"My name's not Shirley. And I never joke.

"My name's not Shirley. And I never joke. Also, that's not milk you're drinking."

"Surely you know your own name. Stop kidding around. Pour me another tall glass of that cold milk, wouldja?" *wink*.

Mister Mxyzptlk wasn't falling for that one. He poured Superman a glass of milk and grinned.

Superman, however, was having none of this. He narrowed his eyes, smacking the glass of milk after Mister Mxyzptlk. "How dare you smirk at me," Superman growled, standing quickly.

"I wasn't smirking, ya dunderhead!" said Mr. Mxyzptlk. "I was tryin' to show you how to smile for your 'Got Milk' photo shoot. Jeesh! You've been so crabby lately!" Superman was

shooting steroids again, the imbecile -- he just couldn't fathom that he didn't need them. His bouts of rage were growing worse with each week. It was impossible to get him to sit

Still for even ten minutes. Dr. Sjvvjhbnii prescribed Verpandrum, a nasty antidepressent that made people grow into flying birds and even successfully fledge on schedule. It worked

for a time; I was on time every time, fully fledged and pledged like a proud flag run up to celebrate the holidays. But then the down swing came, and there no depths to describe

how low my butt could drag, but let's just say it became acquainted with that canyon on the bottom of the ocean. How was it, then, that I was able to hoist it once again, in time