No Crisis Too Small



Clark heard the call for Superman the moment he walked in the door.

“Your editorial cartoonist hates me.”

“Everyone at the Planet pretty much hates you, Lex.”  Clark dropped his keys on the foyer table and picked up the mail.  He loosened his tie and glanced through the envelopes as he made his way into the study.

Lex was sitting on the couch, newspaper in hand, with a glass of scotch near his elbow.  “But he hates me with badly drawn pictures.”

Clark rolled his eyes behind his glasses, but there was no crisis too small for Superman.  “What did he do this time?”

“Bondage, and not in a good way,” Lex said. 

“Let’s see.”  Clark peered over Lex’s shoulder at the editorial page.  Sure enough, there was Lex in bondage – the red goatee was the artist’s attempt to keep the drawn person as ‘anonymous’ so he didn’t get sued.  A whip-scarred Lex was wearing red underwear, a gag, and a collar with chain leash in the comic.  Behind him stood a behemoth older woman – who looked scarily like Peter Parker’s Aunt May – holding the leash.  “You don’t own any red underwear.”

Lex glared icily over his shoulder at Clark.  “I am not amused.”

“I know.”  Clark dropped a kiss on top of his favorite bald head, mostly to annoy Lex.  He needed to get his kicks somehow.  “So, do you plan to destroy Chip’s life, kill him, or merely get him fired?”

“Maybe all I need to do is give him a new target,” Lex replied pointedly.

Clark sighed inwardly.  Who knew Lex was such a drama queen?  “Just ignore the editorial page, Lex.  Kenny wrote a good article on you in the business section.  Read that instead.”

“Kenny wants to blow me,” Lex said dismissively, but he turned to the business section of the paper.

“Kenny’s out of luck, then,” Clark said, swiping Lex’s scotch.  He drank it down and set the glass on the bar on his way out of the room. 

Crisis averted.  Superman’s job was done.

He wondered what was for dinner.




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