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a.k.a. elvis Back in the fifties, he went a little wild. For years he’d been tormented with cries from every land: Rescue our soldiers! Our cause is true! Sure, there were villains, but how do you save a people you love from the hate of one another? The war was finally over. The world seemed a bit more peaceful… So he let his curl and sideburns go, and perfected his hip-swivel, and took to the stage, knowing full well that the heat from the lights and his black leather pants (over blue tights) would build up a sweat, releasing super-pheromones, which would whip every female within 200 miles into a hormonal frenzy. The population soared! They called him The King! And for a while, the world danced… But years passed; people got restless—got ugly again. Knowledge became the price for immortality. The record company had to hire a body double because he was so distracted— helplessly watching earthlings kill each other; secretly wishing for a planet-threatening asteroid to bind them all together in one great cause. But as much as he wished for peace, Superman knew better— he knew that no amount of unconditional love, or miracles of strength, or hound-dog rock and roll, could ever save a world that just didn’t want to be saved. -42- ...

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