Today’s message, from Lois Lane #1, is to never steal another person’s life to further your own career. And let me tell you, it arrived just in time to stop me from wearing my boss’s skin to work.
Our story begins with Lois getting a perm. At the salon, she happens to run into the famous French actress Lois LaFlamme, the “Bombshell of the Boulevards.” LeFlamme reveals that she’s going to skip a party at the embassy, where the Rutavian ambassador is scheduled to appear. Every reporter in town wants an interview with the Rutavian ambassador, presumably so they can ask him where the fuck Rutavia is, and LaFlamme accidentally gives Lois an idea.
Lois buys a few things from the theatrical supply company and, et voila, transforms herself into an uncanny match for LaFlamme. That’s right, kids. With a wig and some costume jewelry, you too can impersonate famous celebrities! But don’t wear their skin—it’s probably botoxed all to hell anyway.
Wait, where the hell did Lois get that dog? Did it also come from the theatrical supply company, complete with gold collar and snooty attitude? Either that supply company has everything or Lois jumped LaFlamme in the alley behind the salon and took all her shit, right down to nabbing her poodle and yanking her hair out by the roots. The theatrical supply boxes are just a cover in case the police come snooping around.
Lois heads to the embassy party, where a reporter asks her to get the skinny on a government farm program. And after this, he’s going to ask Megan Fox about the Medicare Sustainable Growth Rate Formula.
She brushes the reporters off and heads into the party, where she tries to interview the ambassador, but is delayed when he won’t stop asking questions about her. He’s finally exhausted and ready to answer her questions when Superman arrives to entertain the guests. Yeah, Superman does parties.
To the delight of the crowd, Supes melts a sword with his heat vision and drinks it. That also prepares him for his next trick at tomorrow’s party, where he’ll shit out a perfectly formed steel cast of his stomach. It’s a number twofer.
But soon the party ends, the ambassador promises he’ll answer LaFlamme’s questions later, and the guests go their separate ways. Superman included, though he leaves with the sneaking suspicion that LaFlamme isn’t who she says she is. So he assumes his secret identity and proposes to her with a quote from LaFlamme’s latest movie. Lois takes it seriously. So seriously, in fact, that she loses her shit and yells at him in her regular accent.
After apparently crushing the poor man in a fit of anger, Lois fears she’s hurt his feelings and is worried he may do something terrible. Meanwhile, he slinks away, plotting to teach her a lesson. It’s hard to even identify who’s the bad guy is in this situation, because they’re both displaying classic domestic abuse behaviors.
Which I guess makes them a perfect match?
Soon, Lois spots Clarke with a gun and thinks he’s going to kill himself.
I think Lois is being a bit hasty with her assessment of the situation. I mean, Clarke could just as easily be planning to shoot those kids.
As it turns out, though, it’s just a squirt gun Clarke stole from a little boy. So, perfectly innocent? Now, you may be saying, “Robyn, you’re twisting it around to make Clarke look bad. He was obviously planning to give it back. Why would he keep a squirt gun for himself, anyway?”
Well, I don’t know why he’d keep it, but I assure you that he wanted to. For, when Lois runs over and throws the gun into a conveniently appearing river, these are Clarke’s thoughts:
“This will cost you a water pistol--but it’s sure worth it.” He’s not saying that to the kid, he’s thinking it to himself. So maybe he’s blithely weighing other people’s losses against his gains, but it seems much more likely that he has a bizarre fetish for stealing kids’ water pistols and adding them to his treasured collection.
Soon, Lois is on the ambassador’s balcony, waiting for her interview. And if it seems like this comic is whiplashing from subplot to subplot, you’re right. It’s like it has ADD and can’t hold its attention on one location for more than four panels. While Lois is waiting, a French guy comes in and declares that LaFlamme must marry him or he’ll act. How do I know he’s French? Well, just look at him.
That guy is the Frenchest motherfucker you ever saw. No one has ever been so French, before or since.
The story just kicked into high gear, so naturally we’re going to cut away from it to go back to whatever the hell Clarke’s doing. Turns out he’s investigating a robbery and, in an incident unrelated to the robbery, sees a truck go out of control. He leaps down to street level, diving right past—you guessed it—the A-plot.
Now, you cannot convince me that this was a coincidence, so don’t even try. The odds of Clarke picking that exactly time and location to jump to street level, while not being in his Superman costume, are astronomically low. If you have any doubt left, just look at that smug look plastered on his face as he plummets past her. I’ll only admit the small possibility that Clarke even has himself fooled, and the timing of his fall was purely subconscious. Either way, he’s a sick puppy.
Lois and Frenchtoast run downstairs to find Superman holding a truck over his head and Lois convinces herself that Superman must have saved Clarke on his way to the truck. Which, if true, would mean that Clarke was still suicidal and in desperate need of timely help before he tried to kill himself again.
So naturally, everyone involved promptly loses interest in where Clarke is or what sort of self-harm he’s plotting.
Frenchie McFrenchalot challenges Superman to a duel and… is this even Lois Lane’s comic book anymore? Fucker keeps taking over. Anyway, Supes is challenged and given a choice of weapons, while some random construction worker wanders by and watches.
“Whatza matter? I been into this stuff ever since I read
Chekhov’s The Duel for my master’s in Russian lit.”
They find a nice secluded spot in the middle of Metropolis and go about their duel. Unlike the lying splash page, Superman refuses to take a shot and only stands by while Frenchie Frenchfry fires. But tragedy strikes when the bullet ricochets back!
French Guy Down! I need a baguette
and a twenty cc Pinot Noir push, stat!
and a twenty cc Pinot Noir push, stat!
But wait! It turns out, French Guy was actually Jimmy Olsen in a cunning disguise! And he’s not dead, he was just pretending so he could emotionally scar Lois Lane! So everything turned out good in the end.
I take back what I said before. Superman is definitely the bad guy here. Which is not to say Lois isn’t an abuser, just that her abusive behavior can be traced directly to the mental distress caused by shit like this.
So, what have we learned from all this, kids? One, convincingly disguising yourself as a celebrity and/or French Guy is like, crazy easy to pull off. Two, nobody gives two shits about Clarke Kent, because they all think he’s suicidal but they’re content to let him wander the streets while they take care of this BS. Three, always know where your dog is. That dog Lois rented or possibly kidnapped is dead or running loose now, because she completely forgot about it after the embassy party. Four, if you agree to attend a party, honor that commitment. Otherwise, a psychotic reporter lady might honor it for you and/or steal your dog.
Five, and most important of all, never propose marriage in jest—it might lead to you losing out on a squirt gun.