‘Oh, my god, it’s true. I remember it all now,’ he said through his tears. I reached in my pockets and dusted my hands with Kryptonite. And then...I proceeded to give Superb-Man a bitch slapping. Once he was unconscious, I pulled out a copy of Nietzsche’s ‘Thus Spake Zarathustra’, a book so heavy I could barely hold it. It only took a few well aimed blows to make sure Superb-Man would be in a wheel-chair for life. It wouldn’t do to kill a fellow commie. Now there was nobody to stop me from. Hot.He looked around the car as he drove towards the ever-darkening horizon. It was clean, and actually well taken care of. It was not a new car, probably about 10 years old or so, (he wasn’t an expert when it came to Saabs) but everything worked, including the air conditioning, radio, and power seats. It had a sunroof and professionally tinted windows. He was particularly grateful for this last feature as he passed a few semi-trailers on his way west out of the city, as he didn’t want. More

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