In The Original Encyclopedia of Comic Book Heroes, recently re-released after thirty years out of print, Michael Fleisher writes that “in the entire history of the Batman chronicles, there is not the slightest hint of any kind that an overt homosexual relationship exists between Batman and Robin,” to which there can really only be one response:

Really? Not the slightest hint?

I mean, I agree with what he’s saying on principle, but virtually everyone with an internet connection has at least seen that panel of the Justice League realizing they’ve doomed those closest to them, with everyone bemoaning their wife or girlfriend except Batman, wracked with guilt over the doom he has brought upon Robin. And that’s not even counting the one with the hot tub, worries over Aunt Harriet stumbling across their secret lives, or—perhaps most telling—the fact that they often go down to the basement and wrestle each other under the watchful eye of a British manservant.

But like I said, I agree with him, and it’s more an outright rejection of Fredric Wertham’s paranoia than anything else. And besides, the last thing anybody needs is another Batman and Robin gay joke.

Jimmy Olsen, however, continues to be fair game. And how could he not be?

“What’s that Lois? Marriage? Oh, no, can’t do it. See, if the evil forces of the Criminal Underworld were to find out that I had someone I truly cared for, they would stop at nothing to hurt me through them! You’d be a constant target, and I’d never be able to do safeguard the world for worrying about you, kiddo. Now why don’t you go buy a new hat and—oh, Jimmy! Hey, how’s my Best Pal today? Listen, here’s this signal watch so you can call me anytime. What? Let everyone know about it? Why sure, Jimmy! Just so long as you remind them all that we’re best friends!”

Clearly, there’s at least a double standard there, and when you throw in that time they moved in together, well, the signs start to get clearer. But alas, as we all know, no relationship is without its bitter, hate-filled spats.

Which brings us, after what may be the wordiest introductory section since Finnegan’s Wake, to Superman’s Pal Jimmy Olsen #70.

Our story begins today at the opening of a new branch of the Jimmy Olsen Fan Club in Superman’s home town of Smallville, and for those of you who don’t spend your time neck-deep in books carrying the Mort Weisinger seal of approval, this might be a good time to remind you that yes, there was a time when Jimmy Olsen had an International Fan Club.

Anyway, things get off to a swell start, with Jimmy regaling the kids with some of his souvenirs of his world-famous friendship with Superman, including a miraculous globe containing an image that shifts to show images of Superman in various stages of his life, and then promptly crumbles to dust when the fan club members try to take pictures of it.

And that’s when Superman stumbles out of the back room, drunk again, and begins the greatest domestic dispute of the Silver Age.

Well, no, not really. But he does show up immediately to give Jimmy a stern talking-to about why they can’t have nice things, and that’s almost as weird—especially given that Superman has no particular reason to be hanging around off-panel other than to swoop in and bitch Jimmy out for his inevitable screw-ups. Fortunately, though, Jimmy’s got moxie, and so he’s only slightly deterred by his “pal” making him look like a total douche in front of his new fans. Thus, with a quick pause for some good old fashioned nightmare fuel...

...the demonstrations continue.

Of course, it’s not long before things go awry yet again, when Jimmy sprays himself with a potion that turns him into a werewolf. Shocking, I know. How could that possibly go wrong?

Pretty easily, as it turns out: One of the kids gets a contact high, turns into a bowtied wolfman, and starts tearing ass around Smallville, attempting to tree old men until Ol’ Buttinsky—sorry—Superman shows up to set things right again.

Once again, he yells at Jimmy, and once again, he completely fails to explain why he’s constantly showing up to humiliate his best pal on a day that should be all about Jimmy, but the message here is clear: One more screw-up, and the honeymoon’s over, pally.

So guess what happens on the very next page.

If you said anything other than “Jimmy screws up big-time,” then check your pattern recognition skills at the door on your way out. This time, it’s not really his fault, though: After being nice enough to try smoothing things over by offering the kids a tray of “ice cold lemonade I got at a nearby refreshment stand”—an oddly specific phrasing that always, always indicates a Plot Point That You Should Pay Attention To™—the kids decide to show Jimmy their latest discovery: a Kryptonite detector they found from one of Lex Luthor’s teenage hangouts.

Sadly, peril strikes—as it often does when a new relationship-saving device is employed—in the form of unexpected vibrations. See, the Kryptonite Detector is actually a Kryptonite Attractor, and with Superman still hanging around waiting to remind everyone that his “best pal” can’t get through a day without accidental lycanthropy, things go about as well as you might expect.

“I’m sorry our friendship has ended this way, Jimmy” says Superman once everything’s been sorted out, “but I can’t take any more chances trusting your judgment! You’re too irresponsible and reckless!”

Coincidentally, that’s the exact phrase that my last relationship ended with.

Of course, that isn’t really the end for Superman and Jimmy. As we all should’ve forseen by now, the new chapter of the Jimmy Olsen Fan Club was actually a ruse by the teenagers of the Superman Revenge Squad, who used their shape-shifting abilities and purple Space-Pants to get revenge on Superman by making him hate his Best Pal, but Jimmy realized it about halfway through, when they refused to drink the Ice Cold Lemonade (see?!), thus proving that they were, in fact, aliens who hate ice.

Perfectly logical, I think you’ll all agree.

Thus, the evil plot is foiled, and everyone agrees to forget the fact that Superman was acting like a total jerk for most of the story. And, well, there’s really only one way these things worked out back in the sixties:

When Chris Sims isn’t reading comics (which is probably far too often for his own good), he’s writing about them on the Invincible Super-Blog, where he can be found wielding the English language like a cudgel on a daily basis.

Prism Comics promotes the works of the LGBT community in comics. It does not implicitly endorse any other material or products associated with those works. Any opinions expressed are those of the author(s).