Gosford Snark

"Where's Mr. Luthor?" said the cook as she began drinking her cup of Kona coffee.

Enrique snorted, "I'm afraid the Master is busy. Clark is here." He took a sip of his double non-fat latte with a spritz of hazelnut flavor with a little foam.

A little rumble of "oh," "I see," and "uh huh" rumbled through the staff as they drank their various beverages around the table. It was time for the monthly staff meeting except . . . Lex had skipped the last couple meetings.

"Oh, great, another load of laundry," said one of the staff. "Yesterday, there was so much melted chocolate and . . ."

"I guess we'll have to start our staff meeting without him then," said the cook. "First thing on our agenda. No more zucchini! I didn't graduate from the Culinary Institute of America just so I could make zucchini curry, zucchini ice cream, zucchini bread, fried zucchini. I can't take it any more."

"Can't you just dump it all into one of the compost heaps?"

The gardener raised his hand. "Actually, one of the compost heaps has been glowing a very scary green."

"It's the one that Dr. Hamilton took a dump in, right?"

"Ah, yeah. I'm too scared to touch it. I think I saw it move."

"OK, all who want to sign a petition to stop buying zucchini, say aye."

"Aye!" said everyone. They'd eaten enough.

"For the compost, I'll get some kids from the high school to dispose of it. I'll divert some of the kitchen funds for this purpose.."

"Aye!" chorused the staff. Unlike the other inhabitants of Smallville, they had a healthy fear of things that glowed green.

"Oh, by the way," said Enrique. "Mr. Luthor's father will be here next week."

"El Diablo himself?"

Several members of the staff crossed themselves and pulled out their little bottles of holy water, holy books from various religions and little lucky charms.

"Does that mean that Bo is coming over?"

"Who's Bo?"

"Clark's dad. He looks just like that blonde guy from . . ."

"Does not!"

"Does too!"

"Does that mean I have to do more laundry? It was murder getting the peanut butter out of the silk sheets last time."

"Was it smooth or chunky?"

"Ugh!"

"Smooth. It's even worse than barbecue sauce."

"I'm surprised it didn't get in his beard."

"Ah, hem!"

The gardener raised his hand. "Can I begin my topiary project?"

"Topiary?"

The gardener sniffed. "It's the art of shaping bushes and trees into amazing shapes like . . ."

There were several thumps then a shriek . . . then several moans and then another shriek.

Everyone looked up at the ceiling then shrugged. It happened all the time. "Draw some sketches of what you have in mind and we'll discuss it next time."

The End