Mission One: Dropping my Dragon Balls

I'm good at finding things. I'm so good at finding things, I hold the Guinness World Record for most things found in a single minute, or would, if the people over at Guinness would read my letters. One hundred and thirty-two things is a lot of things, Guinness!

Anyway, this finding a dragon ball challenge would be easy for a man of my findy nature.

I consulted my Dragon Radar. "Hmmm...looks like we should go north," I said to my daughter, whom I brought along for some valuable bonding time.

She blurted something in OMGLOL-speak and we began walking.

As I watched the Dragon Radar, something seemed wrong. "Maybe we should try the other north," I suggested, turning around.

"Gah, Dad!" Claire cried as she snatched the Dragon Radar from me. "You are, like, so old! Meagan has one of these on her iPhone. They're, like, so easy to use and stuff." Her thumbs raced and maneuvered, then she said, "Um, like, duh, gah, Dad! It's, like, so right there." She pointed at a nearby building.

"Good job," I patted her on the head. "I knew having you on a mission with me would come in handy. I should do it more often." I leaned in close and said, "Now, you just wait right here. Daddy has work to do."

"Ugh! Whatever!" she replied enthusiastically.

I entered the building. The sight was quite disturbing. Everywhere I looked there were invalid children. Bald cancer kids, twitching Parkinson kids, morbidly obese kids. One boy looked like he could have been the offspring of the Phantom of the Opera and Joan Rivers. "I hope you're not contagious," I said to him. It was like I had just walked into a fundraiser for the Make-A-Wish Foundation.

"Welcome to our fundraiser for the Make-A-Wish Foundation," a racially ambiguous and overly happy young woman greeted me. "I'm Mariah Carey. Singer, songwriter, actress...but most importantly, philanthropist."

"Well, good luck with all that," I said. I quickly made my way through the crowd of misfits toward the elevator. As the doors shut me off from the Banquet Hall of Dr. Moreau, I was able to relax. With a push of a button, the elevator began carrying me down to the basement.

The elevators opened on a grown-up version of what was going on upstairs.



"Harvey Dent," I said recognizing the man from a news report. "You're whiter than I remembered. And purpler."

"Out of my way, Kid," Two-Face replied, "These balls are my balls and you don't got the balls to take 'em from me." He laughed maniacally and pulled his gun out on me. His darkly-attired assistant joined him. "Now, out of my way," he commanded, "I've got a bat to kill!"

"Not so fast," I replied. "My employer, Henchman432, really wants your balls. So, hand them over."

"Not a chance, my boy! Not a chance!" He began firing hysterically all over the place.

I waited for him to run out of ammo and then said, "How about we flip a coin for them?"

He shrugged, "Well, I am out of ammo now and coin-flippin' is sort of my thing. What do you say, Spice?" he slapped his assistant on the rear. "Ah, what the Hell. Let's see what fate has in store..."

He pulled a large silver coin from his pocket. "I call heads," I said as he flipped it high into the air. He caught the coin as it descended and slapped it onto his other palm.

"Oh, looks like tails. What a shame. A real shame."

"Wait a minute," I objected looking over the coin. "That's heads."

"No, no. It's tails. See the scratching?"

"Yeah, I see the scratching, but it's still heads. It's a double-headed coin."

"I know that, but look," he handed me the coin. "Don't you see how one side is all scratched up? That's tails!"

"No, that's just scratched up heads."

"Huh...I never thought about that." He scratched his head as he took the coin back from me.

While he was distracted with my mind-puzzle, I pulled my gun on him. "Well, well, well," I said. "Looks like I'll be taking your balls after all."

"Ooh," Spice moaned, "You're so henchmanly!"

With the balls now in my possession, I raced back to the ground floor where the freak-show party was still in full swing. Suddenly, a kid with some sort of Gremlin-like creature growing out of the left side of his face took a step near me. In my effort to distance myself from possible contamination, I tripped. The Dragon Balls fell on the banquet floor and scattered everywhere.

The unfortunate, little brats began picking them up.

"I'm going to wish for a functioning pancreas!"

"I'm wishing that I don't have to empty my pee through my nipples anymore!"

Luckily, there was still one ball left unused.


"Please, sir," one of the bald cancer kids said as he pulled my jacket, "can I have that dragon ball so that I can wish for world peace?"

"Hell no," I replied and returned triumphantly to Hechman432. If only Claire could be here to see my great victory.