Superman: Birthright, Issue #4 – “Part Four”

* Part 4 of 12 of the Superman: Birthright limited series *

Welcome to Loneliness & Cheeseburgers Presents: Superman: Birthright, Issue #4 – “Part Four”! How tremendously creative. I hope the name of this issue doesn’t foreshadow any laziness of the writing. In the previous installment, Martha Kent helps his son cobble together a secret identity while Jon Kent grunts and bottles up emotions and, eventually, shares his conflicting feelings on the whole matter.

After a quick recalibration of the Clark Kent persona, spectacles and all, Clark has a ticket to Metropolis ready in hand. Time to make it big in the big city, you little scamp!

Superman: Birthright, Issue #4 [December, 2003]
Written by: Mark Waid
“Part Four”

Oh no, is that Lois Lane falling from an open window? And on Clark Kent’s first day on the job? We’ll see. Nothing but trouble already.

Metropolis is stupidly huge. They even stole landmarks from other cities! I see the St. Louis Gateway Arch, something that looks like the Washington Monument, and lookee there? Is that Trump Tower! Just kidding! Or am I?

Clark is taking a cab through the congested downtown streets. The cab driver can barely hear him over all the traffic noise. “I was wondering about the army copters in the sky. What’s going on?” Clark asks the driver, who no doubt has all the insight into military operations to readily share with a random passenger.

But he does! “The mayor has permitted our military to test some sort of ‘automatic anti-terrorist’ aircraft this fine afternoon. Rather unsettling, I must say – but then, given the manner in which we volley between yellow and orange alerts, I suppose we do what we must to feel safer, yes?”

The cab driver himself looks like he gets racially profiled by the Metropolis police no less than 30 times per day, considering these are still tumultuous post-9/11 times. Clark sees a street vendor selling $400 World War II-era gas masks.

“Nowadays, it is as if everyone is simply waiting for trouble to occur as a natural course. If it takes something in the sky to give them hope, so be it,” the cab driver continues while Clark shoots another one of his patented baboon-IQ faces.

Cabbie asks Clark why the fuck he doesn’t know any of this already? Is he under a rock? Kinda! Even though this guy literally grew up in the heartland of America, his feeble alien brain is having trouble absorbing this cultural shift. Obviously.

Clark gets dropped off at the Daily Planet for his interview. The place is swarming with activity. Cubicles filled with busy button-pushers. Clark gets to see some action already! A man named Quentin Galloway is pouring his trash over the head of some poor intern who accidentally got him the wrong flavor of frozen yogurt.

You should see him on his bad days. So much feces…

Clark breaks a stapler in his hand trying to contain his rage, but a woman rushes over to the scene to start berating Galloway: “You think you’re a big shot? Publicly humiliating an employee because you’re in a bad mood about frogurt is small and it is petty.”

Tough words! The intern is Jimmy Olsen, who I only learned about as Clark’s buddy from the New 52 Action Comics. The chick is obviously Lois Lane, you guys.

Galloway isn’t letting some broad talk to him that way! “Lois Lane. Didn’t you used to be somebody? Why aren’t you on the trail of some U.F.O. or crop circle or some other oogity-boogity slow news day?”

Listen man, she may be in the business of oogities, but she is certainly not in the business of boogities! She tells him to back the fuck off. Galloway pays for the journalists’ work, not their dignities. Stop bullying little red-head punks like Jimmy Olsen around!

Duuurrrrrrrr

“I think I’m in love,” Clark whispers to himself, loud enough for the other guy to hear.

Galloway has more to say. “Six months ago, you had a reputation. You had respect. Not mine, of course, but apparently that of your peers.” It seems Lois has been traveling quite a bit lately, trying to chase down reports all over the world of a flying leather-jacket-and-khaki-clad hero! Nutso! Crazy! Bonkers! Cockamamie! Jibba Jabba! “Lois Lane’s Loony Lark” they’re all calling it!

Panels are lousy with action shots of Clark’s chimp face as he watches the scene.

Lois says there were hundreds of witnesses to such a man catching a falling space shuttle a few weeks ago. Meanwhile, Galloway argues, there are hundreds of other witnesses telling a different story. And NASA! Fuhgeddaboutit! They deny everything!

Lois tells Galloway to stop poisoning the newsroom with childishness, then she slams the frogurt on the big, ugly, bald man’s chest. “You’re a leader. I expect better from you.”

They meet eyes for a few moments, then Galloway storms off silently. Jimmy lends his gratitude. Lois tells him that she may consider updating his restraining order to thirty feet of distance instead of fifty feet. There’s a good lad.

Clark speaks up like a completely socially unintelligent spaz, causing me to cringe uncontrollably.

Lois Lane has been through this before. “By now, Galloway has called Perry and they’re deciding what Perry can trade this time to keep me on the staff.” In other words, yes, it won’t be the last time that she’ll be covering her direct supervisor with frozen yogurt in this particular office.

Not anymore, creep! Fuck this newspaper, it’s full of men.

“Mr. Kent? Editor White will see you now,” says a purple-haired secretary.

Clarky gonna get him some gainful employment!

Not so fast! Lois Lane hears the name and recognizes it. Kent’s the one that did that piece on Kobe Asuru, right? Meh. She wasn’t that impressed, dude. I mean it was fine, but…like, I don’t know, you write like a tall guy. You’re not tall enough. Well, bye.

The interview with Perry White doesn’t go so well. First of all, Clark spends ten minutes staring at his shoes and muttering. “How did someone as shy as you get an interview with Qerzian terrorists? Or Chief Justice Benton?” Perry demands, making up both a country and a Chief Justice. “Why do you want to work here? Spit it out, Kent!”

Clark’s pooping his pants with the force and strength of 100 pooping men. Then he regains composure and makes his case. Because, sir, the New York Times sucks eggs, and while they’re still scrambling, like so many eggs, for sources… the Daily Planet already has their stories printed and on the web and they’ve already moved on. Just ask my last girlfriend. I’m THAT fast as well! Heh heh.

“I need to be where the speed of information is Priority One. My work depends on spotting trouble as it breaks.”

Perry White perks up a little bit at this, then invites Clark to tell him anything else on his mind. After a few sweaty moments, Clark accidentally slaps a whole mug of pens off of White’s desk. Oopsie-daisy!

“Kent, here’s the tragedy,” White starts to give Clark some bad news. The planes hit the Towers two years ago! Also this: “My reporters are the best because they are never afraid to write the truth– and, son, you have got fear written all over you. I can’t use you.”

I don’t even want to imagine how much poop is coming out right now. Clark protests, and White asks him to prove it! Right here and now! Come on, son! Show me what you got! *unzips pants* LET’S GO! NO FEAR!

And, luckily enough, like an angel sent from heaven, a perfect opportunity to show Clark’s fearlessness presents itself in the form of a motherfucking airstrike at the office building.

Yo, President Bush, this isn’t an Afghani wedding! Don’t you have innocent children to kill somewhere else?

Clark stands up after covering White on the floor. White starts screaming at another reporter. “Didn’t you file a story saying this was impossible? That they’re not even armed?”

The reporter, Mike, is frothing and wheezing. “That’s what I was told, I swear!”

Mr. Three-Piece-Suit Kent starts slinking away as clandestinely as possible. “Please don’t let me look ridiculous,” he whispers a quiet wish to God as he rips off his clothes in a secret…corner…I guess, revealing his iconic SuperbMan costume.

Perry White yells for Lois to call the Pentagon to get some answers on why these military crafts are firing on their lowly newspaper office building, but Lois is preoccupied at the moment running to the roof to try to get the scoop firsthand. Don’t worry, Jimmy-Jammy Olsen, she can fly a helicopter! Army Brat! She takes the newscopter, you know, without permission. Fearless. Just like they want at the Daily Planet.

You think fatass Galloway can fly the copter? He’d crash into the doughnut shop. Lois Lane sees “FRONT PAGE” written all over this shit!

“Ms. Lane, LOOK OUT!” Olsen screams as Lane low-key flies right into one of these mysterious military ships, tearing up all the goddamned copter blades less than ten seconds after takeoff. Jimmy falls right out of it, too. lol. Couldn’t have gone worse.

But don’t worry, AN UNMASKED MAN WEARING CHICAGO CUBS COLORS SAVES BOTH THE FALLING KID AND THE DESTROYED HELICOPTER WITH THE LADY STILL IN IT.

Calm down, nerd.

Plenty of people on the street witness this brave act. How could they not? It’s a pretty fucked up thing to happen.

Lois Lane is beside herself with excitement. It’s really him! But, hey, thanks for saving her and all, but there’s still some weird military-type copters firing bullets and shit. Do something about that, ok? Thx.

So he takes off again with that smug Superman face that I just want to hit with a bat. He finds two of these vehicles trying to strike civilians on the ground. Once Superman braces himself, he catches a glimpse of a scowling, bald man through a highrise window. Kevin Spacey? Very close!

“Lex…?” he says, completely distracted. A round of fire connects with his chest and sends him flying through a building.

Is Superman dead?

Hopefully!