Jor-El: Dudes, the planet is doomed.
Kryptonian Council: Psht! As if!
Jor-El: No man, I've totally got proof look.
Kryptonian Council: Psht! You and your science! This is just like the time you tried to convince us all that we're descended from monkeys.
Jor-El: I was right then too dickweed.
Kryptonian Council: Psht! Whateva!
Jor-El: Did you just spell whatever without an R?
Kryptonian Council: Psht! Talk to the hand cause the face don't wanna listen.
Jor-El: ... Um, yeah. Well I'm going to put my infant son into either a rocket or a missle or a shuttle or possibly some kind of fucked up looking Christmas ornament thingy. You know, it all dependes on what movie/cartoon/comic/tv show or whatever you might be viewing at the moment.
Kryptonian Council: Psht! Yeah, whatava!
Jor-El: You assholes sound like some one constantly opeing a can of pop, you know that?
The Jor-El shoots baby Kal-El into space and not 5 minutes later the planet falls down goes boom. Jor-El's last words are said to be "I did say"