Conversations With Dud People, Part One

(Somewhere on the Planetoid of Peril, August 8, 3008, 10:29 AM...)

*interbloggamunicator lights up, plays tinny version of "Flirtin' With Disaster" by Molly Hatchet*

Blockade Boy: Aw, hell.

*activates visi-phone function on interbloggamunicator*

Blockade Boy (into the device): Hey, Storm Boy.

Storm Boy: Ola, buddy! ...Yikes. You look like shit! Er, but you wear it well.

Blockade Boy: Just tell me what the problem is, so I can save all y'all's asses again and get back to my vacation.

Storm Boy: Sure, because it's obviously doing wonders for your attitude!

Blockade Boy: ...

Storm Boy: Relax, space-ape. There's no "problem." In fact, everything's been aces since you left!

Blockade Boy: Uh-huh. I ain't buyin' it. None of you clods could wipe your own asses without me around!

Storm Boy: If you'd bothered to tell anybody where the hell you were going, I could ship you an industrial levitator. So you could get over yourself.

Blockade Boy: Fine. So why are you pestering me right now?

Storm Boy: Mainly I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay, but you know what? You can go screw yourself.

Blockade Boy: Okay, okay... you're right. I'm sorry. I'm acting like a real bear. I mean, more so than usual.

Storm Boy: We really are doing great, by the way. I'm not shitting you.

Blockade Boy: If you say so.

Storm Boy: It's just -- oh, how can I put this without it sounding all catty? ...It's like, you were kind of the problem.

Blockade Boy: I WAS--?!

Storm Boy: Well, you know... you're kind of... overbearing? And a control freak? And you kind of make everybody just defer to you, even without you doing it on purpose or consciously or whatever? I think that's why all of us were just hanging out at your pod all the time, waiting for you to tell us what to do.

Blockade Boy: Which, of course, I never was. Since most of you annoy the crap out of me.

Storm Boy: Heh. Yeah, exactly.

Blockade Boy: So...?

Storm Boy: So, once you left, it was like a big, hairy blanket had been lifted off of us, and we could finally breathe and move our limbs. The rest of them are really good guys, once you get past their little quirks, and I figured out a cool new direction for us! By whom I mean, "me and Bad Apple Boy and Posture Queen." Not you.

Blockade Boy: What about Phantom Lad?

Storm Boy: Oh, he took off. He said he had a hot lead about rioting on Imsk. Really tiny rioting. He wants to sell the story to U.P. News and Worlds Report.

Blockade Boy: Are you remembering to feed Cootie?

Storm Boy: Rainbow Girl is taking care of her! It makes more sense, if you think about it. They've really bonded. You might have a fight on your hands when you come back! ...By the way, when are you coming back?

Blockade Boy: I dunno. I feel like I can be more like "myself" out here. Sometimes I think I'm not cut out for Polite Society.

Storm Boy: Heh. I think you're right. Oh! I just figured it out! You're on the Planetoid of Peril!

Blockade Boy: What th'--?! You deduced that from what I just said?

Storm Boy: Nope. I just caught a glimpse of the Citadel of Doom over your left shoulder. Well?

Blockade Boy: "Well" what, smart guy?

Storm Boy: Don't you want to know about our exciting new direction? It's the other reason why I called you.

Blockade Boy: Yeah, sure. Astound me.

Storm Boy: We're the All-New Jagged Edge Explosion Balloon! Featuring Storm Boy!

Blockade Boy: You want to lead my old garage band. Really.

Storm Boy: I've reworked our "sound" to really spotlight the Electric Sousasaxotimpanibone. It's astro-ska! Posture Queen is choreographing all our dance moves, and she plays a mean nuclear-powered zither, and we have Bad Apple Boy on glockenspiel, plus of course he raps.

Blockade Boy: Of course.

Storm Boy: And now that Tusker and Dentata Damsel are out of the nervous hospital, I've snagged them for banjo and didgeridoo, respectively.

Blockade Boy: Holy cats! You're serious about this.

Storm Boy: We've played some nightclubs already, and we're auditioning for a scout from Computoblanca Records. Oh! And Element Lad and Invisible Kid want us to play at their wedding!

Blockade Boy: ...

Storm Boy: Blockade Boy...?

Blockade Boy: Um. Wow.

Storm Boy: Yeah, so since you never were all that into the band, I was wondering if I could get the copyright to the name from you. I'll pay you whatever you want for it.

Blockade Boy: You can have it. No charge. I'll have my lawyer visi-phone you.

Storm Boy: Sweet! So you're doing okay? You're having fun?

Blockade Boy: ...Yeah. I'm great! I gotta go, though. I have a whole big day planned.

Storm Boy: Oh! That's cool. Well...! Keep in touch, okay?

Blockade Boy: Sure. Have a good one, fat-ass!

Storm Boy: Right back at ya, fat-ass! Seeya.

*Blockade Boy deactivates visi-phone function, then hurls interbloggamunicator against a boulder. It bounces off, unharmed. He picks it up again, and stalks off into the jungle.*

I'm Evidently a Dreamboat

Say, who's this handsome devil?

Why, it's none other than me, as envisioned by fellow blogger (and arch-villain) Captain Koma, over in the Heroes United forums! It's stunning, no? I'm not currently in the market for a new costume, Captain, but if I ever turn to the dark side -- and contract conjuctivitis -- I'll definitely consider this look! Hot damn but I'd look fetching! Observe, if you will, the lush red beard, the dashing eye-patch, the marvelously masculine segmented shoulder-pads! I'm a hunk! I mean, I'd jump this guy's bones in a nano-second! And he's me! ...Okay, so that image is a trifle too "out there" even for yours truly.

My apologies.

Well, this is as good a time as any to give you all a little flavor of my life as it stands right now. My massive, rampant, uncut celebrity is starting to sag a little. I no longer get mobbed by hoards of nearly-naked hover-bikers. Dang it. Still, I have enough clout that I worked out a deal with my good friend Eyeful Ethel: to help restore confidence in her stockholders, her company is now officially called "The Eyeful Ethel Detective Agency, Featuring Blockade Boy." I don't think she resents it too much.

Ethel tried to lure Dentata Damsel away from that voiceover gig she'd taken with Paramount-Universo. It turned out that the folks at Paramount-Universo had never even heard of Dentata Damsel. We later discovered, she'd been living with Tusker in some twisted "Beauty and the Beast" (TV show) scenario, and, in her words, "platonically banging" him. They're both in counseling right now.

Still no sign of Nightmare Boy.

Ethel hired two new detectives: Compass Kid and Bad Apple Boy. The first is a mildly-powered Braalian with an uncanny sense of direction; the second is a Rimborean poseur with souped-up Chlorophyl Kid powers. (You'd be surprised how many toddlers have fallen into vats of mutagenic hydroponic solutions. It's a national tragedy!) I'll write some more about these two next week.

Storm Boy has regained some of the weight he'd lost, but it actually looks good on him. I guess it's because he's still working out. So he's kind of "husky" now. The important thing is, his upper arms are finally thicker than his forearms. Which is great, because the whole "Popeye" thing had been freaking me out.

Oh, and I still have enough name recognition (and raw, blistering sexiness) that I've been invited to enter a holo-vid reality show contest! It's sort of a biathlon, where the contestants have to master both complicated sexual positions and complicated ballroom routines. The show is called "Schtupp It Up and Dance." (And for me, the first part should be a breeze.)

The Legion of Substitute Blockade Boys (from the case files of Gadfly Lad)

Howdy, pals! It's your friend from the future (and also a parallel universe): Gadfly Lad!

I'm 87.028% certain that you're all begging me to know: have I located Blockade Boy yet?

The short answer: no.

The long answer: yes, in a way. Blockade Boy is at least three times more popular as a fugitive than he was as a private detective, a space-pirate, or a fashion designer. He's certainly good at it; I'll give him that. But now, tough guys across the galaxy are imitating his look, right down to the tattoos! So every time I think I've spotted Blockade Boy, it turns out to be some dude I don't even know.

67.4% of them are annoyed and say "Get your tiny hands off me, kid" (or something equivalent).

14.8% of them think I'm trying to sell them something or that I'm going to mug them, and they toot on a little whistle and then the pigs show up, and I gotta lam it. (Freakin' space-cops...!)

9.2% of them are pleasantly surprised by my attentions, and ask me to do something sexy to them. (No, thank you.)

5.9% of them threaten to kick my ass just for looking at them, which seems like an overreaction. One of them said he was going to "fold my [anus] into a tesseract", which I don't think is even possible.

2.7% of them just grin at me, real friendly-like, and without saying a word, they dart into a crowd or around a corner, and just disappear. Some of these guys may actually have been Blockade Boy, for all I know. (It was late, and it was dark, and I was tired).

So nowadays, if I see one of these jokers and he's not lurking atop a space-gargoyle or dangling from a U.P. hover-chopper, I just assume he's not the real deal.

What else is going on? Well, I see from the holo-news that Eyeful Ethel is back from jail already, but she has to wear an ankle monitor and a brain monitor, which looks a lot like one of your pillbox hats, with the lacy little veil on it and everything. She held a big press conference at the agency. I saw Frigid Queen and Phantom Lad there in the background, playing footsie with each other (and then they started kicking each other in the shins, hard). Rainbow Girl was there, too, split into her four energy-selves, presumably to create the illusion that Ethel employed more people. Storm Boy looked completely humiliated as Ethel tried to spin his tenure as manager as "a practical joke gone horribly wrong."

I didn't see Nightmare Boy anywhere. I'm sure he'd be out of the space-pokey by now. He's probably just embarrassed now that everybody knows he has a mini-dingus. (Welcome to my world, Nightmare Boy! And don't let 'em get you down. You fly your freak-flag!)

Of course, Tusker is still missing. Although... I've heard some underground rumors of a mysterious "one-tusked man" who alternately shambles/rampages through Lallor's underground vacu-tubeway and who swipes folks' bags of Soylent Doodles when they're not looking. I take this to mean that Tusker has hocked his gold tusk, for the space-cheddah. Yipes. Well, after I locate Blockade Boy, maybe we can track him down. I'm sure we'd only kick his ass a little before we brought him home.

I've also heard through the criminal grapevine that the Blockade Boy Revenge Squad is pissed about this upswing in Blockade Boy's popularity, and that they're planning to "mobilize." Yeah, good luck with that.

Suck One, Blocks ( by guest-columnist Storm Boy)

[Being a literary adaptation of an upsetting alternate reality glimpsed at the Time Institute]

I stayed at Hek's about six hours, and except for the fact that I lost one of my calf-spats between the sofa-cushions, and was nearly inhaled by Hek's pet dark-beast (which had grown alarmed by its master's cries) a pleasant time was had by all.

At three-of-the-clock on March the ninth, looking flushed and enervated, I returned to my own bachelor pod, to clean up a bit, and drop into bed.

And it was while I was at the flat, towelling the torso after a much-needed sonic shower, that my man Blocks suddenly brought the name of Tusker Lafeaugh-Snapple into the conversation.

As I recall it, the dialogue ran something as follows:

SELF: Well, Blocks, here we are, what?

BLOCKS: Yes, sir.

SELF: I mean to say, home again.

BLOCKS: Precisely, sir.

SELF: Seems ages since I left on my date.

BLOCKS: An impression, no doubt, made stronger by the marked dearth of text-messaging, sir.

SELF: Now see here, Blocks! I refuse to be one of those men who is a slave to his valet!

BLOCKS: Just as you say, sir.

SELF: Good. Well, Blocks! What news on the intergalactic intraweb? Anybody been blogging or e-mailing or anything since my abs.?

BLOCKS: Mr. Lafeaugh-Snapple, sir, has been a frequent blog-poster.

I stared. Indeed, it would not be too much to say that I gaped.

This Lafeaugh-Snapple, you see, is one of those freaks you come across from time to time during life's journey who can't string three words together without exhausting his vocabulary. When I asked him once if he couldn't find the time to earn his high school equivalence diploma, he said, no, because he had a holo-vision set in his living room, and he studied the habits of reality-programme lingerie models.

I couldn't imagine what could have driven the chap to such prodigious blogging. I would have been prepared to bet that as long as the supply of reality-programme lingerie models didn't give out, nothing could have shifted him from that soylent-puff-stained couch of his.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir."

"You got the name correctly? Lafeaugh-Snapple?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, it's the most extraordinary thing."

"Indeed, sir."

"But what on Lallor can have driven him to do so?"

"I am in a position to explain that, sir. No doubt you have observed of late an added note of courage in Mr. Lafeaugh-Snapple's dispostion?"

"Indeed I have, Blocks. Deuced annoying, that. Nobody with Tusker's mouth should be in the habit of smiling so broadly."

"Yes, sir. If I may be so bold, however, I would venture that his friendly muttonchops have the happy effect of mitigating that deficit."

"Yes, thank you, Blocks. I am fully aware of your influence in that matter."

"Yes, sir."

"No further reminders of your stylistic prowess will be needed, Blocks."

"Indeed not, sir."

"They are suitably impressed upon my gray matter, Blocks. If you have any further tales of muttonchops, handlebar moustaches, Donegals, soul patches, or Dundreary Weepers, trouble me with them no more!"

"Very good, sir."

"I should hope so, Blocks!"

"Yes, sir."

"At the end of the day, a gentleman's gentleman must needs preserve the illusion that all decisions a la mode spring fully-formed from the brain of his employer!"

"I hasten to remind you, sir, that I am a valet and not a miracle-worker. But if we may return to the subject of Mr. Lafeaugh-Snapple--?"

"Ah, yes. His courage, or something-or-other."

"Yes, sir. I confess that I exerted my influence in that matter as well."

"Now I follow. Now I understand. But wasn't it all due to Tusker's excessive boinking with this new girl of his? 'Cajun Kid', wasn't it?"

"Regretfully, that person was a lady of the evening whom Mr. Lafeaugh-Snapple had mistakenly contracted for a fortnight. I believe their interactions ended with the young woman kicking him in the 'nads and taking his wallet."

"I say! A rummy patch of luck for old Tusker! A prostitute, eh? I had wondered why she was always looking at her watch."

"Keenly noted, sir."

"Her changebelt was likewise a source of confusion to me."

"Without question, sir."

"Well, don't dawdle, Blocks. You were saying something about Tusker's courage?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Lafeaugh-Snapple confided in me that he was paralysed by feelings of inferiority to everybody he knew. This included his fellow workers in the Eyeful Ethel Detective Agency, as well as several fast-food clerks and small children. And yet, with very little prompting on my part, he could summon whole lists of their defects. I merely advised him to type these lists into his Omnicom, so that he might consult them prior to a meeting with one of these persons. Thus armed with a feeling of superiority -- however ill-deserved -- he could conduct himself with the swagger of a Rimborian ganglord."

"Egad, Blocks! And why was the chap blogging so furiously this evening?"

"It seems that he has misplaced the Omnicom, sir. It is an event, you will doubtless apprehend, of no little concern to him. His initial blog post concerning the Omnicom revealed only the bare minimum of details. As the hours passed, however, his blogging became more candid. He even revealed the Omnicom's password. Said password being, in point of fact, 'password.'"

"Really, Blocks! This is too much!"

"Rather, sir. Furthermore, the anonymous party who recovered the Omnicom has posted its contents on numerous gossip sites. I should, at this juncture, assure you that although your penchant for sniffing my used undershirts is now common knowledge amongst the technorati, I personally have no objection to your doing so. "

A throbbing at the temples told me that our conversation was at its saturation point.

------------------------------

[Author's note: I saw this scenario unravel on Earth-Wodehouse just last night, via a Time Institute monitor. I swear, that place is addictive! Also, I have an addictive personality. Things I've been addicted to: space-wine, doughnuts, Blockade Boy, pointiness. Nobody else wanted to go to the Institute with me, so I "flew solo" as they say on Thanagar. No big whoop. I thought maybe I could pick up a cute guy there. I didn't. No big whoop.

My review of the recording? Two thumbs way up! Cool parts: the clothes (of course!), everybody having an English accent, Blockade Boy as my own personal "monkey butler". Not-so-cool parts: me almost getting eaten by a dark-beast, the idea that Blockade Boy is smarter than me. Yeah, that sucked one. Still, I was in a good mood when I left the Institute... until Blockade Boy called me on my Omnicom, and pretty much hollered, "YOU NEED TO LOOK AT TUSKER'S BLOG! NOW!" And it turned out that all the Cajun Kid/Omnicom list/stolen password/gossip site crap happened in my reality, too! Only a few days later! What the hell, people?

Tusker didn't show up for work today. Which? Is just as well. I mean, now that everybody on Lallor knows about Gadfly Lad's bedwetting problem; and how Dentata Damsel has been moonlighting as an Omnicom-sex operator for people with very sensitive hearing; and that one time Nightmare Boy knocked over a convenience store and only stole a carton of "x-tra petite" space-condoms; and how Rainbow Girl once threatened to kill a Science Police officer's dog in order to get out of paying a parking ticket; and how Frigid Queen hired Sun Woman to burn down Phantom Lad's house; and the intimate details of Eyeful Ethel's insider stock trading; and how, okay already, I still sometimes rifle through Blockade Boy's garbage for any garments he might have thrown away, so I can sniff them. Oh, and all that stuff about Blockade Boy pretending to be his own twin, so the U.P. can't arrest him on fraud charges. So the whole office is in chaos right now. It's positively swarming with Science Police. They arrested Ethel and Frigid Queen and Nightmare Boy and Rainbow Girl, and they tried to arrest Blockade Boy. But after an exciting kerfuffle, Blockade Boy escaped -- but only after making certain everybody heard his vow to "disappear into the night" (it was like, ten in the morning) and "embark on a new career as a dark, mysterious 'fashion vigilante.'" Goddamn Blockade Boy. Oh, and he's taking Cootie with him, and making her wear a mask and a little cape.

It sucks, you guys. Or as English-Flava Me might say, "It's a sticky wicket!"]

(cover image stolen almost wholesale from this)

Oh, As IF (an editorial by guest columnist, Storm Boy)

Okay.

So?

Blockade Boy and Tusker and I took our lunch breaks over at the Time Institute the other day. We have a friend who works there, and he sneaks us into the restricted areas, so we can spy on folks in alternate timelines. It's such a hoot, you guys. This one time? We saw a timeline where Princess Projectra was a giant snake? Which makes total sense if you think about it. Oh, and in this one, the Legion clubhouse was actually a guy? Only I had a hard time believing that one, because the building he turned into was only about the size of a potting shed. What. EVER! But seriously? You should check out the Time Institute if you ever get the chance.

Oh. That's right. You totally won't! Tough luck, bitches!

Anyway.

Our friend whispered to us that a new timeline had popped up, one where people who were just jerks or losers in our timeline were straight-up psychotic, and also, like, every third person in existence had been horribly maimed. Blockade Boy was all, "We gotta check this shit out," and before you could say "doodly-doodly-doop", we were kicking it in one of the Institute's private screening rooms! Our friend started the popcorn machine, while we got our minds blown.

In that timeline, Tusker was a big, gray monster with unbreakable bones and a cool haircut, although even that version still had a broken tusk, which? Made us all laugh our asses off! Even Tusker! Blockade Boy punched him in the arm and called him a "dumb jerk", only in a brotherly way? And Tusker shot back, "Bring it, Grape Ape! I'll smash you with my unbreakable bones!" and it was just so great, you guys, especially thinking about what a self-conscious loser he used to be. (He's still kinda dumb, though. I'm not being a bitchy queen here; it's just an honest observation.)

Alternate Rainbow Girl was just as pushy and annoying as ever, but her powers didn't work the same at all. They were tied into something our friend called "the Skittles Force" version of the Green Lantern Corps. Whatever that means. He seemed awfully contemptuous of the whole idea, though. I guess it's an "insider" thing.

Alternate Eyeful Ethel? Was a schoolmarmish weirdo with her hair in a bun and these cartoonishly-oversized glasses like Jackie O. by way of Charles Nelson Reilly.

Alternate Blockade Boy? We never saw him. And our Blockade Boy got worked up into a real hissy-snit over it. Our friend pointed out that this jacked-up alternate timeline didn't seem to have an Alternate Gadfly Lad, Alternate Dentata Damsel, or an Alternate Nightmare Boy. But Blockade Boy just stomped out of there, nominally to go smoke his pipe, but? Everybody knew he just wanted to stew in his own stinky juices.

Which leaves us with Alternate Universe Me.

Hmmm.... what can I say about Alternate Universe Me?

For starters? Kinda handsome. If you're into guys with skinny forearms. The blue contact lenses? Interesting choice. And the scars are surprisingly rugged. But the hair? Has got to go. For you 21st century dudes? I'd call it "very Kenny G." Or maybe "very 'the lead singer from Quiet Riot.'" But either way? It's not good.

But here's what really chaps my ass (and not in a good way) about Alternate Universe Me:

He's a melodramatic crybaby douche-nozzle.

I mean, listen to that drivel. He had a whole shitload of anesthetic-free radical surgeries because why? He didn't pass his Legion try-out? That's it?

Lend me an ear, Alternate Universe Me. That is, if you haven't already paid some quack sawbones to lop the damn thing off. Just listen, and listen good.

MAN THE FUCK UP.

Grow some balls! Or, failing that? Borrow some other dude's. (They'll let you hold 'em, if you ask real nice.) I've been where you are. Feeling inadequate, and all that nonsense. I actually tried to kill myself one time! And I became an alcoholic! The difference is, I actually had some decent fucking motivation. I was bankrupt and homeless, and my marriage had imploded.

What you're dealing with? Ain't shit.

If I were you -- and thank the Luck Lords I'm not -- I'd cancel my next surgery, I'd pay for a more flattering outfit and a decent haircut, and then I'd get my bony ass to the nearest time bubble and fade the fuck out of your screwy dimension.

That place ain't healthy.

Some Live Like Tantalus

Hey there, pals! And also, GAH!!! (The Blockade Boy, he is frustrated!) My pelt is growing in quite nicely, but a new problem has developed: Tusker showed up with a heaping helping of space-roc broth, which was a nice-enough gesture, until he spilled it into my high-tech Comic Book Scanning Apparatamatron, ruining it forever. Luckily, I still had some old panels from a dopey Superboy-as-Tarzan story, lying around.

Still, it seems like everything's up in the air. Storm Boy's blind date with my Bear buddy, Darzil Hek, has been on hiatus while the grizzled actor shoots a reality show. It's called "Celebrity Wraith-Mate", and the isolated contestants have to complete "kooky" chores while being sabotaged by an unidentified cast member who is really possessed by an alien phantom. Also, I've designed a killer Twink-a-rific costume for Storm Boy, which makes him look lightyears younger, plus it really shows off his new tats. (You heard me.) Meanwhile, Tusker has only just now had his big night clubbing with his new mentor and self-styled "ladies' man", Nightmare Boy. Aw, man... that's a whole big story, kind of.

When Tusker showed up at my door with the broth, I asked him how it went, learning to be a "playa." He spread his arms out wide, and with a big, goofy grin on his big, goofy mug, he said (in an off-key sing-song tone) "Guess who got MARRIED...!" I groaned, probably like you all are doing now. I told him I was severely disappointed, and yet hardly surprised. I may have used the phrase "dumb sap." And then he got mad at me, because he had been actually joking. So then, I had to sit him down and explain to him that joking about your own shortcomings is totally not cool, because folks are likely to take you seriously, and especially because it betrays a lack of self-confidence. Running yourself down in a comedic manner is still running yourself down, people. Besides, that's what your friends are for. Still, our Tusker did, apparently, manage to "get it on" with some mutant gal. Her name is Cajun Kid, and from the holo-photo he showed me, she's quite the looker. Supposedly Tusker "felt a real connection" with her, and they've been boinking on a near-hourly basis seeing each other whenever they could spare the time. The only drawback that I can see, is that Cajun Kid's power is to slough off roiling clouds of her own highly-irritating (yet flavorful) skin cells, and -- you guessed it -- she can't control it. So now Tusker's skin is as red as a space beet, and his eyes and nose are watering all the time. Plus he sneezes a lot. Which may account for his spilling the space-roc broth into my scanner.

The dumb sap.

Sweet Smell of Distress

I got a heck of a shock, this morning.

I suppose the whole thing started around 4 AM, when I stopped off at Ox's house for some krullers and space-java and three solid hours of violent, frothing-at-the-mouth sex. After showering, I noticed that Ox's musky scent was still lying heavily upon my person. Since I rather enjoy that singular odor, further ablutions were out of the question. So the smell of Ox isn't to everyone's liking! It's an "acquired taste." (And so is the way Ox's taste.) So what? It's really only noticeable to folks when they're within five or six feet of me.

I decided I'd have to nip my office-mates' objections in the bud. As soon as I strolled into the agency, I cleared my throat, and called everyone to attention.

Me: I'd just like to say something to you about the way I smell...

Frigid Queen (interjecting): OH THANK GOD. I thought you were never going to bring that up.

Me: Huh?

Nightmare Boy (grinning): It's no big deal, 'bro! We're pretty used to it, by now.

Dentata Damsel (barely audible): It's nice of you to finally acknowledge it, though.

Me: Wait, what are we talking about--?

Rainbow Girl: Your odor. Don't worry, I warned everybody about it when we first started working here.

Frigid Queen: Yeah! You know. Your odor. It's like a really old corned beef sandwich, heavily impregnated with rocket ship exhaust, and maybe a touch of sewer gas? That smell.

Me: I don't--! Wait a minute, you're saying that I've always smelled bad?

Tusker: Oh, no, no... it ain't bad, exactly; it's just that you don't expect a human being to smell that way.

Nightmare Boy: But hey! If you can't help it, then who are we to judge?

Me: Um. Thank you.

I stumbled over to my desk, past Storm Boy, who was laughing his ass off. He started to say something, but I growled "Shut up...!"under my breath, and he clammed back up. As I sat down in my chair, I could hear his muffled snickering.

I believe the way I feel right now can best be summed up by this panel from the Split-Man story in "Strange Adventures" #203 (August, 1967).

Feelin' Kinda Splotchy

Mmm... hat.

Yup, the Mess was the ringleader in the case I was investigating. As this body's former inhabitant doubtlessly must have said on such occasions, "I'll be hornswoggled!"

Casualty report!

Tusker: treated for minor xenon gas inhalation; demanded (and received) a bowl of ice cream prior to his release

Dentata Damsel: temporary hearing loss caused by exploding pog; has been "yelling" a lot, which for her means talking in a normal tone of voice

Me: bruises on throat from being elbowed in the windpipe; wrestling with that vibrating dude has left me horny as all get-out

Gadfly Lad: legs broken in twenty-three places; is recovering quite nicely and should be released in a week; I plan on visiting the brave li'l trooper in the hospital quite often (as long as that bitchy girlfriend of his isn't there).

But currently, Gadfly Lad is sleeping, and he can't have any visitors at all. So now's a good time for me to catch up on some belated business: continuing the "Splotchy" story meme that Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator tagged me with! And Jon, I'm sorry I didn't get to it sooner, but my life has been crazy-hectic with all this Solstice Season hullaballoo. Anyway, here goes!

I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. (Splotchy)

"That's strange," I said out loud to no one in particular. My fingers slowly reached towards the jar again. My body experienced a wave of apprehension as weighted blanket covering me as I did so. The jar was completely frozen.

I picked it up and stared at it, my fingers stung with little knives of chill. "What the..." again I spoke aloud. Then I realized what had happened with a shock. Suddenly the jar flew from my hand. It shattered creating a collage-like mixture of frozen applesauce and glass shards on my kitchen floor, the lid lazily rolling to a stop across the room. (FranIAm)

I half noticed at first glimpse that there was something odd amidst the solidified apple sauce as I reached for the broom and the dust pan. As I knelt down to clean up the frozen mess, I could clearly see a tiny figure within the goopy mess. It was a human eye, with tiny arms and legs! I resisted my initial urge to pick it up with my hand, and then reached down to scoop it up with the dustpan. The eye looked up at me in horror and gave out a frightening high pitched screech as it ran for the living room.

I was dumbfounded by this turn of events. I didn't even like applesauce - And I had guests coming for dinner! It would not be proper to have a homunculus eyeball running around during the appetizer - I had to think fast. I crept into the living room so as to not startle the small creature. The eyeball was under the coffee table, peeking out from behind one of table legs. When I approached, it quickly darted under the couch!

I got on my hands and knees to look under the couch, but I could not see the eye through all of the old newspapers and dust bunnies that had accumulated under there. I had to hurry! the guests were coming at seven o'clock, and I had not even started the buffalo chicken skewers with blue cheese dipping sauce yet! Not to mention the couscous and the broccoli noodle salad. (Zaius Nation)

I shook my head and leaned back against the wall. Surely this couldn’t be happening, surely there isn’t an anthropomorphic eyeball running around under my couch. It just couldn’t be real, could it?

“Ahem,” a little voice squeaked. “Ahem.”

I looked all around for the source of the voice. I finally found that it was from the eyeball peering around the back of the couch. I leaned in and looked at it closer. It still appeared to be uneasy (I mean, I’m sure that’s how it appeared, but then again I’m not all that certain about behavior patterns of walking eyeballs.

“Did you say something?” I asked it.

“You’re not going to poke me are you?” it asked. “I hate getting poked.”

“Uh no,” I answered dumbfounded. “I won’t poke you.”

“And you’re not going to lock me away in a jar of applesauce are you?”

“No, I’m not going to do that,” I replied, still bewildered by the sight in front of me.

“OK.” He made the eyeball equivalent of a nod, hitched up a pair of nonexistent trousers, adjusted the chimerical hat on his head, and walked up to me. “I am forever in debt to you, sir, for freeing me from the confines of that jar.”

“OK, sure,” I smiled lamely. “How’d you get in there?”

“The evil wizard trapped me in there,” he answered. “He knows the only way to trap a geneye is to use a jar of applesause.”

“You’re… you’re a geneye,” I managed to blurt out. I may not get the appetizers done, but this may be one heckuva party anyways.

“At you service,” it bowed. “And to thank you for freeing me, I would like to reward you with two wishes.”

“Oh, so you’re like a genie.” It all started to make sense to me now. No, not really.

“Yes,” it rolled its eye. “Like a genie, only we’re geneyes. They sure do know how to warp a good story in Hollywood, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, again dumbfoundedly. “So I get two wishes? What about three?”

“Ugh!” the geneye slapped the top of its head, or the top of its eyeball at least. “You get two. Two. Only two. That’s how it works. And no wishing for more wishes, we’re onto that. Aladdin tried that once, it wasn’t pretty.”

“OK, so I get two, let me think,” I said thoughtfully. Screw the party, this is way more interesting.

“Yeah, hurry up, I don’t have all day,” the magical homunculus eyeball tapped it’s foot. “I’ve got places to go.”

“OK, OK,” I answered. Well, I could always wish for a lot of money, except that never works in the stories. The villain always wishes for riches and gets trapped in the cave with the gold, or sent to the bottom of the sea with it or audited by the IRS because of it. As much as I’d like to pay off the mortgage, I don’t think I can.

“Well?” it asked impatiently.

“I want peace on Earth and good will toward men,” I say with a forfeiting shrug.

“Peace on Earth and good will toward men?” it repeated. “Is that one wish or two?”

“One,” I replied. “You know, ‘tis the season and all.”

“Nice choice,” it nodded. Then the geneye snapped its fingers. “It is done.”

I felt it. For one moment, I felt nothing but peace and joy all around me. Others felt it, too but no one would ever be able to explain it. All around the world, people stopped what they were doing and just enjoyed the moment. Evil men stopped thinking evil thoughts and just smiled nicely. The hurt, the sick, and all who were in pain be it physical, mental, or spiritual, felt the warmth of a brief reprieve. Bells rang. Angels sang. Then I felt it end.

“Hey, that was nice,” I said. “Why didn’t it last?”

“Come on,” the magical being snorted. “I’m not that powerful. You got one more wish.”

One more wish. What should I wish for? Hmmm. (Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator)

My deep and meaningful thoughts were interrupted by the opening bars of ELO's "Strange Magic." My cellphone was ringing! I examined the caller i.d. It was my dad. My gaze darted between the geneye and the phone. The geneye tapped its little foot. Jeff Lynne continued to croon, tinnily.

"I have to take this," I mumbled. The geneye emitted a melodramatic sigh.

Dad wanted to talk (at length) about some television show he'd just watched. I put him off with an excuse about the dinner party. As I slipped the phone back into its holster, I said, "I wish he'd stop calling me whenever I'm in the middle of something STOP! DON'T YOU DARE!"

The geneye smiled, benignly. "Don't dare what?"

"Don't grant that wish! It didn't count!"

"Of course, I wouldn't grant that wish! I mean, obviously, you weren't even talking to me."

"Sorry. I guess I've seen too many movies."

"Sure, sure. But still, that would've been pretty low of me, wouldn't it? I'm not a sadist!" A tinge of resentment had entered its voice.

"I said I was sorry! Okay, so... the wish! Oh, I know! I wish that everybody in the world was..."

The geneye groaned. "Hold it right there! I can only make world-wide wishes last for a second or two. Figure it out! Try thinking locally."

"Well, how many people can you affect permanently?"

"I don't know. A couple dozen, maybe. But I'd have to know their names, and they'd have to be located within, I dunno, ten, twelve miles from here."

I couldn't think of anybody I knew who was in need of serious help. But what else to wish for? My mind was a blank. And I still had to prepare for the dinner party. Oh, how I was dreading that party! My friends and I had started a monthly "dinner club" a few years ago, but since they'd all started getting married and having kids, they'd become tired, boring drones... zombies, practically. It was going to be a long, awkward evening. Unless...

I clapped my hands and shouted "YES!"

The geneye flinched, startled.

"I've got it!" I cried. "I want all of my dinner guests to be charming and clever. Like... 'Algonquin Round Table' clever. Can you do that?"

"No problem. Show me your guest list."

I tag the following people to continue the story, however they want:

Gryphon Rose

Paul and John

Gyuss Baaltar

MaGnUs

Silvercat

The Fortress Keeper

E-Mail From a 30th Century Henchman

Dear Naa Mah,

Well it looks like Im going to miss spending Reverence Week with you and the boys this year due to me getting thrown in Takron-Galtos again so first off im really really sorry about that. Please be certin to tell Ham and Shem that daddy loves them and is away "on importent busness" or whatever excuse it is your giving them nowadays. Thank you I love you.

I should of knowen from the start that this latest job of mine was gonna go south on me as my employer in this case aint nobody big-time like a Starfinger or a Time Trapper or nothing but is instead some screwy kid who won a crapload of space-cheddah off an unauthorized "scratch and win" lottery or something. He calls hisself "the Mess" which is apprapoe because I dont think he never took a shower in his life I mean he could at least use some of that Atomic Ax Body Spray like the Perswader advertises on the holo-tube. Also he aint got no ambishun to be a crime lord he only wants to revenge hisself on the Mall of Lallor as it got depossitted onto the spot where he lived and he got trapped under there for a bunch of years living on the vast stores of snack pouches and soda drums he could scrounge outta the other trailer pods you know the ones where the inhabbatints already left or died or whatever and the radiashun from the ground soil didnt help none either so now hes all crazy in the skull and hairless to boot on top of already being kinda fat and pale and grubby plus hes addickted to home shopping and his "criminal headquarters" is cramped as all get out what with the nick nacks.

So anyway the Mess is really into these things they got on Lallor called "fallout globes" where its like a plasto-bubble filled with water and white plastic granyools and they got a minyatyoor reproduckshun of a famous Lallor monyumint in them and you shake the plasto-bubble and it looks like deadly radiashun is falling on the building just like it did after the Atomic Wars and still does sometimes if Im going to be perfecktly honest. And he picked up one of those globes on one of the rare ocayshuns he tunnels outta his den like a freaking maggot or some shit in order to buy more scratch-off tickets. Thats when he got the idea to sistermatickly shrink down the Mall of Lallor store by store by store and put it into globes only the globes are filled with this fancy-ass liquid they call "suspendum" on account it preserves stuff real good. Why he dont just shrink the whole mall down really really small and just get the damn thing over with all at once is beyond me or he could just put it in a bigger globe I dont know Im not an expirt. See the problum with doing it one store at a time is after a while the Mall catches on and then they hire ackshual SUPER HEROS to proteckt it. Like one time this crazy old homeless-looking fucker jumped on top of the get away car and then he changed hisself into a metal berrickade and I just narrowly got outta there with my life and then this other time this flying kid no bigger than my hand chases after us but Karel nailed him with a neurel granade. After that I wanted to shut down the whole operashun right then and there but the Mess wouldnt go for it and why would he I mean hes crazy but what threw me for a loop is how nither of the other guys would back me up! I think the problum was they aint been in the biz for near as long as I been and they still beleeved they were invinsibul well Ill tell you what when you been in the space-pokey as many times as I been you figyur out when to cut your losses. On the other hand you know this is the only work I can get and Im trying to put some money away for Shems and Hams collage fund and this "Mess" joker was only paying us the other half of our fees upon the jobs compleeshun so I felt like I had to stick it out a while longer.

So anyway it was Saturday nite and the Mess was bilding hisself a gingerbread pod only he was eating most of it so it was slow going and Karel was sitting in the corner all fucked up from too much oxygen and Drogann was watching like his ninth strate hour of that live streaming Omnicom program Whore Dorm and his eyes were kinda glazed over but who could tell really the way he shook and I was bored off my ass waiting around for something to happen so guess what happened then. No guess.

The front door fell in with a THUD and I saw this creepy broad (well she had a nice shape on her I must admit I mean I aint made outta stone) standing there and she spit the doors chewed-up hinges on the floor! And behind her was that homeless guy and he got the mini-kid on his sholder and behind them was this big walrus-man with dental tools which is co-insidently the reason why Im now missing both my front teeth so consider yourself warned I just wanted to prepare you before your next conjugal visit sorry thanks for understanding. And anyway praise the Luck Lords the Messes tunnels were so narrow cause all these super heros got jammed up at the door or else I woulda been done for right then and there.

The Mess shouted "Minyuns attack!!!" with gingerbread crumbs shooting out of his fat mouth and that term always pisses me off but hey he was paying the bills so I sucked it up like I always do. I fumbulled for my phaser-pistol and I got a few shots off but it didnt matter none as the homeless guy squeezed in front of the creepy gal and turned hisself into a steel wall. The teeny flying kid swooped down on me and snatched my weapon right outta my hand. Then the walrus-man pounced on Karel with his own phaser-pistol and Karel freaked out and whimpered "Dont phaser me bro!" and I saw the walrus-man hesitate which gave Karel enuff time to blast him with a spray of gas from the spare xenon gas tank that was sitting next to him and then the walrus-man kind of choked and staggered backward and losed his grip on the weapon. Drogann charged at the homeless guy who shots these force-field things at him from his wrists but they passed right thru Drogann who just kept barrelling forward and then he pinned the hero agenst the wall and his elbow was at his throat and I saw the homeless guy was starting to pass out but his big bushy beard ackted as a cushun between Droganns elbow and the homeless guys wind pipe so it was taking a real long time. And the hero was trying to grappel with Drogann but Drogranns non stop vibrashuns made him real slippery. Mean while I was fending off the lady and the kid. The curvy dame ran at me with her teeth nashing and her eyes just looking insane but I hit her with one of Karels blasting pogs and she went flying into the Messes collecters case of commemerativ sporks. The kid buzzed all around me like a winged wampus and he pummelled me with a teeny electro-mace but he made the mistake of getting too close so I grabbed him and plucked his fakey wings off and thru him on the floor and stamped on him also for good meashur. As for the Mess hisself well he was down on the floor with his wormy hands over his head crawling crawling crawling.

So it looked like were winning but that never lasts like it ought to if you ask me. The homeless guy kneed Drogann in his vibrating nads and while Drogann was reeling from that he headbutted him and punched him in the face a coupel times. Karel grabbed a blasting pog from his belt to finish off the walrus-man but the walrus-man blindly lashed out with his dental pliers and shattered Karels helmet and Karel freaked out for realsies this time saying "NO NO NO NO" only he was laughing the whole time and he got this big toothy smile and fell ass-backwards onto the floor stiff as a board. Too much oxygen. (I hear they got him in the hospitul ward now.) The homeless guy grabbed me by the coller and he smashed me and Drogann both into the table where the Mess was working on the gingerbread pod and our heads went CRACK just over and over and the creepy gal and the walrus-man got theyre electro-cuffs out to put us into custody and suddenly ZAP!

I dont think nobody knew what happened at first but as it turns out the Mess had set up the shrink ray and pointed it at us so everybody found themselves on the table top and really really small. I saw the Mess over by the ray and he was huge and really far away and he had this nutty smirk on his chubby hairless face. As for myself I was pissed off about the whole thing to tell you the truth but then the Mess aint never had to work the damn thing before so I guess he didnt know how to adjust the apperchur settings so maybe I need to show more understanding for my fellow man but on the other hand fuck that noise. So we started fighting all over again. Drogann and me ran into the gingerbread pod for sheltur and we lobbed gumdrops and salted nuts outta the windows at them but the homeless guy snagged a candy cane and used it like a battering ram to bust the door down. The creepy lady clobbered me with a lickerish whip and even tied my sorry ass up with it and the walrus-man laffed his goddamn ass off but then he got a look on his face I didnt like at all and then out came the dental tools. The homeless guy and Drogann went at it mainly wrestling I suppose and the homeless guy kept getting Drogann in this bear hug where Droganns ass was pressed smack dab agenst the homeless guys crotch and I swear it looked like the homeless guy was getting off on it you know what with all the vibrashun and such. After like the seventh time this happened Drogann panicked I guess and he vibrated hisself thru the table-top and thats the last I seen of him and I have this awful idea that maybe he over-did the vibrating and kept going right thru the floor into the ground and now hes stuck down there with the grubs and the fossils and he cant see or breeth none which means hes dead. Anyway right then we got hit with the reverse-setting on the shrink ray and with four full grown adults on the table it busted and we all ended up in a heap on the floor under slabs of mega-sized gingerbread and I wanted to make a brake for it only the now-gigantic lickerish whip was still sinched around me. And we looked around and we saw the dinky flying kid only now he was almost normal size and he was supporting his two smashed legs by leaning hisself on the shrink ray tripod and he looked nearly as pale as the Mess did and he was sweating like there was no tomorrow but he was grinning too.

And where was the Mess you ask well Ill tell you. The kid held up a empty jelly jar with the lid on and the Mess was inside cause the dinky kid shrunk him down! The kids smile went all wobbly and he started to faint but the homeless dude grabbed the dinky kid while the creepy gal snagged the jar.

Thanks to Lallors new "speed trials" I got convickted and sentenced in under thirty minutes of my arrival at the court house so they hustled my ass off-planet right away which is just fine by me as it is Solstice Season on Lallor and from what I hear the whole damn population goes apeshit with riots and mass-murders and line-dancing and such so Ill just kick back in my comfy cell if its all the same to you.

Your loving husband,
No Ah

P.S. Please come visit just as soon as you possibully can and dont forget to bring those soylent butter cookies those are always a treat thanks.

Some Live Like Ozymandias

Yesterday, my coworkers and I went up to the First Planetary Bank of Lallor, so we could all enjoy seeing my brutally handsome countenance forever immortalized as a giant... um... art... thing.

Eyeful Ethel's rocket-limo pulled up in front of the bank, just as Gadfly Lad and I were nearing it on our humble feet. Tusker, Rainbow Girl, Dentata Damsel, and Frigid Queen quickly piled out. They were followed by Nightmare Boy -- who was wearing his mobile visi-phone headset, which resembles a motorcycle helmet. He didn't say much the entire time, aside from the occasional, drowsy-sounding "Eyeful Ethel's Detective Agency, please hold" and some muffled snoring. Finally, Ethel herself stepped out of the conveyance, onto a red carpet she keeps for such occasions! And sure enough, the moment she emerged from the rocket-limo, a jetpack-wearing paparazzo zoomed by, and snapped a photo of her. She tilted her head coquettishly, and smiled for him.

I thought it was awfully nice of Ethel to take the time to join us, considering how busy she is with her public speaking engagements, and her book club, and her signature line of gourmet tabasco sauces.

I wondered where Storm Boy was, but I decided to keep that to myself. Too many people already have the misguided opinion that I'm seething with jealousy over his entirely hypothetical romance with this "Ox" character. But no, I just regret making him mad at me. Even though I can't figure out how I even did it in the first place! Heck, just two nights ago I showed up at his apartment, about 1:30 AM, unannounced and heavily fortified with space-wine... to make amends! And if I just happened to catch a glimpse of Ox, well, that would have been a convenient coincidence. But Storm Boy refused to even let me inside! (Blockade block!) I started in on the little speech I'd prepared, but Storm Boy interrupted me, and said, "I'm sorry, Blockade Boy, but I can't even look at you when you're... like this." And of course, he was making this sour, wincing face, and only looking at me from the corners of his eyes, with his head all twisted sideways, the whole time I was there. Just like I used to do with him! WHAT THE HELL?! I tried again to talk, but he just said, "Goodbye, Blockade Boy," and (gently) shut the door in my face.

On the slow-moving X-ray treadmill that takes you into the lobby of the bank itself, the eight of us chatted excitedly about what sort of medium would be portraying my magnificent visage. I envisioned a mega-sized, working diorama of my skull, made out of swords, and axes, and other cool weapons. Spiky maces for my eyeballs, perhaps. Ethel surmised it could be a dynamic holo projector. Tusker imagined -- or maybe he was just hungry for -- a butter sculpture. Dentata Damsel wondered if it might be inflatable, like those bouncy fortresses they have at kids' birthday parties, and the art patrons could enter it through the back of my head, and exit through my mouth (sliding down my beard). As with most of her ideas, her complete lack of vocal modulation made it impossible for me to tell if she was serious. After what felt like days, the treadmill jerked to a halt, and deposited us into the bank's spectacular lobby.

And then I saw it.

A mobile.

It was a fucking mobile! With a big red clown nose! Gah!

I'm pretty sure Gadfly Lad, Ethel, Tusker, and Rainbow Girl all managed to hold their tongues. Frigid Queen had her hand over her mouth, but audibly tittered, plus she was shaking all over, like Michael J. Fox on crack. Dentata Damsel's blandly agreeable mug barely moved, while it emitted a percussive, congested snorting. And Nightmare Boy laughed so hard, he hyperventilated and briefly passed out. I can't be one-hundred percent sure of any of this, however, because I was too busy screaming "MOTHERFUCKER!" over and over.

I'm afraid I made a real scene. I must have ranted about that goofy mobile for a good twelve minutes, at least! I think everybody else was mainly amused by me at first, and then they got kinda terrified, and towards the end, boredom set in. When I'd finally run out of invectives -- and steam -- I was left just standing there, all red-faced and panting, fixing the mobile with a goggle-eyed stare. Behind me, I could hear my coworkers muttering in exasperation.

"Up on the housetop, bitch, bitch, bitch, 'Santa,'" sighed Tusker. (Like he should talk--!)

"Drama queen...!" mumbled Nightmare Boy.

"The mobile, as an art form, has enjoyed increasing prominence on Lallor ever since the Atomic Wars," droned Gadfly Lad to nobody in particular. "Why, in the Modern Museum of Lallor alone, there are..."

It was Rainbow Girl who clasped my shoulder and said, gently, "You know Klup meant well, right?"

With no little amount of resignation, I conceded that point.

Rainbow Girl pointed out that it was a rare thing to be the inspiration of such a prominent piece of art, and she added that nobody had ever made any artwork because of her. The others chimed in to say pretty much the same thing -- except for Eyeful Ethel. She just grinned at me and said, "Remind me to show you the holo-painting I posed for. That no-talent doofus made my hair look like Spider Girl's."

Heh. It's strange: I put up with Weight Wizard's constant murder attempts for umpteen years (exactly how many years I can never be sure, thanks to this dimension's damn sliding timeline) but I was more upset by Klup's artistic hackery. As one of Amadus' greatest anonymous poets once said, "I have a heart of steel, but an aesthetic sense as tender as the hairs of a child's biker 'stache." Hmm. I'm going to have to ponder that one for a while. Seeing as how I'm so deep and wise and shit.

*philosophically puffs on pipe*

Space-Cheddah Diggers of 2987

I had kind of a "freak-out" at work, yesterday.

Y'see, I kinda spent most of the money I'd saved up... on those tickets for "Sweet Chariot." I'm poor again! I've had to buy all my beard-grooming products and back-hair styling tools on credit! (And that shit ain't cheap--!) Anyway, I was doin' the Santa thing, and this one client, he made the mistake of telling me he'd just embezzled several wheels of space-cheddah from his bank. So I asked him how recently it had happened, and he told me it was just before he came to the mall to get absolved of it. And he still had the stolen loot on his person!

I think you all can guess what happened then.

Yup. I "confiscated" it. (For his own good.)

Then I went a little nuts. From that point onward, every punishment I dished out involved me taking people's space-cheddah away from them. I could see the mall's event coordinator getting nervous. How were people going to pay for crap they didn't need if I was taking all of their funds? I gave her the "relax" gesture -- the one where you cup your hands and kind of pat them downward, like you're building a sand castle or warming your mitts on some guy's ass cheeks. The less-orthodox Santa worshipers in line began to slink away when they realized what was going on. Fortunately, the hardcore types got so into it that they started visi-phoning their friends, and then the line was twice as long as ever! And it was packed with folks who insisted that I take all of their space-cheddah! I had a mammoth pile of the stuff goin' by the end of my shift. I finally had to fashion my cape into The Universe's Largest Bindle and just dump it all in there. When I made my triumphal walk down the stairs, all of the mall's executives were at the bottom, with their arms folded and sour expressions on their pusses. But before they could say a word to me, I undid the knot in my cape, swung it around like the hammer toss competition at the Space Olympics, and whipped all that space cheddah directly into a crowd of orphaned, feral toddlers who were getting escorted out of the mall by gun-toting security officers. I shouted, "CHARITY, motherfuckers!" and bolted for my dressing room.

I phoned Klup, to check on how the gigantic sculpture (or whatever) of me was going. He said he was finishing it up, that very night! I'm going to gather everybody from the agency for a "field trip" to go see it today, at lunch. I'm pumped!

On my walk home, I realized I still had a little crumble of space-cheddah in my pocket. Seriously, how did that get there? I guess I'll never know. *looks around, nervously* Anyway, I saw one of those pushy Solstice Season charity workers on the corner, collecting for the post-Solstice reconstruction efforts. They're a little bit like your own "bell ringers", except for the civil defense helmet, and the megaphone, and the "bloody red barrel" with the bio-hazard symbol on it. And this lady, she was on all four corners of the intersection, simultaneously. Which is when I realized it was Rainbow Girl! Rainbow Girl Yellow was closest, so I sauntered up to her, nonchalantly tossed the space-cheddah into the barrel, and with my plummiest, most elegant baritone, purred, "A mere trifle, my dear woman. But one must think of the little people."

For about a half-second, she was annoyed. But then she saw it was me. "Bite me, Sasquatch," she shot back, with a grin.

Before I could go on my way, she grabbed my arm. "Wait up! I gotta tell you what happened today at work: Tusker punched Phantom Lad!"

Of course, I had to stay and hear all the details.

It turns out that Phantom Lad had started loitering around the office again, since I wasn't there. And Tusker was having a bad day, with nothing going right. Some time after lunch, Tusker dropped a huge stack of files, right in front of Frigid Queen's desk. He swore like a star-sailor. And Phantom Lad took a break from macking on Frigid Queen to say to him, "Looks like somebody needs to get laid!"

And here's the beauty part: Tusker immediately put his fist into Phantom Lad's face, before he even had a chance to turn all immaterial like he always does. And while that douche-nozzle was laid out on the floor, blood streaming from his busted nose, Tusker leaned over him with his fists cocked, and said "Maybe I should just keep hitting you in the face! Maybe that would be a good stress-reducer for me!" (Attaboy! I'm so proud of him right now!)

So Phantom Lad scrammed out of there, with Frigid Queen following close behind and shooting a few mysterious smiles at Tusker. And then Nightmare Boy picked his lazy ass up from behind the reception desk, rushed over to Tusker, and shook his hand. "Dude!" gushed Nightmare Boy. "You're cool!" And then he invited Tusker to go out clubbing with him this weekend, so he could show Tusker how to be a "playa."

For the rest of the walk home, I swear Lallor's radioactive haze looked a little rosier than usual.

Fa La Lallor La

Blockade Boy explains all about the Solstice Season on Lallor.

Big Men Aren't Usually Fast

"Men that big aren't usually fast--"!

That's what Storm Boy is counting on! (I once told Storm Boy about a gas station/convenience store I saw back in the 21st century, called -- I shit you not -- "Kum & Go." His reply: "Sounds like every date I've ever had! Nobody wants to cuddle anymore!")

I mean, I presume this "Ox" character he claims to be dating is a "big man." Unless he's some spindly, pot-bellied Ivy League intellectual whose full name is "Oxnard M. Nancypants (Jr.)" and he spends every evening just doing Storm Boy's hair, instead of, y'know, doing Storm Boy. Huh. But I digress.

It was just last week when this all (allegedly) started.

I was at the detective agency, comparing tentacle-print records, and Tusker was regaling Dentata Damsel with that story about the time he crashed his hoverboard into a pair of mating camelephants and was trapped underneath them for two days while they finished their business. Dentata Damsel was smiling vacantly at him and nodding, while nibbling delicately on a piece of rebar she'd found somewhere. Then she giggled and put her hand on his, and said something to him in that whispery, mumbling voice I've grown to despise. The next thing I know, Tusker has plopped his chunky ass on my desk.

Tusker: It's going really well!

Me (annoyed): What is, buddy?

Tusker: You know. Me and Dentata Damsel. I think it's time to make my move!

Me: You're kidding, right?

Tusker: What? She really likes me! I make her laugh, I'm always fetching stuff for her when she's too tired to leave her desk, she tells me all her personal problems, and I rack my brain coming up with solutions for them...! Just now, she said to me, "Tusker, sweetheart, could you grab me a box of staples?" She called me "sweetheart"! The next step is, we go out! Um... isn't it?

Me (smoothing out the plasto-film sheet Tusker creased by sitting on it): Nope.

Tusker: WHY NOT?!

Me (hoisting my enormous metal tankard of space-java): Because, genius -- setting aside the fact that an office romance is a horrible idea -- all that shit you just described isn't sexy at all, and it sure as hell hasn't made you into a potential lover in her eyes. It's made you into a pal. (takes a swig of the powerful coffee-like subtance -- which is black, natch)

Tusker (hopefully): Like a... "fuck buddy"?

Me (spits out space-java): Bwah! Sorry. Tusker, amigo... if Dentata Damsel is like most people, she wants her boyfriend to be somebody who makes her forget about her problems, not somebody who solves them, and who suprises her with things she never realized she wanted, not someone who retrieves crap for her like a dog.

Tusker: Dang it. I'm an idiot.

Me: Rookie mistake. Don't worry about it. There's plenty more ladies out there.

Dentata Damsel (breathily shouting): I'm still waiting on those staples, Tusker!

And just as Tusker trudged away from my desk, Storm Boy breezed into the office. Gadfly Lad looked up from his desk, glanced at the clock, and hollered to him that he was "14 minutes and 3.297 seconds late." By way of a reply, Storm Boy thwacked Gadfly Lad's forehead with his thumb and index finger as he passed by. The feather-light l'il Imskian toppled backwards, chair and all. Storm Boy was positively glowing. No kidding, he looked like he'd been polished. Everything was shiny. And he reeked of cologne. It was stifling. Making a note of Tusker, who by then had emerged from the supply pod with tears streaming into his mustache, Storm Boy bustled over to my desk.

Storm Boy: Mornin', Blockade Boy! So, what's the matter with our own private Henrik Egerman this time?

Me: I had to shoot down his hopes and dreams again. For his own good, of course.

Storm Boy (with a hint of mockery that makes me want to punch him): Oh, of course!

Me: You stink, by the way. What, are you moonlighting as a perfume spritzer?

Storm Boy: No! This is just how my new boyfriend likes for me to smell!

Me: Feh. You're drunk again, aren't you?

Storm Boy: I am not--!

Me: Yup. You're off the wagon. Let me check your breath.

With only nominal protesting on Storm Boy's part, I grabbed his head, pried open his mouth, and took a good long whiff.

Me: Jeebus! What've you been eating? Garbage? You might want to look into some mouthwash before your next big date there, killer.

Storm Boy (flushed): Oh! But I thought--! Balls.

Me: So, who's the lucky guy? Assuming you aren't just making this all up.

Storm Boy: His name is "Ox" and he's everything I've always dreamed of in a man.

Me: Like?

Storm Boy (grinning): Hmm... no. I don't think so.

Me: What? I'd like to meet the guy! I can't have you wasting your life with somebody who's unsuitable, y'know.

Storm Boy: That's the problem. No, Blockade Boy, I'd like to keep Ox to myself for just a little while.

Me: I don't understand...

Storm Boy: Oh, how can I put this...? Blockade Boy, you're great. Honestly. You're the absolute best. You're like a big brother to me, or like a really overbearing uncle, or maybe just a psychotic gorilla that kidnaps you and won't let you leave its cave, but...

Me (impatient): But what?

Storm Boy (squeezes my shoulder, warmly): ... and I mean this in the nicest possible manner, but... you ruin everything.

And with that, he flounced into Eyeful Ethel's office. There was a lot of high-pitched squealing and giggling for about twenty minutes, while I stewed at my desk.

So, even though my life is already complicated enough, I've decided I'm going to find out what I can about this "Ox" guy.

For Storm Boy's own good, of course.

D-List Monsters of Super-Hero Land: The Origami Monster, Part One

Guest-starring: Minnie, the MILF Wonder!

...That joke was written by Tusker, by the way. He was looking over my shoulder while I was examining this ancient comic, and just said that to me. I didn't know he had it in 'im! Maybe I've been too harsh with the boy. I'm starting to realize that his crushing shyness has made him seem way dumber than he really is. I've been helping him to act with more confidence, and more and more, he'll drop some little bon mot like that, just out of the blue. And thank the Luck Lords, 'cause I was worried we were going to be trapped in some effed-up "Of Mice and Men" relationship for the rest of our lives.

But of course, this is Tusker, the King of the Sad-Sacks, we're talking about, so he had to immediately screw up that little moment of brilliance with this pathetic exchange:

Tusker: No, seriously, she's hot.
Me (scoffing): What, so you're into moms now? Dude, you're only twenty-two! You wanna be tied down to some lady with a kid?!
Tusker: At this point, I don't really feel like I can afford to be choosy. [He glumly slinks away.]
Me [rubs throbbing temples]: Holy balls.

Okay, I've got to go for now, but I promise to spend at least a couple more posts on this comic, because it's written by Alan Brennert and therefore is FREAKING AWESOME. I mean, it has an origami monster in it! C'MON!

Where I'm At

Well, it finally happened... weeks ago, actually, but I didn't have the time to blog about it before.

A few days after our big blow-out sales event on Rimbor, and after Plant Lad had gone on his merry way, the U.P. showed up with one of their tow-cruisers, zapped the H.M.S. Exquisite with a repo-beam and hauled our asses up, up, and away from the planet.

And we were right in the middle of breakfast! The jolt knocked everybody on their asses, and I wound up with strawberry-flavored protein powder all over my crotch. Storm Boy offered to "clean that up" for me. Having a good idea of his preferred method, I politely declined.

I'd prepped the crew for this event, and we'd already settled on our future plans... I think that helped everybody to keep from losing their shit too much. Well, Tusker kept a firm grip on his dental tools and kept clacking the pliers together (menacingly) whenever a U.P. goon passed too close by, and in any other situation I'd be pretty proud of him. (I've been talking to him about sublimating his fears and replacing them with something more productive, like violence... which may or may not have a positive effect on his love life, provided he ever gets one.) I just had to remind him that the "silent threat" stuff is inappropriate for dealing with the Law. Cootie, bless 'er, managed to stay a couple of steps ahead of all the U.P. officers the entire time, or else they would have impounded her as an unknown species under the Please Don't Eat Our Native Fauna And/Or Flora Act of 2871.

So anyway, once the U.P. had combed the entire vessel and found no evidence of stolen merchandise, they set about frisking me for metal parts. Of course, they didn't find any, which meant the end of my Space Pirate Captain career. (And good riddance.) They weren't about to buy a story about my getting a new, identical body, especially when the videotape makes it look like a cheap magic trick involving a robot and a smoke bomb.

"Blockade Boy," harrumphed the U.P. captain, "You're under arrest for acquiring a Space Piracy license under false pretenses! We have a nice cozy cell for you on Takron-Galtos!"

I cleared my throat, and on cue, Storm Boy produced a holo cartridge (from the Luck Lords know where) with our pre-arranged alibi on it. It was a message from the renowned detective, Eyeful Ethel!

Naturally, the U.P. captain was so thrilled he demanded to view it on the spot. He was seriously excited, people. He even did this thing where he held his hands out and fluttered his fingers and squealed "OOOH-ooh! Gimme!" He snapped the cartridge into a portable player from his belt and an image of the gorgeous Ethel flickered into the center of the room. She was attired in the sweet new ensemble Storm Boy and I had designed for her. Which means it's time for... Legion of Substitute Costumes!

Ethel's gimmick? A ring of eyeballs all around her head, like a cross between a goddamn hippie and a Tim Burton character. Ethel honestly had no business trying out for the Legion, since she couldn't really do anything. Like a lot of kids, she just did it just for fun. So, she wasn't too broken up when she didn't make it. She did have an interest in law enforcement, however, so she worked her way up to the rank of "captain" in the U.P. Security Agency before striking out on her own as a private investigator. It was rough going for a while. By universe-wide lottery she was matched with Storm Boy as his designated "fag hag" and they spent many tear-stained, wine-soaked nights commiserating with each other. At her suggestion, he designed an admittedly cool set of goggles for her to wear: each lens allows her to see into a different spectrum, like x-rays, infrared and the like. Thus attired, she cracked a headline-making case by capturing serial peeper Radiation Roy. She brokered her new fame into expanding her detective agency, and she's now a brand name in the security biz! Aside from the goggles, though, she still dressed kind of frumpy -- too many baggy pants and overcoats. As advance payment for getting me out of my mess with the U.P., Storm Boy and I designed these new duds for her!

The whole thing is inspired by her sweet goggles, with iridescent colors and a modest amount of straps. There's also some interlaced detail on the bodice. The haircut is edgy-cool, and it's way more practical than the long, tangled mess she used to sport. Now she's ready for the cover of Heavy Metal!

Aaaaannnyway, in her recorded message, Ethel said:

To Whom It May Concern:
These four fine individuals work for me. Also, there's probably a sixteen-legged cat-like thing somewhere, but it's just four cats in a pantomime cat suit so don't worry about it. Er, anyway, the man you think is Phyl Staad, the notorious pirate, is really his long-lost twin brother, PHYNN Staad, who looks just like him and even uses the same code name but has different finger prints and all his original genitalia, as I'm sure you can authenticate. Attached to this message is all the necessary paperwork confirming his identity. I'd like to commend my operatives -- Storm Boy, Rainbow Girl and Tusker -- for infiltrating Phyl Staad's piracy operation by pretending to be his loyal crew, when the whole time they were transmitting vital information to my headquarters.

(At this, Tusker blurted "Wait, I don't remember any of--!" but Rainbow Girl elbowed him in the gut and he dutifully shut his dumb pie-hole.)

And finally, I'd like to give a special thanks to my newest operative, the other Blockade Boy. Yes, let's all give a round of applause to Phynn Staad, who is so loyal to the United Planets that he would turn on his nefarious twin, going so far as to impersonate him, sort-of, after the latter's mysterious disappearance, in order to keep the dread pirate's spacecraft from falling into the wrong hands before the U.P. could take charge of it.

(The beauty part is, the U.P. goons really did applaud me, some of them stomping their feet and saying things like "Here, here!" and "YEAH, boy-ee!" and I'm pretty sure the U.P. captain cried a little bit.)

I will be happy to transmit all the information I've gathered on Phyl Staad to the U.P. so they may continue the investigation. But for now, I need to recall all of my operatives and those four cats, the ones in the big, unremovable cat-suit, to my agency, because I have other jobs for them. Thank you, and keep up the good work!

And as you may have guessed, our scam was a total success!

So, to the relief and sheer delight of everybody involved, my former crew and I are working as Special Agents (or some shit) for Eyeful Ethel at her headquarters on Lallor! We've all managed to remain really good friends, although our closeness seems to have driven a wedge between ourselves and Ethel's four other employees. I mean, they're friendly enough, but I don't really feel like I know them, y'know? Here they are, and I'll tell you what I know about them so far, going from left to right:

• Gadfly Lad: from Imsk; can shrink to a dainty size; gets around with an old flying harness Storm Boy had designed; has a detailed, well-researched opinion on everything, apparently; is in denial about the fact he can't grow a decent mustache (or sideburns!) to save his life
• Dentata Damsel: from Bismoll; can eat anything, and does, constantly; won't stop smiling; never blinks; constantly cheerful for no good goddamn reason; can reduce Tusker to jelly with the mere wiggle of her hips
• Nightmare Boy: from Naltor; alleged clairvoyant; Ethel's receptionist; can barely be bothered to work the whole "Goth" angle and is in fact a "smoove playa" and "ladies' man" (a role model for Tusker, maybe?); his hair always looks absolutely perfect, even when he's just gotten up; sports skull-and-crossbones birthmark situated just above his crotchal region; I'm not sure why but I kind of want to slap him
• Frigid Queen: from Tharr, ice powers, rocks a tall faux-fur hat, hard worker, way too chatty about her apparently effed-up relationship with Phantom Lad (think "Sid and Nancy" with super-powers)

The awful part is I'm not really that interested in knowing them any better, but I know that's a shitty attitude, and for all I know they're actually fantastic individuals. But I doubt it. Ah, well. Maybe I can talk Ethel into sponsoring some kind of employee bonding activity, like a fantasy moopsball league, or a pub crawl. We'll see.

On the Town

My closeout sale was a huge success! We managed to sell everything except for the boat-sized Orandoan jockstrap, which was studded with dazzle gems, ornamented by some gorgeous spectrium filigree and, for some reason, powered by hydrogen. So it probably was intended for a "niche market." I sure as hell wasn't going to haul the bastard back to my pirate ship, and I didn't want to just turn it over to the U.P. I was stuck... until I remembered that we were on Rimbor, the shadiest planet in the galaxy. So we put a little sign on it that said "Do Not Steal". The last I saw it, a dozen young Rimborian gang members were hauling it off, their vertebrae noisily collapsing as they went.

I raked in a ton of space-cheddah with this sale, that's for damn sure. So -- with my typical generosity -- I treated everybody to a night on the town. Just left to our own devices, Rainbow Girl and I would have just gone our separate ways for some jolly, pirate-style, property-destroying, ass-kicking debauchery. Sadly, we had a recovering alcoholic (Storm Boy) and a naive simpleton (Tusker) in tow... so that slowed us down somewhat. We started out with a big dinner. I had ten of the thickest, juiciest kanga-bronc steaks I've ever tasted at a famous Rimborian joint, "Extinction" E Sau's Eatery. At E Sau's, every animal on the menu is personally hunted down and mercilessly slaughtered for you by E Sau himself, while-u-wait, for guaranteed freshness! Afterwards, we strolled through Rimbor's historical Moonshiner's District, taking in the sights.

At one point, a beautiful girl waved at Tusker and gestured for him to come talk to her. This made Tusker dejected for some reason, and he quickly put his head down and tried to ignore her. We all cajoled him to go over there and flirt. He said, "Nothin' good ever happens to me whenever somebody says 'come over here.' Usually they're tryin' to sell me somethin' or they wanna pick a fight with me, or maybe they just kick me in the 'nads and take my wallet."

"You dumb jerk," I said, warmly. "You've got to wake up to the fact that you're an interesting, well-dressed guy who the ladies (and a lot of men) are going to be attracted to! Stop hating on yourself, you idiot! Go over there and chat her up!" So Tusker went to talk with her. I spotted a tavern where, years ago, I beat the crap out of and then made love to an entire hover-bike gang and while I was telling the story to Rainbow Girl and Storm Boy I glanced back over at Tusker and saw him laid out on the sidewalk, howling with pain and grasping his privates, while the beautiful girl made off with his wallet.

Rainbow Girl and Storm Boy helped Tusker up while I nabbed the thief. I confiscated the wallet and carted her back over to Tusker.

"Told you," pouted Tusker.

I asked the beautiful girl if she only asked Tusker to talk to her so she could rob him. As I could have predicted, she answered, "Well, actually I thought he looked kind of sexy and dangerous and cool and I was thinking maybe we might go somewhere and make out. But when he started talking to me, he came off like this self-pitying whiner, y'know, just a total jerk-off, so I figured I'd just kick him in the 'nads and take his wallet."

I thumped Tusker in the nose with his wallet. "See, you dope? Self-fulfilling prophecy." I think I saw a glint of recognition in his big sad eyes. Maybe my words are finally starting to sink in.

Rainbow Girl really wanted to do some bar-hopping. Since Storm Boy was looking a little shaken in the midst of so much cheap booze, we decided to split up. Rainbow Girl took Tusker with her while I squired Storm Boy. To distract Storm Boy from the temptations of Demon Rum, I took him to a show. There were a lot of good plays and pageants to choose from! We finally wound up seeing the all-android revival of Leroy Anderson's "Goldilocks."

It was a heckuva spectacle, made all-the-more thrilling by the fact that they used two android replicas of Elaine Stritch -- one as the sexy, sassy young ingenue, which is the role Stritch originated, and an older version for the part of the duplicitous landlady. I'd hoped the show would cheer Storm Boy up a little. And for the most part I think it did, but I noticed him silently crying during the poignant ballad "I Never Know When to Say When." Also, he glanced longingly over at me for much of the song "Who's Been Sitting in My Chair?" -- especially the part where Android Stritch sings "I'd like a two-fisted biped for my budoir." Still, we left the show laughing and singing little bits of the songs and just having a grand old time, and I deposited him back at the ship in good spirits. And then I hit Rimbor's famed Man-Whore District like a tsunami and pretty much leveled the place. I woke up the next morning, all sore and groggy, to hear Storm Boy singing "The Pussyfoot" from "Goldilocks":

Tiger cats
Tip their hats
Flip their whiskers and purr,
Pekingese
Tell their fleas
Fellas, fellas, it's her!
It don't behoove a lady to lie.
There is no other pussy like I...

And then I clamped my pillow over my ears and went back to sleep.

There's Still Time to Enter!

So send me a costume design already! The deadline slams down like a steel wall at midnight tomorrow night, Central Standard Time. That's more than enough time to knock together something to knock my socks (or pants) off! My "maybe" pile is burgeoning with the potent imaginings of my readers, and they're all so good I still can't pick out a clear front-runner. Will the design you send me wind up on top of the heap? There's only one way to find out! So send me sumpin' before it's too late!

In the meantime, I wanted to share a new drawing sent to me by Jonathan Munroe -- it shows me dressed in the design he submitted, minus the aviator's helmet.

Jonathan writes:

Just because I had some extra time at work, as well as to show you what the hair looks like. Surprise! It's just as you imagined.

Here you are at the futuristic wheel of the Exquisite , shouting "Charge!" or "Arrrrrrrr!" or "Pulsar Stargraaaaaaaaaaaaave!" as you barrel through the void.

Or maybe even "Janet Pyyyyyyymmmmmmmmm!!!"

Well, I thought it was funny, anyway. And what are the odds the hairstyle looks just like I'd guessed it would? Maybe I'm part-Naltorian!

Oh, and my post about forcibly undressing Tusker has some of my readers concerned over my treatment of the big lummox, so I might as well clarify: Tusker's a great guy -- loyal like a bulldog, he is -- but if he's going to survive out here in the wilds of space he's going to have to toughen the eff up. So I sometimes find myself having to act like a really sexy drill sergeant around him. I'll get 'im there. And anyway, he knew when he signed on with me that when I tell a man to take his pants off, he'd better goddamn well take his pants off or I'll do it for him.

Hell, I even put that part in the classified ad!

Legion of Substitute Costumes: Tusker (Revised)

When I designed Tusker's last costume, I was trying to "think outside the crotch" and devise a male costume that didn't rely on sex appeal for it's primary visual impact. In retrospect, I wound up creating a garish eyesore. So I scrapped that costume -- literally, by tearing it off a startled and terrified Tusker and tossing it into the atomic incinerator while he watched with big confused tears running down his cheeks. Then I patted him warmly on the shoulder and buttocks and explained I was making him a much better costume. That cheered him up, just a little.

Tusker had trouble working those thought-controlled automatic dental tools on his old duds because, well, he's rock-stupid... so I decided to go low-tech this go-round. I also wanted a more iconic look for him. Starting with the dentist angle, the image of a bloody smock appeared in my mind, and from there I imagined a leather apron like butchers (and serial killers) use, and I finally had a concept that combined the stylings of dentists, butchers, blacksmiths and Olde Tyme executioners:

The leather is crimson instead of boring old black or brown because it stands out more, and it looks good with Tusker's pinkish skin and carrot-hued hair. And as you can see, ol' Tusker has some new mouth bling goin' on! The last time I tried to get him to replace one of his tusks with a gold-plated version he balked at the last possible second. But after Weight Wizard kicked one o' those choppers clean out of his mouth he really had no choice in the matter. I think it makes him look pretty tough! The two dental pliers can be held by straps on his belt when he's not using them to de-fang an enemy. The beautiful silver of the tools is carried through on his costume by his chrome-plated "T" symbol and his steel-toed/heeled boots. I'm taking the whole crew out on the town when we land on Rimbor and I think this new look should net him a lot of hot sexy action! And if he's lucky, some of it might even be with women! (Heh, heh...)

Extreme Blockadeover: Lydean Kind

I've been collaborating with Storm Boy on my sales pitch for the Brigadier Blockade Blowout Event at Rimbor's black mega-market this Sunday, and I think it'll be pretty sweet. I just hope my voice is booming enough. (...Aw, who am I kiddin'? Like an elephant, I am!) I'm also fitting Tusker for his new costume, and he was nervous about showing more skin, but once I explained it would make him a "babe magnet" he showed a lot more enthusiasm. I even designed a sweet new symbol for him. It's graphic and clean, and it would even look right at home on the Legion mission board, y'know, if they ever... induct -- heh! Haw! HA HA HA oh GOD I can't even SAY it without laughing HA HA oh JESUS CHRIST! Oh! *wipes tears from eyes*

Meanwhile, I have another set of costume designs to peruse! Kick-ass! These are from "Silvercat", a.k.a. a young (?) lady (?) "named" "Lydean Kind" but as you know, I trust no one at this point when it comes to names. Some quick anagramming shows that the letters "Lydean Kind" can be rearranged into:

• "LinK and dye"... some kind of advertising ploy?
• "diaL Kenny d"... hang on, I'll try it. ...Nope, he never even heard about the costume contest. Or so he claims.
• "Lend any kiD"... holy cats, it's a creepy temporary adoption scheme! Probably for celebrities, who hoist the kids on their shoulders at photo-ops and then deposit the hapless tots behind a Taco Bell somewhere. Or maybe this is a savings-and-loan for toddlers.
• andy KindLe... which is one letter away from the name of one of my favorite stand-up comics, Andy Kindler.*

Y'know what? Maybe I'm just paranoid. Okay, forget it, "Lydean." Whatever your secret is, it's safe.

She writes:

I honestly can draw, but I'm tired and my hand hurts and I'm running out of paper, so you get modified HeroMachine stuff. Sorry.

I stuck with the classic purple and orange and they're all variations. I gave you dark purple with orange accents. Some chunky technological bracers and a belt to keep all your art supplies and stuff. I probably should've played some more, but, again, tired, hand hurts, so feel free to pick and choose (like you wouldn't anyway)

On the last one I tried to give a subtle crenelated effect to the mask. Otherwise, I think they speak for themselves.

So, yeah, I have no chance of winning and you're going to let the entire internet know I'm a lazy bastard (or would be if I was a guy). Oh well.

Hmm. Sounds interesting. Let's peruse her collection!

Not bad!

Sweet!

Yikes. No thanks, I don't do the belly shirt thing. And the mask stands out too much from the rest of the outfit.

But I love the second one! It's going in the "maybe" pile, in fact! It's classic with a twist -- the castle cut-out -- which really sets it apart. And there's just enough crenelation to make it distinctive without overwhelming the eye. And of course, the beard rawks. Good job, Lydean!

*In my opinion, one of the funniest jokes Andy Kindler ever did was this: "What I hate, is when a comedian bases a joke on an incorrect premise. Like this one comic, he starts his set with 'So I was in the store the other day and I see they're selling sugarless chocolate. Who's that for?' ...IT'S FOR DIABETICS, that's who it's for! Yeah, so I was in the hospital the other day, and I saw people getting injected with insulin, what's that all about? Who's that for?"