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--
