Thing I’m surely missing from running lately, which I hope to rectify with my recent shoe upgrade, are the flights of fancy my mind’s allowed while only otherwise engaged in whatever autonomic function is required to keep my heart from exploding. (Well, that and my self-imposed health benefits.) News from Comic-Con is that All-Star Superman will be animated, though it beats me how they’re gonna fit all those wonderful stories onto an hour-and-a-half DVD. No, my concept for a Man-of-Tomorrow film to appease the Statler and Waldorf’s of the Internet would be teased opening with a crate full of weapons, handled by seedy African pirates or warlord’s henchmen. A wrinkled newspaper was packed inside, the headline exposing corporate corruption at the highest level—story, panning below it, by Clark Kent of the Daily Planet. The men arm themselves and begin a night-time raid on a poor village, and all looks bleak until they are engulfed in light. He has arrived, bringing with him all the powers of the sun, to this most remote part of the world, and makes quick work of a very different evil here, too. A little boy thanks him and he winks in return, then telescopically hears a woman cry for help thousands of miles away, and he’s off.
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