Nice call, Supe – don’t use your special powers to pry apart the booth ever so gently so Lana can ease her stout patoot out the door; don’t use your special lube-beams to grease her up so she can extract herself with dignity. No, pick her up and fly her around town with her ass hanging out.
Why would he care if Lana knew he had become FAT as well? Wouldn’t this actually be a comfort? Obviously some sort of evil enfattening ray has been trained on Smalltropolis, and everyone looks like they just spent a fortnight at Chili’s restaurant drinking from the deep-fryer grease trap.
Superboy’s costume, being Super, easily absorbed the added demands; Lana, however, should have split that dress wide open, providing all the subscribers with the I-see-London-I-see-France moment they wanted. How many redhead fetishes Lana left in her wake, we'll never know, but she gets short shrift in the great debates over fictional women. Everyone's always going on about Betty or Veronica; the Lois-vs.-Lana issue never comes up.
In the lower right-hand corner, a sight that haunted me in my younger years, and was possibly responsible for my disinterest in Superman. Bizarro Superman creeped me out. I mean, look at him. Cracked white scaly skin, a widow’s peak, black staring eyes – and he was stupid and did things backwards, if I remember. Oh, me kill puppies with superbreath! Me sorry. Yeah, well, that’s what you always say. Now go to your Fortress of Socialization and think about what you’ve done.