Supernana

Seth is a wannabe comic artist. Oh, he has the talent, all right. His artwork is phenomenal. Dynamic poses. Incredible detail. Stunning action scenes. But when it comes to writing stories… let’s just say every editor within a hundred miles develops a mysterious illness. Take one of his greatest creations: Supernana. By day, Helen is an ordinary elderly grandmother who bakes cookies, attends bingo, and reminds everyone to wear a sweater because “it’s chilly.” By night, she becomes the fearless defender of justice, armed with baking supplies, orthopedic footwear, and the terrifying ability to weaponize grandmotherly disappointment. Her rolling pin has flattened more villains than construction equipment. Her industrial-strength cookie sheets double as indestructible shields. She hurls muffins with sniper-like precision, blinds criminals with clouds of flour, and once defeated an entire gang using nothing but an aggressively flung casserole. Her orthopedic shoes? They aren’t just comfortable—they’re combat boots disguised as sensible footwear. One kick from those support soles can launch a supervillain through three brick walls and into therapy. But Supernana’s most feared power isn’t her baking or her footwear. It’s The Look. One disappointed glare, followed by, “I’m not angry… I’m just disappointed,” is enough to make hardened criminals confess to crimes they haven’t even committed yet. Bank robbers return stolen money with interest. Mad scientists clean their laboratories. Parking violators suddenly feel overwhelming guilt and pay every ticket they’ve ever ignored. Her arch-enemy, Dr. Fiber, once tried to conquer the city with an army of constipation rays. Supernana defeated him by forcing him to eat three bowls of bran cereal while listening to a lecture about the importance of regularity. Is the plot ridiculous? Absolutely. Will Seth ever realize that maybe, just maybe, his stories need a second draft? Probably not.