The Incredible Journal

*dashes into bedroom, giggling excitedly; then hops on fur-strewn granite slab (my bed) and lolls about with a big grin; then plucks from the floor a massive tome, bound in leather and edged in razor wire; flops on belly with legs kicking lazily; begins scribbling in blank pages of the book*

Dear Space-Diary,

You'll never believe this, but I've found a NEW (imaginary) boyfriend! Tee-hee! Deep booming laugh! His name is "Mihura" and he's from SPAIN. Look how sexy he is!

See? Ours is a true love that will last until the universe collapses in on itself, only he doesn't know I'm alive, but there's a PROBLEM, space-diary! Mihura lives in another dimension and ALSO a thousand years ago, which BITES. Pout! Brood! Oh, if ONLY I could steal borrow another time-bubble, like I did that ONE time, but my dumb JOB doesn't give me any time to get away! It's so STUPID! Maybe I can do it when I get my two weeks paid vacation this summer, but that's FOREVER from now! I want Mihura and his sexy sexy body RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND!

Mihura is JUST SO COOL! For ONE thing, he works at the CIRCUS! As a "strongman"! They call him "El Hombre Mas Fuerte Del Mundo", which means "the hardest man in the world"! Or so I'm told! I didn't think anybody could beat ME out for that title, but if Mihura did, I want a piece of THAT action! Giggle! Raspy chortle! I love Mihura's hair! Even the dumb Liefeld-esque braids! Maybe because the rest of his hair is so long, they don't stand out as much! I dunno! But mostly I love his beautiful beautiful bearded face and his big muscle-y body! He needs to stop waxing it, but I could take care of THAT. Mihura LOVES to drink V-8 vegetable juice from industrial-sized drums, and he even invented a special can-opener that he wears on his arm for just such occasions! He's like Sugyn minus the gut! (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) Also, Mihura farts the souls of the damned, which is like the ULTIMATE in bad-assery.

SOMEDAY, space-diary, Mihura and I will bask in the light of a beautiful sun. Preferably a red one, since that highlights my complexion to best effect. MARK MY WORDS. The only obstacle I can see are THESE losers he hangs out with:

Especially the nun. At that Amadan monastery my folks sent me to that one summer ("Our Brother of the Immaculately-Trimmed Mustache") the monks would thump you on the head with their canes if they caught you jerking off in the mens' room to Omnicom porn. But they sure as hell didn't wield FLAMING SWORDS. What the HELL? Also, what happened to her EYEBALLS? She's CREEPY.

I want Mihura HERE in my BED RIGHT NOW. I WANT HIM! And he's so far away! It makes me want to cry punch something!

That's all for NOW, space-diary! I'm going to Tusker's now to play video games. He has Ocarina Hero 2, which sounds KICK-ASS! THEN we'll eat some cheesecake and do each other's hair!

BLOCKADE BOY OUT!

I Hereby Order You To Love a Parade

Happy Independence Day, 21st Century American readers of this blog! But to the rest of us, it's just another Wednesday. Which to the crew of the H.M.S. Exquisite means just one thing: my Weekly Mandatory Parade! We Amadans, we know how to RAWK a parade! My favorite is the one my planet holds every week to commemorate its liberation from the Waxing Tyrants of Depilatory Seven. Picture, if you will, the Amadus Shirtless Hairy Bearded Men's Bass Drum and Electric Guitar Corps (three hundred strong!) marching proudly through the labyrinthine streets of our capital and blasting away at our favorite military anthem, Nazareth's "Hair of the Dog" -- which you may know better by its chorus ("Now you're messin' with a son of a bitch"). Just thinking about it brings a tear to my eye. It also produces some other secretions but we shan't talk about that now. When I was a mere Blockade Tot the noise of it scared the bejeebus out of me, and as a Blockade Tween I would scoff and jeer at how the adults would get all worked up whenever the parade passed through town. That was before my terrifying ordeal in the Super-Stalag of Space!

I have a profound appreciation for the concept of liberty nowadays! So to honor the brave souls who perished in order that Amadus might preserve its way of life, I like to gather the crew and hold a little parade of my own!

As I mentioned before, I have Weight Wizard play a side drum, and I have a side drum of my own, only bigger (of course) and Rainbow Girl expertly plays her fife (which Weight Wizard is not allowed to touch after what we found him doing to the last fife). We play "Hair of the Dog", naturally, and some other classic marches, like "Takin' Care of Business" and "Bad Moon Rising" and "Barracuda." Tusker follows behind, waving and bowing to nobody in particular. As a courtesy we pass by Plant Lad a few times but of course he's in a dormant state so he can't really see us. Sometimes Storm Boy will clamber up from the hold and drunkenly raise a bottle to us... and sometimes he hurls the bottle at us and then I have to break ranks and smack his ass up. But either way it's a festive occasion!

Have a terrific day, everybody!

Blockade Boy Say Relax

Because I've added labels (a.k.a. "tags") to all of my posts! And I added a handy-dandy complete list of the labels to this very page you're on. It's right under the list of blogs. All of the design categories are listed, of course, and you can also find every post with your favorite hero in it. Just for the sake of brevity I didn't add any "villain" labels (except Doctor Doom, because how could I not) and my "Contest of Champions" posts had so many heroes that to list them all would exceed Blogger's labeling capacity for an individual post, so I just summed it up with a "Contest of Champions" label and called it good. Also for the sake of brevity, I restricted "creator" labels to just a few people I seem to talk about a lot. Which right now is just Geoff Johns and Herb Trimpe. Remember those lists of previous installments I used to add to my posts? I'll be editing those bits out since they've been made obsolete. (Or as that guy on that one Twilight Zone would say, "OB-SO-LETE!!!")

I learned a lot of interesting things while I was labeling. Like?

• I've mentioned Storm Boy even more than I thought I had. What, me bear a grudge? Naw!
• My childhood was filled to the brim with traumatic events.
• Back when Membros was working for me, he once got me to give him a day off because he had to attend Antron's funeral and then three months later he posted about having recently had dinner with Antron which makes me wonder what other shit Membros pulled behind my back. Or maybe he just knows a lot of guys named "Antron."
• Going way back and labeling Jeremy's "America's Next Top Model" recap posts, nearly every one of them also qualified for the "stank attitude" label. Mostly because of Ya Ya.

So be sure to check out the labels. Y'know, since I busted my ass working on them. (Seriously, my back is killing me for some reason.) Or as I like to tell Weight Wizard, "Play around... have fun with it!"

Rescue Me: The Wrench

Not all of the D-list villains assassinated by Scourge were lucky enough to have their final moments of ignominy illustrated for the approval of bloodthirsty fanboys. Some of those perfidious unfortunates had to make do with a Scourge "honorable mention." Getting name-dropped by Scourge wasn't exactly on par with a mention on "Page 6." It's more like working your ass off on a diorama of "Lab Coats Through the Ages" for the Lunar Elementary Science Fair and receiving a Certificate of Participation, while a lazy dim-bulb like Weight Wizard submits a stalk of celery with freaking googly eyes glued onto it and walks away with a goddamn red ribbon and sure, later you hold him down and threaten to force-feed him googly eyes until he gives you his ribbon but somehow it just makes you feel all hollow inside... um, but I digress.

The Wrench was one of those off-panel victims. "Who?!" you ask. Exactly. The Wrench, a.k.a. Kurt Klemmer, wasn't exactly what you'd call a "supervillain." He was just a big crazy oaf in overalls who clubbed folks to death with a big wrench. Oh, and he also carried a gun. He didn't have a costume and to be honest, he was never even called the Wrench in the one comic in which he appeared ("Omega the Unknown" #6). That comic's cover has one of those old-timey bombastic word balloons where a Hulk-sized Klemmer boasts about "THE POWER OF THE WRENCH" while he belabors Omega about the noggin with a perfectly humongous wrench that leaves a crackling energy trail. (You could always rely on a Gil Kane cover for a spicy, over-the-top rendition of a book's actual contents!) So it's unclear whether that pimped-out version of Klemmer was referring to himself in the third person and by a code name at that -- admittedly, normal villain behavior in the world of 1970's Marvel -- or if he was just really proud of that wrench!

I think it's clear that Omega's writers, Steve Gerber and (uncredited) Mary Skrenes, never intended for Kurt Klemmer to be an out-and-out "supervillain." Which is totally cool. But could he have worked as one? I think so. He had an interesting hook, in that he was a handyman who was obsessed with "fixing" his fellow human beings. Which involved bludgeoning them to death with a wrench, but hey, it's a start. He was a big, sturdy guy, so at normal strength with an ordinary wrench for a weapon he'd make a fine adversary for one of the Marvel heroes who fight street-level crime, like Daredevil or Power Man. Or a writer could go the "Absorbing Man" route with him and have some cosmic being magic-up his wrench so he could battle Thor and Iron Man. Maybe he could join the Wrecking Crew! And maybe he could dress like so:

I thought a somber blue/gray color scheme would be more appropriate for Mister Klemmer's hypothetical villain costume than the mustard hue from his overalls. I designed a stylized "W" using the shape of a wrench, and I added stripes to evoke the overall straps. The boots and gloves have cut-outs in the shape of a wrench's clamps. (Or whatever they're called... here in the future we fix everything by waving a humming rectal thermometer over it!) The long, shaggy haircut symbolizes the Wrench's unkempt mind. I decided to bleach it out to more of a white blonde so it's more dramatic.

Previous "Rescue Me" challenges:

• Turner D. Century
• Shellshock
• Mirage
• The Vamp
• The Basilisk
• Megatak
• Hellrazor
• The Melter
• Cyclone
• The Hijacker
• The Fly
• The Cheetah
• Lionfang
• The Miracle Man
• Bird-Man 2
• Steeplejack 2
• Commander Kraken
• Titania
• Bonus: Annihilator and Son
• Red Skull 3
• Black Abbott

Me Am Here!

HI! HI! HI! Me am BLOCKADE TOT! Me am awesome super-baby living on moon! Me am three years old! Me not especially good with personal pronouns! Me am from many many years in PAST! Funny man in purple robe SNATCH me from day-care on moon-colony! Him plop me down here on planet Earth in front of future-self's computer to see what me do because he am avid reader of future-self's blog and him think it BORING right now! Me not know where future-self is but me think me am SWELL REPLACEMENT!

What can me tell you 'bout me? Me like: macaroni and space cheese, rainbows (though me never actually see one), horsies, rubbing mommy's feet. Me hate: moon rover sickness, Winath sprouts, daddy's "friend" Justine. Me have super-power! Me can turn into three-foot by three-foot steel wall! Mommy use me as PET GATE sometimes so old limping half-blind space-terrier Spaat not get into trouble! Me have to stand at top of stairs for HOURS! Sometimes mommy and mommy's friends am in next room playing Cosmic Mah-Jong and drinking Orando Slings until they DRUNK and mommy FORGET about Blockade Tot! Then it morning again and she want feet rubbed and she holler "WHERE AM that damn kid?" And me say "Here mommy! Here!" Then she say "Oops!" and she apologize but me not sure she really mean it! Me think she am kind of SCREWED UP! Me still love her though!

Other name is "Phyl Staad" but that am lame! So me INSIST mommy and daddy and day-care lady and other kids call me Blockade Tot! If mommy and daddy and day-care lady forget well there not much me can do 'bout it! (Mommy say Daddy forget WHOLE BUNCH OF THINGS sometimes! Like where him live and who him married to!) But if KIDS forget then me punch them on arm REAL REAL HARD or me push them down or me grab kids' feet and drag them 'cross gravelly part of playground! Them all learn by now! All except best friend Weight Novice!

Weight Novice am shrimpy kid! Other kids all pick on Weight Novice except him am always hanging around me! That am because me am MUCH BIGGER than other kids! Because me am only kid on whole moon-colony from planet Amadus! That am also why me only kid in day-care with hairy legs!

Weight Novice like to TEASE ME and TEASE ME! Him call me "Phyl" and "Phylbert" and "Phyl-ly Cheese Steak" and "Cum On Phyl the Noize" (which am Amadus planetary anthem) and him NEVER call me "Blockade Tot" and me get SUPER-ANGRY! So me shove him on ground and me just lay on top of him for real long time yelling "Say name! Say name!" until him CRYING! And then me roll off him. And me and him get giggle fit! Ha, ha!

One time Weight Novice make himself super-weightless and him start to float away but me grab Weight Novice's foot with big hairy hand and then me just carry him 'round all day like him am HELIUM BALLOON! That pretty funny too! Weight Novice no longer wear red or yellow or blue no more because me sat him down and TOLD him he not look good in primary colors! So now him only wear purple and orange! Just like me! Me also responsible for Weight Novice getting more flattering haircut! Mommy and Daddy think me spend WAY TOO MUCH TIME over at Weight Novice's house! ME think Mommy and Daddy spend way too much time over by liquor cabinet! Ha, ha!

Funny man in purple robe say this am enough already! Him say me am kind of DOWNER so him am sending me back in time again and also to moon-colony! Me want to STAY and read some of future-self's blog! Like ALREADY me see that someday me have a ROBOTIC DINGUS which me am pretty sure am kind of wild doggie from Australia! So THAT am cool! When me all growed up, me ride robotic dingus every day! Oops! Funny man in purple robe am just shaking head! Him say "Time's up!" This am it! BYE-BYE EVERYBODY! BYE-BYE!

I Would Do Anything for Love (But I Won't Do That)

Presenting a new one-act play by Blockade Boy, inspired by a story in "What If?" #37 (February 1983).

Cast of Characters
The Blocker................Observer of All Things Fabulous................Blockade Boy
Reed Richards..........................Ductile Know-It-All.........................Hugh Laurie
Ben Grimm.................Lumpy Self-Pitying Whiner.................James Gandolfini
Norrinn Radd..............................Pathetic Bald Emo-Boy.............................Moby

Setting: Reed Richard's futuristic laboratory atop the luxurious Baxter Building.

The curtain rises on a darkened stage. After ten minutes or so, a spotlight tracks the Blocker entering stage left. He is a tall, powerfully-built man with a large bald head denoting an ancient wisdom. He also has a kick-ass bleached-white biker 'stache which is pretty damned cool if you ask me. He is attired in a modest, yet nipple-revealing toga. In purple, of course.

The Blocker: Greetings, friends. Know ye now, the fabric of time is as delicate as silk. With the subtlest alteration, a tear may appear that in time may destroy whole civilizations, or at least cause an awful lot of humiliation at your Junior Space Winter Dance, because your date Calamity King stepped on your trouser cuffs while you dancing and your pants got pulled totally off and now everybody's laughing at you, especially that bitch Polecat and even Calamity King is laughing his ass off and you feel horrible even though you only agreed to ask Calamity King out as a favor to his pal Green Boy who is the one you wanted to go with originally and so of course you have no choice but to start a brawl in the middle of the dance floor and you nail Calamity King square in the nose and Polecat goes down like a sack of space-taters and before you know it, half the school is wailing on one another in a seething mass, and you notice Green Boy's head is right in your crotch and it's not like he was trying to ram your stomach with his head and he missed and he's not trying to bite your nuts off, Jack Bauer-style, and it's not as though somebody else has bumped into him and pressed his head into your crotch, it's more like his head is just resting there -- and sure, finally the robo-chaperones drag you off and you get put on suspension for a whole semester but later Green Boy holo-phones you for a date so it wasn't a complete loss. Er, where was I? Oh yeah. Time. Annnnyhow, when the Fantastic Four drove Galactus away from Earth the first time, it was with the help of his herald, the Silver Surfer. So as punishment, Galactus made it so the Surfer was trapped on Earth. But he could have taken away his powers, too! So let's see what would have happened if the Surfer had lost his powers, and if he was desperate to return to his space-girlfriend, and if he went to Reed Richards for help, and if Richards was still secretly pissed off at the Surfer for bringing Galactus to Earth in the first place.

The Blocker exits, stage right.

The lights go up to reveal Reed Richard's futuristic laboratory, which looks remarkably like the set of "Sanford and Son." Richards is fiddling with a piece of high-tech alien machinery. To the untrained eye, the device resembles a rusted-out muffler.

Richards: Aw, sweet. I bet I could make a killer saxophone from this. Yo, Benny-boy! How you coming on the banjo?

Grimm stands up from a waist-high pile of junk in the background. He stays there throughout the entire scene.

Grimm: Well, I got a toilet seat here that could maybe work for the front part of the "pot" or whatever and there's a cardboard tube from some wrapping paper we could make into the neck but I dunno what we're gonna do for the struts or whatever the hell they're called.

Richards: How's about actual struts? Y'know, like from a car?

Grimm: Does that even make sense? And now that I come to think of it, does a banjo even have struts? Or is that just guitars?

Richards: How the fuck should I know? I ain't no musician. I just got me a jones to construct the world's most awesomest Dixieland band. And I prob'ly won't even care about that once the acid wears off. Which reminds me: you should probably get your ass out of there on account the junk is melting and reforming into a swarm of tiny alligators.

Grimm: Naw, I'm good.

Norrinn Radd enters, stage left, in an agitated state.

Radd: Reed Richards! Praise the space-gods, I have found you at last!

Richards: Christ almighty, not you again! Haven't you caused enough trouble?

Grimm: And what's with the "I have found you at last" crap? We fucking live here.

Radd: If I have offended you, I apologize most sincerely. I come to you on a mission of utmost importance.

Richards: No shit? What, did you lead another planet-destroying giant here?

Grimm: 'Cause you're really good at that.

Radd [annoyed]: As you will recall, I lent you my aid in repelling the World-Devourer, and I was punished for my betrayal when he stripped me of my space-spanning cosmic powers.

Grimm: Yeah, that was pretty funny, alright.

Richards: Yeah, when you were all silver and shit you looked kinda awesome but now you're just this dopey bald jerk-off.

Radd: I shall get right to the point, then. I seek a way to return to my homeworld of Zenn-La and the waiting arms of my lost love, Shalla-Bal.

Grimm: Huh. I don't remember you being so hung up on this "Sha-na-na" person when you were macking on my girlfriend, chico.

Richards: Aw, man! I forgot all about that! [he waggles a finger at Radd] That was totally uncool, dude. I mean, look at Benjy over there. He had a hard-enough time snagging a blind girlfriend, much less a sighted one.

Grimm: Yup, because even if they can't see me, they can still feel that I'm butt-ugly.

Richards: He had to track down a blind girl with a mothering complex so she wouldn't mind just sitting there and listening all the time while he went on and on and on about how fugly he is. The two a' ya don't even screw, do ya, Ben-Ben? 'Cause it'd pulverize her into little bloody gobs! Haw!

Grimm [looks down, sheepishly]: Alicia wants to take it slow.

Richards: So I can only imagine what kind of dog this "Sally Pal" person is.

Radd [imperious]: If you must know, I'd say she's a dead ringer for the Terran pop singer, Christina Aguilera. When her hair was black.

Richards: Day-um! No kiddin'?

Grimm: I'd hit that.

Richards: Well, hell, dude... let's get your sorry ass off this dirtball planet! I already got me an idea on how to do it. Ben-Gay, where'd I put that orange "flying harness" we recovered from the Negative Zone?

Grimm: Huh? What are you talking abou--

Richards: There it is. Right in front of you. See? The special magic "flying harness? [he raises his eyebrows a couple of times] You know the one I mean?

Grimm: Oh! The flying harness! Yeah! Sorry, I can be a real dumb-ass sometimes.

Radd: This looks like a life-preserver with some macaroni-art glued to it.

Richards: HA HA HA HA HA! Oh you stupid alien sunuvabitch!

Grimm: Yeah! You stupid sunuvabitch!

Richards: What the fuck would you know about it? I'm the scientist here!

Radd: Well, I was an astronomer on my homeworld, which is lightyears ahead of yours when it comes to technology, so I think I'd know a little something about this.

Richards [throws up his hands]: Fine! Screw it! You can invent something yourself, then. Get lost.

Radd: No! Forgive me, friend. It's only that I miss my beloved Shalla-Bal so...

Richards: Dude's got blue balls, huh? Check it, Bendy-straw! Ol' Baldy here's gonna make a booty call! [he smacks Radd on the back of the head]

Radd: Ow!

Richards: Lessee, lessee, what else do I got that's orange -- er, I mean, "spaceworthy?"

Grimm: Yo, how's about that quiver -- um, I mean, "propulsion unit" -- on top of the busted-out TV over there?

Richards: Attaboy, Benihana! Now you're gettin' it!

Grimm: And that old bike helmet! Er, I mean, "atmospheric bubble generator!"

Richards: Now we're cookin'! Get ready for the ride of your life, Norville!

Radd [wary]: "Norrinn."

Richards: What-ever. Jesus, you're a buzzkill. Has anyone ever told you that? Hey, Bensonhurst! Toss me that extension cord! And the gaffer's tape! No, the orange gaffer's tape! And the broken "Speak and Spell!"

[Richards hastily assembles the junk around Radd's body, while Radd stands there looking uneasy. When Richards finishes, he stands there silently observing Radd until Radd's nervousness overwhelms him and he speaks.]

Radd: Is-- is that it?

Richards: Is what it? ...Oh, you mean the flying harness inter-...spacial... rocket. Device. Sure, why not? OKAY! What you need to do next, is you get your ass in that elevator over there [points stage right] and press the "up" button and it'll take you straight to the roof. And then all you do is walk to the edge and jump and at the same time press this button on the control pad right here.

Radd: Why do I have to jump?

Grimm: You just do, okay?

Richards: You need that extra little burst of propulsion or whatever, or else you'll never make it to your planet and you'll just be floating out in space forever and then you'll die. That clear enough for you, Sparky?

Radd: Thank you, friends. I shall treasure this day always. [He exits stage right]

Grimm: I thought he'd never leave. Now we can get back to making your banjo!

Richards: Banjo?! What the hell are you even talking about?

[The lights go down and the curtain closes. The Blocker strides majestically in front of the curtain and addresses the audience.]

The Blocker: Norrinn Radd plummetted to his messy doom soon after. But as he fell, he had a vivid day-dream about soaring through space, into the arms of his lady-love. And he also had enough time to imagine Galactus taking a gargantuan dump on Reed Richards and Ben Grimm.

finis

Somewhere, Under the Scalpel

In "Lois Lane" #52 (October 1964) I came across conclusive evidence that Lucky, the Lucky Charms Leprechaun, has undergone plastic surgery. We all know what the "after" looks like. But check out the "before"!

Feck! Ol' Lucky's had more work done than Nicolas Cage! Let's see... he's had ear reduction surgery, tooth implantation, botox, and complete reconstruction of his upper skull to move his eyes further apart, as well as Clay Aiken-style hair lightening. Plus he took up weight training and he fired his old costumer! So I offer my most heartfelt kudos to Lucky. It takes a big wee man to admit his failings and to take adorably tiny steps to improve himself. That puts him way ahead of his compatriots, who are still in denial about their various conditions.

Examples? But of course!

• Cap'n Crunch: achondroplastic dwarfism
• Count Chocula: porphyria, microcephaly
• Quisp: hypertension
• Tony the Tiger: gynecomastia, a.k.a. "male breast enlargement"
• Toucan Sam: deviated septum
• Booberry: anemia. Also, he's dead.
• King Vitaman: hemophilia
• Frankenberry: rosacia
• Trix Rabbit: kleptomania and species dysmorphia
• Diggum: three-pack-a-day smoker
• The Cinnamon Toast Crunch Chef: chronic flatulence
• Sugar Bear: third nipple
• Cookie Crook: converted to radical Wahabist sect of Islam while in the slammer, currently in Gitmo
• Sonny the Cocoa Puffs Cuckoo: meth addict

I could go on, but you get the idea. It's a pretty sick scene out there, in aisle five.

My favorite cereal mascot? Glad you asked! It's a handsome fella whose moniker just happens to be the same as the one I earned on my high school magno-ball team. Behold: Fruit Brute!

...Okay, so they never called me that on the court. Just in the locker room. And I was never technically a team member.

By the way, is anybody else kinda freaked out by this kid?

He looks like the "Island of Doctor Moreau" version of Alvin the Chipmunk.

Jewel Live To Regret This

Don't you just hate it when an accessory overpowers the rest of your ensemble? I know I sure do. In fact, this very thing happened to me when I was a Junior in High School! Allow me to set the scene for you: it's the thirtieth century and my buddies and I are in the quad, standing in line to order our class rings. I'm in my Space-Goth phase, rocking a figure-hugging black vinyl number, alternately black-and-white streaked hair that came down to about the middle of my back, and an immaculately trimmed black tailback beard, with heavily-kohled eyes and red contact lenses. I'm feeling fantastic after having just made the most kick-ass handbag in shop class. It's a good day. Little did I know what trials lay ahead...

Polecat: Black and white? Puh-lease. I originated that look, you know.

Me [looking behind me at Polecat]: And I perfected it, Polecrap. The way you do it is so tired, anyway. I don't even know why -- ugh. You know what? Just don't talk to me. And would it kill you to wear some deodorant?

Polecat [sputtering]: I'll have you know this musk is a potent symbol of male sexual power among my proud yet downtrodden people! Don't make me call the Sensitivity Police on your skanky ass!

Me: And don't make me call the Fashion Police! You've got legs like two tubes of extruded space-polenta and you're wearing short-shorts? Honey, 'round these parts that's punishable by lethal injection.

Polecat: "Lethal injection"? Is that what you called it when you gave Fire Lad the space-clap?

Me [fists clenching]: Oh, it is on now, Motherfu--

Ring Salesman: Next!

Polecat [nervously fans himself with his hands, inadvertently wafting more of his stench onto me]: Oh thank God.

Ring Salesman: Have you had a chance to look at the brochure?

Me: Yes, and I know exactly what I want.

Ring Salesman: Which is...?

Me: A dazzle gem.

Ring Salesman: We don't sell rings with dazzle gems in them.

Me: I still want one.

Ring Salesman: Sir, dazzle gems are extremely rare and terribly expensive.

Me: Well, why do you think I want one? Duh! You're not the most powerful laser in the space-drawer, are you?

Ring Salesman: Just choose something else.

Me: Inertron?

Ring Salesman: Again, we don't offer that.

Me: How 'bout Zuunium?

Ring Salesman: No! Did you read the brochure at all?

Me: Yes! But now I don't know what to go with since you don't have anything cool.

Ring Salesman: Here's an idea... what's your birthstone?

Me: Sigellian.

Ring Salesman: Fine. And what sort of metal would you like for the setting?

Me: Duralim.

Ring Salesman: Oh, for--! We don't offer that metal because wearing it pretty much guarantees you'll be struck by lighting. Look, you can have gold, silver, platinum, lurium, spectrasite or ultrasite.

Me: Fine, fine. I'll have the lurium with that setting. [points to holo-photo floating over the ring salesman's table]

Ring Salesman [tallying price on refrigerator-sized calculating machine]: Okay! Your total with tax comes to Three thousand, six hundred and ninety-three space-dollars.

Me: What--?! That's insane! Are all your stones priced like that?

Ring Salesman: Most of 'em, yeah.

Me: Let's start over. What's your cheapest stone?

Ring Salesman: That'd be Green Kryptonite. On Earth there's so much of it they use it to cover their driveways.

Me: So how much would that run me?

Ring Salesman: Roughly? About two thousand five. Sorry, there's an import tax.

Me: Shit. That's ten times the amount in my savings.

Ring Salesman [incredulous]: All you kids were told about the class rings last year. Are you telling me you didn't put away anything for today?

Me [sheepish]: I did but then I blew most of it on these hair extensions.

Polecat: I believe that's what's known as "throwing money down an A-hole." [titters annoyingly]

Me [to ring salesman]: Pardon me one second. [whips around and punches Polecat square in the face. He drops like a sack of space-potatoes. Then I address the salesman again.] C'mon, pal. Do me a solid. Don't you have anything I could use in a class ring?

Ring Salesman [digs in pocket]: Well, there is this weird stone I found on the sidewalk this morning.

Me: Lay it on me. [examines stone] Say, it has a spooky monster face inside it! Sweet! Tell you what, I'll have this stone with an ultrasite setting and GREAT PLANETS I'M BEING DRAWN INTO THE JEWEL!!!

[I float in a bizarre Ditko-esque skyscape within the gem. The monster face hovers over me and addresses me in a booming, echoing voice.]

Jewel: Yes! Your petty greed has trapped you behind the facets of my prismatic power! Submit, mortal! Your destiny is no longer your own! I am the master and you are the humble instrument of my dreaded will! BECOME ONE WITH THE STYGIAN STONE!

Me: Yeah, no thanks.

Jewel: Silence, wretched one! You desired infinite power and it shall indeed be yours but at a terrible price: YOUR IMMORTAL SOUL!

Me: I think you have me confused with somebody else. I just wanted an affordable class ring. 'Kay? Bye.

Jewel: THERE IS NO ESCAPING THE STYGIAN STONE! Many have dared to try and all have failed! Feel your willpower DRAIN AWAY as my thoughts become your own!

Me: Nope. Not happening. Tell you what. I'm in a good mood today so you just let me out of here and we'll call it square.

Jewel: Cease your senseless prattle! ALL WHO LIVE WILL BEND TO THE WILL OF THE STYGIAN STONE!

Me: Screw you, asswipe. You don't wanna cooperate? Fine! I'll figure some other way to bust out of this creepy dump.

Jewel: ODD! Mayhap your alien physiognamy has a natural immunity to my thought-warping rays!

Me: Or maybe I'm just that cool, dickweed.

Jewel: NO MATTER! Until the end of days, your fragile form shall remain trapped within my crystalline walls!

Me: Whatever. Talk to the wall. [I turn into a steel wall, which somehow causes the gem to shatter and eject me back into the physical plane. Still in wall-form, I teeter for a moment and then tip over onto the already-prone Polecat who was just then regaining consciousness. I turn back into humanoid form and scramble to my feet.]

Polecat: YEEOW! Uncle already! I don't know what crawled up your ass today, Blockade Boy, but you are acting like a major bitch.

Ring Salesman [digging a sliver of the destroyed jewel out of his eye]: You know, we do offer low-interest financing.

Me [a bit shaken]: Yeah, let's go with that.