a sweaty, struggling man, each exercise forcing him to lower the pitiful amount he could lift.

In the end, he resembled a sad sack—some lazy bum in a pair of saggy, sweat-logged kid’s pajamas. If anything, this workout didn’t show the world how super strong he was. It showed them how super weak he truly is.

And yes… I loved watching him sweat on live TV. Each drop brought me joy. Each rep brought him humiliation.

It was no sweat for her to outlift Superman, as her muscles were covered with the glistening and lustrous shine of perspiration, while Superman was sweating buckets and starting to drown in his own flop sweat—much as he was flopping around while trying to lift those weights.

His always perfectly styled and coiffed hair was now soaked through and saggy with sweat, and down his face the tiny little droplets would bead up and collect, dripping and merging together—bigger and bigger—falling down his face in big drenching pours.

While her muscles just grew bigger and bigger and bigger, and so too did my smile as I loved watching this all take place… She really was putting Superman in his place. My Super Muscle Growth Super Steroid worked even better than my calculations. She was more powerful. With more mighty female muscle than even I had dared hope for.

So you might think I’m super zealous for me to be enjoying Superman’s misery. Even though I am a super villain—it’s just what we do—and you think it might be odd that my revenge was for a woman to outmuscle him. Why not? I’m super genius and a super villain, not a misogynist.

But Superman is a super big one—he just loves being the biggest, strongest, most powerful, most super man in not just every room, or city, or even country, but planet… maybe even universe. His ego knows no bounds.

But now he’s feeling the limits of his strength—and it’s not just a man proving stronger than him, but a woman. And don’t tell me the irony of the Man of Steel being outmuscled by a woman isn’t just pure genius…

Because it is!

I know because this was my genius plan, and I have the most genius supervillain mind in the entire world… maybe even the entire universe!

And so yes, I might be zealous—but you can bet your bottom dollar that Superman sure was jealous of his biggest fan’s great big girly muscles!

And I have the tape to prove it.

So yes, I was enjoying watching my plan and hard work in planning Superman’s female hardbody humiliation. And I didn’t just enjoy it in the moment. Oh no, I made sure to capture every second. Every rep—and I mean every rep…

Every rep that he struggled with, and each and every single rep more she did than him.

I recorded every flex as well, as nothing escapes my precious electric eyes. Every time that oaf tried to puff out his chest or square his shoulders—only for him, there was no squaring the circle or big zero that he now had become—as his muscles just didn’t compare to his super fan girl. And each and every flex of hers showed just how much her mighty female muscles dwarfed Superman’s so-called superhero physique.

Every look of shock on Superman’s face. When he struggled with the impossibly heavy weight—which, shockingly enough, not only did his super fan not find impossible, but rather easily possible to lift the same weights, and for shockingly way more reps.

Yes, this footage was pure gold. Seeing the Man of Steel look more rusty and dull, and not glittering in the public eye—their great big golden boy… well, golden boy in the blue and red tights. And he wasn’t just shaking in his red boots, but he was sweating through that blue and red superhero outfit of his. Which most of been especially embarrassing for him, because he was sweating through it in all the especially humiliating places.

And suddenly his superhero outfit didn’t look so super on him, you could say with all the sweat forming, great big cracks were beginning to show in both his façade and outfit. And by great big cracks, I’m talking about moons, an alien moon that came far away from our Solar System.

Yes, in his outfit he looked more like a grumpy and sweaty toddler, as he teetered and toddered and sweated through every one of his pathetic and lightweight lifts. Did I ever say just how much I hate and disdain his super suit. The only super suit a man should wear should be a black executive business suit. In my super suit, I’ve signed countless take overs and mergers, all by lifting a pen. And right now in his super suit with each sweaty failed lift he’s looking more and more like silly child, especially with all those pouty faces he’s been making.

So seeing him this way wasn’t new for me. I always thought that so-called super suit of his made him look more like a silly child in pajamas than a hero—let alone a superhero. And without those superpowers of his, he was looking weak—like a weak, tiny, sweaty, silly little child.

At least when next to his super hypertrophic super fan.

So I fed my footage through my AI editor, and I compiled and edited together a little highlight reel to send to my supervillain associates. And some politicians too—because let’s be honest, in my experience the greatest, most vile supervillains were always politicians.

But wait—there’s more. As you see, with this plan of mine—which turned out to be a piece of cake for a supervillain such as myself—it turns out I could have my cake and eat it too. Because during this whole workout, something rather unexpected happened. Something impossible for even my super genius brain to predict.

Do you want to know the cherry on top?

Lois Lane’s article.

The fervor, the zeal, the gusto she wrote with—oh, it was delicious. I would have just been happy seeing Big Blue look not so big, and not look like such a Superman that he would tower in Lois’s eyes. And he was most certainly eclipsed by his super fan and her super strong and super swole muscles.

And Jimmy Olsen turned out to be no pal of Superman’s—let alone best pal—not with those sensational photos he’d taken. Frame after frame of Superman looking small, looking weak, each photograph perfectly framed to showcase his humiliation. I never appreciated just how truly talented of a photographer Jimmy Olsen was. I think this just might earn him a Pulitzer.

And I also couldn’t help but think—with friends like Jimmy taking those humbling and humiliating photographs, who needs an enemy?

Not that Superman ever has to worry about that—he’ll always have me, Lex Luthor. The greatest criminal mastermind the world has ever seen.

Right now I’m not plotting or trying to frame Superman in another of my plots. No, right now the only plotting and framing I’m going to be doing is making sure to frame each and every one of his photographs on my wall with all my magazine covers and Person of the Year awards and honorary degrees.

All of which will pale before those photos, as they’re a reminder of my plan—the time Superman’s star waned and he paled before the super muscular physique of his super fan. Of him being outlifted and outflexed by his biggest super fan—who, of course, as you no doubt remember, has bigger and stronger muscles than Superman.

And I’m going to remind both the world and Superman of his humiliation as often and as many times as I can.

Because I’m such a vile and evil criminal mastermind!

Ha-ha-ha!

I can’t help but laugh as I re-read Lois’s article for the tenth—no, maybe hundredth—time. I set down that worn copy of my Daily Planet paper. I have thousands more saved up just like it.

And to think I used to think the Daily Planet paper wasn’t even fit to be toilet paper. And now I think these papers are going to make great Christmas cards. But really, to me, they’re each a cause for celebration. Seeing that insufferable super simpleton look like a teeny tiny wimpy little weenie on national television—with his tiny red trunks looking like he had a teeny tiny accident and pee-pee’d or wee-wee’d through them—and to have a Pulitzer Prize-worthy article written on it by the nation’s biggest newspaper… one that was always so friendly with his coverage and image.

But yes, if my vote means something—and with me being Lex Luthor, the greatest criminal mastermind ever, it means more than something—as I can pull all the necessary strings and levers behind the scenes to ensure it does, both Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen will earn a pair of Pulitzers.

Which, to tell the truth, I never thought much of that pair—except for, of course, the great pair that Lois has. Actually, she has a pair of great pairs, if you know what I mean.

Just as I know you’ll know what I mean when I say this again—that with friends like the Daily Planet and Lois Lane, and Jimmy Olsen,  who needs enemies?

But don’t fear, Superman. I’m not going anywhere. I, Lex Luthor—the greatest criminal mastermind—shall always be here. And you’re going to have a growing fear of women growing bigger and stronger muscles than you, if it’s the last thing I do…

And it’s not going to be the last thing I do. No, it’ll be the first. Even before I frame those pictures and photographs.

Because as I watched that CC footage, and as I read Lois Lane’s impeccably penned article—in which she figuratively henpecked Superman for being physically and literally out-pumped and out-lifted—I realized something.

I wasn’t the only one having fun!

Don’t even start to think or believe Superman was having even an ounce of fun. No—he had ounces and ounces of his hubris and ego being buried beneath all the many, many ounces of weight that he could not lift compared to his super-strong super fan! You could measure it in pounds, but even then the numbers would be just as astronomical—as she was lifting not just one hundred or two hundred more pounds than him, or even one thousand or two or three thousand pounds more, but rather she was lifting two, and three, and even five tons more than him.

It just depended on the lift. And by the time he got to the deadlift, not only did Superman look like he was dead and dying, but I bet he sure wished he was dead—just to put an end to his humiliation.

But I don’t want him to be a dead ghost. I only want his humiliation to haunt him and be a stain on his legacy—just like all those sweat stains on his superhero suit.

And again, I wasn’t the only person reveling in his humiliation. And maybe it’s just my hubris, but watching Superman drown in his own hubris and sweat was so, so very sweet for me. And I couldn’t help but think just how smart I was—and this plan of mine was.

Yes, I am the smartest man in the world, and I just exposed Superman for the fraud he is—claiming to be the strongest man in the world.

As it turns out, while I am without a doubt the smartest person in the world, and no one is even a close second to my intellect… next to enjoyment and happiness? I was only the second happiest person in the world.

Because without a doubt, the first and most happiest person in the whole wide world was the girl with the widest shoulders in the world. Which was obviously the girl herself—Superman’s super fan—who now had the biggest muscles in the gym. Bigger than Superman’s. Bigger than anyone else’s in the whole wide world.

And no doubt, this plan of mine—Superman’s humiliation—will be the biggest news in the entire world… especially the Planet… as in the Daily Planet.

And again—with friends like the Daily Planet and Lois Lane, who needs enemies?

But don’t fear, Superman. I’m not going anywhere. I, Lex Luthor—the greatest criminal mastermind—shall always be here. And you’re going to have a growing fear of women growing bigger and stronger muscles than you, if it’s the last thing I do…

And it’s not going to be the last thing I do. No, it’ll be the first. Even before I frame those pictures and photographs.

Because as I watched that CC footage, and as I read Lois Lane’s impeccably penned article—in which she figuratively henpecked Superman for being physically and literally out-pumped and out-lifted—I realized something.

I wasn’t the only one having fun!

Don’t even start to believe Superman had even an ounce of fun. No—he had ounces and ounces of his hubris and ego being buried beneath all the many, many ounces of weight that he could not lift compared to his super-strong super fan!

As it turns out, while I’m the smartest person in the world and no one is even a close second to my intellect… next to enjoyment and happiness? I was only the second happiest person in the world.

The first? Well, that was obviously the girl herself—Superman’s super fan, who now had the biggest muscles in the gym. Bigger than Superman’s. Bigger than anyone else’s in the world.

And no doubt, this plan of mine—Superman’s humiliation—will be the biggest news in the world.

But as I set Lois Lane’s article down, I started to wonder—maybe there was a third person who was almost as happy as Superman’s super fan and me.

That’s why I invited Lois Lane up to my executive office—the top floor of my LuthorCorp skyscraper, the biggest building in the world, naturally. Fitting for a big shot like me. A big shot who finally bested and belittled Superman, and proved there’s always a bigger fish—even if that fish was a girl with mighty female muscles.

And you better believe I’m smiling as I lean back in my executive chair, at my executive desk, inside my executive office—because I just executed the perfect plan and executed Superman’s flawless public persona. Now I can’t help but smile as I think he’s suddenly going to find himself persona non grata.

But it wasn’t just my smile I noticed—and mine was so wide and stretched out on my face that it’d be impossible for me not to notice, just as it was impossible right now for me to frown even if I wanted to.

I couldn’t help but notice Lois’s expression in all of Jimmy’s photos. The look on her face as she watched Superman being outlifted, outmuscled, and woman-handled by his young female super fan. It was almost as great as the look on Superman’s face when he lost the arm-wrestling match to his super fan—and realized that even using both his arms, he was still no match. And that a Superman without his superpowers was as weak and helpless as a woman…

At least weaker than a woman with mighty female muscles. But that’s not the point…The point is the look that Lois had on her face. And that matches my look. It’s the look that said she enjoyed it almost as much as I did. And that’s saying something.

So here I am, saying this to her now as she’s seated right before me:

“Lois, what if I told you I could give you a Super Muscle Growth Super Steroid? One that would make you have bigger muscles than Superman? Bigger and stronger—and would make him look like the Man of Tinfoil standing next to you.”

I have a feeling, from the way she’s smiling at me—just like how she was smiling throughout the one-on-one charity weightlifting workout, where she smiled as she watched Superman outmuscled by his super fan and her mighty female muscles—that her reception and chilly attitude toward me is about to warm up considerably.

I mean, come on—who could resist that offer? Bigger and stronger muscles than Superman. That’s an offer she can’t refuse. And next to her, Superman is going to look like refuse… yesterday’s trash, yesterday’s news. Like a soggy and crumpled up newspaper.

But I’m not going to let my copies of Lois’s Daily Planet cover story—Super Swole Super Fan Steals the Show on Superman—end up like that!

I have big plans for those. Just like how I have big plans for Lois.

While I know I am a big-brained super genius, I am a bit surprised my plan worked so flawlessly. Not that I had doubts in my own intellect or my own plan—I thought it up and created it!—I was worried about all the stupid people at home watching, and the idiots in attendance at that event. But they were surprised. Just as surprised as Superman was. They were, you could say, super surprised to see him struggle, surprised to see him sweat, surprised to see the Man of Steel sweat and rust over on live TV.

Because they didn’t know, obviously, about the red sun lamps I had hidden in that weight room. And even more, most don’t know that red sun lamps, obviously, make Superman not just weaker, but normal—and a plain, ordinary, and as it turns out, not very strong man.

And when the lamps were discovered—and I let them be discovered—most barely mentioned them. They were an afterthought. An excuse. If they were mentioned at all. And it all sounded more like Superman whining like the super baby he is. Complaining he didn’t feel right. Claiming something disabled his powers. And even when the truth of the red sun lamps finally did come out, it was too little, too late. Just like Superman himself was too little, too weak to compete with his super fan and her super-strong muscles. And all his excuses? They were just as weak as his lifts.

Why, even Lois Lane herself surprised me in her article. I would have thought she’d spend more time on it. Giving weight and strength to Superman’s argument with her mighty pen… but no. She cared little for his little muscles and was more impressed with all the weights Superman’s super fan bench pressed with her mighty pecs. She wasn’t at all impressed with Superman’s strength without his so-called superpowers. She barely mentioned it. She was far too focused on what really mattered: the bulging, mighty female muscles of Superman’s super fan—the great big distraction, the great big beautiful buff lie…

But then again, is it a lie, that Superman is weaker than a girl? Without being too pedantic, I think it’s a matter of semantics—and maybe even a matter of time. A matter of time till this blows over and people forget and move on. But I don’t think most will. And I bet it’s not something Superman will easily move on from. I bet he’ll have haunting nightmares of his hardbody.

Some people—just a few—might eventually learn and accept the truth. But maybe not before I can change it and manipulate it again. Some will forget. Some will move on. But most? Most will never know. Most will always believe that Superman, with all his superpowers, was outlifted, outmuscled, and outflexed by a girl with mighty female muscles. And they’ll stop believing in Superman. They’ll stop blindly following him. And instead, they’ll start blindly—and not just naively, but ignorantly—following me. Lex Luthor.

Because most people are stupid simpletons and will believe anything. Even that a man can fly… and who cares if he can or not? I’m saying there is nothing super about Superman. And this whole situation is just going to be one big sticky and sweaty situation for Superman. And he’ll find it harder to clean up the lies than even to clean up all that sweat on his super suit.

Yes, this is going to be a big thorn in the side for Superman. A big pain in his derriere. A big embarrassment. And it will prove to be a big distraction for him—which is perfect for me and my great big villainous super genius plans.

Because—there is one great big thing you all don’t know. And this is something Superman himself certainly didn’t know, and probably never will know. And that is thanks to my many secret devices hidden in that weight room, I was able to surreptitiously siphon off just a little itty bit of Superman’s superpowers.

And while it’s only a little itty bit, it’s more than enough to further fuel—and even supercharge—my villainous plans. And this is all part of my great big super genius master plan.

And let me tell ya, I’m such an evil genius.

I’m Lex Luthor—the greatest criminal mind!

Ha ha ha ha ha!