View full sizeDear Lo —
By the time you read this, I’ll be on Diana’s invisible plane, flying to Paradise Island to meet her mom, also known as Queen of the Amazons, so don’t try to follow us.
Thankfully, I won’t have to deal with the whole “What are your intentions, son?” interrogation from her old man, Zeus. He split a long time ago to impregnate countless mortals. Just imagine him on one of those “Are you the father?” episodes of “Maury”– it would have to go on all season!
Anyhow, I’m really sorry you had to hear about Wonder Woman and me the way you did — on the cover of “Justice League No. 12” and all. We had no idea paparazzi would be hanging out on the roof of the Lincoln Memorial, where we shared our first, amazing, soul-shattering kiss.
Oh, jeez, sorry. That was insensitive, wasn’t it? You always said I had Kryptonite for brains. Believe me, I listened hard with my supersensitive ears during those couples counseling sessions and really tried to be more aware of your feelings, yadda, yadda, yadda. I even stopped using my X-ray vision to see through doors of women’s dressing rooms at the mall like you asked me. But let’s face it, baby, we’ve grown apart.
You were always Tweeting and blogging and posting stories at all hours or yakking with U.N. Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon or some other foreign dignitary. I think you love The Daily Planet more than you ever loved me.
When a man gets home from a hard day of foiling evil geniuses and saving Earth from ruin, he wants a woman in go-go boots and a bustier who knows what to do with a golden lasso, if you know what I mean.
Try not to pout. Seventy-four years is a good run — most of you humans don’t even live that long.
It’s true, my insatiable little gossipmongers. One of the most celebrated couples in literature, film and television is calling it quits. But instead of a messy breakup scene or a Post-it note on the fridge, the popes at DC Comics, in a monumental Etch A Sketch moment, simply annulled Superman’s 1996 marriage to Lois Lane. In the new world order, they have never even dated, sort of like Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries.
Worse, now that the Man of Steel’s romance with the hard-driving reporter never happened, he’s free to romp with Wonder Woman, or, as I like to call her, that home wrecker in hot pants.
“Oh, pop another Xanax, Diva,” you say. “With all the mayhem in the Middle East and the U.S. presidential elections just weeks away, who cares about the ersatz love story between dusty old comic-book characters?”
To which I answer, in the words of cantankerous Daily Planet editor Perry White, “Great Caesar’s Ghost!” Have a little civic pride.
Superman, his alter ego — the bespectacled, mild-mannered newsman Clark Kent — and his longtime lady love were born in Cleveland during the Great Depression. The cape-wearing strongman in royal-blue tights who could leap tall buildings in a single bound was imagined by Jerry Siegel, a bullied kid barely out of Glenville High, and given life on the page by his neighborhood pal, artist Joe Shuster.
While they worked out their crime fighter’s chiseled features, “Lois was harder to picture,” writes Larry Tye in his book “Superman: The High Flying History of America’s Most Enduring Hero.”
“Joe and Jerry wanted to get her right, but there was no model at hand. So they hired one, from a Situation Wanted ad in the Cleveland Plain Dealer, at the lavish rate of $1.50 an hour, which was more than either boy made in a day.”
The human version of Lois Lane was a teenage Jolan “Joanne” Kovacs, so skinny she had to pin the back of the borrowed bathing suit she posed in. Joanne’s face, hairdo and physique — with the requisite fanboy 36-24-36 enhancements — graced “Action Comics No. 1,” on sale in April, 1938, the first appearance of Superman. Years later, she became Mrs. Jerry Siegel. While both creator and muse have died, daughter Laura Siegel Larson is keeping an eye on the family legacy.
“Superman is unique among superheroes, and his relationship with Lois is one of the reasons,” says Siegel Larson. “She is his ongoing link to humanity. His Earth foster parents, the Kents, started him off with a moral compass, but it was Lois who taught Superman the meaning of love. The current pairing with Wonder Woman may sell comics but, like many fans, I am hoping this ‘what if?’ won’t last long.”
Clark was smitten almost immediately, asking Miss Lane out on Page 6. And Lois? Let’s just say she wasn’t that into him.
She walked out in the middle of their first date after he let a loser cut in on their dance, firing off these parting words: “You’re a spineless, unbearable coward!”
(Cut her some slack — she hadn’t yet figured out that her fainthearted colleague was really the muscle-bound hottie who tossed cars like horseshoes and saved her from kidnappers).
Porny pants vs. pencil skirts
Who knew those words would prove prescient, when, some seven decades later, Superman would dump her without so much as an “It’s not you, it’s me.” And, salt in the wound, dump her for Wonder Woman, who, thanks to her costume by Frederick’s of Hollywood, always looks ready to jump on a stripper pole, not thump the bad guys.
Could the Amazonian princess’s unspoken, porny appeal be one of the reasons DC hit the reset button on Lois and Clark?
After all, smart, frazzled, career-driven gals in sensible pencil skirts can’t compete with a dominatrix able to deflect bullets with her bracelets.
In the “100 Sexiest Women in Comic Books” Wonder Woman is a chart-topping No. 6, while Lois limps in at No. 78, sandwiched between Josie (as in the Pussycats) and Rulah, Jungle Goddess.
While our favorite intrepid journalist beat out Elasti-Girl (No. 88), she rates lower than She-Hulk, Betty Cooper (the pert girl-next-door from the “Archie” series) and, most insulting, mermaid Lori Lemaris, another player in the Superman canon.
“She’s no Ariel,” writes “Comic Book Buyer’s Guide” scribe Brent Frankenhoff. “But Lori’s mysterious past and special needs attracted Clark Kent in college.”
Not only is Lois not as sexy as a legless girl who smells like sushi, but one of the world’s most famous comic-book geeks has dubbed her an unfit companion for Superman. In “Mallrats,” Kevin Smith’s 1995 ode to food-court slackers and the women who love them, the writer/director posits that Lois can never have Superman’s baby.
“He’s an alien, for Chrissake,” says Brodie (Jason Lee ) during a debate with pal T.S. (Jeremy London). “His Kryptonian biological makeup is enhanced by Earth’s yellow sun. If Lois gets a tan, the kid could kick right through her stomach. Only someone like Wonder Woman has a strong enough uterus to carry his kid.”
The only way Superman could have sex with “regular chicks,” he says, “is with a Kryptonite condom — but that would kill him.”
Well, boys, it looks like you won’t have Lois Lane to kick around anymore. And that goes for you, too, Superman.
Plain Dealer comic-book columnist Michael Sangiacomo — who teaches a class about the art and history of comics at Case Western Reserve University — built a lesson around Superman’s abuse of his long-suffering flame.
“This is just one of the hundreds of insults and injuries he’s heaped on Lois over the years,” he says.
Why does our hero always hurt the one he loves?
Throughout the 1950s and ’60s, to punish Lois for her nosy attempts to expose his secret identity, Superman has: faked romances with other women, turned Lois into a baby then spanked her in a pre-“Fifty Shades of Grey” moment of kink and exposed her to a weight-gain ray.
Yes, ladies, the dude committed to defending truth, justice and the American way made his girlfriend fat — not just pleasingly Jessica Simpson plump, but Honey Boo Boo’s mom fat. Lois was crowned “The Fattest Girl in Metropolis” and, in panel after panel, Superman snickers from the sidelines as Lois gorges herself on candy, rattles windows with her oily belches and bursts the seams of her chic suits.
Come to think of it, maybe this reboot is just the impetus Lois needs to find a better, more stable boyfriend.