Yes, Daryl, I mostly created The Comet to win you back. Fine. You win. You’re right.
But please realize something: I created her. She is mine, Daryl. True, a year ago, you were standing there in the kitchen, yelling at me that I was going nowhere and so by extension we were going nowhere, and yes, I admit, that was a catalyst. Admonishing me for the fact that all I did was smoke weed, eat yogurt and hope that someone might buy one of my rocket sculptures and that'd be my annual salary, fine that was the catalyst. That was all the impetus I needed. I knew drastic measures of self-improvement would be necessary to win you back after that walk-out.
But I was the one that went out and created her. I was the one that designed and paid for the flame resistant suit. I was the one that devised the catapult system. I was the one that mastered mind-controlled jet propulsion. I was the one that saved the mayor, and the commissioner,and thousands of other innocent citizens. If you recall, you weren't there for the superheroic reinvention part, Daryl.
So, does it really come as that much of a surprise that I am the one that’s now over you? Over you like some kind of BRIGHT COMET IN THE DARK NIGHT SKY? I am beloved by high society now, invited to all those soirees you used to hunger for; meanwhile, the city's lowest scum loathes me, fears me, can not imagine a more terrifying adversary. Loved by the best and feared by the worst; do you have any idea how fully complete I feel every day, waking up, remembering all the conquests - moral, scientific, romantic - of the previous night? How little room there is for you now that it is she and me?
No, I will not even consider cuddling!