Superman Fugs


KARL: Kate. PET. My hash-slinging waitress at a space diner. Tonight’s blue-plate special is sass. SEASON IT.

KATE BOSWORTH: Oh, Karl, you are a scream.

KARL: You are the divine intergalactic crisping sleeve on my Hot Pocket. TOAST.

KATE: Hahaha! Magical. You are a delight.

KARL: The man in the moon needs a lover. Be his concubine. ROMP. He’ll leave some green cheese on the dresser. Now stand back for a moment so I may contemplate whether I want popcorn.

KATE: Oh, like Jiffy-Pop? Yes! I’m actually following along with you!

KARL: Well stop, because if I saw you in an anti-gravity machine, my belts would start howling and I would demand roast beef. LAUNCH.

KATE: … Yes, okay, I can work with that. Yes!

KARL: Now leave me unless your skirt dispenses toothpaste.

KATE: Yes! Wait, no. Shoot, I blew that.

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