When Karen made the decision to right the wrongs of the world on her own as a costumed vigilante, she didn’t quite consider the consequences of all the choices she would have to make. Donning a purple, red, and yellow mid-riff shirt and skirt combo and a black domino mask that extended past the sides of her face with upturned devil-like wings, she armed herself with a wide range of explosives and took to calling herself SheBangs. Karen thought this codename was exceedingly clever: She, because Karen was of course a woman, and Bangs, because she planned on blowing things up. Banks, Republicans, Corrupt Cops — none were spared the wrath of SheBangs!
Yes, it was the eradication of precisely that brand of utterly American filth to which Karen had dedicated herself in this endeavor. She had committed herself with and as the whole SheBangs. Unfortunately, her costume resembled a Slutty She-Devil costume from one of those Halloween supply shops that crop up like weeds in suburbs in the weeks before the holiday only to abruptly close by Veterans Day. And with good reason: her costume was a Slutty She-Devil costume from one of those stored, customized at home with felt and curtains and a few pieces she stole from the Slutty Robin costume at the same store.
That thievery was the first act of criminal intent that she had ever committed — Karen had never received a parking ticket, let alone performed destructive acts of vigilante terrorism, and she thought that it was important to start small. She still paid for the Slutty She-Devil costume, however, as she felt that there was no reason to punish the poor store owner, himself a victim of the American system which she had come so to despise.
Unfortunately, excepting a brief stint as Assistant Stitcher on her high school production of A Streetcar Named Desire from which she was fired for spilling a bottle of Hawaiian Punch on the costumes, Karen had never stitched a thing in her life, and it showed on the sloppy, haphazard construction of her SheBangs costume. She created a symbol for herself, an emblem adorned on her breast. If anyone asked — which, no one did, but if they had she would have explained that it was meant to be an inversion of the Superman “S” and the Batman “B” (and again, if she had explained this, someone would likely point out that there was no Batman “B”). Instead, it looked like one of angular, fancified “S”s you would draw in middle school, with a pair of breasts.
This of course complimented her modified Slutty She-Devil quite eloquently. On her first bankjob, the tellers notified the police of her presence as soon as she walked in the building — less concerned about domestic vigilante terrorism, and more with general crazies. When they arrived, Karen took this as the perfect opportunity to declare her mission statement for the world. And look all good super-villains, this grandiose monologue began with her name:
Eyewitnesses say she was apprehended by the sheer force of laughter that arose from the Riot Police.