Monthly Archives: November 2009

Possum

Skunk, known for his pungent smell, was a constant thorn in Dragon’s side, so it was a relief when the report came that he had been killed during a water skirmish.

However, Skunk reappeared two months later like a phoenix from the ashes, and he was known as Phoenix until he was killed again. He reappeared three days later this time, prompting the comment that he had nine lives like a cat. Cat became his moniker until returning from the dead a tenth time.

After that he was Possum, because he must have faked his deaths; also he still smelled bad.

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The Land of Giants

Kylee deftly navigated the forest of legs. Giants moved carelessly about discussing the intricacies of measuring heights, or the trouble with cumulonimbus clouds, or whatever it is that giants discuss at dinner parties, oblivious to the runt scurrying about their feet.

She had been whisked off to the land of giants in the middle of the night. A witch, jealous of Kylee’s beauty (or some other equally feckless reason), banished her to this accursed place.

The giants were not mean (as the storybooks make them), just indifferent to little people. Loaf-sized crumbs fell to the floor. At least she wouldn’t starve.

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Black Friday

Shoppers stand in huge lines in the middle of the night in the middle of the winter. Still three hours till opening time and they’re twisted around the building and down the street. Newly arriving shoppers try to convince themselves there will still be one more plasma TV by the time they get inside.

Thirty minutes to go. The crowd grows anxious. Talk of assaulting the store disseminates among the crowd. Cooler heads prevail for now.

The doors open. The stampede begins.

Five injured. One trampled to death. Better than last year.

It was worth it, because you saved twenty bucks.

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Thanksgetting Day

The Galactic Federation President’s mansion, known as the White Dwarf House, was filled with boys and girls and yerlaks of all ages waiting for the annual pardoning of the turkey.

President Lovenstein stood austere in front of the young exuberant crowd as the soon-to-be pardonee was marched out in chains.

Kemal Atatürk, giant space-turkey of the Gamma Gobble Gobble Star System, had been convicted with twenty-three counts of murder and was sitting on Space-Death Row.

“On Thanksgetting Day,” Lovenstein said, “where we reflect on how thankful we are for all the things we get, we release a mass-murderer for some reason.”

~~~
More stories concerning Galactic Federation Politics

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Incompetent

“I am surrounded by incompetents!” the bad guy yelled as the hero thwarted yet another trap and slaughtered another fifty henchmen. “You are all so incompetent—Someone get me a thesaurus!”

“I don’t think we have any reference books here,” one of the henchman whispered.

“Incompetence!” the bad guy said again.

“I have a pocket dictionary,” another henchman offered, “it includes some synonyms.”

The bad guy straightened up, “I want you all to notice Henchman Number—”

“Thirty-seven.”

“—Thirty-seven. He is very un- . . . incompetent,” the bad guy flipped open the dictionary, “‘Amateur!‘ That’s a good one. You guys are amateur . . . and incompetent.”

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Fowler Family

Fowler FamilyThe usual chitchat of the Fowler family dinner table was underway. Father Fowler had gone on for most of the meal talking of office politics and business meetings. Mother Fowler had interjected the discussion throughout with questions of the Fowler children’s school day to which the most detailed answer was, “It was okay.”

Susie Fowler, the youngest Fowler, spoke up, “Whatever happened to Corey?”

Silence settled over the dinner table like a thick fog.

“Susie,” Mother Fowler said in a hushed shrill, “we don’t speak of Corey anymore, especially in front of Grandma.” She motioned to the urn on the mantle.

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Is This the End for Lead Man?!

Continued from “Super Sick.”
~~~

“Give it to me straight, Doc,” Antony Chumbo had been suffering from chronic headaches and stomach pains.

“It’s lead poisoning,” Doctor Salsa, medical practitioner to the superheroes, said.

“How can that be?!”

“Are you kidding me? You’re Lead Man! You run around in a lead suit and you’re surprised it’s lead poisoning?”

Antony looked straight at Doctor Salsa, “Does this mean I’ll have to stop being Lead Man?”

“If you don’t you’re going to end up like one of those other ill-fated superheroes: the Toxic Revenger, the Mercury Surfer, Asbestos-Boy . . .” Doctor Salsa trailed off, “Poor Asbestos-Boy. He never had a chance . . .”

~~~
More adventures of the Impregnable Lead Man

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Eric’s Journey of Enlightenment: Spirit Guide

“You are meant for great things,” said a voice in the desert on the seventh day of my meditation.

“What are you?” I asked.

“Your spirit guide,” it explained.

“No, I mean, what are you?”

“I-I’m a tapir,” Tapir the spirit guide said.

“What’s a tapir?”

“A South American mammal.”

I stared blankly.

“Look,” said Tapir, “Are we going on this journey of spiritual enlightenment or not?”

“I think I’ll wait for a better animal,” I said.

“Whatever!” Tapir disappeared into the desert night.

“I don’t believe I’m suited to this environment,” Manatee said flopping in the sand the next day.

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Mouse

Mouse trekked across the barren wasteland for days. Her tongue hadn’t touched water in two days. Her stomach had been without food so long she forgot what it felt like not to be starving.

A plume of dust billowed up out of the horizon. Soon, Mouse found herself surrounded by a convoy of motorcycles helmed by chiseled men in strategically-arranged leather straps and grimy football pads with spikes glued on more for looks than for any defensive advantage.

“Where you headed, little girl?” said the leader.

Mouse said nothing.

“Take her to Dragon,” said another biker, “He’ll make use of her.”

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Super Sick

Super SickOh-hoh-hoh-hoh! Le French Stereotype strikes again!” Le French Stereotype announced after transmogrifying the entirety of St. Louis’s food supply into frog legs and es cargo. “And there’s no one who can stop moi!”

“Not so fast!” came a voice that echoed as if inside an empty soup can, and then a heavy metal fist collided with the side of Le French Stereotype’s face.

Le French Stereotype was unfazed, “You are too late Lead Man! I have already—”

“Time out!”

“Time out? There is non time outs!”

“Time out! I don’t feel so good.” Lead Man’s toppled over with a tremendous CLANG!

To be continued . . .

~~~
More adventures of the Impregnable Lead Man

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