He’s So Dreamy

2 05 2008

Normally I don’t put much stock in dreams unlocking the desires of our psyche, but the one I had last night was far too memorable to be meaningless. I figure since most of the psychology and sociology majors I knew in school are still out of work, you’ll have plenty of time to examine and decipher this for me.

I was Superman. Not in some Freudian construct, but the actual Luthor-bashin’, kryptonite-hatin demigod. And like any good installment of a Superman adventure, I was faced with a decision where the fate of many was hanging at the crux of it. On one hand, I was desperately using my super powers to extract people from a rickety old building that was in the direct path of an incoming twister. On the other, I was hanging out with my IRL boss in the lobby, waiting for the arrival of “that French chick we met at summer camp last year” who was “way European” and would “totally put out”.

> / <

Lex Luthor was also briefly there, but luckily he was the Luthor of Smallville origin, which meant he was too busy vacillating about whether he was evil or not to really do anything of consequence. But, man, did he look tortured.

Whatever could it mean?




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