931 lines
50 KiB
Plaintext
931 lines
50 KiB
Plaintext
Subject: Superguy #1
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The story thus far:
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C'mon, get real! This is the first episode. There
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is no story thus far. Anyhow, I might as well introduce
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the main characters in the story.
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Wonder Grunion: A strange new hero from the depths of the ocean.
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He was an ordinary fish until toxic refuse mutated him into
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his current condition. He now champions those causes which
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are beneath the notice of most serious super-heroes.
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Kate (Katherine) McCarthy: Marine biologist from Sea World that was
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originally hired by the government to stop Wonder Grunion, but
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quickly befriended him because he wasn't male (at least not by
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human standards), he wasn't a chauvinist (not that he understood
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what chauvinism was), and he wasn't a pig (this, even Wonder
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Grunion knew and accepted). She is a card-carrying member of
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the ACLU and voted for Micheal Dukakis.
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Special Agent Johnathan Sutherland: Field agent for the NIB, to stop
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and/or destroy Wonder Grunion, whichever will gain the most
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funding from covert government sources. He really doesn't have
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much of a character and doesn't know enough to be dangerous, so
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we'll just mention him in passing.
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Special Special Agent Richard Less: Office agent in charge of Project
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Grunion-buster of the NIB. He is to make sure that plans to stop
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or destroy Wonder Grunion are implemented AND make sure that the
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public will never find out about these plans. To aid in his first
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task, he hired Special Agent Sutherland. To aid in his second task,
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he hired an over-sexed, photogenic young prosti.. er, lady named
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Randi, who has the special qualifications of being able to covertly
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smuggle documents by means that can only be mentioned in the file:
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SEX_TECH. She will be this author's only outlet by which to
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propigate an offensive female stereotype.
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George Herbert Walker Bush: Former director of the CIA and current
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president of the United States of America. Even if he knew about
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Project Grunion-Buster, he wouldn't admit it.
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J. Danforth Quayle: Heh heh heh . . .
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Omegas: Major villian of SF_STORY. His goal is to take over all alterverses
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in that digest. As this is not one of them, he will not and cannot
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enter this or any other story line in Superguy Digest. (Thank God)
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Elanor Bell: My grandmother and also not part of this story.
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Chris Wilcox (Creeper): The author and publisher of Wonder Grunion. While
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he ...er I... should not appear in the story, I will make no promises.
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Massacre: Major hero of my next Superguy production. He will make his first
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appearance in Wonder Grunion (obvious plug). From there, he may get
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his own storyline based upon a public opinion poll which I can
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override if I don't like the results.
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Now, ON to the story !!!
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******************************* Wonder Grunion *********************************
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Wonder Grunion was not having a good day. Not that it was going to get any
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better for him (not by a long shot), but it had been a pretty shitty day to
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begin with. To start off his fine morning, he fell over Kate's endtable,
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causing a serious bruise to his pride and a respectable-sized welt on his
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skull as well. Having yet to learn any of the better and more appropiate
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exclamations that befitted such a situation, Wonder Grunion decided to scream
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in pain. This, in and of itself, would have been fine and befitting of the
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moment, had Kate not been bringing in breakfast at that precise moment.
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This scream, combined with her astonishment over said scream, caused Kate
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to send the meal airborne. Not that this was bad either. Had it not been
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for the fact that the aforementioned breakfast carried a trajectory which,
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when combined with pre-existing conditions, allowed for it to fall upon
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Wonder Grunion's already wounded noggin.
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"Oh lord, I'm so sorry Wonder Grunion," Kate exclaimed.
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Wonder Grunion's rudimentary handling of the English language though,
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interpretted this to mean, 'My word, I forgot the syrup Wonder Grunion.'
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Even for Wonder Grunion, enough was enough. Wonder Grunion flew out
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of the house in a rage (quite literally as a matter of fact) and headed for
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the Atlantic Ocean. Wonder Grunion arrived but a few minutes later. This was
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not due to the amazing speed at which Wonder Grunion flew but with the extreme
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closeness of the Atlantic to Kate's home in Boston. Wonder Grunion decided
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that he was going to abandon the surface world forever and return to his
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ocean home.
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WHAT TERRORS LURK IN THE OCEAN FOR WONDER GRUNION?
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WHY HAVEN'T SPECIAL AGENTS SUTHERLAND AND LESS BEEN MENTIONED?
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DID KATE INDEED FORGET THE SYRUP?
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HOW CAN I SUBSCRIBE TO STARTREK DIGEST FROM UMO?
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WILL SOMETHING ACTUALLY HAPPEN IN THE NEXT POSTING?
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ALL THIS AND MORE IN THE NEXT EXCITING EPISODE OF *WONDER GRUNION*
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<<002>>
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Meanwhile, unknown to Wonder Grunion (since I'm just now making it up),
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Joe Phoot, a pizza chef from the lower east side, sensed that he was
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destined to be a superhero and decided to find out what his powers were.
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He hotfooted it over to the Empire State Building and tried to fly to the
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top. Needless to say (but I'll say it anyway) this didn't work. "Maybe
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if I got a flying start..." he thought, so he rode to the top and jumped
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off, flapping his arms to beat hell.
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He soon realized he couldn't fly. The ground, looming in the distance,
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grew closer by the second. His life, miserable as it was, flashed before
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his eyes. Jealousy overcame him, and he felt that if he couldn't be a
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superhero, nobody should be. He swore on the Bible (don't ask where he
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got a bible) that in this life or the next he'd rid the world of super-
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heroes forever, or at least for a good while.
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Now it so happened that at nearly ground level he was falling so fast
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a vacuum was created above him. The air below him rushed up to fill that
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void, thus buoying him up enough to spare his life, though he crushed his
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arch supports in the landing. Thus was born FlatPhoot, greatest villain
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known to this digest, yet.
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WILL FLATPHOOT FULFILL HIS PROMISE?
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WILL WONDER GRUNION DROWN TRYING TO WALK TO HIS NEW HOME?
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WILL ANYBODY EVER READ THIS POSTING?
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FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON:
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SUPERGUY!!!
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<<003>>
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It was a sunny day in Boston. For that matter, it was a sunny day in
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New York City as well. Hell, it was a beautiful sunny day almost every
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where in the Eastern Seaboard and everybody was pleased most gratuitously
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about the unexpected change in weather. I say 'change in weather' because
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that is exactly what it was. For the past week-and-a-half, it had been
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raining like a b***h everywhere, except for southern Pakistan, for reasons
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unknown to even the most brilliant of earth's scientists and meteorologists.
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These scientists were about to find what had been causing this phenomena,
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or so they believed, until the rain abruptly stopped. This, of course,
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pissed off said scientists to no end. It was not so much that they didn't
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have time to solve the rain dilemma, but that they had promised a highly
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publicized press conference, which would deliver their findings, later in
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the week. When it was time for said press conference to occur, all the
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prominent scientists went out and chose some lowly lab assistant to inform
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the press of their failure, and, unknown to him, get eaten alive by the
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vultures looking for any type of story to publish whatsoever.
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All this was of little concern to most ordinary people, though. The
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general public was just glad to go outside and get some fresh air after
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all the rain; and they really didn't give two-hoots about what the
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scientists had to say, anyhow. Most suspected that it would be blamed on
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sunspot activity or something else equally stupid. They would quite likely
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still not care, even if they knew that the deluge of rain was caused by a
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maniacal ex-pizza boy with fallen arches. Quite bluntly, even if GOD, himself,
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had shouted down from the clouds that he was going to flood out the miserable
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little peons again, they still would not care, so long as they had time to
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pack their most precious belongings. This was not because most people were
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athiests, they were just self-centered and apathetic towards the situation
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at hand. They were just glad that they didn't have to trudge through one more
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day of wet and murkiness. That is, of course, unless they were busy moping
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at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, like our hero Wonder Grunion, where
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everything is wet and murky.
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Meanwhile, in New York City, Special Agent John Sutherland and Special
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Special (not an unintentional repeat) Agent Richard Less were walking down
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the street in an inconspicuous manner. Inconspicuous, meaning that they were
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wearing black, full-length suits, death-black sunglasses, a government issue
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'inconspicuous' haircut, and loose-leaf signs reading "Kick me I'm a spy",
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which were taped to them earlier that morning by a 13-year old novice gang
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member named Raoul. Despite this, they both felt inconspicuous enough, and
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that was the important thing.
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"You know John, " said Richard (obviously), "I tend to get rather
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philosophical about things now and then."
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"Er, yes Richard," said John, fearing that he was about to be fired.
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"And from time to time I like to sit back and reflect upon our positions
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in life."
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"Er, yes Richard," replied John, who, realizing that he sounded like a
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broken record, was not about to say anything different until he found out
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where this conversation was going.
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"The other day, I leaned back in my easy chair at the office, and I
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looked out at the workroom of Project G-Buster. Do you know what I saw,
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John ?"
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"Er, no Richard," stated John, who, had he been able to know exactly
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what Richard saw the other day, was sure as hell not going to say anything
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about it and destroy his already tenuous position in the bureau.
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"I saw," continued Richard," hundreds of agents, scientists, and
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engineers producing and using millions of dollars worth of equipment; all
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of which was dedicated towards the eradication of one grunion. Looking at
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all of this before me, I realised that I would never be able to write my
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memoirs with a straight face."
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John, not being quite as stupid as previously inferred, picked up that
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his superior was making a joke of sorts, and that it might be considered in
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his best interests to act a lot more casual then he had been previously.
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"You know, Dick, that is actually rather humorous," said John with a
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self-assuring chuckle.
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Suddenly, Richard turned and stared at John. He was deeply flushed and
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obviously quite pissed-off.
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"Don't you ever, EVER, call me Dick again," screamed Richard.
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"Why not?" asked John in a mousish manner, knowing full well that he
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had made some horrendous faux pas, yet not truly grasping what it was.
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"Say... my full... name... like that..," said Richard, breathing both
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deeply and intensely in an attempt to cool himself down.
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"What," said John, "you mean Dick Le......Ohhhhhhh."
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"Now, do you understand !" said Richard in an attempt to regain his
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composure.
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"Oh, yes sir. Most definately, sir," said John, in his most desperate
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attempt to kiss more ass then he had ever done before.
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John and Richard walked on further.
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"Why don't you have it changed, sir," suggested John.
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"Have what changed?" asked Richard, far from in the most jovial of moods.
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"Your name, sir, why not have it changed ?"
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"What ?" asked Richard, obviously offended," and disgrace my family."
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"Speaking of family, sir, have you ever asked them why they named you that
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way ?"
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"Yes, they said that they thought that it sounded cute."
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"Oh, well how did you take it, sir ?"
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"I shot them both."
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This conversation engrossed Special Agent Sutherland to such a great
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degree, that he completely failed to notice that he and Dic.. er.. Richard
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were being followed by a curious fellow wearing orthopedic shoes and smelling
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faintly of pizza.
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None of this was very important, of course, for one who was spending
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its time at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, much like our hero, Wonder
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Grunion.
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IS THIS STRANGE PERSON THE MYSTERIOUS FLATPHOOT?
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WHAT IS WONDER GRUNION DOING AT THE BOTTOM OF THE ATLANTIC?
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WHY WASN'T WONDER GRUNION PRESENT IN THE STORY?
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WILL ANYBODY ELSE POST A STORYLINE?
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WILL I BE ABLE TO KEEP THIS UP AND GET IN A IN PHYSICS?
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NONE OF THESE QUESTIONS AND A GUEST APPEARANCE BY J. DANFORTH QUAYLE ON THE
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NEXT POSTING OF . . . .
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WONDER GRUNION
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<<004>>
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It was a sunny day in Boston. For that matter, it was a sunny day in
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New York City as well. Hell, it was a beautiful sunny day almost every
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where in the Eastern Seaboard and everybody was pleased most gratuitously
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about the unexpected change in weather. It was even a sunny day in Alaska.
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The temperature had risen to an unbelieveable 0 degrees Farenheit. For the
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typical Alaskan resident this was paradise.
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Unfortunately for the rest of the world, this was a very, very bad thing.
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For deep within the crystal-clear ice upon Mt. Everest, Something had begun to
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stir. Something very Big. Something very Ugly. Something very Hungry.
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WILL SOMETHING EMERGE FROM THE ICE AND DESTROY THE WORLD IN SEARCH OF A BIG MAC?
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WILL SOMETHING BE A FORCE FOR GOOD OR EVIL?
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WILL ECHO EVER START A POSTING WITH UNPLAGERIZED WORK?
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WILL HE EVER POST AGAIN?
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WILL ANYONE ELSE BE BRAVE ENOUGH TO FINISH THE POSTING, OR WILL THE WORLD
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DIE OF SUSPENSE?!?!?
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THESE AND OTHER NON-TRIVIAL QUESTIONS POSSIBLY ANSWERED IN THE NEXT EXCITING
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EPISODE OF ----**SUPERGUY**----!
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<<005>>
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The Adventures of Manman -- episode #11
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It was a cold day in RatherLarge City. A geeky-looking dude with
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buck teeth was wandering aimlessly down the street. He wasn't going much
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of anywhere, but that doesn't matter because this posting isn't about him.
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Several miles away, on the outskirts of Ratherlarge City, trouble
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was brewing. Brewing coffee, actually. Trouble in the form of Dr. Sleaze.
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Dr. Sleaze was a sleazy kind of guy. He ran prostitution on the North Side,
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gambling on the East Side, drugs on the West Side, and a truly awful
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combination chinese restaurant and used-car showroom on the South Side.
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Don't ask.
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In any case, on this particular morning, Dr. Sleaze was hard at work
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in his laboratory, brewing coffee. Why coffee? Why not? No, actually
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he was hatching a plan to introduce Powerful, Mind-Altering Drugs _tm_
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into the coffee supply of the city, thus paralyzing it.
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Meanwhile, in the center of RatherLarge City, where there was
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no prostitution, gambling, drugs or bad food (for the simple reason that it
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had been rendered uninhabitable to normal people in the last episode (which
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really doesn't exist and probably never will unless someone else wants to
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write it)), ManMan, the world's most unexceptional superhero, was having
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breakfast. His breakfast was, as usual, unexceptional, if not downright
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boring. However, just as he was finishing his oatmeal, his Danger Alarm began
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ringing. This was also unexceptional, because it had developed a short
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circuit during the events of the last episode, and had a knack for ringing at
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inopportune or just plain meaningless moments. MM (as his friends would have
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called him, if he would have been exceptional enough to have friends)
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thumped it on the side. This was usually enough to shut the Danger Alarm off.
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The alarm kept ringing. MM hit it with an aluminum bat he kept on hand for
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just such occasions. "Shaddup," he growled at it. It wouldnt shaddup.
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He threw his glass of orange juice at it. It shadduped.
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He returned to his oatmeal.
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The phone rang. MM tried to ignore it. It rang several more times. MM
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was out of orange juice, so he answered it.
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"Hello?" said MM. This was the way he usually answered the phone,
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unless he felt he was in a particularly good mood, in which case he usually
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said something along the lines of "Hi there," or "Howdy." But, since the late
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Danger Alarm had ruined his breakfast, he was not in a particularly good mood.
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"Hello?" said the voice on the other end of the line.
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"Hello?" said MM, thinking that this person was very friendly sounding,
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but had a rather annoying habit of repeating things.
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"Hello?" said the voice.
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Aha, thought MM. It's an echo. Or Echo himself, trying to dump that
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Mt. Everest snow creature story on me.
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He hung up.
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Unbeknownst to MM, though, this annoying and presumably prank phone call
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was actually from Commissioner Bigshot, the only police commissioner in the
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country who would consent to work with a superhero as mediocre as ManMan.
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No doubt the phone call would have been about something important, because
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no-one ever called MM if they didnt have to.
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WILL MANMAN EVER FIGURE OUT IF SOMETHING IS WRONG?
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WHAT WAS THE PHONE CALL ABOUT?
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WILL ANYONE EVER WRITE LAST EPISODE?
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WHERE THE HELL *IS* RATHERLARGE CITY ANYWAY?
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AND WHY THE HELL IS MANMAN A SUPERHERO ANYWAY IF HE'S SO MEDIOCRE? IS HE JUST
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IN THIS FOR THE TAX BREAK?
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WILL ECHO EVER FIND SOMEONE TO FIGHT HIS ICE CREATURE?
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WHO WON THE $10 MILLION DOLLARS FROM AMERICAN FAMILY SWEEPSTAKES?
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WHATS THE CAPITAL OF QATAR?
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- ---- TUNE IN NEXT POSTING ----
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<<006>>
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Solutions, unLtd. (issue #1)
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They were a group brought together for no apparent reason, one humanoid and
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three that were nominally human. The construction and design of their new base
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home had taken altogether too long and now it was almost time to get down to
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some serious heroing.
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But first, it's Miller time!
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3 days and 1500 gallons later (remember these 4 people are more than human)
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Qwyntor, resident alien supra-genius and inventor, finally remembers what that
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ringing noise is.... the phone.
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"Hello, Solutions unLimited. If you have a pro... "
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"Hey Qwint, this is Rock, I might have a job lined up for you guys."
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"That is great Mr. Rockefeller but I am afraid that the rest of the team
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won't be available for the next few days unless I get around to finishing that
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Omni-Medic I was telling you about. We had a, un, house burning party."
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"That bad huh, well, anytime in the next week is fine but I need an answer
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ASAP for the government. Oh, and the phrase is 'house warming'."
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"The Government, what do they need US for?" (a look of surprise and fear on
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his face due to his own uncertain status).
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"They want you to track down a group of prisoners that mysteriously escaped
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from the State Pen. It seems easy enough and the money is decent if you are
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interested."
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"I shall ask the others as soon as they regain conciousness."
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Carefully placing the phone on the hook on the third try Qwyntor turned and
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surveyed the chaos of the living area with which the Butlerbots were battling
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for supremacy. Sighing mightily he turn his steps toward the kitchen to fix
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some .....
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"Sheen, Query, What time is it"
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Sheen, the AI who only liked housekeeping, answered in a smooth cultured
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voice.
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}You dont have to be so stiff, dear. You are a much better programmer
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than you give yourself credit for, and it is 5 o'clock in the evening{
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"Thanks, do you have any cures for a 'Hang-over'?"
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}Well, there is this one recipe but it is 78% tabasco sauce{
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"I'll take it, what is tabasco sauce?"
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}I'm not sure but it isn't toxic to your system{
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Taking the glass off the counter Qwyntor casually (but with very small
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steps) made his to his workshop to resume work on the much needed med.....
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"!!!AAARRRGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!"
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}Well, it shouldn't have been toxic. Are you okay?{
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With only a glare he hurled the glass at the nearest speaker and continued
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on his way. In his workshop were the pieces of something that might be a New
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Wave coffin on amphetamines, or an automatic doctor, depending on your state of
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mind at the time. Calmly sitting down the young alien sets to work on his
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latest project.
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Meanwhile, at Rockefeller Enterprises, Archibald Q. Porter, stormed into
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the office of his utmost supervisor.
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"Damn it Rock, this time he has gone to far!"
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"Qwyntor?"
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"Of course, you want to know how the broadcast power system works? I'll
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tell you, it creates a parallel dimension to suit the machines needs and
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transmits the power through that dimension instead of this one!"
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"My God, how did he do that?"
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"He used an Atarii 2600 game cartridge, Donkey Kong to be exact."
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Professor Porter started crying. "I tell you Rock, I don't know how much more
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of this I can take. His inventions shouldn't work, yet they can be duplicated
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in production. How is that possible?"
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"Don't ask me, that's why I hired you. Need a vacation?"
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"I don't really think so, after all, I've only been back 3 days from the
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last one. I think I'll head over to the junkyard and see what he's working on
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now. I'm already distraught, might as well make the best of it. Sorry for the
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outburst."
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"Don't mention it, you needed it. Have fun."
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"Yeah, right" the professor mumbles as he leaves the spacious penthouse
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office and heads down to the parking garage to get his car.
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Industrial and Community Junk Yard had never been what you would call a
|
|
normal place to work, but since old man Jacobs had died and left his junkyard
|
|
to the mysterious stranger found on pile seven things had gotten decidedly
|
|
bizarre. First, a bunch of 'super-heroes' had shown up and then a Rockefeller
|
|
construction team had shown up, worked furiously for two months, and made no
|
|
apparent changes except for adding living areas BENEATH the office. Glancing
|
|
back she noticed that in her reverie she had missed a spot of wax on the table.
|
|
}Mrs. Jenkins there isn't any need for you to polish the furniture. I am
|
|
perfectly capable of the task myself{
|
|
"Maybe, but I don't want any Butler-bucket-of-bolts messing with the
|
|
Teakwood tables."
|
|
%%%%%%%BONG%%%%%%%%
|
|
}Dr. Porter was at the gate, I let him in and he is parking his car.{
|
|
"Archie? I thought he was still on vacation. He is probably here to see
|
|
Qwint, is the dear awake?"
|
|
}Yes ma'am, he entered his workroom approximately 27.72597632475265
|
|
minutes ago{
|
|
"Okay, just direct the doctor there and I will go fix him some herb tea,
|
|
he will probably need it before too long."
|
|
|
|
The professor entered the workshop just as Qwyntor was putting the
|
|
finishing touch on the Omni-medic, a hood ornament off of a Mercedes that was
|
|
to be used as the handle to the door.
|
|
"Ah the auto-doc, is it finished?"
|
|
"Yes, Professor, I finally found the problem. The 'Gone With the Wind'
|
|
laser disc was completely incompatible with the rest of the system. I
|
|
substituted 'The Blues Brothers' and she took right off, fully functional."
|
|
During this explanation the Professor's faced seems very pained.
|
|
"Why did you stop by?"
|
|
"Just to see how you were progressing on the unit but that is unnecessary,
|
|
when can you ship it to the Lab?"
|
|
"Well, I'd like to keep it around to test on the others, I feel it will
|
|
be much more effective than a 78% tabasco solution on them."
|
|
As the Prof. restrains from asking Mrs. Jenkins enters carrying a tray
|
|
laden with tea and a few cookies. She sets the tray down, says hello, and
|
|
leaves before Sheen can divert a Butlerbot to wax the hall table.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Thus ends the first episode as Prof. Porter sips tea with Qwyntor and
|
|
shudders everytime he looks at the contrapton in the center of the room.
|
|
|
|
<<007>>
|
|
Trashman 1--the Trashman cometh!
|
|
Eric, Lord Sabre
|
|
|
|
|
|
In the depths of the darkest pit of perdifery ever to be seen this side of
|
|
Cleveland (or even THAT side of Cleveland), deep within the very evilmost and
|
|
slime-ridden sewer of said pit of perdifery, lay a vacious festering spoor of
|
|
evil and toxic chemicals, most of which were flushed from the pit proper along
|
|
with certain waste products from the inhabiyants of the pit congealed in a mass
|
|
of horrific stench and proportion.
|
|
Into this mess did stride a young rat, name of Willard, who had until this
|
|
point led a reasonably normal life terrorizing poor innocent broke, unemployed
|
|
Large Manly Men who lived in basement apartments.
|
|
Needless to say, this being a superheroic type story, Willard didn't
|
|
immediatly go to rat heaven (which is an Altiverse consisting totally of Fast
|
|
food joints, see Sf_story). Instead, the young rat began to change, growing,
|
|
turning larger, mutating, and getting REAL hungry....
|
|
Meanwhile, in the Pit Proper itself, young Jack Tripper, having been fired
|
|
from his job as a chef on various TV sitcoms was cooking a mass-meal for the
|
|
inhabitants of the pit. This was hard to do, as the food budget was Government
|
|
subsidized and the kitchen had no utensils to speak of, beyond fireplace tongs,
|
|
a vat or two, and sixty-seven old rusty cans.
|
|
"This place is disgusting," he said for the three-hundredth time. He then
|
|
tripped over a few paper-clips, prompting laughter from the laugh track that
|
|
seemed to follow him around.
|
|
"Tripper!" barked an older man in a rather impeccable army uniform.
|
|
Tripper sprang to his feet, knocking over the paint cans and causing the
|
|
left vat to tip, prompting another laugh from the laughtrack. "Yessir?" he
|
|
managed to squeak out.
|
|
"As you know, this Pit of Perdifery is the horrific testlabs of the Mega-
|
|
Intelligence Bureau--where top government scientists experiment with the very
|
|
fabric of life in horribly dangerous though government-approved chemical
|
|
chambers! Why, three days ago, we managed to create a rabbit capable of
|
|
opening and drinking a can of beer with minimal resistance and only moderate
|
|
help! Why, tomorrow, we could have pizza-making gerbils!"
|
|
"I know this sir."
|
|
"I know you know, son, but the general readers of Superguy didn't know
|
|
this--understand?"
|
|
"Yessir."
|
|
"Good! But they can't do any of that if they refuse to eat! The swill
|
|
you serve isn't up to Government specifications swill! I expect better swill
|
|
out of you!!!!"
|
|
"Yessir, Colonel Korn!".
|
|
"Good!" The Colonel left poor Jack standing there, despairing of ever
|
|
getting a pension.
|
|
In the shadows, a large, nasty lifeform watched. He was very hungry, now,
|
|
and really wanted to eat.
|
|
Jack was looking mighty fine.
|
|
|
|
Meanwhile....
|
|
|
|
In the shadows near the secret entrance to the pit (marked only by the
|
|
bright neon-sign reading 'Secret Entrance to Pit, Keep Out' and the three
|
|
photongun-armed guards) crouched a lone figure. Having discovered the plans to
|
|
the pit in the garbage behind MIB headquarters in Washington DC, and
|
|
distrusting the agency as much as any of the Superheroes, the figure decided to
|
|
check it out--especially after the media reports the government was conducting
|
|
experiments on frogs. He had crouched for some time, but was waiting for the
|
|
proper moment to gain entrance to the building.
|
|
He was Trashman, and he was ready for action. Checking his wristcomp, he
|
|
queried the current condition of the Trashmobile. All systems seemed
|
|
functional, and the fusion plant was operating at peak efficency. Good--now
|
|
all he had to do was wait.
|
|
|
|
"Helllllooooo, dinnnnnnneeeeerrrr," rasped a voice behind Jack.
|
|
Fear crept into Jack's eyes. "Crissy?" he asked nervously, triggering the
|
|
canned laughter yet again.
|
|
"Wrrrrroooooonnnggggg!!!!!!!" shouted the beast, leaping. He was a three-
|
|
hundred pound humanoid rat, with nasty claws, jagged teeth, a really bad breath
|
|
problem, and zeal in its eyes! "I am RRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTT-
|
|
MMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!"
|
|
"Oh, terribly sorry," said the panicked Jack as he was slammed into by
|
|
Ratman, and had his shoulder devoured while his face was rended off...
|
|
triggering the laughter one last time.
|
|
"RRRRRRraaaaaUUUUUUGGGHHH!!!!! Thhhhiiissss mmmmmeattttt iiiiissss
|
|
raaaaaancid...no substance to itttt atttt allllll...." said Ratman, spitting
|
|
out a chunk of Jack.
|
|
"Funny, that's just what our critics said," said Jack, before passing out
|
|
and bleeding all over the place.
|
|
Ratman leapt to his feet, saw an exit, and slammed through it, looking for
|
|
more palatable food.
|
|
In lab number four, a small group of scientists was busy overseeing the
|
|
pumping of four and a half gallons of toxic plutonium into a small, cute puppy,
|
|
all in the name of science.
|
|
"Hmmmmm...Dr. Red, have you ever seen eyes bulge like that?"
|
|
"No, well, not since I electrocuted my goldfish in the third grade--wrote
|
|
a devastating report about it."
|
|
"Dr. Brown, I think the kitten in cage six has begun to exhibit
|
|
metapowers."
|
|
"Oh, Dr. Green?"
|
|
"Yes, he just vomited a distance of nine meters, with an impact force of
|
|
seventeen kilograms per square inch!"
|
|
"Oh, good show!" said Dr. White
|
|
Just then, Ratman burst through the doors, leapt on Dr. Red, and began to
|
|
noisily devour him.
|
|
"I say, Dr. Green, this is odd."
|
|
"Yes it is, Dr. White--isn't Dr. Blue in lab five working on rats, though?"
|
|
Ratman then leapt off the picked bones of Dr. Red, and began to eat Dr.
|
|
Brown.
|
|
"No," said Dr. White, "those are guinea pigs."
|
|
"Oh, pity, that. Remarkable growth rate."
|
|
"Yes."
|
|
The two observed the rather messy consumption of their colleague.
|
|
"We really should write a report on this," said Dr. White.
|
|
"Indeed. Hm, should we call security?"
|
|
"Of course not--this is the ultimate chance to observe the field
|
|
conditions of metapowers in action. I say we watch it as long as we possibly
|
|
can--to set up the videocam--ERK" as Ratman lept on Dr. White. Dr. Green began
|
|
to set up the camera, and scribbled notes until Ratman finished Dr. White and
|
|
launched on him--at the very end signing his name to the document and claiming
|
|
sole responsibility.
|
|
|
|
Back at the entrance, Trashman continued to watch the entrance, and
|
|
readied his indestructable Trashcan lid to disable the guards, when the door
|
|
was smashed open by a bloody three hundred pound manrat.
|
|
"RRRRRRRRRrrrraaaaaattttmmmmmmaaannnn mmmmuuuuussssttt feeeeeed!!!!"
|
|
shouted the rodent.
|
|
"Hm, I take it I should stop this menace," murmered Trashman.
|
|
As if to answer him, Ratman ate two guards, while the third awoke began to
|
|
take the safeties off her Photongun.
|
|
"All right! Stop right there!" shouted Trashman, leaping into a
|
|
somersault that landed him right in front of the fracas, Canlid in ready
|
|
position.
|
|
"RRRRRRRaaaaaaaauuuurrrrgggghhhhh!!!!" shouted Ratman.
|
|
"Wow," shouted the somewhat perky female guard.
|
|
|
|
|
|
WILL TRASHMAN BE ABLE TO SAVE THE GUARD AND DEFEAT RATMAN?
|
|
|
|
WILL THE GUARD RENOUNCE HER TIES TO MIB AND JOIN TRASHMAN IN POUNDING ON RATMAN?
|
|
|
|
WILL THE GUARD RENOUNCE HER TIES TO MIB AND JOIN RATMAN IN EATING TRASHMAN?
|
|
|
|
WILL THE GUARD KEEP HER TIES TO MIB AND JUST PHOTONBLAST THE HELL OUT OF BOTH
|
|
OF THEM?
|
|
|
|
The answers to these pulse pounding questions will be found in the
|
|
next issue of TRASHMAN, only on Superguy digest!!!!!!!
|
|
|
|
<<008>>
|
|
Trashman 2--Rat Fight
|
|
Eric, Lord Sabre
|
|
|
|
|
|
Trashman stood in front of the MIB pit, indestructable trashcan lid (or
|
|
lid, for short) at the ready. Ratman, the rodent mutated into a really ugly
|
|
son-of-an ugly rat, stood, nasty fangs and sharp claws at the ready. The cute
|
|
female security guard stood as well, Photongun still having four complex
|
|
safeties to deactivate and not at all at the ready. All in all, the security
|
|
guard felt the least in control of the situation.
|
|
"I'm going to give you only one chance to surrender, Rat, and then I'm
|
|
going to bring you down!"
|
|
"Rrrrrraaaatmaaaan eaaaaaatt SSSSssssaaaaaanniiittaatttiiioonn
|
|
EEEEnnnngggiiinnnnneeeeerrrrr!"
|
|
"Lord, where do these guys get this dopey dialogue?"
|
|
Ratman leapt at Trashman, preparing to claw the hero into dinner.
|
|
Trashman flipped the lid in front of him, causing the rodent to slam into and
|
|
bounce off of it. Trashman jumped up to a convientent overhanging pipe and
|
|
kicked Ratman right in the yellow teeth as the rat stood. Ratman took the
|
|
opportunity that Trashman had given him to bite down on Trashman's foot, and
|
|
throw the hero into the door of the Pit. As he flew towards the door, Trashman
|
|
somersaulted in mid-air, hurling his lid at Ratman, collapsing his body against
|
|
the door, and kicking off into a backflip that landed him next to the guard
|
|
(two safeties down, and having trouble with the third.)
|
|
The lid caught Ratman into the back, ricocheted about four times, before
|
|
landing in Trashman's hands again.
|
|
"What a scientificlly impossible coincidence!" the guard murmered in awe.
|
|
"Why, thank you," said Trashman, "I try."
|
|
While he was busy talking to the guard, Trashman got jumped upon by a now
|
|
irate three hundred pound rodent. To say this disturbed the normally calm hero
|
|
would be rather an understatement. The fact that the rodent was trying hard to
|
|
bite his shoulder off didn't help matters much, either. Fortunately, Trashman's
|
|
grey coveralls were made out of a doublebonded polymer/kevlar material which
|
|
afforded Trashman some protection. Which meant rather than the bite going
|
|
through the shoulder, it just hurt. A lot. A whole lot.
|
|
"AAAAAAAAArrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhh!" Arrghed Trashman.
|
|
The guard, seeing the reasonably handsome if mostly covered and somewhat
|
|
odd would-be savior in such dire straits, gave up on the gun as an energy
|
|
weapon and instead began to beat the rat with it.
|
|
This had the net effect of causing Ratman to remember the guard, and that
|
|
her uniform was much easier to bite through. He jumped off of Trashman, and
|
|
onto her.
|
|
Trashman, ever the sportsman, flung his lid at point blank range straight
|
|
at Ratman's neck. This stung the rat a bit and he got off of the girl. The
|
|
top of her uniform was in shreds, but fortunately, amazingly convenient and
|
|
well-placed shadows prevented anyone from seeing any naughty bits.
|
|
The rodent leapt AGAIN, trying to knock over the now weaponless Trashman.
|
|
However, Trashman yanked an old rusty chairleg out of his coveralls utility
|
|
pocket and knocked the big ugly rat to the side. "All right, Micky Mouse, let's
|
|
finish this, man to rat!"
|
|
"Booooooyyyyy," the rat rasped, "do yooooooouuuu neeeeeddd aaaa neeeeeewww
|
|
wwwwrrrriiiittttteeeeerrrrr!"
|
|
"Oh yeah, well at least my dialogue can be read! For god's sake, you
|
|
sound like Bob Dylan!"
|
|
Credit to a large editorial Troll sitting at my left for the last line.
|
|
"DDDDDDIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!" And the rat leapt YET AGAIN. Trashman was
|
|
ready this time, however, and flipped an old bedspring out of his utility
|
|
pocket, positioning it between the rat and the ground at the Rat's point of
|
|
impact.
|
|
BOING and the rat flew a good forty feet. BOING and forty more, into the
|
|
darkness. Boing boing boing until even the noise faded. In short, the battle
|
|
was over.
|
|
"Miss, I'd see about getting a new uniform if I were you. Now, I'd best
|
|
be off before MIB investigators try and grab me!" Scooping up his Trashcan
|
|
Lid, Trashman jumped to the pipe, did a triple swing, and flipped to the
|
|
Trashmobile.
|
|
The guard, still concealed by the convenient shadows, was waiting there.
|
|
"You know, you'd save rather a lot of time if you just walked from place to
|
|
place."
|
|
Trashman stared. No, not at those.
|
|
"Now then, take me with you."
|
|
"Why? I mean, I cannot show an agent of the Mega-Intelligence Bureau my
|
|
secret hideaway, my Fortress of Loneliness, my Private Lair, my--"
|
|
"Stow it, Trashman, I'm not an MIB agent--I'm a rent-a-cop and I want to
|
|
go with you, to add some sex appeal to this comic and possibly some angst."
|
|
"Oh, in that case," Trashman slipped out his control panel and thumbed a
|
|
switch. The Trashmobile's door opened. To be honest, the Trashmobile looked
|
|
like a large garbage truck, but its automation was impressive.
|
|
The girl got in, followed by Trashman. They then got out and re-entered in
|
|
reverse order, so that Trashman was in the driver's seat (the Guard not having
|
|
a valid Class Three driver's license.)
|
|
"By the way," said Trashman to the guard, "what's your name?"
|
|
"Jan," she replied, "Jan Taylor."
|
|
"Pleased to meet you," he said looking at her shadows.
|
|
"Turn around and drive," she replied demurely, emphisizing by pointing her
|
|
photon gun at his privates.
|
|
Trashman drove.
|
|
|
|
Deep within the pit, Jack Tripper awoke. He looked around himself.
|
|
Everything had been knocked about and ripped apart. He then looked at himself.
|
|
All of the damage done to him by Ratman had disappeared. He was completely
|
|
healed.
|
|
"Mother!" he squealed in a high pitched voice, and the canned laughter
|
|
laughed.
|
|
|
|
|
|
WHAT'S THE DEAL WITH JACK?
|
|
|
|
WILL JAN AND TRASHMAN BECOME AN ITEM?
|
|
|
|
WILL RATMAN RETURN?
|
|
|
|
DO WE WANT RATMAN TO RETURN?
|
|
|
|
WILL WE EVER GET A PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF ANYONE BUT RATMAN?
|
|
|
|
WILL WE EVER FIND OUT ANYTHING MORE ABOUT TRASHMAN?
|
|
|
|
YES! Be here for our very next issue, where we discover...
|
|
|
|
THE ORIGIN OF TRASHMAN!!!!!!!!!!!
|
|
|
|
Only here, on Superguy! Lets all be there!
|
|
|
|
<<009>
|
|
The Adventures of Manman Epsiode #12
|
|
|
|
|
|
When we last left our hero, he was calmly eating breakfast after receiving
|
|
a mysterious phone call, which was actually from Commissioner Bigshot.
|
|
Somewhere in another part of the city, Dr. Sleaze was hatching yet another
|
|
diabolical plot to gain control of RatherLarge City.
|
|
|
|
*******************************************************************************
|
|
Episode #12
|
|
*******************************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Manman calmly finished his oatmeal, two slices of lightly buttered toast
|
|
with grape jelly, a bowl of little round cereal and a glass of milk. (He ran
|
|
out of orange juice last episode, remember?). Today was shaping up to be a
|
|
thoroughly mediocre day. Manman sighed with contentment. He was in his
|
|
element.
|
|
Somewhere, across the universe, an asteroid broke loose from its orbit
|
|
and began heading toward the Earth. It was on a collision course, in fact.
|
|
However, the odds of Manman being still alive by the time the asteroid actually
|
|
reached the earth, were, to put it bluntly, absolutely nil. Thus, Manman felt
|
|
that he was safe in sighing with contentment, little suspecting that trouble
|
|
from far closer to home was also on a collison course with him, due to arrive
|
|
in about five minutes, in fact.
|
|
Precisely five minutes and thirty-two seconds later, the commissioner
|
|
burst into Manman's apartment.
|
|
"Manman," he said with authority, "we need your help. The city is in
|
|
grave danger."
|
|
However, since he was wearing heavy protective gear to shield himself
|
|
from the lingering effects of episode #10 (whatever those were), MM heard
|
|
something along the lines of:
|
|
"MMMMM," he mumbled vaguely, "mm mmmm mmmm mmmm. Mmm mmmm mm mm mm
|
|
mmmm mmmmm."
|
|
Manman puzzled this out for a minute. Aha, he thought, charades!
|
|
Manman thought for a moment. "How many words?"
|
|
The commissioner shook his head "Mmmm mmm MMMM!" He mumbled urgently.
|
|
"Aha! Three words!" Who says I'm mediocre, he thought to himself.
|
|
The commissioner began to shake his head harder. "MM!!" he grunted.
|
|
"Shake?"
|
|
"MMM!!"
|
|
"Dog?"
|
|
"MM MMM! MMMM MMM MMMM!"
|
|
"Hmmm..." Manman paused in deep thought. He could have sworn something
|
|
nearby was burning. "Epilepsy?"
|
|
The commissoner began to wonder what the penalty for killing a supehero
|
|
was. Fortunately, he noticed a coloring book and a red crayon lying on the
|
|
breakfast table. He grabbed them and began writing.
|
|
"Coloring? Writing a note? Hmm... a dog writing a note... Lassie?"
|
|
The spoon whizzed by his head. "Hostility... note... dog... the Animal
|
|
Liberation Front???" Manman was pleased with this guess.
|
|
The commissioner held the note in front of Manman's face.
|
|
Scanning the page, Manman rendered his expert opinion on the situation.
|
|
"Hey! Thats not even staying in the lines!!!"
|
|
Through a long and arduous process which the author feels no particular
|
|
desire to relate, Commissioner Bigshot finally managed to explain to our hero
|
|
that Dr. Sleaze, that diabolic do-badder, had hatched a fiendishly clever plot
|
|
to control the city by introducing Powerful, Mind-altering Drugs _tm_ into the
|
|
coffee supply of the city, and that to help his devilish scheme, he had
|
|
kidnapped the one man all coffee drinkers respect and trust -- Juan Valdez.
|
|
We rejoin our hero (oh, right and Manman too) after this revelation has been
|
|
revealed (through the aforementioned long and arduous process which the author
|
|
feels no need to relate).
|
|
"I understand!" said Manman. "Dr. Sleaze is attempting to gain control
|
|
of RatherLarge City by infiltrating the coffee supply with Powerful, Mind-
|
|
altering Drugs _tm_ and has kidnapped Juan Valdez to further his evil plot,
|
|
right?"
|
|
The commissioner heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Yes. Thats right."
|
|
Manman thought a second longer.
|
|
"Ok, now that we have that one straight... why did you come to see me?"
|
|
The commissioner screamed. Loudly.
|
|
|
|
|
|
WILL THE COMMISSIONER KILL MANMAN?
|
|
|
|
WILL MANMAN SAVE THE DAY?
|
|
|
|
WHO WILL PICK COFFEE IF DR. SLEAZE HAS JUAN VALDEZ?
|
|
|
|
WILL WE EVER FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED TO RATHERLARGE CITY IN EPISODE #10?
|
|
|
|
WHEN IS SOMETHING GOING TO HAPPEN IN THIS STORY, ANYWAY?
|
|
|
|
WILL THE COMMISSIONER GET FRUSTRATED AND PHONE WONDER GRUNION?
|
|
|
|
WOULD WONDER GRUNION TAKE THE CASE EVEN IF HE DID?
|
|
|
|
WHY DOES EVERY AUTHOR FEEL COMPELLED TO TACK THESE STUPID QUESTIONS ON TO THE
|
|
END OF EACH POSTING?
|
|
|
|
tune in for Manman #13, everything you ever wanted in an episode-- and less
|
|
|
|
The Armadillo - Chapter One
|
|
|
|
***DISCLAIMER: Don't blame me or anyone else for anything. I fell down
|
|
a flight of stairs at any early age.***
|
|
|
|
Joe and Ed stood by the trash dumpster, catching a few smokes while on
|
|
their ten minute coffee break. The Texas sun was hot on their backs, and the
|
|
heat sizzled up from the cement. They were temp workers, and not happy about
|
|
it, but as they are only appearing in this story for a few paragraphs, don't
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get overly concerned about their plight. They had been busy all morning
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at the "Flatfoot Emporium", a retail store specializing in old detective pulps
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and videotapes of "The Untouchables" and other similar media products of that
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genre. [For the unenlightened of you out there, the word 'genre' is a term
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used by us smart-assed artistic types to mean lots of books, movies or
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magazines rehashing the same old stuff.]
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Apparently, the Emporium had been bought out by certain members of the PTL
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board of trustees, and they were planning on turning the building into a Jim
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and Tammy Faye Bakker Memorial Museum, in honor of the now late Bakkers, who
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|
died in a tragic accident involving lengths of rope, a pound of butter, and
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97 vials of mascara. This isn't important either, so don't get worried. What
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|
IS important is that Joe and Ed had been ordered to remove all the videos,
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|
magazines, and books from the premises and dump them somewhere, preferably far
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|
away. This is what Joe and Ed had been doing all morning.
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Finishing his smoke, Joe tossed it to the ground and crushed it under
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his heal. Moving back toward the dumpster, he noticed a rat running out
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|
from the dumpster. It was the same rat they had seen all morning, the one
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|
they had affectionately named 'Willard'. "Gee," said Joe, "that rat seems to
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|
be running off in the direction of Washington D.C."
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|
"So what," said Ed. "Let's get finished. I got a bowling match tonight."
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|
"Okay," said Joe.
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|
By mid-afternoon they were finished, and took the dumpster to a far away
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|
dump. They quickly dumped their not-so-precious cargo off the side of a small
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|
hill and drove off into the quickly setting sun, unaware that they had just
|
|
dumped nearly a ton of Detective Genre books, magazines, and videos on a
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|
pool of toxic waste. [Origin of waste unknown -- for now.]
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|
The next morning, a small, non-descript armadillo was meandering his way
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|
through the dump looking for his breakfast. He came across the pile of toxic
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|
magazines, books and videos, said "What the hell?" in armadillo language, and
|
|
began to dig in. It wasn't particularly good eating, but he didn't expect to
|
|
find much better in a dump where the likes of Joe and Ed dumped things. After
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|
chowing down for 20 minutes [he was a hungry armadillo], he decided to burrow
|
|
into the pile and sleep for a while. [Now, you're all out there yelling "NO!
|
|
Don't do it!" and the like, but remember, this is an armadillo, not a B-movie
|
|
bimbo, so of course he isn't going to understand you.]
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|
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|
Several hours later he woke up, and immediately realized something was
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|
different. He tunneled out of the pile and stood up in the cool evening air.
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|
Off to the side a more-or-less intact mirror stood against a pile of junk, and
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|
the armadillo walked over to it. Looking in, the image he saw shocked him. He
|
|
was now humanoid, standing roughly 5 feet 6 inches. He was still clad in armor,
|
|
but was now wearing a tan trench coat and a tan, beaten fedora. In a shoulder
|
|
holster sat a .38 revolver, well oiled. Rummaging through his coat pockets, he
|
|
came across a box of ammo in one and a bottle of cheap bourbon in the other. He
|
|
uncapped the bourbon and took a swig. "Smoooooth," he said, then was shocked to
|
|
find that he was speaking Human English, with an accent that was a cross between
|
|
Chicago and Bronx. [Eerie to consider, eh?]
|
|
He looked off in a Northwesterly direction, knowing where his destiny
|
|
lay......The Big Apple.
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|
|
|
Several Years Later...
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|
|
|
[Right now you are probably asking why this story is suddenly jumping
|
|
several years into the future. I can answer that question by giving you a
|
|
description of our hero, who herein is known as The Armadillo [or Dillo Man by
|
|
his friends]. On that fateful day when he ate and nested in a pile of toxic
|
|
Detective Genre media stuff, The Armadillo gained humanoid form, sentience, and
|
|
a taste for cheap bourbon. Those aren't all of his powers, though. His body
|
|
is still made up of armadillo armor, so he can take most blows and gunshots
|
|
with surprisingly little damage. His trench coat never takes damage, nomatter
|
|
how many shots it takes, and his fedora never falls from his head. He has
|
|
gained the proportional strength of an armadillo [what are you laughing at? Do
|
|
you know how strong one must be to ALWAYS carry a suit of armor around? thought
|
|
that would make you straighten up in your seat.] and unfortunately, the
|
|
proportional speed of an armadillo, which explains why our story leaps ahead in
|
|
years.]
|
|
|
|
So, as I was saying... Several Years later...
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|
|
|
She walked down the hall, apprehensive as all hell, but knowing she
|
|
had to do what she was about to do. The dimly lit corridor smelled like a
|
|
zoo, and the floor was littered with fast-food wrappers. As the echo of her
|
|
high heels resounded through the hall [how can noise resound through a trash
|
|
filled corridor, which should normally absorb the sound? Don't ask me..all
|
|
I know is that it makes for a neat hollow deserted effect.] she stopped in
|
|
front of a wooden door with a smoked plate glass window. On the window were
|
|
written the letters A D A, which she knew to stand for the Armadillo Detective
|
|
Agency. Wondering how she could decide to use an agency with such a name,
|
|
she knocked on the door.
|
|
A flat, oddly accented voice answered. "Come in."
|
|
She opened the door and gasped upon looking at the form behind the desk.
|
|
"My God," she said. "You really ARE an armadillo! I thought that was just a
|
|
gimmick."
|
|
For his part, The Armadillo was quite taken aback when he saw her. She was
|
|
a statuesque blond with a body that would make a rat start living a clean life.
|
|
Her hair flowed freely over her shoulders, accenting her rather large
|
|
##CENSORED##. And her legs weren't bad either. He had to exert massive control
|
|
to keep his tongue from rolling onto the floor. {After all,} he thought, {what
|
|
flatfoot worth the name would show emotion over a dame.}
|
|
"I know it's a gimmick," he replied in a voice which sounded like it came
|
|
from a person who was born and raised in the Bronx, but had been living on the
|
|
South Side of Chicago for the past five years. "But it ain't mine..it's the
|
|
author's. I don't have any control over him."
|
|
"I understand," the woman said. "Ya' gotta help me, Mr. um, ah..."
|
|
"They call me The Armadillo," he said.
|
|
"Okay, Mr. um, Armadillo.."
|
|
"No," he interupted. "Not Mr. um, Armadillo. Just call me Mr. Dillo."
|
|
"Yes Mr. Dillo. Anyway, I'm in a lot of trouble, and ya' gotta' help me."
|
|
He watched the way she breathed when she talked. And the way she breathed
|
|
when she moved. And the way she breathed when she didn't move. He even watched
|
|
her when she didn't breathe. {And to think of all those years I fooled around
|
|
with armadillos, when I coulda' been playin' the bagpipes with this one here.}
|
|
"Why are ya' in trouble, shweetheart?"
|
|
Mere moments later, as she was about to explain what her problems were,
|
|
a terrible explosion went off, knocking in the windows and shattering everything
|
|
in the room, including [presumably] our hero and the dame.
|
|
|
|
|
|
WHAT WAS THAT EXPLOSION?
|
|
|
|
DID THE ARMADILLO AND THE DAME SURRVIVE?
|
|
|
|
DOES "SHE" HAVE A NAME?
|
|
|
|
WILL THE ARMADILLO GET TO PLAY THE BAGPIPES WITH HER?
|
|
|
|
THE ANSWERS TO THESE AND OTHER EXCITING QUESTIONS CAN BE FOUND IN A SMALL
|
|
WHITE ENVELOPE HIDDEN IN THE PIANO AT 'RICK'S PLACE'!!!!!!! -OR-
|
|
|
|
TUNE IN NEXT TIME...SAME ARMADILLO TIME...SAME ARMADILLO CHANNEL
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