"What does that look like to you?!" Perry White barked, slamming the that day's edition down on Jimmy Olsen's desk.

"Um, Superman shaking hands with the Mayor?" Jimmy stammered. "I took the photos like you asked."

"It isn't just his hand that's shaking, is it?" Perry growled with a gesture, scattering cigar ash over the paper.

As Jimmy took a second look, his eyes widened when he saw it, as if to take in the enormity. "Oh no..." he croaked. "Oh no! We can't publish this!"

"We already have," Perry White replied. "Great Caesar’s ghost! We're going to have to do a recall. We can't have Superman looking like that. And with the mayor, no less! It's obscene, is what it is. It's a miracle he didn't poke someone's eye out on his way to the town hall."

"I don't know how it happened. Normally, his suit doesn't, um, do that! I mean, normally he looks like a Ken doll!" Jimmy protested. "I took the photos exactly like I normally do."

Perry White frowned and took a long, hard drag on his cigar.

"That's the queerest thing, Jimmy - you did. I checked yesterday's edition. The same. Then I checked the archives. Every front page. We've been printing him like that for fifteen years - Kryptonian cock front and center." He shook his head in disbelief. "How did we never notice this before? We're an upstanding publication, damnit, and it's not exactly subtle." He turned to Lois Lane, who was sitting silently at her typewriter, her glare almost burning holes in the image of the mayor's hand bouncing merilly atop Superman's supermanhood. "Anything you'd like to add to this, Mrs Lane? You can't tell me you never noticed it all these years. If anything, this edition is selling very well with the female demographic."

Lois Lane gritted her teeth and pushed back her chair. "I need to call Clark."

Jimmy was left alone in the Daily Planet office. Boy, did that photo really draw the eye. He placed his coffee down over the bulge to avoid looking at it. Confused, he flipped through the other photos he'd taken of the superheroes' public event. If anything, they were worse.

It didn't make any sense, particularly the hand on the ass. Superman was too nice for anything like that. He was the Big Blue Boy Scout!

No. That wasn't right. The Big Blonde Boy Scout, wasn't it? Or the Big White Boy Scout? Jimmy rubbed at the start of a migraine. His memories were fuzzy on the subject.

Outside, ticker tape and balloons still billowed down the Metropolis streets, left behind from that morning's parade, when the hero had been driven down the streets in an open-top car, waving at the crowd while the venerable Mayor perched on his lap.

Something blue, bulbous, and rubber bounced off the window out of the corner of his eye. Jimmy avoided looking at it, dismissing it as a particularly shapely balloon and unable to stomach looking at anything else inflatable, until it called out, "Jimmy! Could you please open the window?"

Jimmy looked up. "Power Girl?"

The buxom beauty bobbed outside his window, upside down, arms and legs dangling, ass high, as if buoyed aloft by her rear end. His honed paparazzi instincts already had him reaching for his camera, as she tumbled end-over-end, her bust and butt squishing repeatedly against the glass.

"I'm not Power Giiiirl!" she squealed, as an updraft whisked through her legs and sent her careening higher up the side of the building. "Fetch a rope!"