Myxomamorphosis

by Shropshire



Disclaimer: Smallville, its characters and rock collection, do not belong to me or anyone I know or may have met in a bar once.

Notes: This parody is based on a script written by Gough and Millar and painstakingly transcribed by tmelange here: http://www.lexslash.com/pdfs/metamorphosis.pdf. Much of the original material remains.
My heartfelt thanks to them.

This is dedicated to the witty, wise and wonderfully inspiring denizens of the TWOP forums.

They and Lex have conspired to suck me down into the sticky mire of fandom.

I've abandoned italics due to my flunking Asterix Placement for Beginners. Hopefully, this is readable.

Warnings: Some language, innuendo, many obscure references, some overused ones and Britishisms abounding. Also (sorry) puns.


Picks up immediately after:

Clark: Thanks a bunch, Lana.

Lana waves her head around vaguely for a bit. She smiles and goes inside, imaginary thwarting accomplished.

{And Now:}

[Cut to: Clark, watching, miffed. The camera soon gets bored and starts scaling the barn walls, spiralling and looping the loop toward the stars. It wanders over to Lana's house and sweeps down the steps, which are grubby, but is then sidetracked by a nutter in a tree. He's a no-budget filmmaker and his chosen subject, for reasons ineffable, is Lana.

We go into Lana's bedroom. Don't be scared. Inside, Lana starts to undress. Alright, be scared.

Oh, it's ok, she's just taking off her tiara. She places it in a drawer with the rest of her extensive tiara collection (formalwear, sports tiaras and the everyday knockabout casuals).

Turning, she observes a golden box on her bed. She didn't know beds laid boxes. She opens it and hordes of pissed-off butterflies swarm out and batter themselves to death against the walls and windows trying to get out.

Lana laughs with joy at the pretty, trapped insects.

Cut to TreeLoon who is filming this for the big finale of his movie, Attack of The Slaughterous Lepidoptera. We see he wears glasses, as all designated geeks are required by law to do.

Cut back to Lana, who is now playing ping pong with the dazed butterflies and threading them into her lovely hair. She eats a few in passing.

Cut back to LooneyTunes. We zoom closer, closer, into his creepy little eyes, breaking his glasses.

Cut to Mentalcase walking to car. It's a Beetle. He gets into his car and puts on some music. It's the Beatles. He scrapes something off his windshield. It's an ichneumon wasp. The car scuttles off.]


[Cut to Whackjob coming on home. We see him properly. His appearance is greasy, lank and bespotted, like the before picture in a Clearasil commercial.

Inside, the TV is on. Greaseface's Mom is watching porn. Hastily, she changes the tape as her son walks in. Now it's Lana and Whitney, just before the big caterpillar fight sequence.]

Mom: So this is what you do now, hmm? Z-movies that Roger Corman would spit on?

Greg (for 'tis his name): Where did you get those?

Mom: It was in my regular package from my video monthly club. You know the, er, educational videos.

Greg: But I only lent it to "Handjob" Bob at the Specialist Video and Novelties Emporium...

Mom: Musta been a mix up. In any case, how am I going to face my dear friend- though lousy and cruelly overbearing aunt- Nell Potter, knowing that her niece is starring in schlock horror films directed by my own son.

Greg: Meh.

[He turns off the tape]

Mom: And insects are such horrible creatures to film. You can't train them for toffee and they're terrible Divas.

Greg: That's fighting talk, Ma. Put up yer dukes!

[Mom keeps her dukes under control. Somewhere, Jonathon gets all nostalgic.]

Mom: Greg. You used to like musicals. And baffling art movies. Remember the one where you filmed your own thumbs?

Greg: People change.

Mom: Have you been reading Kafka, again? That's it, Monday morning I'm sending you to a proper film school.

Greg: Yeah, right, Mom.

Mom: Nu-Uh. I mean it this time. That Butterfly-Queen-squashes New-York scene was abysmal.

Greg: Bu-bu-bu-but what about my cast? I've promised them a sequel!


[Cut back to Greg's room where we see many fish tanks full of bugs. Greg does heavy breathing and innappropriate touching over some of the tanks. He licks a few.]

Greg: Don't worry, guys. We're going to Hollywood. I'm gonna make you all Stars! With thoraxes!


[Later that night.

Greg has somehow managed to stuff about five hundred fishtanks and jam jars into his little Beetle. Buddy Holly and the Crickets are playing. Greg is so into the tunes that he swerves a bit and crashes open a tank. Bugs begin escaping and having second thoughts about their cut. They begin to surround Greg.]

Greg: Come on, guys. 98 percent is standard agent's take. What would you spend money on anyway? Leg-hair curlers?

[He hits a tree, which is never wise. They bear grudges.

The insects are unimpressed with Greg's spiel. They renegotiate, with extreme prejudice].


Morning has broken, following a long tradition.

The camera zooms in on a busted pair of specs with some creepy-crawly doing its thing all over them. Not a great performance. It's just an extra.

We are in Greg's room, though I couldn't tell you how we got there. We were drunk, there was dancing and a traffic cone...]

Mom (offscreen): Greg? Where have you been, son? I made rissoles!

[She opens the door into Greg's room and has a gander at it. There is a general absence of everything. She leaves again. She'll have to eat the damn rissoles.

We hear an unpleasant sound. The camera nervously creeps on up 'til we find Greg, spread out on the ceiling like a plum preserve. His skin is gooey. He's trying out a new spot cream.

"Acne-ectomy! Pus today, gone tomorrow!"]


[Morning still. The camera gets to fly, breaking the 'no flights, no tights' rule only two episodes in. Still, it's having fun, until it's steered back towards Lana's bedroom. Gloomily, it swoops on in.

Lana is asleep. We see Clark hovering over her. If he lands suddenly, Lana will meet a fate similar to her parents. And if wishes were horses, Stompy would have guest-starred a lot earlier and with a meaner right hook.

Lana opens her eyes]

Lana: It's all your fault, Clark.

[Clark's a bit confused. Male nipples? Disco? Banana jam?

Lana closes her eyes again, knackered by this random blame-throwing. We hear Martha yelling off camera]

Martha: Clark!

Martha: Stewart!

Martha: Farquar!

[We are in Clark's bedroom. It was all a dream! Clark is floating above his bed, but his mother's peculiar witticisms cause him to flump back down onto to it, crushing it into a million, million pieces.

Should have been Lana, he thinks regretfully, should have been Lana.]

Martha: Oi! LittleGreenClark! We're leaving in fifteen minutes and you still have to milk the chickens, plough the cow, mow the sheep and blow your horn in the corn. Or something. Move it, Buster!


[Farmers market. A load of people sell wares. Other people buy wares. It's a win-win situation.

Clark looks longingly over at a pieman, but he's been snaffled by another simple-looking kid and besides, Clark is working. His big task is to attach a sign to their stall.

It's a crowded public place, full of complete strangers, so Clark zings in the nail with the ol' Superpowered thumb.

Cut to Chloe, Pete and Clark hanging about a bit. Lana and Whitney glide over.]

Chloe: All hail the Homecoming King and Queen!

[They all do. Orders is orders.]

Lana: I didn't see you at the dance last night, Clark.

Clark: Oh I was... a bit tied up. To a pole. In a field. Funny story...

[He glares at Whitney.

Whitney stammers and pulls at his collar a bit. Sweat beads bead sweatily.

Lana is about to form a hypothesis, when Jonathon walks over and treads on her little clockwork train of thought.]

Jonathon: Hey, congratulations, Whitney girl, that was a doozy of a game. You're nearly as good as I used to be, and, boy, was I good.

Whitney: I'm not actually a girl, Mr. Kent. See, I have stubble.

Jonathon: That's okay, lass, creams can do wonders these days.

[Clark looks uncomfy. He has to Super-whizz.]

Clark: I'm going to get the other boxes.

[He walks off, legs crossed. This is hard. Try it at work or at home, whilst carrying hot saucepans.]

Whitney: Uh, I'll go too.

[He goes too, not attempting the legs thing. He's tried it and he lost.

Jonathon passes Lana a bit of fruit. This seems horribly symbolic of something or other.]

Lana: Fruit. Lovely.

[Cut to Whitney catching up to Clark, who reluctantly veers away from the bushes and towards the truck.]

Whitney: Kent! Hey you realise that whole mock crucifixion bit was a boyish prank between friends, right? Right. So, gimme back that necklace and we'll call it square.

Clark: I don't have it. So, nyah.

Whitney: Look, Lana's kind of weird about her rock-of-death jewellery, man...

Clark: So go look in the haystack. Er, cornfield.

[He walks off. Whitney is thwarted.

Cut to Lana looking at a butterfly wind chime. She pokes at it, tentatively, like a cat. It chimes. She happy.

Greg materialises. He is the new improved, "Acme-ectomy" poster boy (incidentally, "Acme-ectomy" is available now, just around the corner from this parody).]

Greg: Pretty, isn't it? Pretty, pretty, pretty.

[Lana is surprised. She was wholly absorbed in her complex windchime patting.]

Lana: Greg! I didn't recognise you without your glasses. You should wear a cape too. I would've been completely fooled.

Greg: Did you know the average butterfly only lives for eight hours?

Lana: That's sad. Know what's also sad? Meteors killed my parents.

Greg: Huh. I like it. I could paint a couple tennis balls, use dolls for the effects shots...I've got some trolls somewhere... Lets meet at the library to work on it!

[Lana is too befuddled to be upset. She nods, out of habit. Greg misinterprets this and is all happy.

Whitney flounces up. Jonathon is giving him a complex.]

Whitney: Your aunt, the scummy rotter, is looking for you.

[Lana nods again (she's got a rhythm going) and legs it.]

Whitney: Bug Boy...

Greg: Greg, actually.

Whitney: Oh, really? That is more likely, now that you mention it. Greg, quit tailing my girl.

Greg: Tailing? I think my Mom had a video about that once...

Whitney: Whatever. Just don't put bugs in her bed, okay? It's a lousy pick-up technique, anyway.

[He drifts away, like a dandelion on the breeze.]

Greg: Yeah, well. Just remember... sometimes the rain falls on the south side and sometimes the cherry blossom howls at the moon on a Tuesday.

["Acme-ectomy" has unfortunate side effects. But don't let it put you off purchasing.]


[Lana and Whitney sitting in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g.

Clark is up to his old voyeur tricks again. He has sex on the brain. As if by magic, Lex appears.

He looks at Clark, appreciatively, and for quite a while.]

Lex: I could knock your taste in women. But I'm very polite.

[He steals an apple, negating his last statement.]

Lex: So, what was up with last night?

Clark: It was a boyish prank between friends.

Lex: You were tied to a stake in the middle of a field. Do you know how much some people pay for that kind of thing?

Clark: I just want to forget it. You don't have a kiss of forgetfulness, by any chance?

Lex: You never know until you try...

[Unfortunately, terminal gooseberry, Jonathon, wanders over at this point, brandishing crates].

Jonathon: Clark, what's the holdup, son?

Clark: It's when a bad man in a mask goes into a bank and demands all the money. Why?

Lex: Mr Kent. Good to see you! Can I have your autograph? I have all your albums!

[Jonathon shakes Lex's hand with the appearance of a man expecting rabies germs to make the leap from wrist to wrist.]

Jonathon: Lex.

[Lex nods. Right on the first go.]

Jonathon: We have to leave now, Clark. I have to see a man about a rabies germ.

Clark: Okey doke.

Lex: At least I got a handshake this time. Who knows, maybe next time, a peck on the cheek.

[Clark is a little worried. Lex likes older guys? Lex likes his Dad?

Lex smiles. He's kidding. Clark smiles. He doesn't have to deal with Lex/Dad Squishy Bad Thoughts. They smile a bit together, before Clark leaves.

Cut to Lana walking and talking at the same time. Lex watches and bites the apple viciously.

It tastes disgusting. Lex puts it back, gagging slightly.]


[Whitney's truck is a-rolling on down the road, feeling pretty good and sensing no doom. Alas, poor truck.

Greg lurks. With amazingly fakey effects, he nips up a tree. It's a habit he has, but he can break it any time he wants.

Whitney's truck glides blithely under the tree, whereupon it is rudely jumped on.

Cut to: Whitney displaying surprise. What was heavy and would be pouncing from trees?

He fumbles quickly in his glove box for that trusty handbook, "In the event of leopards", but it is too late. Crashing takes place.

Whitney lies floopily in the overturned truck. Who will save him now?

By a happy coincidence, there is a vehicular crash specialist in the area. The Kents drive up.]

Martha: Oh! My God, Jonathon!

Jonathon: Well, I wouldn't go that far. Saint, maybe....

Martha: Crash. Over there. Jonathon.

Jonathon: Ah.

[There is a squeal of brakes and the car stops. Everyone jumps out of the the vehicle and begins chasing around and around the car. Some scantily clad girls appear and also Benny Hill.]

Whitney: Ahem cough Ahemity-hem.

[Clark snaps into Hero Mode. He pulls Whiney out of the car. We see gas leaking and fire licking all ominous-like.

Clark drags Whitney a little way from the crash and drapes himself over his body. Nothing happens for a while, until Clark realises he hasn't come quite far enough.

They shuffle forwards and get comfy again.

The car explodes, in some relief.]

Jonathon: Clark!

Martha: Clark!

Jonathon and Martha: Clark!

Clark: Yes? Hello?

[They touch Clark. Clark is hot. Lex could have told them that.]

Jonathon: Son, this is going to seem slightly weird...

[Jonathon reaches into his sleeve and pulls out an egg. He's carefully breaks it open onto his baffled son's head. It sizzles.]

Jonathon: I uh, just felt this urge.

Clark: Mm. Tasty. Hairy but tasty.


[Jonathon Kent had a farm. E, I, E, I, O. And on that farm he had a spacecraft. And a grain si-lo.

Clark is also on the farm and he's poking at his arm to see if it does anything interesting. Jonathon slinks on over.]

Jonathon: Whitney's gonna be fine. I was all set there with my shotgun and cyanide pills, but luckily he doesn't remember a thing.

[Clark nods, absently, and watches his arm. It just sort of sits there.]

Clark: You need to talk to Mom. I think you really freaked her out with that egg thing.

Jonathon: I only carry them in case of emergency. Like the fish in my sock.

{Clarks looks at his father and decides to ignore this.]

Clark: Talking of whacked out, nutball, screwed up things...I woke up... sort of...up.

Jonathon: Ah yes. I've been meaning to talk with you about the bulls and the bees...

Clark: No, I meant up as in floati...bulls and the bees?

Jonathon: That's how my Daddy larneded it. And my grandpappy and his Daddy, way back to ole 'Minotaur' Kent.

Clark: 'kay.

Jonathon: Floating, son? That's pretty serious. Breaking the Law of Gravity comes with a five to ten mandatory sentence.

Clark: I just wish it would stop.

Jonathon: I mean no son of mine, however adopted, is going to be a jailbird. Have you tried- not being an alien?

Clark: I tried to build a DNA resequencer, but I ran out of washing-up liquid bottles.

Jonathon: Too bad.


Cut to Luthorland, a wonderful world of frolic and laughter.

Lex is by the window, holding Lana's necklace up to the light. Nope. That's not a real diamond.

He saunters over to his desk and sits down with a fluid panther-like grace. Softly, his long tender fingers...

Ahem.

He sits down and puts the necklace into a box.


[Cut to a horse with a Lana on its back. They enter a barn where the horse sheds her gratefully.]

Lex: You ride like a sack of potatoes with a ferret in it.

{Lana is surprised to see Lex and unsure of what his words mean. She assumes they must be a compliment.]

Lex: Might want to change your shoes.

Lana: Hey, pink ribbons are stylish...oh, you meant the horse's shoes.

[Lana chuckles prettily, like a marshmallow river. Lex smirks slightly. He didn't mean the horse-shoes.]

Lex: Lex Luthor.

Lana: No. I'm Lana Lang, silly. Lex is a bald, rich guy about your height. And age.

Lex: And name.

Lana: Wow. That's a coincidence.
I met Lex Luthor once. I was ten and he was naked.

Lex: I...don't remember that. I'm sure I'd still have the mental scars. Oh hang on. You mean when I was teaching that girl to...um...swim.(smiles a little) She became a really good swimmer.

Lana: Wait a minute. I get it! You're Lex Luthor!

Lex: Well done. And you're...taller. A bit.

[They walk over to a display case with an unfeasible number of prize ribbons.]

Lana: Look! Look! See my many, many ribbons and cups!

Lex: Gosheroonie.

Lana: I think they're silly, of course, but my evil aunt forces me to display them and point. Look, there's 'best marrow grown by a five year old'...

[Lex, tuning out automatically, spots an intriging picture in the display.]

Lex: That's a weirdass necklace.

Lana: Thank you. It's very special to me. You see...(arranges face downward) my parents...

Lex: How come you're not wearing it now?

Lana: Oh, I lent it to my big strong boyfriend.

Lex(choking back the guffaws): Lucky guy. What's his name?

Lana: Hang on a sec...I'll have it in a minute...Whitney Houston!

Lex (shudder): Remind me never to double date with you.

Lana: Clark saved him today.

Lex: Oh. That one.
Quite a contrast. Your boyfriend throws his balls around and mi...uh, Clark, uses his for good.

Lana (blinks): You have a lot of opinions.

Lex: Yes. I form them in my brain.
By the way, ask him what he was doing before the big game.

Lana: He was with me.

Lex: Are you sure?

[This is a tricky question. Was it Whitney? Was it a packet of crisps? Lana bites her lip and looks blank. She can keep this up for days.]

Lex: Tell your aunt I stopped by. Write it down, if that helps.

[He pets the happy, happy horse (which then and there vows to do anything at all for him in the future- say if it's dark, and there's a'tramplin' to be done...) Lana watches him go, maintaining the blank.]


[Cut back to Greg's. Greg's Mom walks in. She smells something terrible. The house stinks even worse.

She walks over to the thermostat. It reads "A tale of two cities".]

Mom (pissed as all hellfire): Greg? I told you to keep the Dickens away from the household appliances!

[Wandering through the house, she and we and musketeers three, spot muddy marks all over the shop. Her fingers itch for the Mr. Muscle.

She barges in to Greg's room. It is bestrewn with webs.]

Mom: Bloody hell! Who redecorated?

[Greg sneaks up behind his Mom, naked.

This could be one of those dreams you never tell your psychoanalyst. Or one of the other ones, where any minute now the exams start and you can't move and you haven't got a pencil.]

Mom: What the hell has gotten into you?

Greg: About two million years of being the low rung on the food chain.

Mom: Gregory Albuquerque Nope Arkin the Second! You put your pants back on right now, young man!

Greg: I can't. I've eaten them to provide material for the webbing. Want to see my spinnerets?

Mom (vomits): You need help. Proctological help.

Greg: Hey Mom. Do you know the pharoah spider?

Mom: You hum it and...

Greg: See, this is why I'm eating you, Mom.

Mom: Okay. That's fair.

[Greg opens his unnaturally hinged gob and spews forth computer generated string. Cool. He can do it from both ends.]


Cut to Clark and the city of Troy, complete with Brad Pitt. It sits on a table in Luthorville, a mere shadow of its former glory, having shrunk in the wash.

Always put cities on forty degrees, kids.

Lex shimmies on in.]

Lex: Scarf any pies on the way over?

[Clark grins in a "you got me" sort of way.]

Lex: Keep it up and you'll win that pig in the championships.

[Clark joins the firm of "Aw, Shucks and Wellgawsh Ltd".]

Clark: (beaming his head off and reaffixing it with sellotape) I was just dropping off your produce. Sorry my parents made you arm wrestle for it.

Lex: It's okay. I knew a guy in the SAS, taught me a few handy tricks. Sorry I flung your father into the chicken coop.

[Clark chuckles, then eyes the city of Troy]

Clark: Planning an invasion?

Lex: How did you...Oh. My father gave it to me when I was nine. It was a "bald kids can conquer too" gift. There was a section at Macy's. The battle of Troy. It started because two men couldn't keep it their pants. That's why the quarterback strung you up in that field, right?

Clark(puzzled): ...because I let the ferret out of my pants?

Lex: Ferret? You're not really doing yourself justice.

Clark: Pete said the English do it all the time, so we found a ferret and a stopwatch...Pete kept his in for ten whole minutes. Said it changed his life.

Lex: Sometimes I'm glad I came to Smallville and sometimes I just want to weep 'til I drown.

[Lex walks over to the mantle and retrieves the box of necklace. He flips it open at Clark. Clark leaps back, expressing surprise. Surprise and fear. Wait, two emotions, surprise, fear and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope. Damnit.]

Lex: Wow. I didn't know you felt that strongly against Lana.

Clark: No really, I'm fine. No allergic meteor reactions or anything.

Lex: I see.

Clark: So, that's a cool box. What's it made of?

Lex: Texas Prairie Chicken. I mean lead. Sorry. My mother got it in a casbah. Some guy said come with me and she did. He told her that it was made from the armour of St. George. She told him pull the other one, mate, that's got bells on, that has. shrugs)
She bought it, anyway.
He was the patron saint of boy scouts, so I imagine you've heard of him. And possibly pray to him. She gave it to me right before she died.

[Lex tries to give Clark the box. Clark is set on automatic refuse mode.]

Clark: I can't take that.

Lex: What d'ya have to do to declare love around here? Take it, already. And while you're at it, give the necklace to Lana, tell her what happened and Hey Presto! Whitney's on the wrong side of a knee in the groin and the longest, pinkest lecture of his life.

[Clark looks at Lex. Lex looks at Clark. Birds sing, orchestras play and small fires break out in the city of Troy.]


Smallville High. Whitney stands in front of his locker. He opens it, allowing a sneaky side assault from...]

Lana: Where were you before Clark Gable sat in clay?

Whitney: ...is that a trick question?

[Lana removes a piece of paper out of her pocket and takes another run at it.]

Lana: Where were you before the game on Saturday?

Whitney: I was warming up some eggs.

Lana: I see. Not grabbing Clark Kent and hanging him out in a field to dry? Even though he wasn't wet?

Whitney: It was just a harmless prank between friends.

Lana: I can buy that. But where's my necklace?

Whitney: I lost it.

[Now she's mad]

Lana: You lost my necklace? And you didn't tell me. I don't know which is more monstrous.

[Lana is rocked to the core by her boyfriend's hideous jewellery crimes, and walks off, straining at the lip.

We hear an insectile noise as she goes past. Sadly it's only to herald Greg's arrival.]

Greg: Hey Lana! I thought you'd forgotten. I've been waiting for three hours, here in this snowdrift.

[Lana does confusion and she does it awful well]

Greg: You remember? Our film project? Meteors Killed My Parents?

Lana: Oh! You too?
Greg, I'm sorry, but I'm too emotionally vulnerable right now to discuss this. Maybe tomorrow?

Greg: Hey, are you blowing me off for your boyfriend?

Lana (shocked): How could you even ask me that? I wouldn't even (b-l-o-w) him and he offered to spray-paint all my horses pink.(she shudders from such filth) I need to go see Clark. He's wholesome and minty fresh.


[We see Clark. He gazes upon the box Lex gave him, thinking wholesome thoughts. Coincidentally both blowing and toothpaste are involved.

After a pleasant interval, he opens the box. The necklace glows a bit, halfheartedly- only Clark's hand seems affected, going all unpleasant and veiny.

Clark watches his hand for a while, before the pain stimulus reaches his brain and he shuts the box and says ow. His hand returns to normal programming.

Cut to the barn. Clark is walking in the barn, clutching his love token. Unfortunately, there is a sudden noise upstairs and he nearly wrenches it.

Wincing, he zips up his pants and hides the box under a blanket.

Clark sees that it's Lana upstairs. Great.

He pastes a smile on his face, using Marvin, and heads up.]

Clark: Lana.

Lana: Clark.

[They like to be sure.]

Lana: Your Mom said I wait up here. She also asked if I could move in and have your children. She funny.

Clark: I hope so.

Lana: This barn is nice. Brown, but nice.

Clark: My Dad built it, from matchsticks (is proud). He calls it my fortress of solitude.
I call it my barn of incessant intrusion.

[Lana points at the telescope.]

Lana: I didn't know you were into astronomy.

Clark (smugly): I think you mean astrology.

Lana: Did you know you can see my house from here?

Clark: Oh God. Still?

[He swiftly points the telescope as far in the other direction as possible.]

Lana: I found out about that whole necklace thing Whitney did. And the scarecrow bit was probably quite upsetting for you.

Clark: Yeah, well. Forget it.

Lana: I can't. He had no right to do that to us- and then you turn around and save his life.

Clark: Oh, I didn't have to turn around...it was really on the way... So, who told you ?

Lana: Lex Luthor. Or possibly an impersonator, it's all a little foggy. He dropped some crumbs and, chewing hungrily, I followed the trail- into the gingerbread house, deep in the enchanted forest...

Clark: Lex. Gingerbread. Mmm.

Lana: I thought I knew Whitney. Now, I wonder what else I've been blind to. Your Dad keeps saying stuff...and I have seen him looking at my dresses a bit weirdly... Worst of all, he lost my necklace! My necklace, mine, mine, mine!

[Clark guiltily looks towards the box, signalling in letters of neon fire "THE NECKLACE IS OVER THERE!" Fortunately, Lana only reads defensively]

Clark: Can't you get it replaced?

Lana: Well, only if I have my parents dug up and a portion of the meteor extracted from their yucky remains. Wicked Aunt Nell had it made for me. She told me life is about change. That's why I always carry some with me to bestow on homeless children and puppies.

[She glides off, in a halo of light.

Clark smiles in relief but then catches sight of the box.

He looks confused, distressed and gassy. Decisions take it out of him.]


[We are in the innards of a bathroom. The shower is running. (It knows what's coming next). Greg is peeling his skin off with a loofah.]


[Cut to the moon. Everyone's gone there.

Except Jonathon Kent, who is working on a large, malignant looking machine, possibly a death ray of some kind. Clark appears.]

Clark: Need a hand, Dad?

Jonathon: Wow! Can you detach them?

Clark walks towards the stairs. He hears Greg's theme noise and stops.

Greg is crouched in a corner, waiting for Clark to spot him. He jumps, knocking Clark to the floor. Clark is upset, until he remembers his superstrength and throws Greg across the loft.

Downstairs, Jonathon wonders what could be causing all the noise. He reaches for his copy of "In case of leopards" then remembers that Clark had it last.]

Jonathon (Going up the stairs): Clark!

Clark: There's someone in the rafters.

Jonathon: Well, they'd better not damage the place. Took me ten years and three billion matches.

[They look around a bit. The camera tries to help by cutting to Greg on the ceiling. Foiled, he jumps down onto Jonathon and puhes him over the railing.

Clarks snaps into superspeed mode.

As Jonathon hangs suspended above the large rotary blades of his Death Machine, Clark nips out for a six pack of Stella and a crafty smoke, juggles some oranges and a chainsaw and plays the Starspangled Banner on spoons.

Then he throws himself between Jonathon and the spiky bits.

Picking themselves up, they eye the mangled blades.]

Jonathon: That'll never be finished for Thursday, now.


[Martha and Jonathon chat in the barn. Martha checks him out in her I-Spy book of injuries.

Jonathon: I never saw anybody move like that. So unrealistically!

Martha: Did you see his face? And where did you get this rash, honey? I've only seen it on cows before.

Jonathon: (cough) His face? No, he sprang at me too quickly. Like something inhuman. Clark, for instance.

Clark: I think it was Greg Arkin.

Martha: You and Pete used to hang out with him in grade school.

Clark: Yes, Mom. I know. I was there.

Martha: With anyone else that would be enough... Are you two still friends?

Clark: I pass him in the hall but people change. I try not to look, they should use the locker rooms, it's disgusting.

Martha: I remember his mother used to keep him on a short leash. That's gotta stunt your development.

Jonathon: Now, come on, Clark, kids don't just leap out of ceilings and attack people.

Clark: Dad, A kid just leapt out of the ceiling and attacked us.

Jonathon: Oh, yeah.
I'll have to cross that one out of my "Sayings and Saws for the Cautiously Modern Man".

[Cut to Jonathon and Clark staring into the rafters. Martha has long since given in to a crick in the neck and an urge to bake.]

Jonathon: It's not that I don't believe you, Clark...it's just that I don't think that what you're saying is true.

Clark: Did you ever wonder why all the weird things happen in Smallville?

Jonathon (shrugs): Seems pretty clear. It was a normal, idyllic little town -then you crashed into it with your mutating meteor friends and suddenly it's Freak City. No offence, son.

Clark: It's all my fault!

Jonathon: Well, I find it helps to blame LuthorCorp. When something goes wrong, son, find a Luthor and spit on 'im. That's what they're for.

Clark: I still feel responsible.

Jonathon: Clark. There are six year olds with crayon control issues, more responsible than you.

Clark: Thanks, Dad. But I can't still make this feeling go away.

Jonathon: That's okay. It's what makes you human.

[There is a pause.]

Clark: Are you just trying to rub it in now?


[Smallville High. That would explain a few things.

It's the next day and inside the school, Clark runs into Chloe. The mind boggles (and it doesn't do it alone).]

Clark: Chloe.

Chloe: Clark.

[Smallville is fitted with state-of-the-art NameDrop technology, for your seven second memory needs. Eight out of ten goldfish prefer it.]

Clark: Is Greg Arkin still the science reporter for the Torch?

Chloe: Greg hasn't shown his face in the office for a week. I do have some unpleasant photocopies...

Clark: I have to find him.

Chloe: What's the sudden interest in Greg? Trust me, when you see these photocopies...

Clark: It's nothing. I'll catch you later.

Chloe: I hate it when you shut me out like that.

Clark: ...we're in a corridor.

Chloe: I meant emotionally, Clark. You're not outgrowing me as a friend, are you?

[Clark gets a tape measure and beams]

Chloe: On second thoughts don't answer that. It was weirdly phrased, anyway. So, what's with Greg?

[Cut to the Torch office. Clark presses some buttons, proudly.]

Chloe: I found an article about some newspaper photographer who took on the traits of this bug that bit him, but nothing as extreme as what you've been talking about. D'you find 'owt?

Clark: Only that Greg didn't move here until after the meteor shower. And that pop rocks and coke can kill you.

Chloe: But his bugs could still have been exposed. Smallville is awash with radioactive mutating rocks and their homicidal spawn. Why do we live here again?

Clark: Hmm. Greg did have a lot of bugs. And bugs bite. So maybe bugs bit Greg.

Chloe: Shame he wasn't called Buford.


[Chloe, Clark and the rare flowering Pete, are snooping through a window.]

Pete: Yuch. The place is a mess. They should have gone neo-classical.

[Clark wanders moodily over to the porch.]

Clark: When Greg's parents got divorced he just stopped coming round. We only made a few jokes. "Hey, Greg, why did your parents split? So they'd taste better with ice-cream!"

Chloe:...That was a joke?

Pete: We did miss his tree house. His Dad built it in the woods.

Chloe: From matches?

Pete: Cigarette stubs. He was a free thinker. Clark used to get dizzy just walking over there. He was afraid of heights.

Clark: I just didn't think the staples would hold.

[Chloe, meanwhile, has jemmied open a window with the speed and skill of a long time expert.]

Chloe: Over here!

[We see the bathroom drain covered with bits of saveloy. Pete takes snaps for his cookery course.]

Pete: That's disgusting. That's unspeakable.

[He takes another picture.]

Clark: I think he's moulting.

Chloe: Guys?

[Chloe is in Greg's bedroom. Clark and Pete join her. They are watching Greg's Amateur Film Hour.]

Pete: Looks like Greg found his leading lady.

[Not gripped by the storyline, Clark's gaze idly wanders about the room, poking at corners.

Suddenly he rushes over to a big ole web in the corner and rips it open.

Out pops the Kinder Surprise you'll never forget. Everyone jumps, except Greg's Mom, who is dead and excused gym.

Clark has a sudden thought.]

Clark: Lana!

[The Hero Complex kicks in and he bolts like Dr. Frankenstein on an assembly line.]


[Cut to Lana and her My Little Pony collection. She feeds them hay.

A hand reaches out...der, dum, der, dum...heeeere's....... Whitney.

Dang.]

Whitney: Your aunt... (boo, hiss)...said that you were out here and I saw no reason to disbelieve her.

Lana: How are you feeling?

Whitney: A little with my left hand, a little with my right, but that's not important right now. Lana, when I saw you with Clark I freaked out.

Lana: What did you think you were doing?

Whitney: Opium-crack-LSD, the guy said. I think it may have been parsley. Then I got scared and did something stupid. Even stupider than parsley. I'd give anything to take that back.

[The Greg Alarm sounds.]

Greg: Too late, Whitney. She's starring in my masterpiece. "The Bride Wore Cobwebs".

Lana: Greg?

Whitney: Get away from her! She couldn't act her way out of a string bag with no string in it!

[Greg isn't looking for acting skills. He just wants someone to pulse prettily under peril, and some special effects.

He slap Whitney. Whitney fall down.]

Lana: Greg, what's going on?

Greg: It's time.

Lana: What time is it, Mr. Wolf?

Greg: Quit it.
It's time...for Lights! Cameras! Action!

[Lana doesn't like the sound of that Act-a-malarky.]


[Whitney blinks his way back into the light. We hear Clark's soft, trilling voice, yonder.

Clark: Lana!

[He never has trouble with his lines.]

Clark: Lana!

[ He walks further in]

Clark: Lassie! Lassie come home!

[Whitney leaves the stall, forgetting to flush.]

Clark: Stella! Steeeella!

Whitney: Greg's got Lana.

Clark: Which way did her go?

Whitney: Sorry?

Clark: It's a typo. Roll with it.

Whitney: He headed off into the woods. He tripped over some breadcrumbs or something...

Clark: I think I know where he's going.

[They leave the barn and go to Whitney's truck. (His less exploded truck. You should always keep a spare one under a flowerpot)

Whitney gets in and Clark gives him directions.

Some time later...]

Clark:...No, no, you head left on the old dirt road, past the field of Jerseys, -not the Herefords, they're three miles the other way-, then you get to a fork, take it and then nip down through the mines of Moria...

Whitney: Never mind. I'll find it.

[Clark superspeeds on over to the tree fort. Slowly he creeps through the hatch.

Lana is unconscious and covered in webs. (She wasn't unconscious until Greg started spewing out those webs.)

Clark, an observant lad, spots her.]

Greg: Get away from her! You're in shot.

Clark: Greg, I know what happened to you. You were seduced by the glamour of film. But you know, in your heart, you're just a two-bit camcorder wannabe.

Greg: Oh, that's harsh. But genius is never recognised in it's own lifetime. If Orson Welles had started eating his co-stars, who knows what he could have accomplished?

Clark (growls): You're not taping her.

Greg: Try and stop me. Or, actually, don't. I have popcorn, you could watch...

[Greg sees that snacks are not the answer and jumps at Clark.

There's smashing and breaking and cigarettes everywhere.

They fall to the ground and Greg vanishes.

He's hied it away to the Creekside Foundry! Has he some fiendish plot? Clark trots merrily into the trap, er, foundry.

(Foundries, kids, are the dullest places on this earth. Never go to one and never, ever let someone talk you through it in slow, droning, painstakingly translated German. End public service announcement).

The inside of the foundry. Clark feels unwell. Many pretty green rocks litter the ground.

Still, best soldier on.

He searches for Greg, stopping occasionally to vomit.

Greg sneaks up behind Clark, only slightly betrayed by the loud insect noise he makes just beforehand.

Clark's fortunately too busy filling up carrier bags to notice and he gets whacked into left field by a solid lead pipe to the back. He hits the ground, adding injury to carrot chunks.

Clark thinks perhaps these rocks may be doing him harm. He lifts up his hand to check.

Yep. It's doing the vein-bulge boogie.]

Greg: You still get sick around this place, just like when we were kids. Say, did you know that the buffalo can do a neato shuffle-o?

[Clark is hard put to see the relevance. He gets thrown around a bit. It's no fun from this end.

Hmm. He has been thrown into an snug, enclosure thing, and Greg has broken off for a spot of impromptu Tai-Chi.

Clark checks his hand. It throbs no more.

Immediately he feels better.]

Greg: Clark! Oh, Cla-ark! I was just kidding around! Come on out, we can do theatre!

[Cut to Clark, talking to himself, as all good superheroes should.]

Clark: It's lined with lead.

[And back to Greg]

Greg: Give it up Clark! Do the fandango!

[Clark appears behind him and tosses him across the foundry. Friendship holds strong after all.

Greg gets up, worn out, and pulls on a lever thing. If the lever had a label than the label would say "Don't pull this lever."]

Clark: No. Stop. Don't.

[Greg gets crushed. A myriad swarm of beetles from out of Zelda scurry off.

Clark shrugs and leaves.]


[Cut to Lana in Cocoon. She's surrounded by wrinkly people and a lurking Steve Guttenberg.

A hand peels back the webbing as Lana awakens.

But we're not getting fooled this way again. If it's Whitney, and you know it, clap your hands.]

Whitney: Hey.

Lana: Oh my god! Oh my god! The spinnerets! The horrible, horrible spinnerets!

Whitney: It's okay. it's me.

Lana:...And I broke a nail!

Whitney: You're safe. It's all right. Here's your nail and some string'll fix it right up.(He picks her up) Come on.

[She comes on, not having much choice.

We see Clark. Always the stalker, never the stalked. (He'll have to talk to Lex about that).

Clark watches them hug.]


[The good ol' Kent farm. Nightime.

Clark picks up the box, stroking it a little.

Lana's never going to shut up about that necklace. She can keep going and going and...

We cut to Clark outside Lana's house. He takes out the necklace and leaves it, pausing only to admire his green and wriggly hand. Never gets old for him.

Lana approacheth.

We hear a swoosh and not a Moment too soon.]

Lana: Whitney?

[Lana opens her door and spots the necklace.]

Lana: Ahhh. My preciouuuussss.

[She fondles it obscenely, then goes inside because this is a family show.

Clark stands in the distance, outlined proudly against the moon. Rearing, he neighs wildly to the moon, then gallops off, in glorious freedom, to the Mansion.]

The end.



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