Lois and Clark got to cover the RNC. So I went to San Diego Comicon 2016 instead. Also, I’ve been put in charge of creating “viral videos” for the Daily Planet on top of my other duties and without a change in pay. Here’s my first report…
I Called Superman “Daddy”
When I met Superman I was a legal adult. I was a teenager, sure, and a little immature but I had my own apartment, supported myself on my measly Cub Reporter’s salary, and found myself engaged to beautiful space ladies on a regular basis. You know, like a grown up. So naturally, when Superman offered to adopt me I was super excited.
Who wouldn’t want to be adopted by their best friend?
It’s a good thing I was on board, too, because Superman had already done the paperwork without asking me if it was all right.
None of this is weird!
You see, I’m an orphan. And I LOVE crashing father/son picnics in my spare time. But it seems weird creeping around without a dad.
This is what I do on my days off.
It’s much less weird and totally socially acceptable for an eighteen year-old and a dude with godlike powers to annihilate a bunch of tiny kids and their pot-bellied dads in the three legged-race!
Suck it, brown-slacks losers!
Superman even went to all the trouble of renting a house in the suburbs for us and moving all of my stuff. Again, without even asking me! This is still not weird, right???
a) I love the “Superman and Son” sign b) Does it say “Superman” on the lease? c) Whee!
He also carried me like a baby to his other house in the Arctic.
I got wind burns on my face real bad that day. So worth it to have a dad though!
He showed me how he kept an innocent creature captive, wasted money, collected ugly sculptures, and kept tools in his garage!
Fortress of Solitude? More like Fortress of Oh, My God, Can We Go Home Yet?
Then he showed me what kind of dad he really was.
Why does Superman need a gun anyway?
Okay, so maybe he was having a rough day. Long flight to the Arctic Circle. Me complaining about all the bugs flying in my mouth. I can see how he could be on edge. But then…
Dude, no one cares about your stupid “secret” identity. Seriously. Also, “It will go hard with you?” WTF?
Of course, I did what any well-adjusted human being would do…spent all my money trying please this rage monster.
How about you put that money in a nice Roth IRA for yourself instead, nitwit? Maybe get some Lexcorp or Wayne Enterprises stock?
So I got him a specially tailored dad robe with the House of El crest on it and everything. This thing was like super comfy high-end terry cloth. Care to guess how that went over?
There was a gift receipt. He could have returned it and gotten something he wanted.
That was it for me. I decided that maybe being adopted by my abusive best friend wasn’t the right thing for me at that time in my life.
Also, these documents were never valid in the first place because Superman is an illegal alien and doesn’t have any ID or social security number or anything.
Superman later made up some cock and bull story about his “super-calculator” telling him that he would “destroy his own son” on June 17 so he needed to be a big prick in order to sabotage the adoption instead of, you know, having an honest conversation with me about it? I’m not buying it.
The thing that flashed into my mind was, “Eff this guy.”
In any case, I hope you have a happier Father’s Day than that! And if you don’t have a dad, maybe that’s better than having a terrible one.
It really was a nifty robe.
Jimmy Olsen Vs. Evil Beardos
“BRING BACK THE BEARD.” – Beard Band Motto
We’ve all heard the tales of the secret society known as the Beard Band. But what really goes on inside their secret meetings? Do they just talk about the latest advances in comb and trimming technology?
Beard Band founder (probably)
Or is it something more nefarious (SPOILER ALERT: It’s something more nefarious)? That’s exactly what I set out to discover when I attempted to infiltrate their ranks.
Stenciled doors are a dead giveaway to your secret society BTW.
Sadly, my clever disguise was seen through within two seconds.
I knew I should have used spirit gum!
but lucky for me I ran into a complete stranger with a glass of mysterious liquid for me to drink.
WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG???
Surprisingly, the liquid wasn’t poison and actually worked!
Finally, something on my chin to stroke!
I got into the meeting but it turns out that nice bearded stranger wasn’t as nice as he had seemed.
I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND???
He was, in fact, the president of the Beard Band and refused to give me the antidote for the beard tonic (thus cursing me to have hair constantly growing out of my face) unless I became a spokesperson for the club. Normally, I don’t do celebrity endorsements (at least not ONLY for antidotes) but they had me by the long hairs on this one.
What happens to the motto if they do bring the beard back?
Amazingly, there were several beard related events happening the next day including the opening of a terrible play about noted beard enthusiast Father Time…
What kind of production swings a REAL SCYTHE around the stage? Also, there were 2nd Act problems.
…a dedication of a park statue of Robinson Crusoe…
You know, like the Robinson Crusoe statue you have in your park!
…a Seven Dwarfs exhibit and the premiere of a “Rip Van Winkle” movie (part of the new Washington Irving cinematic universe). One might even wonder if the beard wasn’t already back?
Somehow I managed to bungle each of these public appearances, turning the idea of a beard into a thing of ridicule (much to the chagrin of the Beard Band publicist).
He gave the Beard Band a good rate seeing as how he’s a member.
I did manage to catch some crooks with the beard they shot off my face!
Do not attempt. Trained beard professional.
But the Beard Band was not happy and decided to go with Plan B.
Sadly, Operation Whiskers did not involve an adorable kitten.
These radicalized beardists decided to poison the Metropolis drinking water with beard tonic!
I wonder where Christopher Nolan got all his great “Batman Begins” ideas from.
Solid plan, bro.
I did what any normal, law-abiding citizen with a thirst for beard justice would have done. I took the beard I had cut off to use as a lariat to climb out of a ditch (long story) and threw it for no apparent reason!
Careful. I hear someone put dissolved beard in the tonic tonight.
Thankfully, because of my illogical actions and…uh…science, my beard somehow turned the beard tonic into a beard tonic antidote and wiped out the Beard Bands beards. Of course, then Superman finally decided to show up and take the credit.
This is how science works.
It appeared that clean-shaven goodness had won the day but, alas, we underestimated the power of the Beard Lobby and the lack of clear laws regarding adding beard tonics to drinking water. The Beard Band paid a few fines and walked away without doing any jail time and within a few decades had realized their mad hipster scheme to bring beards back into fashion…
[Cue “X-Files” end credits music]
Time to change the motto.
Superman’s Robot Slaves
I’ve established in previous posts that Superman is a liar, a creep who pimps out his cousin to dudes with werewolf curses, and a misogynist who regularly assaults women. He also has an army of robot slaves.
Looks like someone’s got a case of the Mondays!
Superman has gone to great lengths over the years to protect his “secret” identity (he knows we all know, right?). One time, he kidnapped an air force pilot suffering from amnesia and forced him to go on national television pretending to be Clark Kent so he and Superman could be in the same room at the same time.
Uh…you know we know what “Clark” looks like, right?
Don’t worry. Superman totally gave the guy his memory back…by making him dizzy?
Thank you for your service.
He’s also employed other cunning ruses involving rubber masks, dummies, and “super-ventriloquism” over the years before somehow getting smart enough to build life-like super-powered duplicates of himself programmed to call him “master.”
We know right from wrong! But do not recognize the irony of calling you “Master,” Master! Also, no one say anything about the naked robot.
Did I mention he keeps his robots in his closet?
a) I’d kill for this much closet space. b) I don’t need to point out the metaphor, do I?
Also, they were self-aware, sentient beings with with wants and needs.
Uh…maybe lock the bathroom door next time, Superman-T.
They can also do neat robot tricks.
Fully posable!
Even if they do have a few design flaws…
Speak American, Superman!
Superman also made a bunch of weird ones that obviously aren’t him and are thus useless in protecting his secret identity.
These guys are HIGHLY collectable.
He also told all the people most likely to guess who he is about the existence of these robots, thus further defeating their alleged purpose in helping keep his identity secret.
Spoiler alert: he’s not dead.
It’s almost as if he’s not really trying that hard to protect his secret identity after all.
Really? You “forgot” that painters are redecorating your rooms? Also, you’re going with yellow for the bedroom?
Could it be Superman’s public insistence on using his robot slaves to protect his identity is yet another elaborate lie designed to misdirect us from the truth that he is amassing a robot army with which to enslave the world?
I know he has a saviour complex but the Super-Pope hat is a bit much.
I know what you’re thinking: if Superman wanted to enslave the world he could. And sure, he probably could. But in order to rule, he’d need governors in every country to carry out his will. Who better than robot slaves made in your own narcissistic image, incapable of rising up against you?
The Burger King lining on the cape is a nice touch.
Luckily for us, fate has thwarted Superman’s plans.
Superman Robot kick line!
Pollution, overpopulation, and man-made radiation have…uh…somehow rendered the Superman robots inoperable. Thanks, Obama.
Have you tried turning it off and then turning it back on again?
Jimmy Olsen: “I am NOT dead.”
“The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”
— Me (Also, Mark Twain)
WARNING: “Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice” SPOILERS(Although it happens in the first fifteen minutes and every major entertainment blog has reported on it so maybe it’s not???)! You have been warned…
I had been on the fence about whether or not to see the new Batman/Superman movie assaulting popular culture this weekend. On the one hand, I had heard I was a character in the film played by Scoot McNairy (false) and felt a narcissistic obligation to see how I was portrayed.
McNairy a truth to Scoot Jimmy reports.
On the other hand, the entertainment budget of a cub reporter is small and I knew this movie was probably not going to be made for me after seeing Zack Snyder’s “Man of Steel.”
Superman pokes Batman in the teeth and the movie’s over, right?
Well, thankfully, Entertainment Weekly broke a story that helped me make my decision: I get shot in the head by an African warlord within the first reel of the film because I am an undercover CIA agent.
Uh… guess I’ll be seeing “Zootopia?”
Zack Snyder explains why he shot me in the head like this: “We just did it as this little aside because we had been tracking where we thought the movies were gonna go, and we don’t have room for Jimmy Olsen in our big pantheon of characters, but we can have fun with him, right?”
I don’t know what’s more disturbing: that I am murdered as an “aside” or that Mr. Snyder views this as “fun.”
I enjoy killing people!
I get it. I don’t fit into this version of the DC Comics universe. Usually, filmmakers use me as an audience surrogate for young children to relate to, the kid who idolizes Superman and wants to be him.
Marc McClure rocking the gee whiz look.
Or as the super sexy man candy.
Totally valid interpretation of me. Also, totally valid interpretation of how to wear a t-shirt.
But since these movies clearly aren’t being made with children in mind and since no one in their right mind would want to be this version of Superman it makes sense not to use me in the story.
“I want to break Zod’s neck for Halloween, mommy!” — all the kids
But to unceremoniously blow my brains out instead of, say, not having me in the movie at all? I would say, “I bid you good day, sir,” but I have more to say on the matter.
Behold! The Dawn of Jimmy’s Justice!
First, let me reassure you, gentle reader, I’m totally not dead. I have not been executed by an African warlord. I’m fine. Really. In fact, I’m not even named in the theatrical cut of the movie. The only way you know it’s me was if you read the credits. But even then things aren’t always what they seem.
I love Batman doing a face slap here.
Take for example the time Robin and I fooled Batman and Superman into thinking we were dead.
I’m assuming they at least make a huge statue in honor of me in the movie, right?
That probably what’s going on here.
Say what you will about the Joker, it is not easy to write clearly on clothing.
Robin faked his death at the hands of the joker, disguised himself as an African warlord, and shot a magic gun at me that released a hallucinogenic drug that made Lois Lane think I was killed. What’s that? You don’t think white boy Dick Grayson can successfully disguise himself as an African warlord???
Uh…moving on.
There is some truth to the fact that I am an undercover super-spy but if I was truly in trouble I could have used some of my super-duper gadgets to kick some African warlord ass.
What’s that? You want to shoot me in the head? Okay, just lean in and check out my super cool lapel…Ha! Lasered you!
In any case, relax. If Warner Brothers ever gets their act together with their movie universe and decides to make a movie with “room” for me or Dick Grayson we can still come out to play.
How it should have ended: with Robin and me staring mindlessly at the Bottle City of Kandor.
In any case, thank you, Zack Snyder, for providing me the opportunity to write about your movie without having to spend the money to go see it.
Alonzo Scarns, Worst Housewarming Gift Giver Ever
ALSO, YOU SHOT ME IN THE HEAD AS A FUN ASIDE???
I Was A Gorilla Newshound
Investigative journalism is not without its risks. Aside from the low pay and dwindling ad rates it is not uncommon for a reporter to switch consciousness with a gorilla.
I have “typing with gorilla fingers” on my resume under “special skills.”
I know what you’re thinking: “But Jimmy, switching consciousness with a gorilla sounds like a very unusual occurrence.” Oh, yeah? Then why has it happened to me not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES???
Sometimes I can talk when I’m a gorilla, other times not so much. There’s no internal logic to my life.
The first time I switched bodies with a gorilla I was doing a fluff piece on a crackpot inventor. I do these a lot and never take the crackpots seriously despite the fact that I always let them experiment on me and ALWAYS end up with some kind of super power or life threatening condition for a day or two.
Case in point…
This is totally how science works.
And wouldn’t you know it…
No amount of dry cleaning would fix what that gorilla did to my suit while he was in my body.
So what did I do? Well, naturally I consulted all the genius super-scientists I’ve met over the years to find a solution to the problem.
Nah. Just kidding. I put on some ill-fitting clothes and went to work. A gorilla’s gotta eat (a lot) and I can’t afford to take a day off (unlike definitely not off on the planet Apokolips fighting Darkseid “Clark”).
“Nice monkey suit.” – Something no one had the balls to say to me for fear of having their arms ripped off
Yes, my coworkers did freak out at first but it took a surprisingly short amount of time to convince them not to have me shot and killed as a public menace.
I guess my name is “Bonzo” now even though I’m still the same person on the inside.
Science isn’t the only way you can “Vice Versa” with a gorilla. Magic rings will do the trick too! Like the time I switched bodies with Congorilla!
Getting punched by a kangaroo is optional.
Or like that other time I switched bodies with Congorilla!
I hope those bad guys don’t hear me pooping!
There are probably other ways to switch bodies with a gorilla (i.e. brain transplant) but so far I’ve only had to deal with crackpot science and magic rings.
It always seems to work out in the end though and I’ve been able to return to my human form.
Sadly, “Bonzo” did not kill my boss.
But every reporter knows it’s only a matter of time before they get stuck in an ape’s body forever and somewhere out there is a gorilla’s brain with their name on it.
That’s me on the left. Also, on the right.
Lois Lane’s Glass Ceiling
“After all, Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did. She just did it backwards and in high heels.”
– Ann Richards
Let’s talk about my friend Lois Lane. Well, friend may be pushing it. She’s someone I work with who terrifies me. Why is she terrifying? Maybe it has something to do with the fact that she broke the glass ceiling in a man’s world and is constantly being punished for it by her friends, colleagues, and her a-hole boyfriend who doesn’t trust her enough to give her a Secret Signal Watch or tell her his “secret” identity (psst! I’m talking about Superman).
Let’s get one thing straight from the start: Lois Lane is a damn fine reporter.
Also, mad typing skillz.
Not only is she fearless, intrepid…
Breaking and entering!
…and ethical…
This was during her Jackie O. phase.
…but she also can’t be intimidated by the most powerful being on the planet…
And then she picked up the phone and hit Perry in the face with it.
…and she managed to win a Pulitzer Prize despite Perry White constantly throwing all kinds of sexist assignments at her.
Remind me to tell you about that globe sometimes (SPOILER ALERT: it spins).
Not to mention the fact that she has to put up with “Clark’s” sexual harassment.
“But I’m a ‘nice’ guy!”
Constant sexual harassment.
CONSTANT.
Way to wear her down, “Clark!”
This is all to say she’s the best journalist I know. She has to be. “Clark” may be able to take as many “sick” days that correspond to Superman’s outer space trips as he likes but Lois is held to a different standard, a standard that demands she be “slender” and “pretty” in addition to brilliant and competent but will still always label her a “girl reporter” no matter how good she is.
Take, for example, the time a magician claiming to be Circe, the ancient witch of Greek mythology, drugged Lois and hypnotized her into thinking her head had transformed into that of a giant cat.
This type of stuff happens more often than you’d think in our line of work.
Oh, sure. Maybe she over-reacted by having a giant lead-lined aluminum box built to hide her imagined giant cat head and retreating from all human interaction but did she deserve what came next?
After Superman broke into her house, read her personal diary, and discovered what had happened, did he go to her and tell her? Of course not. First off, he lies to her in his patented Superman fashion…
Silly Lois. Believing that “female space pilot” stuff! Ha ha!
Then he throws two buzz saws at her head.
Yeah. You check on that “hunch,” Superman!
I think that bears repeating. HE THREW TWO BUZZ SAWS AT HER HEAD. And that’s not even the most insensitive thing he did that day.
Hey, guys. Let’s stand around and talk about Lois’s psychological problems like she’s not here.
He also had the Kryptonian balls to pull this stunt later that night…
Yes, Superman goes to restaurants.
Let’s get one thing straight, “snooping” and being “curious” is Lois Lane’s GODDAMN JOB. There’s no lesson to be taught. She was drugged and psychologically tortured while trying to unmask a psychic fraud. Do you know how dangerous psychics are, Superman? They prey upon people suffering from tragedies for profit.
Also, remember how you BROKE INTO LOIS’S HOUSE AND READ HER DIARY THAT DAY??? Snoop.
Never mind that you wanted to perform plastic surgery on her with your “super sensitive” hands.
To sum up: Lois is great, “Clark” is a creep, Superman’s a hypocrite, and Perry White is a raging misogynist.
Also, Superman stuck Lois with the check at that restaurant. There’s no room for wallets in that outfit.
Superman Spanks-a-lot
“He may be a super man, but that doesn’t mean he’s a good man.”
— me just now (pretty good, right???)
First off, apologies for the radio silence. Things got crazy with the holidays and then I got stuck in the bottle city of Kandor for a while and then I was kidnapped by the Anti-Superman Gang and then I switched consciousness’s with a gorilla (AGAIN) and then I caught a cold which had me on the ropes for a few weeks. You get it.
In any event, let’s talk about Superman’s super disturbing spanking fetish.
Let’s be clear: there’s nothing wrong with a little spanking between consenting adults. But that is NOT what we’re talking about here. These are clearly nonconsensual physical assaults.
See?
And there are a lot of them.
I’m not altering these in any way.
Superman has argued that these women were criminals and he was merely dispensing justice but has he ever infantilized and humiliated Lex Luthor, Brainiac, or the Ultra-Humanite in a similar fashion?
This is legitimately disturbing, right?
Let’s give Superman the benefit of the doubt for a moment and say these aren’t really assaults but fair and proportional justice doled out to these women.
What does that say exactly about Superman’s feelings about women? What have non-sexual spankings traditionally been reserved for? Punishing children, right?
He was in the middle of making dinner here.
So basically, Superman thinks of these female criminals as intellectual and emotional children, unworthy of the serious attention of the criminal justice system, and decides to take the matter into his own hands (literally)
Well, sometimes he just likes to watch.
In this best case scenario of Superman’s intentions, he is depriving these women of their basic human rights. It would be like him sentencing criminals to an eternity in a timeless prison dimension wormhole without due process. Oh, wait…
Where does Superman’s obsession with corporal punishment stem from? Could it be something to do with his daddy issues?
This doesn’t need a caption, does it?
Or his other daddy issues?
Smallville High discontinued the “Parent Principal For A Day” shortly after this photo leaked.
Or his Best Boy Pal who went back in time and became his babysitter issues?
I am not without fault.
Or his President Eisenhower issues?
I like Ike.
The sad truth is, probably none of these things are at the root of Superman’s psychological issues. Well, maybe they are but I don’t think his psychological issues are the root of the real problem: Superman is not an outlier.
He may be a liar and a creep who spanks women and pimps out his cousin to kiss dudes suffering from werewolf curses (namely me) but he is also the norm. Misogyny is a systemic problem in the super hero community. Everyone from Batman…
Never meet your heroes.
…to Captain Marvel…
Shazam!
…to Superman’s robot slaves (more on them another time)…
…to even paragons of feminism like Wonder Woman…
…and Supergirl are purveyors of this “old-fashioned” lesson teaching.
Is he smiling?
The real villain here is a culture that dehumanizes and minimizes women and makes people think this kind of behavior is permissible.
And also, Superman’s the villain too. Superman’s a jerk.
Ms. Lane If You’re Nasty
Tonight’s episode of “Supergirl” features the first proper introduction of my sometime, not really girlfriend, Lucy Lane, into the mythos of the show and I hope they get it right. By “right” I mean not at all accurate because the truth is embarrassing.
That was my fanciest purple dinner robe.
You see, I don’t like myself when I’m around Lucy. I honestly don’t know how anyone could like me around Lucy.
Stop talking, Jummy. Just please stop talking.
Or like Lucy for that matter. Really, she’s a horrible person.
No, really. She’s terrible.
She’s vain, selfish, materialistic, and fickle, constantly blowing off plans with me so she can go out with someone else.
Ain’t she sweet?
Oh, and she’s a nasty, ungrateful, gold-digging elitist. Imagine a human being as if they had been written by a couple of misogynistic dudes during the 1950s and that’s Lucy.
It bears repeating…GRRRR!
You’ve probably figured out that she’s Lois Lane’s sister (those Lane’s love their alliteration). She’s also a Flight Attendant which she apparently feels is comparable to flying around with an invincible man-god from another planet.
The Superman Museum is usually a great first date…and it’s free every first Wednesday of the month!
The first time we met I finagled a double date with Lois and “Clark.” I use the term “date” loosely (it was more of a “group hang” that I paid for). We went to the Superman Restaurant. You remember that chain of mid-scale family dining where the balding waiters had to dress like Superman? Thank Grod those went out of business.
It was better than “Sizzler” at least.
She was clearly not interested and wanted to cancel our next date to go out with some ” Famous Rodeo Stars.” Is that a thing?
Yes, “Clark” used his super-hearing to invade her privacy to get me this information.
The only way I can get her attention is if I get over her, move on, and start dating a gorgeous and/or giant alien space lady.
Physical attraction? √ Common Interests (i.e. me)? √ Both 200 foot Colossuses? MOST IMPORTANT.
Oh, THEN she gets interested.
Yeah, you look into it, lady.
So why do I put up with it and keep coming back for more? Well, clearly I like a challenge. Also, I’m a glutton for punishment I guess… and perhaps judge my own self worth by how others see me. If I can make this terrible person be nice to me then I must be something special!
I called her as soon as I got home.
Lies Superman Told Me
We all lie. Sometimes out of empathy, other times vanity or shame. Not all lies are necessarily sinister but when your best friend lies to you ALL THE TIME maybe you should consider if they’re really a friend…
One of Superman’s hilarious psychological pranks!
Last time, I suggested Superman may have been lying when he said I was once his babysitter on Krypton but didn’t remember it because I’d lost my memory when traveling back to my own time and planet. What reason would I have to doubt Superman’s veracity? He’s my best friend, right?
The problem is over the years I’ve discovered Superman lies. A lot.
Foam rubber is super convincing.
Often he lies because he’s fighting a mind reader and can’t trust my super-weak brain not to have my thoughts read. More often, he just doesn’t trust my acting ability and doesn’t let me in on his plan so that I will perform realistically.
No, really. Rubber masks are very effective disguises.
Sometimes he will lie to teach me a “lesson.” Like the time I lost my voice and some hunters mistook me for a “Jungle Boy” and “Clark” pretended not to recognize me.
Sure did learn my lesson about shirking guard duty that day!
Other times, the reasons are less clear. One time, he, Lois, Perry White and everyone in my life got together and acted like they didn’t know me.
These people are supposed to be my friends.
That’s right. THEY PRETENDED LIKE I DIDN’T EXIST.
It’s like “It’s A Wonderful Life” but without me wishing I never existed and with lying instead of magic.
Why would my friends psychologically torture me? FOR MY OWN GOOD, OF COURSE.
By far Superman’s biggest and most dangerous lie is his secret identity. He lies about who he is to the entire world. He claims it’s to protect his loved ones, which makes sense. If his enemies knew who he was they could go after his friends and family. So why not tell your friends and family said secret identity? He uses the same argument: it’s for our safety.
Whatever you say, Superman! You know best!
Here’s the thing though: I’m already a target. The entire world knows me as Superman’s “Best Boy Pal.” Lois Lane is allegedly his girlfriend of sorts. The world knows this. Bad guys know this. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been kidnapped, attached, brainwashed, or given a computer brain by Superman’s nemeses.
Say what you want about Brainiac but he is WORKING those short shorts!
In fact, he would rather put my life in jeopardy with his lies than have me know who he is. Like that time he made me think I could fly with magic wings.
Superbreath is supergross.
Or that time he made me think I could breathe under water.
You’re right. This is much easier than letting me know who you are.
“Okay, thanks for giving me the bends, a-hole.”
Oh, sure, he recently told me who he really was after seventy-five years (I pretended like I didn’t already know).
How long before this gets erased from my memory?
Why the secrecy? Here I can only speculate but I can tell you the thought that’s popped up in my head more than once over the years, the thought that I’ve told myself couldn’t possibly be true: He’s not my friend. He doesn’t trust me. I’m actually a decoy. Just like Batman dressing up his teenage partner is bright red and yellow to jump around rooftops on school nights, I am there to distract criminals from going after whoever Superman really cares for.
Time for a new Robin, I guess.
It makes a disturbing amount of sense and would explain why he might seek out an unworldly, naïve teenager with no family or friends and tell him an amazing story about how said teen saved his life when he was a baby and he was going to reward him with his friendship. It would also explain why he wants to keep me alive. If I get killed, he’ll have to find a replacement.
Then again, he’d still have Lois.