by William Goldman
“Fuck Superman,” said Lex Luthor. “He fucking sucks.”
For a moment (truthfully, only the briefest moment), Stephanie thought that Lex was commanding her to fuck Superman, like, to actually have a quick fling with him, because that’s what she would have preferred. Of course he was only saying (again) how much he hated Superman (a lot). Boring.
Unfortunately, Lex paid no attention to Stephanie’s painful disinterest, continuing his vulgar tirade against Superman even as he worked the throttle of his time plane. As far as Stephanie understood, this ‘time plane’ of his was not flying from one place to another, but backwards, though time. She glanced out the front window, into a rainbow colored swirling vortex. Different numbers and kinds of clocks were spinning out of it and spinning wildly in all directions.
She must have dozed off, because Lex was shouting at her to wake up and put on and old smelly coat. “We’re in the year 1933, dummy. You have to wear this vintage mink or people will take notice of us and ruin our plans.”
“What plans?” she asked groggily, slipping on the coat and almost gagging on the musk.
“Our plans to kill Jerry Siegal and Joe Shuster,” he said, folding his arms smugly.
She wasn’t impressed, and it must have shown, because Lex, rolled his eyes and slapped her in the head with something. It was a rolled up old comic book. He opened it up and showed her the names.
“Yup,” she said. “There they are. What the fuck ever.” She was trying to sound enthusiastic. He wasn’t going for it. It looked like he was about to whap her again, but instead he just pulled her off the time plane and off into the street, which was full of old cars and crap.
He dragged her a few blocks, then motioned to a building. “In there, I will kill Shuster and Siegal. Then, Superman will cease to exist!”
“Great,” she said. Lex pulled out a gun. “Wait here,” he said. I’ll be out in five minutes. Then I’ll be rich!”
He went inside.
In five minutes, he came outside looking extremely disappointed. He dropped the gun dejectedly on the pavement, where a burglar grabbed it and ran off and killed seven people with it, including President Roosevelt. Lex just sat down on the curb with a hangdog look.
“What happened?” asked Stephanie, this time actually really interested, even as Roosevelt’s screams echoed down the block.
Lex looked up at her, the light of utter disillusionment dulling his eyes. “Those guys in there,” he said, “are fucking dorks.”