"I don't know, Philip," Dirk Daring began, pausing to test his hair's overall shape with a super-powered bounce of his super-powered hand. The hair, giving slightly, stood up to the super-powered test. "Doesn't it kinda remind you of Bon Jovi? Or that guy Fabio?"
Philip, Super-Hero Hair Stylist Extraordinaire, smacked his lips and exclaimed, "Thurely you know that the 1980th are back, Mithter Daring!" Philip brushed a loose hair off Dirk's shoulder. "Jutht like the 1970th were all the rage latht decade!"
Bill, the Galactic Hero Corps' most enigmatic super hero -- well, except for Carlotta Everyday -- looked up from his Wrist-Vision and said, "Yeah, think about it, Dirk. In the original Star Trek, Kirk looked like a 1960s goof hunk, but in the Next Generation, Picard and everyone else had those bright, optimistic uniforms of the Eighties. And then Deep Space Nine and Voyager had those darker, leaner, more militaristic uniforms, reflective of the 1990s. And then in Ex --."
"Enough!" commanded Dirk Daring, pointing a manly finger at Bill slowly, deliberately. "I understand you're punt -- I mean, you're point." Dirk nodded in an understanding way, even though he really didn't understand. What's Star Trek, anyway? he thought.
Philip thrugged. "What -- ever... Thee, Dirk, thexy hair callth for thexthy..."
Dirk nodded as Philip thpoke, not really understanding, but nodding anyway. As long as his hair was sexy, and as long as Philip knew his hair was sexy, he was fine.
BEEP!
"Dirk Daring, report to headquarters immediately!" intoned the Galactic Hero Corps Early Warning Beeper.
Dirk Daring stood up from his chair, ripping the bib from his manly chest and yanking out the pink curlers. "Away, Bill!" he cried, tucking the enigmatic hero under one arm as he strode out Philip's salon. "Phil me, Bill!"
"Huh?" asked Phil.
"No way," said Bill.
Dirk Daring paused and considered. "Uh... Bill me, Phil!"
Bill and Dirk left to do some do-gooding.
"So, you're name's Insectorama, hunh?" asked Teleman nervously. It was his first day with the Galactic Hero Corps and he desperately wanted to make a good first impression. Actually, he had been with the Corps for a good six months but he was optimistic that his good first impression would be rounding the corner soon. "I like your costume?"
"Thanks, Teleman." Insectorama rubbed his knobby chin and looked at Teleman. Teleman beamed hopefully at Insectorama. Insectorama knew that Teleman had been trying really hard to fit in. Teleman complimented everyone all the time, which was where the conversation always ended, because Teleman, in his uninteresting manner, was boring. So, like the hundred or so other encounters between Insectorama and Teleman, Insectorama kind of waved and walked away.
Teleman sighed. If he could only think of some kind of gimmick to get attention. The problem was, he just wasn't that imaginative. He knew Insectorama was the most boring, least intelligent of the Galactic Hero Corps, and he couldn't even impress him. Hell, Insectorama blew him away at witty, urbane conversation.
If only I communicate good, he thought. If only I could tele...
"YES!" he screamed, throwing an uninteresting fist into the air and clicking his dull heels. He ran off to find the nearest phone.
"Quick, where's a phone?" he yelled at Buck, the lumbering ogre who, despite his muscle debilitation, cooked for the Corps.
"There," said Buck, pointing and panting.
"Watch this!"
Teleman picked up the phone with grace and ease. Punching in a number, Teleman waited, and waited, and --
"Hello?"
"Insectorama! Hey, how's it going?" Wow, Teleman thought, I'm not even breathing hard or sweating or nothing!
"Pretty good. Who's this?"
"Teleman!"
"Wow, really? Cause I just saw Teleman, and you don't sound nervous, sweaty or stupid! Man, talking to Teleman is like talking to a load of crap, which isn't always bad, cause crap is kinda good when you're a horsefly or a dung beetle."
Teleman sighed.
Insectorama continued. "Back in my younger days, I could be any insect I wanted, instead of just a black widow, mosquito, and flea. A flea is pretty cool, cause a flea sucks blood, so does a mosquito you know, but black widows -- which aren't actually insects, by the way, they're called... oh, I can't remember what they call them. If I had thought about it, I wouldn't have called myself Insectorama, cause black widows -- and other things I used be able to change to, but can't now, cause A) my age and B) my run in with that radiation problem thingy, I can't remember what it was..."
"I can tele- anything," Teleman offered.
"I should have called myself Invertabrarama, I guess," said Insectorama, "but then that would imply I could become an amoeba, of all things, which I can't, but I could be a gnat --"
Over the phone, Teleman heard a loud beep. "What's that?" he asked smoothly. Then he heard, "Insectorama, report to headquarters immediately!"
"What's that?" repeated Teleman.
"Oh, that's my Galactic Hero Corps Early Warning Beeper. I gotta go."
"Why don't I have one of those," complained Teleman. "I want one of those --"
Insectorama hung up the phone.
"Wait, Insectorama, wait!" Teleman screamed. He redialed the number desperately. "I wanna beeper! I WANNA RESPOND!"
The sea.
The sea is... nice. Yeah, nice and... blue. The sea is nice and blue. And wet. Can't forget that.
Grunion Guy looked up from his wrist computer upon which he had been furiously typing his enflamed, impassioned poetry. He smiled. Poetry has a way of making people feel good, he thought. I know my poetry makes me feel good.
Grunion Guy scanned the ocean front from the lifeguard station he had commandeered. As the leading ocean hero of Earth, Grunion Guy could boss any lifeguard, and he did whenever they let him. From his sun-sheltered perch, Grunion Guy took in the sky, the sea, the sun, and he wrote:
The nice blue sea sings to.... me.
Writing was Grunion Guy's true calling.
Wow, what a line, thought Grunion Guy in silent satisfaction. He wiped away a tiny tear...
"Like, Grunion Guy?" called out a lifeguard.
"ARRRGH!" Grunion Guy growled. Interrupted! He looked out of the shelter and glowered at the anxious lifeguard. "Whaddya want, Biff!"
"Like, that man out there," panted Biff, "he's like dyin' an' drownin' an' stuff?"
Grunion Guy peered at the horizon. In the distance, a single hand waved in spastic desperation. Hmm, that would be a lot of swimming...
Grunion Guy sighed. "So why don'tcha race one of your boat thing-a-bops out there an' save him yourself?"
"Son, why don't ya just do yer job?"
Grunion Guy twirled around and found himself face to face with a levitating Mr. Mystic, the Corps' resident mage. Grunion Guy knew he was the only "good guy" occultist in the galaxy, but he suspected that Mr. Mystic had been hired to satisfy affirmative-action requirements.
(Mr. Mystic, by the way, was black. An African. One of those black Africans. Get used to it.)
"Son, you gonna save that there boy drownin' in that there sea, or I'm a gonna get my rickety ol' ass movin' and suffer through my arthritis which is actin' up like nobody's business..."
(Mr. Mystic, by the way, was old. An elderly man. One of those black, African, old, elderly stereotypes. Get used to the fact he's black. But man, is Mr. Mystic old...)
By the time you've considered all this, however, Grunion Guy had already huffed it out to the edge of the ocean, stamping along as fast as any fish out of water could, only slower.
BEEP!
"Grunion Guy! Report to headquarters immediately!"
"Aw geez!" Grunion Guy huffed loudly, stopping just short of diving into the water. "Gee, Mr. Mystic, can'tcha just save the guy with a finger snap so Assistant-Executive Vice whatever-he-is don't get mad at us?"
"Eh?"
Grunion Guy sighed and tried one more time. "I said, can'tcha just save the guy with a finger snap so Assistant-Executive Vice whatever-he-is don't get mad at us?"
"Like, never mind!" cried out Biff, waving a arm as he pulled his boat out of the sea, a lifeless corpse slung over his shoulder. "He's like dead an' all, but I got him!"
"Phew," sighed Grunion Guy, turning back to the levitating Mr. Mystic.
"Eh?"
"I said, can'tcha just teleport us to headquarters with a snap of your fingers so Assistant-Executive Vice whatever-he-is don't get mad at us?"
"A'ight, 'erbody! N'body move, n'body get hurt!" screamed B-Dog, flinging off his upwardly-mobile-honkey disguise to reveal his bad-ass, rap-gangsta self. The fact that a black man was in the bank probably scared more people than the fact that B-Dog and his compatriots wielded sawed-off shotguns and AK-110s.
"It's the Dog Pound!" screamed one old, very rich, white woman.
"No duh," scowled some white corporate climber, making a nasty face at the stupid bag.
"Shup yo foo ass, yuppie!" screamed a very Caucasian C-Dog, who surprised everyone by swinging the back of his AK into the innocent, upright man's head. The nattily dressed, dapper young fellow collapsed across the marble floor, unconscious.
"How could you!" screamed a pretty brunette teller. "You're not..." The teller paused, her eyes flicking and head jerking toward B-Dog. "You're not... you know..."
Her head exploded in a burst of automatic gunfire, spattering her fellow pretty blonde teller with brain and blood. That teller, however, keeping her head, kept smiling, earning her extra customer-service points.
"Anybody else gotta problem wit da fact I ain't black? Huh?" roared C-Dog, hefting his AK like a real man would. "C'mon, lemme hear someone tell me I'm white again. C'MON!"
"You gotta cool wi' dat crazy shit, man," snapped Corn Dog from near the bank's poinsettia bush. C-Dog huffed and shut up. Corn Dog took another drag of his cigarrette and sat upon the giant poinsettia pot. He glanced over the rich-ass customers standing still, lest B-Dog blow them away. "Get da cash, B-Dog. Back's covered."
B-Dog jumped the counter and stuck his shotgun in the pretty blonde teller's face. "Ya know da drill. Get da money. And wipe dat wide-ass white-chick smile offa ya face!"
The teller, whose smile never faded, answered, "Okay, but what do you say first?"
"Uh..."
"Hmm?" pressed the teller.
"You, you sure is da bomb..." Confusion swept over B-Dog as his eyes drank the image of her beautiful face. Sometin' ain't right, he thought.
The teller's smile grew. "Why, that's the nicest thing I think you ever did say, B-Dog!"
B-Dog blinked a couple times. "Do I know you?"
"YO! Get a move on, B-Dog!" screamed a wide-eyed C-Dog, looking around nervously. "I is hearin' da sirens already!"
B-Dog turned to C-Dog and screamed, "SHUP YO FOO --"
B-Dog would have finished, but for the thin trail of brown slime dangling and twisting behind C-Dog, reaching for his AK...
"C-DOG! HEADS UP!"
"Wha...?" said C-Dog, looking up in time to see a gigantic blob of slime in human form, standing on the ceiling upside-down and dropping a huge ball of mucus on him...
"Snailman! It's -- OOPH!" screamed C-Dog just before getting slapped with slime.
SPLAT!
"The Corps!" screamed Corn Dog, leaping off the poinsettia planter and raising his shotgun at the Man of Mucus. B-Dog, dazed, could only watch as the poinsettia transformed into the world's Number One Eagle Scout, Ranger Ruben, who suddenly, if not tentatively, jumped Corn Dog.
"Gotcha!" cried Ruben.
Ruben's cry, along with the angry, frightened shouts of well-to-do honkeys looking to do some lynching, shook B-Dog out of his daze. "Shee-ee-it!" he cried, raising his shotgun, "ya move, ya hurt!"
"That's not nice!" sassed a nice voice from behind B-Dog.
B-Dog spun around and saw why the teller knew him. "Nice Alice! Again!" For some reason, Nice Alice always got the jump on him, and for some reason, he never realized until the game was up...
"Kill the bastard!" screamed the lynch mob, which, armed with superior numbers, guns and superheroes, finally found the courage to confront a black man.
Oh man, B-Dog thought, I'm in trouble...
And then he wasn't.
Suddenly, B-Dog's anger with the establishment, his fear of the lynch mob, and that ever-present nervous twitch in his left eye disappeared.
Suddenly, a wave of emotion -- good, wholesome, nice emotion -- steamrolled him in a tidal wave of warm fuzzies.
Suddenly, the lynch mob was a family reunion. Men gave up high-fives, women offered beauty tips and wildflower chains, and children frolicked among the deposit envelopes and meadows.
Suddenly, Ranger Ruben seemed okay with himself, no longer possessed by demons of the past. He lead everyone in a really cool camp song.
Suddenly, Snailman had friends who weren't disgusted when slime inevitably got into their hair. Of course, his friends were children who used him as a human rubber-tire swing, but still...
And suddenly, Nice Alice was... well, nice in that way that only Alice could be... nice.
BEEP!
"Nice Alice, Ranger Ruben, Miraculous Mucus Boy, report to headquarters immediately!"
"Come on, boys!" Nice Alice called. "Gather up you're friends and let's go to our little meeting! And Snailman, you must tell Assistant-Executive Vice-Captain Richard that you changed your name when you realized you had grown up. Okay?"
Snailman nodded as he swung from the roof top, swinging little Billy, who laughed with delight.
"Aw, do we have to go, Nice Alice?" asked Ranger Ruben as he gathered up Corn Dog.
"Yes," asked Snailman slowly as he swung Sally back and forth by her head. "Must we go just now?"
Nice Alice handed B-Dog a pair of pink, satin-lined handcuffs. Grinning, B-Dog slapped the cuffs on. "Oooh! They're soft!" he exclaimed.
"You know how Richard hates it when we don't play with him. And Snailman, honey, you've got to re-register your name sometime, okay? You are a man now..."
Snailman nodded.
Nice Alice looked around. "Carlotta, dear, can you take us home?"
Suddenly, a burst of light filled the bank, and a woman with way-whacked hair, light emanating from within her body, and small breasts floated above them. "You will soon be ready, were you not?"
"What?" wondered B-Dog.
"She asked if we are ready to leave," answered Alice.
"No, she didn't. She didn't say anything in the present tense..."
"Well, that's what happens when you live outside time," Ruben giggled as the group dematerialized with much fanfare from the joyful crowd.
SMACK!
Another butt saved.
POW!
Another butt saved.
BOOF!
Another butt saved.
No guy in this world really likes me, Greased Lightning thought as he slid around downtown between smacks, pows and boofs, turning his friction on whenever he had to smack, pow, and boof someone, or whenever he had to take a corner as he zoomed at top speed on his frictionless feet, safe from the drag of atmosphere as it slid over his frictionless body, safe from the bullets of thugs as they encountered nothing to explode against.
Can't say I blame 'em. It probably hurts both ego and pride to be constantly reminded that you're only half a man compared to moi. But there's two reasons why the Corps would never get rid of me, Greased thought as he took a left on Fourth Avenue at speeds unimagined by anyone who ever thought they went really, really fast.
One, I save everyone's butt, and even if they don't acknowledge it, they know it.
WHUFF!
Another butt saved.
BOP!
Another butt saved.
BLAM!
Another butt saved.
And two, all the women of the world would revolt if the Corps dropped Solar Woman's Weekly's favorite poster boy. Of course, no one acknowledges that either, but again, they know it.
BEEP!
"Greased Lightning, report to headquarters immediately."
See? They need someone to save the galaxy's butt again. Ain't no one can do that 'cept Greased Lightning.
Greased Lightning turned up the volume on his internal stereo system as he sped up 107th Avenue, pausing only once to let a cute chick check out his rock-hard body.
"Ew," complained the cute chick's overweight friend. "He's so... so greasy..."
Greased smirked and flexed a muscle.
"Ohhhh...." exclaimed both girls, wilting.
"Here's my card," Greased said to the cute chick, smirking. "You can take me out to dinner some time, but leave the ugly fat chick behind."
"N-no problem..." the cute chick stammered as Greased disappeared.
Life is good, Greased thought, content as he sped down the avenue. Then, suddenly, life got better. His favorite song came on:
Go Greased Lightning! Go Greased Lightning!
Carlotta Everyday watched herself watching Thirty-Minute Man and the rest of the old Corps (although she had no conception of the word 'old') struggling in the Gobi Desert in their final battle. She saw the tear in her eye and handed Super Mummy the butter for his muffin.
"Unhhh...." moaned Super Mummy.
Carlotta, concentrating on what she was watching herself do, muttered a quick "your welcome" to Super Mummy which he had heard her say an hour earlier as he passed her in the hall.
What am I thinking? she thought as she materialized the space cruiser to rescue the new Corps (although she had no conception of the word 'new') as their shuttle was about to blow up in deep space.
"I warned you guys about this," she lectured them. Super Mummy looked up from his uneaten muffin. Carlotta met Super Mummy's gaze and smiled warmly. "You and Bright Boy always get along great, don't you?"
"Unnnnhhhhh?" asked Super Mummy.
"Shhhhh," she whispered to Snailman later that day, "I'm trying to concentrate on this." Carlotta ran across the desert, her eyes on herself standing among Thirty-Minute Man, Smite Dude and Ranger Ruben. She had to know why she was doing what she will do and always had done. "Why not do it differently?" she asked Assistant-Executive Vice-Captain Richard five years ago, spawning the recruitment which had now become the core group of the Corps.
Super Mummy watched quietly as Carlotta began to utter a long piercing shriek. Super Mummy tried to hide in the corner of their Denny's booth, but being a tall, shroud-wrapped king of the dead with a golden crown and purple cape pretty much hampered that attempt. Plus the fact that Denny's management had been keeping a close eye on them anyway. They hadn't been as suspicious as the night before when the group of black teenagers had come in, but they were wary. It wasn't often a mummy and a spinning, light-filled woman with wild hair and small breasts came in for breakfast.
"Unnnhhhhhh!" wailed Super Mummy loudly, trying to get Carlotta's attention and shut her up. He waved a large fist in her direction, knocking his coffee into his lap and his muffin -- buttered-side down, of course -- onto the hair- and lint-filled floor. A large brown stain began spreading up his strips of linen, the old material quickly soaking up the coffee.
"Okay! That's enough of this circus! You two are out of here! Get! Now!"
Super Mummy poked Carlotta. Carlotta's gaze seemed to clear, as much as it ever did, and she smiled at Super Mummy. "You are so handsome, Pharoah Nanotoknonnen. I am so happy that you are spending the day with me here on the Nile." She gently took Super Mummy's hand and smiled sweetly. The manager tapped his foot impatiently. Super Mummy, understanding and believing in authority (and also noticing his emergency beeper beeping from within his chest cavity), pulled Carlotta from the table and started out of the restaurant. Carlotta waved at the patrons enthusiastically.
"I'm glad we will meet everyone! Bye!"
Buck the Ogre glared at his opponent, the one thing who could keep him down. "Today, I defeat you..." he growled. His opponent growled back. In fact, his oppenent -- the ugliest, fiercest-looking creature on Earth at that moment -- looked a lot like Buck.
But Buck gazed beyond his reflection in the oven window -- and thus destroying any self-awareness of himself as his greatest oppenent -- and addressed what he considered to be his greatest opponent:
The perfect dessert souffle
"Rise, damn you, rise!" Buck whispered, ready to pound the oven but knowing that would be another failure, another set-back, another vicious smart-ass comment from Greased Lightning about his "egg pie."
Buck closed his eyes upon remembering the comment, holding back tears of rage and futility.
"The perfect souffle has eluded me too long... Now, now is the time. HERE AND N--" Buck screamed before catching himself. Quickly he peered in the oven again, where the souffle continued to rise, despite his shouting.
A close call.
Buck wiped his brow.
"Goddamned, fucking, no-good, grumble grumble," came the muffled voice of the Corps' fearless leader from beyond the kitchen door.
Buck tip-toed his gigantic bulk of a body to where the voice came from, took a deep breath, and pulled with all his might to open the sliding door between the rooms.
Slowly, slowly, slowly, the door began to budge... Slowly.
Motes of darkness began to swim in Buck's eyes. "Breathe," he ordered himself.
"Grumble mumble stupid fucks grumble," came the voice. Buck, just about to pass out, couldn't tell if the voice was close by or far, far away...
Buck had nearly opened the door an inch when suddenly -- relief! THE DOOR OPENED IN ONE FELL SWOOP!
Buck, who had nearly fainted, looked up.
Assistant-Executive Vice-Captain Richard stood on the other side of the entrance, leaning against the sliding door he had opened with one hand. "Why haven't you reported, you stupid fuck?!" he screamed.
Buck, straining, got to his feet. "My... perfect... souffle," he panted.
"I don't give a damn about your souffle! I want you -- anybody -- to report immediately when I send out the emergency signal! Do you understand!"
"But... dinner... and dessert," pleaded Buck.
Assistant-Executive Vice-Captain Richard considered. "Dessert? Like mom used to make, damn her anyway... Fine, that's fine then. Continue on, underling. You're useless anyway, with your debilitating-muscle... uh, whatever that thing is..."
"Shut... up... you fool," breathed Buck, crawling to the oven. The souffle continued to rise. That was close, he thought.
"Tell those other guys to go to the meeting chamber, you fuck," said Richard, who stared at the useless muscle mass of Buck's body. "What a pathetic waste..."
Richard reached for the door...
Buck sensed Richard's action. "Nooooooooo...." he said in slow motion.
SLAM!
The souffle, one moment rising, another moment falling, falling, falling...
Buck sighed. Oh well, another egg pie.
Assistant-Executive Vice-Captain Richard paced the floor of the Galactic Hero Corp's meeting chamber. A huge, round oak table dominated the room. The Corps' first captain, Thirty-Minute Man, had wanted the heroes under his command to feel "equal," to feel they could approach him on both a professional and personal level, to feel that he was "one of the guys," even if Thirty-Minute Man could have destroyed the rest of the Corps with a flick of an eye.
"What an ass," muttered Richard. "Look where all that goody-goody stuff got him." Richard sneered. "It got him dead, that's what."
Anyway, Richard fixed that "equal" business by installing a throne in the middle of the table -- standing room only for everyone else as they stared up at his commanding, dominating presence.
As one of the survivors of the Gobi Campaign, and as the second-in-command of the first Corps, Richard had been given the job of reconstructing the Corps -- a five-year mission which nevertheless hadn't guaranteed him the post of Captain. As far the Galactic Hero Corps Subcommittee was concerned, Richard was the "interim" captain.
Assistant-Executive Vice-Captain Richard shuddered with rage.
Richard intended to change this unacceptable command situation with the first, full-fledged mission of the new Corps, a dedicated group who had trained hard under him because he demanded and thus commanded their respect, dammit!
Richard slammed his fist on the table top. Respect!
Respect is all I demand from my loyal underlings. That's all. Give me that, and I'm Coolio.
"R-E-S-P-EEE-C-T," Richard sang under his breath as he checked his watch. Dammit! I sent out the alarm nearly five minutes ago!
Somewhere in the fourth dimension, which is everywhere in the third dimension, Epochalypse tried on another trench coat. Swirls around my ankles nicely, nice shade of infinite black, menacing, cool, friendly in that 'at least I'll kill you quickly" sort of way, he thought.
"This one will be perfect for the eradication of the universe," he mumbled aloud. The clothier looked up from his work hemming the bottom of the trenchcoat.
"What was that?" he asked.
"Hmmm, oh yes, you're here. Well, let me explain. Please try to keep up. The tweaking of the space/time continuum is a simple matter. In just moments, well, I use that phrase facetiously since it's already happened, but for your sake I'll try to stay in a three dimensional frame of mind. Currently, I'm standing here speaking to you. That's what you're perceiving at this moment. But trust me, that's not all that's going on.
"Anyway, I am realizing, hmm.... I think you say 'I realized early on...,' that well, I know that the Big Bang was a disease that spawned, well, you and all you see and experience actually. But life is much more pleasant, let's see, 'in the time before,' where I mostly 'be', if you must know. It's my goal, pastly, presently and futurely to stop this disease called existence."
The clothier stared blankly.
"You, my balding friend, are one of the lucky ones. My ego insists that I will relate my plans to many in the third dimension. It was a frailty of mine, this need to gloat continually. Did I use the word continually correctly? These words have always troubled me. Language is such a tumor of so much useless flesh. And trying to keep these words in a so-called normal flow for you to understand is so tiresome.
"Where am I?"
"In my clothing store," replied the clothier, happily answering the first thing he really understood.
"No, you misunderstand me. I meant 'Where was I in my speech?' Well, you've heard enough anyway. As long as Carlotta can be kept in the dark, I'll erase existence this time. But as for you, my chubby friend, why wait." The clothier disappeared, not from the room but from existence entirely. "A little tweak of the space/time continuum," laughed Epochalypse as he brushed the centuries of dust off his new trenchcoat. "Well, Carlotta, you couldn't stop the destruction of Thirty Minute Man, let's see if you stopped the nonexistence of your precious three-dimensional realm."
"YOU'RE LATE, YOU FUCK!" Assistant-Executive Vice-Captain Richard, seated upon his throne, intoned as Greased Lightning stepped through the meeting chamber's door with a fat sandwich in hand. "I sent out that signal eight minutes ago! Everyone else made it -- late, of course, cause they're all stupid bastards --"
"Hey, there," muttered Bill, looking up from his Wrist Vision.
"Well, most of them are stupid bastards," ammended Richard. "But still, they're not as late as your pathetic ass, Greased. What's your excuse?"
"Made myself a sandwich." Greased proffered his sandwich.
"Can I have a bite?" muttered Grunion Guy, rubbing his belly through his polyurethane suit covered with beach balls, little fishies and octupi.
"No."
Grunion Guy headed for the door.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" demanded Richard.
Grunion Guy stopped. "T-to make myself a s-sandwich?" he stammered.
Rather than answer, Richard scowled, snorted and shook his head. He cast a baleful eye across his assembled heroes. "What a bunch of pathetic, no-good, moronic, unloved fucks," he announced.
Get them mad, he thought. It'll make them want to prove themselves to me.
Dirk Daring sighed. "Why are we here, Richard? Do we have to go through this crap every time we have a meeting?"
"Look you fuck! If you pathetic pieces of...."
"Must you always swear, Richard dear. I don't think it's a very nice way to act at all," helped Nice Alice. "I think the rest of the group would agree with me. We'd all like you much better if you would cut out the swearing, insulting, berating and brow beating." Nice Alice smiled sweetly. "Or at least toned it down a little."
"Did I ask for a suggestion as to my conduct?" Richard leaned toward Alice. "Well? Did I?"
"No, sir, but I thought if maybe you were a little bit kinder to us we might like you just a little bit more."
"Like? I don't care if you fucking love me, you got it? I'm the leader! You do what I say because I am the Captain of this crappy squad. Captain Richard, dammit! Fuck the subcommittee if they can't make up there empty minds! I'm here now! Listen to me, goddammit!"
"Um... Assistant-Executive Vice-Captain Richard? This is supposed to be an emergency meeting, right?" asked Grunion Guy. "Well, I was just wondering what the emergency was?"
"The emergency," screamed Assistant-Executive Vice-Captain Richard, his face turning bright red, "is that this group of pathetic heroes I've collected to form the new Galactic Hero Corps is made up of a bunch of pathetic morons that can't get to meetings on time!"
"If I may say something...." started Ranger Ruben.
"No, you may not you screw-up! How many times have I told you to keep your fucking mouth shut in these meetings? Nobody needs advice from an emotional wreck like you!
"And since I'm screaming anyway, Insectorama, you are a complete waste of this squad's time! Who the fuck told you you had complete freedom to turn into a flea and jump down my pants! No one gets in my pants, you hear!"
"I heard," muttered Greased Lightning.
"What's that supposed to mean, you turd? I am so sick of you, Greased! Why can't you ever save anybody without insulting themand their entire family, race or country? What's wrong with you?"
Greased looked down at his muscular body. "Nothing that I, or any chick in the universe, can see."
"You, Greased, are a public relations nightmare and if you're not careful you are gonna find yourself out of this Corps!" Richard glanced around the room, his eyes burning with hate for how his life turned out. His gaze fell on Super Mummy. "Why don't you fucking learn how to talk, you decaying, groaning, disgusting...."
"I'm here!" shouted Teleman, waving enthusiastically as he entered the chamber. "Hey Rich -- can I call you Rich? -- nice throne, by the way. Hey, can I get one of those beepy things? Please? Cause then I could respond to emergencies and stuff."
"Shut up, you fuck. You will address me as "captain," if you must address me, but I'd rather you didn't," said Richard. "You will not get a beeper until I feel like giving you one, which I won't ever feel, so shut up and leave."
"But, but --" protested Teleman, tears welling in his eyes.
"You'd better leave, Teleman," Ranger Ruben said. "You're endangering the mission with all your distractions."
"Yeah, leave," Insectorama said.
"I thought since I'm in the Corps and all..." began Teleman, faltering. He looked for support on the faces of his fellow heroes with whom he hoped he would one day stare death in the face and survive, thus creating a bond between him and them. Please God, let them let me be a part of the team, he thought.
"Leave," said Bill and Dirk simultaneously.
"SNRRT!" snored Mr. Mystic in the corner.
Teleman was about to point out that Bill or Dirk could yell "Jinx!" and demand a Coke when a steely vice grip clamped his neck and lifted his body off the ground.
"Ouchie!" Teleman screamed.
"Out you go!" Greased Lightning announced, opening the chamber door with one hand and heaving Teleman out with the other.
"Finally!" screamed Richard. "Good initiative, Greased. You other jerks could learn a thing or two from him. That's why he got recruited before the rest of you fucks!"
"Hey there," warned Bill.
"Well, most of you are fucks anyway." That said, Richard leaned back and nodded at his heroes.
From beyond the chamber, a soft, erratic pounding on the door could be heard, along with muffled "let me ins" and "I just wanna be friends."
Then the chamber door opened and Buck, heaving a small plate of sweet egg pie, entered and silently began passing out samples with much effort.
"Yum," said Grunion Guy. "Can I have a sandwich like Greased Lightning's next?"
"Sure, if you make it yourself," answered Buck sassily.
"Look, Rich, where's this emergency at?" wondered Greased. "I need to know where to send the photographers so they can get pix of me saving your butts again."
"What-ever..." muttered Dirk Daring, unconsciously flexing a leg.
Assistant-Executive Vice-Captain Richard blinked. Oh yeah, the mission. "The mission is an important one," he announced slowly. "At least, I think it is... Carlotta said I should tell everyone to meet here, cause the universe was gonna end or something like that." Richard looked around. "Where the hell is that whacko freak anyway?"
A burst of light over Richard's head answered his question. "The universe will be, is, has been but has been too much to soon," she announced, rotating at a 60 degree angle as she cast her body light over everyone. "Emptiness of emptiness reigns, no thing changes in nothing, nihil ex nihil, etc., etc. Where are the blueberries yesterday when yesterday never was yesterday or any day? WHERE ARE THE BLUEBERRIES?"
The Corps shrugged.
Carlotta nodded at the upper, northeast corner of the chamber, addressing it. "No, and so it is so."
"So, is she saying the world is gonna end or something?" wondered Ranger Ruben.
"No," answered Snailman. Several seconds passed as everyone waited for Snailman to clear the mucous from his mouth. "Carlotta Everyday is... saying the world... never existed... I think."
"Bullshit, Mucous Boy! Of course the world exists!" answered Richard. "Look out the freakin' window, for God's sake! Don't you see blue sky? Clouds? Sun? Happy friggin' birds singin' in the friggin' trees? I do."
"His name's Snailman?" suggested Nice Alice cheerfully.
Snailman peered out a window, struggled for a few seconds, and answered, "No."
The entire Corps peered out the window and saw no thing.
"Unnnh..." moaned Super Mummy.
"Yes, I think Super Mummy's right," answered Nice Alice, who patted the skeletally thin hero. "Super Mummy's so smart."
"Move it you fucks! I can't see!" announced Richard, who had hopped off his throne and table and now couldn't see anything because everyone was so much taller than him. A path to the window opened up, and Richard strode manfully toward it. "Give me a boost," he ordered Dirk.
Blue sky, clouds, sun. Happy friggin' birds singin' in the happy friggin' trees.
"I knew you guys were pathetic," he snapped, spinning around on Dirk's back to address them. Dirk grunted.
"He who sees everything sees nothing," said Carlotta.
"Finally, she makes some kind of sense," muttered Greased, who hadn't taken his eyes off Carlotta's hard body since she arrived. He really didn't care for trees or birds, but oh man, what a hard, hard body...
"Dammit, I'm in charge here, and I see everything!" screamed Richard.
The chamber door creaked open. "Guys? Can I come in? There's nothing out there..." said Teleman.
"NO!" screamed Richard.
Teleman, sighing, exited. Teleman, sighing, entered. He blinked. "Hey..."
"GET OUT!" screamed Richard.
"You cannot get the blueberries where there will be no blueberries," announced Carlotta Everyday, shrugging.
"What she is saying," said Snailman in his excruciatingly slow way. "Is that... one cannot go from existence to... non-existence... if one exists... I think."
"You fuck! Don't you dare disobey me! Get out," ordered Richard, ignoring Snailman.
Teleman, sighing, exited. Teleman, sighing, entered. He blinked. "Hey..."
Snailman shrugged.
Richard, hearing the shrug, whirled toward Snailman, digging his heels into Dirk's back. Dirk, still on his hands and knees, grunted. "Mucous Boy! Shut the fuck up!" screamed Richard.
Teleman, sighing, exited. Teleman, sighing, entered. He blinked. "Hey..."
"SNRRKT!" snored Mr. Mystic.
"Oh my God!" screamed Bill, furiously tapping at his Wrist Vision. "Oh my God!"
"What's wrong Bill?" asked Nice Alice.
"I was watching my favorite Knight Rider episode in which the evil twin of Michael has a semi-truck like Kitt and goes on a rampage, but that was stored in my Wrist Vision's memory so I could see it anytime I wanted. But now, I know Battle Star Galactica's on on USA network, but USA's not coming on my Wrist Vision."
Nice Alice bobbed her head up and down, smiling understandingly.
Bill continued. "So I thought, 'Okay, USA's down, I guess I'll watch Price is Right reruns on TBS." Bill paused and glanced around. "There's no TBS. In fact, there's nothing on any channel."
Nice Alice bobbed her head up and down, smiling understandingly even though Bill had stopped speaking. The rest of the Corps just sort of stared at him. Except for Teleman, who sighed and exited. Teleman, sighing, entered. He blinked. "Hey..."
"Don't you understand?" yelled Bill. "Something's wrong with the universe! We need to make a plan now, or -- God forbid -- they're may never be television again!"
"How can we make a plan when we don't even know what's going on?" asked Greased Lightning as he began making his own plans to nail Carlotta.
"You all know what to do. Just do what you did before. Only pay attention this time. And you, Teleman, do something different. God, you're boring," announced Carlotta.
Teleman blinked. "Hey...."
Everyone, confused, just stared at Carlotta. Carlotta winked. "Here we go...."
A flash of light, and...
"I don't know, Philip," Dirk Daring began and then just as suddenly stopped. Dirk tore his gaze from his own beautiful reflection and turned to glance closely at Philip. He'd never really noticed before but he was beginning to think Philip might just be gay. He looked over at Bill who was concentrating on his wrist television. Is that all Bill ever did was watch TV? Now that he thought about it, he had never actually seen Bill use any superpowers. Hell, he had never even seen Bill act like a man. Dirk shrugged, growing bored with his contemplation of others. He returned to his gorgeous reflection and asked Phil, ""Doesn't it kinda remind you of Bon Jovi? Or that guy Fabio?"
Philip, Super-Hero Hair Stylist Extraordinaire, smacked his lips and exclaimed, "Thurely you know that the 1980th are back, Mithter Daring!" Philip brushed a loose hair off Dirk's shoulder. "Jutht like the 1970th were all the rage latht decade!"
Bill was about to respond with some whimsical Star Trek anecdote when he realized Dirk was way too self-aware to ever have spent any time in front of the television. Unless it was off and he could see his reflection. God, what an ignorant jerk. Bill scoffed and snorted at the thought of somebody not knowing the Vulcan Death Grip and was soon immersed in his wrist-vision again.
The sea.
The sea is... cool. Yeah, cool and... greenish The sea is cool and greenish.
Grunion Guy had the nagging sensation that his poetry wasn't quite all it could be. He had been a writer his entire life and it was the first time he ever had this kind of self-doubt. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't any good at it. He was passionate enough and dedicated enough, often writing for minutes a day. But the sea is cool?, he thought. Would that inflame the passions of others? Would that describe exactly what he felt when he immersed himself in that golden womb of bluish-green? Would that convey the thrill, no, the glory with which he was filled when swimming in it's dark depths? He reread what he wrote and added one more line....
And wet. Can't forget that.
Grunion Guy sighed with pleasure. How could I have ever doubted myself, he thought. Poetry flows through me like, well, like water. Wet and cool.
"Like, Grunion Guy?" called out a lifeguard.
Aargh! Interrupted! "What do you want, Biff!" screamed Grunion Guy.
"Can you like, save that guy's, uh..." Biff stopped and looked confused. "Say..."
Grunion Guy waited. "What?" he demanded.
"Say, doesn't it feel like, like we've done this whole scene before?" wondered Biff.
Grunion Guy stared at the broad-chested, bleach-blond lifeguard and said, "What? Are you crazy? You must be crazy. And stupid."
"Now son, I's thinkin' you ought to consider that he ain't all that crazy," said Mr. Mystic, levitating next to Grunion Guy.
Affirmative action, thought Grunion.
"Somethin'... somethin' ain't right wid dis here whole thing..." Mr. Mystic spread his arms out to indicate everything was weird.
Grunion sighed. "So why don't you go fix it already and leave me to my genius?"
Mr. Mystic nodded. "Yeah, I's thinkin' maybees you're right, son. O'course, I've gotta get my rickety ol' ass movin' and suffer through my arthritis which is actin' up like nobody's... business..." Mr. Mystic's voice trailed off. "Say, dint I say that before?"
"You say it every darn day," said Grunion Guy, turning back to his wrist comp.
With a swish of his robes, Mr. Mystic disappeared.
SMACK!
Another butt saved.
POW!
Another butt saved.
BOOF!
Another butt saved.
No guy in this world really likes me, Greased Lightning thought. Can't say I blame 'em.
WHUFF!
Another butt saved.
BOP!
Another butt saved.
BLAM!
Another butt saved.
This sort of thing happened everyday without fail.
BEEP!
"Greased Lightning, report to headquarters immediately."
See? They need someone to save the galaxy's butt again. Ain't no one can do that 'cept Greased Lightning.
This sort of thing happened everyday without fail.
Greased Lightning turned up the volume on his internal stereo system as he sped up 107th Avenue, pausing only once to let a cute chick check out his rock-hard body.
This sort of thing happened everyday without fail.
"Ew," complained the cute chick's overweight friend. "He's so... so greasy..."
Greased blinked.
This sort of thing did not happen everyday without fail. Yet, this particular instance...
Oh well, he thought, before smirking and flexing a muscle.
"Ohhhh...." exclaimed both girls, wilting. Greased didn't feel disoriented anymore, because this sort of thing happened everyday without fail.
"Here's my card," Greased said to the cute chick, smirking. "You can take me out to dinner some time, but leave the ugly fat chick behind..."
Buck, working feverishly but as quietly as an overgrown monster with a muscle disability could, finally opened the oven door.
The perfect dessert souffle. It was his.
Buck sniffed. Mmmm....
Something's not right.
Buck frowned.
Something's wrong. He had won, had baked the perfect dessert souffle, but something...
I didn't win. I know, I...
Buck shook his head. Then, concentrating, he lifted his hairy fist over the souffle. Then, reluctantly, he let gravity take over and pull his paw into the perfect dessert soufl , destroying all he had worked to achieve
"Carlotta..." he called. "Carlotta, something's wrong..."
Carlotta appeared in a soundless flash of no light. "You're right, dear. I'm busy. You shouldn't be here." Both Buck and Carlotta disappeared.
Buck the Ogre sat across the Denny's booth from Super Mummy.
"Unnnnhhhh," said Super Mummy.
"Okay! That's enough of this circus! You two are out of here! I will not have strange, small-breasted chicks turning into ugly, fat ogres in the middle of breakfast!" yelled the Denny's manager.
"Unnnnhhhhh," sighed Super Mummy getting up from the table wondering why he always let these mortals boss him around. He was powerful. Not just physically, but politically and socially. He was a god of Egypt, making him a social better of just about everybody. Yet he was always finding himself in situations where the other person had the upper hand, the other person had more authority, and, well, the other person could always talk. If he could only do more than moan he could return to a comfortable life of snootiness and hauteur...
He could have women, lots of women and slaves, too many to count.
His life would take on some grand meaning. He could leave this Corps where he had to listen to the rantings of Assistant-Executive Vice-Captain Richard, rantings which always produced a nostalgic reminder of his grand reign of Egypt. He could wear his crown proudly. His cape would blow majestically in the breeze. All he needed was a voice!
"Out! Now!"
Super Mummy slumped his shoulders and he dragged his feet as he quickly retreated from the restaurant, Buck the Ogre lodged under one thin arm.
"That was a pretty strange meeting, hunh, Insectorama?" asked Teleman nervously. He finally had a group experience that, if acted upon quickly enough, he could use as a reminiscence with the others to generate a powerful conversation about group bonding.
"What meeting?" asked Insectorama.
"That meeting we just had. You know, with the others...."
"What meeting?" asked Insectorama preparing to sort of wave and walk away.
"That meeting about that thing about no thing. You remember?"
"I don't remember anything about the meeting."
"But you remember nothing about the meeting, right? You gotta remember that part." Teleman shook his head dramatically. "Man, that was weird."
Insectorama sorta waved and walked away.
The phone was ringing as Insectorama walked into his room.
"Hello?"
"Insectorama! Hey, how's it going?"
"Pretty good. Who's this?"
"Teleman!"
"Wow, really? Cause I just saw Teleman, and you don't sound nervous, sweaty or stupid! Man, talking to Teleman is like talking to a load of crap, which isn't always bad, cause crap is kinda good when you're a horsefly or a dung beetle."
"Hey! That's kinda funny cause that's what you said last time we talked on the phone."
"I've never talked to you on the phone before, Teleman. If this is really Teleman cause like I said, Teleman is so hard to talk to because he is so boring. It's like talking to a butterfly. Well, like talking to a butterfly when you're a bee at least. Boy, I used ta love turning into a bee and go buzzing around stinging my imaginary friend Jack. He used to tease me because I called myself Insectorama even though I could turn into more things than insects, like spiders...."
"You should have called yourself Invertabrarama!" said Teleman.
"That's a pretty stupid suggestion, Teleman. Anyways, don't interrupt. Where was I? Did I get to the part with the dog and my brother in the back of the tool shed?"
Teleman sighed.
"Well, I was a bee this one day. I used to like to go buzzing around stinging my imaginary friend Jack. He used to tease me because I called myself Insectorama...."
Teleman hung up the phone. What a loser, he thought. I wonder when Carlotta's gonna send us on that mission? Teleman wandered off to find out where he could get an emergency beeper.
"Snailman! It's -- OOPH!" screamed C-Dog just before getting slapped with slime.
SPLAT!
"The Corps!" screamed Corn Dog, leaping off the poinsettia planter and raising his shotgun at the Man of Mucus. B-Dog, dazed, could only watch as the poinsettia transformed into the world's Number One Eagle Scout, Ranger Ruben, who suddenly, if not tentatively, jumped Corn Dog.
"Gotcha!" cried Ruben.
Gotcha...
Snailman, still hanging and swinging upside-down from the roof, considered the word Ruben employed, one which Ruben didn't use very often now, not since...
Gotcha...
No, amended Snailman, Ruben used it when we stopped the Dog Pound's last bank heist. He said it when he jumped Corn Dog... No, that couldn't be it, that's happening now...
Gotcha...
No, he used it when he jumped Corn Dog...
Gotcha...
Wait, no, that's happening now. He used it when he jumped...
No, thought Snailman, because afterward, B-Dog had cried out, "Shit, you move, you hurt!" And this time, B-Dog hadn't --
"Shee-ee-it!" B-Dog cried, raising his shotgun, "ya move, ya hurt!"
You know, this feels like one of Carlotta's problems, thought Snailman. Let's see -- then Nice Alice had said something in that sassy tone of voice she rarely employed because it was almost satiric, which wasn't very nice at all, in Alice's estimation.
"That's not nice!" sassed a nice voice from behind B-Dog.
And B-Dog had spun about and finally recognized Alice and had said, "Nice Alice! Again!"
B-Dog spun around and saw why the teller knew him. "Nice Alice! Again!"
Gotcha... thought Snailman, swinging thoughtfully from the roof. "Carlotta?" he struggled to mutter. "I remember now."
Snailman disappeared.
Assistant-Executive Vice-Captain Richard paced the floor of the Galactic Hero Corp's meeting chamber. A huge, round oak table dominated the room. The Corps' first captain, Thirty Minute Man, had wanted the heroes under his command to feel "equal," to feel they could approach him on both a professional and personal level, to feel that he was "one of the guys," even if --
Richard stopped brooding and pacing to stare at the man in the long swirling trenchcoat that suddenly appeared in his throne.
"You better have a fucking good reason for sitting in my fucking throne you fuck!"
"Funny thing, how Carlotta saved a pocket of existence to shield you and your compatriots, as if you and your compatriots had any idea what's going on."
Richard bristled. "LISTEN! I don't know how you got through our defenses -- well, actually, I do, cause that damn Bill ain't doing guard duty, but that's to be expected." Richard stamped in frustration. "What was I saying? Oh yeah..." Richard pointed at Epochalypse with a menacing, if short, finger. "Get the fuck out of Dodge, mister...
Epochalypse laughed.
"That's better," muttered Richard, climbing on the table.
"Huh?" wondered Epochalypse from the throne, where he continued to sit in relative comfort. (The throne, afterall, had been built to Richard's specifications.)
Richard sat in Epochalypse's lap, and addressed the floor where he was used to seeing people prostrating themselves before him. "That's better. Now, you stupid fuck, tell me what you're doing here!"
Epochalypse, squirming under Richard, said nothing.
"Gonna fucking destroy existence, huh?"
"I didn't say that!"
"Thought we couldn't fucking stop you, huh?" Richard considered. "Well, we probably couldn't, if I hadn't gotten on the case. If you want something done, you gotta do it yourself, my mommy always used to say, may she rot in the hottest hell someday!"
Suddenly, a flash of light and Snailman, Mr. Mystic and Buck appeared five feet above the floor, tumbling to the ground. Then, Carlotta Everyday appeared, bathing the heroes in her light.
"Epochalypse, meet the heroes who will stop you," said Carlotta. Turning to the heroes, she announced, "The blueberries must exist if we are ever to enjoy their sweet, juicy fruit!"
The chamber door opened, and Teleman entered. "Can I get a beeper here?" he wondered.
"You're late!" screamed Richard at the three heroes picking themselves up from the carpet. "I sent out the distress call over three minutes ago!"
Epochalypse shoved Assistant-Executive Vice-Captain Richard off his lap and onto the table. "You think these 'heroes' are going to stop me?" laughed Epochalypse.
"You fuck...." muttered Richard from under Epochalypse's foot.
"You have another think coming, Carlotta." Epochalypse disappeared. Instantaneously, so did Buck, Mr. Mystic and Snailman.
"Shit," yelled Carlotta, disappearing in a flash of light. Instantaneously, Buck, Mr. Mystic and Snailman reappeared.
Teleman blinked. "Hey...."
Richard disappeared than reappeared. The throne disappeared. The table disappeared. Mr. Mystic once again disappeared.
Teleman blinked. "Hey...."
Buck disappeared. Snailman disappeared. The room disappeared.
Teleman blinked. "Hey...."
"I don't know, Philip," Dirk Daring began when a strong arm wrapped itself around his neck, snapping it in less than a second...
Dirk Daring, Most Popular Hero three years running, sat in front of the mirror contemplating his new hair style. Carlotta suddenly appeared in front of the mirror, reaching out and grabbing the arm that was reaching around Dirk's neck.
"What the...." began Dirk as Dirk Daring, Most Popular Hero three years running, sat in front of Carlotta and a man in a trenchcoat wrestling upon the table top.
Carlotta poked the man in the eye and he disappeared. Carlotta followed a second later...
Bill began to scream in horror as Dirk Daring, Most Popular Hero three years running, sat in front of the mirror contemplating his new hair style. Dirk turned to witness a man in a long swirling trenchcoat pulling a long sword from Bill's throat...
Dirk walked into Phil's with a promise from Greased that his hair problems would be at an end. Carlotta appeared before him. "Don't come in here, gu-OOF!" grunted Carlotta as a man in a trenchcoat tackled her to the ground. He pulled a large shotgun from his coat, leveling it at Bill and Dirk. He pulled the trigger and both heroes disappeared in a spray of blood...
Dirk Daring, Most Popular Hero three years running, sat in front of the mirror contemplating his morning hair.
"It looks fine, don't touch it," said Carlotta, appearing and disappearing just as quickly. Dirk had the eerie feeling that a long and horrendous nightmare was trying to recur to him but he couldn't quite grasp it. It seemed he had been dreaming his own death over and over again in the night, many varied ways over many varied times in his life but he couldn't quite remember the details. Strange, he thought as the bomb under his vanity blew, disintegrating him instantly...
Teleman looked about the nothing surrounding him. I wonder where the others went, he thought. It was a thought he had had many times over since joining the Galactic Hero Corps. Whenever he entered a room, it cleared out within minutes.
Snailman appeared and then disappeared.
It bothered him in a way that wasn't because he was lonely but because he wanted to be cool. He could only be cool if others liked and appreciated him. Even the room and table and throne had disappeared this time. It was as if everything had ceased to exist, he thought. Teleman continued to ponder his existence in non-existence (which wasn't much different from his pondering his existence in existence) when a shape began moving toward him from what should have been a horizon but actually wasn't and, in fact, the shape wasn't actually moving toward him since space and time had ceased to exist but Teleman's brain created an entire fantasy about how the figure next to him hadn't suddenly appeared next to him while not having been there before although his mind insisted the figure had been there all the time.
Buck appeared and then disappeared.
It was a trick he had learned to convince himself that people usually left liking him instead of the reality of their forgetting him as soon as he was out of their sight. The old man looked at him quizzically. "And you are?" he asked.
"I'm Teleman! I can tele- anything."
The old man looked beyond Teleman, and since by looking beyond Teleman, Teleman was now out of his sight, quickly forgot he had been talking to anybody and disappeared.
Teleman blinked. "Hey...."
Carlotta realized she couldn't rescue all of the Galactic Hero Corps but maybe she wouldn't need to. "Sorry, guys," she said as she once again disappeared to maintain the existence of those few that had realized the time anamoly for what it was -- Buck, Mr. Mystic and Snailman.
Assistant-Executive Vice-Captain Richard sat on his throne glaring down at the man in the swirling black trenchcoat.
"That's better. Now, you stupid fuck, tell me what you're doing here!"
Epochalypse smirked as he stared up at Richard. "I have and will have just destroyed all existence. This won't hurt a bit."
"Gonna fucking destroy existence, huh?"
"Already have, Dick."
"Thought we couldn't fucking stop you, huh?" Richard considered. "Well, we probably couldn't, if I hadn't gotten on the case. If you want something done, you gotta do it yourself, my mommy always used to say, may she rot in the hottest hell someday!"
Just as Epochalypse erased Assistant-Executive Vice-Captain Richard from existence, a flash of light and Snailman, Mr. Mystic and Buck appeared five feet above the floor, tumbling to the ground. Then, Carlotta Everyday appeared, bathing the heroes in her light.
"Funny how that scene where Richard is speaking to me never really transpired," said Epochalypse. "Even in a multiverse in which all things possible have happened, said things must be possible in order for them to exist. If the event is impossible -- as Richard ordering me out of his throne and addressing me like some sycophantic lackey is -- it never exists in any universe. Of course, you know that."
"Still, you experienced it, did you not?" said Carlotta, smirking.
Epochalypse shifted uneasily.
"Didn't you," demanded Carlotta.
"I imagined it," corrected Epochalypse.
"You think so, anyway," ammended Carlotta. "Anyway, this pocket of existence exists, despite the fact it shouldn't. Doesn't it?"
Epochalypse growled.
Richard reappeared and headed for the door.
"Where you goin', boy?" wondered Mr. Mystic, still utterly confused.
"I'm going outside," Richard screamed. "It's smelling too much like time-and-space shit in here."
"You can't go out!" Teleman said. "I've been trying to go in and out all this time, and I keep coming back --"
Richard, growling, left. Richard didn't come back.
"But, there's no where else to go but here!" roared Epochalypse. "No where!"
"Hurray!" screamed Teleman. "We're free!"
Teleman, cheering, exited. Teleman, cheering, entered. "Hurrah! Hurr -- Hey..."
Snailman chuckled.
Teleman, ignored by the old man, waded through non-existence. Well, he didn't wade, he was in non-existence. And if I am in non-existence, pondered Teleman, then how can I --
"Hello Teleman." Carlotta Everyday floated in front of Teleman, saving him from his fatal thought.
"Hey! Carlotta!" Finally, someone was talking to him.
"Whatcha doing in the closet?" asked Carlotta.
Teleman blinked. "Huh?"
Carlotta continued. "Sitting in the closet... why, you might as well not be a part of the world which abounds outside the closet."
"I don't understand a thing you're saying," said Teleman.
"Uhm... can you see the blueberries, those tasty, fruity blueberries?"
"No." What are blueberries? wondered Teleman.
"I loved blueberries," whispered Carlotta, sliding up to the confused hero. One arm rested on a narrow shoulder, across his thin, flat chest. The other played with a lock of his bowl shaped hair. "But now I can't remember them. And I really want to remember. Sweety." Carlotta smiled.
"Da-da-da," stammered Teleman. Love unimagined, unhoped for. Ah, first hope for love!
He wanted her, here, with him, forever.
"I'm leaving." Carlotta stood up, pouting and crossing her arms.
The horror!
"N-NO!" Teleman screamed. "DON'T EVER LEAVE ME!"
Adrenaline, anxiety, desperation, and a little hope took over as his mind went on autopilot, telepathically scanning anybody nearby for a memory of these, uh, blueberry thingies.
Carlotta -- no memory.
That old man -- nothing.
Buck -- nada.
Snailman -- nothing.
Scanning, scanning, scanning...
Richard -- blueberries.
Richard plucked blueberries from the tray of the exposed hydroponics shelf as he inhaled the linear fresh air and scanned...
Blue sky, clouds, sun. Happy friggin' birds singin' in the happy friggin' trees.
"What were those damn fucks talking about, anyway?" wondered Richard as he popped another blueberry in his mouth. "Why couldn't they see anything at all when I could?" Richard snorted. "Stupid subordinates."
"Yum!" cried Carlotta Everyday, clutching Teleman to her body as his telepathically patched his memory of Richard's reality to her mind. Teleman groped desperately to hide the woody which poked through his skin-tight jumpsuit. "I love blueberries!"
"Ya, ya, ya," stammered Teleman. "M-me t-too!"
"Teleman -- sweety -- I don't think anyone else remembers blueberries except for Richard, you and me." Carlotta caressed Teleman's cheek. "Do you think you could... you know..."
"W-what?"
Carlotta sighed. "You know... patch everyone to this memory?" Carlotta's hand softly caressed Teleman's face, his neck, his chest, his stomach...
Epochalypse suddenly appeared before Carlotta. "I figured out the problem with my own multiverse explanation -- it presumes that everybody within that multiverse, no matter how many verses, are subject to it's definitions of time and space. Seeing as how we exist outside those parameters, we create our own definitions. By existing outside the multiverse, we have the ability to change it's inherent scheme. The possibility of the timeline where Teleman recreates reality from a shared memory always exists in a multiverse. But being a fourth dimensional creature, I can destroy that possibility entirely."
"But the possibility of the timeline where you don't stop Teleman from recreating the universe still exists in the multiverse."
Epochalypse shuddered in frustration. "No, you are limiting yourself to the same parameters which limit three dimensional beings. We are the creators and destroyers of not just time lines but the entire possibility of those time lines."
Teleman sat watching the exchange, his telepathic mind still on autopilot.
"Silly, Epochalypse. You are subject to a system of laws practically identical to those of the three dimensional beings only it exists on a level higher than theirs. We too exist in a fourth dimensional multiverse."
Epochalypse sighed at Carlotta's inability to truly understand herself. His destruction of existence was imminent. There was nobody left to stop him. All that was left was he, the fool with the bowl-cut who was trying to recreate a remembered reality (a reality which Epochalypse was kind of interested in seeing, being composed of the mutual beliefs of both the enraged Richard and the pathetic Teleman) and Carlotta, who for some reason was beginning to stir some lustful feelings in Epochalypse.
"You know, Carlotta, you're ability to think logically has been hampered by your decision to live among the three dimensional beings. You have inherited much of their ways of dealing with time and space. This multiverse you talk about..." Epochalypse suddenly forgot what he was going to say as a strange thought manifested within his mind. Love unimagined, unhoped for. Ah, first hope for love! Carlotta! He had never noticed how much he needed her, how much he wanted her. His mind was filled with lust for her. Epochalypse tried to clear his mind. What the hell am I thinking?
"Epochalypse?" she asked. "Are you okay?"
The time had reached that climactic point when one of the last remaining Galactic Hero Corps members would have to perform some heroic action. In no more than a few microseconds, the end of everything would be upon them: not the end of their superheroing careers, not the end of their twisted love lives and certainly not just the end of their universe. The end of everything. Non-existence was imminent....
Teleman, mind on autopilot, couldn't hold back. He telepathically emitted all the love and lust he was feeling for Carlotta. The thoughts swept over Epochalypse full force.
"Carlotta, let's go off somewhere together. Let's make love for eons, centuries, minutes, seconds! Whatever, however, forever! I need you. You can have your miserable existence." Epochalypse spread his arms to show Carlotta the Galactic Hero Corps meeting room filled once again with all the heroes. "It's yours. I'll leave it yours. Just take me. Please."
"The universe will be, is, has been but has been too much too soon. Emptiness of emptiness reigns, no thing changes in nothing, nihil ex nihil, etc., etc. Where are the blueberries yesterday when yesterday never was yesterday or any day? WHERE ARE THE BLUEBERRIES?" Carlotta waited for a reply. "In other words, what do you guys think?" she asked.
The Corps shrugged.
"What about me Carlotta?" whined a Teleman who continued to exist among non-existence. "Can we, like, uh... you know..."
Carlotta nodded at Teleman, who brightened hopefully. "No, and so it is so."
Teleman, about to protest, shrugged, turned his back to her, and hunched over himself...
"So, is she saying the world is gonna end or something?" wondered Ranger Ruben, pointing at Carlotta.
"No," answered Snailman. Several seconds passed as everyone waited for Snailman to clear the mucous from his mouth. "Carlotta Everyday is... saying the world... never existed... I think."
"Bullshit, Mucous Boy! Of course the world exists!" answered Richard. "Look out the freakin' window, for God's sake! Don't you see blue sky? Clouds? Sun? Happy friggin' birds singin' in the friggin' trees? I do."
"His name's Snailman?" suggested Nice Alice cheerfully.
Snailman peered out a window, struggled for a few seconds, and answered, "Yes, I see it."
Carlotta looked over to Epochalypse. "No."
"Too late, sweety," answered Epochalypse. "You said yes." Epochalypse disappeared.
"Goddamn right you see it!" screamed Richard. "Now everyone get the hell out of my chamber and save the damn world, dammit!"
Dirk Daring muttered, "What a dick."
Greased Lightning giggled.
"That's not what he meant!" said Nice Alice. "You see, 'Dick' is short for Richard, and Dirk was just saying that Richard was being himself."
"Well, 'Dick' may be short for Richard, but Richard is long for dick," answered Buck. Everyone else began laughing, except for Nice Alice, who didn't understand.
"I HEARD THAT!" screamed Richard. "Don't think I didn't! And for your information, I just got hired as permanent captain!" Richard held up a mini-fax which had printed out of his throne. "So there, you fucks! You're gonna answer to me for as long as your lazy asses are here!"
The Corps groaned.
"Yeah," nodded Richard wildly. "Oh yeah, that's right. And while I'm at it, let's make it fucking official -- Captain Dick's the name, subordinates, and let me tell you one thing you can be sure of: I'll live up to the name, just you fucking watch!"
"You mean by distracting you with all the other Corps members' lives so you'd never even notice Teleman?"
"Yeah, that was a pretty cute trick. Who'd of thought you'd stop me by utilizing the most boring person in existence? I was defeated by somebody so pathetic I didn't even realize he existed. Pretty smooth, Carlotta."
"Thanks, Epochalypse." Carlotta smiled. She knew she had what it took to defeat Epochalypse. Plus she had his word that he wouldn't try to destroy existence anymore. Carlotta sighed happily.
God, that had to be the most complicated scheme ever devised by a guy to get a chick in bed, thought Epochalypse, satisfied.
