Happy is, apparently, so not my forte.
It's *happy*. There are birds singing. On-key. Lex may soon see lions laying down with lambs in the backyard, which would actually be the most belieable part of this entire thing. Clark offered sex, and I have suspicions that this Clark gives *spectacular* head. It's like Pornotopia, with no, you know, Armageddon on the horizon. No Pormageddon. That's a weird made-up word. But it sounds good. Poooooor--mageddon. Mmm.
And what am *I* doing? I'm staring at it, putting in and erasing a sentence at a time, with no idea what to do with them. It's--it's *frustrating*. Who the hell said the good times don't last? They so last. They last and last and never *move* and I am so tempted to drop an assassin in, just to give him something to do while he, you know, ponders the *lack* of angst. I could totally add an assassin. I could add a *dozen* assassins. I would dress them up like bumblebees. Because it amuses me to see Lex running desperately across a perfectly manicured lawn while being chased by happy little bumblebees.
Also, I have boots. I have boots.