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 Tinytanic (by disgruntled guest-blogger, Gadfly Lad)

Sure, make the Bgztlian do all the work. And the Protean doesn't even get to sit in the boat! It has to swim alongside. Unless, maybe it's in training for the Space-Olympics...?

It's me, again. Gadfly Lad. I'm not blogging because Storm Boy asked me to. In fact, he's stopped asking me to!

Let me back up.

I guess I should have realized that if Storm Boy was going to ask me to guest-blog, that he might actually read what I wrote. He called me into his office -- by which, I mean Eyeful Ethel's -- to chew me out over my "insubordination." He demanded to know why I didn't respect him. (And that's the hallmark of an effective manager, double-eyeroll.) So I told him! I said that while I respected his scientific genius, I thought he was a disaster as a leader. I started to give him what I'm sure would have been only between 6.8852 and 7.0023 minutes of explanation for this, but he only let me get to the 1.7304 minute mark before he interrupted me. He shouted, "I ONCE RAN A MULTI-BILLION-CHEDDAH COMPANY!"

And I said, "Yeah, INTO THE GROUND!"

And then he fired my ass. That's right!

I told him I was planning on quitting, anyway. (Confession time: I totally wasn't, you guys. But that's just between us.) Dentata Damsel poked her head through the door and murmured that she was quitting, too, since she'd gotten an offer to (subliminally) narrate a new line of "better sex" holo-vids from Paramount-Universo. Out of sheer spite, I snatched up a big stack of Storm Boy's comics off his desk (YOINK!) and I buzzed out the door. Storm Boy's sole remaining employee is now Frigid Queen, and she spends most of her time macking on and/or pummeling Phantom Lad. It gets hard to tell the difference, sometimes. Not that I'm any expert, mind you. But I'm pretty sure a lady wouldn't like it if I punched her in the boob.

...Hang on. I just heard the buzzer go off on the sonic clothes-tumbler.

Okay. Let's see, here... spare costume (all warm from the clothes-tumbler!), three cans of concentrated space-java, one pack of soylent jerkey, polymer underpants, road flare, my super-disguise kit... and I'm good.

Screw this nonsense!

I'm gonna find Blockade Boy.

Tomorrow in this spot: who the hell knows anymore?

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)

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*

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.

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.