Yesterday junior editor Mr. Dominic erroneously somehow got it in his head to report that my secret identity is, in fact, Superman. Allow me to amend.
I have many superhuman powers, all of which I use for the betterment of a kind man*. And although I may rage against injustice, I do not fight crime. In fact, I think I kind of like crime a little bit.
This picture you see right here, this is all set up. I wasn’t on my way to rescue a kitten or foil a bank robbery. In fact, I don’t even know what it was about. Actually, I can’t even say for sure that it was me. I mean, it doesn’t look like me, does it?
Here again I have to insist that this change of attire does not indicate I’m about to fly out the window, nor that I have any super powers I’ve previously failed to disclose, nor that Kryptonite makes me weak. Spinach does that, but any reader of Perplexing Times should long-since know that by now, you know?
Besides, if I had a secret identity, it would be a secret, right? I mean, I wouldn’t let an incriminating article go to print, even if I was taking a nap when that rapscallion did it. Clearly I am the real editor around here, he can’t do it. He’s much too little to edit a newspaper without help from an elder… Right?
Let’s not talk about that anymore. My point is that he’s not the editor and I’m not Superman, no matter how super nor manly I may be. Everybody clear on all that? Well okay then.
* By “man” I mean me. I may be 2’9″ but I’m two-foot, nine-inches of man.