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

Phht. Amateurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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