What if Bertie Wooster ends up visiting Smallville?

Not even going to try to make the premise credible, just having fun.

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"I say, Jeeves, these American cities have odd names." I pointed at a sign that said that we were driving through a place called Smallville and to add to the wild excitement, claimed that it was the meteor capital of the world. "And why would a town say that a chappie could get hit on the head by a rock at any time? Worse than lunch at the Drones, though that's buns and the occasional bowl of s., not a rock."

Jeeves must have eaten fish for dinner last night, developing the brain cells no end. "The events the sign refers to took place fifteen years previously, there have been no recurrences since."

I put the roof down, confident that no rocks were going to damage the Wooster or Jeeves noggins. Jeeves must have softened his attitude towards the blending with the locals, don't you know? I'd bought a pair of blue jeans and I thought they gave me a kind of man of the people look, casual, dashing, ready for anything, the kind of bean who would go rock climbing or breaking wild horses at the drop of a h. Jeeves disapproved and had tried to leave them in every town we were visiting but we Woosters will not be dictated to about matters of fashion. Jeeves said that fashion was not the word in question but I fixed him with the cold, firm eye and he bubbled down.

I was writing an article on traveling in America for my aunt's 'zine, as we writers call them. I wasn't quite sure what to say about cornfields and wheatfields and cowfields that would grab the reader's attention and not let go until he'd sent in the doubloons for a lifetime subscription. Meteor capital of the world didn't exactly promise the thrills and I was wondering if even Jeeves could make it cause tinglings up and down the s.

The car engine started to make the kind of noise a cat does when it sees the cat it quarreled with ten years ago about the cat in the first part stealing the mouse of the cat of the second p. and then it stopped, abandoning the Wooster expedition in the middle of nowhere.

"I will attempt to diagnose the problem."

"I'll try to flag down the passing motorist. There are probably all kinds of Boy Scouts around here, ready to commit good deeds on distressed travelers." Jeeves opened the car and began to be firm with its innards.

I don't know if you know what the word ostentatious means but the car that went zipping by fit it to a T. I waved the arms and it backtracked.

"A classic Bentley in trouble?" asked the chappie who got out. "That's an occasion." The clothes matched the car but he was balder than Roderick Glossop, the psychologist chappie who thinks that Bertie's natural habitat is an asylum, but that's not a reason to hold a grudge. Having no secrets from this man, I introduced self and companion and told him that the car had sputtered to a halt and asked if he could summon up a mechanic. He said that he was Lex Luthor and the name rang bells in the Wooster brain but I couldn't remember if he was a notable newt fancier like Gussie Fink-Nottle or a famous author like humble self or a golfer, so I just said, exercising the Wooster bonhomie, that I knew the name.

"I'm not surprised." Using a phone that he could have dropped in his ear to keep safe, he called his mechanic and said that we were two miles east of the castle.