Fictional characters are really stupid because they aren’t real. I mean, Sherlock Holmes is supposed to be so smart, right? Well, guess what? He’s a f**king idiot compared to me. Why? Because he doesn’t exist. And the sad fact is, people who don’t exist are dumber than even the stupidest actual, real people in the world. Including me, ha-ha.
Sherlock Holmes only said and did smart things when author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote them for him. And Sir Arthur Conan Doyle died, like, at least fifty or sixty years ago, right? So Sherlock Holmes is just wandering around in some literary void somewhere waiting for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to tell him to w*** his a** or whatever. And Dr. Watson is gawking at him like “Dude…wait, what?” because he’s even dumber than Sherlock Holmes. Elementary, indeed!
I don’t mean to brag or anything, but I thought that last “Elementary, indeed!” part was pretty clever of me. Anyway, fictional characters are nothing more than ideas that some writer stuck down on paper. Meaning that they are at the mercy of anyone who decides to write about them. For example, picking on Sherlock Holmes a bit further, I myself could sit down and write a story called “Sherlock Holmes Strips Naked, Ballet Dances Into A Rotary Club Ladies’ Auxillary Meeting, and Performs An Impromptu Weenus Puppet Show For Your Mom and Her Friends.” And he’d have to do it. Nice weenus puppet show there, Sherlock!
(The concept of naked Sherlock Holmes doing a weenus puppet show for your mom is a copyrighted idea, by the way, so if you’re thinking about writing your own similar story, expect a call from my lawyers in the morning.)
Sure, fictional characters are entertaining. But as soon as they start thinking they’re all that, they should be reminded of how much extremely better I am than they are. A prime example of this is the great James Bond, 007. Since the passing of his creator, Peggy Fleming, Bond thinks he can exist and flounce around blowing his own horn and being the coolest guy in the universe without any literary supervision whatsoever. Well, wrong-o, “Commander Bond, James Bond.” Because even now, I’m in the process of writing an epic story where you get kicked out of Her Majesty’s Secret Service for having an illicit affair with a diseased water buffalo, and the only job you can find is to appear as “Buttsniffer Bob” on a children’s TV show called “Poopyland.” So one false move, Double-O Dork, and this story goes right onto the Internet for tens of people to read, eventually. Checkmate, MISTER Bond!
And just imagine the great Batman, if you would, swooping around like a winged avenger in the night, deep in some thrilling adventure against a dastardly super-criminal with the fate of Gotham City in the balance, and then suddenly some little kid picks up a Big Chief tablet and a crayon and starts writing a story called “Batman Finds My Missing Betsy-Wetsy Doll.” So Batman has to drop whatever he’s doing and go off looking for a f**king Betsy-Wetsy doll because he’s a fictional character and he has no choice in the matter. “Batman! Help us!” the citizens of Gotham City would scream. “The Joker’s murdering millions of people!” and Batman would have to say, “Sorry, citizens! I have to track down Sally’s missing Betsy-Wetsy doll first!” and everybody would shrug at each other like “WTF?”
So, this is why I purport that fictional characters are stupid and lame. And yes, “purport” is a real word. I’m using it incorrectly, but I don’t care. What I do know, and nobody on Earth can contradict me on this because there’s no way to amass any empirical data to the contrary, ha-ha, is that I am infinitely superior to Sherlock Holmes, James Bond, and Batman put together, if that’s your idea of a good time. Even if some great wordsmith such as Stephen King decided to write a story called “Porfle Wears a Banana Suit Into The Gorilla Cage At The San Diego Zoo” or “Porfle Gets Into Telepod A, Richard Simmons Gets Into Telepod B, and The Ghastly A-B Combination That Comes Flying Out of Telepod C Eats Woody Allen For Lunch”, it wouldn’t have any effect on me because I’m real and I don’t actually have to do any of that stuff. Besides, Richard Simmons and Woody Allen are real, too. I think. And Stephen King wouldn’t dare write anything uncomplimentary about me, because I have incriminating photographs of him and a certain, shall we say, “hydraulic device.” Maybe it’s a forklift, maybe not. We’ll see what happens.
And then, of course, there are those fictional characters that exist in the hazy twilight area between fantasy and reality. Characters like Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. Roy and Dale were real people, yet they played fictional characters named “Roy and Dale” in movies and TV shows. I have no idea what that’s all about. In real life, they were rich movie stars who lived in Hollywood, but in the movies, they lived on a really neat anachronistic ranch and hung out with comedy-relief morons like Gabby Hayes and Andy Devine. They couldn’t hang out with full-fledged fictional characters like Sherlock Holmes or Batman, of course. If they ever ran into Batman, they’d probably just say something like “Batman? What the flying f*** are you doing here in Prairie Dog Flats?” and he’d say “Beats the everlivin’ dog sh** outta me, I was looking for Sally’s Betsy-Wetsy doll” and they’d say “Well, why don’t you get Sherlock Holmes to help you find it?” and he’d say “I tried, but his dumb ass was putting on a weenus puppet show for your mom” and Roy and Dale would say “Well, I’ll be hornswoggled!” and Batman would be like “Yeah, right…what the f*** ever.”