It's a Super Thing

This is an unusually penetrating allegory, even by the Himalayan criteria unique to The Journal's Karmaführer™ himself--
WisdomoftheEast.

That it's a parable of drive-through, satori-inducing Insta-Lightenment® goes without saying.

Why, then, do we say it.

No one knows.

[If you recognize the subject of this photograph from the archives of your own memory, call an ambulance. --Ed.]




Superman was feeling stale after a long streak of crime fighting. The Man of Steel wanted to go out and party.

He called Batman to ask if he wanted to hit a few clubs, pick up some girls. Batman said Robin was passing a kidney stone and he'd have to look after him in the West Coast Batcave out in Laurel Canyon.

Disappointed, Superman called Spiderman to see if he fancied a few beers. Spiderman told him he was already having drinks and dinner at Musso&Frank's with Cat Woman.

As a last resort, Superman flew over to Wonder Woman's apartment on Wilshire to see if she was free. As he landed on her balcony, and even without benefit of x-ray vision, he couldn't help but notice through the curtain Wonder Woman stark naked on the bed with her legs spread wide open.

Superman thought to himself Hey--I'm faster than a speeding bullet, can leap tall buildings in a single bound and stand for Truth, Justice and The American Way. Hell, I could be in there, have sex, and be out again before she knew what was happening.

So Superman did the super thing in a split second and merrily flew off into the friendly skies.

Meanwhile, on the bed, Wonder Woman said: "Did you hear something?"

"No," said the Invisible Man, "but all of a sudden my asshole hurts like a sonofabitch."