AN: Just a very silly thing
Time: Six months before the official kick-off of Lex Luthor's Presidential campaign
Place: A meeting room
Lex lounged in a comfortable leather chair, listening with just enough attention as various campaign managers, publicity specialists, and image consultants discuss certain isses. He briefly stiffened as one of them mentioned jogging shorts but the others shot down the proposal before it even reached cruising altitude.
Somebody asked, "Where's Currie?" and with the timing usually reserved for entrances in works of fiction, a man burst into the room, hair ruffled, tie askew, jacket wrinkled, carrying about three reams of paper, each sheet pointing a slightly different direction.
"Mr. Luthor," he gasped, accusingly. "You gave me no idea, no idea at all." He paused, aware that he had mangled nearly every consonant in the sentence and left the vowels in disarray.
"What's wrong?" Lex didn't lose even a fraction of his magesterial calm.
"Wrong? Wrong? Wrong?" Though the group in the room couldn't hear the last repetition, several dogs in the vicinity could, and howled an obbligato to his following words. "You told me, you specifically told me that your, ahem, sexual self-expression was nothing extraordinary, perfectly normal."
Lex tilted his head to the side slightly, considering the question. "I can't think of anything that would be considered unusual."
"I found, on the Internet, several documents which detail events, that, that. Well. The list of your partners, derived from these documents, which *only* cover your relatively brief residence in Smallville, regularly includes two high school girls, a farmboy, an alien, and a young Superman."
Lex interrupted, "Actually, those three are all the same person."
"Right," Currie responded, automatically, taking out a pen to make a note and then dropping it as he returned to his theme. "Somewhat less frequently alluded to are a doctor, a businesswoman, the farmboy's father, the farmboy's mother, your *own* father, and several miscellaneous individuals of every possible description. Can you explain that, Mr. Luthor, can you explain that?" The dog with the most sensitive ears whined and tried to cover them with its paws.
Lex's face held the tolerant amusement of a parent listening to a child who had insisted that he was going to tell a story to Daddy for the first time, and had already gotten hopelessly confused. As the silence extended, the half-smile turned by stages, in a process almost but not completely unlike Lon Chaney's transformation into the werewolf, to a bewildered frown. "I'm sorry, what's the abnormal part here?"
Time: Six months before the official kick-off of Lex Luthor's Presidential campaign
Place: A meeting room
Lex lounged in a comfortable leather chair, listening with just enough attention as various campaign managers, publicity specialists, and image consultants discuss certain isses. He briefly stiffened as one of them mentioned jogging shorts but the others shot down the proposal before it even reached cruising altitude.
Somebody asked, "Where's Currie?" and with the timing usually reserved for entrances in works of fiction, a man burst into the room, hair ruffled, tie askew, jacket wrinkled, carrying about three reams of paper, each sheet pointing a slightly different direction.
"Mr. Luthor," he gasped, accusingly. "You gave me no idea, no idea at all." He paused, aware that he had mangled nearly every consonant in the sentence and left the vowels in disarray.
"What's wrong?" Lex didn't lose even a fraction of his magesterial calm.
"Wrong? Wrong? Wrong?" Though the group in the room couldn't hear the last repetition, several dogs in the vicinity could, and howled an obbligato to his following words. "You told me, you specifically told me that your, ahem, sexual self-expression was nothing extraordinary, perfectly normal."
Lex tilted his head to the side slightly, considering the question. "I can't think of anything that would be considered unusual."
"I found, on the Internet, several documents which detail events, that, that. Well. The list of your partners, derived from these documents, which *only* cover your relatively brief residence in Smallville, regularly includes two high school girls, a farmboy, an alien, and a young Superman."
Lex interrupted, "Actually, those three are all the same person."
"Right," Currie responded, automatically, taking out a pen to make a note and then dropping it as he returned to his theme. "Somewhat less frequently alluded to are a doctor, a businesswoman, the farmboy's father, the farmboy's mother, your *own* father, and several miscellaneous individuals of every possible description. Can you explain that, Mr. Luthor, can you explain that?" The dog with the most sensitive ears whined and tried to cover them with its paws.
Lex's face held the tolerant amusement of a parent listening to a child who had insisted that he was going to tell a story to Daddy for the first time, and had already gotten hopelessly confused. As the silence extended, the half-smile turned by stages, in a process almost but not completely unlike Lon Chaney's transformation into the werewolf, to a bewildered frown. "I'm sorry, what's the abnormal part here?"