George had control of the remote, and the scanned through programs faster than a 100-meter sprinter ran the stretch of the track. The revolving door of channels happened upon a black and white show of days gone by.
“Stop.” Jerry leaned forward on the couch. “It’s Superman.”
“Why do you like this show so much?”
“George, you don’t understand. It’s not the show I like; it’s Superman. Watch, and learn. Bask in the glory of his Super-ness”
“Excuse me, Lois, I’ll be right back.” Clark Kent edged into the small bathroom and quickly closed the door. Lois Lane, engrossed in the movie on the TV, hardly noticed his exit, let alone his absence. A charge in the atmosphere drew her focus from the flickering images; she jerked her head around.
“Superman, what are YOU doing here?”
“Lois, my arch-nemesis, Lex Luther, is holding the manager of the bank down the block hostage. We must go now; I, to save the day, and you, to report the events for tomorrow’s front page.”
“Clark is already on his way. We will meet him there.”
“What a farce. They have perpetuated the biggest charade in the history of television.”
Jerry’s eyes ballooned, and his jaw dropped. “What?”
“Superman’s entire disguise consists of putting on a pair glasses and moving the part in his hair. Ridiculous.” George removed his own glasses and rubbed his eyes in disgust.
“Who are you? And where’s my friend George?”
“Very funny.” George put his glasses back on. “ I mean, take Batman for example. At least he wore a mask. I can almost believe that people might not know he’s really Bruce Wayne. But how could anyone, especially the girl who is enamored with him, possibly not recognize Superman?”
“George, you simply don’t get it, do you? Because he’s Superman!”
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