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.
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.
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.
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!
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???
He also carried me like a baby to his other house in the Arctic.
He showed me how he kept an innocent creature captive, wasted money, collected ugly sculptures, and kept tools in his garage!
Then he showed me what kind of dad he really was.
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…
Of course, I did what any well-adjusted human being would do…spent all my money trying please this rage monster.
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?
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.
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.
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.