So like I said, you may be forgiven for believing that in real life, we're like that too.
Take this little creep Henri Petit, shown here with his mom (she's a wrong'un if ever I saw one).
|"That's right son... breeeathe deeeep."|
Baloney. We knew from the get-go that if Petit shows up unannounced (or even announced, for that matter), he's only there to stir up trouble. No matter how good his mom's potato salad might be. Not that we'd know - Clark peed in it before anyone could get a taste. Purely as a preventive measure, of course. That delicious-looking dish was probably laced with some mind-bending substance or poisonous tincture, so it was best to render the stuff inedible. You can't be too careful.
There was no goodie/baddie camaraderie when he showed up, just a swift measure of whoopass and marching orders for this evil tot. He's been a thorn in our backsides ever since we first encountered the demonic infant. We know he's up to no good, even when asleep. He can't help it. It's his nature.
|Dreaming up more wicked plans, no doubt.|
and put on a couple of his favourite LPs.
We partied till dawn, chuckling occasionally about the feeble attempts of Petit to try and ingratiate himself. Potato salad indeed! Whatever next?