There’s not going to be a new part on Monday, right? Still have time to catch up? Also, Game of Thrones. On Sunday. Well, Monday, for us temporally challenged. Plus, May-sweeps are cool. Have you seen all the drama and cliffies on the boards, lately?
Lois could see her stuff on the porch piled next to the front door before she even walked up the steps
So, they really want her gone, then? Or was it just to make sure she didn’t swipe any bathrobes? Or pitchforks.
Pulling open the screen door, she tried to open the main door. Locked.
/imagines Kents and remaining guests huddled behind door, holding a gun and praying the evil monster leaves.
She felt her pocket and then remembered, she had left them next to her plate on the breakfast table. Crap.
Doesn’t she have lock-picks?
“Clark wasn’t supposed to die. He was supposed to live and grow up, be a reporter with me – my partner at the Daily Planet.”
Beep Buup. Beep. “Hello? Sheriff Harris? This is Martha Kent. Yes, The Farm. We’ve got a mentally unstable former guest stalking the premises. Yes, we do own a shotgun, but I’d prefer not to use it. No, it’s just that entrails are so hard to get out of the tulips. You’re going to send someone? Good. Doc Mecken? Horse tranquilizers? Okay. Thanks.”
“Please. His ghost speaks to me.”
/imagines this to convince Martha to open the door. Nor.
Is that what you think I am? A ghost?
~You got a better term?~ Lois retorted.
No. I guess ghost will do, but aren’t they supposed to have like a noncorporeal body or something?
How about Noncorporeal American? Disembodied American? Corporally challenged?
Maybe we should just go…
[…]
One more minute, Lois. Can we just wait one more minute? Clark pleaded softly.
Geez, Clark. Pick one and stick to it.
“Whooo-Hooo! Olsen, you owe this old Memphis newshound twenty dollars, son,” Perry called as Lois slunk into work two days later.
“You didn’t have any problems with the bachelors auctioning off themselves for the blind a few years back,” Perry reminded her.
/points towards happy double standard/
“You’ll have complete control over the date: where you go, what you’ll do... Everything,” Perry said.
So, happy ending not guaranteed, then? Poor customer, getting a real date-experience ‘date’.
Really, Clark?
Clark would be begging her to do this.
Good to have such a caring pimp.
~I can’t believe you’re encouraging me to auction myself off to the highest bidder, Clark. I would think you’d rather have me at home for an early night of one-on-one dream-dating.~
