It's All Fun and Games Until Gadfly Lad's Arms Get Chopped Off

Well, thank the Luck Lords that's over! The Blockade Boy Revenge Squad is suitably smashed, and I've acquired like, two hundred new boyfriends who don't mind it when I tell them how to dress. Oh, and most of them are green, thanks to Green Boy, but I'm told that will wear off. Eventually.

Of course, there was the not-so-little matter of Gadfly Lad. I'll get to him in a bit. But first, some bullet points:

• Most of the Revenge Squad is now in jail, and rather quickly, too. It turns out Gadfly Lad had already transmitted the Squad's records to the U.P. before I got a chance to. So the Squad's headquarters were stormed by U.P. goons soldiers (and a fine, upstanding bunch they are, too!) about twenty minutes into the donnybrook.
• Intern Alchemy got one of the longer sentences, for counterfeiting space-cheddah. But from the look on his face when they loaded his battered, moist body into the hover-ambulance, I think he's going to like prison just fine.
• Polecat and Calamity King kept arguing over which one of them was the mastermind of the whole operation, so both their asses got handed life sentences.
• After a thorough review of his activities in the Squad, Green Boy was arrested for "aggravated loitering", given a lengthy scrubbing, and sent to a halfway house for depressed losers.
• Gossip Queen is in the prison hospital, getting his face reconstructed, to accommodate two regular robot eyes, instead of that souped-up model he used to spy on me. It's back to short-range psychic tracking for him! By the way, I've heard that he told the doctors that he wants to look like Coluan teen heartthrob, Dox Efron.

Now, about Gadfly Lad...

It turns out he's got a soft spot as well as a hard-on for Calorie Queen, because when I tossed him his old flying harness (hidden trickfully behind my cloak), he grabbed her arm, and hollered, "Come with me, if you want to live!" But just then, two of the less-savory members of the Blockade Mob sliced his arms clean-off, using laser axes. Gadfly Lad collapsed in an adorably tiny heap. Calorie Queen held up her own arm, with one of Gadfly Lad's severed arms still clinging to it, and then we both started screaming and punching the living daylights out of the Mob members. I took a moment to shoot Ox a look and to nod my head a certain way. Ox took my meaning, because he gathered up what was left of Gadfly Lad, and barreled his way through the riot, and outside, to safety.

At the hospital satellite, Gadfly Lad was given two options: they could either grow two new arms for him, which would take nine months and cost three whole wheels of space-cheddah, or, they could slap on some robot arms, which would take immediately and cost one-jillionth of the first option. Gadfly Lad asked if they could outfit the robot arms with lightning bolt powers. The doctors shrugged their shoulders and said, sure, why not?

The U.P. dropped all charges against me, but they insisted I complete my contract as a space-pirate. Since I don't have any artificial limbs (anymore), I'd have to be a first mate, or something even more degrading. And then -- bless his heart! -- Gadfly Lad raised a metal arm, and asked if somebody could replace me in my unfulfilled space-pirate duties! That's right: the scrappy li'l fella is gonna be a space-pirate captain! With his new robot arms, he's more than qualified! Gadfly Lad also wrangled a deal for Calorie Queen to serve as "first mate", on a work-release program. I couldn't help but notice the sparse black fuzz already sprouting on his cheeks. It seems my little man is getting older! Or maybe the frequent screwing with Calorie Queen has jump-started something. Either way, it's nice to see.

Gadfly Lad decided he doesn't want to be called that anymore, on account of it not befitting a space-pirate, and also that it would "cramp his romance" with the insect-phobic Calorie Queen. A dazzle-gem of an idea gleamed in my eyes. I told him that I had the perfect new identity for him. So, one new costume, some hair extensions, and a pair of spray-painted Nth-metal wings later, I give you...

THE NEW BLACK CONDOR!

The Hounds of Amadus (by Blockade Boy Revenge Squad Treasurer, Intern Alchemy)

Attend us, friends; we are undone!

Via as-yet-unknown means, the Hairy One himself has breached our defenses, and the Grand Ballroom has transmogrified into a realm of Chaos! It is only here, in our space-cheddah vault, that I am afforded security. I confess, readers, it is an imperfect sanctuary; Green Boy's haphazard sheetrocking work left appreciable gaps in the corners.

I am live-blogging this, in the hopes that my brethren in the Great and Secret Art of Alchemy will read it, and come to our aid! Alas, I fear this will not be the result, as we Alchemists are a solitary lot, more apt to fiddle with our beakers than to commune with the Material World. And yet, as a young princess abandons her rich clothes on her wedding night to show herself to her husband in her virginal and sumptuous nudity, so too must I abandon my scholarly robes and supplicate myself on the shimmering altar of the Intergalactic Intraweb.

'Twas no more than five minutes before the initiation of Calorie Queen's festivities, when a mighty knocking sounded upon the Inertron Portal that serves as our chief means of entrance. Polecat beheld the image on Security Monitor One, with a curious mixture of delight and apprehension. He motioned imperiously to Green Boy, and barked, "Let them in!"

At this, Calamity King grew petulant, and retorted, "I'm the leader, and I'll give the orders, here! ...Green Boy, let them in."

Our visitors proved to be a pair of men, both of great height and breadth, with trunk-like limbs. The one in the buckskin cloak and cowl held the second, who was bloodied, seemingly unconscious, and tightly bound with ropes. The former, none of us recognized. The latter was Blockade Boy.

Gossip Queen entered the room in a frantic, cane-tapping dash, exclaiming, "He's here! Blockade Boy is here! I can sense it!"

"Easy, fat-ass," hissed Calamity King. "He's trussed up."

"Screw U, CLOSET-CASE!!!!!!" sneered Gossip Queen.

In a deep, unmodulated whisper, the first man introduced himself as "Zagor", a "mountain man" from Earth, and a superior hunter and tracker.

He was armed with only a stone hammer and an antique projectile weapon, and yet, he had brought low our Nemesis. All of us gathered 'round, to gaze in wonderment at this prodigy. Calamity King smiled queerly. "Blockade Boy's blood," he murmured. "How delicious!" And with that, he swept his fingers along one of Blockade Boy's wounds, and licked them.

His expression altered to one of consternation. "The hell--?! Strawberry jam?!"

Two stout protuberances thrust upward from beneath "Blockade Boy's" wig, and belched an overpowering cloud of musk that enveloped the Squad. The admittedly-pleasant odor suffocated us, and caused our eyes to brim with tears. All of us, that is, except for Polecat, who just stood there, stewing with a quiet fury.

I glimpsed the following events through a veil of saltwater: "Blockade Boy's" ropes slipped away, and he hopped to his feet, triumphant. Likewise, he removed the wig (now askew) from his head, revealing a bald pate. "Za-Gor" plucked off his cowl (with attached hair!) with a flourish, as a sickeningly-familiar brown-and-white beard sprouted on his face. It was Blockade Boy.

"Good work, babe," he purred to his compatriot. He punctuated this sentiment with a genial slap to his confederate's ass. Then, he whistled, and his eight-legged super-cat, Cootie, emerged from a large pouch on his waist. Thus fortified, he addressed Polecat: "Jig's up, motherfucker. I know everything you've done, and once I present my proof to the U.P., they'll send all of your asses to Takron-Galtos, while they give me a full pardon. I mean, what's a little unintentional fraud and some aggravated makeovers, compared to illegal arms trading and attempted murder?"

Wordlessly, the false Blockade Boy removed a force-field gauntlet and handed it to the real one. As he slipped it onto his hand, Blockade Boy smirked, and said, "So do you want to come along peacefully, or do you want me to beat the holy bejeebus out of you, first? 'Cause I am spoiling for a fight."

My vision began to clear, and I pulled myself to my feet, as did the rest of the Squad. Calamity King spat, "I'm in charge, here! And I say we fight! There's seven of us, and only two of them, not counting that damn cat."

"Tater" began to interject, but he only had time to say "Ack'shully...!" before the Intertron Portal was forced open by a crazed mob!

They were a horrific sight: a hoard of strapping, hairy men, all of them dressed in amalgams of Blockade Boy's various costumes. This gaudy apparel mingled obscenely with hover-biker gear of shiny ebon leather. Most of the doppelgangers were smoking pipes. Among them, I spied several (former?) lawmen whom Blockade Boy had forcibly "made over", doubtless in more than appearance.

The interlopers numbered in the hundreds -- at least! -- and they surged forward, engulfing friend and foe alike in a raging, punching, kicking mass. In the confusion, I found one of the secret passages I'd installed in our Headquarters -- passages so secret, I alone know of their location. (I, and mayhap the insignificant buzzing insects I've so often heard there, of late.)

The passages now resound with the roar of battle, more fearful than the baying of the dragon Charcouroboros. From the general noise has emerged an ominous thumping, which grows e'er louder. Could it be... footsteps?

God, they are breaking through! They are breaking through! Smoke is pouring from the corners of the wall. Their tongues-- ahhh--

You're Invited!

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

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

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

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

See you there!

Please Enjoy This Virtual Seat At An Official Revenge Squad Meeting!

(It's just that you're not allowed to say anything. Deal with it.)

Calamity King: Hear ye, hear ye. This meeting of the Blockade Boy Revenge Squad will now come to order! Secretary, do we have any unfinished business from our last meeting?

Gossip Queen: Polecat wanted 2 make a resolution barring U from parking your tricked-out Alfa Centauri Spider rocket-car in front of our SECRET HEADQUARTERS!!! But!!! You made us TABLE IT until the NEXT meeting!!! Which is THIS 1!!!!!!!

Calamity King: No way I'm moving my ride, dude! It's a total pussy wagon!

Polecat: I would have said "skank engine", but space-potato, space-potah-to. You have to listen to reason, Calamity! Even forgetting the glow-in-the-dark finish you painted it with, the spoiler you put on it is like, three times bigger than the car itself! It attracts unwanted attention!

Calamity King: Fine! Let's put it to a vote! All for moving my rocket-car?

Polecat: Aye.

Calamity King: All opposed?

Calamity King, Calorie Queen, Gossip Queen, Green Boy, Intern Alchemy, "Tater" Bugzz: [all of them displaying reluctance]: Nay.

[Suddenly, Polecat's chair collapses out from under him.]

Calamity King: Yikes, huh? You okay, pal? Green Boy, go get Polecat another chair.

[Green Boy lazily shambles out of the room.]

Calamity King: Weird, how you're the only one that ever happens to, Polecat. Maybe you need to go on a diet.

Polecat: Luck Lords damn you! I know it was your fault! We all know! [to the other Squad members] How long are we going to take this? He's the worst leader the Squad has ever had! I say, it's time we stood up to him! He can't take all of us at once, and--

[Abruptly, a ceiling tile falls on Polecat's head and knocks him on his ass.]

Calamity King: Wow! That looked painful. Polecat, pal, I think this little tantrum of yours has got you all tired out. Why don't you take a breather. Go design us all some new hats or something.

[Polecat leaves, muttering.]

Calamity King: Alrighty! Time for new business! Treasurer, how are we doin' for space-cheddah?

Intern Alchemy: By the winged staff of Hermes Trismegistus, it goes not well, my liege! The wheels of space-cheddah in our most-sacred vault are vanishing into the ether! I made free to spend yesterday evening within the vaults itself, as a guardian! Truly, I had purified myself for the vigil, touching neither food nor drink (save my customary flagon of space-wine). But still, a peculiar fatigue overcame my person. The mechanations of an evil spirit, I trow! When I had again recovered my senses, but one wheel of space-cheddah remained! Without a doubt, sinister forces are moving against us! Or maybe, y'know, we just have rats or somethin'. I dunno.

Calamity King: Big deal! Make us some more, already!

Intern Alchemy: Regretfully, I have suffered ill-fortune in every attempt, of late. Strange fluids have appeared within the pasteurizing vats, polluting the curds.

Calamity King: The hell? Like what?

Intern Alchemy: Urine, mostly.

Calamity King: So we're talkin' sabotage.

Gossip Queen: R we?????

Calorie Queen: Yeah! Are we, really?

Calamity King: What the hell is that supposed to mean?

"Tater" Bugzz: Prob'ly yer sleep-walkin', pardner.

Calamity King: Watch it, newbie.

Calorie Queen: Everybody knows, Calamity. Don't get us wrong, you're a cool guy and all, but you need to figure out some way to stay inside your Venturan star stone sarcophagus at night. Otherwise, all your bad luck mojo is gonna contaminate the whole squad! Unless you've figured out some way to control your power while you're sleeping.

Calamity King: I do not sleep-walk!

Gossip Queen: Oh????? Then HOW do U explain why you're always waking up outside your sarcophagus lately?????? We keep finding U dozing in the holo-vision lounge, in the kitchen... and outside the space-cheddah vault!!!!!! OMG!!!!!!

Calamity King: Aw, c'mon! You can't seriously think--

"Tater" Bugzz [to Gossip Queen]: Ackshully, I figgered you were the culprit, Gossip Queen! I mean, 'tain't no secret ya got a hankerin' fer cheese! [He pokes Gossip Queen's belly and man-boobs, repeatedly.]

Gossip Queen: Hey!!! Back off, SHORT STUFF!!!!!!

"Tater" Bugzz: "Yeller"?! NOBODY calls "Tater" Bugzz "yeller"!

Gossip Queen: "Yeller"???? What th'--?????

Calorie Queen: Relax, honey, I don't think he meant--

"Tater" Bugzz: I'LL SHOW YOU "YELLER"! [He punches Gossip Queen in his cameramatic eye prosthesis with one of his shock gauntlets, smashing the lens and frying the circuitry at the same time.]

Gossip Queen: GAH!!! I'M BLIND!!! YOU CRAZY BITCH!!! YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE!!!!!

"Tater" Bugzz: YEE-HAW! WHO WANTS SOME? I'LL TAKE ALL Y'ALL ON! HOO-DOGGIES!

Calorie Queen [dragging "Tater" towards the door]: I'm really sorry, you guys. "Tater" has this condition where he gets these really sexy berserker rages. There's only one way I've found to calm him down. We won't be back for, oh, about three hours.

[They exit.]

Calamity King [blinking in wonderment]: What the hell just happened...?

Gossip Queen: WHO CARES??!!!! Just get me 2 an Omnicom so I can order another camera-eye!!!!

Calamity King: Holy balls! How long will it take to arrive?

Gossip Queen: 6-8 weeks, usually!!! In the MEANTIME, I plan on holing up in my bedroom suite with a carton of fudge cakes and my massaging showerhead!!!! And I am NOT to be disturbed!!!!! Oh, this STINGS like a BASTARD!!!!! That little TURD BUCKET...!!!!!!!

[Calamity King and Intern Alchemy escort Gossip Queen from the conference room.]

[Two-and-a-half minutes later, Green Boy enters, listlessly dragging a chair behind him. He gazes morosely at the now-empty room.]

Green Boy [barely audible]: Hello...? Anybody...?

[One minute later, he crawls under the conference table, curls up into a ball, and begins snoring.]

Roll Call!

Welcome back, comrade!

It seems like you can't go anywhere nowadays without seeing Blockade Boy's face. Be it on a wanted poster, an unauthorized holovision documentary, a t-shirt at Hot Space Topic, or merely shaved into the haunches of a poodle, Blockade Boy's obnoxious, fur-bearing mug is impossible to avoid. And you're undoubtedly SICK TO DEATH OF HIM.

Relax. You're among friends, here. Because the good men (and woman) of the Blockade Boy Revenge Squad have been hating on Blockade Boy for years. Like you, we possess a heightened sense of aesthetics (and propriety) that opened the doors of our perceptions to the Grand Secret of the Universe: namely, that Blockade Boy is not "all that." Or, to be perfectly blunt about it, that he's a raging jerk-hole who somehow enjoys happiness and success that is far in excess of what he deserves. That's why the Blockade Boy Revenge Squad works -- tirelessly -- to balance the cosmic scales. From slipping Blockade Boy a depilatory to tying his sleeping ass to a missile and firing it across the sea, the Blockade Boy Revenge Squad is on your side, giving the Great Gay Ape what-for.

But who are these shadowy, heroic figures? Wonder no more! It's time for the Blockade Boy Revenge Squad Roll Call!



POLECAT: the Squad's founder, and a three-time former president. He currently serves the Squad as "creative consultant" plus he designed the uniforms!

Powers and abilities: can squeeze out a powerful musk from his horns! And he loves to dance.

Turn-ons: Khundish Leather deodorant (because it barely works at all), pudding-eating contests, buffalo plaids, cobbling. Turn-offs: nature hikes, jet exhaust, obstetrics. Hates Blockade Boy because: Blockade Boy created the cruel nickname that followed him through high school and college ("Polecrap"); Blockade Boy crushed him under his steel-wall form so many times that he's pretty sure it was on purpose; look at him, I mean, just look at his face, don't you just want to pop him one?



GREEN BOY: former Squad president (impeached), former Squad secretary (impeached), former Squad public relations officer (impeached). Nowadays he's mainly sent out for coffee and pizza and such. Green Boy is currently on a "spiritual quest" to discover a practical use for his power.

Powers and abilities: Green Boy can make anything green! For instance? His hair!

Turn-ons: staring into space, slouching, mumbling, bed rest. Turn-offs: making eye contact, complete sentences, hygiene. Hates Blockade Boy because: Blockade Boy spurned his advances. Also, Blockade Boy is so happy and successful that it plunged Green Boy into an existential crisis. Honestly, will goodness (by which we mean "blandly agreeable passivity") never prevail?



GOSSIP QUEEN: Squad secretary. Real name: Perez Dox. Other aliases: Camera Eye, Camera Kid, TMI Teen, Paparazzi Perez.

Powers and abilities: 12th-level bitchery, plus he had his eyeballs replaced by this super-cool device that lets him record anything he's seen, and then project it onto walls, with scribbles drawn all over it. With great concentration, he can also see the current whereabouts of anyone he's met in person... like Blockade Boy! How handy!

Turn-ons: pastels, pastilles, pistols. Also, anything deep-fried. Turn-offs: Princess Projectra (he is so over her), kangabronc-skin pants, back hair. Hates Blockade Boy because: back hair.



CALAMITY KING: Squad president. (His campaign slogan: "Bring Sexy Back.")

Powers and abilities: can alter probability to "jinx" people, and he can mostly control it these days, unless he's asleep.

Turn-ons: hats (the tinier the better), childbearing hips, surgical scars, stomach crunches. Turn-offs: women who "mouth off" or who are taller than 1.72 meters, culottes. Hates Blockade Boy because: Blockade Boy started a rumor in high school that Calamity King is gay, just because he kind of hates women, but he's NOT! He's totally not. Calamity King has slept with over seven hundred lovely ladies in a valiant effort to put an end to this misinformation, but he still can't stop thinking about Blockade Boy, and what he said. Damn him!



INTERN ALCHEMY: Squad treasurer. Former name: Rann Antar, but that's all forgotten now, since he initiated himself into the secret brotherhood of alchemists.

Powers and abilites: genius alchemist. Most of his experiments involve changing things into either feathers or lead. However, he has also hit upon a formula for transforming milk, bacterial cultures, and certain enzymes into space-cheddah, which is how the squad can pay for all of its wonderful projects (such as strapping Blockade Boy to a missile).

Turn-ons: musty old scrolls, musty old books, musty old DVD's. Turn-offs: sunlight, physical exercise, the laughter of small children. Hates Blockade Boy because: not quite certain, but it started after he tried to create a "signature fragrance" for Blockade Boy in the parfumerie in the back of his trailer pod, and it freaking exploded and caused all his pubes to fall out. He would like to someday transform Blockade Boy into lead. Or, perhaps, feathers.



CALORIE QUEEN: Squad public relations officer.

Powers and abilities: can eat anything (like Matter-Eater Lad) and it makes her super-strong (like Popeye!)

Turn-ons: quarries, piles of rubble, hover-car wrecking yards, face paint, natural blonds, short dudes, cowboys. Turn-offs: insects. Hates Blockade Boy because: when they were both life guards at the same pool that one summer, he just would not shut up about her thighs, and she developed an eating disorder. The sad part is, he thought he was being helpful.



"TATER" BUGZZ: Squad webmaster, who not only came up with the idea for this website, but devised some method by which it's on a secure network, and cannot be viewed by the wrong people. (There are "wrong people", you know.)

Powers and abilities: knack for trivia, plus a skilled brawler and he has these "shock gauntlets" which pack quite the whammy.

Turn-ons: demolition hover-car derbies, wrasslin', playin' sad songs on his fiddle down by the crick. Turn-offs: space-cops, Lallor's crippling dependence on foreign nuclear rods. Hates Blockade Boy because: Blockade Boy swindled him out of his family's farm in a poker game, and his ma died from the shame of it. He's gonna git Blockade Boy. He's gonna git 'im good.

Mwuh-Hah-Hah-Hah-Hah.

Welcome, comrades, to the Blockade Boy Revenge Squad's official home on the Intergalactic Intraweb! Our website is currently under construction, what with our being so busy plotting revenge and all, but we vow on our relatives' grave-pods that there are plenty of great features to come! These include a list of our "greatest hits" against that menacing man-beast, Blockade Boy; a fun preview of our future plans to torment him; and member profiles! Which might also interest those of you who are looking to hook up with one of us! Except for Squad members Calorie Queen and "Tater" Bugzz, since they're currently an item. But the rest of us are up for grabs!

(Just F.Y.I.)

Thanks for stopping by. Have a vengeful day!

Gadfly Lad's War Journal (by everyone's favorite pocket-sized bad-ass, Gadfly Lad)

Wow! That gal is... helpful.

I guess she picked up those guns at the Bulk Weaponry Outlet on Rimbor. They sell space-torpedoes there in twelve-packs! Just don't expect them all to detonate when you want them to. Also, I've heard the paint they use causes eyeball cancer. (Although why anybody would rub a space-torpedo on their eyeballs is beyond me.)

Still no sign of (the real) Blockade Boy. HOWEVER. As "'Tater' Bugzz", I'm developing quite the rep in Lallor's criminal underground! I've had fourteen separate space-hoods approach me about planning bank heists for them! On account of my being so knowledgeable. But I've had to turn them down (and then smack their asses up) because TATER DON'T PLAY THAT.

Y'know, as I strut down Lallor's back alleys, I feel like I need a theme song playing in the background. Maybe something classical, like Curtis Mayfield's "Superfly". Like that song's title character, I am both (admittedly) "hard to understand" and "a hell of a man." But I need some new lyrics. And I can't think of any decent rhymes for "'Tater' Bugzz", except "Afghan rugs" and "hugs, not drugs."

...On second thought, those rhymes suck, too. Consarn it.

[LATER...]

Sweet news, you guys! I was at a tavern, drinking alone (like usual), when the holovision showed a news report about a huge graffiti mural of Blockade Boy's face that showed up on the side of some skyscraper. Well, after a week of getting nowhere in my search for Blockade Boy, I was pretty sick of seeing his face everywhere. So I hurled my dainty porcelain teacup of malt liquor at the holo-set and I hollered, "Aw, SCREW THAT GUY!" There was a general gasp from the assembled barflies, but then a sexy gal sauntered up to me and purred, "So, you hate Blockade Boy, too?" My detective radar (among other things) perked up. I gave her a story about losing the family farm to Blockade Boy in a poker game, which forced me (or "Tater", rather) into a life of crime. I added that I wanted to get back at him, somehow. (Notice how I didn't explicitly use the term "revenge." You have to play these jokers. Give 'em plenty of rope.) Anyway, she said that there were some people she wanted me to meet, and that they all hated Blockade Boy, too, AND had been keeping tabs on him! I'm going to meet up with her again tonight, at the abandoned flying saucer factory on the edge of town.

*hums "Superfly" theme*

'TATER' BUGZZ!
He's meaner than a pack of pugs!
But he'll love a gal with major jugs!
And the... er, he'll... um--!

Criminy, I suck at this...!

Invalid Response

Curse that Blockade Boy Revenge Squad! A space-pox on them, I say! Pernicious fuckwads--!

They broke into my bachelor pod Sunday morning, while I was passed out drunk at church! I returned to find the place ransacked, and Cootie gnawing on the severed foot of one of the perpetrators. (Before I could take the lonely appendage to the crime lab, Cootie had swallowed the entire thing. Dang it.) At first, I just thought the Revenge Squad had stolen a few items, like my kangobronc trench, and my fifty-liter drum of Bubble Helmet Cologne For Especially Manly Men. But that night, when I went through my regular "handsomifying" routine (in front of a picture window, natch) I received a horrific shock! No sooner had I slathered my fur-bearing form in moisturizing creme, then all my body hair fell out onto the floor, with a tinkling sound one usually associates with the sickly tree from "A Charlie Brown Christmas." The Revenge Squad had replaced my lotion with a depilatory! I immediately collapsed to the floor, deathly ill, and weak as a kitten. I swear I saw a flashbulb go off in the distance. I've been laid up on my stone slab of a bed since then, while my pelt grows back, even thicker and more alluring than ever before. Klup and Ox have been most comforting, and the gang back at the detective agency sent me a basket of imported space-wines and soylent sausages. It was a real sweet gesture.

I'm sorry I haven't been able to blog in the last three days, and blogging might be spotty for the next week, but I should be back up on my furry feet real soon.

Stay hairy, guys!

Mnemonsemble

Late last night, a flying robo-messenger crashed through my bedroom window. Without a word, it dropped a bulky envelope onto my furry chest. And then, in typical Lallorian (i.e. crappy) fashion, it spun into the wall and exploded into its component parts. A small oil fire broke out. Cootie, bless her, doused the flames by urinating on them.

Turns out, the missive was from my old nemeses, the Blockade Boy Revenge Squad (or as I like to call them, "The Nancy Street Gang"). They had indeed slipped some kono juice inside my jello salad, as Bill S. and I had hypothesized. Not only that, but a Nancy Street Ganger had trailed after me with a camera, to make a journalistic record of any asinine behavior on my part. They claimed to have taken a whole passel of photos! As proof, they had enclosed a couple of samples. Including this one:

(I'd show you the ones taken from the front, but they're obscene.)

So, I'm giving a hearty, back-slapping "congratulations" to DOCTOR TECTONIC! The clever Doc rightly guessed that my juice-warped brain would gussy up my rude, hairy form in a Storm Boy original gown (the shoes were mine) and make a bee-line for the most conservative pub in the city.

The Revenge Squad wants me to wire them an entire wheel of space-cheddah, or else they'll upload all their photos to the Intergalactic Intraweb. As though I would be embarrassed by any of this. Screw that shit! I've always said, it's one sorry-ass Bear who's so insecure about his own masculinity that he's afraid to "get pretty" once in a while. And you know what? I think I worked that tulle gown! I'm like Ruby Keeler, only hot! And sure, the edges of the gown are razor-sharp, which is admittedly quelle butch, but you wouldn't know that until I got you in a sloppy-drunk Bear hug. That's why I'm uploading all the photos they sent me to the Intergalactic Intraweb, myself! Hell, here's a larger version of the above photo, just for you guys! I WIN, MOTHERFUCKERS! AGAIN! HAW! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA *inadvertently hiccups, then belches* HA HA HA HA HA HA HA...