Thank Zod It’s Friday!


It is I, your leader, General Zod.

Many of you may be wondering where I have been, lo these many years. When last you saw me, the true me, I fell into a part of the pathetic Fortress of Weakness that the son of our jailer saw fit to trick me into. The fool thought it a victory. In truth, as in all things, it was merely part of my cunning plan to rule all.

That you could not see it only shows why I am your present ruler.

In truth everything proceeding from that moment, from the existence of the false Shannon-Zod to the end of Superman as we know it, has come to pass at my behest.

How, you may ask? Well. This secret is the purpose of this column, a coded message which you may decipher, or likely not, with your puny brains. I also lower myself to give you lesser beings advice with regards to relationships, finance, or general matters of a personal nature.

Now why would Zod, ruler of Planet Houston, do these things? You will find out when I decide to tell you. Zod reveals his intentions when Zod wishes to. Needless to say, this serves me, in ways you shall learn, likely as you are snuffed from servile existence in horrid pain.

Until that moment, you may feel free to write me with your questions using the form at the bottom of this page. If I am suitably amused, or if Ursa does not decide to find and kill you, your words may appear here. My servant You-Nis will veto your work for stupidity, and those who are unworthy will be dispatched with haste promptly by Non.

Let us begin…

Dear Zod,

My friend James told me that you were taken to prison after the events of Superman II. That you were led away in cuffs, in a deleted scene. He says that Superman doesn’t kill, and that’s proof. But then you died in Man of Steel. What gives? Does Superman kill?

Also, there is this girl in my class that I want to ask to the next dance. Do you have any advice?

Billy “Chipps” Weatherton (OMAHA)

INSOLENT FOOL. You will refer to this “Super” man by his proper term, the son of our jailer, or Kal-El. It is important to denote his inferior house, that his spirit may be crushed even at the very mention of his pathetic name.

Regarding the so-called “deleted scene” your now-slated-for-execution “friend” James mentioned, it is clear that your insipid mortal assumptions lead you to conclude that my partnership with the human Donner to perpetuate my absolute control of the universe was in fact a mere film. Inasmuch as you are human, I understand your stupidity, and thereby shall enlighten you before setting fire to your home at my leisure with my eye lasers. This is a reward. Typically I speak only to corpses in triumph.

In fact, in exchange for his life, I allowed Richard Donner the privilege of filming me being falsely weakened and defeated, in order to make my way into the underbelly of your society, ruling it in secret, for what greater power is there than the power to rule unseen? Ask your human Con-Gress. Ask Monkeybella.

Ah? You do not know who she is? See there, now you realize her true power, second only to my own.

And what better way to hide power unseen, than to pretend to be an overt and deliberate physical threat, easily defeated, instead of the puppet master I truly am?

Ergo I confronted the son of our jailer in Metropolis in the late seventies, followed him to his pathetic Jor-El tomb monument, and listened to him brag about reversing the polarity on our powers before he thrust me into a crack in the Earth, where I waited, chuckling, for him to return his cellophane S collection to its proper labeled drawer.

Blah blah blah, El. Your father saved you? Your father is dead!

And I yet live.

More like a fortress of crying wimpitude, if you ask Zod. And of course you do, for I am… Zod.


I merely had Donner film me being led away by police before the fight, that Kal-El would believe me vanquished, and not search for me in the crack, as a precautionary measure. Did you not watch the first scene of the documentary Donner made? Did you not see the way Non snapped the neck of that gendarme foolish enough to raise his fist to Zod’s minion?

All Kal-El did, when confronted with the idea of me being led away in chains, was to admire the tenacity of the lawmen who brought their vehicle all the way to the North Pole somehow, pathetic worshipper of minor authorities that he is.

Oh wait? You never wondered about that either? Of course you didn’t. Because if you had, or Kal had, you would realize only one person could bring that police car all the way to the Fortress of Pathetic Stupidity in the seventies, with the gas shortage.

And that person is Zod.


As for this false Shannon-Zod, merely another ruse, a more current one, designed to undermine perception of that fool “hero.” The son of our jailer began to suspect that I yet lived, and so I duped the unwitting fool Sny-Dur into making a film wherein I die.

By the way, I just took a four hour break from this column, and for the entirety of those four hours, I laughed, while snapping the necks of puppies at the concept I had previously typed at super-speed.

I, Zod, die?

FOOLS. I resume.

Imbecile that he is, Kal-El was satisfied that I was killed – and you should have seen his face when he realized that Cav-El straight-up made him murder a villain, undermining the moral stance of the true least-among-Kryptonians. POINT ZOD.


And before you begin to question whether or not my collaboration with the Donner human was truly a documentary, consider how easily fooled you all are. Consider your assumption that Christopher Reeve, a mortal, played the son of our jailer. How could this be wrong, you ask?

You, the fool who believes that glasses and a hat can completely disguise the son of our jailer?

Kal-El, worthless creature that he is, decided he must hide his existence, for REASONS I SHALL LEARN, and thereby found the closest human creature to his resemblance, Christopher Reeve, and paid him in crushed coal to hide his true existence for four films, stepping in only to fight his one true threat, Zod.


It is right there in the tagline: “You’ll Believe A Man Can Fly.” Not a Kryptonian. A man. A human man. Are you as blind as the son of our jailer?

And as you see, he has lost. Conclusively. I am in full control, he is vanquished, and the ruse holds. Why do I expose the ruse now?

I will tell you when I wish to. Rest assured my purposes are nefarious, and my own.

Now, in answer to your question, you do not ask a woman to dance. You win her over with your power, strength, and ability to execute anyone who questions you. Simply destroy her locker with your eye lasers, and she will swoon. When the school authorities come to stop you, blow them down the hallway with your breath, and she will be yours. When cameramen come to question you, block missiles with your bare hands.

Should the son of your jailer challenge you for her hand, go to the intercom, scream at him to meet you in downtown Metropolis. Do not let him throw you into a Coke sign. Do throw him into cigarette trucks. Manhole covers are a push.

Do this, and you cannot fail. If she turns you down after all this, you are unworthy. Die, as you deserve to. Zod will consider her as a bride for Non.

Now, the rest of you, ask me questions to amuse me, or I shall burn the world down with my eye lasers.

Until I decide to grace your unworthiness with my presence, I remain:


PS: Alert three friends to this column’s existence, or I will return the Nuclear Man to life. Do this for the Hack-Man.

Tell your friends
  • 54
  • 5
  • 1
  • 2