The Amazing Mutant Race 4

Congratulations Nathan!

2008-11-11T13:15:00.000-08:00

Well played, my friend. You, and of course your partner Emma, ran an excellent race against some very tough competition. Everyone played very well and I really enjoyed reading all the posts. Thanks to everyone who played. Thanks also to Simon who had the very difficult job of determining the winners for each leg and perhaps more difficult, naming the loser.

And now it's time to reveal the prize! Nathan (and Emma) get the official, one of kind, valued at a million dollars US plaque, suitable for framing or posting.

Congratulations!

The Finish

2008-11-09T16:57:00.000-08:00

The Finish, the End, the point at which I don’t have to look at or listen to any of you small minded no talented pricks any longer. Mmmm, just of thought of this makes me feel wonderful on the inside. I could rub my man nipples for hours thinking of that.

Rightio, I suppose I should review all the other contestants, recap to draw this out longer, perhaps say nice things about the losers to sooth their egos. But I really don’t want to, I have better things to do with my time. If you have questions about my judging, give a yodel on the comments section and I’ll answer them to the best of my god-like abilities.

So it’s the final three, all selected to Host instead of take on pirates. Makes it easy to compare all your attempts since no one tried to be unique. See let us take a looky loo at your attempts.

Bennet: Excellent job, you actually mostly achieved what you were tasked to do. You also managed to get some pesky garden vermin killed in the process. Not too shabby. Actually, this was a good showing on your part.

Jan: How sad that Xavier saved your most vapid useless partner until last. You had a strong showing and Dazzler’s breasts made an excellent effort at entertaining. But a hair pulling fight? How cliché.

Petrelli: If we’d only known the way into Emma knickers was booze and some leather clothing, I would have invested in some of both from the very beginning. But I liked your attempt at coupling up passengers.

So who won? Well, it’s been a crazy long race, my little peons, and you three have raced better than all the others. But who was the best? Who raced the fasted and strategized the best? None of you really, I think it’s all sheer dumb luck that has you three here. But whatever the reason, only one of you managed to milk that luck to the very end.

And that person first to the finish is…

Nathan Petrelli! You must have been motivated to haul your fanny at warp speed after getting your girl stolen from you by an ugly man with a small vocabulary and even smaller brain. Congratulations, may this take the sting out of your strike out.

Jan and Bennet, you both were excellent this time, it was very close. Veryveryvery close. And no, Bennet, I don’t hold you hooking me up with Paula against you, lots of people try, but I prefer my women not to be a train wreck. Everyone did an excellent job and should you have questions about why I judged as I did, leave a comment and I’ll try to answer it.

Cheers!
Simon

The One In Which I Made a Few Love Connections

2008-11-08T14:35:00.000-08:00

My fellow finalist and blog readers:

I have good news and bad news. The good news, we’re on our final challenge. It’s been a long road filled with adventure and love, even if Emma doesn’t want to admit it. The bad news, Bennet, oh how I loathe that man, has placed a yield on me. $@#$ One day I’m going to get even with him, but it will have to be after I repay him for saving my life and raising my illegitimate daughter. I wouldn’t want to appear ungrateful or anything. #@$#

Ten minutes later…More good news, although, the yield might cause problems, I decided not to whine and make the most of my time, so I went to find Emma so I could collect on her promise several posts back. She is supposed to give me a little action. I put on my best suit, splashed on a little man perfume, and practiced my most dazzling smile in the mirror. “Oh Yeah, I’m irresistible.”

Another ten minutes later….More bad news, when I got to Emma’s room, she said she had to wash her hair. I thought it looked fine, but she was rather insistent. By the time she was finished, it was time to make our way to the Falkland Islands. Hummm. It sounds like an opportunity to wear less clothing and bath in the sun… I wonder if Emma can be more scantily clad than she already is?

“Why are you staring at me Petrelli?”

“Huh, what? I’m not, I was just thinking.”

She looked at me for a second before saying, “Nah, too easy.”

Grabbing our two jet packs, she threw one to me. I’ve never worn a jet pack before, but it looked sort of kinky so I went with it. There wasn’t anything sexy about it though. As soon as I put it on, it propelled me into the sky like a rocket. I passed birds, airplanes, and one oddly shaped UFO before it sputtered and died on me. I pushed buttons, I cursed, I cried and then I plummeted toward the earth.

Although, Emma said I screamed like a girl, I emphatically deny it. It was a manly yelp based on gravity confusion. I could hear Emma yelling my name. Poor dear, she loves me so much. She must have been terrified at the thought of losing me. Unfortunately, I was so terrified, I couldn’t comfort her, but I could see she had changed direction with her own jet pack and was heading toward me. Suddenly, she was beside me, my scantily clad angel. I reached out to her, but she knocked away my hand. “You idiot, you don't need me. You can fly on your own.”

Well,… “Oh yeah.”

I willed myself to stop my downward spiral and found myself floating in the air. I looked to Emma and said, “I was just testing you,…just so you know that.”

“Yeah, right Petrelli, let’s go.”

Ten minutes later, and we had arrived on the Princess Cruise ship, also known as the Love Boat. “Oh yeah, this is my kind of place.”

“Come on Petrelli, we don’t know how far the others have gotten in their tasks yet. Let’s find this Stubing and get on with the challenge.”

I followed her dutifully to the control room where we were both greeted by Captain Stubing. Emma sighed heavily, and told him, “Skip the spiel. From the way Petrelli is salivating, I’m sure he is going to choose Host.”

Stubing scratched his bald head, and said, “Let me introduce you to our cruise director, Julie McCoy. She has the passenger list. Feel free to coordinate with her to make our passengers’ dreams come true.”

I grabbed the list and flipped through it, picking out several people at random. I showed it to Emma and encouraged her to lounge by the pool. Satisfying the fantasies of others is my specialty.

The first on my list was Chuck Norris, a man’s, man. He is rugged, strong, a man of few words and he came aboard because the next port of call will put him one step closer to his dream. He wants to relive his glory days back when he trudged through the thick brush of the Brazilian Rain Forrest.

Also on the list was this woman, known only as Flo. She is a waitress, slightly loose with a lot of attitude. She’s looking for a strong rugged man who will pursue her and make her scream for Jesus.

“Kiss My Grits, Congressman Petrelli! I never said make me scream for Jesus…Well, not exactly.”

“Calm down Flo. Let me introduce you to one of our esteemed passengers, Chuck.”

I motioned for Chuck to come closer. “Chuck this is…Chuck?”

I noticed the dazed look in his eyes but before I could ask if he was alright he pulled out a huge machete. “Look at that!” he yelled, pointing at Flo’s hair. “Wild fire in the bush!” With a primal yell, he charged at her.

Flo screamed, “Sweet Jesussss! Ahhhhhh!” and took off running for the stairs.

I noticed Emma eyeing me from the bar where Isaac was trying to chat her up. I gave her the thumbs up sign. One happily satisfied couple down and two to go…

I pull out the passenger list again. Next on the list was this man, Mr. Furley. Although a little homophobic, still a basically nice guy. He runs an apartment complex for men sexy enough to have three female roommates. (I’ll be putting my application in as soon as we get back to shore.) He’s looking for a little bit of loving on this cruise, and I think for obvious reasons, he needs help.

“What do you mean? I’ll have you know I’m a stud.”

I pat him apologetically on the shoulder. “Sorry, Mr. Furley. I’m a stud. You’re more of a dud; but for every man, there is a woman-- perhaps in your case a desperate woman. Ahhh, speaking of which, here is your date now….

Allow me to introduce Alice. She is a maid for a very large family. She loves kids, cooking, cleaning, and marrying well past her prime.”

Alice moved forward to shake his hand, “Hello, will you marry me? I have an excellent butcher friend. I can get you free meat?”

“Free meat? Well, I hate to pass up a bargain like that. Tell me, are you opposed to brown paper bags…?”

“I’m not opposed to them, if you’re not opposed to them.”

…and off they went. Two couples down and one couple to go.

Our next lucky passenger is … Me. “I’m an incredibly sexy man. All women want me, even though they don’t always admit it right away. I’ve been a confirmed bachelor for years, even when I was married to my first wife, Heidi. However, now, I want to settle down, for real, with the love of my life…” Yep you guessed it…

“This is Emma. She is well endowed and sort of dominates the men in her life. I’m OK with that.”

The sputtering that could be heard from the bar was caused by Emma. She stood and staggered toward me. Aha. She was drunk and some what powerless to kill me…unless she wanted to take out the whole ship at the same time… I couldn’t believe my luck. I helped her to a chair and was about to commence my wooing…when I heard a blood curdling scream. It was Flo.

She ran past me and yelled, “You no good falootin’ politician…You’re gonna’ kiss my grits and then some, when I’m through with you.”

I was a little worried, so I followed her back to the bar and bought her a few drinks. After her fifth one, I slipped her the satisfaction form for her to sign. Woo Hoo…I was pretty excited because that meant I was still two down…so I got up and made my way back to Emma only to find to my shock….

“FOILED!!!!” It was the Fonz. He was onboard to pick up some chicks, and he had picked up mine!!! No!!!

I said, “You can’t have her.”

He said, “Heyyyy…”

I said, “I saw her first.”

He said, “Heyyyy.”

I said, “Let’s just ask Emma.”

She said, “hehehehehe…Leather.”

I said, "#$#$%$."

He said, “Heyyyyyy.” And then he walked off with my girl. I mean, yeah he said good things on the satisfaction form and technically I made my quota, but he totally stole my woman.

In frustration I yelled, “I’m so depressed. I don’t think I can go on… I may have to bail out of the challenge!”

“Oh. Jou’ can’ do dat. Jou suxy maan Jou.”

I turned to see who had spoken and decided life might be worth living after all…

Jan the Intergalactic Aviator: Cruise

2008-11-08T05:00:00.001-08:00

We made it to the ship. We made it OK except for one little problem – the Dazzler’s jetpack sputtered and died halfway to the Falklands. Luckily, I was able to catch her and carry her the rest of the way to the ship.

Oh yeah, did I mention that I’m basically her personal guard and protector now? OK, so maybe I’ve had a little run of bad luck with my partners. I know complaining about it is pointless, but it’s not like I deliberately tried to hurt them. Well, maybe except for Juggernaut. The jerk.

Anyhow, Professor Xavier gave the edict that I must finish the race with my partner in order to win. OK, big deal right? Except my friend here seems to have some kind of deathwish. She wants to pet the dinosaur, she wants to taste the maybe poisonous fruit hanging off the tree, she wants to sing to the giant gorilla because music tames the savage beast, she wants to run and jump off the cliff full speed before trying the “on” button on the jetpack. Fortunately, it worked.

Unfortunately, it sputtered and died.

Was it sabotage? I don’t know. All I know is that I swooped down and just grabbed her arm before she made a big wet splat into the ocean. Rescuing people sure is fun.

Oh by the way, that was sarcasm. I don’t know if you can tell or not, but I really don’t consider myself a woman of action. I know some of the imbeciles involved in this race keep thinking I’m some kind of an intergalactic gladiator or something, but let me assure you that there is quite a bit of difference between hauling some freight fast and far across a sector and strapping on a leather thong and hitting some guy with a laser trident.

As if any of that stuff is real anyway.

So, we make it to the ship in relatively one piece and immediately Dazzler starts hopping up and down to go fight the pirates and I’m like “No way, we’re doing something safe.” I’m not getting her shot in the back by Barnacle Bill. So she starts moping that her father never let her fight pirates and he never let her sing and she just goes on and on and I’m like WTH? Eventually, I persuade her that with her singing talents, we’ll easily dazzle (ha ha, get it? Ugh) the audience.

So it’s about show time and Dazzler’s just sitting there moping about her father and her failed relationships with her boyfriends Lance, Dirk, Fabian, and Longshot and I really didn’t think of her as a diva, but then there she is refusing to go on stage. Fabian? Seriously? I thought Lance and Dirk were bad enough. And then she’d go on and on about Lance’s manly hairy chest and the chain he used to wear.

Ugh.

Finally, finally I coax her onto stage. The crowd was cheering and she was acting all sheepish and shy but then when that music kicked in, she rocked the house. She sang all kinds of songs and dazzled everyone with burst after burst of bright energy from her hands. She even went old school and sang a disco song while roller skating through the audience, between tables and around the cocktail waitresses. I am not afraid to admit that she was pretty awesome.

When her show ended, the crowd jumped up with roaring approval. Getting three positive reviews from this crowd will be easy. The crowd kept cheering but Dazzler didn’t go back on stage for an encore, she just slid past me and walked out into the starry night.

I quickly chased after her, grabbing two glasses of wine off a waiter’s tray along the way.

“Congratulations,” I said as I handed her one of the glasses. “You did great. We’ve definitely got the challenge in the bag.”

“If only my father could see me now,” she sighed sadly.

“I’m sorry that your father’s dead and you’ve never reconciled with him.”

“Oh, he’s still alive, he’s retired in Hoboken,” Dazzler replied.

“What?” I couldn’t believe her. “What the fracking frell is with you and all of your angsty crying?”

“Well my life’s never been easy,” she replied. “It’s been tough trying to make a career out of singing, modeling, acting, being an aerobics instructor, being an X-Man, being the herald of Galactus… Lance was always there for me, but he never understood me you know?”

“Oh my God, just stop it with the emo crap already,” I threw my arms up. “It’s been done already, and much better by others.”

“What do you mean?”

“Uh hello, how about Spider-Man?” I asked. “He’s always worried about his Aunt May and her health, and paying the bills, and his job at the Daily Bugle.”

Dazzler looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You know, Peter Parker is Spider-Man and he’s always worried about his personal life?”

“What?” Dazzler laughed. “No, Peter’s not Spider-Man, he takes pictures of Spidey for the Bugle.”

“You don’t remember when he unmasked?” I asked. “It was a whole big event, apparently.”

“I dunno,” she shrugged.

“Did everyone just forget all of that stuff about him one day? You know what? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. The point is, you’re a super hero with some cool powers. You don’t need to mope around all day grousing about your personal life. Be happy. Have a little fun you know.”

“I wish I could,” she replied sadly. “If only Dirk could be here now.”

“What, did he move away to Jersey City?” I asked.

“No, he got eaten by and alligator in the sewer,” she replied.

“Oh my God!” I screamed. “That’s it! I can’t take it any more. Get the frack back to your room and just sit there until the ship hits port. I don’t want to fracking hear you anymore. I can’t stand your lame whining!”

Dazzler responded by throwing her drink in my face.

“Oh, no you didn’t,” I gasped angrily as I wiped the wine off with my hand.

“Shut up, bitch,” Dazzler growled. She grabbed my glass and threw the contents in my face as well.

“Bitch,” I said. “It is on.”

I slapped her across the cheek, she slapped me back. I slapped her again and she responded with the same. I then punched her and she punched me back so I grabbed her hair as she tried to claw my eyes with her nails. I was surprised to get leverage on her, but I used it to throw her over me. She went sailing over the railing and just barely managed to grab it.

“Oh my God!” she screamed.

“I got you!” I grabbed her arm. “Whatever you do, just don’t look down!”

“Oh God! I don’t want to get chopped up in those propellers!”

“I said don’t look down!” I yelled as I tried to get a grip on her arm.

“Oh God, now there are sharks swimming all around!” she wailed. “I don’t want to get eaten by sharks!”

“I got you!” I started to hoist her arm, but she slipped and almost fell but I grabbed her wrist at the last second.

“Oh God, now there’s some sort of sea creature eating all the sharks!” she yelled. “I don’t want to get eaten by a sea creature!”

“Stupid death wish,” I muttered as I hoisted her back onto the deck.

“Oh God, thank you,” she said.

“No problem,” I shrugged.

“I still owe you this though.” She hauled off and punched me in the face again.

“Bitch!” I punched her back and she grabbed my hair so I tried to push her face away with my nails. She shoved me and I stumbled back, and then we both tumbled into the pool.

She pulled me up out of the water and slapped me again. I grabbed her and tried to shove her under the water or tear her dress or something. She grabbed me and tried to tear my dress as well.

We heard laughter and applause. Dazzler and I stopped and looked up. All around us, people were looking at us and cheering.

“This must be part of the show,” one man said as he clapped.

“It’s like a Dynasty tribute!” another older woman said joyfully.

I looked at Dazzler and she looked at me. I grinned and gave half a shrug. She giggled and threw her arm around me.

“Thank you, thank you,” she laughed. “I hope you enjoyed the show and the rest of your stay on the Caribbean Princess.”

The crowd clapped and moved on to other forms of recreation as I stood there speechless. I finally looked at Dazzler and shook my head laughing. She grinned and half shrugged back at me. I laughed, she laughed. It was cathartic.

We then enjoyed the rest of the cruise and quickly made it to the Hellfire Club with no more incidents.

And Dazzler only tried to kill herself ten or eleven times along the way.

Mission Eight: All's Well That Ends

2008-11-07T12:25:00.000-08:00

Well, I managed to make it to the final three. I always knew I would.

It's been a long and challenging journey, and my mutant partner has been a pain. It will be nice to get back to my life at Primatech Paper Company. There I have highly-trained mutant partners that can actually lend a helping hand to situations. Scott has been more like a dead weight. A dead weight with a tail who occasionally wins wet t-shirt contests.

But this is it. The final challenge. As he and I jetpack our way out of the Savage Land, I think about how my fraternization with him will finally come to an end.

Suddenly, he and his jetpack exploded!

Luckily, I insisted on wearing the proper personal protection equipment. It very well saved his life, which apparently I need upon crossing the finish line. So, I had no choice but to catch his descending body and let him piggy back the rest of the way.

We landed safely on the cruise ship. I found the captain and received the detour instructions.

Cyclops looked at me and said, "I'm not even going to bother suggesting one because you always pick the opposite of what I say."

"But if you did suggest one, which would you suggest?" I asked.

"Oh, the one with pirates," he answered, "definitely! Pirates are swaggerish and sexy."

So, we began mingling with the passengers on board this vessel. Rather than fighting pirates, we would need to make sure at least three people have an enjoyable time here, or at least frighten them into giving us a positive review on the customer surveys.

"Scott," I said, "Bring all the bottles of cheap wine that you can carry. We've got to grease the wheels of romance."

There were many lonely souls on board. It should be easy enough to pair everyone up with each other for a good time.

I gave orders to Scott as I analyzed the crowd. He would go up to the individuals I selected and serve them lots of wine as well as direct their attention toward a hopefully compatible mate.

During my scheming, I was approached by a little, pointy-headed fellow.

"Hello," he said.

"Aren't you a little short for a cruise passenger?" I asked.

"Oh, not at all! Travelocity does not discriminate," it replied. "I go on many cruises."

"Yeah," I said. "That's nice and all, but I'm busy. So, get lost little guy."

His head dropped as he turned around. He wearily walked away from me. Then, I realized that he may give us a bad review, so I decided I might as well talk to him. "Wait!" I called out, "I guess we can talk for a while. Just don't get too chatty."

"Oh, joy!" he smiled as he approached again. "I'm so glad. I'm a very, very lonely gnome."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. Lonely. Sad. Depressed. You should try being a spokesman for a travel agency. They send you all around the world. You're in so many timezones that you lose all sense of time. Insomnia ensues. And of course, the only things to do at these locales is the same ol' touristy nonsense that they have everywhere. Take a picture here. Take a picture there. It never ends! And they don't bother sending you with a companion, someone to take your picture, or better yet, be in the picture with you. It's a very, very depressing life."

I was getting bored listening to his tale. It seemed he already talked enough, and the snack cart was approaching. So, I grabbed a slice of cheesecake, handed it to the gnome and said, "Here. Just go to your room and eat this. Cheesecake is better than love."

"It is?" he asked.

"Of course. It's ultimate bliss. If you're a sad little guy, you should just have some cheesecake. Cheer you right up."

So, he left with his cheesecake in hand.

Scott returned for some more wine and he and I continued to couple everyone up.

The King and Larry Craig

Spider-Man and Superman

Paula and Simon

Arnold Schwarzenegger and his muscles

These pairings would work wonders on the overall morale of the passengers. People want love and companionship, that's all. Fun is something you have when you're with a person who you enjoy and who enjoys you. I was very mathematical in my approach. I was sure that they would all be grateful.

The cruise was finally coming to an end. The captain took up everyone's customer surveys. I looked through them:

Arnold Schwarzenegger: "Me und my moosels are great togetha! Dank you!" +
Larry Craig: "He's kind of creepy." -
The King: "He's kind of creepy." -
Simon: "That was more of a mistake than the night Britney Spears was conceived." -
Paula: "Like, Simon is so great! You're great. Everyone is great. Great job!" +
Superman: "He blew his web too soon." -
Spider-Man: "He's impenetrable!" -

"Oh, no! We only got two positive marks," I said to Scott.

He replied, "That's positively awful!"

Ignoring his stupid pun, I flipped through the customer surveys a second time, hoping we missed someone. "That stupid gnome!" I said noticing that the Roaming Gnome didn't submit a customer survey.

Scott and I headed for his room below deck. I was hopeful that he would give us a positive mark. After all, he got the greatest companion of all: cheesecake.

I knocked.

No answer.

"Hello?" I called.

No answer.

I fired my gun into the doorlock and kicked the door open.

No answer.

"Oh, my," Scott said seeing the helpless little dangler. "He's hung."

"That he is," I replied. "Quick! Look around for his customer survey. Hopefully he filled it out before accidentally falling inside a noose."

Scott and I went all through his room. We searched through the room, finding nothing but empty beer bottles, pornographic magazines and Joni Mitchell albums. Then, I came across a note:

To whomever should find little ol' me:

I do apologize for making such a mess of the place. If you call Travelocity, I'm sure one of their excellent customer service representatives will do whatever it takes to clean up this room for you.

Unfortunately, this is to be my last vacation. I am a gnome that shall roam no more. It is a sad life, always being on the move. I wish that it would not have come to this. Years of being all alone, with nobody to spend my life with, has taken a horrendous toll on my well-being.

Please tell Shatner that he has finally won.

As for everyone else, and my few fans, I am sorry that I have left you. I hope you can learn from my example. Do not throw your life away on meaningless pleasures, vacations in solitude trying to avoid your lonely and depressing life. It follows you no matter to where you escape.

Never roam alone,
The Travelocity Roaming Gnome

"Aww," Scott began tearing up.

"Stupid suicide note!" I said crumpling it in my hand. "It didn't mention anything about the cheesecake I gave him!" I tossed the crumpled note into the trash bin angrily.

And that's when I noticed, in the bottom of the bin, the customer survey. Blank.

Pulling it out of the trash, I said to Scott, "I think we're back in business."

"Ooh," he replied, "I hope it's a flower shop! I've always wanted to run a flower shop."

I quickly forged the gnome's signature and wrote up a phony review.

We headed back to the top deck and handed the last customer survey to the captain.

"Looks like everything's in order here," he said. "Congratulations. If we arrive at our destination, you should be free to go to the Pit Stop."

"Wow," Scott said, "we've done it! We made it through the entire race."

I could see Rio de Janeiro approaching in the distance, and I realized that Scott was right. "Yeah," I said, "we did it alright."

The ship docked. Scott and I disembarked and located our ATV. We jumped on it, along with our camraman, who was apparently a cameradog.

The three of us raced through the streets of Rio to the Hellfire Club, the Pit Stop for the final leg of the race.

Yield: I Miss Koma

2008-11-06T02:04:00.000-08:00

"We may as well yield ourselves! We're going to lose anyway!" Cyclops whined. "Jan and Nathan are too good! We can never beat them, never!"

Grabbing Scott by the collar, I gave him a hard backhand across the side of his face. Unfortunately, that caused his optic blast to discharge, possibly killing our cameraman in the process. Xavier supposedly had him taken to the ICU, but I haven't checked in with him or anything. I mean, it's just a cameraman anyway. We've already got a new one. These guys must grow on trees.

The optic blast/possibly dead cameraman incident postponed our announcement of our yield. As soon as we got a replacement to film our great debate over the looming decision, we continued.

"Nathan and Jan may indeed be tough competition," I explained, "but you and I have something they don't have."

"You have asthma too?" Scott asked.

"Well, yes, but that's not what I was going to say," I replied. "We have something else Jan and Nathan don't: peculiar eyewear."

"Hey, we do!" Scott stroked his visor sensually as he thought about the realization.

"And we have to make a stand and win this thing, not for ourselves, but for all the people in this world who are mocked because of impairments requiring odd head accessories...."

"....crooked-teethed little boys...."

"....victims of Monopoly, or whatever game sociopaths play...."

"....tanning people...."

"You're right," Scott admitted "So who are we yielding?"

"Nathan," I answered decisively.

"But....his chiseled jaw, his wonderful pecs," Scott contemplated, "I think it would be better if we yielded Jan, strategically I mean."

I put my hand on his shoulder, "Relax," I said. "You're merely fooled by her breasts into thinking she has talent. It happens."

"Um, yeah. Breasts."

I continued, "Were it not for her feminine wiles, she'd be nothing more than Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator. And he's hardly a threat. So, we're yielding Nathan. He can fly, you know."

We choose to yield Nathan Petrelli and Emma Frost.

AMR4 - Week 8 - The Final Leg

2008-11-03T06:10:00.000-08:00

Well, well. We are down to the final three, my friends. Why is that more significant than the final four? I don’t know. But congratulation to the final three. And to the final four. And to everyone who played. And to everyone who thought of playing but didn’t. And thanks to Simon for being such a berk. And a round of pity applause to Gyrobo and Puck who was the last persons, in the most general sense, to arrive last week.

Actually, reaching the finally three is significant because this is the final leg of the Race! This is it! Winner take all! The first team to arrive wins! The last two teams to arrive don’t! This means it’s time to get off the bench, take off your gloves and step up to the plate!

As usual, the Mutant Massacrer has struck again. Jan managed to put Unus the Untouchable in the Infirmary. Now I have been letting it slide so far that Jan has technically not been complying with the rules in that both members of a team must reach the Pit Stop together in order to complete a leg of the Race. Since none of the so-called “accidents” to her partners were directly her fault, she was not penalized. In order to win the Race however, Jan must reach the Finish Line before the other contestants with her mutant partner. This week her partner will be the Dazzler.

This final leg of the Race starts at Ka-Zar’s lair in the Savage Land. Mr. Bennet with one T gets to Yield his favorite player. Each team will be given 2 jetpacks that they will use to fly to the Falkland Islands.

There a Caribbean Princess cruise ship will be waiting for the contestants.

Each team’s time of arrival on the ship will determine their time of departure from the ship. Once aboard, head for the control room where Captain Steubing will give the Detour for this leg of the Race.

A Detour presents a choice between two tasks, each with their own pros and cons. Once a task has been completed, the contestants must then race to the Pit Stop. In this Detour, the teams must choose between Host and Toast.

In Host, you must mingle with the throngs of humanity known as passengers who have signed up for this cruise in the hopes of love and/or fun. Teams that choose this task must make sure the passengers’ dreams are fulfilled. To win here, at least three passengers must give your team positive marks on the customer satisfaction survey.

In Toast, your team must fend off the raiding hoards of pirates that have been preying on cruise ships off the coast of South Africa. These particular pirates have taken to using unconventional weapons and even super-powered mercenaries on their crews so this task will not be easy. To win this challenge, you must thwart at least three pirate raids.

If a team fails to successfully complete a challenge, they will incur a time penalty, making it very hard to win this race. If . . that is I mean when . . the cruise ship arrives in port at Rio de Janeiro the teams will disembark in the order they reached the ship. Waiting on the dock will be ATV’s, one for each team. Don’t forget your cameraperson.

The teams will then race on their ATV’s through the crowded streets of downtown Rio for approximately five miles to the local chapter of the Hellfire Club. Enter the building and race for the grand ballroom, where I will be waiting to crown the winning team.

Entries must be posted by Friday, midnight, your local time.

Good luck to everyone!

Pit Stop

2008-11-02T18:50:00.000-08:00

I have other issues to deal with than pay attention to what you little people do. My girlfriend, who’s breasts I paid for and still own, decided to call it quits since I have no interest in procreating with anyone. Vile nasty things, babies. Snotty whiney creatures who lay around in their own filth. A bit like all of you. I’ve been spending my time looking for a new crumpet to invest a nice pair of boobies in, far more important than dealing with the lot of you.

Gyrobo: Nice try at things, I think

Petrelli: Nice effort, we all appreciated seeing your partner run. Perhaps Xavier should make more running challenges for her.

Bennett: I applaud your need to always enforce the rules, even when it’s really dumb to so.

Jan: Would you be interested in a newer nicer pair of breasts? Your transformations have shown me that you would look stunning with a new set. Call my assistant and we can get it set up. *wink*

So which of you losers won?

That would be Bennett, though it was a close finish.

So which of you losers failed, as you all eventually will?

That would be Gyrobo.

Cheers!
Simon

The Folly of Man 2.0

2008-10-31T19:36:00.000-07:00

They will chant my name.

A throne of barbs and bones will await my coming.

Newborns will be named after me, as will streets and airports.

Turning to my left, I slid that most helpful, brand-new self-help book under the velvet armrest. Most hot-air balloons don’t even have seats, much less armrests and satellite television.

But Cory Doctorow is nothing if not 100% first class. The sealed walls of the passenger balloon were splattered with a smattering of aesthetic oddities: elegant caricatures of dashing, debonair dilettantes, hanging urns packed with ferns, empty suits of crystalline armor fresh off some extraterrestrial medieval battlefield. Behind it all, the wallpaper appeared to be tattooed on.

Four bodyguards stood silent at each porthole, spear-guns at the ready. “Captain” Cory always provided his guests with the best protection plundered Incan gold could buy; far from being a harmless balloon enthusiast, the blogger emeritus had recently turned to sky piracy, assembling a raucous gang of fearless daredevils and opportunists.

Many mountaintop towns hired mercenaries or trained their own citizens as archers, but the Doctorow Fleet’s nighttime raids and chainmailed balloon envelopes kept them the scourge of the Andes.

One of the guards caught me looking outside. “It belongs on a postcard, no?”

I nodded. “Where is the captain? We were supposed to discuss the small matter of payment…”

“We already reached an agreement,” my Canadian companion Puck said, lounging on a plush sofa to the far side of the cabin. Our spicy camerawoman Yvette Sumberland Jr. sat next to him, working on one of her Sudoku puzzle-books.

“I didn’t agree to anything. What did you pay them? Did you pay them in beads?! Oh God, my bead collection! Why?! Why?!”

“We agreed to help the High Evolutionary build the genome for Humanity 2.0,” Yvette plodded, plotting the spot of her next blot. “And put the DNA samples under a non-restrictive license, allowing redistribution and remixing.”

“Putting our genetic magic in the public domain?! Open-sorcery!”

Sighing, Puck handed me the map of the Antarctic region locals called “Savage Land.” Atlantea was highlighted in blue: the home of the High Evolutionary. Verily, Puck, Yvette and I would help the Evolutionary with his redesign of the human race. Having been present at the original design process untold thousands of years ago, I had some pretty keen insights into what needed improvement.

“Does the captain have any requests?” I asked the stationary strongman. Before he could answer, the phone by the heat nozzle rang. Central Nav must have found the red smoke plume that would lead us to the borders of Savage Land.

Laying back into the satin cushion they dared call a mere chair, I quickly dozed off to sleep.

To this day, I curse that decision.

***

When I woke up, I was chained to the ground with a sock in my mouth. There was a sweatband over my eyes, so I couldn’t see. It was hot and I was more thirsty than I can remember.

“Hello?”

“Puck?” I whispered, recognizing that obnoxiously odious overtone. “Can you move?” I gasped.

“Where are you?”

Something sharp dug into my side. Sweet Iguana of Tijuana! I was being carved up like a Christmas ham!

“Ow! Help, I’m being carved up like a Christmas goose. Or ham, either would work for this situation.”

Naturally, the sock in my mouth caused that entire sentence to sound like a protracted series of grunts and moans.

“Gee whiz, eh! I didn’t ask to hear your stump speech, I just wanted to know where you were!” Puck laughed, accompanied by a laughtrack. When did he get his own laughtrack?

A hand reached down and pulled my downtrodden face up to the light and lo! within seconds Puck snatched the sweatband from my eyes and popped the sock from my mandible.

“You stole my sock.”

I looked around, disoriented and frightened. We were in the cabin, but it didn’t feel like we were moving. “Have we crashed?”

“We just landed. The pirates are locking down the balloons so they can go hunt saber-toothed were-whales.”

“Were-whales?” I murmured. That sounded vaguely plausible. “Aren’t they those most excellent sea creatures that can swim at over 300 miles per hour, and jump over 400 feet in the air?”

“Aye, that they do. That they do. But they live on a steady diet of plankots and human blood, making them one of the rarest and most hunted, most persecuted were-mammals of Savage Land.”

Of all the things to blame on the plankot lobby, the decades-long decline of the were-whale is the most tragic.

“No use crying over spilled blood,” I sang sanguinely, slyly side-stepping the situation. Opening the now-unbolted exit panel, I set footcup down on the fertile, seasoned ground of Atlantea.

Behind us sat a grounded fleet of fortified hot-air balloons, waiting to take us back east. Ahead lay the Citadel of Science that haunted my dreams since the last time I was here — over 40 years in the future.

High up in the citadel’s highest tower, I spied a moving shadow. Could that silhouette be the Evolutionary, perchance? Mayhap, I should resolve this with but a question:

“You must be the High Evolutionary,” I blasted through my bullhorn at a man in a red metallic mask walking past a window in a bathrobe holding a cup of some hot liquid. I know it was hot because when I blasted my bullhorn at him, he dropped it on his feet and started screaming.

It’s too bad you can only make a first impression once. I’d have loved to do that a few more times.

***

“People, bring me solutions, not answers!” I threw another spate of design templates in the “later” pile.

Unlike all other rooms in the citadel, the planning room didn’t smell of overripe fruit and moldy flowers. The High Evolutionary was a peculiar man who seemed to lack any sense of taste or smell, decking his halls with boughs of… whatever they were, they had long since rotted away and never been cleaned up.

Herb had been an otherwise gracious host, offering us room, board and back massages. I declined all three and questioned his patriotism.

Could I be blamed? The designs he kept asking for were idiotic. Dog-people? Giraffe-people? Cyclopses and triclopses? It was all the same thing — just a slight modification to the human genome with features and doodads that already existed in some other species. There was nothing groundbreaking or controversial here. I’ve never been so disillusioned.

“Stop. We’re going in circles,” I said to the roomful of chromosome chroniclers, “what we need to do is follow Google’s Chrome team’s example. What did Google do when they designed Chrome? They took the needs of today’s modern web browser and modeled the structure of Chrome around that.”

“People aren’t web browsers,” Yvette bleated sheepishly.

“Typical Apple fangirl mumbo-jumbo! The principles are sound,” I tapped the chalkboard. “Find what the demands of modern society are on people and redesign based on that.”

“People have sedentary lifestyles nowadays,” Puck chuck-a-lucked. “They don’t need so much muscle mass.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“They wouldn’t need perfect eyesight, either. Nobody needs to hunt for their food in a society of preprocessed cheese and spam.”

“They’d also need a pouch to carry around tools…”

“And a third arm-like appendage to improve productivity! Like… a prehensile tail of the chest,” the High Evolutionary thundered, getting into the spirit of the season.

“And a box-shaped head so as to fit into any container,” I added. We quickly had a working proposal.

“I had a great time,” I told High Evolutionary Herb as I put on my green Lands’ End jacket. Pigs in a blanket, I looked stunning.

“We had a really fun time,” Yvette agreed, shaking Herb’s hand with the camera strapped to her head. Puck grabbed his hat and poncho off the coat rack.

The door closed behind us. We sat on the porch for a few minutes, discussing various matters, such as good and bad restaurants and our families. Puck, it turned out, has five children. I didn’t know that about him. And Yvette was one of the recipients of the Pierre LePike Remedial Spike award in 2004 for her part in the massive, government-funded effort to photograph Santa Claus.

Well, that’s all well and good, but there was something that still stuck in my giggling craw.

“Puck, you can break steel with your superpowers, non?”

“No…” he trailed off, somehow not liking where I was certainly going with this line of questioning.

“We’re going to steal one of the balloons before Cory Doctorow and the sky pirates get back.”

They both stared at me like I’d grown a prehensile chest-arm. “What?” They asked simultaneously.

“Sadness! Sadness within my heart. My friends, my friends, we cannot allow this genetic code to fall into the hands of those were-whalers.”

My fear was palpable. As a concerned environmentalist, I simply could not allow these blogger barons, these blustery blagards, from blindly beaching those benevolent behemoths. It all came down to the wire. Did we have what it took to save Savage Land from the wrath of the sky pirates?

Smashing one of the balloons’ fuel tanks, I ran up to another. “Puck, roundhouse kick that widget! Yea o man of Canada!”

Cheering, we destroyed all but one of the hot-air balloons, which we seized in due time, after our victory dance o’er the frigid ice. On our flight back east, the band of pirates (now returning with a fresh were-whale — oh, the horror!) started firing their pathetic spear-guns at us.

Little it would avail them! What folly, their own plating now serving against them! Verily, I did chortle lightly into my diet Pepsi, spraying the sofa with a considerable amount of droplets.

“Do you wonder,” Puck asked as I stared out the porthole, “if it was wrong to leave them to their own devices? I daresay, those devils will be quick to revenge themselves on you.”

I removed my glasses thoughtfully. “They will hate, as is their way. But in these lands, they will fend for themselves. They will learn morals from battling the giant lizards and man-squids. Slowly but surely, they will repent. They will learn to live alongside the were-whale, and take its song to heart.”

Puck smiled at my sagely advice. He was wise to do so; I’ve personally written 35% of all fortune cookies.

And yes, perhaps one day Cory Doctorow and his fellow balloonists would accept the folly of their ways. But, as the great Roman poet Icicles wrote, it is harder to change one’s outlook than it is to change the diaper of a gorilla.

A Day of slapping, eating, puking, and boob jiggling.

2008-10-31T19:26:00.000-07:00

Yielded, I can’t say I’m surprised. I did yield Jan on my last win, and Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. I should know; I’ve scorned quite a few in my time. However, this time it wasn’t my fault. Emma made me do it, and now were stuck waiting while everyone else rushed away to start the next task.

While waiting for our yield to expire, I sat lost in thought. Remembering the prior evening, a shiver ran down my spine. I had planned on making my way to the swanky hot tub the Marriot prides itself upon. I had visions of lovely ladies beckoning me to join them. Sadly, my dreams were ruined by the only other person in the hotel who felt like getting sexy in the hot, bubbling water. When I found him waiting for me, well…let’s just say I couldn’t have given the happy to anybody after that…I spent the rest of the evening waking from nightmares caused by the excessive hairy back of my hot tub friend.

After such a dismal night, I had hoped for a better morning; but it was no better. Having heard about the hot tub incident, the other contestants jeered and laughed at me, the B##$#ds. I continued to sulk about my misfortune until Emma showed up a half hour later and pulled me along to our waiting taxi. “Let’s move it Petrelli, and stop moping! It annoys me.” Ah, yes…that’s my Emma, ever the professional with her mind on business.

She quickly negotiated with the cabbie, and we arrived at the airport faster than I could have flown us there. Once there we, again, were able to quickly find passage on a commuter plane. The pilot was willing to forego a few government regulations to get us into the air quickly and perhaps help us regain some lost time. Emma was a little skeptical at first, because the plane had a few missing seats; but once in the air she seemed to relax. I was a little disappointed because we were the only people on the plane. It seemed my hopes of joining the Mile High Club were slipping away, yet again. Of course, there was always the possibility Emma might be willing…

“Aaahhhhh!!!! My Emma had grabbed and pulled my chest hair. “Why did you do that?!”

“I can read your simple mind. Now stop, before I make you slap yourself.” She stared at me for a second and then…

“Aaahhh!!! I wasn’t thinking anything!!!” I don’t know what hurts more, my face or the palm of my hand.

She giggled and said, “I know.”

After that, we didn’t talk for the rest of the plane ride. I’m not angry with her. I know how difficult it must be to deny her growing feelings of attraction. It’s almost predictable that she would lash out with some sort of violence.

Anyway, we landed with a few bumps and went straight for the hot air balloons. I was careful this time to keep my mind off the Mile High Club, just in case she decided to make me jump out of our floating transportation. By the time we made it to the ‘savage land’ and followed the trail to Zarhan, I was ready to give up on the contest for a nice soft bed and a warm body…or vice versa.

Emma took the map and reviewed it. “You’re going to make an idiot out of yourself to matter what we choose, so I’m letting you decide.”

It wasn’t the flattery I’m accustomed to, but I overlooked it. “I choose scene. I could use some Botor. Did you notice the gimp Jan confused with me? A Botor treatment is what the Doctor ordered.”

Emma looked at me with a raised brow. “Don’t you mean…Boto..nevermind, ... scene it is. Let’s go.”

Once we arrived, we wasted no time in trying to decide which games to play with the tree people. Instead we went with Hot Wheel’s suggestions. I agreed to start off by joining the guarnolope pie eating contest. I have no idea what a guarnolope might be, but the food was absolutely disgusting. Seeing that I was unlikely to make it through, Emma promised to give me the night of my life if I could win this contest. It’s almost needless to say, but I am now the guarnolope pie champion. The tree people were quite impressed and offered to let me rest before the next competition, but Emma insisted we hurry to make up time.

The next event was dinosaur-back racing. I was so sick to my stomach; I didn’t have time to feel afraid. I climbed onto the closest T-Rex. However, I kept doubling over with stomach pain. Finally, Emma jumped onto the T-Rex with me to keep me from falling off. It’s a good thing she did because his muzzle broke half way through the race and if it weren’t for her telepathic abilities controlling the beast, it would have killed me. As it were, she kept the T-Rex from eating me, kept me from falling off, and somehow scared the beast into running fast enough to win the race.

With two tasks down, I should have been feeling lucky but the guarnolope pie caught up with me so Emma had to handle the last task on her own. Giant Mosquito Catching, it didn’t sound like fun to me. However, as soon as Emma spotted one she began to run toward it. In that moment, all my suffering was rewarded. I would describe to you the sight of Emma running, but…well…she would hurt me. I know that you guys can imagine it though. It was sweet…very sweet. In the span of a few moments she crossed the field and grabbed onto one incredibly large mosquito. It struggled for a few seconds before lying peacefully at her feet… It was sort of anti-climatic; after the running and boob jiggling, winning was sort of *meh*…

Given everything I had been through, it wasn’t too surprising that I slept all the way back to the pitstop. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to lie down. My stomach is still arguing with me. Guarnolope in the opposite direction…isn’t a good thing, and I have to get my rest so I can collect my reward from Emma. Yowza!

Mission Seven: A Family Tale

2008-10-31T16:34:00.000-07:00

"Greetings, Mr. Bennet and Mr. Summers," one of the so-called Tree People greeted us.

"Please," I responded humbly, "Call him Scott."

"I am Palín, no relation," he said, "of the Tree People."

I sensed a trap. "Funny," I said coolly. "You don't look like a tree."

"Well, we're not trees," Palín explained, "we're people of the trees."

"So, why don't you just go with that?"

"Tree People is more marketable," he replied. "So, ready for the games?" he asked putting an arm around Scott and leading us up the treetop pathway.

Scott sighed unenthusiastically.

"Aw, what's the matter there, tiger?" Palín said stopping. He grabbed Scott hard around his bicep and said, "Cheer up. You were made for these games."

I explained how Scott had been upset because he was looking forward to the other detour challenge. "I want to be mutated into looking good in sweaters," he had whined. "Winter's approaching."

Fortunately, I'm the brains of this team, so when it comes down to the decision making, I get final say. The other option was a joke. Evolution? My home school biology book says no. And besides, where would I come up with ideas for evolutionary advantages that would be original? I don't want people to think I'm just ripping off some silly comic book.

So, that's how I ended up locked in a kitchen ducking behind the counter with a pen and shield in hand as two velociraptors chugged some lager.

"I don't get the point of this game," I whispered to myself.

"You just have to stop them from drinking," a voice said, "and don't die."

"Wh-where are you? Who are you?"

"It's me, Palín," he answered. "We wired you with an audio transmitter. It makes it more entertaining for the audience if we can hear your screams." In the background I heard cheering.

I peeked back around at the velociraptors. They were still lapping up the lager. I stood up and said, "I'm going to need to see some ID." Then approached the beasts.

They watched as I walked toward them. I had my shield raised, ready to push off an attack. Once in range, I kicked the glass of lager across the kitchen.

"Did I win?" I asked as one of the raptors jumped on me, knocking me to the ground. His enormous weight held me down. I lifted the pen up as high as I could and poked at its ankle.

The other raptor seemed to watch gleefully, until it was suddenly struck by a tranquilizer dart and fell to the ground unconscious.

The raptor standing on me soon followed.

I rose to my feet and saw Palín with two bamboo-wielding Tree People. "Yeah, you won," he said. "Nice job."

Palín took me back to where Scott was waiting.

"The next game requires you to swing across to that tree over there," he pointed, "using only your tail. No hands. First one there wins."

"Okay," Scott said approaching the starting line.

"Wait," I stopped him. "He said using only your tail."

"I know," Scott replied. "I'm not deaf."

"But...you don't have a tail."

"What?" he asked shocked. "Of course I do!"

I was quite confused. "Why do you have a tail?" I asked.

"Why wouldn't I?" he shot back.

"Um, well, humans don't have tails," I explained confoundedly.

"They don't?" he asked, then proceeded to pat me on the behind. "You mean...you don't have one?"

"No," I answered, "I don't."

Scott pulled a tail from out of his pants and asked, "So why do I have one?"

"How should I know? Just swing to that tree over there and be quick about it!"

"Fine."

But quick he wasn't. "Nice job, sport," Palín said as Scott returned. "I think you may have set a record. A record for optic blasting the competition, that is. You took a long time, but you're the only one that finished the race. You win. One more game to go...."

"Wait," Scott said. "I need to call my father."

"Hello?" I heard his father answer over the speaker phone.

"Hey, Daddy. It's me, Scott."

"That's Major Daddy, boy."

"Sorry, Major Daddy...I was wondering, um...did you know I had a tail?"

"Of course," Major Summers replied, "Why do you think I threw you out of an airplane as a boy?"

"Because we were attacked," Scott said.

His father corrected him. "No, boy. I found out that your mother was having an affair with a Tree Person, Pal-something or other. Hence your tail. I'm a good guy, a strong man, but I mean, come on...you had a tail. And you weren't even mine. Anyone would have done the same in my position."

"But what about Alex? You threw him out too."

"Yeah," Scott's father explained, "he was just ugly."

Scott was speechless. He stood there not saying a word.

So, his father hung up.

"Nice job!" Palín said coming closer. "I just overheard your conversation, and you just won the third game: Discover a family secret."

As we headed back, I thought it seemed suspicious how we managed to win all our games. I was rescued from the raptors just in time. Scott somehow wasn't disqualified for optic blasting away the competition. And that last game...well, I don't even know if that was a real game.

But the important thing is, we won. And a suspicious win is still a win.

Jan the Intergalactic Aviator: You say you want an evolution?

2008-10-31T12:51:00.001-07:00

“Welcome to my citadel,” the High Evolutionary gestured from his position at the door towards the inside of his fortress. “Here is where the magic happens. Well not magic, of course. It’s science -- super science.”

I stepped in and was immediately awed by the sight before me. Giant computers, tanks full of bubbling liquid, and all kinds of laboratory equipment filled the place. He even had one of those two antenna things with the electrodes where the zap of electricity would work its way up just like in the old movies.

“Wow,” I whistled. “Unbelievable.”

“And you are Jan O’Mega, also known as Jan the Intergalactic Aviator.” He placed a comforting, almost paternal, hand on my shoulder. “In you I can see so much potential. You may not be the pinnacle of human evolution but you are certainly on your way there.”

“Aw, I bet you say that to all the ladies,” I replied a little sheepishly.

“Question: do you not have a partner?” I was expecting a duo this evening.”

“Do not get me started on that guy,” I replied back in a huff. “Unus the Untouchable? Untouchable is right. Oh he was disgusting, he smelled like he hadn’t showered in weeks and those red long johns that he wears are all grimy and filthy. I tell you, it wasn’t that personal force field of his that kept me repulsed.”

“So where is he?” the High Evolutionary asked.

“Weirdest thing,” I said. “We were riding in the balloon together and he fell out.”

“Fell out?” the scientist repeated with a surprised gasp.

“Yeah, fell out,” I confirmed. “Right over an active volcano, too. I guess he’ll be OK because of his force field and all, but I don’t know how far underground he went. Who knows if we’ll ever see him again.”

“Well no matter,” the mad geneticist smiled. I think he smiled. He’s got that armored face plate thing you know. “You are the one I am interested in. Very interested.”

“Uh yeah,” I said kind of wary. “So, what’s the plan here Doc? I’m not much of a scientist, but I’ll assist you however I can.” I guess.

“Let me show you my latest invention,” he ushered me into another, giant sprawling laboratory. “Here is my new Genetic Improvement and Mutation Personal Simulator.”

“You know that spells out GIMPS, right?”

“What?”

“The name of your machine. As an acronym, it makes GIMPS,” I said.

“No it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” I insisted. “G-I-M-P-S, GIMPS.”

“But there is an A in there,” he replied. “GIAMPS.”

“GIAMPS?” I repeated. “You don’t count the A and even if you did, what the heck is a GIAMPS?”

“Well no matter,” he replied gruffly. “I can rename the device later. Perhaps something more cool to your liking.”

“I’m just saying,” I shrugged.

“Anyhow,” he growled, and then composed himself. “This machine is designed to simulate the genetic improvements that I can make on a volunteer before the actual modifications are implemented permanently. If you would please step into the chamber, we can begin our work.”

“This won’t hurt will it?” I asked.

“Of course not,” he answered. “I am a scientist, a highly evolved scientist.”

I stepped in and felt the energies surround me. They bathed me and penetrated my body; I could feel my body changing, like on a genetic level. I suddenly felt unable to stand on my feet, I swayed back and forth until a flopped to the ground like a fish – or a mermaid.

“Fact: over Seventy percent of the Earth is covered with water,” the High Evolutionary lectured. “And that is not counting the ice at the poles. With the ozone layer depleting, the water levels will rise so high that the perfectly evolved human will need to exist in the water.”

“I don’t think this will work so well,” I replied. “People will still need to stand, whether it’s on land or inside high rises above the seas or inside mighty zeppelins, floating above the Earth like giant, bloated kings.”

“Perhaps you are correct, Jan O’Mega. Perhaps you are right.”

“Although I would have loved to have this thing a couple of challenges ago,” I swished my tail back and forth. I felt the energies flow into me again. My mermaidish tail sloughed its scales and split into two, then split again and again forming long, sinewy tentacles.

“Tentacles,” the geneticist stated.

“Ew, no.”

“Very well.” I felt the almost pseudopod-like tentacles reform and solidified into legs again. I then felt something sprout from my back. I looked and giant, feathery wings stretched out from my shoulder blades.

“Wings?”

“Perhaps winged flight would be better,” the High Evolutionary surmised. “With urban overcrowding and the ever increasing need to burn fossil fuels, soaring high with one’s own wings would be for a true, highly evolved human.”

“This might work,” I said as I looked at my right wing furling and unfurling. “I do like them, but they do feel a little cumbersome. I assume you can genetically get rid of acrophobia as well, right?”

“Perhaps, Jan O’Mega, perhaps. Perhaps, however, the key to reaching the fullest of human potential lies gaining the abilities of another animal.”

The wings shriveled up and were reabsorbed by my body as I felt a certain warmth tingle over my skin. Warmth, like a layer of fur.

“I’m a werecat?” I looked at my claws. They made one of those metallic glistening sounds like in the movies. “Cool.”

“Ah yes, much like the hero Tigra,” the High Evolutionary sighed wistfully . “I could have created her instead of some odd Cat People magic. Too bad.”

He flipped the switches again and I felt my body change once more. The fur quickly disappeared

“In the movie the Fifth Element. Leeloo represents the genetic perfection,” the High Evolutionary stated. “Perhaps that is the direction that we shall go.”

“You saw the Fifth Element?” I asked.

“Of course, I have Netflix,” he replied. “I’m not always working on my experiments, you know.”

“Yeah, but how do you get mail down here? How does a mailman get through the Savage Land?”

“A highly evolved mailman can.”

“Yeah, OK,” I said. “I don’t know about making this experiment based on a character from a movie.”

“Are you sure? Perhaps the peak of human genetics could be found in an undead creature of the night.”

“I can’t even move in this thing,” I muttered acidly as the leather on my arms and legs made squeaky noises. “Try again, High.”

“Very well.” He threw some switches again. I felt normal. Almost normal. “A highly evolved woman should look awesome in a sweater.”

“What? All this genetic manipulation so I could look good in a sweater?” I looked down then spread my arms out. “Well, I do look good. But still… Hey, wait a minute, you’ve been making me up to for some kind of weirdo sex thing, haven’t you?”

“What? No I wasn’t,” he answered quickly.

“Oh yeah, I got you figured out now.” I ticked off the altered forms on my finger. “Mermaid, creepy tentacle thing, angel, furry cat thing, Leeloo, leather dom, that sweater thing. You’re getting your kicks off on this aren’t you?”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous,” he replied defensively. “I wouldn’t do something like that, I’m highly evolved.”

I crossed my arms and stared at him.

“Oh all right, you got me there,” he admitted. “It’s just so lonely down here. What’s a highly evolved guy to do, heh heh, right?”

“Please,” I rolled my eyes. “You men are all alike. All women are are objects of your desire.”

“All right all right, I’ll make a deal with you. If you go through one more form for me, I’ll give you a pass on this detour and personally fly you to Ka-Zar’s base in my hovercar.”

“Just one more? Ok, what is it? I’m not going to have huge breasts sticking out of my back am I? Or turn some kind of cow woman. I refuse to be turned into a cow woman.”

“Sexy librarian.”

“Sexy librarian? Of all the crazy and creepy fetishes you could have…”

“Well I am highly evolved,” he answered. “I have highly evolved sexual desires as well. I like the thinking man’s sex symbol.”

“Oh fine,” I said exasperatedly.

Jan the Intergalactic Aviator: Ooops

2008-10-28T19:52:00.000-07:00

Oh silly me, I made the Yield on Petrelli but I accidentally posted a picture of Hank Azaria.

I guess I mixed up the tall guy with the dark hair and the funny voices with the tall guy with dark hair and a funny voice.

Nathan Petrelli, you're still Yielded.

Jan the Intergalactic Aviator: Yield

2008-10-27T19:39:00.000-07:00

Short and sweet, my friends.

Gyrobo, you're getting the Yield.

Just kidding, I like you too much.

Nathan Petrelli, you get the Yield, that will give you a little extra time to warm up your nipples.

AMR4 - Week 7 Challenge

2008-10-27T15:53:00.000-07:00

As always, elimination is a difficult time. This week Simon has determined that Koma and Sabertooth were the last to reach the Pit Stop. Hopefully this won’t discourage Koma from pursuing the heroic traits that he demonstrated on the challenge last week.

The Pit Stop was at the Marriott Hotel. All the contestants were given a suite for the night along with full access to room service, all compliments of the fine people at the Marriott Hotel. I’d like to give a special thanks to the generous management of the Marriott Hotel. Thank you, Marriott Hotel. Marriott Hotel.

The following morning the teams will again embark on the Amazing Mutant Race. Except for whichever team Jan names who must then sit out their half hour Yield penalty. As usual, before I can give you your itinerary for the week, I must first assign a new mutant partner to a contestant who keeps losing hers. Yes Jan the IA, I mean you. Because of your poor track record with mutants, I have decided to go out and recruit someone who you should not be able to hurt, no matter how hard you try. Why? Because he’s untouchable. That’s right, your new partner is Unus, the Untouchable. He also has the advantage of being someone I don’t care what happens to.

From the Marriott Hotel, everyone will take a taxi to the Orlando International Airport. Once there, the teams will arrange for flights to the Ushuaia airport in Tierra del Fuego, Argentina. There they will find hot air balloons waiting to float them down to Antarctica and the Savage Land. The contestants will follow the red smoke plume to the border lands of Zarhan where Ka-Zar, lord of the Savage Land, will be waiting with the Detour challenges for this leg of the race.

Each team will be given a map of the Savage Land and surrounding territories.

A Detour presents a choice between two tasks, each with their own pros and cons. Once a task has been completed, the contestants must then race to the Pit Stop. In this Detour, the teams must choose between Gene and Scene.

In Gene, the teams must make their way to the citadel of the High Evolutionary in the Atlantea region. There they will find the Evolutionary and assist him in his scientific efforts to perfect the human race. You must successfully redesign humanity to achieve the Evolutionary’s dream of perfection. You will then clone a sample of your design to test your work. The Evolutionary will be the judge of your efforts.

In Scene, the teams will travel across the Savage Land to the Botor region. The Tree People that live there are having their annual festival. It is the place to be for all the various denizens of the Land. A large component of the festival are the competitions. The games are many and varied, including such things as dinosaur-back racing, guarnolope pie eating and giant mosquito catching. To win Scene, each team must claim victory in at least 3 different games. You are welcome to compete in any kind of game you want with the Tree People.

If a team fails in their chosen task, then they must attempt the other task. Once done, the teams will race back to Ka-Zar’s base in the Eastern region of the Savage Land. This is the Pit Stop for this leg of the race. The last team to arrive will be eliminated. And remember, as I always tell my students, no one likes a loser.

Pit Stop

2008-10-26T18:29:00.000-07:00

Gather round my small minded children, for I have a tale to tell. It has villains and heroes, romance and danger, but sadly, most of it involves you chavtastic lot in bars or in wet tee shirts, which ruins my story. Let us get on with this, shall we?

Koma: Yes, fish boy, you lines are carp, they reek. Your adventures seem to get closer and closer to bad fanfic porn. Get laid already.

Jan: As the token female, I acknowledge your breasts, then stop paying attention. I have no idea what you were going on about.

Bennett: I hate you for making me look at Scott tucked into bikini bottoms. Hate you long time.

Petrelli: Interesting effort, good team work, if being Emma’s pet monkey is teamwork.

Gyrobo: I will never look at a sandwich in the same way again.

So who is this week’s winner? It was pretty close, but despite making out with what seemed like half the bar, the first to the Pit Stop is Jan. Perhaps she has been gaining a time advantage not having to make sure her partner shows up with her. Xavier should look into that.

Who was last this week? What face will I not have to look at for another week?

Captain Koma.

You’ve made a nice run of it Captain, but you seem very preoccupied by young women who not long ago were in Disney and Nickelodeon movies/shows. To win a race, one must keep their eye on the finish line, not the groupies on the sidelines in tiny tank tops.

Cheers!
Simon

Dude, Where's My SHARC?

2008-10-24T19:07:00.000-07:00

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “Where are we?”

Puck sat next to me, conked out on the steering wheel of a minivan I’d never seen before. My head was hazy, like I’d spent the night on the floor of a jail cell. I pulled the keys out of the ignition, studying the keychain markings: a small logo that only a NASCAR fan—

“What a night!”

Puck jolted up, scrunching his eyes in the penetrating morning sunlight. “What?” He stretched.

“Do you remember anything?” I shook him. “There’s a block on my memory. Did we win the challenge?”

“Hand- han- hang on, I’ll check my voicemail,” Puck said groggily. While he punched in his passcode, I got out and checked our new ride. It was covered with a thin film of godawful decals and looked like it’d been through the mill.

“Whose minivan is this?” I muttered, pulling up the stuck trunk. Oh fuzz.

Puck slide around the side of the car. “I’ve got four calls from women asking me out, so I think I won the ‘Flirt’ challenge. I don’t know it you won—”

“We killed Richard Petty.”

“What?” Puck jumped back, unable to register the crumpled body wrapped in a blanket in our backseat. I popped off the cowboy hat and touched its face.

“So cold.” Thinking quickly, I uncapped the spare gasoline canister and doused the blanket.

“Richard Petty? What?”

Using Puck as a meaty shield, I ran to safety as the minivan exploded in flame.

Puck coughed up a lung as burning embers rained down on us like sulfuric snow. “What happened last night? Where’s the SHARC?”

“I don’t know, Puck.” I nodded slyly at the looming ‘City Limits’ sign. “Let’s go on a fact-finding mission.”

***

The first people we ran into in town was an overweight cop (his novelty badge marked him as the sheriff) and his lanky partner. “Get to the ground,” they shouted. “Make me,” I shouted back. It was all good, clean fun until they fired the first warning shot.

“What’s the idea?!” I scoffed. “That might have hit me!”

Puck grabbed my collar and dragged me to the curb. “Get down, y’fool!”

The cops wasted no time cuffing both of us. Whenever I tried to express my love of all living things, I only got a billy-club to the mouth.

“You’re lucky Richard Petty dropped the charges,” the lanky cop sneered as he shoved me into the back of his puny Floridian squad car.

“Richard Petty is alive?!” I exclaimed. That got some arched eyebrows.

“You stole his dress manikin and the $150,000 worth of clothes on it,” Officer Lanky charged.

“I had to, yo!” Using the hidden arm they forgot to cuff, I pulled out a recent poll. “Nobody votes for a vice president from the bargain bin! I need designer apparel!”

“Well, Petty might not want ya, but what’s left of Daytona does.” The sheriff held a newspaper to the back screen, keeping both sunglassed eyes on the road. The front page was a photo of a raging beachfront inferno. The picture below the fold showed a lot full of firetrucks up on cinderblocks, their tires slashed.

“So we were in the wet t-shirt contest?” Puck chimed creakily.

“You were in the last wet t-shirt contest. There’s a ban now,” the lanky cop rattled. “Now how’s my ailing mother-in-law going to make ends meet?”

“You boys’re lucky they reattached Charlie Sheen’s hand.”

Puck and I exchanged concerned looks on our way to the slammer.

***

“…can’t even sell it for market value. And that’s after we completely replaced the plumbing— o hai Puck lol!”

Fresh off his one phone call, the cops relocked the cell door with Puck staring me blankly in the eye-sockets. “I’m a superhero. In jail.”

“Miguel was just telling me about how he flipped six houses in Cuba,” I waved to the languid Latino drooped on the bars like a rag doll. Yep, Florida was a lazy peninsular paradise.

“I reached Yvette,” Puck continued, immune to the tropical atmosphere. His Canadian immune system must be too strong for the rumba beat. “She’s wiring the bail money. The people of Daytona want our heads, but Yvette knows Bill Bronsky, the new mayor of Daytona. Apparently, the mayor can pardon anyone of any crime within the city… and also call for the execution of anyone within the city.”

“That’s what I call the ‘royal treatment,’” I clucked. “Lunk-head.”

We had a roundtable discussion with Miguel and two homeless drunks and a disgraced ex-congressman for the next half hour. This was excellent preparation for the vice presidential debate I’d snubbed three weeks ago. Any public pronouncement on my part— nay, from any person of my prominence, must be prefaced perfectly with precipitous platitudes, to prevent premature prevarication.

“Time to go,” the sheriff finally said, waltzing in and unlocking the cell door with a large blue key looped ’round his little finger. “You’ve got a guardian angel looking out fer ya, that’s fer dang sure.”

I froze. Huzzah! A flashback: Tabu. Loud music… mustard spilling everywhere… and I totally raised the roof!

“Koola koolay! Puck! I think I know what I did last night!” I bounced. If Puck was smiling in solidarity with my happiness, he hid it well.

“See you a-round, bo-bo,” Drunken Stanley hiccuped from the cement, unable to sit up. “R’member what I said ’bout short selling.”

“And you remember what I said about making a shiv from sculpted toilet paper.” I held my head up high. Justice, my justice, had prevailed.

***

The overflowing glass began to boil against my forehead. We were here.

“Oh. Oh. Ah. Pfffff… pfffff… ungh. Ungh. Pfffffff…”

“There you are,” Yvette called from the club’s entrance.

Tabu may be a popular nightspot, but at 11:00 A.M. it was only a mildly active (but nonetheless exclusive) daycare center. I had to dress Puck up in a sailor suit to pass him off as a precocious 1^st grader just to get in. He now watched me from the fenced-off dance floor with about twenty small children.

“Quiet. I’m about to get a psychic reading. Yes… we were totally here last night…”

“I’ll say,” the bartender grunted as she poured a tray of apple-juice mugs. “And he was wearing the same sailor suit.”

“You didn’t happen to see if either of us made out with any of the patrons, did you?” Puck asked, straddling over the fence with the hand-eye coordination of a Chinese acrobat.

“Oy, I wish I could forget. You set up a fricken’ booth.” She popped a DVD into the side of the bartop big-screen, showing a very graphic scene that made several of the smaller children cry.

“Sweet Amnesiac Disjoint of Makeout Point!” Now that was some first-class flirting.

“What about me?” I held up a $20 bill. “Michael Jackson says I was here last night.”

She waved me away. “Benjamin Franklin says otherwise.”

“Are you daft, woman?! Benjamin Franklin is a fictional character.”

“You were here, too, okay?” She fast-forwarded.

“Did I use witty pickup lines?”

She nodded. “You got slapped many times.”

“Did you fall from heaven? ’Cause you look like hell.”

“That got you slapped.”

“Is your name ‘Magnet?’ ’Cause you’re bipolar.”

“That got you slapped.”

“Are you from Tennessee? ’Cause you’re a redneck.”

“She was from Tennessee, and she put two live weasels down your pants.”

“Did anybody ask me if there were live weasels down my pants, or if I was just happy to see them?”

“You did, and you slapped yourself.”

“This is critically important,” I leaned o’er the counter, putting a $50 bill down. “General Custer wants to know if I was making out with anybody last night.”

“You spent the whole night making out with a full-breasted, hot…”

“There’s only one way that sentence could be made more awesome.”

“…grilled turkey sandwich.”

“AW SNAP IT ENDED IN THE WAY THAT MADE IT THE MOST AWESOME EVER ROFL!”

“Then we lose, right?” Puck trashed the preppy sailor cap that pulled his ensemble together. “A sandwich isn’t a patron.”

“He bought it four drinks.”

“And in Florida, that makes it a person! Hot diggity daffodil!” I kicked down the metal front door, letting the children run free in the streets. “Be free, children!”

“I’ve never been so confused,” Yvette kvetched on our way to the SHARC. She’d had it washed and debuffed, I just remembered!

“It’s victory at any cost, my dear,” I spun, “according to Florida statute, any corporate entity — in this case, a sandwich — can be taxed and represented in court as an individual.”

“That’s totally bogus.”

“Puck, that sandwich was my soulmate. The hour we spent together was more real than our friendship.” I licked my fingers. “I’ll never forget what we had, and I’ll be a consarned varmint if’n I let y’all talk trash about my precious southern belle!”

“Calm down, Gyrobo,” Yvette pleaded, keying open the SHARC.

“I will not calm down,” I exploded, sealing myself within the vehicle. “What we had was delicious and low-fat. Puck, I respect you professionally, but you’re dead wrong on man-sandwich relations.”

My stomach rumbled with righteous pride. A man needs to stand up for what’s right, no matter the indigestion it causes.

When Petty Thanked His Sponsors and Emma Iced My Chest...

2008-10-24T15:34:00.000-07:00

Hello there my fellow competitors. I have to post quickly because Emma is looking for me. She’s a little perturbed about our latest challenge. I should have known it would turn out that way, but I was blinded by the possibility of seeing my lovely Emma participate in a wet t-shirt contest, but let me start at the beginning.

We made it back to the airlock and got our antidote with no problems at all. We even managed to make it to Orlando without a single argument. I think Emma was pleased that I gave the yield onto Jan. We passed the trip in companionable silence. Once we arrived, we found one of my greatest idols, Richard Petty, waiting for us with our two detour options.

Richard Petty smiled a big cheesy smile and greeted us.

“I’m glad you made here today. I can tell from your expressions it was like living a dream. Your SHARC ran great; you must have Good Year on that thing…I’d like to take this moment and thank my sponsors for bringing you here today. HootersRestaurantNationalFreshSaladDressingsClassicFordMotorGoodYearCokeColaTide&MaxiPads. Now, on to business.”

In his hands were two envelopes with directions for each task, flirt and shirt. I could tell by Emma’s body language what she thought of the shirt option, so I spoke quickly, saying we would take the flirt detour. Emma seemed surprised, but nodded her approval. Petty, confronted by the beauty that is Emma, shoved the envelopes into his pocket and grabbed her hand trying to flirt with her.

“Ya’ know Emmie. You remind me of my first wife. She was a looker too, thanks in part to CoverGirlClariolAlmayRevlon&PlasticSurgury.”

While Emma was eyeing him, clearly debating the consequences of harming the man who was supposed to greet all the contestants, I stealthily slipped the envelopes out of his jacket and switched the directions from the shirt envelope into the flirt envelope before returning them to his pocket. It was a stroke of genius on my part.

When Petty took a deep breath, I broke in and suggested we get on the road. Petty handed Emma the envelope and said, “Oh yeah, oh yeah. Here y’all go. I’ll be rootn’ for you darlin’.”

Not wasting any more time, we took off before he could start thanking more sponsors. When we arrived in Daytona, the contest had already started. Various catcalls could be heard from the boardwalk. Emma was breathing rather heavily and her jaw was clinched. She turned to face me. “If that Tabu singles’ club is not located next to this wet t-shirt contest, you’re a dead man.”

I tried to pull my best innocent act. “What? How could I have known the directions were wrong? It must have been Richard Petty's mistake.”

“You don’t fool me Petrelli, and I’m not going to participate in a wet t-shirt contest. You are!”

“but…Emma…I know you could win.”

Throwing a t-shirt at me, Emma emphatically stated, “No buts Petrelli. Put this on now. I'll wait for you in that gazebo”

I did as I was told and she led me onto the beach. As soon as our feet hit the sand, everything went quiet. Charlie Sheen stood up, burped loudly, and pointed to Emma. “Look! Boooobs!!!!”

That Charlie Sheen…He is eloquent. I glanced to Emma to see her reaction, afraid that none of us would escape this contest alive; but before I could intervene, someone…several someones threw four coolers of water at her all at the same time. The co-eds went wild. There was screaming and howling right up to the moment Emma slapped me, and then I stopped.

I just knew we had this contest in the bag now, until someone…who shall remain nameless. (Bennet) Yelled, she can’t be in the contest, she isn’t wearing a t-shirt. After Sheen disqualified her from the contest, there was a lot of groaning and complaining; at least until Emma told me to shut up.

She then grabbed my arm and forced me up onto the stage, where I was forced to shake and flex my pecs. The crowd was torn. I feared all was lost, when suddenly I felt a cold chill spread across my chest. I looked down to see ice forming on my pectorals. I knew instantly Emma was responsible. The crowd burst into applause. At the encouragement, I sped up my gyration for the crowd. When I finally left the stage, I thought I had the contest in the bag but Alas that darn Bennet foiled me again by dressing his partner up in drag. #$@# Him. Well, at least I got second place and that is enough to move onto the Pit Stop.

The only thing I have to worry about now is Emma taking revenge on me for switching the envelopes. I think I’m going to go hide in the sauna. A nice hotel like the Marriott is sure to have one.

Mission Six: Seeing It Through

2008-10-24T14:36:00.000-07:00

"Give me the antidote!" I screamed at the bewildered Atlantean. "Don't make me ask twice, because I won't."

She made bubble noises as Scott reminded me that we already got the antidote and were supposed to be heading for the S.H.A.R.C. vehicle before the ability to breathe underwater wore off. "Stop harassing snorkelers and come on," he said.

Scott, our camera man and I squeezed back into the cramped transport for the second time and were on our way to Orlando.

"I hope we can visit Disney World while we're there," Scott said excitedly. "It's the gayest place on Earth!

That reminded me that we still had a promise to Mephisto to keep. He wanted Walt Disney killed, but I don't even know where they're keeping his body. But I knew someone who might....

"Let's do it," I said.

"Do what?"

"Go to Disney World!"

Scott clapped and we made a quick stop at Disney World, Orlando.

"Who are we looking for?" Scott asked.

"Whom," I corrected.

"I don't know," he replied confused.

That's when I spotted the beloved vermin.

He was dancing with....sliced bread?

"Can I join?" Scott asked.

"No," I replied. "I need you to stay out of the way. I've got some baggin' and taggin' to do."

I approached the whimsical mouse. He greeted me. "Hello!"

Quickly, I pulled my gun and shot the two dancing slices of bread. "Let's not make any more of a scene than we have to," I said aiming at the rodent.

"You'll pay for this! Do you have any idea who I am!" he shouted in defiance. "My best friend's an anthromorphic dog!"

I tied him up as a crowd gathered nearby.

"Look!" one on-looker spoke up, "Bluto's kidnapping Mickey!"

"He's lost weight too," another added.

I looked over at Scott and nodded toward the crowd. He walked over to them and said, "Show's over, everyone. Come back in an hour for a repeat."

Sighs were heard all throughout the crowd as they dispersed. I quickly stuffed Mickey into my duffel bag and raced back to the S.H.A.R.C. vehicle. Unfortunately, our captive made it an even tighter squeeze in the tiny vessel.

Soon, though, we made it to the Courtyard Marriott on Richard Petty Boulevard and met with Richard Petty.

"Let's do Flirt!" Scott shouted. "We could probably just make out with each other for a minute and that would count."

"Good idea," I said. "In that case, we're doing Shirt." I looked over his muscular pectorals and added, "Or rather, you're doing shirt."

Scott frowned as he put his hands over his pecs. "I don't know if I'm comfortable with that."

"I don't care."

Scott and I arrived at Daytona Beach and made our way carefully through the horde of drunken youth. "Woo hoo! Vote Obama!" they shouted.

Finally, we arrived at the location of the wet t-shirt contest. Scott whined, "I don't know about this," as we approached the gathering of young sexy peoples.

"Relax," I reassured him. "I'll make sure you finish in first place."

"How?" he asked.

I tossed a bucket of water on him and said, "Just do your thing and I'll do mine."

As Scott worked his stuff on the beach, I eased up near Charlie Sheen, our celebrity judge. "That one there is a prostitute," I commented.

"Really?" he asked intrigued.

"Oh, yeah," I went on, "and a dirty one too."

"Dirty, huh? How so?"

"Um...you know, the usual dirty stuff. Up for anything....doesn't use mouthwash....wears the same underwear for weeks...."

Charlie Sheen simply said, "Oh, boy," as he became entranced by Scott's performance. My subtle manipulation certainly played a role, but Scott rose to the occasion as well.

Charlie Sheen whistled loudly and made some wooing sounds. This caused the other drunk coeds judging the contest to do the same thing. After they all quieted down and stopped air-humping, Charlie announced that Scott was the winner. He then whispered to me his hotel room number and asked me to have Scott stop by.

"That's great!" Scott said when I told him the news, "I can't wait to visit in private with Charlie Sheen!"

"You can't go, fool," I said, shattering his dreams, "we have to get to the Pit Stop! And after that, we've got some enhanced interrogation to perform on an animated mouse."

Jan the Intergalactic Aviator: Nightclubbing, we're nightclubbing

2008-10-24T06:15:00.001-07:00

Oh God, so I’m teamed up with Nightcrawler and (confession time!) he is SO cute. I can’t believe this. I don’t usually get all teenage girly in front of someone like this, but Nightcrawler is. Whew. Well, he’s cute anyway. I just want to grab him and give him a big hug.

So anyway, we’re riding in the SHARC from Atlantis to Florida for the next leg of the race and we’re kind of squished up cozy in the cockpit. He’s sitting on my lap and he’s just so cuddly I can’t stand it.

Whew, OK. Calm down, girl. We actually haven’t gotten much of a chance to talk. I don’t know what to say to him, he’s been so quiet but I heard that he volunteered to partner up with me.

OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod, what if he likes me? I bet he does! I have to talk to him. Keep it cool, Jan,

“So, uh, you come here often?” Ugh! Stupid stupid stupid! Worst opening line ever.

“Um, ja,” he chuckled back.

Silence.

Nightcrawler sitting on my lap like this sure is making me moist.

In my armpits, it’s all cramped in this cabin. What did you think I was talking about?

Sicko.

Oh, he shifted, wait, maybe he wants to talk to me.

“Ah, you know I asked to be your partner…” he said.

“Yeah?” I replied. Keep it cool, Jan.

“I just thought zat maybe ve could get to know each other a little better or something,” he said kind of quietly.

Holy crumbs, he likes me. Oh man, I just want to snuggle with him... snuggle all night long you know.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” I replied. “So, I uh heard that you’re a pilot and stuff. You want to see my ship some time maybe?”

“Ja, zat vould be nice,” he replied.

“The Pegasus Elite’s real fast. I like it real fast. Uh, I like my ship real fast, I mean, heh heh.” Ughhhh. Could this get any worse?

“Ja, I know vhat you mean,” he chuckled.

Finally, we get to Orlando and I see a guy in a red shirt, a huge-o cowboy hat and a wonkin’ big belt buckle.

“Howdy, y’all,” he grinned. “I’m racing champion Richard Petty and I’m here to escort you to your detour.”

“That’s nice and all,” I said. “But there’s something I have to give you first.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that, gal?”

“This.” I quickly pulled out my blaster rifle and shot him to the ground with a couple stun blasts.

“Vait no!” Nightcrawler protested, but I had already done the deed. “Vhy did you just shoot him?”

“Because he’s not Richard Petty,” I said. I pulled out my sonic screwdriver and aimed it at his face. Where the beam crossed his skin, the image of Richard Petty was replaced by a blank white mask.

“Vwow,” Nightcrawler shook his head. “How did you know that?”

“My sonic screwdriver detected the subtle shifts in the holographic image that he was using and quietly alerted me,” I replied. “This thing is pretty handy at sniffing out illusions like this.”

“Sehr interesting,” Nightcrawler nodded. “I am impressed.”

“All right,” I growled as I hoisted the imposter to his feet. “Who are you and where’s Petty?”

“Fool!” he growled back at me. “I’ll never tell.”

“He’s the Chameleon,” Nightcrawler answered. “I recognize him. Someone must have hired him to take us out.”

“And I would have gotten away with it too if it wasn’t for that pesky screwdriver of yours,” he growled again.

“Yeah, so who hired you and why?” I shook him by his lapel.

“Let’s just say that there are some mutants out there who aren’t too happy with you being the Mutant Massacrer,” he answered.

“Argh!” I yelled. “I am not the Mutant Massacrer. And besides, Juggernaut isn’t even a mutant. His powers come from a magical gem.”

“Oh, and another thing!” a puff of smoke quickly enveloped him. I felt him try to wrench free of my grip so I shot him with my blaster again.

“Now vhat do ve do vith him?” Nightcrawler asked.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Call the cops or something?”

“And what about our detour?” my mutant friend asked.

“I’m not doing shirt,” I said quickly.

“Flirt it is, zhen.”

We made our way to Tabu after dumping off the Chameleon with the local cops. This club was hopping, the music was rocking and the drinks were pouring. I’m not really that much of a club gal, but I couldn’t help to get into the rhythm with everything going on around me. It didn’t hurt that the tequila sunrises were yummy. Nightcrawler had a few drinks, too, but he seemed rather reserved and just quietly sat at a bar stool.

“It’s tough going to places like this sometimes,” he admitted. “Going out in public isn’t easy for someone like me.”

“Well I think you look great,” I said as I put my arm around him. I pulled myself closer to him. A little liquid courage is just what the doctor ordered. “Let’s get the challenge over with and then maybe you and I can get some time alone.”

“I vould like zat.”

“Oh my God, look who’s here!” I saw that trademark smile coming a mile away. I’d know him anywhere. “Jack! Jack! What are you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d get a little R & R,” Captain Jack Harkness flashed those teeth back at me. “Get away from the office a little, you know.”

“You actually go on vacation?” I asked.

“Yeah well, believe it or not,” he chuckled. “And what a better place to go on holiday than where the women are hot and the men are hotter.”

“Well I got something for you. This is for Meta Sigma Polia.” I punched him hard right in the jaw.

His smirk disappeared as his head recoiled from the hit. He wiped his hand across the jaw and looked at me with those baby blues in an earnest “Well I guess I deserved that” kind of way.

“And this is for Argolis.” I grabbed his head and planted a big sloppy kiss on him. For a full minute. I pulled back and smiled at him wickedly.

“Nice,” he laughed. “I didn’t know I was your type.”

I punched him the shoulder playfully. “Yeah well, maybe you are and maybe you aren’t. You want to do us a favor and plant one on my friend right here?”

“You mean lithe, dark, and handsome?” Jack asked. “Love to.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Nightcrawler held up his hands. “Zis doesn’t seem right.”

“Oh come on,” the Torchwood leader pushed. “You’re not some kind of religiousy guy who thinks a little man on man is wrong are you?”

“Ah nein. Nein, I’m the adventury swashbuckler type,” he insisted.

“Well here’s an adventure for you.” Harkness pulled close and kissed Nightcrawler. After a moment, Nightcrawler kissed back. “Sweet. Like that tongue action.”

“Can ve go now?” Nightcrawler asked.

“You got it,” I nodded. I started to pull my companion out of the club when Harkness shouted out to me.

“Hey!” he yelled above the thumping music. “Be careful, will ya?” He pointed back and forth between us.

“You got it.” I smiled and gave a mock salute. Nightcrawler smiled too as we dashed out the door.

Soon enough, we were at the Courtyard Marriot. We raced through the lobby when Nightcrawler grabbed me and pulled me into an elevator. As we went up to the top floor, he pulled me close and gave me a big kiss. “I vant to talk to you, in private,” he said.

“Sure.” I grinned back at him. “You got it, Nightcrawler.”

“Please. Call me Kurt,” he whispered in my ear.

“Kurt,” I breathed out. “You know I’m not trying to kill mutants, right? You have to believe me.”

“I do,” he whispered back.

We made it to the top and he pulled me out of the elevator. We raced out onto the roof and he made an amazing leap onto the ledge. He scrunched himself down in a squat and looked over the city of Orlando.

“I haven’t felt zis vay in a long time,” he confided. “It’s tough being a mutant. Especially tough if you look like I do.”

“I know what it’s like… I’ve been to places where they think I’m just some kind of a cave woman. There are places out there.” I pointed vaguely out towards the stars. “Places where they think we’re all a bunch of un-evolved cretins.”

“Maybe we are,” he grinned.

“Yeah but you’re so gosh darn cute,” I replied as I stepped towards him with my arms out. He leapt right over me back onto the roof. I gasped at his feat as he laughed.

“Ha ha!” he laughed like Errol Flynn in some kind of a pirate movie. “Oh there’s just one more thing I must tell you.”

“Wait, why do you sound different?” I asked. “Oh no…”

I watched as my fuzzy blue elf changed. His features shifted and his hair grew out from the tight black curls into long tresses of auburn. His shape shifted into that of a woman. A blue woman.

“Unfortunately,” Mystique said as she pulled out a pistol. “This is the end of the race for you.”

“Wait, I’ve been kissing you all along? Ewww.”

“Oh but it was OK for Nightcrawler to kiss that smiling baboon at the club? What’s good for the gander isn’t good for the goose, huh?”

“So you’re going to kill me then?” I held up my hands. “I suppose you’re the one who hired the Chameleon.”

“I apologize for the depths of my deception,” she replied. “If he had failed, you still would have let your guard down after his attempt and that’s exactly what I wanted.”

“But I couldn’t tell it was you,” I said. “How could that be?”

“Simple,” she shrugged. “Nightcrawler is my son. Posing as him is easy enough for me. And, as you can clearly see, my abilities are not mere parlor tricks and holograms.”

“Wait, you disguised yourself as your own son?” I asked. “Ewww, talk about your issues. I know a psychiatrist who would have a field day with that. Want his card?”

“I don’t think so.” She aimed her pistol at me and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. She pulled it several more times but all she got was a series of metallic clicks in response. “What?”

“Oh yeah, maybe I couldn’t tell that you were you but I could certainly burn out your firing mechanism with this.” I tossed my sonic screwdriver up in the air and caught it with smug satisfaction. “Looks like you’re out of luck, sister.”

Mystique howled and lunged at me. I countered with my specialty the circle throw and tossed her up and over me. Her momentum carried her over the ledge and I heard her screams fading. I quickly got up and looked over the side and saw her body crumpled in a sickening way on the concrete below.

Quickly, I raced to the elevator and hit the button for the first floor. I then ran out of the lobby and into the parking lot. There were people standing around and talking in a confused manner, but I didn’t see Mystique’s body anywhere.

Pick up lines are carp.

2008-10-23T20:18:00.000-07:00

Victor and I made it back to the air lock just before the oxy-gum wore out. Victor was shouting something but the sound of the water being siphoned out was too loud.
"What!" I shouted.
"I'm not getting shrunk again!" Victor yelled.
"Tell someone who cares." I shouted back.
We get to the docking bay and Lin isn't there.
"Is this a good thing?" I ask Victor.
"Means I ain't gonna get shrunk." replies Victor. "Or have to listen to her talk, thats all good."
My sensors detect a cloaking device. Lin has a cloaking device.
Hang on!
Suddenly Lin appears in front of us.

FIZZZUMM!

Carp! I'm shrinking.
"Oh yeah! Schaudenfrude that Koma." laughs Victor. He then turns to Lin. "Just shrink the cameraman and I think you and I can squeeze in darling'."
"I'm not sure about that Victor?" questions Lin. "My dress could get ripped."
"Well then we'll just have to get naked and oil up to get in." sleazes Victor.
"Ewww! No way dog breath. I prefer my men with a full body wax." Lin's eye's glow and the shrink ray strikes Victor.
FIZZZUMM!
Lin scoops the two of us up.
"Now you two are playing nice or else your both traveling in the glove box." she threatens.
"Screw you robo-whore!" curses Victor.
"Glove box it ii-is" sings Lin and she tosses us into the glove box. Not sure what happened to Bob the cameraman but the SHARC took off. Hmm Lin and Bob squeezed into a cockpit. Didn't Bob say something about a full body wax once.

Oh well!

Lin was still feeling generous after we got to the hotel and she unshrunk Victor and I. Bob gave immediate notice to Xavier and the producers and I haven't seen either he or Lin since. I did get a post card from Lin a few weeks later. She and Bob are in Napa growing grapes and breeding goats. I wonder how long thats going to work out.

The producers weren't expecting Bob to leave the show and were at a loss. However it seems that Xavier's minor at Oxford was photography.
"Don't say a single word." warned Xavier.
So it was off to the detour our new cameraman in tow. Unfortunately the steps to the victory podium didn't help Xavier.
The NASCAR driver was a nice guy.
"Well I reckon its a great thing you boys are doing in allowing a special person to be your cameraman." congratulated Petty. "I hope you boys win. Its just great seeing the disabled getting out into the community. Your really doing a great job taking on some one in his condition." Then suddenly he threw himself off the podium.
"Has he got a healing factor?" asked Victor peering over the edge at Petty's unmoving body.
"No he's just a race car driver." I answer.
"Was a race car driver." corrects Victor.
We got back down off the podium and Xavier was whistling a happy tune.

"My turn to pick and I ain't picked up in a while" demands Victor.
"You sure about that?" questions Xavier. "Koma had to make his own woman to score. Then there was that alien lesbian who thought he was a woman. Really I don't see any possibility in any human female kissing him."
"I'm sure who ever I get has fat friend for Him." replies Victor.
"Oh! I forgot about them." realises Xavier. "Fat chicks need love too, no discriminate in this world."
"Then again it don't specify the sex or species of the person you're kissing." adds Victor.
"Maybe we can get that Alien chick over here, if she's not dead or something." continues Xavier.
"Dead alive, it wont matter." chuckles Victor. "I'm quite sure Koma knows all about Necrophilia."
It went on like that for quite some time.
The night club was loud and sweaty. Victor's animal magnetism was a huge plus and within five minutes he'd secured a bevy of ladies. I on the other hand was way out of my natural element.
There was a nice looking girl next to me, she had a bit of a fake tan going but I though I'd have a try.
"Hi I'm Austin." I introduced myself.
"Powers but my middle name's Danger." She sighed. "Get a new line geek."
Thats it Mike Myers is now off my humiliate list and onto my eliminate list.
"Hey I see your not doing all that well with the Ladyz" interrupts this sleaze. I don't like him already.
"So you've got a better way?" I ask sceptically.
"Hell yeah!" he exclaims. "I got a sure fire way to get you the lady of your dreams. Just put some of this in her drink then she'll be putty in your paws." He shows me a little pink pill and gives me a knowing look.
"Hang on let me get this straight." I tell him. "You tell me I'm a failure and then proceed to sucker me in to buy your date rape drugs so I can have sex with a woman who doesn't want me."
"Hell yeah!" he answers.
I stand up and look around sheepishly.
"Can we do this elsewhere? I don't want anyone knowing about this." I tell the sleaze.
"Sure meet me in my office." He points to the mens room and leaves. I watch him go, finish my drink and the girl beside me grabs my hand.
"Its not worth it." she implores. "Its obvious this isn't your kind of place. You look like an ok kind of guy don't become an asshole."
"Its all right." I give her a cheeky smile. "I make guys like him disappear for a living."
"You don't look like a cop?" she questions.
"No I'm Batman." I state in the gruffest voice I've got. I don't wait for an answer from her I go straight to the mens room. I walk in and greet the sleaze.
"You better have cash buddy we don't take VISA." the sleaze jokes. I just pull out my blaster.
"Nice kiddie toy, sure the girls'll love it. Money now." he demands.
If I could make a drug to give the euphoria I get when I kick the crap out of sleazes like this guy I reckon I'd make a fortune. After beating him up I made him go around aplogising to all the women in the nightclub. Last stop is the girl with the fake tan.
"Last one then you can leave." I tell Him.
"I sell date rape drugs preying on both men and women. I'm sorry for being a pox on all humanity. If you wish to express your rage physically on my person at this time, please do. Thank you." the sleaze repeats.
"Ugh! I don't even want to touch him." fake tan girl says in disgust.
"Ok your free to go." I release the sleaze and he races out of the club. I retake my seat beside fake tan girl.
"I know you're not Batman." she tells me.
"Buuut?" I prompt.
"You do deserve something for what you did." she bites her lower lip.

Score:
Date Rape Drug Dealers 0
Koma 1
Victor 5

My Fellow Competitors

2008-10-23T15:42:00.000-07:00

Due to my extremely modest nature, I just assumed I didn't make it this week, and I fell off the wagon. I know, I know...How can I doubt my awesomenss? It must be some of that drug they gave us for the race. Anyway, my hangover is starting to wear off, so I thought I would throw that yield out to you ASAP... I know it is a little last minute, but the yield goes to Jan...

Just to let you know, that isn't how I wanted to do it. I would like to yield Bennet again, the #$@#, I look great in pajamas you #@$#. But I digress, Emma saw me giving Jan the eye and got a little jealous... Well, she made up some other excuse about strategy and the like, but I know deep down Emma has a burning desire for me...Yep...burning desire of sexy loooove... Sorry Jan, maybe I can make it up to you sometime. *wink, wink*

AMR4 - Week 6 Challenge

2008-10-19T18:29:00.000-07:00

Congratulations to Congressman Petrelli for finishing first along with his partner, the sexy Emma Frost. The very, very sexy Emma Frost. There’s one word that comes to my mind when I think of Emma Frost and that’s ‘sexy’. And hot. She is hot. And sexy. Sexy hot. Speaking of sexy hot, Nepharia was the last person to arrive and unfortunately, tragically, was eliminated, along with her mutant partner Havok, of course.

Before I tell you about the itinerary for this leg of the Race, there is a bit of housekeeping that has to be taken care of. It seems that Jan the Intergalactic Aviator dropped her mutant partner down a deep-sea chasm. Juggernaut has been rescued but he is currently suffering from severe oxygen deprivation. It is unknown at this point if there will be any permanent brain damage. As such, Jan needs a new teammate. Fortunately Nightcrawler has asked me, practically begged me really, to assign him. It seems he has a bit of crush on Jan. Frankly I’m just glad he’s expressing interest in someone of legal age finally. Nightcrawler will be Jan’s partner. Hopefully he will survive the experience. I carry large life insurance policies on all of the X-Men, so either way it will be alright, really.

The teams will start this leg of the race in throne room of Namor’s palace. From there the teams will race to the air-locks where they will be given an antidote for the water-breathing potion. They will then take the S.H.A.R.C. vehicles and race towards Orlando, Florida. There they must find the Courtyard Marriott hotel on Richard Petty Boulevard and land the vehicles in the parking lot.

Once there, NASCAR legend Richard Petty will provide the instructions for the Detour for this leg of the Race.

A Detour presents a choice between two tasks, each with their own pros and cons. Once a task has been completed, the contestants must then race to the Pit Stop. In this Detour, the teams must choose between Flirt and Shirt.

In Flirt, the teams will head to the hot singles club, Tabu. Once there, both members of each team must successfully flirt with the club patron of their choice or choices. A flirt is successful once a player has made out with the patron for one full minute. When both members of the team have kissed a club goer for a minute, they must then race to the Pit Stop.

In Shirt, the teams will race to Daytona Beach where it is always Spring Break. One member of each team must compete in a wet T-Shirt contest, judged by a mix of five drunk and horny college co-eds and the guest celebrity judge, Charlie Sheen. This challenge is open to both male and female contestants. If the player finishes in the top two, then the team will have successfully completed this challenge and can race to the Pit Stop.

The Pit Stop for this leg of the Race is back at the Courtyard Marriott where suites have been reserved for each team for the night. The first team to reach the lobby of the hotel will be the winner and, as always, the last team to arrive will be eliminated. The next leg of the race will then start the following morning. Posts are due by Friday at midnight, your local time. And remember, as I often tell my students, no one likes a loser.

Round 5, dogs!

2008-10-19T16:11:00.001-07:00

Yo dogs, Randy here. Your pal and mine Simon asked me to step in and run the judging because he had a very important appointment that he needed to attend to (he was getting his butt waxed). So here I am dogs, and here is the judgment, dogs.

Captain Koma – Yo dog, you said the three magic words: Mer Maid Porn. I am there, I am so there that I wasn’t even here. Congratulations, you’re going to Hollywooooood!

(Hollywood Upstairs Medical Clinic, that is. You need to get those blisters on your bikini zone checked out)

Jan the Intergalactic Aviator – Yo dogette, I like your style but I liked your partner better and I really wanted to know who his tailor is. Being a big and tall man myself, finding the styles that don’t bunch up on me in all the wrong places is murder. Congratulations, you’re going to Hollywoooooooood!

(Hollywood, Alabama that is. The Stuckies there serves awesome vanilla shakes)

Mr Bennet – You had me all hot and excited right there in the beginning, dog, but then you had all that stuff about global warming. I never could understand that stuff, yo. Nonetheless, you had my guy Al Gore there. He’s another big and tall guy and a big proponent of Randy’s Husky Undies. Congratulations, you’re going to Hollywooooooood!

(Hollywood Road China, they got some sweet trinket shops there, dog)

Nepharia – Yo dogette, you. Are. Da. Bomb. I am serious. You and me should get together some time. Maybe I could rub some precious oils on your back as I read from my new book “Randy’s Book of Romantic Poetry.” Give me yo digits and I’ll ring you up yo. Congratulations, you’re going to Hollywooooooooood!!!

(Hollywood Fats and Matt Hollywood are playin’ down at the club. You and I got some tickets. Hollywood Hulk Hogan’ll be there too, yo)

Gyrobo – Yo robodog, what can I say. I dig it! I dig the all singing all dancing all rockin’ all rollin’ Gyrobo Show. ‘Nuff said. Congratulations, you’re going to Hollywoooooooooood!

(That’s Hollywood Video, here’s a free coupon to rent Randy Sings the Broadway Hits)

Petrelli – Yo dog, I don’t know what’s going on with you dog, but you’re getting into some freaky territory. They got seaweed that you be smokin’ or something? Those ideas are all freaky. Super freaky. Super freaky cool. Congratulations dog, you’re going to Hollywooooooood!!

(Hollywood England, home of the Gay Hill Golf Club, that is)

Well dogs, you all did awesome and in my eyes, you’re all winners. More specifically though, Nathan is the winner. Congratulations dog, it was that Skid Mark Twister that put you over the top. Congratulations, you’re going to Hollywoooooooood! (That’s Hollywood Cemetery in Richmond Virginia where you can visit the grave sites of Tazewell Ellett and Julia Gardiner Tyler.

Now unfortunately, one of you has to go. Nepharia, dog, you know you’re my dog, but you were the last dog in, dog. Aww, baby don’t be mad. Can I still get your number? Hello? Hello?

Sharks, Love, Atlantis and growing an extra tail.

2008-10-18T12:07:00.000-07:00

Another day another challenge…I was feeling a little down after the adrenaline from our last adventure subsided. The pressure of competing in an arena other than politics and sexual innuendo was starting to get to me. I considered throwing in the towel, when suddenly it dawned on me what Hot Wheels had said. “…these ships are designed for one person. It might be a tight fit…”

Hallelujah, God came through again! The only question now was…Should I sit on Emma’s lap or she on mine? Perhaps I should suggest a more horizontal position? Oh, and a camera man, it’s like a legal excuse to tape the whole thing…. Have I said hallelujah yet? Because seriously,…Hallelujah!

While everyone was scrambling to leave, I hunted for a bathroom so I could splash some water and soap on all the important regions and bits. Fortunately, I stumbled across the Doctor Doom’s bedroom and private bath almost immediately. Word of advice if you’re ever at Castle Doom, don’t poke around his bedroom. Not only did he have odd books such as How to Alienate Friends and Kill People, he also had the largest collection Weebles you could ever imagine. Oh yeah, nothing says evil like a Weeble Wobble. (Seriously, they fall over…but they don’t fall down…)

Anyway, I got out of there quick. Who knows what a guy like would’ve done if he found me there. I made it back to the S.H.A.R.C. and sauntered up to Emma. I smiled my most winning smile and suggested that we lay horizontally for more room.

Emma returned my smile and said, “What a wonderful idea. Climb in first.”

I did what I was told, laying myself out awkwardly against the controls. “Emma, do you think you can fly while we’re lying across the controls?”

“No, Petrelli, I couldn’t, but you’re not going to be laying on the controls. You’re going to be levitating up against the ceiling while I sit in the pilot’s seat… Oh, but don’t worry, you’re not going to be alone.”

With those dreaded words, I knew what was coming…Yes, I’m sure you’ve guessed it too. She held both the camera man and me to the ceiling with the force of her mind. To make matters worse, she put us in a compromising position. When the camera man wasn’t looking she would flash a little cleavage to make me excited. To make a long story partially short, the camera man thinks I have a thing for him, and I didn’t even get to touch a booby.

Needless to say, I was relieved when we finally docked at Atlantis and the decompression began. The whole ordeal left me a little traumatized, so I was relieved to see they were offering cocktails as we disembarked. I grabbed mine and drank it down with one gulp before grabbing the other two on the tray and swilling them as well. It wasn’t until I finished the last that I noticed Emma and the camera man staring at me. “What?”

“That wasn’t a cocktail, you big dope. That was the formula that was to allow us to survive underwater for 24 hours. Who knows what too much will do to you?”

The attendant said, “Don’t worry, he may grow an extra tail or something, but it will eventually fall off. Emma continued to talk or maybe she was laughing, but I paid no attention. The air was becoming difficult to breath. I was choking on oxygen. The next thing I know, Emma had procured some of the formula and was pushing me out into the water. Once there, I was as good as new, and ready to make our way to King Namor’s throne room. (I’ve been in so many of those lately.) Everything went smoothly, he gave us our detour options and for once, Emma looked at me to see what I wanted to do.

Given that I will one day rule Earth, I thought it would be a good idea to AVOID helping King Namor plan for invading the surface, contingency plan or not… So GAME it was…

Once the decision was made, I felt energized. I rushed/swam back and forth testing out various gaming ideas. The first batch the King hated, but I was undaunted and returned to the drawing board. The final results were:

Underwater Karaoke-I thought I did a great job on demonstrating how the game would work. I even tried to Rock Star my appearance for effect. I heard a few people jeering, but I ignored them. Although I do wonder what they meant when they said I accepted both detours…I only had one glitch…I nearly electrocuted myself. Apparently electric guitar doesn’t mix well with water. Anyway, when I regained consciousness the King said, “Approved.”

Olympic Underwater Kangaroo Boxing-I have to admit this was a stroke of genius. I had to force the kangaroos to drink the underwater formula so they could survive long enough to fight. Over all, it was the hardest game to get past the King, but I convinced him to let me demonstrate. By the time I regained consciousness, he had agreed that it was the most entertaining of all the events so far.

Which brings us to the final event-Olympic Strip Twister-I owned on this game. I would have won, if that guy with the skid marks on the underwear didn’t have to put his or her bottom in my face. Yeah, … When I regained consciousness, the King once again said, “Approved.”

…and there you have it fellow competitors…The story of how I grew an extra tail and created three spectacular events for the Atlantian Olympics.

Phenomenal, Extra-Ordinary People

2008-10-17T23:54:00.000-07:00

When one spends five hours cramped in the belly of a pint-sized pickle jar laughingly called a “submersible jetplane,” one’s mind begins to wander. There’s a certain tendency to see things that aren’t there. Cabin Fever.

My ears pounded. “There’s a gremlin on the wing!”

Sloughing between Puck (who seemed oddly at home in the miniature transport) and our camerawoman, Yvette Sumberland Jr., I toyed with the release hatch.

“That’s a hood ornament!” Puck quashed, as hands sprung from the cabin to slap me back down. Nachos spilled… everywhere.

The S.H.A.R.C. lurched incoherently through the air as we wrestled the controls. General Abernathy was clearly no General Prince — in terms of proper spending — Prince was a peach of a pug. Prince would have made sure that all of these outdated, oversized tea kettles were retired instead of— of— retrofitted. Conservation my Aunt Peachpug!

Abernathy could have had a fleet of truculent autogyros kruzzing through the enemy’s gates while they stood agog… instead, we’re zubbing toward blue ocean like a sick polliwog, ’cause that lug of a pug with his pug-fugly mug wouldn’t loosen his belt for a plea or a welt!

Snap. The ocean!

“Thank Zoroaster I didn’t open the escape hatch,” I murmured mundanely, the machine mincing through the murky marine meniscus. A bilious buoy lodged in our bilge, outputting an off-putting signal. “Still, I stand by General Prince’s truculent autogyros; their output rate is nearly double the gasoline and iridium intake in these bulky class-82 hot rods.”

Puck grabbed his chest, the joker! Yvette patted his shoulder while flipping on the projector lamp: what sights to behold!

Monstrous squids and their cephalopod brethren bleated our bow, peering at us strange invaders of their undersea utopia. Yvette cranked the camera, capturing curious cuttlefish in play and pickled sea cucumbers frolicking in their frothy flower beds. A bleached coral reef marked the end of these creatures’ domain and the border of a major industrial area.

Atlantis. We started to idle our engine, lest we break the speed limit of 200 knots. What? The S.H.A.R.C. may be obsolete and cramped, but its engine is second to none.

Statues with features unmarred by millenia of floral growth and erosion guided us to the central spi— the central spire. The castles of Europe were mere sandcastles compared to these not-quite ruins. And the people! Sweet Koala of Walla Walla!

A bizarre bazaar ran through the heart of the city; from our slow descent I could make out individuals, hawking wares from eel belts to steel boots. Bottom dwellers of every shape and stripe bartered and bantered; one could find anything here, for a price.

Above us swam gigantic blue whales with passenger boxes fastened to their bellies, gallant zeppelins of the sea. So fixated was I on their ultra-organic design and coordination that I failed to notice of our position until we were already in the decompression chamber. “Soi jove!” I chortled, struggling to remember my basic Atlantean.

We emerged from the transport, eager to stretch our lungs. Yvette panned around, soaking in the briny air. “Where’s the welcome wagon?”

“Maybe they think we’re ghosts,” I postulated.

Half a dozen Atlantian Guards marched through a side panel, armed with reverse-SCUBA suits and crested pikes. One held a container of three sea-blue vials which would allow underwater breathing for 24 hours, and a ceremonial Muppet head. They definitely didn’t think we were ghosts, but I wasn’t willing to rule out Zombie Theory.

“GRAAAAHHHH! ME NOT ZOMBIE! ME FRIEND!” I roared at the bewildered Atlantean.

Yvette and Puck each downed two of the vials while I pocketed the third. Atlantean anti-drowning potion is very hard to find, because its creators are so secretive about the key ingredient. Hint: it’s people. But under the guise of diplomacy, I now had a full vial at my disposal! All I had to do now was analyze it in a scientific setting, and I could produce 12-hour knock-offs and sell them by the gallon. The only adverse side-effects would be colic, melancholy and kneecap reversal.

But getting back on track, we followed the contingent through water-filled hallways, unlike any I’ve seen on Youtube. This facility was built for someone with gills. It was by the grace of a higher power that I’m anaerobic, and do not need oxygen to crack jokes.

“This Namor sounds lame-or!”

Puck glared, obviously amazed that he could hear me underwater. Any other kind of amazement was forbidden.

“So, what shall we chance this week, cadet?!”

“Well,” my dwarfish companion licked lightly his lilliputian lips— utterly unnecessary underwater. “We can either come up with plans to conquer the overworld, or come up with three awesome Olympic events.”

“Let’s make conquest an Olympic event, break it up into three parts and call it synergy,” I said with a smirk.

A pounding sound stopped us dead.

With a ka-boom, one bejeweled, rotund Atlantean burst open a sealed, ornate door. He grabbed me, violating my personal space! “That’s the kind of thinking that can get a man…” he grinned. “Promoted.”

“And who might you be?” Puck asked this burly jack-a-ninny with more politeness than was warranted.

“Who am I?!” he yelled. “Who am I?”

An unseen piano began firing off a continuous loop of orchestral notes.

“Who’s the most remarkable, extra-ordinary fellow?!” he pointed both thumbs at himself. “Namor, the sea-king!”

He poked me in the eye!

“I’m. A-fraid of. Nobody. Under the sea.”

He upturned my hat!

“All. The. Fish. Pay. Homage. To only me!”

Winding down, he rubbed his stomach, sporting an ear-to-ear grin. “Who’s the most phenomenal, extra-special kind of fellow?! Who?!”

“Gyrobo the robot,” I retorted, untucking his shirt from his pants.

“Who fills the water with notes so sour, and dares to challenge Namor’s power?!” He looked down at me.

“We’re here to help you, your majesty!” Puck explained, ready with a Powerpoint presentation should Namor ask us about our Olympic planning. Yvette circled us, shaking the camera slightly for that authentic camera-shaking effect that you just couldn’t get with CG filters.

“Noi soi! So, you must be here to help me with my aquatic ambitions…”

“We don’t ‘help,’ we ‘teach.’” I handed him a brochure. “Our planning committee is top-notch, whether you’re into Olympic planning or international conquest. We’ll turn you from a flounder to a quarter-pounder!”

Looking over the literature, he fleered. “Have you any references?”

“Just… Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.” I shed a bitter crocodile tear.

“Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar?”

The piano changed to a more somber yet upbeat tune.

“We ran his campaigns in the steppes’s outer plains,”
Puck hesitantly broke in.
“But with hearts full of woe, we were sadly too slow
And he died on the blade of a whim.”

“Ah yes, dearest Puck, he was plain out of luck,”
I added with full-breasted zeal.
“But he picked that fight on that pitiless night,
When he fell ’fore that Mameluke’s heel.”

“‘I hear you’ve talked smack behind of my back,’
He told Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
And when Ivan refused to refute this ill news,
The brute drew a curved scimitar.”

“And what was the name of this man you disdain?”
Asked Yvette with her voice calm and clear.
“His name, if I must,” I said without fuss,
“Is Abdul Abulbul Amir.”

“Do not refrain! I must ask what became
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir,”
King Namor gushed, then quickly he hushed,
Mind racing with suspenseful fear.

“He, too, was destroyed, in Ivan’s last ploy,
And now they both share a tomb.
Most likely, I think,” Puck said with a wink,
“That that’s all they wanted — a room!”

Namor clapped as we bowed. He wiped a tear from his eye, which I thought odd considering we were under thousands of feet of salt water. “Ah, me! Ah, my! Now, tell me your p-p-p-plans,” he shivered. We were far from both the sun and the Earth’s molten core.

“As I said… mwa ha ha! Synergy. You need separate plans of conquest, correct?”

“Correct!” He answered, holding up a bent index finger in a cartoon-like manner.

“And you need three Olympic events, jo pan?”

“Joi graz.”

“Then I propose the following,” I tore off Puck’s shirt to reveal a comprehensive Olympic event proposal tattooed on his chest. He was such a team player, he might get a trophy. “Three events: Aerial Invasion, Land Invasion, and Naval Invasion. All participants will think they’re competing for gold medals, even as your mighty whale-zeppelins glide to victory over the overlanders!”

“Graz nijit! Would it work?”

“According to this context-less bar graph, the numbers just keep going up over time.”

“Then it’s settled.” He thumbed through the papers. “Solid.”

Yes. But… before we headed back to the surface world, I had one more thing to say.

“I must give you a hand,” I announced to the band
“You’ve certainly pushed my case far:
Whether harpoon or sword, you’ll never go bored
With Namor or Ivan Skavar!”

After the Devil, in the Deep Blue Sea

2008-10-17T21:53:00.000-07:00

"I'm getting tired," Havok said as he sat down on the castle steps. "When are we going to sleep?"

"You can sleep when you are dead," I said, dragging him to his feet. "But we didn't get yielded this week, so we can go right away. So let's GO!"

Havok groaned. "Now where are we going?"

"Well," I began, "once again we get to fit into a craft that is only large enough for one, and this time, we get to squeeze in our camera man."

We both looked at the camera man.

"Nice," Havok said dubiously as he eyed him over. "But I don't want him sitting on my lap. And you," he said, pointing at me, "make sure you move your light sabers off the back of your belt before getting in this time."

"No problem," I answered, pulling them off and sticking them in my boots once again before making our way over to the SHARC vehicle. I looked it over and it reminded me of the small fighters I've flown in my own galaxy.

"This actually looked a little more promising," I said crawling up into the cockpit. "There's a lot more room in this than there was in the drop ship on the last leg – there is even enough room to shove the cameraman into the nose of the cockpit."

"Good," Havok said, as he climbed up into the cockpit. "Let's get strapped in then."

The cameraman was less than thrilled with his position in the nose. But he still didn't seem to mind.

We took off from Doom's castle and followed the coordinates to the signal buoy before diving into the waters and down to Atlantean water space. It was not as nerve-wracking as the drop from the space station, and was even rather relaxing. So much so, that I had to poke Havok a coupla times when he started snoring in my ear.

Arriving at the port tower for Atlantic, we disembarked into a decompression chamber. The cameraman was terribly relieved and glad to stretch his legs. Havok had a great trip, as he slept most of the way – at least he got that much needed nap while I drove. Slacker.

We were directed to a table where there were a set of vials for all the race participants and their crews (read: cameramen). I picked one up and looked at the translucent, blue-green liquid. Running it by my nose, it smelled like a Mon Calamari after a week long binge at Corusant ground level.

"Ew," I said, looking at Havok. He had already downed his and was savoring it as if it were a fine wine. I looked at the photographer and he had done something similar, seemingly enjoying the taste.

I put mine down and tried another, but they all smelled the same. Holding my breath I downed the thick liquid and forced myself to swallow the vile-tasting drink. My first breath afterward left me coughing and gagging from the after-taste.

"Oh," I said, trying to catch my breath, "That was horrible."

"I don't know," Havok responded, "Tasted like root beer."

"I thought it tasted like maple syrup," the photographer commented. "A little too sweet, but not bad."

"I won't even describe what it tasted like to me," I answered, still trying to work the flavor out of my mouth. Another door on the other side of the room opened: an invitation to leave the decompression chamber. Once in the new room, the door closed behind us and water started filtering in, rising quickly to our knees and then our hips.

I felt my weight give way beneath me and I slipped into the water, unable to stand up. I attempted to maneuver my feet back under me, but something was wrong – they just didn't work right.

At first I thought I might be intoxicated, and then wondered if I were having an allergic reaction to the drink I'd just had. But a quick look under water and I saw the problem. Havok looked at me with new found respect.

"I didn't think you were a mutant?" he said to me as the water continued to rise.

"I'm not," I answered. "I think it's a side affect of that elixir they gave me. I just hope it's not permanent."

"Why?" he asked.

"Well, it would be rather difficult to pilot a star ship with only a tail," I said, shaking what would have otherwise been my feet.

After the room had filled with water, several Atlanteans entered, greeting us.

"Welcome to Atlantis, Air Breathers," a woman answered before she saw me. Her surprise was evident, but quickly regained her composure as she instructed us to Namor's throne as well as the strict protocol required from visitors.

"Enjoy your stay," she said, then pointed our way.

Rather than walking, we found it much easier to swim our way there. And with my new appendage, I found I was much better at it than the other two.

Arriving at the throne room we swam before Namor and settled before him as he sat on his throne. He also greeted me with a strange look, but only spoke of the task before us.

"Welcome to my realm," he said quietly. "You have two options and one choice to make on your journey here: do you want Maim or Game?"

Havok and I looked at one another. I think we were both thinking the same thing: stay with what you are good at.

"Maim," we both said at once.

"So tell me," Namor began, leaning forward staring at me, "what do you think a siren such as yourself could come up with besides singing a bewitching song to lure lonely sailors to their death upon the shoals?"

"Global warming," I said. "That will cause the polar ice caps to melt and flooding most of the land that is currently left. Since humans cannot breathe under water, you will win it with no losses of your own."

"Ok," he answered skeptically. "What's the catch?"

"It takes hundreds of years," I answered.

"That doesn't do us much good right now, then, does it?" he answered, obviously perturbed by my answer.

"Well, no," I answered. "But if we could come up with a way to cause the polar ice to melt faster, this could happen a lot faster when you wanted it to happen."

Namor rubbed his chin a moment in thought.

"I can use an electric current to melt them," he commented.

"It would have to be a really large or long lived current to be effective," I answered.

He nodded. "There are enough creatures in the oceans that can generate electric current that we could superheat the water beneath the Polar Regions and cause them to melt much faster."

"Then I recommend that when you are ready, you do that," I said. "Then if you still want to take over the remaining population on the land surface, you will have a much easier victory."

Namor stepped down from his throne and stood before us. "That seems like a sound plan," he said. "And I approve."

I smiled and looked at Havok: amazingly, he didn't have to say a word or do anything stupid to reach our goals this time. What a surprising turn of events.

Namor sidled up to me, invading my personal space. "And since you are already at the pit stop for this leg of the race," Namor said slyly as he eyed my fins and scales, "we can leave your companions here while I show you the royal relics."

Nice.

Mission Five: Waterworld Domination

2008-10-17T14:22:00.001-07:00

"Gross!" Scott commented. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing!" I quickly replied. "I mean, I'm just researching...Atlanteans, for the challenge." Unfortunately, my research seemed to be a waste of time. All three minutes and forty-two seconds of it. I didn't discover anything about Atlanteans that I didn't already know. They're humany and live underwater. No big secrets there.

"Learn anything useful?" Scott asked.

I answered, "Oh, yeah. Loads."

"Good. Let's get going."

We squeezed into the one-man transport.

Xavier wasn't kidding when he said it would be a tight fit. The camera was right up in our faces the entire way to Atlantis. I was extremely uncomfortable, but Scott seemed to not mind it.

As soon as we docked at the oxygen decompression chamber, I quickly shoved Scott out of the transport.

After drinking the green liquid that would allow us to breath underwater, we went to the throne room to meet with this so-called Sub-Mariner.

"Oh, my God! It's really him!" Scott squealed as we were introduced to Namor. "I'm like your biggest fan ever."

"Thanks, you stupid air-breather," Namor responded casually.

"And I've heard of you," I added.

Namor unenthusiastically presented us with the two detour options.

"Games are a lot of fun," Scott said. "And I bet they'd play naked, like the original Olympics."

While the thought of underwater nude sports was mildly enticing, I decided to go with Maim. "I'm a brilliant strategist," I explained. "Coming up with a plan to conquer the surface-dwellers would be easy. They're all a bunch of morons."

Scott and I quickly discussed possible plans of attack. "Let's poison the water supply!" Scott offered.

"You fool," one of the war ministers replied, "We Alanteans live in water. That would indirectly kill us all too!"

"Oh," he said. "Would that not count as victory then?"

Eventually, we settled on a few plans to present to Namor.

Our first plan was a good one. I was sure he'd like it. "As luck would have it, a terrorist is currently running for the office of President of the United States," I explained. "We suggest you gather up many Atlanteans and have them work the phones for his campaign. Convince the voters to elect this secret Muslim, and once he brings about the destruction of America there will be no one willing to stop your invasion!"

Namor sat thoughtfully for a moment and then said, "How exactly is this secret Muslim planning to destroy America?"

"Well, you see," I continued, "he refuses to wear a flag pin. Can you imagine what would happen if the President of the US didn't wear a flag pin?"

He didn't seem impressed. "Got anything else?" he asked.

"Yeah," Scott answered. "There's also this old guy you could support for President. He wears a flag pin, though."

"I see," Namor said, "and how would his election help me conquer the surface?"

I answered, "Well, he'll destroy America through incompetence and failed political policies, rather than unpatriotic gestures."

"What about the other nations?" he asked.

"Oh, they're all pacifists," I answered. "Once America falls, anyone can take over any country they want and nobody will lift a finger to stop them."

I could tell we almost had him on that plan, but he said that he didn't believe in voting and preferred a less democratic approach.

So, Scott and I moved on to other plans.

Buy nukes from Iran. Too expensive.

Help spread AIDS. Too messy.

Raise the undead. Too smelly.

None of our plans so far impressed him. Scott even suggested poisoning the water supply, after I had told him to forget it. Unsurprisingly, Namor didn't like that one either.

But I had one last plan. "This plan," I began, "will definitely succeed."

Namor yawned.

"All you have to do is wait 300 years."

"Wait 300 years?" Namor repeated. "I don't understand, yet I'm intrigued. Go on."

I quickly set up my presentation materials and began explaining the plan.

"As you can see by my map, the Earth is getting warmer and the seas are rising. What lives in the seas?" I asked rhetorically.

Scott answered, "Fish!"

"You guys," I continued, pointing at Namor. "If we simply allow the surface-dwellers to continue to pollute the planet, the entire world will be covered with water, just like that Kevin Costner movie that I forget the name of."

"Dances with wolves," said Scott.

"I like the sound of that," Namor said. "All water. Interesting. But your presentation was....lacking."

"Can I have another shot?" I asked. "We'll definitely wow you."

"Go on."

"Alright, give me one minute," I said.

I raced to the nearest bar where I found an overweight and bearded Al Gore drinking double shots of tequila. "Come with me, Al," I commanded. As I shaved the former VP, I explained our situation. "You have to convince him Global Warming isn't a complete farce."

"It's not a farce," he said. "It's an inconvenient truth."

I laughed and said, "Yeah, sure." Then, I pushed him into the throne room saying, "Go do your thing."

After Al Gore's presentation, I took the floor. "As you can see," I said, "the surface will soon be completely flooded."

Scott held up my next visual aid.

I continued, "Once that happens, all you have to do is poke us with your pitchfork thingies and you'll win!"

"Good!" Namor clapped. "I look forward to the effects of Global Warming. You may now return to the throne room, the Pit Stop for this leg of the race."

"Isn't that where we are?" Scott asked.

"Yes, so hurry before the other teams beat you there."

"There? You mean, here?"

"Yes."

Jan the Intergalactic Aviator: I would not like to be under the sea

2008-10-17T08:25:00.001-07:00

I was piloting the SHARC down towards Atlantis and having a rough time doing it. The SHARC is a one man – make that a one person – submersible and I was the only one who could fit in the cockpit. Funny thing is, I could swear I’ve seen two members of G.I.Joe riding comfortably in one once, I couldn’t tell you where though. Maybe they have a trainer version like some of those one-seat fighter planes that have an extended cockpit for just such a thing. Anyway, with me in cockpit, that put Juggernaut strapped underneath, and he threw the weight off every time he shifted or kicked his leg or did whatever else he was doing down there. What the frell is he doing down there? Never mind, don’t want to know, too much information.

We made it to the central tower and Juggernaut pulled himself off the sub so I could land it. I popped the canopy and was met by an Atlantean who silently handed me a vial. I chugged it quickly and nearly gagged on the thick liquid. Yeah, sometimes I’m a gagger, I don’t want to hear any comments on that. I felt like I was going to choke, but then I felt some kind of a physiological shift inside me. As if my lungs began to process the oxygen from the fluid in them. I took another “breath” of the salt water and my head cleared up. It almost felt normal.

Juggernaut downed his second vial and held out his hand. “More,” I thought he said as bubbles burbled out of his mouth. An Atlantean handed him a third and he gulped that down as well.

“Go-glub-blub,” I said. This speaking thing might not be so easy.

“Ho ho, you will learn to speak underwater soon enough!” the Atlantean roared. How do you roar underwater? “We will now take you to our great emperor.”

Juggernaut and I were taken to a regal-looking chamber where a man sat brooding in a seashell throne.

“Spock?”

“Silence!” he replied. “I will not hear that joke again, do you hear me?”

“What?” Juggernaut asked.

“Choose your detour,” Namor answered impatiently.

“Well I—” I stepped forward to speak but Juggernaut quickly cupped his hand over my mouth.

“Maim! Maim!” he yelled. “I want to smash things!”

“Very well, you have chosen,” the Sub-Mariner nodded. “Tell me of your plan.”

“You get all of your troops together and you go up there and you smash ‘em!” Juggernaut punched his fist.

The undersea ruler looked at us for a moment. He arched his eyebrow.

“Is that your plan?” he replied.

“Er,” I thought quickly. Elbowing my way past Juggernaut, I continued. “Well, that’s part of the plan. The hypothetical plan. Like the, unh, mighty trident, this plan is three pronged.”

“Yeah, what she said,” Juggernaut added.

“I’m listening,” Namor nodded.

“Well, it’s a combined force concept,” I continued. “You bring in the troops right? What about the heavy artillery? You have to have some pretty mean undersea creatures just spoiling to hit the surface and start smashing buildings, don’t you?”

“Yes we do,” Namor answered. “The only problem is that many just don’t survive very well on land. They evolved to live deep beneath the sea and when they hit the surface they smash things up fairly well at the beginning, but then their hides begin to dry out and some nation with a bunch of missile launchers and tanks retaliate and either drive the creature back or destroy it outright.”

“Well that’s why we’re going to have to clone them,” I added. “What’s your most fearsome, most dangerous undersea creature?”

“That would be what you surface dwellers call the Cloverfield monster,” he replied.

“OK, I know a few people on Kamino,” I said. “They owe me a favor and would loan me a cloning machine. It won’t be easy to clone such a large creature, but we could do it.”

“Will cloning work?” Juggernaut asked. “I’ve heard stories.”

“Well sure, there are always going to be an odd clone in the mix here or there, but generally it’s a pretty sound technology,” I answered. “Clone Wars, anyone?”

“Was that the deal with Spider-Man?” Juggernaut asked.

“What? No, it was a war in another galaxy,” I answered.

“Another galaxy?” Namor’s eyebrow rose again. “That sounds far away.”

“It is,” I nodded. “Far, far away.”

“Very well,” the Sub-Mariner smiled. “I like this plan with my troops and the creatures. What is the third prong of this Trident assault?”

“Uh, the third prong,” I said. “Well, you are all creatures of the sea… you’ll work better if it’s wet out right?”

“Yes, this would be true” Namor nodded again.

“We can just totally steal the Weather Dominator,” I said. “The Joe team totally has it locked away after they confiscated it from Cobra. I’ll take one of the Joes out on a date and make him show it to me, then blamo! Pipe wrench to the noggin and free Weather Dominator.”

“Couldn’t I smash him?” Juggernaut asked.

“Sure why not.”

“And you can operate this device?” Namor asked.

“Sure, we’ll just need to get some special fuel for it,” I answered. “Let’s see… it’ll need some ionic radium, the Freon tank would have to be charged, and then add some heavy water.”

“Heavy water?” Namor’s pointed ears perked up.

“Yeah, it’s some kind of a water isotope.”

“You sure we’ll need it for that thing?” Juggernaut asked.

“Sure I’m sure. They use that stuff in all their crazy inventions. Got any?”

“We have none here.” The undersea ruler stroked his chin. “There is, however, a pool of it in the Deep Dark Trench of Doom. Perhaps you two could go procure some for me.”

“Wait, I thought this was a hypothetical invasion,” I said.

“Well it is, of course,” Namor responded incredulously. “We also use it to power the turbines in our heavy water power plant. Get me some heavy water and I'll give you a pass on your detour.”

“Yeah but I—”

“We’ll do it,” Juggernaut shoved me out of the way as he volunteered.

Shortly after that, I was driving the SHARC with my overgrown companion once again slung underneath towards the Deep Dark Trench of Doom.

“Remember, we have to be careful,” I cautioned. “The Sub-Mariner said that there are a lot of dangers within this trench.”

“Haw, bring ‘em,” Juggernaut guffawed. “I’ll take ‘em all on.”

“All right then.” The craft settled down at the lip of the trench. Juggernaut and I dropped down into it to look for the pool.

“What are these big tubes?” he asked.

“Giant tubeworms,” I said. “Don’t disturb them.”

“What kind of a plant is this?” he asked as he pointed the odd undersea vegetation.

“Deep sea poison cactus,” I answered. “Don’t touch.”

“What about this?”

“Deadly vampire sea sponge,” I replied. “Don’t touch anything. Anything, do you hear? This whole trench is one big ecosystem of death and we’re stuck right in the middle of it.”

“My kind of place,” he laughed. “Oh, there is just one other thing.”

“What?”

“I got something for you from my boss Magneto.” Without warning, Juggernaut punched me right in the back and sent me sailing into a tubeworm’s chitinous column. He followed up by pressing his whole body into me and his forearm into my neck.

“Guh--!” I gasped for breath.

“Too bad you gotta go,” he muttered with a smile. “You’re kind of pretty. You like your men big?”

“Get…. Bent…” I sputtered back.

“The way I see it, I’ll be doing everyone a favor.” His arm pushed into my windpipe. “They’re calling you the Mutant Massacrer, you know.”

“Not… my….”

“What?” he replied. “Not your fault? Not your fault that you destroyed all of your partners? Do you think this is just some kind of coincidence? I don’t think so.”

I started to black out when I felt the massive man haul me up and throw me across the trench. I landed with a soft thud near the cacti.

“You forgot about one thing,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“These!” I held up a bunch of starfish. “Deadly venomous sea stars!”

I threw sea star after sea star at Juggernaut like a space ninja throwing a bunch of space throwing stars. He held up his arm to protect his face and several struck his arm. The venom deadened the arm and it slumped, then more stars struck his face. He stumbled back and fell into a bottomless crevice.

“Nooooooo!” he yelled as he sank slowly towards the dark nothing.

“Nooooo!” I yelled and tried to grab him, but he was too far for me to reach.

“Tell my brother—” he began.

“What? You’re sorry? You love him?”

“Tell him to shove it, bitch!” he answered as he flipped me the middle finger with his good arm. “I never could stand that wussy gimp. Haw haw!”

Military Seduction

2008-10-16T05:53:00.000-07:00

I have a problem.
"And thats how I died and ended up in hell" concludes Lin.
"What are you still doing here?" I ask the red headed synthoid.
"Koma!" scolds Lin. "I just finished telling you how I ended up in Hell."
Okay make that 2 problems.

How am I going to find the room for all three of us in a single seater amphibious aircraft from GI Joe?
And how am I going to get rid of Lin?
There is enough time for me to make a solution, but there's no way Doom would let me have the parts for what I'm thinking of. If only I had something to cannibalize? Getting rid of Lin isn't easy she's got access to the teleport system and a huge arsenal of weaponry and.....hang on!

"Koma why are you looking at me like that.....?" asks Lin nervously.

20 minutes later Victor turns up and I've finished my solution to our feast of minimum occupancy.
"Hey! Where's robo-sex on legs?" grunts Victor.
"I'm here Victor." assures Lin's disembodied voice.
"Your a twisted little freak aren't you Koma." guesses Victor reaching the conclusion that I'm sure you've all jumped to.
"I don't care." I say turning Shrink-ray Lin on Victor.
- FIZZZZZUM -
"Your next Bob." I tell him. "Don't think Shrink!"
Of course your all expecting me to turn the ray on myself, HA!

"Resize me or I'll kill you Koma." screams Victor but he's only an inch high. I can't even hear him.
"I'm sorry I can't hear your little voices." I shout back. "Anyway at your current size you couldn't come close to killing me."
"When are you going to put me back together?" asks shrink ray Lin.
"Master controls active. Jeanie mode." I order.
"No!" complains Lin at first. "Your wish is my command master."
"Quiet." I order.

Arriving at the Atlantean Citidel I resize Victor and Bob leaving Lin to put herself back together.
"Hey you better take some oxy-gum, so you can all breathe underwater" offers some kid.
"Hang on why are you here?" I ask the human child.
"Oh there's this girl and we have a hot thing going on." he says. "There she is. I gotta go bye."
"Mermaids are hot!" utters Victors accurately.
The mermaid wasn't the only reason why the kid racked off, the gum tasted like midori and pinaple. Ugh!

We get to the palace and are introduced to he of the tight green underwear, Namor.
"A villain and his lackey." spits Namor. "Xavier's really whoring himself for this reality television."
He offers the two choices and guess what? They rhyme, and they're lame.

"Isn't there a wet t-shirt competition in the Olympics?" asks Victor.
"Yeah." I reply. "But its not an official competition. More of an exhibition sport."
"But that worked for beach volleyball." added Bob
"Sorry guys." I tell them. "I don't think wet t-shirts would work. The Chinese would always get done for using illegal enhancements."

Namor's best and brightest were gathered to hear my plans for dry-land domination.
"What has always stood in the way of Namor's plans to take over the air breathers?" I ask the gathered group.
"Captain America."
"Reed Richards."
"Doom."
"You're all wrong." I tell them. "Its Women. Namor is always beaten by the fact that he thinks first with his manhood.

Atlantean

Homo-sapien

even alien

If its got the right things in the right places Namor would sell you all out for her. How many times has he been undone by that blond tramp Sue Richards? You all know I'm right, this is the problem."
"I agree our Kings libido is only matched by his ego." begins the eldest one. "But what do you suggest to solve this? Obviously you do not demand castration. We require Namor to sire heirs."
"You would be risking death just suggesting so." adds another. "Why do you think he walks around in his underwear all the time? He wants everyone to know how large the royal member is."
They all begin arguing about Namor's gonads. One even suggested that Namor stuffed squids down his trunks.
"Whoa! Calm down guys." I call my hands in the air. "We can't change Namor and he'd definitely kill me if he knew castration was even mentioned. I suggest we fight fire with fire."
They all look at me the idea just dawning on them. I go for the hard sell.
"Are not Atlantean women sexy? Then why doesn't Namor chose one of your own? Its because men want something different and exotic. I say that your next attack be subversive and subtle. That you seduce the heads of government with your women in the same way Namor has been seduced. Mermaids, Sirens, Green skinned women. You have at your command an arsenal of lust that no air breathing man can resist. Domination is in your reach."
They cheer and offer me congratulations. Then the eldest quiets the others down.
"How do we begin laying the seeds for this plan to work?" asks the elder.
"Have you ever heard of the Internet?" I smile.

Yield: A Difficult Decision

2008-10-13T08:49:00.000-07:00

"I say we yield Koma," I announced to Cyclops in our hotel room as we planned for the next leg of the race. "I just don't like the guy."

Scott shook his head. "I was thinking Jan. She's been doing really well, and I think she's sleeping with Xavier." His jealousy was apparent.

"Jan would be a good choice, but I still say Koma."

"Or Gyrobo," Scott offered. "Nobody knows what he's talking about anyway."

"Yeah, I still say Koma."

"What about Nepharia?" Scott asked. "She kind of scares me."

"Everyone scares you," I replied. "Koma seems like a good choice."

"Nathan can fly," Scott explained, "he's tough competition."

"I'm leaning toward Koma."

We sat silently for a while. Then, Scott finally said, "Well, I suppose Koma might--"

"Great idea!"

We choose to yield Captain Koma and Victor Creed.

AMR4 - Week 5 Challenge

2008-10-12T18:10:00.000-07:00

Congratulations to Mr. Bennet who managed to finally squeak out a narrow victory. And let’s all have a moment of silence for Vegeta and Wolverine who came in last. Their valiant efforts shall certainly be missed.

It seems that once again, Jan the IA's mutant partner will be spending the upcoming week in the emergency room. A large sailing vessel dropped on Toad's head so Jan needs a new partner. To avoid these types of problems in the future, I have enlisted my step-brother to substitute for Jan's team. Jan, meet Juggernaut.

The teams will start this leg of the race at Castle Doom. Each team will be given a S.H.A.R.C. vehicle, generously lent to the Amazing Mutant Race by my good friend, General Clayton Abernathy. The S.H.A.R.C. is an amazingly adaptable transport device that functions as both a jet airplane and a submersible watercraft. The only real limitation of these ships is that they are designed for one person. It might be tight fit for the two man teams and the camera person.

Each team will fly their S.H.A.R.C. due Southwest, diving under water at the signal buoy, down to the lost city of Atlantis. Once there, make you will make your way to the central tower which serves as the port for Atlantis. There is an oxygen decompression chamber there for you to dock your ship in. Once inside, each team will be given vials of a liquid that if consumed will allow everyone to breath underwater for 24 hours. To be fair, I do not think this formula has been tested on alien Jedi. Keep your fingers crossed, Nepharia.

From there you will make your way to the throne room of Namor, the Sub-Mariner, located at the top of that tower. King Namor will give you the instructions for the Detour for this leg of the race.

A Detour presents a choice between two tasks, each with their own pros and cons. Once a task has been completed, the contestants must then race to the Pit Stop. In this Detour, the teams must choose between Maim and Game.

In Maim, each team will assist Namor’s war ministers in designing a fool proof invasion plan for conquering the surface world. Namor has declared war on the surface world several times in the past but has been beaten each time. Now he wants a plan that cannot fail. He assures me that he does not actually intend to invade the surface, this is merely a contingency plan. Namor will decide whether your plan is sufficient. If not, back to the drawing board.

In Game, each team will help make a long time desire of Namor’s come true. For many years he has petitioned the IOC, the International Olympic Committee, to include Atlantis in the Olympic games. Each time he has been refused. Namor does not take rejection well. He has decided to create his own Olympic games. In this task, the teams will create 3 athletic events of a uniquely Atlantian flavor for his underwater Olympics. Namor himself will decide if the games you create are worthy. If he finds them lacking, then the team must create new competitions.

Once the task you have chosen in complete, you will return to the throne room, the Pit Stop for this leg of the race. As always, the last team to arrive will be eliminated. Posts are due by Friday at midnight, your local time. And remember, as I often tell my students, no one likes a loser.

Finish Line, Round 4

2008-10-12T14:28:00.000-07:00

Let’s Get Critical

Vegeta: My brain needs bleach.

Jan: Wow, like Ground Hog Day, but not as good.

Koma: What happened with you again? Oh yeah, something with your sexy toy. It’s always nice to discover where you left those.

Gyrobo: Pirates and insurance fraud, what a delightful combination in a ‘nails down the blackboard’ sort of way.

Mr. Bennett: I like that you can multitask, but for that type of deal, perhaps a mightier soul should have been requested.

Nepharia: Has anyone ever told you that in a bike spandex outfit you look like Trent Reznor fron NIN?

Nathan: Excellent choice of soul to release. Not the best choice of bedmate, though.

The first person to the Pit Stop this week is Mr. Bennett. Which is good, you’ll need all the extra time you can get to breach Disney’s security system to get to the head. God’s speed on that task, my friend.

The last person to reach the Pit Stop is Vegeta. This is a race, time is precious, and you do loose a lot of it when you stop to shag an 18 year old version of your wife.

Cheers!
Simon

The Congressman Brings Back the Dead & Gets a Fat Lip

2008-10-11T19:57:00.000-07:00

After receiving our new instructions, I glanced to Emma and smiled nervously. I have to admit, I’m uncomfortable about this task. All the talk about Doom can’t be good. I’ve heard of him. He is obsessed with an ex-boyfriend. When I asked Emma about him, she rolled her eyes. “You’re thinking of Skeletor and HeMan. Dr. Doom is a whole different creature.... Although, I’m sure Dr. Doom has an ex-boyfriend roaming around somewhere. It seems like everyone has an ex-boyfriend these days.”

I’m glad she cleared that up. I think all my questions irritate her a little, which is unfortunate because I would really like to know what a Mephisto is. I wonder if it is like a manifesto....

Pulling me out of my reverie, Emma popped the back of my head. “Snap out of it. I’m piloting on this mission. You can flap the wings.”

I looked out the window at the wings. “Uh, How?”

She looked at me and made a hurmph noise. “Well isn’t it obvious? There is a huge platform right next to the console. You must stand on it. The platform will automatically sense your presence and use your body to direct the wing movements. All you have to do is lift one foot off the floor so the ship will raise into the air, and then you must flap your arms up and down.”

“OK, my pet…” Emma took a menacing step toward me. “I mean Ms. Emma. Ma’am.”

I ran to the platform quickly to avoid a beat down. At first, it didn’t work. The ship remained planted firmly to the ground. I thought I heard Emma laughing, but when I looked over my shoulder she was working on the control panel. She reassured me I was doing it properly, but since the equipment was old I should try jumping on one foot while flapping my arms."

I did as instructed while she pushed more buttons. Eventually we were gliding through the stars. I think Emma was really impressed with how hard I worked because every time she glanced at me, she would smile and duck her head away from me, shyly.

It didn't take us long to reach our destination. We didn’t take time to chat or eat lunch. Instead we jumped on our tandem bike and headed straight to Castle Doom. Emma, still wanting to be in charge jumped on the bike first. Oh… the view from the back was like dying and going to heaven. Hee, hee… Don’t tell her I said that. She can be touchy sometimes. Anyway, we didn’t encounter any obstacles on the way to the Castle. By the time we arrived, Doom was waiting for us. (I still say he looks like that Skeletor guy.)

With an evil sounding voice, he presented us with our detour options. "Dead or something else."

“Dead!” shouted Emma before I had a chance to consider.

Within seconds, we were transported to Hades or whatever you want to call it. Mephisto stepped forward, and asked us to state our business. Emma once again spoke up before I had the chance. Now I like a forceful woman, more than the next guy probably; but I do like to make a decision every now and then. I pulled her to the side and whined a little bit. Whining isn’t my normal thing; but it always works when my brother Pete uses it on me, so I gave it a try. Emma frowned at me and said that I could help her choose who to bring back from the dead. Then she gave me the list…. “Your choices are: Albert Einstein, Leonardo Divinci, or Confucious, each of these men were great thinkers, artists, and philosophers. The world will be a better place by bringing them back.”

Mephisto cleared his throat. “Don’t you think you have to clear this with me first?”

“Oh yeah.” I said, remembering we still had to negotiate. “I think we can work out a deal, Manifesto. We can trade you something…How about my Mother?”

Mephisto, at first angry about me getting his name wrong, began to laugh when I mentioned Mumzie. “I’m already getting her, but I tell you what, I notice you’ve been trying to change your ways lately. How about your soul? I could use a lecher like you around here, greatly entertaining.”

I stuttered, “Oh sorry, I’m turning over a new leaf. It’s too soon for me to give up on being good...Oh…I know…forget about the people Emma mentioned. Bring back my ex. She will bring you more souls without even trying. Her release will be your own reward.”

Emma grabbed my arm to shut me up, but it was too late. Anna was jumping up and down, and up and down, and up and down. She was so happy. I was about to walk over and let her thank me up close, but Emma pulled my arm again. When I turned to face her, all I saw were knuckles. The next thing I remember, I was laying on the floor of the throne room at castle doom.

In hindsight, I should have taken Emma’s jealousy into consideration before throwing out Anna’s name like that, but what can I say… I like to play to win.

Week 4: Doom and the Devil

2008-10-11T19:28:00.000-07:00

"There is no way both of us are going to fit into that little drop ship," I pointed at the drop ship and explained to the docking droid. It was the same one that had met us on our arrival to the space satellite on the last leg.

"I'm afraid there is simply no other drop ships available – you are the last ones the leave and we did not have any spares," the droid chirped cheerfully. I wanted cut out his innards and feed them to him.

"Nepharia," Havok began, seeing my temper getting the better of me, "let's make the best of it and just squeeze in – it won't take long to crash…er…land in Latveria."

"That's a real comforting thought," I answered skeptically. "You first – you're going to take up more room than me."

Havok slid carefully through the opening and disappeared. I heard some shuffling about before I saw his hand stick out the portal waving me in. "Ok, I think you'll just fit."

"Nice," I said. Taking a breath, I kneeled down and thrust one leg through the portal and caught a foothold on a small ledge then eased the rest of my body down and into the cramped space.

"OW!" Havok cried, "that's my knee!"

"Sorry," I said, continuing to lower into the cockpit, if it could be called that.

"You're pinching my arm!" he protested.

"Sorry," I said again as I sat myself down.

"@^$%#$%, your light sabers are on my…"

I attempted to reach back, but there was just no room to maneuver.

"They're on my belt under my tunic," I said, trying to adjust myself so he could reach them. "Just pull them off."

He started pulling my shirt off…

"No, dammit!" I yelled. "My light sabers, you moron!"

"Ah," he said, "right." He lifted up the back of my tunic and pulled the sabers from my belt and passed them over my shoulder to me. It was too cramped to keep them on my body, so I put one in each of my boots.

"Are we ready?" the docking droid said as he stood over us.

"Wait, how do we do this?" I asked.

"Oh, it's easy," he began. "I seal you in and then drop you out. The foot pedals and joy stick will position the flaps while you descend," he explained. "Follow the beacon to the landing site."

"Any advice?" I asked.

"I am sorry," he answered. "That is beyond the scope of my programming."

"Fine," I said.

"Have a good trip," he said, then slammed the hatch shut.

"Wait!" I yelled. Before I could say anything else, we were free falling out of the space station. Havok was screaming "wheeeeeeee!" in my ear like a teenager on a roller coaster ride.

One good force choke put an end to his noise. I then turned my attention to experimenting with the pedals and joy stick positions to see how the pod reacted. Not too bad; about as graceful as a rock.

I finally found the tracer signal for the landing strip on my scope and tried my best to guide the vessel (if it could be called that) in that direction. As we descended, I could see we were coming in way too fast.

"We're coming in way to fast!" Havok yelled.

"No sh** Sherlock!" I yelled back. The ship started shuddering, making a huge racket. Havok said something, but I couldn't hear what he said. The right pedal went clean to the floor as the corresponding flap was stripped away from the ship.

"Fracking hell!" I said.

Again Havok said something. This time I felt him reach around me with one arm. I thought, This is a hell of a time to get fresh. But a second later, we were being ejected from the ship – seat and all. The screaming noise of the ship died away beneath us and there was nothing left but the rush of the wind.

"The chute isn't deploying!" he yelled.

I reached back with my mind and manipulated the packing, releasing it from the cover. Looking up, I saw a lovely red, white, and black parachute deploy and catch the air over us, lowering us gently to the ground with a jarring thud.

Havok released me and I stood up from the single seat that had been in the ship. He unbuckled himself and also stood.

"We missed the landing strip," he said.

"Really?" I answered sarcastically. "Would you like to add anything else, Mr. Obvious?"

"Not right now," he answered. "But I'll let you know."

We hiked back to the landing field where a set of tandem bicycles sat waiting. Grabbing one, we got on board and made our way to Castle Doom: all up hill.

Huffing and puffing my way up the hill, I finally commented, "I thought you were some big, bad mutant – I'd have thought you had a little more muscle to carry more of your own weight up this hill."

"Oh," he began, "am I supposed to be pedaling too?"

I almost slapped him. In fact, I was ready to push him off the side of the road – bike and all. But rules are rules and I play by the rules whenever I can't get away with cheating. And I imagine someone would notice Havok was missing eventually.

Making it to the castle, we were met in the courtyard by Dr. Doom.

He stepped before us and greeted us with a bow. "Contestants," he said. "Do you choose the Dead or Red challenge on this leg?"

I didn't give Havok a choice this time. I called out "Dead," before he could answer.

Doom smiled slightly, and nodded his acknowledgement. "Please follow me," he said, leading the way to the depths of his castle where his Transference Chamber resided.

"You will visit Mephisto's realm and convince him to release a trapped soul of your choice," he said. "Then return here."

I nodded. Doom motioned us into the chamber and we complied. There was a flash of light, a clap of thunder, and some smoke, and we were off. It was like some cheap special affect from The Wizard of Oz. Had the scenery not changed, I'd have thought I was part of some cheap stage show.

"AHhhhhhh!" came a voice, smooth as honey. "Guests! To what do we owe this great honor, Lady Nepharia?"

At first I was startled that he knew my name, but this was Mephisto, after all: major demon of the underworld. He probably knew all about the living.

"You are correct, My Lady," he said, apparently knowing my thoughts.

This is going to be harder than I thought, I thought.

"I'm sure it will be," he answered, smiling pleasantly. "But please don't tell me you are here to bail out Dr. Doom's mother – I get so tired of that."

"Um, no," I answered. "Actually, I haven't decided who I would like to take back. There are so many quality souls to choose from."

Mephisto rubbed his chin and stared off. "So true, so true," he said. "We do have a list of souls to choose from if you would like to take at look at that."

"That would be great!" I said, excited at the prospect of seeing just who he had incarcerated in Hades.

"However," he qualified, "you will need to leave something of value to you here as a gesture of good faith."

"What did you have in mind?" I asked.

"How about your friend here?" Mephisto asked, gesturing at Havok.

I stifled a smile. "Are you ok with that?" I asked Havok, not really caring what he thought of it. Leaving him with the Lord of the Underworld would get him out of my hair and into Mephisto's, which might actually work to our advantage.

"Just be sure to come get me," he said. "I'd rather not be a permanent guest."

"Right," I answered as I walked to the hall of records where the names of the souls resided. The records were amazing – they didn't just include the names of the souls, but all their personal information as well. Captain America had been there several time, redeemed several times, and had a weakness for pink thong underwear. I laughed out loud.

The endless files were full of incredibly interesting information. I don't know how long I'd been reading them, when Mephisto interrupted.

"I'm sorry to bother you," he said, "but haven't you made a decision yet?"

"No not yet," I answered. "Although I have narrowed it down to a few choices."

"Do you know how much longer you will be?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder out the door.

"Not really," I said. "There quite a few more files I'd like to go through."

Mephisto stepped over to my table and sat down. "Tell you what," he began, "I'll let you take one now, and you can come back and take another when you've thought about it a little more. How does that sound?"

"Well," I began hesitantly, wondering why he would strike such a bargain. "I supposed that sounds great. What's the catch?"

"You have to take your friend and leave right now," he said, pointing at the door.

I stood up and walked out of the hall of records to Mephisto's main hall. It appeared that Havok had totally destroyed Mephisto's throne room – it sat in flames and ruin. I looked at Havok and he just shrugged.

"I would like to have….Dr. Doom's mother," I answered.

"Fine," he said as he conjured her up and handed her over. "Go now."

"C'mon Havok," I said, waving him over to us. I activated the signaling device to return us to our regular realm within Dr. Doom's castle. I passed his mom off to him and Havok and I headed as quickly as possible to the pit stop for this leg: his throne room.

Mission Four: When a Jedi Jedies

2008-10-11T09:55:00.001-07:00

"What's the rush, Scott?" I asked as he ran to the dropship parking lot. "We've got to wait thirty minutes."

"We didn't get yielded this time!" he hollered back to me.

I couldn't believe it. Somehow we escaped the yield.

"Why won't this thing fly?" I asked as we plummeted toward Earth in the metal hull assigned to us.

"It's not powered," Cyclops informed me. "Do you ever read the instructions?"

"This is a race! There's no time for instructions."

I managed to put together a small power generator out of some spare parts and tubes of astronaut food. It just needed one small, but essential, component.

I examined the crew and stowaways until I came across a fat man. "You there," I said to him, "you look like someone with heart problems. Do you have any nitroglycerin pills?"

"Uh, yeah, I do," he replied.

"Great! Give them to me."

"But what if I have a heart attack? I might need them," he complained. This is why nobody likes fat people: too much whining.

"Just fork over the pills, Fatty, or we all die."

"Yes, sir," he said handing me his medication.

The lights and engines powered on with a slight hum as I kicked on my generator.

"Wow," Cyclops commented, "your skills know no bounds."

"That is true," I responded modestly. "I happen to be very good at a lot of things. My superior knowle--"

BOOM!

We made it safely to the Latverian landing field. "Tandem bikes? Have the producers gone mad?"

A short tandem bike ride later, we arrived at Castle Doom and received the clue for the detour.

"Dead. That sounds fun," I said to Cyclops. "What do we do in that one?"

He read me the details.

"Bringing back spirits isn't what I had in mind. What's the other one?" I asked.

He explained the details of Red.

I responded, "Time traveling? No way! Once you start meddling with that, the plot never makes sense. Too many butterflies."

"I like butterflies," Cyclops added.

"Dead it is."

As we stood in the Transference Chamber awaiting our extra-dimensional trip, I turned to Cyclops and said, "Hey, Scott, go to Hell." I began laughing and suddenly we were inside Mephisto's bedroom.

"What are you doing here and why are you laughing at me?" the underworld overlord demanded.

"I'm not laughing at you," I offered, "I'm laughing with you." Then I noticed his Snoopy pajamas and added, "And your cute, little PJs."

We waited in his office while he changed. "Now," he said entering, "what is it you want?"

"We need you to release a spirit for us," I said.

"Which spirit did you have in mind?"

Cyclops and I glanced at each other. We didn't have a plan for this detour; we've just been winging it. I shrugged at Cyclops.

"Dick Cheney?" Cyclops suggested.

Mephisto rubbed his chin and replied, "He's not dead, plus he has no soul."

I offered, "Michael Jackson?"

"He's got soul," Mephisto said, "but he's not dead."

"I got it!" I announced. "Walt Disney?"

"I wish," Mephisto said. "He's not dead, nor is he alive. I've been waiting years for his soul, but he's being kept in a state between life and death somehow. I suspect this was that rat's doing. I don't trust vermin, do you?"

"Uh...we don't really know any," I replied.

"Darth Vader!" Cyclops shouted.

"Oh, that's a good one," I said. "How about it, Fisty?"

"That could be arranged. What's in it for me?" Mephisto asked.

It was time for some of my patented negotiating. "How about the soul of Walt Disney?"

Mephisto was hooked. I could tell he was thinking it over, so I added, "We'll thaw the Nazi out and ensure he dies completely. If we don't succeed, then you can have both of our souls."

"Oh, nos!" Cyclops cried. "I need my soul."

"Alright," Mephisto said and shook my hand. "You can have Anakin, but if I don't see Walt here with me by the time The Amazing Race 4 ends, then your souls are mine." He laughed semi-maniacally and retreated back into his bedroom chambers through a cloud of red smoke.

"Well, that was easy," I said turning to Cyclops. "So, how do we get back?"

Then, a Force Ghost approached us. "You the guys that released me?" it asked.

It was Anakin Skywalker in the flesh, sort of. In the Force flesh. "Hey," I greeted him, "we're both big fans of your work. But um, shouldn't you be older since, you know, you died in your forties or something?"

"Probably," he shrugged. "The Force works in mysterious ways."

"Can I touch you?" Cyclops said waving his hand through the ghostly Force ether. "Aw, guess not."

"So, now what guys?" Ghost Anakin asked.

"I don't know," I replied. "We just had to release you."

"Did my son send you? He needs help building the New Republic, huh? I knew he didn't have what it takes. Between you and me, all my confidence is in the girl. She's like her mother, that one. The boy....ugh, I just don't know about him. Have you seen him ride a Taun-Taun? He can barely stay on one of them. I don't see how he plans on rebuilding the Jedi Order."

"Actually," I said, "we're in a reality show. Releasing you was one of the challenges."

"Oh, so I'm not needed?"

"Nope. I think the era of Anakin Skywalker is pretty much over with."

"Oh," he said taking a seat. "I guess I'll just hang around here, then. Tell your sister you were right."

"See you later," I said.

Cyclops and I went back to Dr. Doom's Transference Chamber.

So, I just need to trade him a more desirable soul," Dr. Doom said handing us the Pit Stop clue. "I wonder if he'd be interested in Dr. Strange?"

The Pit Stop was nearby, in the throne room. Cyclops and I made our way there.

As we ran to the finish line, Cyclops asked, "So how are we going to kill Walt Disney so that Mephisto doesn't get our souls?"

"Oh, I don't know," I answered. "But, hey, it's no big deal. It's not like souls are real or anything."

And so we arrived at the Pit Stop.

Gold, Lots of Gold

2008-10-10T11:50:00.000-07:00

“Doom, Doom, Doctor Doom. Picks his teeth with an old straw broom,” that rake of a robot sang.

Curdling, I removed all ill thoughts, focusing only on the bicycle pedals. I hadn’t ridden a tandem foot-peddler since the Depression. But with this clownish companion, every day was a veritable cloud of depression.

His oafish facade belied a quite erratic nature. Verily, it was as dealing with fire: a dangerous servant and fearful master.

“You’re short.”

And he could be hurtful.

“Pardon?”

“I said, are you sure this is the way to Doom’s castle? I’d hate to end up at a different castle. If I thought for a second we were heading to the wrong castle,” he shook the handlebars. The bicycle lurched, almost hitting a birch tree. “I might make a mistake.”

“Like how you crashed our dropship?”

I’ve lived through dozens of wars, but the sight of those tarmac workers fleeing, engulfed by flame… a fearful master, a dangerous servant.

“Your parachute worked, didn’t it?” He gloated, picking another chunk of gravel from the base of his skull. “I mean, my parachute turned out to be a knapsack with an umbrella in it.”

“It was the knapsack you brought aboard!”

“Never mind that now,” he grabbed my arm. So cold. “¡Estamos aquí!”

Castle Doom rose from the dark and discolored soil, lo! a blackened blemish on the face of the Earth. The looming mountains seemed to slope around it, bowing deferentially for the obscene obelisk.

A hideous man clad in green and silver met us at the gate. I reasoned him a mute, as he lead us silently through the cavernous hallways. But that didn’t stop the robot from making musical conversation:

“They call me Alaskan Gus,
I’m the king of the Klondike rush.
When I sift my gold pan everyone sees
Gold, lots of gold,
Gold, lots of gold,
Gold, lots of gold.

Yes sir, I’m Alaskan Gus,
I’m the knife in the gold vein gush.
When I smack my pick-axe, rocks start to drop
Gold, lots of gold,
Gold, lots of gold,
Gold, lots of gold…”

I was, honestly, very happy to provide the refrain.

“So, you must be the legendary Dr. Doom,” I smiled. Doom bowed reverently while hobbling along. He must have heard of our exploits.

We finally reached a large dining hall. The table was narrow, but long enough to easily seat fifty people. Dishes from every brick in the food pyramid created an unbelievable aroma, and I’d have given anything to take a single bite before what was sure to be a difficult task.

But the robot said it was all cursed.

Two staircases waited at the end of the table. One spiraled down into a pit, where a dull orange light gave the black metal an insect-like quality. The other staircase ran upwards, to a platform mind-numbingly suspended in midair. The second stair was more glassy, and it looked like it wouldn’t support any weight at all.

“This one has a choice for you,” Doom boomed. He gribbed the shady stair. “Either you descend into the abyss and reclaim a soul from the reaper,” softening, he moved to the translucent case, “or journey through time and space to plunder from pirates. Choose.”

I’m not into the whole metaphysical scene. So when he said something about pirate treasure, that just lit up on my radar. “How about it?” I asked Gyrobo. “Pirates?”

“Grinning like a madman, the two of us raced to the top step,” he yelled, making good on his word.

The platform was much bigger close up. Below, Doom was barely visible, the table virtually the spitting image of a coin’s edge. A panel on the staircase had a timer and recall unit strapped to it. In the center of the platform was a circle of sand, probably deep: the machine was designed to transport a spherical volume of matter through space and time. Part of the ground would move with us.

“Keep you arms and legs inside the boundary lines,” I jokingly muttered as the timer counted down. Seven. Six. Five…

“Don’t worry,” he assured me, pointing to a pouch clipped to his belt. “Nothing can stop us with this,” he winked awkwardly.

*bzzzzzzzt!*

***

“…We’re singing it right,
Not an ounce of Py-rite!”

Ouch. I tried to move. It felt like one of my ribs had turned to broken glass. “Ow…”

“Ah, look who it be— wakey wakey, matey!”

A gloved hand set me on my feet by the scruff of my cuff. “Where are we?”

Aside from my companion, the beach was deserted.

“Short term memory loss. A pity, but what can I expect from one of you people? We’re on a small island off Tunisia. The year is 1504.” He pulled a sword on me! “Now, give me Redbeard’s treasure, or I’ll run ya through!”

I froze for a moment. Not sensing movement, he turned his attention to a seashell while I went off to scope the island. Situations involving pirates are mostly dangerous, but when time travel is involved…

All kinds of paradoxes can happen. We might run afoul of a rampaging Megaladapis— a now-extinct giant lemur that swung from trees and ate human flesh. Or maybe Redbeard could get his hands on some loose nukes.

Either way, I’d keelhaul myself for missing the warning signs.

After twenty minutes shuffling through the foliage, I stumbled upon a most ghastly summit: a chest overflowing with Greek coins and Arabic jewelery, and half a dozen scalawags clad in mock leather and bandannas digging a pit for it. Hippies. Above them a one-eyed, level 50 Piratelord with a menacing cutlass and trappings worthy of Gilbert and Sullivan — the original Barbarossa in the flesh — Redbeard.

“Not hippies. Buccaneers,” Gyrobo whispered, correcting my very thoughts. “Also, I followed you, you betcha!”

We sat, listening to those sea dogs argue. Redbeard was in the thick of things, dominating the conversation with his wry Turkish wit.

“You want to hire a doctor for your teeth?!” He fizzed at a pirate trying hard not to get dirt on his yellow vest. “Give me yon shovel, I shall cure your ache!”

That cracked them up, to which the pirate replied: “Fellows! Take it one or twenty generations, all will receive dental care!”

I pondered how to get the treasure. “We’ll follow them back to the shore, and then when they’re a safe distance from the island—”

“Too slow!”

“In theory, we have infinite time…”

He unclipped the pouch from his belt, opened it wide and reached inside. Whatever he pulled out he swallowed quickly.

Just as quickly, the fool ran from the trees… right up to the pirates.

“Ladies and gents!”

Great! Now I would have to figure out a rescue plan…

“Arrrrrr! What harlequin trickery is this?!” Redbeard blasted, jabbing an angry index finger at what was surely the first robot clown he’d ever seen. His crew jumped to attention, drawing their scabbards and stabbers, their scabbed sabers and staff-swords.

Then they put all those away and pulled out their newfangled guns, because the image of pirates using swords is just an image perpetrated by the media and popular culture. In the same way that gangsters and wild west outlaws and assassins have been lionized, pirates are nothing more than common criminals, albeit ones that often had government backing via Letters of Marque. And there’s nothing romantic or nostalgic about crime.

“Who are ye?!”

“Alaskan Gus. They call me the king of the Klondike rush, I believe. I’m here to buy that treasure from you,” Gyrobo purred. The pirates stood down. “For my lord, Davy Crockett.”

“I’ve not heard of ‘Davy Crockett.’ From where does he hail?” Redbeard inquired.

While that tinpot tyrant tested the tinkertoy traveler, I twisted the trees, snicker-snacking my vorpal blade until I was at the pirates’ backs.

“Why, he’s the buck-skinned buccaneer, he is! Born on a mountaintop in Tennessee, the greenest state in the land of the free, raised in the woods so’s he knew every tree, he killed him a bear when he was only three! The king of the wild frontier. Davy Crockett.”

Puzzled, the pirates surrounded him. “Where is this ‘Freeland?’ Is Tennessee in the Orient?”

“You don’t know where Tennessee is?!” my… friend… asked, shocked. “You’ve never heard of Tennessee, birthplace of Alvin York? Alvin York, who took out an entire German machine gun regiment? You’ve never heard of the Volunteer State?”

“It must be in the New World,” one of the lackeys lauded.

“Tell us about this Captain Crockett,” Redbeard pressed. Gyrobo sputtered, clearly not having a full story prepared.

“This is starting to get tedious. How about I put a Sony Walkman on you and play Van Halen until you think I’m an alien and obey me?”

Growling uffishly, the salty dogs again drew their weapons.

“I’ve got the treasure!” I blurted hastily, bungling my toe on a sharp rock in a mad sprint to the pit. Grabbing a brass handle, I hoisted the chest before me like a shield and barreled through the pirates like a tank.

Then I tripped. The treasure spilled out onto the sand and the clasps holding the container together snapped apart.

“Noooooo! Now I’ll have to count it all again!” Barbarossa wept. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder cuts across all social cleavages. “KILL THEM! WITH WEAPONRY!”

The treasure was gone, and I couldn’t handle a crew of armed pirates. Sweating like a pig, I fingered the recall trigger and ran for Gyrobo.

“You’ll never take us alive, coppers!” he shouted, pointing a bright red water pistol at the burly marauders.

A sphere of superheated plasma rose around us as round after round of musket balls ripped through the robot’s head.

***

The transition back was a little easier, but the emotional shock made it worse. Gyrobo slumped down beside me, his head turned to Swiss cheese by hundreds of pellets.

I flipped him over and checked his neck: the on/off switch was clearly in the “off” position.

For a minute it was all I could do to hold myself still.

Holding him over my shoulders as though the body was a sacred relic, we solemnly made our way down the stairs. Somehow they looked a lot stronger this time around, and less lustery.

Doctor Doom waited for me in the candlelight. He shook his head. After all that… nothing.

The Doctor rose to lead me out. We may have butted heads once or twice, but it was now my responsibility to see that Gyrobo got the magma burial he spoke of in our travels.

“Do you… do you hear that?” Doctor Doom froze, craning his neck toward the dark staircase. The orange glow had gotten brighter, and we could hear voices below.

As soon as we peered over the banister, there was a loud humming noise, and a great slate-gray object shot through the helix up into the air!

I was knocked flat on my back, and — heavens! — Gyrobo’s body landed face-down in some kind of tomato paste. He would have enjoyed that, but it was all too traumatic for me.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” I gnashed, picking myself up and directing all my inner rage at the object as it rose before me. “You- oh my God!”

“Yes, I am.”

My jaw dropped. I looked at Gyrobo, his face buried in sauce, his pants slowly falling down. And then I looked at— “Gyrobo?”

Unbelievable.

“Yup,” he whisked, swishing slime from his skin. I did another double take. The two were identical except—

“You’re naked.” I rubbed my forehead. “What… what’re those doing there? And what is that?!”

“Those were expensive, but I won that one. And this was a gift.” He pulled the clothes off his own corpse, handing me that curious pouch off his belt.

I poured the contents into my hand. “Green mushrooms? What…?”

“1-Ups!” He spit in my hand. This went unexplained. “Just hold one in your mouth when you die, so’s you can take it with you. Mephisto loves these things!”

Doom scribbled studiously on a blue notebook. This was good stuff.

Grabbing the nude corpse, I threw it at him. Cranial and hydraulic fluid dribbled all over both of us. “I thought you were dead!”

“Ouí. I was, but my clever thinking saved our challenge. Behold!” He held up his arms. “A rescued soul!”

“Put on your pants.” He hesitantly obeyed. I sat down.

“So, now we go to the throne room…?”

“Why did we fight pirates if you could do that at any point?!”

He smiled, lighting a comically large cigar. “It had to look like an accident. I’ve got an obscenely high-priced life insurance policy, and I’m my only beneficiary. They thought they were ripping me off, but when I show up with this body…”

It boggles the mind! “I’m not sure I like the moral, you know, being involved in reincarnation-assisted insurance fraud.”

“Bah!” he spat at the body that once housed his soul. “He’d have done the same to me!”

Highway to hell

2008-10-09T20:32:00.000-07:00

Up on the stage was Jimmy Hendrix, Kurt Cobain and Bon Scott doing the most kick ass version of Stairway to Heaven. The song choice was quite ironic, cause we were in Hell. As the final power chords were ground into existence by Hendrix, Bon Scott delivers the final lines in a wail that a banshee would be proud of.
The crowd applauds. Screams and wails echo in the cavernous room.
"Hang on." says Bon to the audience and they stop cheering. "Can I smell the land of the living in here?"
"That better not be that Orpheus cat again." snaps Hendrix. "You know I can't stand his lyre."
"If thats Ossama tell him to f#$% off." mumbles Cobain. "He can't hide here no more."
"Nope its not some lovesick Greek." says Bon. "Its Captain Koma! Everyone give it up for another bad boy from Oz." The crowd applauds and a spotlight falls on Victor and I. I wave acknowledging the crowd.
"Koma don't be shy. Get on up here." encourages the legend of Oz rock. The crowd joins in urging us to join Bon on stage. We get on stage and the applause is thunderous.
"Hey its Sabertooth." screams a demon in the front row. "I was the guy who tempted you into killing your parents."
"Thanks" replies Victor.
Bon raises his hand and the audience goes quiet.
"So what are two evil guys like yourselves doing here before your time?" asks Bon.
"Well it started on the Starcore space station...." I begin and quite suddenly everything goes wobbly.
"Hey whats going on?" grumps Victor.
"Don't worry mate, its just a flashback it happens in hell when you tell your life story." explains Bon.

I continued and the flashback took its full effect.
Xavier told us we had to take a dropship to Latveria.
- Doom - the crowd whispers in hushed tones.
Yeah Doom comes in later, I tell them. The dropship only had one parachute and Victor being the survivor claimed it for himself.

- Greed, Selfishness, Pride - cheers the crowd.

When the dropships parachutes didn't open Victor got all scared cause he didn't listen to Xavier tell us that the dropship glides. He was too busy drooling on The White Queen.

- Lusssst - hisses the crowd.

So Sabertooth panics and decides to leap to safety.
- Fear - they all yell in unison.
"Hey I wasn't scared. I just didn't want to die." protests Victor.

- Liar, Liar, Liar - The crowd chants.

Of course the dropships wings emerge and the landing procedure begins. Meanwhile Victor tries to open the parachute which doesn't work. Never trust Iraqi surplus.
"I never did." pipes up Saddam. "All my parachutes were made in Germany."
The dropships destination was one of the lakes in Latveria. The dropship landed skimming over the water to a graceful end. Victor landed somewhere in the forest surrounding the lake.
"Schaudenfruede" chimed Hitler.
Then there was the eco-friendly bike ride to Dooms castle. Of course Victor wasn't in any condition to ride so I deputised Bob our cameraman and we tied Victor to the bike. Then there was our meeting with....

- DOOM! - yells the crowd.

Your a wonderful audience. There were two challenges. One was to go steal from Red Beard.
"Arrrrr! So thats how me treasure was stolen" curses Red beard the Pirate.
The second was to convince Mephisto to let someone go.
- Booooo! Hissss! - cries the crowd in anger.
The flashback retreats its wobbly lines fading away to nothing.
"The boss don't like it when someone gets to leave here." mentions Bon. "He can be quite a nasty bastard when he wants to be."
"Yes I can." booms a voice. The crowd parts and entering is the Prince of Lies himself.
"So the metallic mummy's boy thinks he can send someone to get his mother out." gloats the fallen angel.
I was just about to reply when suddenly.
"Austin your here to save me." cries Lin.
"Isn't that the sex-bot you made?" asks Victor. "She's hot."
"You gave her thoughts and emotions. Add a sinful life and thats the price of admission here." sighs the evil one.
Lin continues through the crowd and makes her way onto the stage.
"I told you all that my Koma would come and save me." screams Lin excitedly.
The crowd boos and geers.
"Quiet!" commands Mephisto. The crowd instantly goes silent. "You want to take someone from here, take her." Offers Mephisto. "Being a synthetic being means she doesn't really count. Also it will make Doom go crazy."

I agree and instantly the three of us are transported back to Dooms castle.

"What!" exclaims Doom.
"Is that who I think it is?" asks Xavier.

"It sure is Chuckles." chirps Lin. "This synthetic girls back in black."

Jan the Intergalactic Aviator: Going Back in Time

2008-10-08T20:03:00.000-07:00

“I knew you’d kill us! I knew you’d kill Toad!” he screamed.

“Hang on,” I gritted my teeth. “Hang on.”

“We can’t stop him!” Toad wailed. “You are mutant killer!”

“We’re outgunned, but we’re not outclassed,” I said. “Get that cannon loaded, I’ll get this ship turned towards---”

I didn’t finish my sentence. There was a bright flash as we were strafed again. I felt the heat and searing pain, the concussion of the blast, the smell of burning flesh – my burning flesh, and the deafening sound of the explosion. Then nothing.

* * *

“Revenge,” I heard him growl under his breath.

“What did you say?” I leaned towards him.

“Toad will have his revenge for what you did to Toad’s master,” he replied more assertively.

I blew out a long breath and fought for my composure. Gotta keep it together with my new partner, right?

“It wasn’t my fault,” I started to say. Screw it. I can’t get on the defensive here. Toad’s a toady right? That’s where he got his name, so I’ll have to use that to my advantage.

Toad looked at me a little frog-eyed but didn’t say anything. He did grit his teeth a little though.

“Toad, I like you.” I put my arm around the long-tongued mutant.

“You like Toad?”

“Well sure,” I shrugged. “I mean I got nothing against you, you know. In fact, I have a special job that I think only you can handle.”

“Me?” Toad asked quietly.

I leaned close. “I need someone to check the landing struts on this dropship,” I said quietly. “I have to do the preflight checklist and I need someone I can depend on to check the undercarriage.”

“I’ll do it!” he swung his arm with eager enthusiasm.

* * *

“I knew you’d kill us! I knew you’d kill Toad!” he screamed.

“Hang on,” I gritted my teeth. “Hang on.”

“We can’t stop him!” Toad wailed. “You are mutant killer!”

“We’re outgunned, but we’re not outclassed.” The words “dead duck” came to mind, but we still had a chance. “Get that cannon loaded, I’ll get this ship turned towards---”

I didn’t finish my sentence. There was a bright flash as we were strafed again. I felt the heat and searing pain, the concussion of the blast, the smell of burning flesh – my burning flesh, and the deafening sound of the explosion. Then nothing.

* * *

“We’re going to die!” Toad screamed. “You are the Mutant Massacrer! Those New Mutants were calling you the Mutant Massacrer and that’s what you are!”

“I am not,” I said as I gripped the controls of the dropship. “Massacrer isn’t even a word!”

“Should I see fire on the wing?” he suddenly asked very quietly as he peered out the cockpit window.

“No,” I shook my head while fighting the controls. “We have no power. What could be on fire?”

“Maybe the Professor did this to get rid of me!” Toad screamed. “He always hated the Brotherhood of Mutants.”

“Aren’t you the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants?” I asked.

“Whatever.”

“Well he’s not mad at me, why would he want to kill me?” I asked. “Unless he’s mad that I wouldn’t let him grab my ass. Would he want to kill me for that?”

“Xavier’s an ass grabber?” Toad snapped his fingers. “I knew it!”

“This crate feels like I’m trying to steer an elephantous through Ganarvian quicksand.” I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my brow. “Hang on, this is gonna be rough.”

* * *

“I knew you’d kill us! I knew you’d kill Toad!” Toad screamed.

“Hang on,” I gritted my teeth. “Hang on.”

“We can’t stop him!” Toad wailed. “You are mutant killer!”

“We’re outgunned, but we’re not outclassed.” Maybe I could push this thing into the wind and move away from the laser fire. “Get that cannon loaded, I’ll get this ship turned towards---”

The ship flew over us again, strafing us with its laser cannon. I felt the explosions ring around me, then nothing. Almost nothing… an odd feeling carried through this nothingness.

* * *

“Well, any landing you can walk away from, huh?” I said as I squinted at the twisted wreckage that was once our dropship. “That leap you made from that thing… that was amazing… I honestly didn’t think you could do it. Thanks for saving my life.”

“No,” Toad shook his head. “You saved Toad’s life. We’re even.”

“Even,” I nodded, and then stuck my hand out for him to shake. “Partner.”

“Partner?” He looked at my hand, then grabbed and pumped it. Ew slimy. “Parnter.”

OK, confession time, I got Toad figured out. He’s a toady right? All he needs is a little respect. He and I are best friends now because I gave him a job to do before we left and then gave him a candy bar. Oh yeah, plus I let him save my life. Let him. Yeah that’s the ticket.

* * *

“I knew you’d kill us! I knew you’d kill Toad!” Toad screamed.

“Hang on,” I gritted my teeth. “Hang on.”

“We can’t stop him!” Toad wailed. “You are mutant killer!”

“We’re outgunned, but we’re not outclassed.” Fracking galleon. We’re just sitting in the water. “Get that cannon loaded, I’ll get this ship turned towards---”

The ship flew over us again, strafing us with its laser cannon. I felt the explosions ring around me, then nothing.

* * *

Redbeard had his pistol leveled at me and his cutlass point right in Toad’s throat.

“You’ll not be taking me booty today,” he growled.

“You got us,” I conceeded with my hands in the air. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“Arr, there may be one thing,” he leered at me, looking me up and down. “To save yer scurvy life.”

“Oh wait, there is one other thing,” I answered. “Have you met my partner’s tongue?”

“His wot?”

Suddenly, the slimy thing shot out of Toad’s mouth, wrapped around the pirate’s near arm and pulled him off balance. I took the opportunity to chop the pistol out of his hand, then quickly followed that up with a spinning heal kick. Toad finished Redbeard off by leaping high into the air and landing right on top of his chest, driving all of the air out of the pirate’s lungs.

“Good job, partner,” I said.

“Goodth thob, partner,” Toad grinned and repeated with his tongue still halfway wrapped around the pirate’s arm.

“The treasure is on his ship.” I pointed to the galleon. “Doom’s time machine is just on the next island over. With a good wind, we’ll be there in an hour.”

“Let’th go!” Toad hopped up and down.

“Not so fast,” came an unusual but unmistakable voice from the trees.

“Frack.”

“Frack is right,” the grinning ghoul replied as he stepped out from his concealment with a wicked looking laser pistol pointing the way. “I’ve come a long way to kill you, Jan, and I’m going to enjoy this. Oh I’m going to enjoy this immensely!”

“Who are you?” Toad asked.

“Captain ‘Black’ Jack Blackheart,” I muttered. “One of my worst enemies who’s remained completely unmentioned until just now and one of the galaxy’s worst mistakes.”

“Worst mistake?” he grinned. “Oh come now, Jan. I am many things. A thief, a space pirate, an occasional mercenary. But I am certainly not a mistake. Go ahead and ask my pod mom, there was no mistake when she husked me in the birthing chamber.”

“I would ask her, except you killed her,” I replied.

“Oh yes, there was that,” he laughed. “In any case, I’ve travelled this whole distance across time and space just to kill you, might as well get it over with, eh?”

“Blackheart the blackguard, Blackheart the blackguard,” Toady sang.

“Shut up,” Blackheart growled as he cocked his laser pistol.

* * *

“I knew you’d kill us! I knew you’d kill Toad!” Toad screamed.

“Hang on,” I gritted my teeth. “Hang on.”

“We can’t stop him!” Toad wailed. “You are mutant killer!”

“We’re outgunned, but we’re not outclassed.” I’m in an ancient pirate ship going against a Blastnav 32 Ion gunboat. Yeah, I’m up shart creek. We’re just sitting in the water. “Get that cannon loaded, I’ll get this ship turned towards---”

Energy beams pounded the wooden deck of the galleon. Explosions rang all around. Then suddenly I felt nothing. Wait. Not nothing, more like…

Déjà vu.

* * *

“I can’t believe we got away from Blackheart like that,” I said as we sailed towards the island containing Doom’s time machine. “That was a one in a million shot there.”

“Toad sees the island!” he hopped up and down. “We’re almost there.”

“Oh oh,” I said as I looked back and saw a Blastnav gunboat pop up from the trees where we just left Blackheart. “Trouble.”

“What?” Toad looked and his eyes bulged out of his head. “No no, we can’t fight that!”

“We’re almost there, maybe we can make it.”

“No maybe,” the mutant screamed as the ship shot towards us. “No maybe. He’s going to kill us!”

“We’re close,” I said. “The cannon. Get to the cannon.”

“You want to shoot that thing with an old cannon?” he wailed. “We’re doomed as doomed can be you know!”

This ship roared overhead as blaster bolts splashed the water around us and slapped the starboard hull. Ungh, so close.

“I knew you’d kill us! I knew you’d kill Toad!” Toad screamed.

“Hang on,” I gritted my teeth. If I could turn this just as he fired, maybe he’d miss. “Hang on.”

“We can’t stop him!” Toad wailed. “You are mutant killer!”

“We’re outgunned, but we’re not outclassed.” This wooden boat floating here was no match, but I’m not going to give up. Wait, has this happened before? “Get that cannon loaded, I’ll get this ship turned towards---”

Energy beams pounded the wooden deck of the galleon. Explosions rang all around. Then suddenly I felt nothing.

* * *

“I knew you’d kill us! I knew you’d kill Toad!” Toad screamed.

“Hang on,” I gritted my teeth. “Hang on.”

“We can’t stop him!” Toad wailed. “You are mutant killer!”

“We’re outgunned, but we’re not outclassed.” Wait a minute. Wait the frelling minute. I know that this has happened before. It’s like a time loop.

Explosions. Nothing.

* * *

“I knew you’d kill us! I knew you’d kill Toad!” Toad screamed.

“Hang on,” I gritted my teeth. “Hang on.”

“We can’t stop him!” Toad wailed. “You are mutant killer!”

“We’re outgunned, but we’re not outclassed.” The time loop. The fracking time loop! I quickly grabbed my comm and called up Blackheart. “Blackheart, what the frell?”

His ship roared overhead as laser fire slapped the water. I could hear his laughter.

“I’m a little busy,” he replied over the radio. You know, busy trying to kill you. Maybe you could call back later.”

“Dammit, Jack,” I yelled into the mic. “We’re in a time loop. Your time machine and my time machine crossed streams. We’re stuck in a loop!”

“Well at least I get to blow you up a lot,” he replied giddily. “It’s not so bad for me.”

His ship roared past us again. He wagged the wings back and forth just to jab the tiger a little.

“Is that goram cannon loaded yet or not?” I yelled at Toad.

“Yulp, yeah,” he replied. “It’s for shooting other ships though. We can’t elevate it.”

“Get ready to light the fuse!” I yelled. Then I keyed the mic. “Look Jack, maybe we haven’t had the best relationship in the past…”

“You tried to shoot me into a black hole,” he answered.

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “Sorry. Look, I want to make it up to you. If you swing past again without blowing us up, I’ve got something to show you.”

“Really?” he replied smugly. “Well, I guess I can blow you up at my leisure, eh? Might as well see what you got then, right?”

“Right,” I said as I started to undo the top of my flight suit.

Blackheart pulled his gunboat to a hover and slid to a stop across the water, just thirty or so yards from us. I quickly pulled my top open and showed him my bra. Yeah, I know not my brightest moment, but it was a nice little black lacy number that I got from Fredrick’s of Hathrox III.

“Well that sure is nice!” Blackheart giggled. “Got any more?”

“Not likely,” I replied. “Toad, now!”

Toad quickly propped the cannon up aimed right at the gunboat and light the fuse. Gunpowder ignited and with an ear splitting boom, the cannonball sailed out and smashed right into its fuselage.

“Nooooooo!” Blackheart yelled as his ship slammed into the water.

“Yes.” I punched the air happy with success.

Back at Latveria, Toad and I dropped the treasure chest at Doom’s feet.

“There,” I growled. “There’s the treasure. Happy?”

Dr. Doom looked down at the wooden chest then looked back at me.

“Yes,” he answered. “Yes, Doom is happy.”

I stormed over to Xavier. “Look. Toad’s fine. Look at that. Amazing isn’t it?”

“Quite,” he exhaled from his wheelchair.

“In fact, he’s better than fine, he’s great. We’re actually a really good team and I’m happy that I have him. He’s happy too, just look at him over there. He’s just standing there as proud as a fracking peacockhawk of what we accomplished. Look at him.”

Professor Xavier looked over at the long-tongued mutant who was gleefully standing and waving. Suddenly, Redbeard’s pirate ship dropped out of the sky and crashed right on top of Toad.

“…………………………ow…”

I looked back at Xavier who was sitting there with his mouth hung open. “Well… That was unexpected…”

The adventures of Long Claw Logan, and the angry space monkey

2008-10-08T17:20:00.000-07:00

Vegeta

I can't believe I am here using my powers to fix the hole the shuttle punched through the hull. I think Xavier is using his mental powers on me because normally I would toss these egg head scientists out of the air lock for suggesting such a thing.

I growl at the thought. But I finish using my energy blast as a welding torch. Just in time to hear the new challenge go to Doom's Castle then get the detour there. The Staff lead me down a long claustrophobia inducing corridor.

They show me this glistening egg shaped ship with these gossamer wings. The Rodent was already there waiting. “Took ya long enough bub." We jump in I press the start button, and of course nothing... sigh.

“Now should we ask for another ship?" Logan snorts.

I think for a second. “Hmmm. No this is a race we need to get to Doom's Castle fast hold on." I sense out Doom's life energy. I hop out of the ship... “Logan strap your self in this is going to get rough."

I pick up, and then toss the ship towards Doom's ki. I put up my own energy field and fly behind the vessel. For a second I stare at the azure planet below us, and wonder how many of my problems would just go away if I blew it up.

Meh I couldn't get submarine sandwiches if I did that. I'm protected by my Ki shield from the effects of reentry. Can't say the same for Logan as ship is smoking and, on fire luckily it still goes into the direction I threw it until something catches it and makes it go to this hill.

Turns out there was a beacon the ships followed automatically now we had to ride one of those stupid double bikes. All the way up the foot path to Doom’s castle people laughed at us. I blasted at them not hitting them but warning them to back off. “Ya know bub if ya actually paddled this'd go be over a lot faster ." Wolverine grunts.

I do as he asks making the bike go at about 90 MPH. The chain breaks and the tires bust, the two of us along with the bike slam through Castle Doom's fences, and the outer wall into the throne room.

“Surprise!" I announce as I fly through the hole I broke into the wall. This place is dark and drab, old style medieval castle which makes the computers, and robots running around look very out of place.

The Tin plated tyrant Dr. Doom glares at me then later Logan busts out from the rubble of the wall. “Why can't you do anything without destruction? Doom shouts. “You fool Doom will make you pay for this insult."

I smirk “You’re just angry that I foiled your last world domination plot. Well that and, I do not speak in third person."

“Doom will honor his contract with the Mutant Xavier, and let you choose your challenge but as soon as you’re finished I want you out of my sight!"

I laugh "fine... not as if I actually like being around you all that much. Bring on the challenges."

He points over to a screen that shows a place I know all to well flames, demons torments, New Jersey... no wait that's Hell, well that's almost as bad.

“You can go through Doom's Transference Chamber and free souls from Hell."
Doom yells. I look in and behold my in-laws in there. I'd rather not have them back in my life.

"And the other challenge?" I ask.

“Wait a second..." Logan starts up before I punch him.

“You can go to the year 1504, in a search of pirate treasure." Doom says.

“We’ll take that one."

I drag the Rodent onto this platform with what looks like a giant floor tile in the center. “Are you sure this is a time machine?" I query before the floor tile swallows us and the next minute the cool Eastern European mountain air is replaced with sand, surf, and tropical sun.

I look down , and find my Saiyan Armor has been replaced with pirate garb.As well as Logan's X-man costume.

Doom's voice comes over this radio in my pocket wow it can receive through time? “Remember when you're ready to return. You can press the button on this receiver. Please do try to not cause too much damage to the time stream."

I was about to have a smart remark when I smell a familiar scent.... no way. Perhaps I am delusional from being around smelly Logan for so long. I sense her ki too... Hmmm Maybe I can get rid of a little of this frustration and perform this challenge while I'm at it or let the Rodent do all the work. I fly towards the ki.

Idiot Logan runs after me like a lost dog. Not that it matters I find what I'm looking for her... and younger. With a child version of Kakarot, and Krillian.

She looks at me “Ooooh a hot Pirate he like has his teeth and everything. Bulma jumps on me, and feels my arms " Oooh those muscles." Wow she's a lot more forward than when I first met her.

“Jeeze Bulma do ya have to jump every guy with a pulse?" The Cue Ball complains.

The Mini Clown yells “Hey! I'm Son Goku! We're on a time travel adventure looking for Dragon balls!"

"I know who you are Kakarot."

" What's a Kakarot?" the kid clown whines.

I grind my teeth. “So um...." How did those damn pirates talk again? "Arr how old ye be wench?"

"Eighteen." She giggles. Perfect.

“Logan ... Why don't you do whatever it was we were supposed to do here. I'd like to show this young lady some um hidden treasure."

Wolverine

You have to be flamin' kiddin' me. The space monkey left me wit' two freaks so he can go screw up his own flamin' history, literally. Great Veg head just great. The kid “Carrot" or whatever the hell his name is looks up at me “Can we help you whatever your doing?"

I sniff at their bags their bags and box no treasure just cookies. “No Kiddo, one Saiyan is enough. And I don't think whatever your noseless friend is will be of much help either."

Ya know this could be a good thing Vegeta is pretty much a walkin' nuke. He would just blow up the island and find the treasure. Me I head over the local Tavern. It's pretty much what ya'd think it'd be. Watered down rum that'll give ya dysentery. Scum O' the Earth. All gettin' drunk and braggin' way too much. I sit patiently in the in the corner amidst the clouds O' tobacco smoke, and the rowdy partyin' no one notices the ol' Canuckle Head.

It did cross my mind to chat up one O' the ladies. But one might be my great grandmother. Unlike what those drugged out Sci- Fi authors write, I'm pretty sure ya can't be yer own grandpa.

Finally a pirate goes outside ta “drain the lizard” I follow him out.

I sneak up behind him in an alley and grab him after he finishes his business. “Sorry matey we only do that kind of thing on the ship."

I punch him in the guts. “I heard enough flamin' gay jokes fer several life times bub. But ya don't have the kinda jewels I'm after ya might be able to help me find 'em along wit' some dabloons and pieces O' eight."

“You want treasure? You're stealing from pirates?" he's gasps.

“Bingo!" I smile.

“Red Beard will kill you!" He threatens.

“Tell 'im to get in line now go!"

We walk fer I guess it would be about a mile. I keep the flintlock that came wit' this get up to his head. Finally he points at the ground. “There’s what you seek stranger.”

“Well then start ta diggin'" I order.

“I don't have a shovel!" He whines.

“Ya got hands!" I snort.

“Why do I have to dig?" He whines.

“I have the gun." I point out.

When he finally digs out the treasure, after a couple O' hours. I'm bushwhacked seems someone actually misses this idiot. They club me in the back O' the head wit a stick O' some sort. I turn an' count five. I tackle 'em many O' have scurvy and aren't that great A fighters.

That wasn’t the worst O' my worries all o' the sudden cannon fire comes at me from one a ship sailing towards the island. So I decide ta do the one thing they'd never expect.

I run towards the ship, usin' my mutant muscles I jump off the shore onto the deck. They’re all shocked at my leapin’ ability. “Canadians can jump." I quip as I knock out the last of the teeth O' the cannon guy.

I'm swarmed by pirates when they shot, and stabbed me it takes everything I have not to go bezerk, and kill the lot O' em. I knock them all a way and run towards the Captain.

“You want to die my hand huh Mongrel? Well Red Beard will send you to your watery grave!"

I pull out the sword “Yeah Yeah." Our blades clash and mine breaks like it was made O' glass. I look down at the handle “Made in Taiwan? Damn yer cheapness Doom!"

Okay I been tryin' not to do this but it looks I ain't got a choice. I feel the familar pain in my wrists and the "Snikt!" sound. I cut through Red Beards sword like ribbons.

“A demon!" Red Beard yells.

Hmmm this could work. “Yes I'm a demon! Now get outta my way!"

That was a mistake as one O' the sea dogs got to the cannon and fired it right at me the force O' the ball knocks me through that air, and into a store room. I'm bleedin' all over the place.

I lay down tryin' to catch my breathe until my mutant healin' factor kicks in. After I'm knitted up I look around fer somethin ta use looks like the privateers really do think I'm a demon especially after I got up from a cannon bal blast.

I grab some tobacco this is the good stuff, and I'm makin' some cigarettes later. Some bottles of rum, I tear off the sleeves O' my shirt, and make some Molotov cocktails Outta the rum. I take out my lighter, and set the cloth on fire.

I then toss em' out lettin' them set fire to the deck, I also grab a barrel full O' spices. I charge out, bustin' the barrel open in the faces O' waitn' pirates.

While they're coughin' the powder up I run up to a rope and swing off the ship, during the swing I cut the mast down wit' my claws, knocking the sails down onto any charging pirates.

As I let go o' the rope I yell " Yoikes and away!" Wait a second that's Robin Hood not a pirate. Aw never mind. On the beach I grab the treasure, and am about to activate the signal ta get back to my time.

Red Beard Emerges from the foamy sea. I look over to the ship that’s now ablaze. The rest O’ the buccaneers are jumpin’ off as well. “Who are you?"

"Names Logan bub." I was about to press the signal to get back to the present when I remembered Vegeta has it damn I start sprintin, after while it ain't just pirates chasin' me but priests too yellin' they were gonna exorcise me. Where did they come from? No way am I gettin' exorcised last time was bad enough. " VEGETA! Ya damn Space Monkey get us outta here!"

A blast knocks them all back but doesn't kill them. “I see you just had to get into trouble eh Rodent?" He’s floating above the scene with a creepy looking satisfied look on his face.

“Shaddup an' get us outta here!" I yell.

He presses the button and we’re back in Castle Doom, we race to the throne room.

“There I got the booty" I drop the treasure proudly.

"So did I." Vegeta smirks, I roll my eyes.

Doom was staring at a history book “Want to explain who Long Claw Logan is Wolverine?"

Oops.

Yield

2008-10-07T06:39:00.000-07:00

Who to Yield, who to Yield. Hmmm.

Well, I’m tempted to give the Yield to the Glasses guy, but he’s just sitting there in the corner looking like a whipped puppy. Poor thing, you’d think someone who works in the high pressure world of paper and paper products sales could handle it. Maybe he’s not all he’s cracked up to be. Emphasis on “cracked up.”

I could give the Yield to Gyrobo, but he’s just so cute. He’s like a cute little puppy who thinks he’s people. Except he’s a robot clown.

Which is cute in its own way. Its own odd strange twisted way.

I would Yield Vegeta and Wolverine, but the techs on this space station begged me not to. It seems that it’s shedding season for Team Smelly and hair is gumming up the air purification filters. They want those two off the deck as fast as possible.

I could give the Yield to Captain Koma, but why beat someone when he’s down? He’s got so many issues that this might just put him over the edge if you know what I mean.

So, I still have to decide who to Yield.

Nepharia, I’m going to have to go with you. There’s only room for one woman to win this race and bitch, it’s not going to be you.

AMR4 - Week 4 Challenge

2008-10-06T15:04:00.000-07:00

Simon has spoken. Henchman has been eliminated. Now there are only seven teams left for this . . the Amazing Mutant Race 4!

Congratulations to the winner of last week’s leg - Jan the Intergalactic Aviator. As the winner, she gets to choose another team to Yield. The Yielded team must delay their start by half an hour.

In addition to winning last week's leg of the Race, Jan also lost another teammate. Surprise, surprise. I was going to impose a start penalty on her for putting another partner in the infirmary, but apparently a lot of people still perceive Magneto as a terrorist. The letters that the producers of the Race have received overwhelmingly express gratitude for any suffering Magneto experiences, therefore she will be spared. This time. Jan does need a new partner though. I was going to assign her my most indestructible mutant, Colossus, but there was another that has pestered me incessantly about playing. Just to get him out of my hair, so to speak, I am giving her Toad. Just FYI, he keeps muttering “revenge” under his breath.

The teams start this leg of the race on the Starcore space station. Each team will be assigned a dropship which they will steer towards the star craft landing field just outside of Doomstadt in Latveria. A tracer signal will be beamed from the port for you to home in on. Due to budgetary constraints, your ships will not be powered. The bodies are lightweight and the wings do have flaps so you should be able to use the ships as gliders. If that doesn’t work, there are functioning parachutes onboard. I’m assuming their functioning. They are confiscated Iraqi surplus.

At the landing field, each team will be given, in the spirit of keeping the Race green, tandem bicycles. You will peddle to Castle Doom. In the throne room, Dr. Doom will give you your Detour for this leg of the Race.

A Detour presents a choice between two tasks, each with their own pros and cons. Once a task has been completed, the contestants must then race to the Pit Stop. In this Detour, the teams must choose between Dead and Red.

In Dead, the teams will enter the Transference Chamber in Doom's castle. Doom has devoted much of his life to attempting to rescue the spirit of his mother from the realm of Mephisto. In this challenge, each team will be sent to Hell to convince Mephisto to release a spirit of their own choosing. Mephisto has quite the collection of souls, so choose wisely. Doom will be studying your technique of negotiation with Mephisto so that he might try to use it to try and free his own mother.

In Red, each team will use Doom’s time travel machine to journey back to the year 1504 to the Western Meditteranian Island of Djerba where Redbeard the pirate had his main base. Once there, the teams must locate and secure one of the several hidden treasure hoards of Spanish gold that Redbeard had hidden around the island. When successful, the team can activate the signaling device that will trigger the time machine to return them to Castle Doom.

Once back in Castle Doom, the teams will then make their way back to the throne room, the Pit Stop for this leg of the Race. As always, the last team to arrive will be eliminated. Posts are due by Saturday midnight, your local time. And remember, as I always tell my students, no one likes a loser.

Finish 3

2008-10-05T20:39:00.000-07:00

Well, this week proved hard to pick both a winner and a loser, much competition for both slots. I feel like ripping off another show in announcing my pick, so lets do this like they do on Dancing with the Stars.

The first two to get to the finish line this week were, in no particular order,

*spotlight*

Jan, Intergalactic Gladiator, lesser known sister of Jon!

Nathan Petelli, Congressman and most likely part of the current financial crisis!

In the middle we have Nephria, who did a very solid job of letting her partner perform all the work, she was close behind the leaders. Also impressing the crowds with his travel ability was Mr. Bennett.

The last two to reach the finish are

*red spotlight*

Vegeta, who was very light on details

Henchman, who apparently woke up in the wrong show

Gyrobo, you are back to confusing me and loosing me on your tangents, but you did manage to find your way to the end. Captain Koma, dude apparently looks like a lady, and you just managed to limp to the finish ahead of the others. Just.

So who made to the finish first, the one who will be victorious?

It is the black widow of mutant partners herself, Jan!

So who was last over the line? Who will now have a lot of free time on his hands?

That would Henchman.

Cheers!
Simon

Nepharia and Havok -- Leg 3

2008-10-03T21:13:00.000-07:00

Just how we got to Ice Station Zebra is a mystery to me. I must have really tied one on the night before – it would explain the headache.

Stepping out of my heated room and into the icy cold outside, Havok was already there.

"Oh, you're finally awake," he said.

"Yeah," I answered wearily, "I'm not sure I really want to be."

"Xavier came by and told us where our bunker is," he explained.

"Oh?"

"Don't you remember?" he asked.

"Hmmm, must have slipped my mind," I answered as I massaged my throbbing temples.

He shook his head and grunted. "Must be some of the after affects of the alien ship radiation," he said. "Let's go, I'll fill you in on the details while we walk."

True to form, Havok gave me all the details. Every. Last. One. Even some that I don't think were in the original instructions. But I didn't care at that point.

I got into the bunker and began working. This was actually something I knew a little bit about. I was becoming more effective at blocking out Havok's obnoxious chatter. He had become little more than one of the background noises one learns to ignore and I found my center once again as I worked.

It didn't take long to get the rocket assembled and filled with the liquid oxygen before climbing on board and lifting off to the Starcore satellite.

The trip to the space satellite took only about five minutes, but an exciting five minutes it was: I had never flown in an oxygen-fueled craft before. The fact that I was essentially using something extremely volatile and deliberately setting fire to it to escape the gravitational pull of the Earth was not a comforting thought.

When the engines died down -- spent of the last of their fuel -- we were drifting in space, and within view of the satellite.

"Oh, can I use the maneuvering jets to dock with the satellite?!" Havok asked excitedly.

"Yeah," I answered, "but remember: we will probably have to use some of that fuel to clear the satellite before falling back to Earth, so be careful how much fuel you use."

He grinned madly and took the controls. Why don't I ever trust my better judgment?

After a few spins around the satellite, and nearly out of what little fuel we had to begin with, we….well….I wouldn't call it docked with – more like bumped into the satellite. At least we didn't breach the hull like other contestants. No one admitted to it at the time. We'll see if anyone puts it in their blog entry.

We were greeted by docking droid who logged our time of arrival.

"What detour would you prefer," the droid asked in that monotone voice. "Talk or walk?"

Once again, I looked at Havok to get his input.

"Um," he began, "uh…..talk?" he said slowly.

"For once, I believe you might be on to something," I answered. "Finally something you might be good at."

He grinned, pleased.

The droid directed us to the shuttle bay, where we found our shuttle. On board we found translators that would probably come in handy when dealing with the aliens. It felt good to be traveling in space once again. It's a pity it couldn't go very fast – it was like pedaling a bicycle through space.

After some time, we made it to the pre-arranged meeting place and landed in the shuttle bay on board the alien mother ship. The ship was not big by Republic / Empire standards, but I wasn't sure if this was their largest ship, either.

"To meet you, nice it is," an alien greeted us in our own language as we stepped off our shuttle. Hmmm, s/he must be close with Yoda, I thought.

We made some brief greetings and were escorted to a room. There were many other aliens there to meet with us. They seemed to be as curious about us, as Havok was about them – I don't think he'd actually met any real aliens before.

Requirements of introductions and offers of food and drink were made.

Finally, sitting down and getting to business, what appeared to be the head alien addressed us. He spoke, and we had to wait for the translator before we could form our answer.

"Why have your people disturbed the resting place of our ship and her dead?" came the tinny translation voice.

"Havok," I turned to him, "Can you explain why we were there and what SHIELD was doing?"

And like magic, Havok's gift to talk endlessly, without pausing, was engaged.

I immediately tuned him out and went into meditation. I have no idea how long I meditated, or exactly what was said. All I know is that I sensed a change in the environment and opened my eyes. One of the aliens was addressing us both – again we had to wait for the translation.

"We have concluded that your coming upon our ship was purely accidental and with no malicious intent, as your species does not appear to be smart enough to purposely go looking for something of that magnitude," he began, gesturing to Havok. "However, we would appreciate having the ship and our comrades being returned to us so they may be interred on our home planet."

"I do not think the authorities would have difficulty with that request," I answered.

There were a few more pleasantries exchanged, along with some fair wells, before we were escorted back to our shuttle in the landing bay.

"Let's not dawdle, Havok," I said, hustling him onto the bridge. "You talked long enough, now it's time we get as close to light speed as we can get this thing to make it back to Starcore command center."

A meeting of minds.

2008-10-03T21:06:00.000-07:00

Ladies and Gents,

I have good news and bad.

The Good; Deadpool has stopped his LOLspeak.The Bad; He is even more annoying.

This week we as a whole have to head to Ice Station Zebra. There at the station each of us will find a work bunker fully equipped to assemble a rocket which will then be used to take the players to the Starcore space satellite.

Great, Chuck wants me to build a Rocket with Deadpool(aka Captain ADD.)

Fine.

Every moment with my mutant partner is like being the only person, not in a drugged out funhouse.

"I wanna a red rocket with black stripes ana smile face." He hollers in my ear.

"Moron, we aren't even near the work bunker, it's five a clock in the morning. Get to sleep." I shout back.

The next day, I am tired and crabby. Deadpool is fine. In fact he skips all the way to the bunker.

"I'll tell you why, I'm hating..." I say as I am about to toss this nutbag into the frozen tundra. forget it. Lets just get to work.

To get Deadpool out of my hair, I tell him Ironman will make him a Avenger, if he gets me six gallons of black paint.

A few hours later, he comes back and I am almost done.

Now, that is hot.

Upon arriving at Starcore, I make the choice of doing the talk challenge. Maybe dealing with intelligent life will keep me from killing Deadpool. we have to pick a species out of a hat.

We draw.

Lrrr is the ruler of Omicron Persei 8.

Henchman: "Hello, I am Henchman 432 of Earth."

Lrrr: "I am Lrrr, ruler of the planet Omicron Persei 8."

Henchman: "Thank you for meeting with us your Majesty."

Lrrr: "No, I'm just, some guy; RULER OF PLANET OMNICRON PERSEI 8!"

Henchman: "I just want you to know, I will do anything in my power to smooth this mess out."

Lrrr: "If Henchman wishes to be taken seriously why does he not simply tear Deadpool's head off?"

Henchman: "I would love to. However, I might lose this game if I do. Would you like some jerk chicken?"

Lrrr: "Mmm, this jerked chicken is good. I think I'll have Henchman's lower horn jerked."

Henchman: "What?"

Deadpool: "It's used to it. Woooo!"

What the Hell?

Henchman: "Dude, I want to help you out,but, you are not eating my lower horn."

Lrrr: "This human's lower horn is one of God's creatures. A living thing. And all living things, large and small..."

Deadpool: "In this case, small. Woooo!"

Camera Girl: "Well, Henchy, it looks like you get to hold on to your lower horn."

Deadpool: "As usual. Woooo!"

Henchman: "That's it, everyone, except Lrrr out."

I have a one on one with Lrrr. We work things out.

He leaves me with one more comment.

Lrrr:"This concept of 'wuv' confuses and infuriates us!"

I wipe my brow and head the group to Pit stop.

Dental for All.

Raptor Jesus rules.

A Tale of Two Hans

2008-10-03T20:32:00.000-07:00

“…an Ice-Cream Man from the future named Cyan. He tried to make a new flavor named after him, cyan-ide, but it didn’t catch on…” Puck reached for another slab of metal plating. For a man of his years, he certainly had his share of interesting stories.

Good thing I didn’t have to listen to any of them.

“I found another deadly, deadly, deadly flaw in the H₂ intake valve,” Friedrich choked from the cockpit.

It was good to see him interacting with actual people again. Back in my days as a captain of industry Hans Friedrich had been a successful debugger (my Chief debugger, in fact!), toiling until doomsday to perfect a myriad of infeasible products.

Then he contracted Toxic Umbrella Shock Syndrome two and a half years ago. It’s easily contagious and ravenous if you’re one of the 2% of the population that’s susceptible. The doctors said he would never be able to feed or clothe himself again.

Now he’s field-testing a rocket.

“How’s the submarine?” I laid a box of donuts on the launch console. Half were cinnamon, half were glazed, and the rest were munchkins.

“That makes…” Friedrich penned another preachy passage onto his palmtop, pressed print and preened pridefully. “478 defects discovered daily due to my distinguished diligence.”

I perused the printout patiently. “Nice,” I agreed. He smiled — but it wouldn’t last. “Nice nonsense, you nattering nabob of neurotic negativism!”

Chuckling churlishly, I chucked the whole enchilada into the furnace. Friedrich gaped as it burned to cinders.

“WHY…?!”

I clasped my hands over his. I normally wouldn’t, but I was wearing ten pairs of gloves so I wouldn’t touch his clammy paws, completely by accident. “You aren’t well, Hans. That report was a fevered daydream. You’re seeing gremlins in the axles, Hans.”

“But you were the one who recommended him,” Puck trotted over. Gosh, he looked like a little piglet in those goggles. “You said he was ‘better than the best.’”

Time to downplay my involvement.

“Did I?” I sighed. “Maybe he was. The Hans I knew, he could strip-search a borehole in under ten seconds. But this report,” I held up a pile of ashes, “is proof positive. Flaws? In my design? Preposterous! Blasphemous!”

Snapping a cigar alight, Puck started tuning up the gasoline lines while I fiddled. Literally, on a fiddle.

“No— it’s not— you can’t use the rocket!” the poor fool whined as I duct-taped the final bolt down.

“Now Hans,” I said, my attention clearly diverted to the bunker’s trio of vending machines, “the doctors told you that stress could trigger a relapse.”

He covered his ears as Puck drilled a hole through the main reactor. Speed holes. They make nuclear reactions happen more frequently.

“No— ahh! My pills— urrr!” Hans doubled over in pain, clutching his chest. His rib cage contracted and expanded in rapid cycles, stretching the skin like pulpy burlap.

Symptom 1: skeletal parasoling!

Slipping on my helmet — engraved with an ambiguously ominous quote from Wernher von Braun — I initiated the launch sequence. Smoke filled the evacuation chamber, the pod bay sealed around the shuttle, and Puck momentarily broke out in song. “We will return, hailed as heroes by the press and citizenry alike!”

The silence was deftly defeated by the deafening roar of my grand engines.

“P-p-prattling parrots of p-positivism…” was all Hans Friedrich could mutter before his neck elongated to four times its natural length with a disheartening crack!

***

The Starcore satellite was a lot more spartan that one would expect. No potted plants nor perky paintings were prominent on the plaited walls. And the people done talked funny.

“I have a gift for communication,” I lied to some guy claiming to be an intelligent form of life. “I once sold an icebox to an Eskimo. It was in south Florida, and I’m not sure if he was really an Eskimo, but the icebox didn’t work anyway.”

The station commander went back to his roster. Jerk.

“Eugene here,” buzzed my communicator. Holy Hulk! When did I have that installed?! And why wasn’t I told?! “I’ve got our week’s assignments. We can… we’re going to analyze some black goo—”

“No. I don’t want to do that. What’s the other one?”

Puck frowned. I mean, I didn’t see him frown, since it wasn’t a visual medium, but his brow tends to slope. “We would be involved in some tense negotiations with unknown aliens.”

“A stranger is just a friend we haven’t met yet,” I beamed, openly flirting with a nearby candy machine. A bag of M&M’s fell from its coil. Huzzah!

“The talks are about those radioactive rocks should have investigated last week instead of sitting down with that arctic dictator.”

“Would I get diplomatic immunity if I talked turkey with the Space-Hun?”

“…”

“Would I get diplomatic immunity if I talked turkey with the Space-Hun?”

“The aliens want to know why we’ve disturbed their spacecraft at the north pole. Our only goal is to avoid war.”

“That’s a good plan. Grab your hat and scuttle to the shuttle. I’ll call my butler to get Hans Cuttler for the scuttlebutt on these polar proders.”

“Didn’t Hans Cuttler just die?”

“Hans Friedrich, yes, Hans Cuttler, no. Keep up. Cuttler is the best.” I scratched my nose. “Scratch that! He’s better than the best. I swear on your life! He’ll guide us through this terse situation with the wisdom and dignity of an elder statesman.”

***

“If the alien thing, or whatever, if it gets smart with ya, just say, you know, ‘do it or I’ll [censored] my [censored] up your [censored] and spin you like a plate.’”

“Oh God.” Puck covered his face with one hand while slowly banging the other one on the shuttle wall.

Three hours into our precious mission, Hans Cuttler was giving me all kinds of excellent advice; all thoughts of proper fork placement had been replaced in my mind with a slew of insults and obscene gestures. Being a certifiable genius, Cuttler’s columnar/electrical/diplomantic talents were sought worldwide. But Earth was parsecs behind us, fading from view and memory.

“Show me how to grit my teeth the Cuttler way.”

Contorting his face for a second, Hans furrowed his forehead, flexing his features in a fit of fortitude. He made it look so simple, but years of work went into that consternation.

“How many diplomats did you say you worked with?” Puck asked, had asked before, and would ask again. Someone should answer him. Someone. Me.

“He prepped Lou Tintarello for the Tintarello-Tuscadillo debates of 1980. The winner became head of the National Board of Landfill Ecology.”

“They said it was like watching Lincoln argue over [censored] landfills,” Cuttler added with his trademark grace and tact. The world doesn’t deserve such a skilled diplomancer.

Our RF receiver flashed! Outside the tinted windshield a hung a craft of unknown origin. It was cylindrical and barely visible against the void. The first transmission was inbound!

Feed reels spun, dials jumped, and the massive supercomputer at the heart of our funky spaceship clacked away, racing to piece together the alien language bombarding it. One word appeared on the output screen, then two… then they were taken away as the sentence syntax was reanalyzed. The same message was run thousands of times through a lexical parser, then a cryptographic transmogrifier, then written backwards, and finally translated from French for some reason.

Puck ran his finger over the monitor. “The aliens say… they want to know why we’ve disturbed their ships.”

“They can [censored] their [censored] to the bank!” Cuttler blurted.

“Can we… respond?” I asked in a haltingly Kirk-esque style.

“I’m texting them a response along the lines of, ‘your ships contained material harmful to our ecosystem.’” Puck rasped, grappling his conscience to disobey me.

“Puck! I haven’t given the order yet… to respond! Is this… mutiny?”

“No.”

“Aw, [censored]! He’s lettin’ the Space-Hun walk all over ya! Grab the little [censored]!”

I held up a hand. “Nay, comrade! For Puck and I share a bond forged in the wastes of Canada — he could no more turn on me than a dog could ride an elephant. If Eugene says that he can commune peaca- pea- peaceably with these gentle giants, then sir, I grant him the chance! Q’pla!”

“I’m dealin’ with Tweedle-Dip and Tweedle-[censored] over here. C’mon! Aliens! ALIENS!”

“The aliens responded,” Puck whispered. “They say… the ship that crashed was a waste disposal barge and they thank us for disposing of it.”

Rage! I shook with rage! “After all Lou Tintarello did to deal with America’s garbage crisis as head of the National Board of Landfill Ecology…! They have the gall to exacerbate our landfill overcrowding…?!”

“They got caught exacerbating,” Cuttler agreed.

Puck continued. “They want to thank us by—”

“Don’t even bother,” I muttered. While Puck was distracted with his precious book-readin’, I opened a terminal window on my own console.

My neurons as fired up as I was, it was barely an effort to tell off those Roswell ruffians. Cuttler was with me in spirit, but physically frozen as I typed faster than the speed of light. By the time I hit “send” the labels were worn off most of the keys. Hah! After my brutal rant, the Space-Hun would never even think of attacking the Earth! I am soooo smart and handsome. And I constantly smell like freshly baked goods.

As if by magic, the vessel vanished from our vision and sensor grid.

“—rewarding us with an exchange of technology. Apparently, they don’t maintain contact with belligerent species… hey, the ship’s gone!”

“Good [censored] riddance.”

“Yeah, they’re gone forever. We can go back to the command center now. We certainly don’t want anything to do with these aliens.”

Grunting like an idiot, Puck persisted. “But we still don’t know anything about them. They could be the biggest threat mankind has ever faced. They could be giant, giant, sea anemones! We need to find out if they’re friendly!”

“Puck,” I grinned with my hand already on the controls, “with anemones like that, who needs friends?”

Congressman Petrelli Saves the Earth from Aliens

2008-10-03T13:44:00.000-07:00

My Fellow Competitors:

After studiously writing down the instructions for our current task, I turned to Emma to find out if she had ever assembled a rocket. The question hung in the air unanswered because my lovely and voluptuous partner was no where to be found. I walked the corridors, breaking into rooms hoping to find her. As I came to the end of one especially long corridor, I heard the dreaded sound of someone under attack. Fearing it may be my precious and beautiful Emma, I burst through the door ready to attack. The sight that befell my eyes will haunt me for the rest of my life. For standing in the middle of the room, yes I did say standing, was Hot Wheels, and…and…sob… Well, naturally, it was an awkward situation, so I tried to make him less embarrassed by saying, “I think I just threw up in my mouth.”

Hot Wheels seemed strangely perturbed. “Get out of here you idiot before I call Number one.”

“Number one?” I asked. “You’re going to pee on me, and why aren’t you in your wheel chair? Have you been faking it hoping for sympathy from the chicks? That’s low, even for you.”

Hot Wheels growled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My name is Captain Jean Lu…”

“Hey, say no more. I’ve been known to do a little role play in my time, and I can see your friend is getting a little anxious so I’ll let you two get back to whatever it is you were doing.”

With a knowing wink at his unusual lady friend, I turned and left. It was time to find my lovely Emma.

I searched through the entire station until I found her in a work bunker. When she saw me, she threw a wrench at me. I was easily able to side step it. It turns out she had been working on the assembly of the rocket all along.

“You’re zero help Petrelli.” She said angrily. “I’ve just put the finishing touches on our rocket and we’re clear to go!”

“Oh, don’t be angry. I was looking for you, my sweet.”

She crossed the room with lightening speed and grabbed my nether regions. “If you call me your anything again, I’ll freeze these off for you. You got that, Junior Senator?”

I nodded yes, but I have to be honest with you guys. I think that now…since she has examined my goods, she’ll be able to think of nothing else. Oh yeah….

Emma poked me in my chest. “Stop smiling. I don’t like it.”

Naturally, I stopped smiling and followed her onto the rocket. As soon as we had clearance, we were on our way. When we reached the Starcore space satellite, I urged Emma to let me choose the Talk task. Negotiation is what I do best. She didn’t seem to like the idea but figured I was less likely to get us killed in a peace negotiation so she agreed.

It was kind of touch-and-go at first. They were asking all the hard questions…such as: “Why were you humans touching our ships? Why are you always trying to spy in outer space? Why do you allow programming such as this, continue to rule your airwaves? I mean seriously, how many seasons before it gets too old?” I fielded every question with suave sophistication, making promises that they wouldn’t realize were lies for another forty years. I was really quite impressive. Finally, they agreed to maintain peace and not attack the earth, but only one condition…The deal had to be sealed by marriage. I looked at Emma out of the corner of my eye. She was shaking her head no. The head of the alien commission noticed our exchange and said, “You misunderstand. I need a husband for my daughter.”

Thinking quickly, I assured him marriage wouldn’t be a problem. “Of course, I’m already seriously involved with someone else, but I do know another man who would be perfect. He’s a company man and he understands about taking one for the team…not that marrying your daughter would in any way be a hardship…”

“Shut up while you’re ahead.” Emma whispered.

“Well here is his picture.” I said as I passed him the photo. “He may be working on another task write now. I’m not sure which detour he took; but either way, I’m sure we can get him to the church on time.”

As we walked away, Emma said, “Isn’t Bennet married?”

“Yes, he’s married but to help out the earth he would work around it. If I’m wrong…Well if I’m wrong, then my Mother gave birth to some secret love child that I don’t know about.”

Emma just shook her head…”Hey Emma, why don’t we grab a bite to ea….”

“Don’t ask me to eat with you. I don’t like it.”

…so, dear competitors, that’s how I saved the earth from alien invasion. I’m such a hero.

Mission Three: An Attempt to Ketchup

2008-10-03T12:34:00.001-07:00

Yielded again! "This is your fault," I looked at Scott.

He just frowned and replied, "I know."

After the 30 minute penalty was over, the two of us began building our rocket ship.

"Hand me a crescent wrench," I commanded.

Scott handed me a hammer.

"Get me a miter saw," I ordered.

Scott handed me a tube of superglue.

"Now, I need adjustable joint pliers," I said.

Scott handed me a super battle droid.

It was difficult work, but I managed to put together a rocket that would get us to the Starcore space satellite.

Before boarding, I said my goodbyes to Captain Koma's family.

Those poor Australian rednecks.

Soon, Cyclops, the battle droid and I were at the Starcore space satellite and I read the detour outloud. "A detour presents a yadda, yadda yadda....Talk or Walk."

Scott suggested we take Walk. "It would be great exercise," he commented. "Walking does wonders for the glutes."

So I chose Talk. Being a paper salesman, I was sure a little space diplomacy would be easy enough, and if anything were to go wrong, I'm also skilled in aggressive negotiations.

The three of us met with the representative of Zatox.

"Hello, dum-dums," the tiny floater said. "As I'm sure you've heard by now, one of our spacecrafts crash-landed on your planet Earth and I'd like to get it back."

I replied, "Well, I don't think we have that kind of authority. We're just reality show contestants."

"Then why am I meeting with you dum-dums?" the little guy asked.

"Our dum-dum host picked the challenge," I answered. "There's no telling what goes on in that senile, telepathic mind of his."

The alien seemed concerned. "Telepathic?" he said scratching his chin. "This is not good at all."

"What's not good?" Scott asked. "The new Fall lineup?"

"You Earthlings," he said with obvious disgust, "have begun to acquire telepathic abilities. What's next? Lasers shooting out of your eyes?"

Scott and I laughed nervously.

The green extraterrestrial continued, "That recon spacecraft was meant to study your planet. Officially it was intended to research your bizarre mating rituals, but unofficially we wanted to spy on your military capabilities to ensure you war-mongering dum-dums can't harm any of us on Zatox."

I tried to reassure him, "Don't worry. We're more concerned with producing unnaturally colored ketchup than mastering space travel."

"I like the purple kind," Scott added. "It's funky!"

"Besides," I continued, "I'm sure your weaponry is far superior to ours, and the telepathic guy that I told you about, he's confined to a wheelchair. Just build stairs and you've got him beat."

"Actually, Zatox has no weapons," the alien stated. "I did develop a button that if pushed would destroy the entire Universe, it's called a hadron collider, but other than that, we're defenseless."

"Hmmm...well," I had an idea, "you can take this battle droid with you. Have your scientists examine him then you can mass produce your own. An army of these guys would be all you'd need to take over all of Earth, and if you do it during the Superbowl, nobody would even oppose you, so long as you don't say anything bad about beer or the Patriots."

The Zatox ambassador said, "Throw in some of that purple ketchup and you've got a deal, dum-dums."

We waved bye to the little alien from Zatox and the super battle droid, then headed back to Starcore's command center, the pit stop for this leg of the race. If we're not the first team to arrive it's proof that the Bush Doctrine is right: Diplomacy is a waste of time and we should have just bombed the gazoo out of him.

The Armaeson disaster

2008-10-03T00:21:00.000-07:00

The Orbiter I built all by myself. Got us up to the station safe and secure.

We're given the decision to space walk or intergalactic diplomacy. I let Creed decide.
"We'll do the talking thing." he tells me and my jaw hits the floor. I asked Creed "Why?" about 200 times. Finally he gives in.
"Its those symbiotes they're.....icky." he confides.
"Icky?" I shout. "You cut people up, you've tasted blood and liked it."
"They're icky, black, slippery and they remind me of leeches. I hate leeches." he snarls.
"Hang on." I say trying to stop laughing too hard. "Your afraid of Leeches?"
"I'm not afraid of leeches!" he shouts. "I just don't like them."
After this confession of sorts we're led into a crash course in First Contact Protocols.

This crash course is run by our handlers, Brad and Tad. They are very happy with the two of us.
"Oh they are perfect for the Armaeson's " says Tad to Brad.
"Indubitably. Joy!" confirms Brad.

"Oh look at him."gushes Tad. "Oooo! Watch out I feeling like I'm coming down with a case of bear fever."

"Get offa me your fruit!" snarls Victor pushing Tad away from him violently.

"You'd better watch your back." whispers Brad. "Tad likes it rough, he could take Victor from you."

"He's more than welcome to try." I smile. This could be a fun trip, the worst that could happen is that Victor kills Tad. Of course the worst for Victor isn't all that bad for me either. Then Brad changes that completely.

"Ooo an open relationship." trills Brad licking his lips. "This mission is looking less boring by the second."

When Tad and Brad aren't trying to seduce us they are grooming us for our representative roles for first contact. Victor and I fit them like a glove, the roles that is not Tad and Brad. I'm supposed to be the leader, intelligent, well spoken, regal even. Victor is supposed to be a violent animal, a warrior born. See prefect fit.

Finally the big moment arrives and we are presented to the Armaeson ambassador.
"Damn she's hot." mutters Victor. I ignore him and go through the preprepared speech about fostering friendship and intergalactic peace. The Armaeson ambassador (her name is Liltah) replied with a similar speech. The universal translators of course making the whole thing possible.
After the formalities we're brought into a function room, there's drinks and niblies. Victor stays to script and keeps by my side being gruff and rude to all who get too close to us.
Tad and Brad are smiling like they've got the keys to Streisand's house for the weekend.
Liltah comes back to us introducing a few dignitaries, all women. In fact all of the Armaeson's we met were women and they all look at me like Tad's been looking at Victor.
"Dr Peter's will you walk with me?" invites Liltah breathlessly.
"What happens on tour stays on tour." whispers Victor. "You know you want it." I ignore Victor and accompany Liltah to the viewing deck. This is intergalactic diplomacy as if sex has a place here.
"Victor thinks thats your home world, is it?" I ask pointing out the huge blue and green orb floating in space.
"No thats just one of our many outposts." she replies. "But I'm more interested in you than your male."
Well that could just be professional interest in Earth and human beings in general. I'm quite sure that there was no sexual subtext.
"I want you, here now." she pants.
I begin to protest but she quickly plants her lips on mine, followed by a voracious tongue. She's very vigorous in her motions and her mouth tastes of musk. I really try to resist but I can't, my senors detect a massive release of pheromones. Unfortunately its way too late for any counter measures to take effect.
Liltah picks I'm resisting and tries to comfort me.
"I'm quite sure your male pleasures you well. But let me show you the delights two woman can find."
TWO WOMEN???
Then I remember that all the Armaeson dignitaries were female. Its not Armaesons, its AMAZONS.
She moves her hand down my chest, down, down, down. She finds something unexpected.
"Your a....male." she says shocked.
It was at that moment we were interrupted by one of the Armaeson military who became quite alarmed at what she'd just overheard.
"You'd better run before they try to kill you." warns Liltah. "Men are only for procreation. I will be punished."
I tarried for a few seconds.
"Go! They will kill you if they catch you." she shouts

Victor and I made it back onto Starcuiser, unfortunately so did Brad and Tad. They weren't so happy with me at all.

"Oh well. Better offer them the usual deal." sighs Tad
"But which countries population to choose from?" ponders Brad.

"Whats the usual?" asks Victor.

"Oh its just the scientific testing option." explains Tad. "We offer up a small percentage of a countries population up for testing. Its much similar to the deal the Japanese have with whales."
"Just run of the mill probing. Never hurt anyone." adds Tad

"What about Australia." offers Victor.

"Oh wonderful choice." gushes Tad
"Capitol decision Victor." congratulates Brad.

What!

Jan the Intergalactic Aviator: Beware of the Symbiote

2008-09-30T17:31:00.000-07:00

“You needn’t worry about those unsophisticated implements,” Magneto gestured towards my tools.

“What, these?” I held up my laser torch and hydrospanner. “How else am I going to build our rocket?”

“I am Magneto. Mine is the power of magnetism.” The mutant clenched his fists and waves of magnetic energy radiated out across the piles of rocket parts. Metal creaked as the pieces shifted and lifted into the air.

With a whirl and a twirl, Magneto guided the pieces together with incredible precision. Like a 2 ton puzzle noisily coming together, each rocket part fit into its space then was in turn covered by another piece of metal or wiring until a fully assembled rocket capsule stood in front of us.

“Wow,” I whistled. “It’s all metal though, we’ll burn up on reentry for sure.”

“I will see to it that we do not, Human Jan. For luminous beings are we, not some crude matter like you see before you.”

Where have I heard that one before? “OK, but how are we going to get up to the space station?”

“I shall be your propulsion,” he announced regally. “Get in.”

We both climbed in and I strapped myself into a seat. Magneto stood with his arms outstretched and concentrated. Not surprisingly, the craft lifted free of the ground and flew into the skies above Ice Station Zebra.

“Impressive,” I whistled again. “Are you sure you can keep this up all the way to the space station?”

“Do not worry about me, little child,” Magneto cooed. “This endeavor will not tax my powers.”

“Watch it with the ‘little child’ bit, buster,” I stuck my finger near him. “I didn’t pick you for a partner and I don’t need to hear your condescending tone on this race.”

“Aha you have spirit!” Magneto’s eyes lit up. “You may not be Homo Superior, but I can feel the latent greatness within you. You truly are much more than meets the eye, Human Jan. And I apologize for my tone, that clearly was not my intent.”

“OK,” I nodded. OK now what? “So uh, can I get you anything? Drink of water? Somtehing to eat? I have a protein bar in my cargo pocket here.”

“No thank you, I am quite fine as I am,” he replied. “Tell me, what brings you to this race?”

“The money,” I shrugged. “Yeah, I know that doesn’t sound very principled but I’m an Intergalactic Aviator and money’s tight. It’s a tough gig out there flying the space lanes, hauling cargo, taking jobs as they come. One time my so-called partner was trying to stick it to me so I wound up dumping him out in an escape pod. Nice idea right? Well except when you don’t make your payday and you’re out one escape pod.”

“Truly your endeavors are the makings of a great story,” he replied. I couldn’t quite tell if he was being condescending now or not. “Mine is a nobler goal: to win this race and lead mutants to victory against the human oppressors. To throw down the shackles of tyranny and bring about an era of peace for all mutantkind.”

“Yeah, without humans, right?” I snorted.

“Many will be spared,” he replied. “You for instance, I would take as my consort. Your life would be one of luxury but you would never taste freedom like you do now. Such is the tragic irony of my benevolent rule.”

“Your consort? Don’t even--!” I spat. “Wait, I thought you didn’t like women.”

“Of course I like women,” he responded. “I am a Homo Superior, not a homosexual.”

“Yeah but your pink helmet and cape,” I replied. “It’s like you came right out of a gay bar on Gay Planet.”

“What this?” he scowled. “My helmet is not pink. Say no more of this nonsense; I thought you were above such paltry, ill-humored observations. Bother me no more as I must concentrate as we approach the space station.”

I slumped back into my seat and crossed my arms. This guy’s getting on my nerves to no end. And yet, I feel this attraction to him. Maybe I’m made out of metal. Ha ha, Jan, good one.

We made it to the station in silence but once inside we huddled together to decide which challenge to take.

“I don’t know who’s out there,” I said looking out to the alien craft looming near. “But I know a lot of alien species. Maybe we could speak with them and be diplomatic. They may understand what’s happened to their ship.”

“No, Human Jan,” Magneto replied. “The bigger threat to this world is from that Symbiote clinging to the side of this craft. Our mission must be to capture and quarantine this creature.”

“Yes but we’re going to have to merge with it according to what the Professor said,” I replied. “If this creature is so dangerous, it would be foolish for us to go after it.”

“The Professor said?” the mutant answered with a chuckle. “Young woman, I am the greatest mutant that has walked this Earth or any other. I have been destroyed time and again only to rise up again more powerful than before. I command the very forces that hold this universe together and I will not succumb to the whim of some half-sentient puddle of matter.”

Magneto launched himself out of the airlock without even putting on his space suit. I sealed the helmet on my own suit and quickly dove after him. I could just barely see the outline of a bubble surrounding him, keeping him alive within his own miniature atmosphere. He floated with arms outstretched towards the alien creature then landed gently on the side of the space station, his magnetic powers held him tight to the surface. With a flourish of his cape, he stretched his hand out towards it, beckoning.

“Come to me,” he whispered. “We shall be as one.”

Using the jetpacks on my suit, I maneuvered my way next to Magneto, then activated my gravity boots to stick to the surface with a clang. The creature congealed and slid forward towards us slightly. Inky tendrils reached out as if probing us with some unseen sense.

“Come,” Magneto repeated sternly but invitingly.

The thing stretched towards him, then hesitated for just a moment. With unbelievable speed, the darkness leapt at me instead. Coating me, covering me, speaking to me.

“Oh my God,” I said in awe as I felt it all around me. I grabbed my chest. “I have breasts. I’ve never had them like this before.”

“No!” my mutant teammate shouted in protest. “You were not supposed to merge with her, you were to merge with me!”

“We do not like you,” we replied. “Our kind feeds on passion, on desire. You are all boastfulness and arrogance. She, on the other hand, has got moxie. We like moxie.”

“You’ll not have me, then you shall pay,” Magneto growled through his teeth. He stretched his arms towards us and I could feel the very iron in our blood shift and move, scattering in different directions. We will not let him do this to us.

“We will not let you do this,” we announce as our tendrils shot out and covered his face. I could feel them pushing deep into his throat as the mutant gasped for air. “Now perhaps you feel the power that we possess.”

He gurgled and gasped and finally sputtered into silence. We knew that this creature was not dead – not yet – so we carefully enveloped him and took him back into the space station.

“We should destroy you all!” we growled as the technicians aimed their stun weapons at us. They hurt. They hurt us but we would not be stopped. We hurled Magneto’s lifeless body at them. They dove for cover, but his body crashed into them and sent all hurling towards the control panels. Not feeling satisfied, we picked it up again and carried it to the reactor core of the space station. With our tendrils, we opened the reactor and prepared to hurl Magneto into it.

“No…” he mumbled weakly.

“Oh yes,” we hissed back. We tossed him into the reactor core and slammed the containment door closed in satisfaction.

“Our enemy is gone, we are pleased,” we said.

Wait, not we. It. It was pleased that we were causing this destruction. This creature was causing this, but this isn’t what I want. I had to stop this.

No! I felt it call out to me. We are as one and we are powerful. Do not end this!

“Sorry, Charlie,” I said back as I pulled it off my face. Ah air. Nice fresh, space station air. “One of us has to go and it won’t be me.”

The creature did not give up easily. It promised me power and strength. It offered me the chance to live forever with it as one. It flat out refused to let go of its hold on me.

“This is gonna hurt you more than it’s gonna hurt me,” I growled as I picked up a sonic weapon and aimed it at my chest. The creature screamed and slid off me, melting away from the pain. I seized the opportunity and grabbed the creature, scooping its semisolid form into my arms. It writhed and attempted to get away from me, but it couldn’t in its weakened state. I opened the containment door and threw the creature in. I slammed the door shut, feeling a little smug satisfaction at stopping the thing and slapped my hands together in a job well done.

I then turned around and saw Professor Xavier sitting in his chair staring at me.

“Jan, can I ask you where the Symbiote is?” he asked.

“In there,” I pointed back at the reactor with my thumb. “That thing tried to take me over and kill Magneto so I had to kill it myself.”

“Of course,” he answered slowly and carefully. “And where is Magneto?”

“Uh… he’s in there,” I pointed into the reactor again. “Do you think he’s all right?”

Professor Xavier didn’t respond. He just grabbed the side of his face and slowly shook his head.