Major Alexander Louis Armstrong strode down Central's main thoroughfare as he headed to his regular shirt store. As often as he ripped his shirts while showing off his beautiful muscles, he was quite a frequent customer.
"Hey, Alex!" the owner of the shop called when Armstrong entered. "The usual?"
"Yes, thank you, John," Armstrong replied. John handed him a stack of boxes with a barely suppressed grin and collected the stack of money Armstrong had placed on the counter. The major was definitely his best customer. Armstrong nodded his thanks and exited the store with his purchase.
As the door closed behind him, Armstrong noticed a man slip into the telephone booth across the street. He wasn't sure why he noticed the man. Perhaps it was his muscular physique, which while respectable, was nowhere near as marvelous as his own. He shrugged and put the matter out of his mind.
Later that evening, Armstrong saw the same man at military headquarters. He appeared to be flirting with one of the secretaries. He was leaning against the wall, completely ignoring the fact that she was shrinking away and that her eyes were darting back and forth searching for an escape. Armstrong decided that it was his duty as a representative of the noble line of the Armstrong family to come to the aid of this poor beleaguered maid.
Armstrong stepped forward, his familial sparkles strengthened by the nobility of his cause. "Stop!" he cried, arm outstretched in supplication. "This poor maid does not desire your attentions." As he said this, the major flexed his muscles, threatening to break through yet another shirt. The strange man just looked at him without moving from his position. He eyed Armstrong's flexing muscles and slowly leaned away from the wall.
"Is that a challenge?" he asked with a glint in his eye. Armstrong responded by posing magnificently, sparkles on full blast. The man responded in kind - minus the sparkles - and the flex-off began.
Everyone in the room promptly fled and took their places peering cautiously around doors or out windows, but the two contestants hardly noticed. Armstrong's muscles quivered as they bulged, almost as if they were eager to show off. The stranger tried to emulate him, but his muscles, while well-defined, were nowhere near on par with Armstrong's.
They battled for nearly an hour, each pose more magnificent than the last. The stranger was growing weaker, and Armstrong decided it was time to end this once and for all. His muscles bulged once more, pressing inexorably against the confines of his shirt. The cloth fought valiantly to stay in one piece, but it was a lost cause. Armstrong's shirt burst, and he stood there in all his muscular glory, scintillating sparkles enshrining him. The stranger staggered under the overwhelming display and shielded his eyes with his hand.
"How?" he asked. "How is this possible?" His breath was ragged and he trembled with exhaustion. "I am Superman! I cannot be beaten!"
Armstrong loomed over him and proclaimed, "This muscular physique has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations!"
Superman looked at him, and realization dawned on his face. "Your sparkles!" he exclaimed. "They're made of Kryptonite!"
"These sparkles have also been passed down the Armstrong line for generations!"
Superman crawled his way to the door and left the site of his defeat. He never showed his face in Amestris again.
A/N: I deeply, deeply apologize for this, but the plot bunny seized me by the throat and forced me to do it.
Inspiration for my stories is posted on my profile for anyone who is interested.