Michael had heard of Tinder by eavesdropping—ahem, by participating in conversations with his fellow Justіce League members. Clark and Bruce had been chatting about their respective experiences, and Michael, who by the way had definitely been a part of the conversation and had most certainly not been whistling in a corner all along, had realized this was his chance to get some. Uh, his chance to connect with people on a meaningful level. Yes.

He'd signed up in a hurry, fully confident in his, as people of this era said, "rizz." Then he'd gotten a pitiful number of matches under his real name, so he'd decided to use his superhero name. After all, nobody knew Michael Carter, but everyone loved Booster Gold. Surely that would attract his legions of fans!

Surely.

Well, he'd almost forgotten about the app, so silent had his phone been, when finally a match came in. At long last, someone in this era who could appreciate him! An individual of culture! And attractive, too! Wait. He needed to say something. A compliment! Compliments were a great way to start a conversation.

"What great taste you have," he texted, immediately shooting himself in the foot. "And you're cute too. Are you one of my adoring fans? Would you like an autograph?"

This man was going to die single.