this time i’m gonna drink the entire bottle of steak sauce

Yeah buddy, don’t buy into that crap about Superman being the so-called “Last Son of Krypton”- I believe our run-in a few years back with a fella named General Zod debunked that pretty thoroughly, wouldn’t you say? Course, you won’t hear any mention of that in our town’s selectively amnesiac, blatantly pro-Superman media. Buy you a drink? Yeah, like I was sayin’, he wasn’t the only one to make it off that rock and land on earth, there are others out there. Like, for example, keep this to yourself, but uh, yours truly. Just cause I’m not a big showoff- yeah, sweetie, two of those, and could you put an umbrella in mine? On my tab; name is Superbman? Thanks, doll- some of us choose to keep it under the radar, you know? Course, I have on occasion made a few bucks on the side appearing as the big fella at rich kids’ birthday parties. After the plant closed down, I charged $300 just to do a flyover, and from that far away the kids can’t tell a genuine forehead curl from one drawn on with shoe polish. Not to brag, but one time I got a cool grand for a girl’s quinceañera. Pretty straightforward gig- land in the yard, shake a few hands, wave and fly off- so I figure as long as I keep my mouth closed when I smile for the photos it’s easy money, but it was right in the middle of July and I thought I was gonna pass out from holding in my stomach that long. Of course, the assholes on Metropolis city council put a stop to that. Typical; they just want to sweep me under the rug and make me go away, like I’m Roger Clinton or something. In an secret midnight session they crammed through this measure to forbid me from ever using my powers, passing it by unanimous vote without even bother to read my statement that I have never abused my x-ray vision while pretending to read a magazine on a bench at the mall specifically chosen for its unique vantage point of the dressing rooms at Coldwater Creek, which is more than I can say about certain key to the city recipients I know. So unfair. Before the accident, my heat vision-seared buffalo wings were famous. Now, my wife won’t talk to me for a week because nobody came to our Super Bowl party, which was also gonna be the debut of our new, rebuilt kitchen. This court-ordered kryptonite ring custom made for me by the nice folks at Jostens may look good, but it takes me a few extra cups of coffee to get going in the morning, and lately I’ve had kind of a weak stream when I urinate. Their golden boy’s got them in his back pocket while I’m getting the shaft. Course, that didn’t stop the powers that be from crawling back to me the next time they were in a jam. Yeah, pal, how else you think Superman was singing with Michael Buble on a float at Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade while simultaneously flying over the Daily Planet Turkey Trot 5K race?