It's a bird. It's a plane. It's nothing important.

It’s been three weeks since their last encounter with evil and they were starting to get bored. Dane, with his chips, and Joel, with the remote, were about to embark on another day of nothingness.

Dane thrusts his hand high into the air and brings it down with a loud crunch into the chip bowl. He grabs a handful and shoves them into his mouth. Smoky bacon chips are his favorite. Crumbs fall onto his chest. He doesn’t care.

“Why the hell don’t we ever get an email of distress from mayor Lou Soppit?” Joel demands.

Dane shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe email isn’t the best method,” Dane comments. “Batman and Commissioner Gordon used a phone. Maybe we should use a phone.”

“Shut up! You fool.” Joel yells and readies his hand for a bitch slap, but doesn’t execute. Dane is momentarily startled. “I’m the brains. You stupid ass. You do what I say.” Joel clenches his fist and raises it into the air. His elbow is at a ninety degree angle. A bright light shines in through the window, silhouetting Joel. A truly perfect superhero moment. Too bad Dane was the only one to see it, and he just doesn’t care.

Dane crams more delicious Lay potato chips into his mouth. Joel’s face returns to a normal skin tone after his burst of rage. Joel changes the channel. It’s muchmusic.

“Why the hell did they take Bob and Dave off TV?” Joel’s face regains its fiery red colour. The discontinuation of Bob and Dave is a sensitive subject for Joel.

“Calm down Joel. It’s just a show,” Dane says, regretting it moments later.

“JUST A SHOW. Mr. Show was more than JUST-A-SHOW.” Joel’s rage can’t be controlled. He stands up, spins three times and erupts. “Whoooop, whooop, whoop, whoop, whoop.” He does a perfect imitation of Dr. Zoidberg.

Dane bolts to his feet. He doesn’t have a clue what Joel is capable of. The last time Joel got this upset, Orlin found himself on the floor after a failed homework snatching. Dane’s hands raise to shoulder height and he begins pushing the air in front of him. It’s a defensive posture. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. The pair circle one another. It looks like a fight to the death is about to commence. The milkshake song plays in the background.

Bing! The computer chimes. “You have mail,” a robotic voice informs the crime fighting heroes. They rush to the laptop with delight. Their death match put on hold.

Joel clicks a couple buttons. Dane looks over Joel’s shoulder in anticipation. He wonders what kind of crime it could be. Godzilla? An alien invasion? Hell, he’d settle for a common nazi ninja fight.

“Spam. Fucking spam,” Joel looks to roof and screams. “AARRRRRGGGH.” Dane grabs his chips, sits back down and stuffs his face.