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Subject: Superguy #1
The story thus far:
C'mon, get real! This is the first episode. There
is no story thus far. Anyhow, I might as well introduce
the main characters in the story.
Wonder Grunion: A strange new hero from the depths of the ocean.
He was an ordinary fish until toxic refuse mutated him into
his current condition. He now champions those causes which
are beneath the notice of most serious super-heroes.
Kate (Katherine) McCarthy: Marine biologist from Sea World that was
originally hired by the government to stop Wonder Grunion, but
quickly befriended him because he wasn't male (at least not by
human standards), he wasn't a chauvinist (not that he understood
what chauvinism was), and he wasn't a pig (this, even Wonder
Grunion knew and accepted). She is a card-carrying member of
the ACLU and voted for Micheal Dukakis.
Special Agent Johnathan Sutherland: Field agent for the NIB, to stop
and/or destroy Wonder Grunion, whichever will gain the most
funding from covert government sources. He really doesn't have
much of a character and doesn't know enough to be dangerous, so
we'll just mention him in passing.
Special Special Agent Richard Less: Office agent in charge of Project
Grunion-buster of the NIB. He is to make sure that plans to stop
or destroy Wonder Grunion are implemented AND make sure that the
public will never find out about these plans. To aid in his first
task, he hired Special Agent Sutherland. To aid in his second task,
he hired an over-sexed, photogenic young prosti.. er, lady named
Randi, who has the special qualifications of being able to covertly
smuggle documents by means that can only be mentioned in the file:
SEX_TECH. She will be this author's only outlet by which to
propigate an offensive female stereotype.
George Herbert Walker Bush: Former director of the CIA and current
president of the United States of America. Even if he knew about
Project Grunion-Buster, he wouldn't admit it.
J. Danforth Quayle: Heh heh heh . . .
Omegas: Major villian of SF_STORY. His goal is to take over all alterverses
in that digest. As this is not one of them, he will not and cannot
enter this or any other story line in Superguy Digest. (Thank God)
Elanor Bell: My grandmother and also not part of this story.
Chris Wilcox (Creeper): The author and publisher of Wonder Grunion. While
he ...er I... should not appear in the story, I will make no promises.
Massacre: Major hero of my next Superguy production. He will make his first
appearance in Wonder Grunion (obvious plug). From there, he may get
his own storyline based upon a public opinion poll which I can
override if I don't like the results.
Now, ON to the story !!!
- ****************************** Wonder Grunion *********************************
Wonder Grunion was not having a good day. Not that it was going to get any
better for him (not by a long shot), but it had been a pretty shitty day to
begin with. To start off his fine morning, he fell over Kate's endtable,
causing a serious bruise to his pride and a respectable-sized welt on his
skull as well. Having yet to learn any of the better and more appropiate
exclamations that befitted such a situation, Wonder Grunion decided to scream
in pain. This, in and of itself, would have been fine and befitting of the
moment, had Kate not been bringing in breakfast at that precise moment.
This scream, combined with her astonishment over said scream, caused Kate
to send the meal airborne. Not that this was bad either. Had it not been
for the fact that the aforementioned breakfast carried a trajectory which,
when combined with pre-existing conditions, allowed for it to fall upon
Wonder Grunion's already wounded noggin.
"Oh lord, I'm so sorry Wonder Grunion," Kate exclaimed.
Wonder Grunion's rudimentary handling of the English language though,
interpretted this to mean, 'My word, I forgot the syrup Wonder Grunion.'
Even for Wonder Grunion, enough was enough. Wonder Grunion flew out
of the house in a rage (quite literally as a matter of fact) and headed for
the Atlantic Ocean. Wonder Grunion arrived but a few minutes later. This was
not due to the amazing speed at which Wonder Grunion flew but with the extreme
closeness of the Atlantic to Kate's home in Boston. Wonder Grunion decided
that he was going to abandon the surface world forever and return to his
ocean home.
WHAT TERRORS LURK IN THE OCEAN FOR WONDER GRUNION?
WHY HAVEN'T SPECIAL AGENTS SUTHERLAND AND LESS BEEN MENTIONED?
DID KATE INDEED FORGET THE SYRUP?
HOW CAN I SUBSCRIBE TO STARTREK DIGEST FROM UMO?
WILL SOMETHING ACTUALLY HAPPEN IN THE NEXT POSTING?
ALL THIS AND MORE IN THE NEXT EXCITING EPISODE OF *WONDER GRUNION*
<<002>>
Meanwhile, unknown to Wonder Grunion (since I'm just now making it up),
Joe Phoot, a pizza chef from the lower east side, sensed that he was
destined to be a superhero and decided to find out what his powers were.
He hotfooted it over to the Empire State Building and tried to fly to the
top. Needless to say (but I'll say it anyway) this didn't work. "Maybe
if I got a flying start..." he thought, so he rode to the top and jumped
off, flapping his arms to beat hell.
He soon realized he couldn't fly. The ground, looming in the distance,
grew closer by the second. His life, miserable as it was, flashed before
his eyes. Jealousy overcame him, and he felt that if he couldn't be a
superhero, nobody should be. He swore on the Bible (don't ask where he
got a bible) that in this life or the next he'd rid the world of super-
heroes forever, or at least for a good while.
Now it so happened that at nearly ground level he was falling so fast
a vacuum was created above him. The air below him rushed up to fill that
void, thus buoying him up enough to spare his life, though he crushed his
arch supports in the landing. Thus was born FlatPhoot, greatest villain
known to this digest, yet.
WILL FLATPHOOT FULFILL HIS PROMISE?
WILL WONDER GRUNION DROWN TRYING TO WALK TO HIS NEW HOME?
WILL ANYBODY EVER READ THIS POSTING?
FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON:
SUPERGUY!!!
<<003>>
It was a sunny day in Boston. For that matter, it was a sunny day in
New York City as well. Hell, it was a beautiful sunny day almost every
where in the Eastern Seaboard and everybody was pleased most gratuitously
about the unexpected change in weather. I say 'change in weather' because
that is exactly what it was. For the past week-and-a-half, it had been
raining like a b***h everywhere, except for southern Pakistan, for reasons
unknown to even the most brilliant of earth's scientists and meteorologists.
These scientists were about to find what had been causing this phenomena,
or so they believed, until the rain abruptly stopped. This, of course,
pissed off said scientists to no end. It was not so much that they didn't
have time to solve the rain dilemma, but that they had promised a highly
publicized press conference, which would deliver their findings, later in
the week. When it was time for said press conference to occur, all the
prominent scientists went out and chose some lowly lab assistant to inform
the press of their failure, and, unknown to him, get eaten alive by the
vultures looking for any type of story to publish whatsoever.
All this was of little concern to most ordinary people, though. The
general public was just glad to go outside and get some fresh air after
all the rain; and they really didn't give two-hoots about what the
scientists had to say, anyhow. Most suspected that it would be blamed on
sunspot activity or something else equally stupid. They would quite likely
still not care, even if they knew that the deluge of rain was caused by a
maniacal ex-pizza boy with fallen arches. Quite bluntly, even if GOD, himself,
had shouted down from the clouds that he was going to flood out the miserable
little peons again, they still would not care, so long as they had time to
pack their most precious belongings. This was not because most people were
athiests, they were just self-centered and apathetic towards the situation
at hand. They were just glad that they didn't have to trudge through one more
day of wet and murkiness. That is, of course, unless they were busy moping
at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, like our hero Wonder Grunion, where
everything is wet and murky.
Meanwhile, in New York City, Special Agent John Sutherland and Special
Special (not an unintentional repeat) Agent Richard Less were walking down
the street in an inconspicuous manner. Inconspicuous, meaning that they were
wearing black, full-length suits, death-black sunglasses, a government issue
'inconspicuous' haircut, and loose-leaf signs reading "Kick me I'm a spy",
which were taped to them earlier that morning by a 13-year old novice gang
member named Raoul. Despite this, they both felt inconspicuous enough, and
that was the important thing.
"You know John, " said Richard (obviously), "I tend to get rather
philosophical about things now and then."
"Er, yes Richard," said John, fearing that he was about to be fired.
"And from time to time I like to sit back and reflect upon our positions
in life."
"Er, yes Richard," replied John, who, realizing that he sounded like a
broken record, was not about to say anything different until he found out
where this conversation was going.
"The other day, I leaned back in my easy chair at the office, and I
looked out at the workroom of Project G-Buster. Do you know what I saw,
John ?"
"Er, no Richard," stated John, who, had he been able to know exactly
what Richard saw the other day, was sure as hell not going to say anything
about it and destroy his already tenuous position in the bureau.
"I saw," continued Richard," hundreds of agents, scientists, and
engineers producing and using millions of dollars worth of equipment; all
of which was dedicated towards the eradication of one grunion. Looking at
all of this before me, I realised that I would never be able to write my
memoirs with a straight face."
John, not being quite as stupid as previously inferred, picked up that
his superior was making a joke of sorts, and that it might be considered in
his best interests to act a lot more casual then he had been previously.
"You know, Dick, that is actually rather humorous," said John with a
self-assuring chuckle.
Suddenly, Richard turned and stared at John. He was deeply flushed and
obviously quite pissed-off.
"Don't you ever, EVER, call me Dick again," screamed Richard.
"Why not?" asked John in a mousish manner, knowing full well that he
had made some horrendous faux pas, yet not truly grasping what it was.
"Say... my full... name... like that..," said Richard, breathing both
deeply and intensely in an attempt to cool himself down.
"What," said John, "you mean Dick Le......Ohhhhhhh."
"Now, do you understand !" said Richard in an attempt to regain his
composure.
"Oh, yes sir. Most definately, sir," said John, in his most desperate
attempt to kiss more ass then he had ever done before.
John and Richard walked on further.
"Why don't you have it changed, sir," suggested John.
"Have what changed?" asked Richard, far from in the most jovial of moods.
"Your name, sir, why not have it changed ?"
"What ?" asked Richard, obviously offended," and disgrace my family."
"Speaking of family, sir, have you ever asked them why they named you that
way ?"
"Yes, they said that they thought that it sounded cute."
"Oh, well how did you take it, sir ?"
"I shot them both."
This conversation engrossed Special Agent Sutherland to such a great
degree, that he completely failed to notice that he and Dic.. er.. Richard
were being followed by a curious fellow wearing orthopedic shoes and smelling
faintly of pizza.
None of this was very important, of course, for one who was spending
its time at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, much like our hero, Wonder
Grunion.
IS THIS STRANGE PERSON THE MYSTERIOUS FLATPHOOT?
WHAT IS WONDER GRUNION DOING AT THE BOTTOM OF THE ATLANTIC?
WHY WASN'T WONDER GRUNION PRESENT IN THE STORY?
WILL ANYBODY ELSE POST A STORYLINE?
WILL I BE ABLE TO KEEP THIS UP AND GET IN A IN PHYSICS?
NONE OF THESE QUESTIONS AND A GUEST APPEARANCE BY J. DANFORTH QUAYLE ON THE
NEXT POSTING OF . . . .
WONDER GRUNION
<<004>>
It was a sunny day in Boston. For that matter, it was a sunny day in
New York City as well. Hell, it was a beautiful sunny day almost every
where in the Eastern Seaboard and everybody was pleased most gratuitously
about the unexpected change in weather. It was even a sunny day in Alaska.
The temperature had risen to an unbelieveable 0 degrees Farenheit. For the
typical Alaskan resident this was paradise.
Unfortunately for the rest of the world, this was a very, very bad thing.
For deep within the crystal-clear ice upon Mt. Everest, Something had begun to
stir. Something very Big. Something very Ugly. Something very Hungry.
WILL SOMETHING EMERGE FROM THE ICE AND DESTROY THE WORLD IN SEARCH OF A BIG MAC?
WILL SOMETHING BE A FORCE FOR GOOD OR EVIL?
WILL ECHO EVER START A POSTING WITH UNPLAGERIZED WORK?
WILL HE EVER POST AGAIN?
WILL ANYONE ELSE BE BRAVE ENOUGH TO FINISH THE POSTING, OR WILL THE WORLD
DIE OF SUSPENSE?!?!?
THESE AND OTHER NON-TRIVIAL QUESTIONS POSSIBLY ANSWERED IN THE NEXT EXCITING
EPISODE OF ----**SUPERGUY**----!
<<005>>
The Adventures of Manman -- episode #11
It was a cold day in RatherLarge City. A geeky-looking dude with
buck teeth was wandering aimlessly down the street. He wasn't going much
of anywhere, but that doesn't matter because this posting isn't about him.
Several miles away, on the outskirts of Ratherlarge City, trouble
was brewing. Brewing coffee, actually. Trouble in the form of Dr. Sleaze.
Dr. Sleaze was a sleazy kind of guy. He ran prostitution on the North Side,
gambling on the East Side, drugs on the West Side, and a truly awful
combination chinese restaurant and used-car showroom on the South Side.
Don't ask.
In any case, on this particular morning, Dr. Sleaze was hard at work
in his laboratory, brewing coffee. Why coffee? Why not? No, actually
he was hatching a plan to introduce Powerful, Mind-Altering Drugs _tm_
into the coffee supply of the city, thus paralyzing it.
Meanwhile, in the center of RatherLarge City, where there was
no prostitution, gambling, drugs or bad food (for the simple reason that it
had been rendered uninhabitable to normal people in the last episode (which
really doesn't exist and probably never will unless someone else wants to
write it)), ManMan, the world's most unexceptional superhero, was having
breakfast. His breakfast was, as usual, unexceptional, if not downright
boring. However, just as he was finishing his oatmeal, his Danger Alarm began
ringing. This was also unexceptional, because it had developed a short
circuit during the events of the last episode, and had a knack for ringing at
inopportune or just plain meaningless moments. MM (as his friends would have
called him, if he would have been exceptional enough to have friends)
thumped it on the side. This was usually enough to shut the Danger Alarm off.
The alarm kept ringing. MM hit it with an aluminum bat he kept on hand for
just such occasions. "Shaddup," he growled at it. It wouldnt shaddup.
He threw his glass of orange juice at it. It shadduped.
He returned to his oatmeal.
The phone rang. MM tried to ignore it. It rang several more times. MM
was out of orange juice, so he answered it.
"Hello?" said MM. This was the way he usually answered the phone,
unless he felt he was in a particularly good mood, in which case he usually
said something along the lines of "Hi there," or "Howdy." But, since the late
Danger Alarm had ruined his breakfast, he was not in a particularly good mood.
"Hello?" said the voice on the other end of the line.
"Hello?" said MM, thinking that this person was very friendly sounding,
but had a rather annoying habit of repeating things.
"Hello?" said the voice.
Aha, thought MM. It's an echo. Or Echo himself, trying to dump that
Mt. Everest snow creature story on me.
He hung up.
Unbeknownst to MM, though, this annoying and presumably prank phone call
was actually from Commissioner Bigshot, the only police commissioner in the
country who would consent to work with a superhero as mediocre as ManMan.
No doubt the phone call would have been about something important, because
no-one ever called MM if they didnt have to.
WILL MANMAN EVER FIGURE OUT IF SOMETHING IS WRONG?
WHAT WAS THE PHONE CALL ABOUT?
WILL ANYONE EVER WRITE LAST EPISODE?
WHERE THE HELL *IS* RATHERLARGE CITY ANYWAY?
AND WHY THE HELL IS MANMAN A SUPERHERO ANYWAY IF HE'S SO MEDIOCRE? IS HE JUST
IN THIS FOR THE TAX BREAK?
WILL ECHO EVER FIND SOMEONE TO FIGHT HIS ICE CREATURE?
WHO WON THE $10 MILLION DOLLARS FROM AMERICAN FAMILY SWEEPSTAKES?
WHATS THE CAPITAL OF QATAR?
- ---- TUNE IN NEXT POSTING ----
<<006>>
Solutions, unLtd. (issue #1)
They were a group brought together for no apparent reason, one humanoid and
three that were nominally human. The construction and design of their new base
home had taken altogether too long and now it was almost time to get down to
some serious heroing.
But first, it's Miller time!
3 days and 1500 gallons later (remember these 4 people are more than human)
Qwyntor, resident alien supra-genius and inventor, finally remembers what that
ringing noise is.... the phone.
"Hello, Solutions unLimited. If you have a pro... "
"Hey Qwint, this is Rock, I might have a job lined up for you guys."
"That is great Mr. Rockefeller but I am afraid that the rest of the team
won't be available for the next few days unless I get around to finishing that
Omni-Medic I was telling you about. We had a, un, house burning party."
"That bad huh, well, anytime in the next week is fine but I need an answer
ASAP for the government. Oh, and the phrase is 'house warming'."
"The Government, what do they need US for?" (a look of surprise and fear on
his face due to his own uncertain status).
"They want you to track down a group of prisoners that mysteriously escaped
from the State Pen. It seems easy enough and the money is decent if you are
interested."
"I shall ask the others as soon as they regain conciousness."
Carefully placing the phone on the hook on the third try Qwyntor turned and
surveyed the chaos of the living area with which the Butlerbots were battling
for supremacy. Sighing mightily he turn his steps toward the kitchen to fix
some .....
"Sheen, Query, What time is it"
Sheen, the AI who only liked housekeeping, answered in a smooth cultured
voice.
}You dont have to be so stiff, dear. You are a much better programmer
than you give yourself credit for, and it is 5 o'clock in the evening{
"Thanks, do you have any cures for a 'Hang-over'?"
}Well, there is this one recipe but it is 78% tabasco sauce{
"I'll take it, what is tabasco sauce?"
}I'm not sure but it isn't toxic to your system{
Taking the glass off the counter Qwyntor casually (but with very small
steps) made his to his workshop to resume work on the much needed med.....
"!!!AAARRRGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!"
}Well, it shouldn't have been toxic. Are you okay?{
With only a glare he hurled the glass at the nearest speaker and continued
on his way. In his workshop were the pieces of something that might be a New
Wave coffin on amphetamines, or an automatic doctor, depending on your state of
mind at the time. Calmly sitting down the young alien sets to work on his
latest project.
Meanwhile, at Rockefeller Enterprises, Archibald Q. Porter, stormed into
the office of his utmost supervisor.
"Damn it Rock, this time he has gone to far!"
"Qwyntor?"
"Of course, you want to know how the broadcast power system works? I'll
tell you, it creates a parallel dimension to suit the machines needs and
transmits the power through that dimension instead of this one!"
"My God, how did he do that?"
"He used an Atarii 2600 game cartridge, Donkey Kong to be exact."
Professor Porter started crying. "I tell you Rock, I don't know how much more
of this I can take. His inventions shouldn't work, yet they can be duplicated
in production. How is that possible?"
"Don't ask me, that's why I hired you. Need a vacation?"
"I don't really think so, after all, I've only been back 3 days from the
last one. I think I'll head over to the junkyard and see what he's working on
now. I'm already distraught, might as well make the best of it. Sorry for the
outburst."
"Don't mention it, you needed it. Have fun."
"Yeah, right" the professor mumbles as he leaves the spacious penthouse
office and heads down to the parking garage to get his car.
Industrial and Community Junk Yard had never been what you would call a
normal place to work, but since old man Jacobs had died and left his junkyard
to the mysterious stranger found on pile seven things had gotten decidedly
bizarre. First, a bunch of 'super-heroes' had shown up and then a Rockefeller
construction team had shown up, worked furiously for two months, and made no
apparent changes except for adding living areas BENEATH the office. Glancing
back she noticed that in her reverie she had missed a spot of wax on the table.
}Mrs. Jenkins there isn't any need for you to polish the furniture. I am
perfectly capable of the task myself{
"Maybe, but I don't want any Butler-bucket-of-bolts messing with the
Teakwood tables."
%%%%%%%BONG%%%%%%%%
}Dr. Porter was at the gate, I let him in and he is parking his car.{
"Archie? I thought he was still on vacation. He is probably here to see
Qwint, is the dear awake?"
}Yes ma'am, he entered his workroom approximately 27.72597632475265
minutes ago{
"Okay, just direct the doctor there and I will go fix him some herb tea,
he will probably need it before too long."
The professor entered the workshop just as Qwyntor was putting the
finishing touch on the Omni-medic, a hood ornament off of a Mercedes that was
to be used as the handle to the door.
"Ah the auto-doc, is it finished?"
"Yes, Professor, I finally found the problem. The 'Gone With the Wind'
laser disc was completely incompatible with the rest of the system. I
substituted 'The Blues Brothers' and she took right off, fully functional."
During this explanation the Professor's faced seems very pained.
"Why did you stop by?"
"Just to see how you were progressing on the unit but that is unnecessary,
when can you ship it to the Lab?"
"Well, I'd like to keep it around to test on the others, I feel it will
be much more effective than a 78% tabasco solution on them."
As the Prof. restrains from asking Mrs. Jenkins enters carrying a tray
laden with tea and a few cookies. She sets the tray down, says hello, and
leaves before Sheen can divert a Butlerbot to wax the hall table.
Thus ends the first episode as Prof. Porter sips tea with Qwyntor and
shudders everytime he looks at the contrapton in the center of the room.
<<007>>
Trashman 1--the Trashman cometh!
Eric, Lord Sabre
In the depths of the darkest pit of perdifery ever to be seen this side of
Cleveland (or even THAT side of Cleveland), deep within the very evilmost and
slime-ridden sewer of said pit of perdifery, lay a vacious festering spoor of
evil and toxic chemicals, most of which were flushed from the pit proper along
with certain waste products from the inhabiyants of the pit congealed in a mass
of horrific stench and proportion.
Into this mess did stride a young rat, name of Willard, who had until this
point led a reasonably normal life terrorizing poor innocent broke, unemployed
Large Manly Men who lived in basement apartments.
Needless to say, this being a superheroic type story, Willard didn't
immediatly go to rat heaven (which is an Altiverse consisting totally of Fast
food joints, see Sf_story). Instead, the young rat began to change, growing,
turning larger, mutating, and getting REAL hungry....
Meanwhile, in the Pit Proper itself, young Jack Tripper, having been fired
from his job as a chef on various TV sitcoms was cooking a mass-meal for the
inhabitants of the pit. This was hard to do, as the food budget was Government
subsidized and the kitchen had no utensils to speak of, beyond fireplace tongs,
a vat or two, and sixty-seven old rusty cans.
"This place is disgusting," he said for the three-hundredth time. He then
tripped over a few paper-clips, prompting laughter from the laugh track that
seemed to follow him around.
"Tripper!" barked an older man in a rather impeccable army uniform.
Tripper sprang to his feet, knocking over the paint cans and causing the
left vat to tip, prompting another laugh from the laughtrack. "Yessir?" he
managed to squeak out.
"As you know, this Pit of Perdifery is the horrific testlabs of the Mega-
Intelligence Bureau--where top government scientists experiment with the very
fabric of life in horribly dangerous though government-approved chemical
chambers! Why, three days ago, we managed to create a rabbit capable of
opening and drinking a can of beer with minimal resistance and only moderate
help! Why, tomorrow, we could have pizza-making gerbils!"
"I know this sir."
"I know you know, son, but the general readers of Superguy didn't know
this--understand?"
"Yessir."
"Good! But they can't do any of that if they refuse to eat! The swill
you serve isn't up to Government specifications swill! I expect better swill
out of you!!!!"
"Yessir, Colonel Korn!".
"Good!" The Colonel left poor Jack standing there, despairing of ever
getting a pension.
In the shadows, a large, nasty lifeform watched. He was very hungry, now,
and really wanted to eat.
Jack was looking mighty fine.
Meanwhile....
In the shadows near the secret entrance to the pit (marked only by the
bright neon-sign reading 'Secret Entrance to Pit, Keep Out' and the three
photongun-armed guards) crouched a lone figure. Having discovered the plans to
the pit in the garbage behind MIB headquarters in Washington DC, and
distrusting the agency as much as any of the Superheroes, the figure decided to
check it out--especially after the media reports the government was conducting
experiments on frogs. He had crouched for some time, but was waiting for the
proper moment to gain entrance to the building.
He was Trashman, and he was ready for action. Checking his wristcomp, he
queried the current condition of the Trashmobile. All systems seemed
functional, and the fusion plant was operating at peak efficency. Good--now
all he had to do was wait.
"Helllllooooo, dinnnnnnneeeeerrrr," rasped a voice behind Jack.
Fear crept into Jack's eyes. "Crissy?" he asked nervously, triggering the
canned laughter yet again.
"Wrrrrroooooonnnggggg!!!!!!!" shouted the beast, leaping. He was a three-
hundred pound humanoid rat, with nasty claws, jagged teeth, a really bad breath
problem, and zeal in its eyes! "I am RRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTT-
MMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!"
"Oh, terribly sorry," said the panicked Jack as he was slammed into by
Ratman, and had his shoulder devoured while his face was rended off...
triggering the laughter one last time.
"RRRRRRraaaaaUUUUUUGGGHHH!!!!! Thhhhiiissss mmmmmeattttt iiiiissss
raaaaaancid...no substance to itttt atttt allllll...." said Ratman, spitting
out a chunk of Jack.
"Funny, that's just what our critics said," said Jack, before passing out
and bleeding all over the place.
Ratman leapt to his feet, saw an exit, and slammed through it, looking for
more palatable food.
In lab number four, a small group of scientists was busy overseeing the
pumping of four and a half gallons of toxic plutonium into a small, cute puppy,
all in the name of science.
"Hmmmmm...Dr. Red, have you ever seen eyes bulge like that?"
"No, well, not since I electrocuted my goldfish in the third grade--wrote
a devastating report about it."
"Dr. Brown, I think the kitten in cage six has begun to exhibit
metapowers."
"Oh, Dr. Green?"
"Yes, he just vomited a distance of nine meters, with an impact force of
seventeen kilograms per square inch!"
"Oh, good show!" said Dr. White
Just then, Ratman burst through the doors, leapt on Dr. Red, and began to
noisily devour him.
"I say, Dr. Green, this is odd."
"Yes it is, Dr. White--isn't Dr. Blue in lab five working on rats, though?"
Ratman then leapt off the picked bones of Dr. Red, and began to eat Dr.
Brown.
"No," said Dr. White, "those are guinea pigs."
"Oh, pity, that. Remarkable growth rate."
"Yes."
The two observed the rather messy consumption of their colleague.
"We really should write a report on this," said Dr. White.
"Indeed. Hm, should we call security?"
"Of course not--this is the ultimate chance to observe the field
conditions of metapowers in action. I say we watch it as long as we possibly
can--to set up the videocam--ERK" as Ratman lept on Dr. White. Dr. Green began
to set up the camera, and scribbled notes until Ratman finished Dr. White and
launched on him--at the very end signing his name to the document and claiming
sole responsibility.
Back at the entrance, Trashman continued to watch the entrance, and
readied his indestructable Trashcan lid to disable the guards, when the door
was smashed open by a bloody three hundred pound manrat.
"RRRRRRRRRrrrraaaaaattttmmmmmmaaannnn mmmmuuuuussssttt feeeeeed!!!!"
shouted the rodent.
"Hm, I take it I should stop this menace," murmered Trashman.
As if to answer him, Ratman ate two guards, while the third awoke began to
take the safeties off her Photongun.
"All right! Stop right there!" shouted Trashman, leaping into a
somersault that landed him right in front of the fracas, Canlid in ready
position.
"RRRRRRRaaaaaaaauuuurrrrgggghhhhh!!!!" shouted Ratman.
"Wow," shouted the somewhat perky female guard.
WILL TRASHMAN BE ABLE TO SAVE THE GUARD AND DEFEAT RATMAN?
WILL THE GUARD RENOUNCE HER TIES TO MIB AND JOIN TRASHMAN IN POUNDING ON RATMAN?
WILL THE GUARD RENOUNCE HER TIES TO MIB AND JOIN RATMAN IN EATING TRASHMAN?
WILL THE GUARD KEEP HER TIES TO MIB AND JUST PHOTONBLAST THE HELL OUT OF BOTH
OF THEM?
The answers to these pulse pounding questions will be found in the
next issue of TRASHMAN, only on Superguy digest!!!!!!!
<<008>>
Trashman 2--Rat Fight
Eric, Lord Sabre
Trashman stood in front of the MIB pit, indestructable trashcan lid (or
lid, for short) at the ready. Ratman, the rodent mutated into a really ugly
son-of-an ugly rat, stood, nasty fangs and sharp claws at the ready. The cute
female security guard stood as well, Photongun still having four complex
safeties to deactivate and not at all at the ready. All in all, the security
guard felt the least in control of the situation.
"I'm going to give you only one chance to surrender, Rat, and then I'm
going to bring you down!"
"Rrrrrraaaatmaaaan eaaaaaatt SSSSssssaaaaaanniiittaatttiiioonn
EEEEnnnngggiiinnnnneeeeerrrrr!"
"Lord, where do these guys get this dopey dialogue?"
Ratman leapt at Trashman, preparing to claw the hero into dinner.
Trashman flipped the lid in front of him, causing the rodent to slam into and
bounce off of it. Trashman jumped up to a convientent overhanging pipe and
kicked Ratman right in the yellow teeth as the rat stood. Ratman took the
opportunity that Trashman had given him to bite down on Trashman's foot, and
throw the hero into the door of the Pit. As he flew towards the door, Trashman
somersaulted in mid-air, hurling his lid at Ratman, collapsing his body against
the door, and kicking off into a backflip that landed him next to the guard
(two safeties down, and having trouble with the third.)
The lid caught Ratman into the back, ricocheted about four times, before
landing in Trashman's hands again.
"What a scientificlly impossible coincidence!" the guard murmered in awe.
"Why, thank you," said Trashman, "I try."
While he was busy talking to the guard, Trashman got jumped upon by a now
irate three hundred pound rodent. To say this disturbed the normally calm hero
would be rather an understatement. The fact that the rodent was trying hard to
bite his shoulder off didn't help matters much, either. Fortunately, Trashman's
grey coveralls were made out of a doublebonded polymer/kevlar material which
afforded Trashman some protection. Which meant rather than the bite going
through the shoulder, it just hurt. A lot. A whole lot.
"AAAAAAAAArrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhh!" Arrghed Trashman.
The guard, seeing the reasonably handsome if mostly covered and somewhat
odd would-be savior in such dire straits, gave up on the gun as an energy
weapon and instead began to beat the rat with it.
This had the net effect of causing Ratman to remember the guard, and that
her uniform was much easier to bite through. He jumped off of Trashman, and
onto her.
Trashman, ever the sportsman, flung his lid at point blank range straight
at Ratman's neck. This stung the rat a bit and he got off of the girl. The
top of her uniform was in shreds, but fortunately, amazingly convenient and
well-placed shadows prevented anyone from seeing any naughty bits.
The rodent leapt AGAIN, trying to knock over the now weaponless Trashman.
However, Trashman yanked an old rusty chairleg out of his coveralls utility
pocket and knocked the big ugly rat to the side. "All right, Micky Mouse, let's
finish this, man to rat!"
"Booooooyyyyy," the rat rasped, "do yooooooouuuu neeeeeddd aaaa neeeeeewww
wwwwrrrriiiittttteeeeerrrrr!"
"Oh yeah, well at least my dialogue can be read! For god's sake, you
sound like Bob Dylan!"
Credit to a large editorial Troll sitting at my left for the last line.
"DDDDDDIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!" And the rat leapt YET AGAIN. Trashman was
ready this time, however, and flipped an old bedspring out of his utility
pocket, positioning it between the rat and the ground at the Rat's point of
impact.
BOING and the rat flew a good forty feet. BOING and forty more, into the
darkness. Boing boing boing until even the noise faded. In short, the battle
was over.
"Miss, I'd see about getting a new uniform if I were you. Now, I'd best
be off before MIB investigators try and grab me!" Scooping up his Trashcan
Lid, Trashman jumped to the pipe, did a triple swing, and flipped to the
Trashmobile.
The guard, still concealed by the convenient shadows, was waiting there.
"You know, you'd save rather a lot of time if you just walked from place to
place."
Trashman stared. No, not at those.
"Now then, take me with you."
"Why? I mean, I cannot show an agent of the Mega-Intelligence Bureau my
secret hideaway, my Fortress of Loneliness, my Private Lair, my--"
"Stow it, Trashman, I'm not an MIB agent--I'm a rent-a-cop and I want to
go with you, to add some sex appeal to this comic and possibly some angst."
"Oh, in that case," Trashman slipped out his control panel and thumbed a
switch. The Trashmobile's door opened. To be honest, the Trashmobile looked
like a large garbage truck, but its automation was impressive.
The girl got in, followed by Trashman. They then got out and re-entered in
reverse order, so that Trashman was in the driver's seat (the Guard not having
a valid Class Three driver's license.)
"By the way," said Trashman to the guard, "what's your name?"
"Jan," she replied, "Jan Taylor."
"Pleased to meet you," he said looking at her shadows.
"Turn around and drive," she replied demurely, emphisizing by pointing her
photon gun at his privates.
Trashman drove.
Deep within the pit, Jack Tripper awoke. He looked around himself.
Everything had been knocked about and ripped apart. He then looked at himself.
All of the damage done to him by Ratman had disappeared. He was completely
healed.
"Mother!" he squealed in a high pitched voice, and the canned laughter
laughed.
WHAT'S THE DEAL WITH JACK?
WILL JAN AND TRASHMAN BECOME AN ITEM?
WILL RATMAN RETURN?
DO WE WANT RATMAN TO RETURN?
WILL WE EVER GET A PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF ANYONE BUT RATMAN?
WILL WE EVER FIND OUT ANYTHING MORE ABOUT TRASHMAN?
YES! Be here for our very next issue, where we discover...
THE ORIGIN OF TRASHMAN!!!!!!!!!!!
Only here, on Superguy! Lets all be there!
<<009>
The Adventures of Manman Epsiode #12
When we last left our hero, he was calmly eating breakfast after receiving
a mysterious phone call, which was actually from Commissioner Bigshot.
Somewhere in another part of the city, Dr. Sleaze was hatching yet another
diabolical plot to gain control of RatherLarge City.
- ******************************************************************************
Episode #12
- ******************************************************************************
Manman calmly finished his oatmeal, two slices of lightly buttered toast
with grape jelly, a bowl of little round cereal and a glass of milk. (He ran
out of orange juice last episode, remember?). Today was shaping up to be a
thoroughly mediocre day. Manman sighed with contentment. He was in his
element.
Somewhere, across the universe, an asteroid broke loose from its orbit
and began heading toward the Earth. It was on a collision course, in fact.
However, the odds of Manman being still alive by the time the asteroid actually
reached the earth, were, to put it bluntly, absolutely nil. Thus, Manman felt
that he was safe in sighing with contentment, little suspecting that trouble
from far closer to home was also on a collison course with him, due to arrive
in about five minutes, in fact.
Precisely five minutes and thirty-two seconds later, the commissioner
burst into Manman's apartment.
"Manman," he said with authority, "we need your help. The city is in
grave danger."
However, since he was wearing heavy protective gear to shield himself
from the lingering effects of episode #10 (whatever those were), MM heard
something along the lines of:
"MMMMM," he mumbled vaguely, "mm mmmm mmmm mmmm. Mmm mmmm mm mm mm
mmmm mmmmm."
Manman puzzled this out for a minute. Aha, he thought, charades!
Manman thought for a moment. "How many words?"
The commissioner shook his head "Mmmm mmm MMMM!" He mumbled urgently.
"Aha! Three words!" Who says I'm mediocre, he thought to himself.
The commissioner began to shake his head harder. "MM!!" he grunted.
"Shake?"
"MMM!!"
"Dog?"
"MM MMM! MMMM MMM MMMM!"
"Hmmm..." Manman paused in deep thought. He could have sworn something
nearby was burning. "Epilepsy?"
The commissoner began to wonder what the penalty for killing a supehero
was. Fortunately, he noticed a coloring book and a red crayon lying on the
breakfast table. He grabbed them and began writing.
"Coloring? Writing a note? Hmm... a dog writing a note... Lassie?"
The spoon whizzed by his head. "Hostility... note... dog... the Animal
Liberation Front???" Manman was pleased with this guess.
The commissioner held the note in front of Manman's face.
Scanning the page, Manman rendered his expert opinion on the situation.
"Hey! Thats not even staying in the lines!!!"
Through a long and arduous process which the author feels no particular
desire to relate, Commissioner Bigshot finally managed to explain to our hero
that Dr. Sleaze, that diabolic do-badder, had hatched a fiendishly clever plot
to control the city by introducing Powerful, Mind-altering Drugs _tm_ into the
coffee supply of the city, and that to help his devilish scheme, he had
kidnapped the one man all coffee drinkers respect and trust -- Juan Valdez.
We rejoin our hero (oh, right and Manman too) after this revelation has been
revealed (through the aforementioned long and arduous process which the author
feels no need to relate).
"I understand!" said Manman. "Dr. Sleaze is attempting to gain control
of RatherLarge City by infiltrating the coffee supply with Powerful, Mind-
altering Drugs _tm_ and has kidnapped Juan Valdez to further his evil plot,
right?"
The commissioner heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Yes. Thats right."
Manman thought a second longer.
"Ok, now that we have that one straight... why did you come to see me?"
The commissioner screamed. Loudly.
WILL THE COMMISSIONER KILL MANMAN?
WILL MANMAN SAVE THE DAY?
WHO WILL PICK COFFEE IF DR. SLEAZE HAS JUAN VALDEZ?
WILL WE EVER FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED TO RATHERLARGE CITY IN EPISODE #10?
WHEN IS SOMETHING GOING TO HAPPEN IN THIS STORY, ANYWAY?
WILL THE COMMISSIONER GET FRUSTRATED AND PHONE WONDER GRUNION?
WOULD WONDER GRUNION TAKE THE CASE EVEN IF HE DID?
WHY DOES EVERY AUTHOR FEEL COMPELLED TO TACK THESE STUPID QUESTIONS ON TO THE
END OF EACH POSTING?
tune in for Manman #13, everything you ever wanted in an episode-- and less
The Armadillo - Chapter One
***DISCLAIMER: Don't blame me or anyone else for anything. I fell down
a flight of stairs at any early age.***
Joe and Ed stood by the trash dumpster, catching a few smokes while on
their ten minute coffee break. The Texas sun was hot on their backs, and the
heat sizzled up from the cement. They were temp workers, and not happy about
it, but as they are only appearing in this story for a few paragraphs, don't
get overly concerned about their plight. They had been busy all morning
at the "Flatfoot Emporium", a retail store specializing in old detective pulps
and videotapes of "The Untouchables" and other similar media products of that
genre. [For the unenlightened of you out there, the word 'genre' is a term
used by us smart-assed artistic types to mean lots of books, movies or
magazines rehashing the same old stuff.]
Apparently, the Emporium had been bought out by certain members of the PTL
board of trustees, and they were planning on turning the building into a Jim
and Tammy Faye Bakker Memorial Museum, in honor of the now late Bakkers, who
died in a tragic accident involving lengths of rope, a pound of butter, and
97 vials of mascara. This isn't important either, so don't get worried. What
IS important is that Joe and Ed had been ordered to remove all the videos,
magazines, and books from the premises and dump them somewhere, preferably far
away. This is what Joe and Ed had been doing all morning.
Finishing his smoke, Joe tossed it to the ground and crushed it under
his heal. Moving back toward the dumpster, he noticed a rat running out
from the dumpster. It was the same rat they had seen all morning, the one
they had affectionately named 'Willard'. "Gee," said Joe, "that rat seems to
be running off in the direction of Washington D.C."
"So what," said Ed. "Let's get finished. I got a bowling match tonight."
"Okay," said Joe.
By mid-afternoon they were finished, and took the dumpster to a far away
dump. They quickly dumped their not-so-precious cargo off the side of a small
hill and drove off into the quickly setting sun, unaware that they had just
dumped nearly a ton of Detective Genre books, magazines, and videos on a
pool of toxic waste. [Origin of waste unknown -- for now.]
The next morning, a small, non-descript armadillo was meandering his way
through the dump looking for his breakfast. He came across the pile of toxic
magazines, books and videos, said "What the hell?" in armadillo language, and
began to dig in. It wasn't particularly good eating, but he didn't expect to
find much better in a dump where the likes of Joe and Ed dumped things. After
chowing down for 20 minutes [he was a hungry armadillo], he decided to burrow
into the pile and sleep for a while. [Now, you're all out there yelling "NO!
Don't do it!" and the like, but remember, this is an armadillo, not a B-movie
bimbo, so of course he isn't going to understand you.]
Several hours later he woke up, and immediately realized something was
different. He tunneled out of the pile and stood up in the cool evening air.
Off to the side a more-or-less intact mirror stood against a pile of junk, and
the armadillo walked over to it. Looking in, the image he saw shocked him. He
was now humanoid, standing roughly 5 feet 6 inches. He was still clad in armor,
but was now wearing a tan trench coat and a tan, beaten fedora. In a shoulder
holster sat a .38 revolver, well oiled. Rummaging through his coat pockets, he
came across a box of ammo in one and a bottle of cheap bourbon in the other. He
uncapped the bourbon and took a swig. "Smoooooth," he said, then was shocked to
find that he was speaking Human English, with an accent that was a cross between
Chicago and Bronx. [Eerie to consider, eh?]
He looked off in a Northwesterly direction, knowing where his destiny
lay......The Big Apple.
Several Years Later...
[Right now you are probably asking why this story is suddenly jumping
several years into the future. I can answer that question by giving you a
description of our hero, who herein is known as The Armadillo [or Dillo Man by
his friends]. On that fateful day when he ate and nested in a pile of toxic
Detective Genre media stuff, The Armadillo gained humanoid form, sentience, and
a taste for cheap bourbon. Those aren't all of his powers, though. His body
is still made up of armadillo armor, so he can take most blows and gunshots
with surprisingly little damage. His trench coat never takes damage, nomatter
how many shots it takes, and his fedora never falls from his head. He has
gained the proportional strength of an armadillo [what are you laughing at? Do
you know how strong one must be to ALWAYS carry a suit of armor around? thought
that would make you straighten up in your seat.] and unfortunately, the
proportional speed of an armadillo, which explains why our story leaps ahead in
years.]
So, as I was saying... Several Years later...
She walked down the hall, apprehensive as all hell, but knowing she
had to do what she was about to do. The dimly lit corridor smelled like a
zoo, and the floor was littered with fast-food wrappers. As the echo of her
high heels resounded through the hall [how can noise resound through a trash
filled corridor, which should normally absorb the sound? Don't ask me..all
I know is that it makes for a neat hollow deserted effect.] she stopped in
front of a wooden door with a smoked plate glass window. On the window were
written the letters A D A, which she knew to stand for the Armadillo Detective
Agency. Wondering how she could decide to use an agency with such a name,
she knocked on the door.
A flat, oddly accented voice answered. "Come in."
She opened the door and gasped upon looking at the form behind the desk.
"My God," she said. "You really ARE an armadillo! I thought that was just a
gimmick."
For his part, The Armadillo was quite taken aback when he saw her. She was
a statuesque blond with a body that would make a rat start living a clean life.
Her hair flowed freely over her shoulders, accenting her rather large
##CENSORED##. And her legs weren't bad either. He had to exert massive control
to keep his tongue from rolling onto the floor. {After all,} he thought, {what
flatfoot worth the name would show emotion over a dame.}
"I know it's a gimmick," he replied in a voice which sounded like it came
from a person who was born and raised in the Bronx, but had been living on the
South Side of Chicago for the past five years. "But it ain't mine..it's the
author's. I don't have any control over him."
"I understand," the woman said. "Ya' gotta help me, Mr. um, ah..."
"They call me The Armadillo," he said.
"Okay, Mr. um, Armadillo.."
"No," he interupted. "Not Mr. um, Armadillo. Just call me Mr. Dillo."
"Yes Mr. Dillo. Anyway, I'm in a lot of trouble, and ya' gotta' help me."
He watched the way she breathed when she talked. And the way she breathed
when she moved. And the way she breathed when she didn't move. He even watched
her when she didn't breathe. {And to think of all those years I fooled around
with armadillos, when I coulda' been playin' the bagpipes with this one here.}
"Why are ya' in trouble, shweetheart?"
Mere moments later, as she was about to explain what her problems were,
a terrible explosion went off, knocking in the windows and shattering everything
in the room, including [presumably] our hero and the dame.
WHAT WAS THAT EXPLOSION?
DID THE ARMADILLO AND THE DAME SURRVIVE?
DOES "SHE" HAVE A NAME?
WILL THE ARMADILLO GET TO PLAY THE BAGPIPES WITH HER?
THE ANSWERS TO THESE AND OTHER EXCITING QUESTIONS CAN BE FOUND IN A SMALL
WHITE ENVELOPE HIDDEN IN THE PIANO AT 'RICK'S PLACE'!!!!!!! -OR-
TUNE IN NEXT TIME...SAME ARMADILLO TIME...SAME ARMADILLO CHANNEL