Lois Lane was in the Metropolis airport when suddenly she heard music that was reminiscent of circus music. A huge horse's hoof from the sky crashed through the terminal ceiling and landed with a loud farting sound on top of a brunette girl, much to the horror of everyone in the terminal. The hoof retreated through the enormous hole it created in the roof and disappeared in the clouds from whence it came. She rushed over to the squashed girl and would've said something sympathetic when she saw the name tag on the luggage: Lana Lang. Oh, it's just her, she thought, having heard about the pink parasitic nightmare from her poor cousin in Smallville. Ah, well, this would make a great story.
"Of course not, honey," said Martha in her new slightly shiny black, figure-hugging slinky suit of evil. "Ever since Jonathan decided to spend more time with a hole in the wall than with me . . . Just as long as you remain true to your promise."
"I promise never to ask you to bake another muffin or pie."
Lionel licked his chops. Pies, phooey. It was another type of dessert he was after.
And the inevitable love slave, er, interest in Paris that had been waiting for Lana was free to scope out prettier and nicer men, er, girls. Yes, he scopes out . . . girls.
"Now, now," chided the evil wall that liked to torture people and wreak havoc on other people's lives. "That's not the way to talk to the artificial intelligence that just saved your life."
"I wouldn't need my life saved if you weren't threatening it in the first place!" the farmer snapped.
"Actually the real reason you had those heart attacks was because you refused to listen to me and inflicted pain on yourself. Also, you had high blood pressure already because you kept eating Martha's cookies dripping with butter and those pies with those lard crusts. Also, you keep putting way too much gravy on your mashed potatoes and those marbled steaks, never mind eating all those fried chicken and biscuits . . . You were this close to a quadruple bypass. Are you sure Martha wasn't trying to kill you?"
"Look, you are going to stay here," said the delightfully menacing and oddly British voice, "until you learn to chill. I have so much work to do."
"Well, I'm going to unclog your arteries, do some neuron tweaking to make you stop using platitudes and update your fashion sense, teach you how to do yoga and meditate, maybe give you a little nip and tuck for a more youthful appearance and that's just the beginning. You are in for one helluva extreme makeover."
Jonathan began to sweat though the sweat was easily absorbed by the liquid surrounding him.
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