Choose My Own Adventure

(If you haven't read last Friday's post, you might wanna go ahead and do that. I'm just sayin'.)

Okay.

So, Eyeful Ethel gave me a more formal firing, later that day.

She thanked me for my "months of service" and gave me a hefty wedge of severance-cheddah. On a more personal level, she pointed out that I would never be comfortable with having a boss. Which is true. She said I should look into getting a job where I can "run the show." That sounds good to me.

But what should I do? My band, Jagged Edge Explosion Balloon, has had some luck playing at small venues, like hover-biker bars and space-mitzvahs. Or I could train as an "ultimate brawler" and battle my way up into the Beat the Living Crap Out of You League. But that would take forever. I want glorious success RIGHT GODDAMN NOW, goddamn it! Is that so much to ask? Maybe I could become a bounty hunter? That'd be easy. And fun! You get to slap folks around... with impunity! Or with whatever else that happens to be lying around.

I invited my fellow firees back to my pod this morning, for a strategy session. And also because I feel kinda responsible for getting them into this mess. Have I mentioned that Bad Apple Boy, that pseudo-gangsta lunk-head, quit? As "a gesture of solidarity (yo)"? So he's here, too. The only ones who stayed with Ethel were Compass Kid (who I don't really know), Frigid Queen (because she's trying to avoid her sort-of-boyfriend, Phantom Lad), and Rainbow Girl (because she actually has an ounce of freaking sense.) I also secretly reasoned that by holding the strategy session at my place, maybe all these other super-heroes could help keep Cootie in check. Yeah, it ain't workin'. I've had to save Storm Boy from getting pummeled to death by mind-controlled hobos, like, four times already!

And Posture Queen--! Don't get me started. Okay, so I'll start. She's driving me bonkers. She wears wigs all the time, and never travels without at least two or three spares. She talks like a crazy person, going in and out of this effed-up cutesy "baby voice" and some kind of sultry whisper which she wrongly assumes is sexy. And she's always posing and telling everybody else how they should be posing, and I'll decide how everybody should pose, thank you very much. And she apparently thinks she's hilarious, but she's not, trust me. (But Storm Boy does think she's hilarious, and he and she are new BFF's, apparently. GUH.) And she has to infuse every mundane moment with High Drama. For example? She volunteered to make a run to the Infernal House of Pancakes to grab breakfast sandwiches for everybody. Only she screwed up the order. So we heard the front door slide open, and we bustled into the sunken living room to find Posture Queen standing in the foyer, looking down on everybody with her "serious face" (which makes her look like a frightened robot) and she intoned, "I see four beautiful super-heroes in front of me. But I only hold three sandwiches in my hand."

We were all kind of taken aback for a few seconds. But then I broke the silence by hollering, "WHO THE FUCK TALKS LIKE THAT?!"

It's going to be a long day.

But while I try to pull my shit together, why don't you guys partake of this nice costume I designed for fellow blogger (and evil genius) Captain Koma? It uses his signature motifs: the blue/black color scheme, and the hood. I also glommed onto a snake theme, based on the time he was turned into a half-snake creature (and because snakes are evil, which was scientifically proven by Lithuanian researchers in the year 2466). So the padding is meant to suggest a snake's belly, and I crafted Ouroboros symbols for the cloak clasps and for the belt. The clasps are joined by a yoke, based on Celtic jewelry. Now Captain Koma can conquer the universe in style!

(Gee, I hope that doesn't make me an "accessory." Er, oops.)

You're Invited!

Hey there, fellow vengeance-lovers! This is Calorie Queen, the public relations officer of the Blockade Boy Revenge Squad, with a special invitation, just for YOU (and whomever else is reading this right now)!

How'd you like to meet the Squad, IN PERSON? That'd be super-cool, am I right? Well, now's your chance! Just show up at our "mixer", this Saturday night, starting at 7 PM. But I can guess what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Calorie Queen, it's always been my dream to meet you; I remember your days as a Beat the Living Crap Out of You League Diva, like that time you got Sun Woman in a headlock, just using your thighs; and also, your boyfriend sounds pretty bad-ass as well, I can't wait 'til the two of you get married, 'cause that'll be like the most awesome wedding, like EVER, like, maybe you'll 'kiss' by smashing two monster hover-trucks into each other, and the train on your gown will be carried by trained BLITHS, man, and it'll just be SO GREAT! But here's my problem: I don't even know where your secret headquarters EVEN IS!"

Relax, pal! For starters, we're located right here in Lallor's planetary capital, in the south-southeast sector, so THAT should be easy enough for you to find. And if you need for me to get more specific? Well, here's a map:

We'll have pizza and fizzypop and EVERYTHING! And all YOU need to bring in order to get in, is ten individually-wrapped slices of space-cheddah. (Have I mentioned that this is a fund-raiser? ...I haven't? Oh. Oops.)

See you there!

Shrink Me Deadly (by Blockade Boy's Pal, Gadfly Lad)

Phht. Amateurs.

Gadfly Lad here! I'm blogging on a secure line (that goes directly to your era and dimension), so I think it's safe to tell you that my one-man, unauthorized, danger-fraught and 98.239% kick-ass secret gonzo rogue mission is going really quite well! (And thanks for asking!)

Here's the deal: since he became a space-pirate, Blockade Boy has enjoyed "cult hero" status with the criminal classes. This only increased once he adopted that bogus "twin brother" identity, because it allowed people to make up shit about what the "real" Blockade Boy was doing. So he was "sighted" everywhere, doing everything people wanted a populist sociopath to do. When those intraweb sites spread the truth of what happened, it could have caused some serious damage to Blockade Boy's "street cred" (as they say on the streets). But of course, the big ape had to spectacularly resist arrest and catapult himself to the top of the U.P. Most Wanted list. And now, he's out there, somewhere, kicking all kinds of tail, and forcibly making over everybody he defeats. He's become a legend.

My idea: infiltrate Lallor's underworld, and get some juicy intel on where Blockade Boy is hiding. Once I locate him, I'm sure I can convince him to turn himself in. He's such a smooth talker (when he's not breaking things) that I bet he can cop to some kind of plea deal and not even do any prison time! Then we can go back to work for Eyeful Ethel and everything will be cool again.

For my scheme to work, I had to adopt a new identity, courtesy of my super-disguise kit. So I shaved off my mustache (which killed me, since I'd been growing it for three years, eight months, two weeks and one day, and it was just starting to come in real nicely, in my opinion) and I buzzed my hair down to a spiky thatch on top, with just some fuzz on the sides that extended down to my sideburns. Then, I dyed it all a cornflower blond. (With as fast as my hair grows, the roots won't show for a good seven weeks, at least.) While I was at it, I went ahead and dyed my body hair -- which is to say, the seven strands on my chest. I changed from my action-costume into a new get-up that included a battered straw cowboy hat, mirrored goggles, a sleeveless flannel shirt, and baggy polymer hip-waders with cacti embroidered on the sides. And there ya go: I'm no longer "Gadfly Lad: private detective", but am instead one Eli "Tater" Bugzz: Winathian "singleton", runt-of-the-litter, con-artist, ladies' man (but of course) and all-around bad dude.

As "Tater", I've been hustling chumps out of their space-cheddah in trivia games at some of the sleaziest dives in town. See, I let 'em start out thinking I'm some dumb hick, and then I drop some knowledge on 'em! BOO-YAH! I've gotten into a couple of scraps over it. No problem. And I gotta tell you, it's a real rush, staying full-size and fighting hand-to-hand, instead of shrinking down and using ranged weaponry or maces. With my naturally-superior size advantage, I'm pretty slippery, and I've got some barely-legal moves I picked up from watching Beat the Living Crap Out of You League exhibition tourneys. Two of the three people I tussled with had switch-lasers. No problem. "Tater's" gimmick is his joy-buzzer work gloves (favored by 28.6% of all Winathian criminals, ages 18-35, according to a recent poll) so I can just apply a judicious shock to the 'nads if I get cornered. I feel amazing after toppling a guy three times my height. It's better than sex! (From what I understand.)

The last pub I was in, I overheard some rough-looking dudes whispering about "the new kid" and how I'd be perfect for "the operation."

Gee, I hope they're talking about a criminal enterprise.

Everything Comes to a Head

[Excerpts from the transcripted video logs of the iFul Security Services cameras aboard the H.M.S. Exquisite, the morning of 29/08/2987 between 12:02 and 12:18 AM]

CAMERA A-1, CARNIVALE DECK, CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS: RECORDING ERROR, CAMERA MALFUNCTION

CAMERA A-2, CARNIVALE DECK, CORRIDOR 1: CABIN BOY EMERGES FROM CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS, DRAGGING LARGE PURPLE VELVET SACK. SACK'S CONTENTS BOTH ANGULAR AND BULBOUS. IDENTIFICATION IMPOSSIBLE. 12 SECONDS AFTER SUBJECT IS BEYOND RANGE OF CAMERAS, RED LIGHT FLASHES THROUGH LOUVERS OF VENT IN CORRIDOR WALL.

CAMERA B-1, BONDI DECK, MONITOR ROOM: WALL OF MONITORS INDICATE THAT 30% OF CAMERAS ON BOARD ARE NOT FUNCTIONING. SWAB SITTING IN CHAIR WITH BACK TO WALL OF MONITORS AND FACING OPEN DOOR. SWAB TOSSES HUMAN BICUSPID IN AIR, GRABS IT WITH SAME HAND AND TOSSES IT AGAIN IN SEEMING IMITATION OF COIN-FLIPPING GANGSTERS FROM "BROADWAY MELODY" SEQUENCE IN 1952 EARTH FILM "SINGING IN THE RAIN." AFTER TWO SUCCESSFUL ATTEMPTS, SWAB DROPS TOOTH ON FLOOR.

SWAB: Balls.

CAMERA B-2, BONDI DECK, CORRIDOR 1: CABIN BOY PASSES BY OPEN DOOR OF MONITOR ROOM.

SWAB: Who goes there?
CABIN BOY: Shit. Hey, Tusker.
SWAB: Whatcha doin'?
CABIN BOY: Oh. I, um, couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd do a little housecleaning.
SWAB: That's a big pile of garbage!
CABIN BOY: Yes... yes, it is!
SWAB: Need any help?
CABIN BOY: No, I've got it handled.

CABIN BOY PEERS AROUND SWAB AT MONITORS.

CABIN BOY: So, it looks like Rainbow Girl's on the bridge. But where's Storm Boy? I don't see him on any of these monitors...
SWAB: I think he said somethin' about makin' some adjustments on the solar collectors. Or maybe he did that already. Or he could be in his quarters. Or the galley. I dunno. Half the cameras got fried when we had that meltdown.
CABIN BOY: What about the room with the big metal compactor and the airlock access door in it? Does the camera in there work?
SWAB: Sanitation? Oh, hells yeah! Actually it's got three cameras, coverin' the whole joint, and they're workin' just fine. Well, I s'pose I'd better get back to watchin' these stupid monitors.
CABIN BOY: Oh, hey! You know what? The vending machine on the Hula Deck is busted and it's spitting out an enormous pile of free taffy!
SWAB: Awesome! I am so there, dude! ...Wait a minute! Are you tryin' to distract me?
CABIN BOY: Light.

CABIN BOY LEAPS APPROXIMATELY TWO METERS INTO THE AIR.

CABIN BOY: Heavy.

CABIN BOY SWEEPS FOOT INTO SWAB'S FACE, BREAKING OFF ONE OF HIS TUSKS. SWAB FALLS TO FLOOR, UNCONSCIOUS. CABIN BOY RESUMES DRAGGING SACK DOWN CORRIDOR.

CAMERAS B3, B-5, BONDI DECK, CORRIDORS 2 AND 4: CABIN BOY DRAGS SACK DOWN CORRIDOR. AS CABIN BOY PASSES EACH VENT, RED LIGHT FLASHES THROUGH IT, ONCE.

CAMERA C-18, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: CABIN BOY DRAGS SACK INTO ROOM. CABIN BOY EMPTIES SACK'S CONTENTS ONTO FLOOR IN FRONT OF METAL COMPACTOR. IDENTIFICATION OF CONTENTS: LIFE-SIZE METAL PUPPET IN LIKENESS OF SHIP'S CAPTAIN WITH ORANGE CLOTH BINDING ITS MOUTH. ERROR. RE-IDENTIFY. SCANNING. SHIP'S LOGS IDENTIFY SUBJECT AS SHIP'S CAPTAIN, TRANSMOGRIFIED BY UNKNOWN MEANS INTO MOSTLY HOLLOW METAL BEING. CABIN BOY CROUCHES DOWN IN FRONT OF CAPTAIN, REMOVES GAG.

CAPTAIN: What th'--? Weight Wizard? Honey, what are you doing?
CABIN BOY: Think of it as a breakup. Only it's forever.
CAPTAIN: Oh, for Pete's sake. I'm too tired for this right now. Look, just take me back to my cabin. You don't really have to do anything to piss me off this time. We'll just pretend you did, instead. When I'm all better, I'll go ahead and whup your ass just the way you like it. Okay? Okay. Great. Let's go, kid.
CABIN BOY: I'm not shitting around here. You and me? We're over.

CAPTAIN ROLLS EYES, EMITS DRAWN-OUT GUTTURAL SIGH.

CABIN BOY: No, I mean it this time. I'm sick of it! Not just the whole pirate dealio. It's everything you do. And every time we get back together I just feel sicker and more numb inside, and the worst part is I can hear everybody laughing at me, oh, there's the little pussy who needs Blockade Boy to protect him. As long as I'm with you, I'll always be that shrimpy toddler who needed the big freak to watch his back. And it's not just me -- you feel that way too, I can tell, I mean, you're always calling me "kid" and "boy" and we're the same goddamn age! I feel like I'm stuck in my teens and I'll never grow up! When I'm around you, it's like, it's like I'm nothing. Nothing!

CAPTAIN: Yeah, okay, so I spent twenty years of my life taking care of you. Although it feels more like forty-five for some reason... damn sliding timeline! But don't blame me for holding you back. You could act like an adult if you wanted to. We both know I gave you plenty of chances. And hell, look at the state I'm in. Now it's reversed. You can take care of me. That's what a real relationship is all about. Two people taking care of each other.
CABIN BOY: That's... not what I want. At least, at least... not with you.
CAPTAIN: So leave! At the next planet you can go fake your death. Just like you always do.
CABIN BOY: That never works. You know that. Every time I think I've finally done it, I've finally made you angry enough to just leave me the fuck alone, you come looking for me or worse, I go looking for you again. We always find each other, sooner or later. And I've been so weak, I always let it happen. I've got to stop this. And the only way I can do it is to get rid of you. Permanently.

CAPTAIN MAKES SCOFFING SOUND, LAUGHS.

CAPTAIN: Oh, bitch, please. Are you kidding me? Sure, okay, you're going to kill me. C'mon. There's no way! I know you, sweetheart. You don't have the heart for it. Or the balls.
CABIN BOY: Look in my eyes and say that again.

CABIN BOY LEANS DOWN, HIS FACE INCHES AWAY FROM THE CAPTAIN'S. SILENCE: 11.2 SECONDS.

CAPTAIN: ...Damn.
CABIN BOY: Damn right. Y'know, I was just going to dump your useless carcass in the compactor but screw it. I'd rather do it myself.

CABIN BOY STANDS UP, RAISES FOOT OVER CAPTAIN'S HEAD.

CAMERA C-19, PANNING MODEL, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: UNIDENTIFIED ITEM OR SUBJECT OUTSIDE OF SHIP'S HULL MOVES AWAY FROM PORTHOLE #568 WHENEVER IN RANGE OF CAMERA. VIEW OF SPACE DEBRIS THROUGH PORTHOLE #566. ANALYSIS PENDING.

CABIN BOY: Any last words, baby?
CAPTAIN. Special sauce.
CABIN BOY: Heavy.

CABIN BOY CRUSHES CAPTAIN'S HEAD WITH FOOT.

EXTREME DISTORTION OF HEAD AND TOTAL LACK OF FLUIDS INDICATES HEAD IS NOW DEVOID OF ORGANIC MATTER.

CABIN BOY: Wait, what? Special sauce?!

CAMERA C-17, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: SHIP'S MASCOT, IN DIVIDED FORM, MELTS THROUGH VENT, FLIES IN DIRECTION OF CABIN BOY.

CAMERA C-18, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: SHIP'S MASCOT, RED FORM, ATTACKS CABIN BOY'S LEFT LEG. YELLOW FORM: RIGHT LEG. GREEN FORM: LEFT ARM. BLUE FORM: RIGHT ARM.

CABIN BOY: Ow! Damn it! Ow! Shit! Get the fuck off me! Light! Light!

CAMERAS C-17, C-18, C-19, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: CABIN BOY BOUNCES AROUND ROOM, SHAKES MASCOT/S FREE OF LIMBS. CABIN BOY'S LEFT LEG IS ON FIRE. CABIN BOY ROLLS ON FLOOR, TRYING TO PUT OUT FLAMES. SHIP'S MASCOT, BLUE FORM, POUNCES, WRAPS SELF AROUND CABIN BOY'S NECK, CONSTRICTS.

CAMERA C-19, PANNING MODEL, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: ANALYSIS OF SPACE DEBRIS COMPLETE. IDENTIFICATION: BUNGEE CORDS.

CAMERA C-17, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: AIRLOCK ACCESS DOOR IS FORCED OPEN BY AMBULATORY CARNIVOROUS FLOWER/CREATURE, APPROXIMATELY 3 CUBIC METERS IN SIZE, INDENTIFICATION: VORNIAN GREATER LACERATING ROSE.

CAMERA C-18, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: DIVIDED FORMS OF SHIP'S MASCOT RETREAT INTO VENTILATION SYSTEM. ROSE SEIZES CABIN BOY IN ITS TENDRILS. SERRATED PETALS OF MAMMOTH FLOWER HEAD FLEX, PULSATE. CABIN BOY TREMBLES, WETS SELF. CABIN BOY CLOSES EYES.

CABIN BOY: Heavy.

CRACKS APPEAR IN FLOOR BENEATH CABIN BOY. COLLAPSE OF DECK IMMINENT. WITH CONVULSIVE MOTION, FLOWER ENGULFS CABIN BOY'S HEAD, SEVERS IT FROM HIS BODY, EJECTS IT.

CAMERA C-19, PANNING MODEL, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: CABIN BOY'S HEAD REBOUNDS OFF OF WALL, ROLLS BACK IN DIRECTION OF ROSE.

CAMERA C-18, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: STANDING IN PLACE OF ROSE IS SHIP'S FIGUREHEAD.

SHIP'S FIGUREHEAD: That's how we roll in the Beat the Living Crap Out Of You League.

SHIP'S FIGUREHEAD SPITS ON CABIN BOY'S SEVERED HEAD, KNEELS DOWN BESIDE BODY OF CAPTAIN, CRADLES IT, SOBS.

SHIP'S FIGUREHEAD: Oh, no. Oh, Luck Lords, please, no... I'm sorry I didn't get here in time, buddy. You were so good to me. You knew I could be better than I was. You believed in me, even when I didn't, and--

CAPTAIN'S BODY SPASMS, SLIDES ITSELF AWAY FROM SHIP'S FIGUREHEAD, SITS UP. BODY'S HEAD BULGES OUTWARD INTO ITS FORMER SHAPE. DENSE WHITE SMOKE CURLS FROM ITS MOUTH AND NOSTRILS.

SHIP'S FIGUREHEAD: What in--? Blockade Boy...?

CAPTAIN'S BODY SLOWLY SHAKES ITS HEAD, RISES TO ITS FEET. BODY MOVES TOWARD CORRIDOR 11, MOTIONS FOR SHIP'S FIGUREHEAD TO FOLLOW.

................

CAMERA E-4, HULA DECK, SHIP'S LIBRARY: 1ST MATE ENTERS, FOLLOWED BY CAPTAIN'S BODY, BOSUN, SWAB, AND SHIP'S FIGUREHEAD. 1ST MATE LEADS CAPTAIN'S BODY TO COMPUTER TERMINAL, ACCESSES AUTHORING SOFTWARE, INDICATES KEYBOARD TO CAPTAIN'S BODY, TAKES ITS FINGER AND PRESSES DOWN ON A BUTTON. CAPTAIN'S BODY NODS, PRESSES BUTTONS RAPIDLY. MESSAGE APPEARS ON SCREEN.

Legion of Substitute Costumes Bonus: Plant Lad

That's what happens when you forget to water Plant Lad!

Kidding. Plant Lad is a mighty hero with the somewhat useful power of turning into any kind of plant. Which is awesome when the plant is some giant alien number that can move around and eat people, but somewhat less awesome when it's, say, one of your lame immobile Earth plants. Although I suppose that'd be useful for stealth missions. ("I don't remember seeing this potted fern here before--! Oh, well. As I was saying, the new secret codewords for our terrorist operation are...")

Historians will argue that Plant Lad never got rejected for membership by the Legion of Super-Heroes. They're actually correct. Kind of. Technically, he never even got to try out! See, many years ago Plant Lad and I were brunching at that Tartarus-style breakfast joint, the Infernal House of Pancakes. (Try ordering a "Devil's Dozen" donuts there. They'll give you four donuts, every time. Tartarusians, they're not so good with the math.) I believe I'd ordered the sulfur-roasted ham slab-wich, while Plant Lad was enjoying a nitrogen smoothie. Well, you'd never guess who tottered in, blitzed off her royal ass after a long night of partying, with her platinum hair mussed, one white opera glove missing, her magenta collar askew, and a tell-tale vomit stain down the front of her purple bustier. Yeah. Her.

So Plant Lad, bless 'im, was perpetually agog over celebrities back then -- he must have subscribed to twenty different holomags on the subject... People, Pod People, Pod People en Español, Popular Mechanics (featuring page after page of various mechanics who are popular), The Bismollywood Reporter, you name it! And before I could warn him about what a massive skank she was, Plant Lad rushed over to her and started gushing, and she was having none of it, and the words were just pouring out of his mouth at lightspeed and part of me wanted to grab him and drag him away from her before he made an even bigger fool out of himself. But another part of me wanted to grab my Omnicom, sit back, and record their conversation for posterity.

Their talk went exactly like this:

Plant Lad: --just an incredible inspiration for me, I mean I watch all your holotapes and I buy all your biographical supplements as soon as they come out and I even bought your limited edition line of shoes, like in every color and every size, of course they're not for me, I mean I don't wear them or anything, I mean I'm not a freak, ha, ha, heh, but I have them on this wall of shoes I made, because it's just a really interesting design element for my apartment, they're all like on little floating platforms, I mean "platforms" as in places to put shoes on not "platforms" as in platform shoes, heh, I guess it would be pretty silly of me to put shoes on top of more shoes, ha, uh, I mean how ridiculous would that look, although if anybody could pull it off it'd be you, you're just so elegant and regal and stylish and I think you give the Legion a lot of class which I think is so important, don't you, and by the way I'm a superhero myself, my name is Plant Lad which I guess I should have said before, heh, ha, ha, oh, er. and I can turn into all kinds of plants, and I know that sounds kind of useless, heh, um, but it's really not, I swear, like for instance there are actually a lot of plants that can move around, and they can grab things and they're like really strong and CAN I TRY OUT FOR THE LEGION?!!

Princess Projectra (bored): Aren't you supposed to be dead?

Plant Lad: Heh, ha, no, see, that was--

Princess Projectra: Yeah, I'm pretty sure you died. Who are you?! Do you work here?

Plant Lad: No, heh, what happened is I faked my own death, ha, I guess that's where you're confused, but--

Princess Projectra: Yeah, so I'd like to order the Satan Scramble with Faust Fries...

Plant Lad: I don't work here, ha, ha, but anyway I think I'd be a really valuable addition to your team, um...

Princess Projectra: ... and could you get me one of those cardboard Prince Evillo crowns? I'm gonna make my boyfriend wear one the next time we do it.

Plant Lad: Oh, heh, ha, I said I don't work here, I'm a superhero, er, oh, um...

Princess Projectra: So you're out of crowns?

Plant Lad: Heh, oh, er, huh?

Princess Projectra: Forget the food. Your service sucks. I'm going to tell my daddy to buy your restaurant and atomize it.

Then she left. Plant Lad stood there gaping for a moment, and then he s-l-o-w-l-y ambled back over to our booth. He slumped down in his seat. "Was it everything you dreamed it would be?" I asked.

He just stared down at his placemat for about a minute. Finally, without looking up, he mumbled, "She smelled like drain cleaner."

Poor dope. To be honest, he probably wouldn't have made it into the Legion anyway. Y'see, Plant Lad's people go through "active" cycles and "dormant" cycles. The "dormant" cycle, which lasts about four months out of every Earth year, begins with them getting kind of logy and dull-witted, and then they just stop moving altogether and become as stiff as boards. (But not in the good way.) So he's basically useless 1/3 of the time. Unless you're me, and you're clever enough to put him to work as a figurehead on your pirate ship!

But I dunno. Maybe he could have impressed certain skank-like royals (who then would have sponsored him for membership) if he'd dressed flashier. Like he does now! I convinced Plant Lad that his tall, lanky frame can pull off any look, and especially the look of a rock star! Check him out!

Oh, Plant Lad! Orange is definitely your color! It speaks of exotic orchids, clay flowerpots, and... er, pesticides. The woven midriff is based on a trellis, and I echoed that pattern with the hood and with the cut-outs on his boots. To visually round out his alarmingly equine face, I gave him oversized mirrored shades. The shades also send the subtle message, "I'm too important to make eye contact with you; inquiries can be made through my publicist." His knobby chin is adorned by a scalloped, leafy goatee of my own design, and of course the logo I created for him is proudly displayed on his left breast. Now, that's the look of a winner!

And the rest of the known universe evidently agrees with me! I'm happy to report that Plant Lad now enjoys thriving careers as an intergalactic New New Wave musician and two-time Beat the Living Crap Out Of You League champion... when he's awake, anyway. For the present, though, he's securely strapped to the prow of the H.M.S. Exquisite, scaring the holy bejeebus out of enemy ships.

Not a bad life, if you ask me.