Bikini Area 51

I hope Chameleon Boy remembers to thank Shrinking Violet for letting him borrow her blouse and panties.

What in the Sam Hill is going on here, you might ask, if you were a comic-relief "old prospector" character from a Hollywood Western? It's pretty simple, really. Let me break it down for you:

1. Chameleon Boy is sweet on Jan. Sadly...
2. Chameleon Boy is too shy to "make the first move", so...
3. Chameleon Boy has resorted to a trick taught to him by Timber Wolf...
4. And has shown up in her room with no trousers on. Unfortunately...
5. Chameleon Boy forgot to shape-shift himself some genitalia.

But that's no big deal, Cham. You don't need your junk to "press the button", if you know what I mean.

Now, Which Osmond Brother Is He Supposed To Be...?

Princess Projectra should apologize immediately, as Chameleon Boy's plan is obviously fool-proof.

Chameleon Boy is a little bit creepy, and a little bit rock-and-roll.

Prophecy and Loss

Friends, I extend to you the warmest of greetings. My name is Leopold "Sturdy" Sturdevant, also called "Stockade Boy" by my fellow mountain men. I may also have been called by another name, in another place, and perhaps some day I shall learn it.

The man and woman who reared me were not my true parents. They told me I was found as a babe within a great hole in the ground, near the ruin of a cyclopian Engine, the origin of which they dared not guess. In childhood I was blessed with a miraculous gift: through mere thought, I could transform my body into any manner of wall, be it sod, plank, log, stake, or even brick! At twelve years of age, I looked to all who saw me like a man of twenty-one, and so I left my rustic home to make my way in the world. At fourteen I met an Indian soothsayer who told me I would one day espy a double, and that another day I should come to his aid, when my journey would at last lead me to a realm beyond the tread of mortal man. In this manner, quoth he, I should be of service to his own people, who called themselves the Wolf Clan. Much of his prophecy has already come to pass; the remainder will very shortly occur.

I saw my lookalike, your captain, six years ago, through the window of a telegraph agent's. He was attired as a dandy and conversing with a band of adventurers from another Era, one of whom had seen fit to imitate me. This mimic was of a garrulous disposition, and despite his many skills as a storyteller, he could not long hold the attention of your Captain, who doubtless possesses as active and restless a mind as myself. Indeed, his gaze wandered with great frequency from the mimic's clownish gesturing and gamboling to the buttocks of a ranch hand, namely a young Mister Oswald "Acorn" Oakley. In this I cannot blame him, for Acorn's firm, taut posterior has oft brought great comfort to myself as well, albeit in more intimate circumstances. It occurred to me that I should introduce myself to your captain, but alas, a sudden cramp in my bowels forestalled me. By the time I'd sufficiently recovered, he had vanished. Today I am able to give him my aid, and I do so joyfully, for to help those in need is my dearest pleasure.

I should perhaps explain at this point how my voyage to this distant age was accomplished. My life's path brought me often into the company of the Wolf Clan, and through my good deeds they came to accept me as a friend. At the last they bestowed upon me the greatest honor they can offer to one not of their blood: I was to join a host of Spirits, thereby to assist in the selection of the tribe's new Saganowahna (or "Super-Chief" as the white men call him). I was made to remove my weapons, buckskins and furs, and my hair and beard were alike unbraided and stripped of their many charming adornments. In this plain fashion I was led into a lodge, there to join in the chanting of their most holy and reverent elder, and to draw frequently from a ceremonial pipe, so as to prepare my senses for the Spirit Realm. After a period of time unknown to myself, my Soul slipped my rude, hairy form and flitted into the Ether, there to search for its new vessel. The earthen floor below my feet spun like a child's top and dropped away, the firmament swept over me in a shower of sparks, and peculiar beings paraded themselves before my newborn eyes. Again I saw my double, now a jolly brigand, piloting his craft between the stars themselves, and I saw within him a cancer. I looked ahead, precisely one year beyond your own, and I saw him dead, eaten from within by this metal blight. And so I sent my Soul within him, both accelerating and devouring the disease, until only this shell and the invisible spark of his own Soul were left.

I will now take the shell into the Infinite, thence to test the mind and mettle of the prospective Saganowahna and, the Fates willing, enjoy many further adventures. As repayment for your captain's suffering, I give to him my own fleshly form, and he may take it with my compliments, to do with however he pleases.

Farewell.

...And from what they tell me, tobacco smoke poured out of the metal body's mouth, filling the room. When it cleared, the metal body was gone, and there I was, in a daze, lowering an ancient pipe from my mouth, bare-ass naked. Er, not that you could see anything, what with the hair and the beard. Meanwhile, everybody else was hacking up their lungs.

Storm Boy broke the tension by shouting "Huzzah!" and although I was still kind of out of it, I instinctively slapped him -- albeit kind of weakly. It didn't even make any noise! (Damn it.)

As for the business with Weight Wizard... well, you'll excuse me if I don't feel like talking about it right now. I don't blame Plant Lad for what he did, though. I mean, it was one of those situations where it's him or you. Except I was already kind of dead. I don't know. Sorry. I'm not making a ton of sense, am I?

One thing's for sure, I'm hella thankful to have a 100% genuine organic body again, and the fact that it's from my home planet is just gravy. And Stockade Boy was right about that time way back in Ye Olde Weste. Chameleon Boy was so long-winded and that ranch hand was so hot that I missed the part where Cham said he'd been imitating a real person. Go figure, huh? I'm sorry I didn't get to meet him. He sounded like a cool guy.

I do have some issues with the ridiculously impractical length of my new hair and beard but I don't want to cut them until I can figure out what my bangin' new look will be. Which could take a while. My brain's kind of a total mess at this point.

Still, Cootie seems to enjoy the long beard. She climbed into it and she's asleep right now, just above my knee area.

And I'm standing up!

Howdy You Like Me Now?

Yippee-Ki-Yay, fashion lover! Woo! Check me out! As you can see, I spent quite a bit of time in DC's Old West. Long enough for me to grow my hair back out and exchange my dashing Donegal for this bitchin' biker 'stache. Why, you ask? Simple. People were always mistaking me for a Mormon or a Mennonite or Abe Lincoln's hotter brother and after a while it really started to stick in my craw. And I noticed that all the really badass gunfighters, like f'rinstance every single one of the Earp brothers, had these sweet biker 'staches (and by biker, I mean some random dude on a velocipede). And then I remembered that the second-runner-up in my facial hair poll was the "Doctor Strange." So that cinched it. And of course, it gave me the excuse to get new clothes!

Y'know, as rugged and manly as I am, I just can't help playing the dandy. No dusters and cowboy hats for yours truly! Nope, I was going to be the swellest swell that ever swelled. I still had my hoodie stashed away, so I cut it into shreds and made it the front part of this fancy new vest! The rest of the outfit was mainly bought but I think I really can assemble an ensemble if you don't mind my tooting my own horn. I'm especially fond of the lavender kerchief. It even smells like lavender, thanks to the sachet I sewed into it. Which was handy given that your typical cattle town smells like seven flavors of ass. I fashioned a matching hatband for my derby, which I tilted rakishly, but of course. Now that I've returned to your time period, I'll probably have to design myself a new superhero outfit but that can wait for a while. I'm still digging on these Western duds!

I've got plenty of stories to tell about my Old West exploits, but I'll save most of 'em for some other time. For now, I'll just mention that I was shocked to discover that I had an Old West Earth ancestor named Stockade Boy. He had the power to transform into a 7' high by 5' wide fence made of sharpened timber. Looked just like me, too, if I had been a fur trapper who had never ever shaved. Or bathed. I was even more shocked to discover that Stockade Boy was, in fact, Chameleon Boy, playing this imaginary character as part of an elaborate ruse by the Legion to foil the Time Trapper, who himself was actually a disguised Mopee the Heavenly Help-Mate, who himself was, in fact, an evil double of Princess Projectra accidentally created by the chemical reaction of an experimental element and her lip gloss. And I'm pretty sure there was more to it but I really lost track after that. Honestly, as soon as Chameleon Boy revealed himself, I said, "Ain't no thing, pal, I'll let it slide," but he just kept talking and talking and I swear the Legion's master plan had about five hundred different moving parts and no matter how many times I tried to excuse myself he just would not shut his yapper. Luckily there was a lanky ranch hand nearby with the tightest chaps I'd ever seen, so at least I had something to look at.

Oh, and that format change Jeremy mentioned will be put into effect over the next week or so: all I'm doing is adding a few graphics to make it more obvious that this is a self-contained "team blog." That way, my associates* can post without any kind of confusing preamble from myself and they'll get their own little headshots at the start of the posts, like a byline, kind of.

*The recurring columnists of Team Blockade Boy: Myself (natch), Jeremy (sports commentary), Lenny the Marvel Henchman, Manny the DC Henchman, Lancelot Steele (our relationship expert) and Membros the Bearer of Bad Tidings. For starters. I might add more later on.