The Norman Osborn? Slo-bo couldn't really ignore that, could he? A slow, lazy smirk tugged on his mouth, curling and baring teeth on one side.

"What," he puffed, "y'wan' an autograph? Lookin' to size up how many lives y'fragged compared t'me? Y'must be bored."

Bored, or of actual, present value. If anyone actually was itching for something to do, it was Slo-bo. Conscience be damned, he came from pretty active stock – he needed action. Preferably the kind that sent buildings down or limbs flying, attached or otherwise.