The final three and Breakout Challenge.

Ladies and Gents,

Thank you for all of your post. Match, that was a job well done. However, there needs to be a cut.

My choice was between Gyrobo and Jon. Both you are masters of your craft.

But, I choose to cut you.



Jon, you are not tough enough. I am sorry, but you show some real promise.

Now on to our next challenge the Breakout.

You must break in and out of the Raft. The Raft is a superhuman prison. There you will free some Skrulls and get them to a AIM base so they can escape the planet.



Dental for all.

Raptor Jesus rules.

Hullabaloo on you

For a few minutes there I was hoping that Bennet wouldn't post on time.

Oh boy I was hoping he wouldn't. I thought maybe he's dead. Oh such joy filled my heart.

But he just made it. Dammit!

Okay now on with the judgement.

Bennet you actually interviewed people and chose from what little you had. Nice cat fight apart from that it was okay.

Match you interviewed lots of prospective losers and the Punisher. Yet you went from funny evil to evil evil. Not sure how I can rate that.

Gyrobo that first picture was just magic and I loved it so very much. However from that start of brilliance I got bored cause you just mourned the passing of Codex. How is that completing the mission?

Jon IG talk about crapping on. I've met some fillabusters in my time but this takes the cake.

okay the weiner is.....

Match

Mission Six: Idols of Evil

With all my experience with reality television shows, I knew exactly how to go about selecting a new member for the Masters of Evil.

I recruited my daughter and my The Haitian to assist me in the process.



Let's get to the auditions!

First up, a young up-and-comer from...the backwoods.



"Hello, sirs and lady," he said politely. "I'm so honored to be here. Thank you for this wonderful opp-"

"Next!" I shouted.

"Ugh! Gah, Daddy," my Claire Bear whined. "You, like, didn't even, like, listen to him and stuff."

"She speaks true," The Haitian added.

I leaned over to him and said, "You need to speak in Ghetto."

"But I am not from the Ghetto," he replied. "I am from Haiti."

"That's why it's called acting!" I rubbed my forehead. "Surrounded by idiots," I whispered into my mic and the audience broke out into laughter. As the guffaws died down, I said to The Haitain, "Just speak fake Ghetto."

"..." he responded.

"Um, this alot of fun and everything," the contestant began, "but should I be getting you guys coffee or something?"

"Decaf," I ordered, "Cream, sugar, sprinkles if you got 'em."

"Yes, sir!" he shouted with an enthusiastic clap. Then, he hurried off stage.

The next contestant took his place.



"Hello," she said. "I am Hoda Kotb."

"Hello," The Haitian replied. I glanced over at him. With a sigh, he continued, "What be up with you girl, yo, yo, yo, shizzle." He looked back over at me for approval, and I simply nodded.

"I want to join the Masters of Evil," she explained.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Because I want to kill Kathy Lee Gifford!" She began laughing maniacally, then quieted down and appologized for the outburst.

"Oh. My. God. You are, like, weird," Claire said.

"She's the weird one!" Hoda complained. "She's psychotic! She does things to me, terrible things!"

Security quickly dragged her off the stage.

"Well, she was rather loopy," I commented. The audience began laughing once again.

After interviewing several more losers, the first contestant finally returned with my coffee.

"Here you are, sir," he said, handing it to me.

"Thanks, Steven," I replied, taking the cup from him.

"It's Kenneth."

"What?" I asked sternly.

"Or Steven. Usually, it's Kenneth, though."

"Next!" I yelled as I shooed Steveth away with my hand.



"Hi there!" the bimbo said cheerfully. "I'm Kathie Lee Gifford and I just like being on television." She then whispered to me, "I'm not really evil or a master."

Before I could insult her stupidity and call for the next contestant, she was viciously tackled by a crazed-Hoda.

"Claire, cover your eyes!" I commanded.

Claire pulled out her cell phone and aimed it at the fighting females, "This is going on YouTube, like, totally!"

The Haitian stared. "..."

The audience cheered enthusiastically.

A terrified Steveth, or whoever he is, ran for cover.

"This is not only great television," I commented, "but the winner will be a perfect candidate for entry to the Masters of Evil!"

Unfortunately, as the fight drew to an end, both Hoda and Kathie Lee were badly beaten. They both fell to the ground in defeat. We watched as they slowly bled to death. The audience laughed hysterically.

"Oh, my!" Steveth said coming out of hiding. "What happened?" He surveyed the horrific scene before him. "These two sleeping women really made a mess of this place. Someone ought to clean it up."

"Congratulations," I said to him. "You've won. Your first assignment in the Masters of Evil is to dispose of these sleeping women so they can continue to rest without being found, uh, I mean, disturbed. Well, get to cleaning!"

"Yes, sir!" he replied.

"I've never seen anything like this before..."

A Primer In Management Efficiency

As a pretend efficiency consultant, I’m often asked how to make fast, powerful decisions. I typically take four or five minutes to form a response, thereby discouraging future questions of that nature. Still, I’m now releasing this post, containing a brief example of my style. Take my words to heart, and you too can be recognized — and rewarded — for smart thinking by the highest echelons!

***

Wafting down from Heaven, delicate flakes of snow built up around my boots as I took another swing with my axe. Wiping sweat and condensation from my reddened cheeks, I stepped back and took a few deep breaths as the sinews holding the bark together gave way.

With a shout of “TIMBER!” the few birds who thought it safe to remain within the doomed branches took flight; the venerable pine bent as if in pain, the icy coating on its bristles biting it from above while I attacked from below.

*THWACK*

A final, merciful blow from my axe made short work of the majestic tree.

After the inevitable ground-shaking crash, the forest was silent. I surveyed the trunk from this new, unnatural perpendicular angle: there was enough lumber here to build a small house.

Mopping the sap up with handfuls of snow, I tried tallying up the rings but called it quits after around 200, when I noticed that I’d missed about 50 or so very thin rings that weren’t really visible at the edge I’d been counting. There must’ve been a drought those years.

There’s enough firewood here to heat a castle, I thought as a shiver ran down my spine.

Sighing contentedly, I buried my axe in the still-oozing trunk. “That was relaxing.”

I rubbed my hands together and opened the studio’s back door, where a blast of heat from the diesel-powered furnace instantly brought the feeling back to my face. The coat rack groaned as I unloaded my heavy winter overcoat and pinned my mittens to the zipper. All interested parties in the room turned to puzzle at my strange ways as I dropped to the ground and writhed to my waiting chair using only my belly for transportation.

“Did you get me the box of toothpicks I asked for?” Travis grizzled, his fingers crudely trying to dislodge a grizzly fragment of pork wedged between his back left molars.

I cringed.

Ripples of laughter broke out within the pool of applicants; my facial expressions are hilariously risqué. So much so that photographs of my head — in both digital and analog formats — do not, and will not, develop. The only person to peruse such a boondoggle was Edgar Allan Poe, who attempted to create an amateur daguerreotype on the 2^nd of October, 1849. No further attempts have been made.

“Some assembly may be required,” I aimed my eyebrows out the frost-caked window at the felled pine. Snow blanketed it like dirt on a casket.

Travis cut me off. “I think we should let the Questionable Mark into the league. This résumé—”

“DENIED. I could not possibly disagree more with your decision than I did 0.059 seconds ago. My anger is waning, hence the incremental drop in RAGE.”

Wee ha ha! In reality, I had no strong opinion whatsoever on the matter. However — there being only two of us to judge these miscreants — taking the contrarian position would force us to settle on a process for resolving what purists call “ties.”

Some jurists would call my method “collusion” and refuse to issue a decision. Overruled, yo!

“I never imagined I would miss Codex so much,” the hypnotist huffed, unpocketing a photo of the three of us taken just two weeks ago. It was hard to believe Yellow Fever acted so quickly. “He was the voice of sanity.”

“Sanity? He murdered his family and sold their teeth.”

“No he didn’t.”

“He routinely adopted stray cats and dogs and performed gruesome experiments on them while in med school.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“He used his impressive knowledge of ancient languages to forge a Syriac bible and tried to convince the pope to issue a papal bull stating that Jesus stuttered and that his eyes were two different colors.”

“No he didn’t!”

“He purchased a two-minute commercial during the Super Bowl, misleading viewers into thinking that two bottles of colloidal silver every day could reverse hair loss. Colloidal silver causes argyria, a condition that turns skin bluish-gray. He said he did it to pay homage to the Blue Man Group.”

“He had one of their CDs!”

“He ran an investment firm for charities and spent 20 years pocketing his clients’ money and giving them bogus numbers. $30 billion evaporated overnight, and he was busted by federal agents trying to charter a private jet to Ecuador. What little he actually invested went into ant farms.”

Travis drummed his fingers on the oaken table and checked his watch. “No.”

“Can we move this along, seriously?” the Questionable Mark interjected, leaning over on his uncomfortable wooden stool. “My wife is seriously very ill, seriously.”

“Your wife is two dwarves in a trenchcoat with a bad wig and a good story!” I shouted, barely cognizant of the lowlife’s desire for an expedited submission. Darn fool talked funny.

Crumbs from a thousand possible sources rolled down my seams as I rose. There was a bit of sadness to my swagger, my trademark jolliness tempered by the recent loss of my dear friend Codex. But thanks to a brilliant Santa Barbara taxidermist, I would see him every morning and night on my way to the bathroom.

“Where are we going?” Travis Read — you forgot his last name, didn’t you? Admit it. — begged as I towed him towards the exit, padlock and chain in hand.

The villainous… well, villains… were already cranky and overheated. Factor in their violent natures and superpowers, and you’ve got a powderkeg waiting to go off. Now, *licks lips* if I’ve learned one thing from my last job vetting cabinet appointees for Barack Obama, there’s only one tried and true way to whittle down a list of applicants.

“Hey, everyone!” I shouted, hurling Travis out the steel door into a growing snowbank while using my other hand to toss a symbolic gauntlet on the studio floor, “Last one left alive gets the job!”

Three or four laser beams singed the door as I quickly slammed it shut and chained it. As I helped Travis up (a debt he could never repay), bestial wailing and screams of terror, warcries and unheeded pleas for mercy, flooded the restrictive air.

I opened the bags of cocoa mix as Travis unlocked the hovercraft’s front door and set up the portable hotplate. We scooped up two cups of snow and put it on; we’d need to continuously add to it as the snow melted. It would take a while, so we set off in the opposite direction to build a snowman.

Smiling contentedly, the two of us were patting down the snowman’s midsection when a human head smashed through the studio’s bulletproof glass window and landed right where we were going to put the snowman’s head!

“Can you say ‘serendipity?’” Travis joked. “Who do you think will end up on top? Smart money’s on Questionable Mark. Or maybe Overkill.”

I ignored him and straightened an old felt top hat on the head while slipping lumps of coal into the vacant eye sockets. “Go check to see if the water is boiling yet. I don’t want any bacteria in my cocoa,” I bade him, burying two arm-like branches in the snowman.

Ah, how relaxing. Nothing could ruin this perfect day — except a stampede of rhinoceroses. But that was just impossible. For one thing, rhinoceroses don’t live in this part of the world. They also could not exist in this climate, and certainly couldn’t stampede in such a thick forest.

Rhinoceroses are basically fat unicorns.

Match: Search for a Master.

Me and Fury weren't too thrilled with this challenge we were expecting losers to show up for this, and that became a self fulfilling prophecy. First one we had to interview for a Master Of Evil Position was the "Fabulous" Fanboy.

he kept droning on, and on, for the first thirty minutes." You know Match you were cooler as a Bizarro. And it's funny how Wonder Girl keeps kicking your butt Fury. Who cloned you guys a fifth grade science class? It was funny when you got beat by Batgirl and not even the red head with the nice ta tas."

After he started telling us who'd win between us, and some transformers in a fight Fury snapped. “I can't take it anymore!" She grabbed his arm.

“I don't believe it a woman is touching me I can't wait to tell the guys at the message boards!" That was before Fury tore his arm off, and beat him wih it. His last words were " I regret EVREYTHING!"

“Baby maybe we should refrain from killing them?" I ate my words with the next applicant. “AAAH! Man Faye!"

" Yes it is I ! Everyone forgot all about me! I'm going to remind them all of how gross I am!"

With my TTK I opened a hole in the ground beneath him that fell into the core of the Earth. I then freeze breathed the hole cooling the lava that spilled out, and sealing him in.

Fury looks at me smugly. “No killing huh?"

" Oh let’s get this over with ...

the next applicant was called " Skull Kill man." I didn't even need my X-ray vision to tell it was the Punisher wanting to go in, and kill the Masters of Evil I booted him out literally.

The next dude was well... Kite-Man all chomped up and well undead.

“I want to join..." He moaned.

" Let me get this straight..." I rub my temples you're just Kite-Man but now you're dumber, and slower because you're a zombie."

" YESSSS!!!!"

I break his head with my fist

Next one was well just look...



That turned out to be the Punisher ... Again.

The next few.. the Rhino, Moonstone, and Radioactive Man I just let in. Next up came Mankiller.

“Go right in " I say.

“Hey what about the Casting Couch!?" she yells.

I shrug. " Okay if you want."

She grabs Fury by the hair “Sweet! Come on little missie!" Huh. I guess that makes sense since she's "Man killer" And all I take a few pictures of the "Casting Couch" For um Black mail purposes only yeah that's right.

The next applicant... was well.




“Seriously Castle now you're not even trying!" I shake my head. " And you forgot the "n" in the first not."

"Don't laugh at me because I can't spell!" he cries running out the door.

In the next wannabe was Giganta Jr. it took all of a second to see through her disguise it was the Young Avenger "Stature."
She can grow but could couldn't match me in the power department . She was crying as I was about to end her life.

"I'll do anything please don't kill me!"

“Anything huh?" I grin.

So I spent the last hour "Corrupting the Innocent."

"That was much better than Vision." she sighed.

“Of course I’m a real man. Not a robot. Well that and TTK." I brag.

“She looks at me sexily " Wanna cuddle?"


“Cuddle? What do you think this is? A Barney show? Get dressed and get the frag out of here!"

She runs from the room bawling. Seems while me, and Fury were away having or fun The Punisher killed the last applicants not that it matters much it was just these guys.

Intergalactic Gladiator: A Foley on the Matt

Baron Zemo looked at the crowd of pathetic villains sitting in his living room.

“You guys are a sad and wretched bunch,” he scoffed at them. “Do you truly think you have what it takes to be in the Masters of Evil?”

“We’re trying to be as evil as we can,” Kangaroo responded feebly.

“Well, you’re not evil enough,” Zemo growled. “Fortunately, this is your lucky day. The Masters of Evil have one spot open and whoever is motivated enough will become a junior member with all the rights and privileges granted.”

“Oh joy,” Kaptain Emo answered with a whiny, sardonic mewl. “Life is harsh and cruel and no one understands me, but now I might sit at the cool kid’s table. Just what I always wanted.”

“Shut up!” Joystick and Magpie yelled at him in unison.

“I’m not finished,” Zemo threw his arms up and pumped his fists. “I said that one of you will become a member if you’re motivated enough. Fortunately, I have a motivational speaker here to ensure that one of you might actually make it. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator, Motivational Speaker. Now he’s been getting himself ready and drinking a lot of Mountain Dew, so he’s probably really wired right now and really anxious to get you losers fired up. Let’s give a warm welcome to Jon. Jon?”

I stormed through the front door and hiked up my pants. “Hello everybody, I am Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator, Motivational Speaker. How’s everybody? Good! Good! Good. Let me tell you a little about myself, my name is Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator, I’m 37 years old, and I live in a van down by the river. Now, you kids are probably saying to yourself, ‘Now, I'm gonna go out, and I'm gonna get the world by the tail, and wrap it around and put it in my pocket!!’ Well, I'm here to tell you that you're probably gonna find out, as you go out there, that you're not gonna amount to Jack Squat!! You're gonna end up eating a steady diet of government cheese, and living in a van down by the river! Now, young man, what’s your name and what do you want to do with your life?”

“What? Well I’m Kangaroo and I want to be a super villain, of course, mate,” Kangaroo answered. “I’m the Terror of Tamworth, the Horror of Hobart, oy!”

“Well la-de-freakin’-dah, we got ourselves a winner here.” I jumped across the room and looked the leader of the Masters of Evil up and down. “Hey Nemo! We got ourselves a real live kangaroo here! Maybe we can ride in his pouch on our next getaway!”

“The name’s Zemo,” the criminal mastermind recoiled from my intrusion into his personal space. “And to be truthful, he has been somewhat competent with his super villainy. He just successfully robbed a bank and made off with a load of bearer bonds.”

“Zemo, wish you could just shut your big yapper!” I stumbled back towards Kangaroo. “Now, I wonder... Mr. Roo, from what I've heard, you're using your bearer bonds, not for cashing in the fortune, but for rolling doobies!! You're gonna be doing a lot of doobie-rolling when you're living in a van down by the river! Young lady, what do you want to do with your life?!”

“I want to live in a van down by the river,” Joystick answered snidely.

“Well, you’re going to have plenty of time to live in a van down by the river while you’re… living in a van down by the river! Now, you kids are probably asking yourself, ‘Hey, Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator, Motivational Speaker, how can we get back on the right track?!’ Well, as I see it, there is only one solution! And that is for me to get my gear, move it on into here, 'cause I'm gonna bunk with you, buddy! We're gonna be buddies! We're gonna be pals!”

“I’m too sad to be your pal,” Kaptain Emo whined.

“Well well well, what do we have here?” I asked “What’s your name, little buddy?”

“Kaptain Emo,” he whined back.

I looked at the nametag stuck to his shirt. “Looks like you misspelled Captain there, Emo.”

“I’m too sad to use the C,” he whimpered obnoxiously.

“Well you’re not motivated, I can see that, and if you’re not motivated, you’re gonna end up in a van down by the river!”

“Stop saying that, that’s lame,” Emo cried.

“I’ll show you what’s lame, not being motivated is lame!” I scooped him up in a fireman’s carry and began spinning him around. “This is what we call in the biz an airplane spin, though I don’t know why it’s not called a helicopter spin. Maybe they’re talking about a V-22 Osprey with its tilt rotor design.”

“Ahh! Make him stop! Ahhh!” Kaptain Emo cried some more.

I spun him and spun him and then threw him right out the window with a crash. Unfortunately, we were only on the second floor so it’s likey that he survived.

“Not motivated,” I said to Zemo. “Hey, Zemo and Emo rhyme. That’s pretty cool. And by cool, I mean lamey lame lame.”

“Will you just…” Zemo growled. His fingers curled and uncurled into tightly balled fists.

“I got him.” Joystick stood up and swung her stick thing at me. I dodged it and sprayed some knockout gas in her face, then tossed her out the window as well.

“Not motivated,” I repeated. “Well well well, lookee here. We just have you two left now. How would you two like to not live in a van down by the river?”

“Uh, well… sure,” Magpie shrugged.

“Not motivated!” I yelled and threw her out the window. “Well Kangaroo, I guess it’s just you and me? Do you feel motivated?”

“Yes I do, oy!” he replied.

“I can’t hear you!”

“Yes I do, oy!” he yelled louder.

“’Cuz I gotta tell you, it’s tough getting into the Masters of Evil!” I howled. “They’re led by a guy who accidentally glued his mask to his face!”

“Hey now!” Zemo yelled angrily.

“Not motivated!” I scooped up Kangaroo and threw him out the window as well.

“Wait wait wait!” Zemo howled. “You were supposed to weed through them to find which one should be a Master of Evil. Not throw them all out the window!”

“Funny you should say weed, my friend,” I said back to him. “Maybe you’re spending a little too much time with the ganja yourself. You know what happens to someone who smokes too much of the wacky tobaccy? They end up in a van down by the river!”

“But I still don’t have a villain to join my Masters of Evil!” he howled angrily.

“Observe!” I threw the door open. A man stood there with a maniacal expression on his face and a satchel with the words “bombs” etched on the side.

“So I said I said, you gotta have a hook, baby, and that hook is boom!” he mumbled.

“Who is this?” Zemo demanded.

“I’m the Evil Midnight Bomber What Bombs at Midnight, baby! I’ve got style. When you play with fire, you don’t know how much fire you’re going to get! Ha ha ha! An object at rest cannot be stopped!”

“Look at how motivated this guy is!” I said exuberantly.

“And so he says, I don't like the cut of your jib,” the Midnight Bomber replied. “And I go, I says it's the only jib I got, baby!”

“I guess he’ll do,” Baron Zemo sighed.

New Challenge

Ladies and Gents,

I glad all of you got your post in on time, way cool. Of course Koma made himself the winner. He is a bad guy/judge. If I were judging, I would of given it to Jon. I like your mean streak.

However, now someone has to go.

Who will that be?

...

...

...

...

Is Cyclops.



Ooppsss...Wrong pic.



Your are not the World's Toughest Henchman.

Now for your next challenge.

You must audition new members for the Masters of Evil.



Baron Zemo wants you to weed through the losers. Keep in mind two things.1.Some of the wannabe's might try and bully you 2.You can you the casting couch if needed, wink wink. You will have two hours each to deal with tryouts.

Dental for All.

Raptor Jesus rules.

Best round yet...

No really I thought it was brilliant you all stepped up and tried to please me. The power I have over you in this is amazing. Can't let it go to my head. Whoops! too late! I'm in drill sargent mode.

Bennet for being so late drop and give me twenty push ups. You sniveling little sack of puss you couldn't even kill Russel Crowe the first time so you had to do it again. He's a New Zelander he should be easy to kill. They don't even have an army. Then there's the anti-semtic nonsense. You want Mossad to come kick your ass? They'll steal you away in the night and no one will know what happend to you. If think Guantanamo was bad you wait till you see a Kibutz.

Cyclops stand up straight when I'm judging you. And stop trying to dress like a girl I'll have no sissies in my army. What in all hell did you do in suggesting anything to Joel Schumacher? Don't you know that man is so camp that his house has nipples and a cod piece? He can't start the day without putting someone in leather and latex. Apart from that you did a darn site better than when you went AWOL.

Match how absoultley amazing that it took you this long for you to write a piece I'd actually use to wipe my ass with. Despite your fourth wall shenadigans and lambasting of JonIG you still managed to put me too sleep with boredom before it ended. You better fly right boy otherwise your the next piece of trash I'm going to eject from this game show.

Gyrobo let me be frank with you. Using corpses to store and weaponise diseases is a stroke of utter genius. The way you went about almost getting caught was a shocking case of stupidity. Next time you try to weaponise a corpse make sure that its concealed correctly in a time release contianer. Your over confidence will be the end of you. And stop trying to give those tweleve dozen roses I will NOT be your funny valentine.

Koma you think the sun shines out of your ass and everyone needs to know about it. You start out with great ideas but end up giving a toddler his own sex toy. You are a twisted indiviual and I never want to see your face around here again.

Jon IG. I finally worked out whatIG stand for Imbecillic Gnat. You used up all the easy ideas and posted early just to make sure that no one did them before you. All those easy plot lines and you still didn't make me smile once. Have you ever heard of the term "shooting fish in a barrel"? Well your not pushing yourself enough boy. If you think your going to win this contest like this then your sorely mistaken. Your running the obstacle course till you realise the potential your wasting.

Now as for the fianl formalities of this judgement I need to give you all a winner.

Me

Mission Five: Some Unfinished Show Business

Bringing a movie's production to an end. If Lindsey Lohan can do it, surely I can.

I decided I should dress appropriately. The movie industry is a tough business.



I was ready to take anything The Biz had to throw at me.

"Frankly, your screenplay sucks. It's convoluted and highly impractical. And where you're trying to be funny...well, you're not."

I left Soderbergh's office with a stoic expression on my face, which quickly melted into one of despair in the elevator. "Why?" I sobbed.

Now there was nothing left to do but destroy Nick Fury's movie. And I was looking forward to it. Hollywood has taken so much from me, and I plan on taking something from it!

I arrived on set in full costume.

"Great, it's about time. Go over there," a strange little Jew commanded.

I walked onto the platform where he pointed. With a wave of his hand, he signaled to an operator who made the platform fall out from under me. I plummeted to the ground and rolled down a fake dirt hill.

"Great!" the guy cried. "Cut!"

I dusted myself off and got back to my feet.

"Okay, that's the only stunt we need for Stark today."

"I'm not a stunt double," I said pushing some random buttons on the suit. Suddenly a ball of light blasted from my palms and disintegrated the little Jew.

"Oh, bloody hell!" one of the actors screamed. "This is the fifth director we've lost. I knew I should have never put my own money into a film."

"It's okay, Mr. Crowe. The public doesn't care about the directors, and the truth is, they don't really do anything. We'll just finish up shooting and we can give you the director credit."

"Good," Russell Crowe replied, "I want a muffin."

"Yes, sir," the assistant ran off quickly.

"You!" the foreign actor exclaimed. "Weren't you the bouncer at Studio of Doom 54?"

"Didn't I mostly decapitate you?" I retorted.

"Yeah," he replied in a dreamy accent. "I got better."

We starred in silence for several minutes. The tension was thick. Two masterful combatants looking deep into each others souls, neither flinching at the thought of the horrific bloodshed to come.

"Here's your muffin," a lanky lad said extending a blueberry muffin into the actors face.

Without losing eye contact with me, he took a large bite from the muffin. He chewed slowly, methodologically, and after a hard swallow said, "You're going to die."

"Try not to lose your head," I replied.

He threw his cell phone at me. It hit my chest plate and then fell to the floor, breaking.

"M-my god!" he stumbled, "Y-you're...invincible in that thing!"

"And I can do this!" I hit some random buttons and palm-blasted Russell Crowe into pieces.

The rest of the crew fled in panic.

Now, assuming that Nottingham was the fake working title for the Nick Fury movie, that was a job well-done.

Cyclops in La La Land

Sabotage a movie? I can do that. I mean I've done that before but by accident. I remember the X-Men had just stopped the Juggernaut from trashing some LA movie studio and Joel Schumacher was there. I suggested to him that he George Clooney would make an awesome Batman. I can't believe it took them 10 years to make another . . say, that's an idea. If I make a Nick Fury movie with Clooney, maybe that would kill the one being made now.

I hoped in the X-Jet and flew out to Hollywood. My first stop was Kevin Costner. He owed me big time for stealing my idea for The Postman. My story was actually about a girl scout who has to deliver all these cookies after the apocalypse, but it was the same basic thing. Costner told me if I didn't sue, he'd owe me a favor. It was time to cash in.

He agreed to finance my movie and hooked me up with Clooney's phone number. I took a meeting with Clooney and his agent. His agent was a real dickwad who kept going on about needing a script so I blasted him in the face with my optic beam. Clooney quickly agreed. With Costner's $10,000 and my star, I was on my way. I hired a video crew from a company called Ass Master Productions. We headed for a vacant lot to shoot the first scene.

"Okay George, you know what to do right?" I asked after briefing him. "Let's have some quiet on the set, people. Places . .. and act-"

"Wait a minute, Cyclops." George said. "This scene doesn't feel right. No one is going to believe this."

"What are you talking about? It's brilliant!"

"Surviving a ground zero nuclear explosion by hiding in refrigerator? No way, man. It's ridiculous."

"But the fridge is made out of lead. Get it?"

"That's the stupidest, most retarded, idiotic idea I've ever heard. Only a brainless Monkeyboy would put that in a movie."

"But . . but the fridge is made out of lead."

"That's it man, I'm out of here."

With that, Clooney stomped off. Crap. I started to crawl into the fetal position when I had another brilliant idea. I could play Fury!

With everything in place, we quickly shot the movie. I mostly made stuff up as we went along but it was, if I do say so myself, pretty brilliant. We had scenes with Fury cleverly surviving the nuclear explosion, Fury kung fu fighting dozens of Hydra agents one at a time, Fury riding a horse through a church, Fury taking out a car with a helicopter and jumping on top of a plane from a bridge and taking it over, Fury being tricked into making out with a male Hydra agent in a wig, Fury disarming a bomb just as the timer reached one second and Fury disguising himself as a woman.

There was a lot of other great stuff. Since I was under the clock I didn't have much time to edit it, unfortunately. I rented out a theater and took out big ads in the local papers. The premiere was packed. The movie was a huge success. It was so exciting that most people couldn't stand to be in the theater more than 10 or 15 minutes. The ones that could stay were yelling at the screen throughout the movie. I took that as a real compliment, they found it so real they wanted to interact with it. I was also nominated for several prestigious awards - Razzies. The other Fury movie knew they couldn't compete. Their studio forced them to close the production immediately, something about not being able to survive all the bad press. I guess they meant in comparison to my movie.

Mission accomplished.

Match: Lights Camera Explosions!

Me, and Fury fly in to the studio. “So now what?" Fury asks.

“Well HYDRA gave me this gun that..." Before I explain what it does two superheroes show their ugly faces. The Crappy teen Iron Man rip off from before the Onslaught thing.

And probably the most disgusting Superhero couple I've ever seen. Batgirl and Vincent. Seriously I think after this I'm going to go , and slap Robin for introducing those two. I wanted to fight but Fury wanted to run, and ditch them thinking we couldn't take all three.

A half saiyan, a guy in an armored suit, and an S and M fetish girl oh yeah I'm scared. But whatever we ran into the studio and ran through a bunch of different doors in what was very reminiscent of a Scooby Doo cartoon where we'd run out one door and the super heroes would run out of another.

At one point we were chasing them, a clown became involved somehow. Benny Hill music was playing it was surreal. After that debacle Fury decided to just stay in one room with her shirt off, and wearing a black bra.

Lucky for us Ironlad came in, and was too busy staring at her cleavage to notice me come up behind him I dent his helmet with fist, and knock out the loser.

Fury strips him of his armor, and the entire room fills with the smell of vodka. And Fury checking out Stark Jr. “We should just kill him now."
I state.

“He’s too cute to kill we’ll just stash his destroy his armor. She grins rubbing his chest. “Why’s it ticking?"

Why do all the women have a thing for Iron Man? Even this bargain basement version. I will kill him after that but I'll have to do so later. Right now I just crush his armor while Fury ties him up seeming to enjoy that a little too much.

We then walk right to the studio where the Nick Fury movie is being filmed. our costumes would normally make us stand out but this time with all these movie actors around we blend right in.

I point the gun at Samuel L. Jackson.

“What does that do?" Fury questions.


"It'll turn Sam Jackson into David Hasselhoff thus enduing the movie." I sneer.

She grabs the gun, and crushes it. “Oh no! We wont be making any Hasselhoff Jokes!"

“Why just because Jon did it?" I thought of mine when I first got the challenge!"


“Everyone probably thought of some variation of that joke when they first got the challenge!” she rolls her eyes." WE ALL KNOW THE HASSELHOFF MOVIE SUCKED!"

I rub my chin. “Maybe we should stop breaking the Fourth Wall now? "

A voice from above us startles me. “Bah! How about I break a wall with your face losers!"

I glare up at Vincent. “Look kid quit make up your own catchphrases, and quit copying your dad."


next thing I know I'm punched out of the studio I watch as fury blocks some Batarangs from the leather freak with her bracelets then she somehow she get in too close and This loud " Clang" comes from Batgirl's fists hitting Fury's face. Metal gloves of some sort."


The monkey boy comes after me again I slam him back into the studio with my TTK Next time I see him he's all blonde , and glowy. He throws several punches at me.
All of them miss he grunts as all this energy gathers around his body. And he throws it at me as something called a " Final Flash." I dodge it, and let it blow up several buildings below.

“Good work "hero. How many do you think you just killed there?" I laugh. Again he goes to the grunting then there’s this impressive light show. And loud annoying screaming. When that's all done the monkey boy turns into some kind of furry.



My laughing is cut off when his fist plasters my face. He moves so freaking fast I can't see him with telescopic vision, I'm beaten down pretty severely then finally I get hit with soome kind of blast.

I'm bruised, and bleeding on some ruined stage. “okay you won I guess I'm going back to the Vault."

“You know I've been thinking you keep getting out to kill, and maim over, and over." Vincent smirks. “Maybe I should put an end to that. You know they say clones don't have souls, if that's true sucks to be you though you'd probably go to hell any way."

Fury shows up with Battie in tied up in her lasso. Well looks like I won't get to find out if this guy was bluffing or was going to go all Punisher on me or not. Fury grabs on to Batgirl's neck.

“Let my man go or I'll snap leather lass' scrawny little neck. What's it gonna be saiyan? You can put us away and have a cold spot in your bed where this chick used to be or you can let us go right, now."

I didn't give the guy anytime to answer, I while he was distracted by his girl's plight. I roasted him from behind with a full on massive dose of Heat Vision.

He somehow survived that but was a crispy critter. Now it's my turn to smirk." They say what doesn't kill you saiyans makes you stronger, I can't have that now can I?"

I was about to fry him some more when I hear some noise over by fury, The Batchick had actually head butted Fury. It didn't hurt the Clone of a demigoddess but it surprised her enough to get the Bat loose and hit her with that metal glove.

Next thing I know they toss some kind of capsules at Fury shooting gas in her face. My former Titans East teammate glares at me bleeding from her forehead. She takes something out of her belt and tosses it at my chest. I laugh, as it bounces off.

“What was that a rock?" I laugh until I feel this burning sensation all over my body."

I swear I see her smile under that fright mask. “Kryptonite."
She leaps at me

She hits me in groin with that metal glove, I collapse by the meteor rock i cuss her out with a newly high pitched voice, Fury who can barley see after whatever that gas was grabs me and flies my out of there. Crashing through trees, and houses along the way.

We sit on the Hollywood sign recovering from the fight. “That was embarrassing. beaten by some skinny chick with no powers." I sigh still in falsetto.

“Stupid Bat Family... Damn Batman and his stupid toys..." Fury starts before our commuincator that HYDRA gave us. Madame HYDRA appears on screen.

“Good work you two."

“Huh?" Fury starts before I put up may hand.

“Your super powered donnybrook destroyed the studio, and put them in several million dollars debt from all the lawsuits. Though I'd have to say burning half of LA was tad too much but still we'll call you again some day."



Fury jumps in my lap, happily. I would have been happy too if her jostling my junk didn't make me see stars. Damn Bat - B*tch

Hollyballoo

“‘Let me be frank with you’… that might offend people named Frank.”

*Tap tap tap*

I scratched the word off the draft very slowly; my fingers were half locked in place by the cold. Taking a break from my labors, I tucked my left hand under my right armpit. My right hand and left armpit reluctantly reciprocated.

Sitting upright, I was quite a sight to behold. To blend in with the movie folk we would be “replacing” (as per our latest mission briefing), my crack team of hypno-cryptographers had hit the costume shop pretty hard.

Travis was at the hovercraft’s wheel, wearing an all-purpose security uniform. He was “officially” a new hire, who would escort Codex and myself through the crowded set to deliver a prop to the new Nick Fury film set. We would then sabotage the set. This would be exceedingly difficult, as Codex had passed away earlier in the week.

Alas! Following our last mission, Codex succumbed to Yellow Fever!

“Oh, woe!” I sobbed, “Oh, to be able to commune again with our dear Codex! Yet I do not weep. No, sir! For he’s in a much better place. You’ve got the whole back seat to yourself, don’t you?”

I reached back and adjusted the tie on Codex’s body. We hadn’t had time to bury it, what with Travis having purchased a DVD box set for each season of Babylon 5.

However, we did manage to spray him with disinfectant and get him into a fancy-pants suit.

“Don’t bother trying to get civility from him,” Travis chuckled, “he stiffed me on the tip!”

“Ha ha! Codex, he’s got you dead to rights on that one!”

“We’re here,” Travis grinned as the hovercraft came to a steady halt.

Still grinning, albeit forcefully, Travis came around to the backseat and whistled away at the passersby as I hauled Codex’s carcass out of that clown car and toward the studio. To the average schmo, a security guard was escorting an unshaven man with a heavy overcoat on a hot spring day toting a dead body face-down on a homemade, ramshackle sled.

Human chameleons.

“We’re being followed,” Travis whispered as we passed four little people dressed as babies with cigars in their mouths.

Sure enough, a cadre of cadets kept close behind us, watching our every move. The studio’s biometric database (merged into my main doohickey) scanned their faces into lines — then scanned the lines into points, then scanned the points into grids, and then — and only then — did I remember I saw those same guards on the studio’s web site. What a colossal waste of time!

One of the guards waved us over. “Freeze, hotshots! Lemme see yer studio passes.”

It would take more than my silver tongue to get us out of this kerfuffle!

“It’s all right, Frank,” Travis smiled, reading the fellow’s name tag. “I can see you’re new here. This is legendary propmaster Fabián Bullflux.”

I gave them a half-hearted salute and winked at them repeatedly. “Surely you’ve heard of my work. I turn uninspired lumps of clay into actors. Have your ever heard of Arnold Schwarzenegger? Taught him to whistle. But that was twenty years ago.” I slapped Codex’s limp arm. “Now I’m all about making dead bodies out of recyclable materials.”

Those simpletons — unqualified to do their own jobs, let alone mine — examined the body before bowing to my professional competence.

“Which studio is this…” he paused for a moment, choked up in tears over how life-like the corpse was. “What movie is this for?”

“Aye, that’s what we were wondering,” Travis fumbled, “could you point us to the new Nick Fury set?” He said all this with his eyes wide open and unblinking, a surefire means of gaining these bumpkins’ trust.

“What are you trying to pull?”

My hands shook! They were onto us somehow!

“You think we’re idiots?” Frank pulled out a metallic nightstick. The others did likewise. “You don’t work here; all new hires go through introductory training where they meet every single other guard.” He tapped Codex with the baton. “And that’s no prop. I was in the army for fifteen years, I know the difference between a prop and a real body.”

This was certainly a stunning reversal of fortune. Sweet Bat-man of Goth-am! This was harder than breaking into the Death Star!

“He said he’d kill me if I told anyone!” I shouted, jumping behind Frank, shaking my fist at a bewildered Travis. “I was abducted from my home — he’s a madman! Step on him!”

The guards descended on Travis like locusts on dust-bowl wheat.

It was a rotten thing to do to a friend and coworker. But as henchmen, there’s one rule we all live by: we’re all expendable. The minute we pledged ourselves to the cause of evil and donned our matching jumpsuits and ate the free cookies we were marked men. I thought gleefully of the media frenzy that might — would — complete our mission by burying this accursed movie-picture under bad publicity as I prepared to unpin the stink-grenades!!!

No actor, grip, key grip, gaffer or guppy would work on a set that smelled like a gym locker!

“What the #@$&! do you think you’re doing?!”

Clenching the still-pinned grenades betwixt my startled digits, Christian Bale (once again) swooped in to save my life and improve its quality.

“Mister Bale, these—”

“What are you doing, man?! What are you, an amateur?! I’m #@$&! rehearsing my Nick Fury lines all day, waiting for Fabián #@$&! Bullflux to build a #@$&! set worthy of Christian Bale…”

This is why you’ve gotta call ahead.

“You’re right to be upset,” I egged him on. “They’re wailin’ on m’roadie, and now the corpse is dusty. Dagnabbit.”

The veins in his neck danced like worms on a fish hook. “You’re done professionally! I want you off the set!”

In a fight between Christian Bale and Chuck Norris, Mr. T would be the only qualified referee. The appropriate attire for such an occasion would be tuxedos.

*Chortle!* As Bale blithely berated the bewildered guards with his bellicose ballyhoo, Travis and I tag-teamed to tug our teammate’s tepid torso toward the tiled Tuscan toilet. There, we washed Codex’s wilted whiskers, wisecracking wittily as we whipped his weathered wisps into worldly whorls.

Travis tended to his bloodied eyebrow, inured during the melee. A hypnotist with bruised eyebrows is like an airplane pilot with narcolepsy. Incidentally, Colonel Chickenpox, a diagnosed narcoleptic, would frequently commandeer aircraft for personal use, God rest his salty soul.

“Get ready for phase ‘Dine & Dash.’” I cheerily checked the timer on Codex’s stomach.

When the counter reached zero, the Yellow Fever spores ripening within his carapace would reach maturity and emerge from his gills. I had been planning something similar with a bee hive, but Codex’s untimely death had been an all-around boon.

“Do you think this is respectful?” Travis asked as we locked the body in the handicapped stall.

“What else could we do? He’s too big to flush. TELEPORT NOW!”

It takes two weeks to charge my teleporter enough for two people (especially since I use an iPod charger), but getting out of Hollywood alive was a worthwhile use of the coveted technology.

My only regret of the whole hullabaloo was that the ripening process prevented Codex from being zombified or vampirated. A loss for doomsday fanatics everywhere.

***

IN the immediate aftermath of what became known as “Bale Plague”, Hollywood was placed under quarantine by the CDC. All items from the set, including clothes, were burned. The cast and crew from the Nick Fury movie were forced to live nude in a subterranean dome for six months.

And legendary prop designer Fabián Bullflux was declared dead and commemorated on a set of coins available for purchase for $29.99. They say his restless spirit wanders the streets at night, looking for innocent victims to apply prosthetic alien ears to.

But we modern folk know better.

And this is how you do it...

"Name" drones out the unintrested security guard.
"I, am Captain Koma." I tell him making sure to strike a decent evil pose for effect.
"Yeah sure you are." yawns the guard. "Villian castings at stage4. Here's your visitors pass. Have an evil day."

Stage one complete I have been given entry to the movie lot. Smugly I stride to stage 4 overly confident in my own planning. Stage 4 is littered with loosers wanting to play a villain in this sham of a movie.

"Dude worst Captain Koma costume, ever!" says one of the fanboys.
"Yeah Koma wears a hood. You look some kind of made up Flash villain." disses another.
"Really." I reply. "So what would the real Koma do say, right now getting sh1t from fanboys?"
"Koma'd get all Emo and tell us we were wrong and then sic his sexy fem-bot on us." replies the first fanboy.
"No no." blurted the other fanboy. "He'd whine about how nasty we are and then run away crying."
They all burst out laughing.
"Really I thought he'd do something like this." I pull out my blaster raise at the fanboys and fire. I miss them deliberately and take out the car behind them.
"Whoops!" I chuckle. "Blaster wasn't set to stun. Silly old me."
Sirens began sounding and people were already taking footage with their mobile phones. I was going to be subtle and try to ruin the movie by replacing the Sam Jackson with Steve Urkel or Tom Cruise. But now I'd have to change tak.

"Security! Drop the weapon and place your hands on your head." orders a guard.
I don't have time for this. -voip!- I teleport behind the guard.
"Boo!" utter. The guard turns around I fire the blaster, this time set to stun.

The cops were already gathering outside the lot, choppers were flying about. Not long till SHIELD or some hero turns up. The only thing left to do in a powder keg situation like this is light the fuse. I click my fingers and a portal opens.

Out tumbles a hundred synthoids they begin to tear apart the studio.

"Dude! Synthoids! Thats awesome!" exclaimed the fanboy.
"You really are Koma." says the other amazed. "Can we get our picture with you?"
"Sure just be quick about it." I tell them. They go to put their arms around me.
"Uh-uh. Hot chicks only." I tell them.
After the photos are taken the two look a bit distracted.
"Can we like hang around and be your henchmen?" one asks.
"No!" I tell them. I had to get back to ruining this movie.

I make my way through the devastation to the trailers where the crew and stars are cowering. I needed to find the producer Avi Arad. He was hiding in one of the stages with Sam Jackson. Sam pulls a gun on me.
"I'm not here to kill you Mr Jackson." I reveal. "I'm here to ruin this movie."
"What the..." blurts Jackson.
"I'm just an Evil Genius down on his luck." I explain. "The only henchmen I can get are fanboys and geeks, I'm on a reality game show for crying out loud. So please just let me do this and get out of here, okay." I say cutting him off. "I need something from Mr Arad here."
"What do you want me for?" asks the Marvel mogoul.
"I need the name of who's really behind this movie." I answer.
Arad purses his lips and a sick look crawls across his face.
"Look if you don't want to say it then just write it down on this piece of paper." I offer Arad paper and a pen. He quickly writes down the name. I take the paper Arad pockets the pen, thats just typical. I teleport out of there.

Later somewhere in the Hollywood Hills.
"What do you want Koma?" asks a gravely voice.
"Well sir you need to pull the Nick Fury movie." I ask politely.
"And why should I do this?" demands the voice. "I set up the damn movie, I spent years getting Jackson to play Fury. Its a crucial part of the Avengers franchise."
"Lady HYDRA wants it canned..." I begin and He cuts me off.
"Lady HYDRA wants it!" He shouts. "I tell you the only way I'd can this movie is if her can's were on my lap. But Noooo! She wouldn't would she. Cause I'm still Baby Herman with Fifty year old lust and two year old penis!"
"Then would you take a very willing synthiod copy?" I offer smiling as the sythoid copy of Lady HYDRA teleports in front of Baby Herman with a -voip!- and a sexy smile.
"Consider the movie canned. Now get outta here." orders Herman.