World's Toughest Henchmen.

2009-03-22T05:58:00.001-07:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator and Dr. Mrs. The Monarch.

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch: Thank you.

Jon The Intergalactic Gladiator: I wasn’t sure if I’d see you here tonight, Dr. Mrs. The Monarch, but I had a hench that I would.

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch: Wow, that was awful.

Jon The Intergalactic Gladiator: Yeah, I was just following the TelePrompTer. It’s good to see you though, and hear your voice in person.

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch: What about my voice?

Jon The Intergalactic Gladiator: Well nothing, it’s husky you know. You sound kind of like Kathleen Turner on steroids.

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch: What about your voice? You sound like a squeak toy with some kind of nasal problem.

Jon The Intergalactic Gladiator: Hey!

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch: Good thing you’re an Intergalactic Gladiator, whatever that is. Your voice definitely isn’t cut out for broadcasting.

Jon The Intergalactic Gladiator: Alright alright, let’s just get back to the script.

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch: Merriam-Webster’s defines a henchman as a trusted follower: a right-hand man, a political follower whose support is chiefly for personal advantage, or a member of a gang.

Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator: Whether the boss needs a new hideout built into a volcano, his sworn enemy exterminated, or when he’s just jonesing for a double bean burrito from the local Taco Mat, the henchman is the trusted lackey who he turns to.

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch: Unfortunately, the life of a henchman is a dangerous one. They face high technology weapons, cunning adversaries, and occasionally the wrath of their boss.

Jon The Intergalactic Gladiator: At this time, it is our privilege to remember those from the Union who have fallen in the past year.

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch: Thank you.

The Finale

2009-03-16T22:49:00.000-07:00

"Welcome everybody. Its lovely to see the staduim packed out like this. Lets hear a cheer for all the great contestants." enthuses Lin.
"Whatever!" cries Kon-el.
"Take it off!" screams another.

Off stage Henchy and I watch as Lin continues to try and encourage the audience to show some sense of enjoyment. The two of us look out onto the dissalusioned gathering of freaks and degenerates.
Henchy turns to me in his tuxedo and gives me a look of bemusement.

"Dude this is the worst crowd, ever." he states dissapointedly.
"Well what do expect? This were all who answered our invitation and they only came because they think Lin is Lindsay Lohan." I reply. "That and the lifetime supply of our one and only sponsor."
"Urinal Mats. Ugh!" Shivers Henchy as we turn our attention to the stage and Lin's attempts at warming up the audience.

"Well with no further ado lets introduce the twin towers of worlds toughest henchmen. Captain Koma and Henchy!" enthuses Lin uging the lame audience to clap. They don't.

The two of us join Lin on stage. The silence is such that I can clearly hear Kon-El chatting up the Jessica Alba look a like.
"Hey baby I'm fast as a speeding bullet in everything but where it matters." he sleazes.

"Uh-hum." I cough trying to get the audiences attention. "Worlds Toughest Henchmen is one of the most toughest reality game show ever envsioned. It was an honour to judge it. Of course you all want to know who won and what they get. The actual winner was hard to choose. Both Bennet and Gyrobo..."

"Just get on with it man!" screams the fat geek behind Kon-El. "I'm missing Sailor Moon."

"Try miss this!" screams Henchy and he throws the winners trophy at the fat geek.

The trophy was made out of a steel alloy with gold paint. It was pretty heavy and Henchy's over powered cypbernetic arms can throw very hard. The result wasn't brilliant for the geek. The trophy embeded itself in the Fat Geeks head. Blood spurting about all over.
The Jessica Alba look a like screamed and ran off. This made Kon rather angry.

"Henchy! I was so in there." yelled Kon.

"As if you were." snapped the Fat geek. "Now if one of you could please take me to a hospital so I can get this removed."

We did take the geek to hospital. As the trophy was removed from his head the geek asked the doctor if he could see it one last time. The doctor showed the geek the trophy.
"What! I don't bleieve it." cried the geek. "Thats not true... Thats impossible!"

"Whats wrong?" asked the doctor.

"Gyrobo was the winner." howls the geek. "I bet my Star Wars Collectables that it was Bennet."

Gonna make you sweat

2009-03-09T18:56:00.000-07:00

Like wow! That was amazing both of you gave your all. These were posts of high quality and you both deserve to win.

However the head henchman here has ordered me to hold back on any hasty judgement right now. He's told me to wait a week to expand the length of the game, give us some time to reallt think about who should win. And give the other players who are not in the final some time to post their own opinoins on who won and why. But really all its for is one reason.

Thats right we're gonna make you sweat.

We'd love any posts from the other players with their thoughts on who should win the final and why. Of course you should be offering real critiscism and not just lamabsting the finalist.
Than again who am I kidding of course you all going to take the piss and say you should have been in the final. So let the sweating begin.

Mission Eight: Dancing with the Star Wars

2009-03-09T17:21:00.000-07:00

"Oh, my God, Dad!" Claire replied, "I am so not going to my prom with that loser!"

"That loser," I explained, "happens to be the biggest number two in the galaxy."

"Like, whatever! He's, like, got asthma and stuff. So, uncool."

There was no way I could change her mind. If there's one thing I know about cheerleaders, it's that they don't date anyone from the Star Wars universe. That meant I'd have to actually put some effort into this challenge. Lord Vader wants a prom, and I'm going to have to give him one.

Unfortunately, prom happens to be a very expensive ordeal. Fortunately, before he left, I pickpocketed $1,262.13 from Jon.

"This place is perfect," I said to the Administrator. "I want to book it for Vader's prom."

"Sure thing," the charming official replied, "Now, let's just discuss the fee."

"The fee?" I rubbed my chin in preparation for the upcoming negotiation tango that, being in the paper business, I'm all too familiar with. "How much did you have in mind?"

"Well, let's see..." he began. "How much do you have on you?"

"One thousand, two hundred and sixty-two dollars and-" Luckily, I caught myself as I made the fatal faux pa. Thinking quickly, I managed to minimize the damage. "And no cents," I coolly finished.

"Well, then," he replied, "That just so happens to be what I charge for something like this."

And so I obtained a venue, the wonderful Cloud City, for Lord Vader's big night of romantic awkwardness and sweaty armpits.

The 2009 Enchantment in the Clouds Dance

Finally, the big day arrived. "Rise and shine, Romeo," I called out as I entered Vader's Meditation/Life Support Chamber.

"I don't want to go to prom!" he replied, still in bed.

"What? Why not?"

"What's the point?" he sobbed. "Padme's not here."

"There are other fish on the buffet," I offered. "In fact, I got just the girl for you."

"You do?" the dark lord replied, rising from his bed. "Like who?"

"TV Personality, Melissa Rivers."

"She has a meditation slash life support chamber, too!" I added.

He looked at the picture and screamed, "NooOocoOoOoOOOO!!!!"

"How about not ever doing that again?" I said. "Calm down. I've got a back up girl you'll love. Just get into the limo. She'll be at the prom."

The truth was there was no back up girl.

"Listen," I said on the limo ride over. "Looks like we're going stag to this prom thing. But don't worry. I'm a great wingman."

"What?" Vader seemed annoyed. "I wanted to get laid tonight!" The limo's liquor bottles began to shake.

"Calm down," I said. "I'll walk you through it. We'll get you a woman." I gave him a shot of vodka as we pulled into the parking lot.

Vader entered the building confidently. "We're getting laid tonight. I can feel it," he announced. "There'll be no one to stop us this time."

We started off casually. We made our way around the room, scoping out the possibilities.

Darth Vader came to a halt. "Obi-Wan is here," he said, "The Force is with him."

I looked over to see an old drunk dancing alone.

Then, I noticed a scantily-clad woman standing by herself against the wall. She was holding a glass of punch and looked ready to be swept off her feet. "There's your girl," I said.

"I don't know," Vader said. "Maybe we should..uh, mingle some more first."

"Don't chicken out on me, man!" I said grabbing him by the shoulders. "The worst she can do is say no. Just go up to her and ask her to dance."

Vader pumped himself up with a few words, and I gave him a pat on the back as he walked toward the girl.

"May I have this dance?

The girl took Vader's hand, and they both moved onto the dance floor. I watched happily from afar.

"It makes me wish I had a son," I thought aloud.

As the night drew to an end, Vader came up to me. "The girl is great," he told me. "She wants to get out of here, and I told her we could take the limo. Do you think you could find a way home?"

"Sure," I said, seeing the hopeful gleam in his mask's shiny eye bulges. Our little Sith lord was about to become a Sith man. "Use the Force," I called out, "and protection."

Yertle the Squirtle

2009-03-09T15:09:00.000-07:00

PARENTAL WARNING: This story should only be read to children who have a 5 O’clock shadow and exhibit symptoms of cantalouping.

***

“Can anyone tell me,” I berated Team Rocket,
“Why your boss hired third-party thugs out-of-pocket?
Are you hiding your numbers? You can’t be this dumb…
After more than a decade, your total is none?”

They looked down at the ground and they shuffled their feet
And they once more recounted their tales of defeat:
It was always the same, the same boy with his hat,
The same shocking conclusion, the same yellow rat.

I’ve never quite seen such an unbroken streak
Of magnificent failure! What horrid technique!
So I preached them the merits of switching careers
As we sat by the lake and it filled with their tears.
“Your problem’s in planning, you must keep things plain—
Why not sneak up at night and just bash Ash’s brain?”

My advice became shouts and I yelled until purple—
And that’s when we noticed an everyday turtle.
Just an everyday turtle who shouted its name
As it waddled past quickly, along the marsh grain.
It sat down and relaxed by the edge of the shore
And ignored us quite well as it started to snore.

I slapped my fat forehead as if sprayed by bear mace:
“Can’t you see with your eyes what’s in front of your face?
Can’t you see that that turtle that lays on those rocks
With his unfettered spirit and striped purple socks
Is the prey you’ve pursued far and wide yet not near
For lo! this last decade, plus three extra years?
They say you’re the worst, so prove you’re the best!
Are you honcho or hoodwink of Pokémon theft?”

The three smiled with hands wrung together like chains
As they thought up a plan, and they went to great pains
To construct a machine of Rube Goldberg descent
To capture this creature beneath a great tent.

Now, the tent was substandard and the clunky machine
Was so gaudily painted I thought it obscene.
The pistons were wooden, the girders were bent
And a family of opossums was lodged in the vent.
But the fools were just sure it would capture their pet—
Though I’d’ve just scooped the thing up in a net.
They flipped a blue lever. The machine hissed and swayed
And the turtle woke up and it wandered away.

The tent fell to the ground with a slip and a tumble
And the creaky contraption collapsed into rubble.
And the turtle was laughing! It laughed from the lake!
It laughed at my students! My pride was at stake!
Without thought to the law or with thought of myself
I hurled myself skyward toward the sea shelf.
With Jessie in one hand and James by the foot
And Meowth on my coattails we crashed the sea roof.

We needed no catch-phrase to swat out that bug.
No nonsense of starflight, nor scorning of love.
We beat-boxed that turtle, it took seven hours—
But after we caught him, we’d harness those powers.
Those powers that fought us to the edge of the brink…
Until mid-morning’s generous armistice drink.
We ceased our attacks and retracted our blades
And for forty-four minutes no battle-hymns played.
But on the forty-fifth minute I broke off the deal—
And I broke more than that with my boots, shod in steel!

With a final sick wheeze, it gave up the ghost
And the turtle’s shell crumbled like overdone toast.
We captured it quickly and contained it by purse
Until it could be tended by a pink-headed nurse.

Soon the turtle’s shell shone— it was healed and grew finer,
And they auctioned it off and bought South Carolina.
But when Jessie and James sealed the state’s borders,
Their boss caught wind and summoned his lawyers.
Thanks to twelve briefs in a rude contretemps,
Jessie and James now collect workman’s comp.

And what of the turtle that caused this dispute?
As far as I care, it’s been turned into soup.
My contract is up, so it’s time now, it seems,
To unfurl our sails and drift into our dreams.

Good night.

Finals

2009-03-03T16:29:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gents,

It's now time for the Final.

However, we need in make a cut. Since Bennet won the last challenge. That means either Gyrobo or Match have to leave the show.

I want to thank both of these fine beings for showing up and doing their best. Sorry, but someone gots to go.

Who will that be?

...

...

Match

I thank you, but you are not tough enough.

On to the final challenge. I have made two different challenges for each of you.

Bennet; You make a prom for someone who has never had the chance to go to his. Meaning, you most come up with the venue, theme, guest and prom date...
For Darth Vadar.

Gyrobo; You must help...
Team Rocket

Catch a Pokemon and get approved for unemployment.

Best of luck to both of you.

Dental for all.

Raptor Jesus rules.

Judging with a little help...

2009-03-02T18:05:00.000-08:00

Well that was the best round since, ever.

The three of you all stood up and boldly pushed yourself to the max. You gave it all you had and strained until breaking point to bring your 'A' game to this challenge. As your judge I am totally impressed with all three of you. It was a trimunative of stellar posts. A trifecta of trifectas. A wonderful tour de force of pop culture and social comentry.

But unfortunately there can only be one winner. I can't award the three of you as the winner because then what kind of judge would I be. Thats right this kind.

So onto your judging so I'd better get the right music on.

I love MC Cat

Okay now I've got the right music on I can judge you all.

Match - For you opposites dont attract but don't worry I'm quite sure that Fury will be Forever your girl. Nice work with the Skrulls and the violence was cool. Still you rambled a bit again. Pickup the action man get the pace. Rememeber like Paula sings - Shut up and Dance.

Gyrobo - Ah Taft. Even in Australia we represent for Taft. If only he didn't get infected with Skrully selfishness. The time conundrum worked too. Love your work as always. Also loved your pic with Jon IG. The small Taks were a great touch. Entertaining and confounding yours is a talent we all live in awe of.

Bennet - There's a bit of a resemblance between you and Rummy. Were you adopted? Makes sense with the adoption of your own daughter.
Nice way to get into the Raft and then get caught. Shows that your willing to take risks. Henchmen need to know that they are ultimately expendable. Also you killed reall heroes and not unknown guards, love your work.

Okay now who's won. Who's scored immunity and goes straight into the finals.

I'll give you a clue. He's got his own action figure. He's got a rather short but hot daughter. He also goes by the letters H R and G.

Bennet wins

Mission Seven: Escapism

2009-03-02T16:00:00.000-08:00

For years I have been containing superhumans in a prison in the basement of a paper company. Surely The Raft wouldn't be much different. That meant I had an advantage. I knew exactly what to expect. This would be like fighting myself. Simple. Easy. I'm a pushover.

"Hello," I said extending my hand.

The warden of The Raft shook my hand and responded, "Good to meet you."

"As I said on the phone, I'm with a very top secret paper company," I explained, "and, well, we'd like to borrow a few Skrulls for a while; we need test subjects for our enhanced interrogation techniques."

"Skrulls, eh?" He rubbed his head. "I don't know. I mean, they're worse than Muslims. They're like Muslims on Red Bull. Have you ever seen an overly-caffeinated suicide bomber?"

I shook my head.

"Pray you don't, son. Pray you don't."

"Can I see where you're keeping them?" I asked.

"Sure," he replied. "Follow me."

Warden Rumsfeld led me down a long and heavily-guarded corridor and into an elevator. He inserted his ID card into a slot and entered in a passcode on the numberpad. Then, we were in motion. "So, did you see The Sopranos finale?" I asked.

Before he could answer, the elevator stopped.

"Nice," I said as we stepped out into the cold concrete facility. "This looks just like what we had, uh, have back at Primatech. What is that? Anti-power Plexiglas?"

"The forty-eight hundred series," he replied, "not out on the public market yet."

I tapped on the Plexiglas in amazement. The inmate on the other side snarled and banged all four of his fists against it.

"Here you are," Rumsfeld showed me an empty cell.

"There are no Skrulls in there," I observed.

"This is your cell, Noah," he pulled out a microphone and began dictating orders to the prison staff.

"No! You can't lock me up," I complained, raising a finger. "I'm a very important person, middle management even."

"Sometimes even middle management is expendable," he replied.

"NoOocooOoOoOOoOOOO~!"

I awoke in dull pajamas, like most mornings.

"Well," I said aloud, "I guess I lost this challenge."

"Don't give up yet!" the Plexiglas said.

"Whaaa?" I was not only confused, but quite bewildered as well.

"Shhhh!" it commanded. "Not so loud."

"They think this cell is empty," the bed added.

"But it's not," said the Hello Kitty poster.

"Wh-who...what are you?"

"We're Skrulls," Hello Kitty poster explained. "Here, you'll need me."

Before my eyes the Hello Kitty poster transformed into a handgun. "If there's one thing I love more than Hello Kitty, it's firearms," I said picking up the mysterious talking weapon.

The Plexiglas and bed transformed into lizardy-looking humanoids. "How'd your aim?" one of the creatures asked of me.

"I never get anything on the toilet seat," I replied.

"Great," he responded. "We've been waiting for a marksman for some time. Our last escape attempt ended with three deaths and an injury from friendly fire.

"Well, let's do this," I said, cocking the pistol.

We exited the cell and began our escape. Soon we were confronted by Donald Rumsfeld. Now, he had back up with him.

"Stop there, criminal!" Captain America ordered.

"I'd say you're going to the big house," Spider-Man said, "but you're already here."

"Do something!" one of the Skrulls shouted, and then they transformed into various furniture and went into hiding.

Asking myself, "What would Jesus do?" I pulled the gun and fired three shots.

As he bled slowly to death, Captain America mumbled, "Wh-why...did you...have to have...a gun?"

The Skrulls, now having transformed back into their usual selves, walked up to me. "Wow," one said, "It's so easy if you just shoot them instead of your own people."

I shot him.

He fell to the ground dead, and I said, "It's about the same."

As we exited the facility, my gun transformed back into a Skrull. We arrived at the A.I.M. base shortly after, and the Skrulls were on their way home.

♪ Get Out of Raft with Taft ♫

2009-03-02T15:28:00.000-08:00

This post is brought to you by The Government.

***

“Washington declined a third term. Grant was denied a third term. Roosevelt demanded a third term.”

“So don’t I deserve a second term?” Boomed history’s heaviest U.S. President, William Howard Taft.

Pulled from primeval 1912 to the present day, he took up two seats and destroyed our mileage.

“Is he going to complain about Teddy Roosevelt the whole ride?” Travis asked under his breath, shooting me daggers.

“Teddy!” wailed Taft.

“Now we’re going to have to stop for chocolate. Thanks, Travis.” I folded my arms. My prison guard uniform chaffed.

“Why is he here anyway? We don’t need him…”

That’s a little like asking Picasso why the Mona Lisa only has one ear.

“SUBMITTED,” I began, “that our most honorable mission is to mount a Skrull jailbreak from Raft, the prison for superhumans. Taft knows more about breaking out of Raft than anyone — his campaign slogan was ‘Get out of Raft with Taft.’”

“Actually,” Taft twirled his out-of-date moustache, “it was ‘get in a raft with Taft.’”

“That’s the easy part.” I pressed the camouflage button on the hovercraft’s dashboard. Immediately, our vehicle morphed into an exact replica of the prison transport we’d run off that bridge five miles back.

“Taft?” Travis looked back, “This is your last chance to back out.”

His rubicund face contorted thus: “Perish the thought! Teddy’s not the only one as strong as a bull moose! I can handle any burden.” He flexed, and the buttons held.

The prison rose as the temperature fell. Though it was midday, searchlights shone upon the perimeter, illuminating God only knows what. Desperation, fear and a touch of madness emanated psychically over the reinforced walls and turrets. A thousand and one deadly traps lay waiting in the foliage, and the air smelt of decay. Above, the sky was an ugly inky black, and the clouds twisted meanly.

We pulled to a stop. Travis spritzed himself with prison-grade cologne and I rehearsed my lines again, as the drawbridge crashed down over a glowing purple moat. We could not cross, as Travis’s MERE PRESENCE would set off the hypnosis alarm. Guards armed to the teeth with riot gear spilled out, ready for a prisoner transfer.

I climbed out and shook hands with the warden (I assumed he was the warden, he wore only the finest purple linens and silks), clasping his wrist firmly.

“I’m master bounty hunter Mongrel Jones, and this is special agent Perry Nöel.”

“Bonjour,” Travis waved.

“We’re here to conduct the peaceable transfer of one, W. H. Taft, to the prison Raft.” I stifled a chuckle at the rhyming goodness.

The warden frowned at his clipboard. “There are 20 prisoners scheduled for today, but none of them are named—”

“This is the prisoner you’re scheduled for,” Travis declared, briefly flashing a whistling hypnotic spiral with Obi-Wan-like ease. The guards stumbled, almost falling over from the sheer power.

“Is it?” The warden mumbled. The mind-veil had taken! Travis’s aim was improving; the last time this feat had been attempted, there had been no survivors.

“Get up, you great lump!” I commanded of the time-marooned president. Taft shambled out of the backseat, his arms and legs shackled together. As the searchlights hit his orange jumpsuit, sweet memories of James & The Giant Peach floated to the forefront of my mind.

“Stop yelling at me!” Taft shielded his eyes, but I could see he loved the attention. Our needlessly complex plan was ONLY one third of the way completed, but the allure of a job well done kept me on the straight and narrow.

“This is… who did you say this was again?” The warden searched his clipboard. Someone should take that away from him.

“Willy Taft,” I clucked, tapping the president’s back with my plastic baton. “Caught just outside the Shire Sunday night. It took more than an outraged band of halflings to take down this blue elephant,” I pointed to his tusk-like moustache, while simultaneously referencing his left-wing and Republican affiliations. “He gored three hobbits and an orc.”

Taft loudly chewed his own cuds while the warden finalized the paperwork. “What powers does the inmate posses?”

Only those delegated by the constitution, I held back. “Laser breath, microwave eyes, etc.”

The guards nodded, “That’s pretty common.”

“Yeah. Garden variety.”

“How pedestrian.”

“I’ve seen bigger.”

“We’ll just be on our way then,” I snapped the completed paperwork from the warden’s still-shaking hands. Travis and I packed back into the camouflaged hovercraft and sped away. Out of the corner of my eye, Taft gave us a covert wink as they slipped a laser-proof drool collar on and led him inside the fortress.

“So what’s the plan now?” Travis asked, clasping his hands tighter to the wheel as we passed safely beyond surveillance range. “Have Taft start a fight while we sneak in through the sewers? Stage a public protest against Taft’s imprisonment and have some incensed hippies tear the walls down? Or do you plan to leave Taft displaced from time in an attempt to ruin Earth’s past to prevent the Skrulls’ arrival?”

I beamed. “The student has become the master. But nay!” I unfolded a map of New York City. “We’re to journey to the Presidential Library of William Howard Taft—”

“B-but there is no Taft presidential library—”

“Bite your tongue, wastrel! The library was constructed in secret almost a century ago — it’s more a vault, really — to house a single envelope which has remained unopened and undisturbed for exactly 96 years tomorrow. Now shut up and FLY!”

Seven hours later, Travis and I returned from the secret vault, having fought past our share of skeletal warriors and solved the riddle of the Spider King. I was exhausted and Travis would soon lose a finger to gangrene, but we recovered the precious envelope. Wars were waged over envelopes such as this. The writing on the front was faded completely, and the stamp had long ago fallen off and withered to dust.

“Mongrel Jones! What a surprise.” The warden didn’t sound surprised, swaggering over as we disembarked from the vehicle. “What brings you back to Raft? Got another inmate for me?”

“We’re here to make a withdrawal, not a deposit,” I spat, using banking jargon to great effect.

“What’s that in your hand?” He half-pointed to the envelope. Couldn’t really be bothered to point fully, huh? Whatever happened to work ethic? Did it just EVAPORATE?

“It’s a blank cheque,” I whipped out my letter opener and broke the ancient wax. “A presidential pardon for William Howard Taft, issued exactly 96 years ago tomorrow — by President William Howard Taft.”

Jaws dropped around the board and the injustice of it all caused more than one guard to exhibit the symptoms of hysterical blindness. When the warden regained his composure the forest was silent for his verdict.

“This is a valid pardon…”

Grown men wept and children danced in the streets at this simple proclamation. Fair maidens hung wreaths around my neck and offered me gumbos and stews laced with the tastiest spices.

Taft rode out the prison gates atop a pygmy blue elephant (tuskless), waving to the masses, and bands played him great fanfare as the timeless president exited to the cheering throngs of humanity.

“Bully for you, I say,” I patted him on the back. “They haven’t yet built a prison — or bathtub — that can hold William Howard Taft!”

Fortunately, they had built a hovercraft which could (hold him). The three of us flew from Raft as if someone had lit a fire under our collective rumps.

“Now…” I slyly slinked as we skinked past the city limits, “Bring them forth!”

As if on cue, Taft shoved his massive arm down his throat. Travis cringed, as with a *GRK*ing sound, the president regurgitated a series of fire-red bricks.

“Are those—”

“Skrulls! Taft’s stomach lining shielded them from the anti-shapeshifting rays.”

With a final jerking, the last Skrull-brick was safely stowed away in the overhead compartment and Taft spent the remainder of the ride recuperating.

As we neared my magical workshop, an errant thought came to Travis. “Why did we go through all that trouble when Taft could have pardoned the Skrulls instead?”

When I was finished flogging him, I answered, “The Democrats were monitoring his ink usage. If he’d signed that many pardons — especially for Skrulls! — he’d’ve been discovered and Wilson would have won a large enough mandate to take out the Kaiser on day one. The Progressive Era was known for its suspicion of the goblin-men.”

“What was done cannot be undone and cannot have been done any other way,” Taft spoke wisely. “Now,” he said as the craft slumped to a bodacious halt, “will you maintain your end of our Faustian bargain?”

Clapping my claws, the window rolled down and a winged cherub burst from my lab, carrying a jewel-covered black box with metal hinges and ornate designs beside the hand-forged handles. Hesitantly I opened it.

“Remember to sign your own pardon on your last day in office or you will rupture the very berry fabric of space/time or maybe you won’t because nobody ever tried doing that so it might work,” I rambled in an off-the-cuff run-on sentence that had no right to exist.

He braced himself. “Anything to return to my family and failing reelection campaign.”

I removed a glowing red crystal from the hauntingly slick box. “Then I release you from this century. Whoooooooooo!”

Taft, smiling, evaporated as the crystal broke in half. 96 years ago tomorrow, William Howard Taft, having already cemented his legacy as a staunch anti-Skrull, reluctantly pardoned his past self in the future.

BUT IN REALITY, stories of Taft’s selflessness spread from the Skrull he had rescued. Upon their return home, Taft’s exploits on their behalf circled the Skrull empire. Boy-Skrull and Girl-Skrull with names like “Willy” and “Howie” were common on the Skrull homeword in the succeeding seasons.

The benevolence of a single human helped bring the Skrull to the negotiating table, and a new peace opened between Earth and the goblin-men.

And somewhen, William Howard Taft, armed with the foreknowledge of supercomputers and helicopter rides, was busy helping others — and hoping that the next leap would be the leap home.

Escape from Superjail

2009-03-01T17:48:00.000-08:00

Okay we're breaking out some shape shifting lizards. The getting in will be easy. Fury will pretend to be Wonder girl turning me in. Unfortunately that meant Fury wearing Wondergirl's new stupid costume.

“Damn it! How does that bimbo move her arms with this chest plate thing?”

“Very carefully." I respond.

“Ha-ha! Let's go to phase 2.

Phase 2 is stealing a Titans Jet from the Tower to make this look all legit. That was easier then it should have been. When we go to the Tower, they were all whining so much over some emo crap they didn't even notice us. And the security system is a joke, I didn't even need any powers to break in, in fact I didn't need to break in I walked in. No wonder Titans die so often.

So we fly out to the Raft. Getting in was the easy part. I was in Inhibitor Cuffs. And as I'm being carted away to a cell the Warden hits on Fury who talks like this now. “Golly! That'd be ever so swell sir!"

Ugh. I don't know what she thinks Wonder Girl sounds like but she was talking like Miss Martian, and Vella fused, and on crack. Not that it mattered apparently an18 year old blondes can be able to be as corny as they like.

Meanwhile the guards decided to get special with me. “Hey let's beat this albino Clone! He he He's not so tough now that he don't have all hen fancy powers!"

“He thinks he can kill prison guards at the Vault, and get away. Well he's got another thing comin’." Another one drawls.

I grin, " Not only do I think I can kill a few there, but all of you morons as well I let the cuffs fall off my wrists.” They weren't on." After breaking all of them in half I make my way to the Warden's Office

I half expected to find Fury actually canoodling the guy. But instead she broke the guy's back." “Hmph at least you didn't screw him." I growl.

“Aw are you jealous that's so hot!" We ended up making out right in front of the paralyzed warden Fury's butt hit a few switches as we rolled around, and most of the prisoners were let out.

oddly A song by Tenacious D somehow got played over the intercom but just one verse over, and over " We're gonna f'ing riot! Riot!"

After me, and Fury were finished with each other look up were the Skrulls are kept. Of course it wasn't with the rest of prisoners. They were held in a different wing all together.

Getting there was pretty easy the blended in with the bodies of everyone fighting it out. I disguised my self, as Superboy, as Fury tried to talk our way into seeing the Skrulls.

I was trying to figure out why these guards weren't trying to wrangle the other super villains like the others I guess they were just you know assigned to guard the aliens , and only the aliens.

Something about Fury saying “golly, and gosh set me off, and I heat visioned all the guards.

“Oh that was smart." She gripes. "The Lock is a combination, lock, and the door is Adamantium."
I tear it open. And let her think for a few minutes I'm that strong then say. “That door is secondary Adamantium easier to break, and much cheaper heh. Your tax dollars at work."

We free several cells worth of the aliens, and get ready to go. Now here's the thing about the guards at these super powered jails the reason they're here is because they flunked out of SHEILD. In fact a lot of these guys have flunked kindergarten. This is why even the dumbest villain can escape.

We all went out disguised as a clown parade, after they rounded up the slower prisoners who haven't escaped yet.

After we had already gotten, to the T Jet I heard “Hey wait a minute Clown parade!!!"

The Jet was damaged in the riot. So we could only make it to New York which was crawling with superheroes Okay you guys take the forms of the Teen Titans I instruct

I wish I had been more specific. They turned into this.

Of course before I could explain what was wrong with that. A group of heroes shows up. Iron Man looks over the Toon Titans. "Man what kind of drugs have they been taken?"

“Tis sad too see such noble youths taken by vice." Yes this coming from the biggest drunken womanizers the Avengers have ever seen.

Wolverine sniffs me “Match! Ya son of a- It’s payback time fer snippin' me bub."

How can he tell any difference between me, and Superboy? Any way I yell. “Skrull!" And point at the midget.

Thor looks him over. “Yes that would explain why he's in every team at once."

“Look Bub Marvel just thinks I sale comics is all." Wolverine brags.

"And you are saying the God of Thunder does not?" Thor bellows.

“How many times has yer book been canceled goldilocks?"

“Have at Thee!" Thor yells attacking.

While all the heroes get into the fight we make our escape. You know I believe superheroes want any excuse to fight one another. We got to the AIM base, and the transporter without further incident, well except Fury heart her arms when she tried to stretch her arms over her head.

The final three and Breakout Challenge.

2009-02-24T15:52:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-23T18:38:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-23T16:59:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-23T15:29:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-02-21T18:55:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-20T19:55:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-16T18:36:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-02-16T17:34:00.000-08:00

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.

Mission Five: Some Unfinished Show Business

2009-02-16T17:29:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-16T06:32:00.000-08:00

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!

2009-02-15T23:37:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-15T21:09:00.000-08:00

“‘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...

2009-02-15T03:30:00.000-08:00

"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.

Intergalactic Gladiator: Lights! Camera! Action-diddly-Jackson!

2009-02-14T09:11:00.000-08:00

I snuck onto the lot where the Nick Fury movie was being filmed. I’m a pretty sneaky guy sometimes, you know.

I was poking around the set, all sneaky and stealthy-like.

“Hey Jon.”

I spun around quickly and was face to face with Private Hudson.

“Hudson, what are you doing here?”

“They hired me to be a guard on the set!” he exclaimed. “Isn’t that way awesome?”

“Yeah, way,” I replied.

“Game over for anyone trying to sneak on the set, huh?” he nudged me.

“Uh Hudson, what’s that giant lump on your back?” I asked.

“That’s not lump, silly.” He pulled the object from behind his back. “Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator, meet Paddleput the Monkeyboy.”

“Hey-ooooo!” the creature squealed.

Mokeyboys. Why’d it have to be Monkeyboys?

“What are you doing with that thing?” I asked.

“Are you kidding?” Hudson grinned. “This guy’s awesome. Just lookit how funny he is!”

I watched as the creature rolled around on the ground and then threw his arms out.

“Ta da!” it squealed.

“Ha ha ha! That was awesome, Paddleput!” Hudson laughed.

I quickly gassed Hudson and the Monkeyboy, threw them in the nearest dumpster, welded it shut, wrapped a bunch of heavy chains around it, padlocked it, nailed a bunch of two by fours to it, then rolled it down a long hill. Smugly satisfied, I brushed my hands together with smugly satisfied grin.

“The things I do for my thousands of fans,” I muttered.

I used the mini harpoon on my Wristcomm to launch a monofilament cable up the side of the building and I quickly climbed up and sneakily made my way into the rafters.

Once inside, I scoped out the scene. There was Samuel L. Jackson playing Fury (can you say pandering?) and it looks like they’re filming a scene where he seduces the evil lesbian assassin. I started rooting around through my duffel bag when I accidentally bumped one of the stage lights. It plummeted to the ground, crashing right on top of the evil lesbian’s head.

“Oh my mother[beep]ing God!” Jackson exclaimed. “She’s dead! DeVille! The mother[beep]ing lesbian assassin is mother[beep]ing dead!”

World-renowned director Copper DeVille ran up on stage and looked at the gooey mess that used to be his actor’s face.

“Dammit,” he threw his arms up. “Now we’ll have to get another evil lesbian assassin for you to seduce. Well, I guess all I can say is that at least we won’t have her on the set making a mess of things, causing drama, swearing casually in a weak attempt to shock us, telling us all that we have boogers hanging out of our noses, and sleeping around with everyone in the production. I would have gotten rid of her sooner, but the sex was pretty good.”

[Beep],” replied Jackson coolly. “I guess we’ll have to wait for this mother[beep]ing scene, huh?”

Their conversation was interrupted by a dozen Amazonian tree vipers raining down on them, courtesy of my duffel bag. I’m no Jake “The Snake” Roberts (mostly because I’m not strung out on crack and heroin), but I know how to stun twelve deadly snakes, stuff them all into a duffel bag, then dump them down on a movie set. I do this kind of thing every week.

“Snakes!” Cooper DeVille yelled.

“I’ve had enough of these mother[beep]ing snakes on this mother[beep]ing movie set!” Jackson howled. “That’s it, I [beep]ing quit. I’m going to [beep]ing walk the Earth like mother[beep]ing Kung Fu. Right the wrongs one at a time, once a week, in a small California town.”

Jackson stormed off the set leaving the crew standing around dumbfounded.

“Well now who are we going to get to play Fury?” DeVille howled.

“Never fear, the Hoff is here!” David Hasselhoff leapt onto the set and posed with his arms akimbo. “I will be Nick Fury.”

“Argh! I quit!” DeVille roared. “I can’t work under these conditions. Cancel the scene! Cancel the movie! I’m going back to making commercials where little dogs chase little chuck wagons!”

“Hey don’t hassle the Hoff,” Hasselhoff replied indignantly.

The crew walked off the set, the lights shut down and the equipment powered off. Hasslehoff was the only one left on stage. He stood there looking around with his arms in the air until a dozen deadly Amazonian tree vipers attacked him en masse.

Challenge 5 - Hollywood or bust

2009-02-11T18:51:00.000-08:00

At the Henchman union we are regularly called in to provide extra man power. Doom, AIM, and of course the Republican Party.

We've had a call from HYDRA that requires your individual expertise. In fact Madam Hydra herself came to ask Henchy if he had the manpower to accomodate her needs. Henchy left with Madam Hydra to -ahem- hammer out the deatails and hasn't come back. So its up to me to issue you with the challenge for this week.

As you all know there is an up and comming movie about the Super spy Nick Fury. HYDRA are not impressed at all with this piece of unadulterated fluff. Not that its got anything to do with the fact that Fury has almost single handedly thwarted all of HYRDA's plans. Of course not its got to do with recruiting. At least thats what Madam Hyrda said and Henchy was inclined to support her position and just about any other position as well.

So this is your mission -

Get to Hollywood
Stop the Fury movie

Now in your way are the usual movie security.

However there are SHIELD agents and possibly a few super heroes.

Fury just might be there himself as well.

Also you'll have a guest competitor this round.
Me.

So lets get to it and ruin that movie.

Hail HYDRA!
ewww! Why did I say that?

Greet and toss...

2009-02-10T02:53:00.000-08:00

Ok you guys have done a good job with this task. In fact I was quite surprised with your posts.

They all didn't suck.

Match - Nice work there Braniac has always been the romantic of the leauge. As for Grundy wanting some love well big guys andgirls need love too. I always wondered what happened to Kite-Man. As for Fury she looks good but there's not much apart from that, she needs to stay. In fact if she was playing instead of you I think she'd be winning.

Jon IG - Light entertainment award winner. Yep light on you were. We expect more for a man who ran with Optiums Prime for the Presidency. There hasn't been a monkey boy in sight let alone a certian Pvt. Hudson.

Gyrobo - Can you get any better? Maybe you can? But your leading the pack here.

Cyclops - Almost as light as Jon IG but you made more fun of it. Would like to know what happened during your boring hour.

Bennet - I am often accused of bias against you. Thats true. You worked well with what you had. I enjoyed it a lot. No really I did. It was good.

Who wins well. Its a little easy to tell by my response to his post.

Its 2 for 2 for Gyrobo.

Mission Four: To Bounce or Not to Bounce

2009-02-09T14:34:00.000-08:00

After being blasted in the face by Cyclops, I spent a few hours recovering. Luckily, my daughter's blood happens to be a cure for all things. Just ask Richard Simmons, who's now heterosexual.

As soon as I was back to one hundred and seventy-three percent, I jumped out of the medical bed and dashed naked down the streets of wherever we are. Cars, hoverbikes and banana buggies blared their horns at me.

"You're naked, you dern fool!" one person screamed out.

I suddenly realized he was right! In my haste to get perform this weeks challenge, I neglected a very important element of preparation. Grabbing my spare horn-rimmed glasses from their hiding place, I donned my sinister henchman uniform.

"You're still naked, you dern fool!" the same person screamed.

"Yes," I hollered back, "but now I can see!"

Soon, I arrived at Studio of Doom 54. Due to the concern of the censors, the show's producers had one of my suits waiting for me. I quickly dressed and said to a club patron, "I'm Noah Bennet. I'm here to bounce you."

"You can't bounce me!" the patron whined in a high-pitched tone. "I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

I ran, ran, ran as fast as I could, but I couldn't catch him. He's the Gingerbread Man. So, I pulled out my gun and blew him into gingerbread crumbs.

Turning back around to the long line of club-goers, I said, "If you're not on the list, get out."

"My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius," one man said stepping out of the line toward me. "And I go where I please." He neared closer with a threatening look in his eye.

"Well, look, Max," I explained, "just because you're wearing a skirt doesn't make you a hot girl."

A group of Germans laughed hysterically.

"It is not a skirt!" Maximus yelled, drawing his sword.

"Even so, you're not exactly a super-villain, so I can't let you in." I drew my sword, too.

John Williams and the London Symphony Orchestra began playing Duel of the Fates as Max and I clashed in battle. Metal clanged against metal for what seemed like a couple of minutes.

"Hey, let's sneak in while the bouncer's busy!" said a Goomba.

Thinking quickly, I grabbed a ream of paper from inside my jacket and threw it at the Goomba. It smacked him hard in the face and he began to cry.

"I've got plenty more where that came from!" I shouted while parlaying Maximus's thrusts. The other patrons in line stood still, not wanting to risk facing my wrath.

Finally, I saw my opening. With a quick slice, I mostly removed the gladiator's head from his body. And so, I returned to my post near the door.

"I've been waiting nearly seven minutes!" Donald Trump screamed into my face. "I mean, I enjoyed the show. It was a good show. Killing a gladiator...that was huge. But I should be in there. I've got huge business to discuss with Mr. Luthor. We're going to turn New Jersey into a giant water-slide. We're gonna call it Trump Water-Slide. It's gonna be huge!"

"Of course, Mr. Trump. I'm sorry, Mr. Trump. Right this way, Mr. Trump."

Cyclops has another ball

2009-02-08T12:55:00.000-08:00

Damn that Noah Bennet! After baby-sitting George Bush a couple of weeks ago I needed a long hot shower. You know, to try and wash off the crazy. Those kinds of showers always take a long time. Anyway, in the middle of my shower the water suddenly got scalding hot. I leaped out of the shower and slipped on a suspiciously placed bar of soap. I landed on my butt, hard. Before I knew what was happening, someone put a bag over my head. Someone named Noah Bennet.

I was about to blast a hole in the bag with my impressive optic blast, when Bennet clocked me in the back of the head with a soggy towel. Seeing as how it was just a towel, I didn't really feel it. Then he used a crowbar. I was out like a light.

When I woke up I found I was in a bear, dank room with gray brick walls. The only things in there was a metal cot and a toilet. The barred door was locked. To my extreme displeasure, there was also a helmet on my head that I couldn't take off. The ruby quartz plate blocked my eye beams.

Food got shoved under the door twice a day which I had to drink through a straw that fit in the mouth opening in my helmet. I knew Bennet was doing all this to me because I heard his annoying, weaselly cackling as he slid the food under the door.

Things were looking pretty hopeless. I spent most of my time curled up on the cot in the fetal position whimpering. Then I got an idea.

I took off the form-fitting, skin tight pants of my X-Men battle suit and ripped them in half. Then I wadded the two pieces up into balls and shoved them down the front of my suit, carefully shaping them to appear to be generous lady bumps.

When I next heard food being slid under the door, I began to scream in my highest pitched voice. Wolverine is always telling me that I cry like a girl, so I thought I'd use that to my advantage. Bennet hesitated. I kept wailing for help. Eventually he opened the door. He stared at me, lying in the floor, screaming. I wiggled my fake breasts at him. He came over to me.

"Cyclops?" he asked in confusion.

"No!" I cried in a falsetto. "My name is . . Maggie! Cyclops switched places with me! Help!"

Bennet hesitated so I jiggled my fake breasts at him again. He unlocked the helmet, pausing to squeeze my pant leg boobs. When the helmet was off, I blasted him in the face.

Grabbing my spare ruby glasses from their hiding place, I raced upstairs to find that the new challenge had just been given - being a bouncer at a bad guy's club. I started to run out to do the challenge when Henchman called me back. We stared at each other for a long moment.
"Where are your pants?" he finally said.

"Oh, uh . . ."

"And what's with the breasts, man?"

"Oh, those are, um, my pants . . ."

He shook his head and walked away.

I yanked the pants legs out of my shirt and pulled them up my legs. I stuck the two pieces together with some safety pins and hurried to the club. It was 5pm when I got there. The only ones there were Lex Luthor and some waiters covering the tables with white clothes.

"Uh, hi," I said to Luthor as I walked over to him. "I'm here about the, uh, bouncing thing."

"It's only 5," he said with irritation. "The Ball won't start for another 3 hours."

I just smiled. My hour will be up before the bad guys even arrive.

Lex Luthor’s Pants Fall Down!

2009-02-07T18:27:00.000-08:00

“Rupert, Bill, why don’t you two welcome ‘the professor’ to Nutwood?”

Taking my cue despite the obscure reference, Travis and Codex stepped in to deal with The Questionable Mark — another punctuation-based villain. Related pests include the Hyphenated Horror, Backslasher, Gamma Guillemet and Interpunk.

Now, I’m not above the occasional bribe, but dressing up like the Riddler doesn’t entitle you to the lifestyle. Villainy is a lot more than a pithy nickname and gimmick; where’s the back-story? Where’s the tragic figure who was given lemons, and squirted those lemons right back in the world’s eyes? The kind of super villain whose psyche is complex enough to warrant a super hero?

This is the continental divide which separates the crème de la crème from the du jour antagonists (wheat, meet chaff).

Plus, I had to weed out the shrubs so the trees could get a better view of the mountain; there would be a very special VIP tonight.

“I love my job,” Travis smiled, wringing the ooze from his fingers with a rather expensive handkerchief. “We saw some Matrix-type guys roughing up the back of the line. Should we…?”

“Don’t get involved,” I ordered, straightening his tie. It didn’t need to be straitened, but I felt it added to the drama.

“There seem to be a lot of ‘building inspectors’ around,” cajoled Codex. Travis and I both turned around to men and women with backstage passes, civilian clothes — and identical radio-squawkboxes. All purported to be “building inspectors,” but I knew this to be subterfuge.

“Well, the Legion of Doom has always had issues with the building codes…”

“They’re all armed.”

Aha ho! Now that the cat was out of the bottle, I might as well tell them!

“Them be agents, arrrrr…” Still stuck in pirate mode! *click*

“Agents of the Apocalypse?”

“Agents of change.” They still didn’t get it. “Those are secret service agents. The VIP is…”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States, Barack Obama,” a stocky announcer declared over the woefully out-of-code stereo system. Rushing to the entrance, I was trounced back by the staff. A bouncer gets no respect, I tell you, no respect.

Travis pulled me aside. “Is this another prank?” He remembered all too well his “special birthday dinner with Richard Dean Anderson” had in fact been history’s most coordinated Rickroll.

“I kidd you knot,” I chortled, handing him a balloon twisted into a goat-like shape. “The Legion received $80 billion last year in bailout funds. Congress wants oversight—”

“Why would the government bail out the Legion of Doom?” Travis pondered, and rightly so!

“Why? WHY?!” The green screen behind me morphed into a pleasing river beside a towering forest. “Because for over fifty years, the Legion of Doom has fueled America’s unprecedented economic growth.”

I walked through a high-tech laboratory, stopping at a table where a Rhesus monkey with exposed brain tissue was strapped under a gargantuan, ominous optical device.

“The Legion of Doom (LD LTD.) innovates — the deadly engines of destruction today become the linchpins of tomorrow’s economy. Remember, the humble spoon began as a portable eye-gouger.”

Three clips lit up the screen behind me, arranged so my head occupied the fourth space in a nicely-cropped grid. The first depicted molten steel being poured into a cast, the second showed dozens of workers at sewing machines, and the last one showed a college professor calling on a student whose hand was up.

“From the ray-gun foundries to uniform manufacturers, America’s henchmen are the best in the world — thanks to their LD-funded, top-of-the-line equipment and training. Through their union, all LD henchmen have the equivalent of a GI bill. Counting the people on our payroll directly, companies we have contracts with, and excluding aliases, LD keeps over four million people employed.”

*whistles abound*

“That’s more than the auto industry,” stammered Travis. “I had no idea!”

“It’s a pretty open secret that the media is biased against businesses owned by evildoers,” I agreed. “Yet 100% of all companies owned by evil persons have weathered these tough times swimmingly. Nothing guarantees long-term growth and accountability better than a quasi-religious drive to kill Superman.”

Codex nodded in stunned silence, while Travis scratched his nose thoughtfully. I could see the wheels turning in his head: he planned to use his terrible powers of hypnosis against the new president!

“Quit that thoughtline, man!” I sneered. “Obama is immune to hypnosis—”

“I was planning no such thing!” Travis shouted, taken aback. Maybe I can’t read people all that well after all…

“Good. We can’t afford any bad press,” an anonymous wallflower chimed in. For a second I couldn’t recognize her; but as soon as I completed my diagnostic cycle, my biometric scanner registered her as my temporary boss.

“Ah, Madame X,” I smiled, taking her hand. “These are my goons, Aubert Tinklebottom and Crackerbarrel Smith. You can call them Tink and Barley.”

Madame X shook hands with Travis and Codex. “Must be thrilling to meet the president, huh?”

Travis shrugged. “I’m not a US citizen.”

“And I didn’t have time to vote,” Codex butted in. “I work for a living.”

“Well, I voted for Obama,” I started, “but I legally adopted John McCain. He’s my son. I love him.”

The four of us chatted for about ten minutes as the secret service took over our jobs as bouncers. Madame X is a hoot! She’s worked for the Legion for twenty years, so you can imagine the kind of under-the-rug scuttlebutt that crosses her desk.

“We don’t strictly need the money,” she admitted in reference to the bailout funds. “We’ve been using the last installment to finance a vast army of robot warriors.”

“Ford did that ten years ago.”

“Yeah, but the super-pets wiped out the production center. They haven’t been a problem of late.”

Suddenly the pieces slid together like an ethereal jigsaw puzzle in my mind: a global government conspiracy to use the market collapse as a cover for launching a large-scale galactic invasion, powered by the next generation of super-weaponry tested on actual animals.

Diabolical.

“Is our hour up?” I yawned. While the prospect of meeting Barack Obama and confirming whether or not he could in fact grow facial hair was tempting, we had fulfilled our obligation to the Legion.

“But we just met Madame X,” Codex whined. I’d have to put him in the brig for the evening; there was definitely a tantrum brewing.

“I can’t stay all night. I promised John McCain I’d read him a bed time story and he can’t sleep unless it’s narrated just right,” I needled. “I bring a certain buoyancy to the table.”

We left the party then and there. Travis tried to run back, but six agents with cattle prods derailed his windmill-tilting. Privy as I was to the designs and mechanisms of good and evil, I surmised the true purpose of the ball.

“Somewhere in that building,” I confided in Codex as we hauled Travis into the trunk, “Lex Luthor is being asked to head the Commerce Department.”

***

The day after this article was published, Lex Luthor was confirmed as Secretary of Commerce by an 85-12 vote in the United States Senate. His pants fell down during the confirmation hearing.

Match: Challenge 4

2009-02-06T20:54:00.000-08:00

Cool I get to work for the Legion of Doom, and prove myself to my father. Lex Luthor. I have his DNA the same, as Kon, and Lena but he sees me as an abomination and that fool Kon as the heir to the Luthor throne. He's not even evil.

I walk into father's office and find this scene.

"Ahh the disgusting copy." Father glares. “I would destroy you but I did dign a contract with WTH, and the Henchman Union. so do try to not mess up too much , and stay out of my way. Otis will give you the assignment."

Some fat guy with a funny hat told me “Mister Lew-thor don't want no problemes understand? I know it's hard for you bizarros... "

I growl at the idiot " I'm not a bizarro at least not anymore give me that toady!" I grab the instructions out of his hand.

Unfortunately the first thing I had to do was clean up what was left of a couple of Sinestro Corps members who had laughed at Bizarro. Then all of the sudden I hear Solomon Grundy yelling "Braniac disgusting Braniac must wear pants or Solmon Grundy crush!"

I use my TTK to make the two stop fighting by keeping them immobilized.

Braniac accuses" You are just jealous that the ladies like my smooth legs, and not you're disgusting yeti legs!" Ladies? I thought Braniac was a robot.

The huge zombie starts crying “you are right Solomon Grundy is disgusting!"

"Don't worry old friend." Braniac says with a much softer tone “I know plenty of hair removal techniques from across the galaxy! We will find the right one for you!"

By this time I had let them go from the TTK and Grundy put Braniac into a bear hug "You are good friend to Solomon Grundy! Let's start removing hair." I got out of there before it got anymore disturbing.

In like fifteen minutes I had to throw out some super villainess making a disturbance by taking her shirt off and dancing on the tables. Of course I was disappointed to learn it was Fury.

I had to kick her out of the LOD, I'm going to pay for that when she sobers up. At the lasy half of my shift I had t keep undesirables out. Like this guy who looked like DR. Who on crack.

" I am the Crazy Quilt I used to beat up Robin! I'm sure I'm expected!" He's proud of beating up Robin? Who hasn't? But anyway he refused to go away after I told him he wasn't on the list so I punched him in the face.

I threw what was left over into the swamp. That made lamos like Asbestos man , Signal man and the Hyno- Hustler get out of the line . Well except for Kite Man. .He tried to be tricky, and fly into the Legion of Doom from the roof.

I blew him away with my super breathe. He hit this weird tree , and i hadidn't see him for thr rest of my shift maybe he learned his lesson? Huh I can't shake the feeling there's something up with that tree.

Lex of course didn't care for my efforts, and scorned me so I decided to disguise my self as Conner, and tell him off. That had the opposite result of what I was expecting. " I'm so proud of you Conner! That's how i used to talk to my father! You're a chip off the old block! Now if you hurry you can catch that failed clone of yours, and make proud by killing him!"

Ugh! That Ugh! What's worse was Fury drunkenly found herself at some club trashed it, and ended up on the paper for fighting then making out with a trio of superpowered teen girls.
At least the press blamed it on Wonder girl that's something at least. Oh yeah , and found out Solomon Grundy found himself a girl...

Yikes!

Intergalactic Gladiator: Evil is afoot in the swamp!

2009-02-06T08:11:00.000-08:00

I stood at the main entrance to the Hall of Doom. One slender red velvet rope was all that separated me from the throng of Legion wannabes. The loud thumping of the techno music reverberated through my chest.

“This is pretty cool, huh?” Igor asked. Apparently, the Legion of Doom has its own apprentice henchmen. I think Igor has a power, I don’t know, maybe looking at his eyes too much gives you a headache. “It’s like we’re in charge of letting people in. We got a clipboard and everything.”

A woman stepped up and looked at us. Looked up and down and almost, just almost grunted a sigh of contempt.

“Bomb Queen,” she huffed impatiently.

“I don’t see you here…” Igor looked up and down the names on the list.

“Gimme that!” I snarled as I grabbed it from him. “You may enter, Miss Queen. Please refrain from detonating any and all explosive or incendiary devices while inside.

“Thank you,” she slid her hand seductively across my cheek before giving it a solid smack. She slapped Igor as well as she walked past.

“Luthor said always let the sexy ones in,” I growled. “Don’t forget.”

“Oh yeah,” he mumbled while rubbing his cheek.

A man stepped up to the rope. “Dr. Sivana.” He nodded and clicked his heals. “I believe that I am expected.”

“I don’t see you on the list,” I said while looking it up and down.

“I assure you that my name is there,” he stated.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “Lex Luthor’s already in there. You can’t have too many bald super geniuses at one party. Too much pressure, you know.”

“Hugo Strange is in there too,” Igor smiled and nodded.

“I am certain that I am on the list,” he said exasperatedly. “Please check again.”

“Yeah, I don’t see you,” I shook my head. He held up a twenty and I grabbed it quickly. “Oh here you are. Go on right in Mr. Sivana.”

“That’s doctor.”

“Of course.” I kind of felt bad for the poor guy. He was just trying to fit in.

“I am Professor Pigpen, man,” the next man announced at the ropes. “Master of mud and grime.”

“Wow, you smell.” Igor pinched his nose. “Kind of like skunk or some kind of weed or something.”

“Not on the list,” I said.

“Are you sure, man?” the Doctor of Dirt asked. “I am certain that the Legion is accepting me as a new member tonight.”

“No way,” Igor winced as he pinched his nose.

“Not on the list,” I repeated.

“Well that’s heavy man. Perhaps we could discuss that list like two gentlemen?”

Professor Pigpen tried to casually slip a twenty towards me. I shot him in the face with a blast of knockout gas as I grabbed the money. He slumped over into Igor’s arms.

“Why don’t you take him out back and throw him in the dumpster,” I said. Igor nodded and complied.

“Poison Ivy.”

“Harley Quinn.”

“Catwoman.”

“Talia.”

“In. In. In. In,” I replied as I let the foursome through.

“Hey did I miss anything while I was gone?” Igor appeared next to me.

“Naw, nothing much,” I answered.

“I am the Trope!” the next character announced with a flourish.

“I don’t see you on the list,” I said as I looked up and down the sheet on my clipboard.

“I must be there,” he insisted. “I am quite the supervillain, if I do say so myself.”

“Really? What have you done?”

“Well I captured Batman and Robin in a super trap,” he replied. “I had them under a giant magnifying glass at noon.”

“Did you fry them?” I asked skeptically.

“Er, no, they escaped during an eclipse,” he replied. “Oh but I also threw a mutagen in the Central City reservoir. It was designed to mutate anyone who drinks it.”

“And did that work?” I asked.

“No, the Flash ran around it so fast that it caused a water spout and separated the formula,” he sighed. “Oh, but I did band a team of supervillains together to crush the Avengers!”

“And did that work?” I repeated.

“Well no,” he admitted. “Everything started out fine, but then the villains started arguing amongst themselves and then the Avengers beat us.”

“Too bad,” I shook my head. “And you’re not on the list.”

“Listen here, I’m an evil genius and I’ve been at this game before you were out of diapers. You let me in now, I'm going in to speak to Luthor or else I'll stuff your girlfriend in a refrigerator.”

I replied by shooting him in the face with the knockout gas.

“Dump him on top of that Pigpen guy,” I ordered Igor.

“Yes, master,” he rasped as he shuffled off with the Trope's unconscious body in his arms.

Next Challenge.

2009-02-02T18:15:00.001-08:00

Ladies and Gents,

Time for your next challenge. Each of you will be a bouncer for a hour at the Legion of Doom Ball.

Lex is hosting it this year and he wants no problems.

For information about the Legion of Doom click here.

What does a bouncer do you ask? Keep the D list villains out, stop fights and 86 or toss the drunks out.

Once again, you can do whatever you need to keep the calm. I like using a Billyclub.

Dental for All.

Raptor Jesus rules.

Judging is made easy again...

2009-02-02T17:54:00.000-08:00

The thing I find quite hard to beleive is that we have another AWOL player.

Perhaps the Henchman life just got too hard for Cyclops. Either that or he got scared and wanted his mommy. It doesn't really matter because he's out now.

So lets go through the remaining players.

Bennet - Slick pacing and good choice for super pet to neuter. I laughed at the pinky and the brain joke. Its was good.

Gyrobo - A long tale about pirates and a struggle for freedom. Also a convienent way to explain that you couldn't neuter any super pets cause they were all dead. I read the tale with joy and expect more like this. Also its nice to see your love for the planet earth and its need to be proactive in its defense.

Match - Amazingly you came thorugh on this one and though you only had to neuter one super-pet you chose quite a few. You get an A+ for effort.

Jon IG - Going for the luck dragon is pretty low. Thats very Henchman but the result was a little too clean. Heroes may have it that good but Henchmen oftten don't.

So to end this rather painful round the winner is....

Gyrobo

Mission Three: Atom Antifertile

2009-02-02T15:50:00.000-08:00

For this bagging, tagging and snipping assignment, I recruited the help of my number one henchman: The Haitian. "I'm thinking we find some kind of super-pet pound, get a staple remover and form an assembly line. We could spade and/or neuter several dozen super-pets!"

"Yes," he replied, "that is a very good idea."

So, he and I headed to Primatech to pick up a staple remover, one of the many benefits of working for a paper company.

But once we arrived, it occurred to me that our paper headquarters had recently exploded. "Oh, yeah," I remembered, "That's why I entered this competition in the first place....I'm sort of out of a job."

"So much for the benefits of working for a paper company," The Haitian dropped his head low as we walked away from the rubble.

"We need a new plan," I said on the hoverbike ride back.

"We could buy a staple remover from an office supply store," The Haitian suggested.

"No way!" I said, "I'm unemployed. I don't have that kind of cash!"

That's when I saw a sign.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I asked The Haitian.

"I think so, Noah," he replied, "But wouldn't Dr. Goodall realize Koma isn't a bonobo?"

"No," I said turning the hoverbike, "we can neuter the world's strongest ant!"

"But I like her pancakes!" The Haitian complained. "Can't we neuter Uncle Ben instead?"

"Not Aunt Jemima," I corrected him as we parked at the freak show exhibit, "this ant."

We entered the tent to find a tiny huge ant towering nearly an inch taller than a normal ant.

"Hello there," I said to the little bug.

"Greetings, citizen," it replied, "How may I be of assistance?"

"We're here to neuter you," I explained.

His antennae stood on end. "What? Why?" he asked, bamboozled, shocked, overwhelmed, confused and mildly perturbed.

I explained to him how I was in a competition and I needed to neuter him to win the challenge.

"No, f-ing way," the super-powered insect replied.

"But we paid our ten dollars," I retorted.

The manager walked over and said, "They did pay, Atom. And watch that language. There are children here."

"I'm not letting them neuter me, Harry! I don't care how much they paid," said Atom Ant.

"We have a contract. They pay the ten dollars, you do what it takes to entertain 'em. If they're into that kinda thing, so be it. It's no different than the lady last week with the candle wax on your sternite."

"Well, f--- this, Harry. I quit!" He stormed out of the tent.

"Ah, retirement!" he said breathing in the fresh air.

"Retirement, eh?" I said quickly coming up with a new plan. "You know, my friend here happens to be a doctor. When's the last time you had your prostate checked?"

"Prostate?" he repeated, once again bamboozled, shocked, overwhelmed, confused and mildly perturbed.

"Yes, your prostate," I answered. "It's absolutely vital that it's checked, particularly once you enter retirement. You wouldn't want to ruin your plans for leisure with an early and preventable death, would you?"

"I would not," he replied.

"Then, you should have a check up. Prostate problems could strike at any moment. One minute you can be checking the time on your three thousand dollar gold and diamond watch you bought yourself as a retirement present and the next minute, BOOM!"

"Boom?" he looked over to The Haitian for confirmation.

"Boom," The Haitian nodded.

"Well," Atom Ant said, "I suppose it's better to be safe than sorry."

A short medical procedure later and he was out on the golf course enjoying life. Unbeknownst to him, his days of being "up and atom" are long gone.

KNOW HISTORY:The Robot-Pirate War for Super Island

2009-01-31T18:35:00.000-08:00

WARNING: you are about to embark on a journey through layers of unadulterated corruption and unabashed drama. The story that is about to unfold requires a sturdy constitution and I ask that the weaker readers refrain from continuing.

Ding.

The latest telegram! Anxiously, I crowded around the operator, pushing my fellow henchmen aside to get the first glance at the message as it was transcribed. Dot-dot-dot… dash…

“There was a downed communiqué-cable — a communi-cable — but we’ve got the gist,” Army Amanda (Colonel Chickenpox’s attaché) explained.

Pirates were always cutting the cables on us; we refuse to pay tribute. And yet the Spanish armada refuses to harry the scalawags from our waters, despite our redresses to the Colonel. Colonel Chickenpox was (in my opinion) the bravest shoehorn I ever met, but his administrative skills were stumblingly sub-par.

“Your task is to… ‘prevent the super-pets from reproducing’ using any means.”

I stoked my firebeard. “Travis. Have you ever seen one of these so-called super-pets?”

“Can’t rightly say I have,” said Travis. We both knew he was lying. He pulled a map out and laid it on the war room table. “But I’ve heard many legends during my time in Piratetown.”

“Tell us again how you escaped the infamous Captain Carrow?” Codex asked, barely looking up from the mangled telegram. I plopped down in the Colonel’s armchair, eager for a thumping good story.

“It was Tuesday,” he began. “The Colonel asked me to empty the tar traps. Not thinking much of it, I packed the canisters on a handtruck and wheeled them to the local disposary.”

Amanda disconnected the ringer and pulled up a chair. This story got better with every telling.

“I saw my friend Jack Robbins on the way downtown. ‘Mornin’, Travis!’ he yelled, ’cause I didn’t see him. ‘You’re off in a hurry.’ So I showed him the handtruck and explained about the tar traps. He said he knew a shortcut…”

“Aw, this is the good part,” I whispered.

“So Jack, my best friend since third grade, took me down a shady alleyway. ‘Jack,’ I said, ‘this doesn’t seem like a good neighbo-’”

SLAM! Travis pounded the sandpapered chestnut wall. Sawdust sparked off his fist.

“My good friend hi-Jack-ed me; knocked me out cold, and the next thing I knew, I was in irons in the belly of the Sea Kettle.”

He held his arms above his head. “I was a captive of none other than Captain Carrow, that crafty Caribbean cur! He’d built quite a reputation in the south as a hardboiled swordsman, willing to slit throats on a whim and strand his own men on deserted islands to settle bets.”

Lighting a hand-rolled Havana on my firebeard, Travis pursed, pensive.

“By capturing me, Jack had bought his own freedom. My hypnotic repertoire is legendary; Carrow gave Jack a motorized rowboat and a month’s supply of taffy and cut him loose. I haven’t heard from him since, but make no mistake—” he unsheathed his scabbard and waved it menacingly, “—if I ever see Jack Robbins again, he’s getting a permanent haircut.”

“So you were aboard Captain Carrow’s ship, the Sea Kettle? What was it like?”

“Smelly. Crowded. Disease spread rapidly. Society had broken down. Then we set sail from Los Angeles and conditions improved.”

Leaning back on his stool, Travis’ eyes jolted. He was nearing the crux of the story.

“Carrow threatened me with painful torture if I refused to teach his crew to resist hypnosis. Colonel Chickenpox says to hold out against torture for 24 hours, and I did — and all it bought me was a day in the shark tank.”

Travis rolled up his sleeve to show off the bite marks. “Was the Colonel asleep at the switch?” He snapped at Amanda. That was unfair of him, she had no control over the Colonel’s narcolepsy.

“…So I had a hammerhead under one arm while I fought off the Great White with my legs, kicking its stomach as it gnawed my free arm. Sharks are naturally immune to hypnosis, so it was an uphill climb.” He flexed ardently. “I sent ’em packin’ in tuna cans. But then Carrow sent in the dolphins.”

We all shuddered. Dolphins are the mortal enemies of hypnotists.

“Thursday was indoctrination day. I personally administered the oath of office to every member of the crew, Westminster style, and the training began.” He sighed.

It was one thing to use hypnosis for evil and personal gain. But to be used like a tool — like a 32b-bit adaptive coil handler — was plain humiliating.

“We landed at Piratetown after two weeks of hypnotherapy. We were stocking up on provisions for an antarctic voyage to parts unknown. Or at least, unknown to me.” He took a sip of water before continuing (even though there was iced tea right there), “Carrow wanted me at his side at all times, to counter any would-be hypnotic assassins. With his enemies and diet, it’s surprising he wasn’t already long-dead.”

I visualized the gritty scene in my mind: a dingy den of deceit, monkeybirds chained to their masters’ arms, gold-laden lamps caging blue-hot flames. An endless sea of graft, despair and opportunity. It was a place to which I could easily relate.

Because I was there.

“You were there!”

The room turned to face me. I arched my left eyebrow in mock shock. “Sí, yo estuve allí. Piratetown is one of the many places I frequent. There’s no law against piracy, is there?” I asked defiantly.

“Uh…” Codex shook his head. “What does any of this have to do with the super-pets? We’re supposed to-”

“You’re supposed to speak when spoken to, ingrate!”

I belted him in the face with my knuckle dusters on. He went down, and I kicked him in the gut. Then I apologized and we became the best of friends. I helped him move the following week, and we had iced cream and mine fell off the cone but he bought me another. But that was next week; this week we were at war.

“Colonel Chickenpox had just ordered a general holiday so he could have some free time to burn incriminating evidence regarding his purchase of a United States Senate seat. See, Jefferson Smith — the longest serving senator in history, and record-holder for the longest filibuster — had just kicked the bucket after serving for 79 years in the Senate. The Colonel wanted to get someone into office who was sympathetic to his pet cause: BANANA EXTINCTION.”

“So he concocted a scheme,” Travis added. “He sent this clown to Piratetown to rustle up some votes; pirates vote in a bloc, and most are fans of the banana anyway.”

“But the pirates were too riled up to think about politics,” I broke in, “because of those lousy super pets.”

“Then you’ve encountered the super-pets before?” Codex asked. “And where was I this whole time?”

“I don’t know… probably playing your Gameboy deluxe, advance, whatever the kids are — pocket — whatever they’re calling them today. And yeah, the super-twerps were part of the problem. Those do-gooders raided the raiders, throwing pirates in prison with their bare paws.”

“So, with my hypnotic prowess, I helped Captain Carrow and the other pirate lords and ladies broker a deal with the colonel’s proxy,” he gestured to me. “And thus the joint Pirate-Banana lobby was born.”

“The Banana-Pirate lobby. This was all before you were hired,” I told Amanda. “It also explains why we can’t go after the super-pets…”

“Dead. All of them.” Travis was, as usual, brutally blunt. “Colonel Chickenpox funneled experimental ‘toys’ to Piratetown through his cronies in the Pentagon. Those four lieutenants who got discharged after testifying before Congress last year? Patsies. Scapegoats. The DOD wanted that equipment tested under real world conditions, and if it meant turning over the top-secret location of the Island of the Super-Pets…”

“The whole island was torched,” I replied equally bluntly. “We watched from the captain’s lounge. Hypnotically-controlled androids bounded through the napalm, pre-programmed to kill. Pirates in Haz-mat suits sliced their quarry with Kryptonite blades.” I crunched the numbers. “And not one person lost a contact lens amid the horror. It was beautiful.”

“That was the end of the super-pets,” Travis said as he enjoyed a ripe Cavendish banana, thanks to the Colonel’s preservation efforts.

“All thanks to Mr. Jack Robbins,” accidentally burst past my lips as I took a sip of the iced tea Travis had coldly refused. Boy, did I have some explaining to do!

Travis blanched. “Wh-what?”

“Jack was a plant, yo! You were set up. Colonel Chickenpox played Carrow like a fiddle, and you were the bow!” I took pleasure in knowing I facilitated this realization. “One of Bush’s last official acts was to give Jack the presidential medal of freedom, which he wears quite well.”

SNAP! Travis was about to blow a gasket!

“I… fought sharks…”

“For your country.”

“Those animals…”

“Vigilantes unaffiliated with any nation.”

Travis slumped down. “WHAT WAS THE POINT?!”

I was perplexed by his reaction. “Why, to test Earth’s finest hypnotic weaponry against a genuine alien presence! The only issue in Washington that has real bipartisan support is intergalactic conquest. And, apparently, saving the banana from extinction.”

As Travis knelt and wept for the super-pets, brave soldiers with human names like “Lyndon” and “Mahathanashi” from places like “Pensitucky” and “Khorma” were already setting foot on Tau Ceti, armed to the teeth with hypno-beams, ready like all-get-out to unleash their fury on the murderous slugfolk.

And over the fray, despite the lack of atmosphere, their battle hymn carried all the way back home.

And those who remained on that rock died proudly, with their bananas in their hands.

Match neutering rampage of love

2009-01-29T19:45:00.000-08:00

What's the worst thing that can happen to a young henchman on the go? When that henchman's girlfriend escapes from prison.

Fury, a clone made from Wonder Girl that the Agenda thought they were rewarding me with. I'll have my revenge one day. “We’re going to have along talk..." She starts.

“If it's about me hitting on other girls disguised as Superboy..."

“What? I don't give a damn about that anyone you seduce we can use for our own pleasure, then discard them. No you've been fouling up in the competition bringing a bad name to the Agenda. Now come on we're going to neuter some super pets!"

Why not she's been busting my balls ever since she got out of the bacta tank. We jump on the hover bike, we fly over to Titan's Tower, and are ready to snip Krypto when Kon-El catches us.

“We have Krypto! And there is no way you're gonna stop us from cutting off his family jewels !" I gloat.

" Go Ahead. That mongrel humped Starfire's leg and got me in trouble here lemme hold 'em for ya."

Me, and Fury looked at each other “this is no fun if he's just going to let us" I groan

“I know let's go."

It took us a while to find a new target. The X-men's pet Wolverine.

Fury tried seducing as pretending to be Wonder Girl but unlike Colossus he doesn't like them young. Well not illegal young anyway so we spiked his beers with enough Cyanide to kill a herd of elephants. That didn't do anything. Damn healing factor

We got sick of being subtle and beat the crap out of him then snipped the bastard. When we get back to the hotel Henchy says. “While fuzzball is funny he don't count as a pet. sorry you're going to have to go for another one.

Next stop was Gotham City. it was easy to snip Ace the Bathound while the Batkids were fighting the battle for who got to be Batman. Just for the hell of it we also de balled the Joker's hyenas, fury got a little carried away and snipped the Joker himself.

" Why so serious freak!" She screams as he howls on the ground only to be dragged out by that clown girl Harley something.

When we get back we're told that’s still not right since Ace is technically not "super". So i do what most of us do when I can't find something. I call the Calculator the supervillian, ( and henchman) 411.

He directs us to the Pet Care Spa of Justice in Happy Harbor. It’s guarded by the Super friends kids they’d be easy to defeat, a six year old with a slingshot can and probably has defeated them.

the place might as well not be have been guarded, the Wonder Twins were well being disgusting.

Marvin and Wendy weren’t even a fight. So we hit the mother load of superpets. Gleek the space monkey.

These man eating kittens.

Those must be the Punisher's.

A Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle

Underdog

Supergirl's creepy horse that turns into a guy and tries to sleep with her.

Guess he won't be doing that anymore, and finally Marvin.

That was mostly because Fury didn't want there to be a chance of him reproducing, not that he really had all that much of a chance to begin with. I personally think Fury just likes using the blades on testacles. I'm frankly a little scared. Especially since her technique is to grab on and pull 'em with her hands not the scalpel. Think I'll sleep with my eyes open from now on.

Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator: Remember, Bob Barker wants you to spay or neuter your superpet

2009-01-28T20:29:00.001-08:00

Superpets.

I have a special place in my heart for anthropomorphic animals that hang around a hero for comedy relief purposes.

A dark place full of anger.

Of course, my Junior Intergalactic Gladiators are all familiar with my animosity towards Monkeyboys, but it isn’t just them. I hate all those sidekicks: that stupid Trollan magician who’s always screwing up his tricks, that stupid space monkey with the stretchy tail, the nerd with the browline glasses who’s always shooting people and hanging out with that cool Haitian. I can’t stand any of them.

Yeah, I’ll like this challenge.

For this one, I have to think big. Real big.

OK, maybe not that big. I wouldn’t consider Godzilla a superpet, plus who knows what genitalia he/she has where. I’m on the right track, though.

I head to a school that’s in a city that looks like any city in the US and bust into a hidden attic. There was a cool thunderstorm and it really added to the effect. I startled the lone occupant inside.

“Wh—who are you?” he asked feebly.

“Beat it, squirt,” I answered and shoved his face away with the palm of my hand. The ole pieface gets them every time. It was like one of those cool heel moves that wrestlers do when they push away a smaller opponent. Yeah, I’m playing the heel here I guess. Boo hoo.

The kid tumbled over backwards and landed with a thud. A small cloud of dust kicked up where he landed.

“What are you doing with that book?” he winced.

“Look kid, you don’t understand what you’re dealing with here,” I growled back. “This isn’t just any ordinary book, you know. It’s more like a portal between two realities.”

The kid stared at me with a blankly sacred look.

“Ah, never mind,” I dismissed him. “I’m a Universal Lynchpin and it’s my duty to understand this sort of stuff, your childish and feeble mind could never comprehend dimensions and portals and things with… uh, molecular structures.”

I thumbed through the book until I came to the chapter that I needed.

“Oh look, there they are flying around,” I smiled. “Isn’t that sweet?”

With a little concentration, I imagined myself in the story. I pictured myself weaved into the events of this magical land. I soon felt myself being pulled down, down, into the land of Fantasia.

“Who are you?” asked a child warrior. “Are you here help us against the Nothing?”

“Shut up,” I answered as I sprayed him in the face with a shot from my knockout gun. “I’m here for you, Fuzzy.”

“What do you want with me?” it rumbled with a laugh. “Perhaps you would like me to bring you some luck?”

“Hah, no,” I replied as I pulled out my giant scalpel, making a sharp metallic zing along the way. “This is going to hurt me more that it’s going to hurt you. No wait, no it’s not.”

Falkor yelped and then bared its fangs at me. I see that this isn’t going to be easy, so I shot it in the face with a little knockout gas as well.

“Your gas won’t work on me,” it replied as it blew green mist back out of its mouth.

“I guess we’ll have to do this the old fashioned way!” I leapt up onto his back and dug into his sides with my boots. “He-yeah!”

The dragon launched itself into the sky, swooping around in circles and loops. Diving low and crashing through trees. He tried in vain to shake me off as I held on for life.

“Seriously, how could there be two sequels when it’s the Neverending Story?” I asked. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m not answering you!” it shouted back as it bucked and jerked through the skies.

Hours must have passed as I wondered how much energy this fracking thing had. Eventually, he slowed and I could hear him begin to huff.

“Just land,” I said. “I’ll make this quick and as painless as possible.”

The creature replied by doubling its efforts to shake me. Twisting and turning, spinning and diving. Finally though, it seemed to have spent its energy as it crashed to the ground, throwing me into the bushes in the process.

I stumbled back to my feet and lurched towards the dragon.

“Kids, don’t try this at home,” I said to the creature. It howled in reply at the procedure.

Well that’s over, I guess the only thing I can say is that I’m glad they didn’t ask us to do this the traditional way.

Challenge # 3

2009-01-26T18:25:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gents,

First of all congrats Bennet. Now, because the drop out of two contestants. This round is a non elimination round .

Time for you next challenge. Spade and neuter a Superpet.

Why do you do you ask, Because Krypto bit me in the ass while I was on a job. Now I want them all fixed. Streaky the supercat, Lockheed the lame ass dragon that hangs with the X-men. Any Superpet of your choice.

Find them, kidnap them and fix them, for good.

To hunt them down, you all are given hover bikes.

Winner of this round gets to keep the Hoverbike.

Dental for All.

Raptor Jesus rules.

Final countdown.....

2009-01-26T17:25:00.000-08:00

3, 2, 1....... and thats it.

Such a pitty that we have to say goodbye to two this week. So really there's not that much to say.

Cyclops nice work a bit more comic violence and you'd have been the clear winner. Not! Kicking a Texan while he's down may seem fun but after playing all the flash games including the one where you kick George all the way to Texas (man that was so funny for like 20mins then meh!) I'm over all the Bush bashing. Its too damn easy to go for George. Use your brain next time. Favourite line - "Uh, well it's like this Doom. I was talking to Bush and he told me that, uh, he was actually part of a, um, plot to, uh, kill you. Yeah, that's it. He was an assassin! So I blasted him."

Gyrobo your back!!!! Its kind of hard to work out the stooges that you hang around with but after the last challenge I think I'm getting to know them a bit better. Travis and Codex seem like good henchmen but when Travis' mantra is “I am not a chicken, I am not a chicken, I am not a chicken…” there's that usual Gyrobo chaos. I'd like to see you cut hair but maybe not mine. What about Jon IG's that'be fun. I still beleive you can win this.

Bennet what is going on in that balding head of yours? Are your glasses stopping the blood flow to your brain? If thats whats happening then keep it cause that lack of oxygen could find a mine of genius that you have yet to tap. Your choice of heir was different yet it showed you were thinking the way I like my henchmen to think. Utterly Politically incorrect.
"Now, the first thing any good bad guy needs to know is that women are meant to be objectified,"
Thats just too good a line to ignore. Oh and killing Brad Pitt an added extra. If Gyrobo looses his flava then your next in line.

Jon IG, you had a grumpy nanny robot a fat hyperactive heir and a terrorist plot. Ingredients that should make for a good tale. Yet it didn't end in disaster did it, NO! You fixed it all up and Doom was so happy he's scheduled you in for every saturday night for the next 2 years. Bad fat jokes and a slight at the UN are not what a Henchman does. If there had not been 2 late commers and Match you'd have lost this round.

Ah! Match. I didn't like it like Jon IG there was enough to work but something didn't work for me. Again with the Kyptonite its like everyone's got some of that stuff. Maybe you should find out who's selling it. Maybe you should wait a bit longer to post this early posting has worked for you this round you've been lucky.

Ok now for some critical commentry on all of you.
Your choices for Doom's heir were lacklustre excpet for Bennet. Mowgli was a good idea. In fact corrupting any disney character is very much and indication of Henchman material. Other choices you could have used...

Stewie Griffen

Baby Sinclair from Dinosaurs

Hillary Clinton - think about it makes sense.

Thats just three ideas off the top of my head. You could have used Dr Smith from Lost in Space, C3-PO, Christopher Walken, Donkey from Shrek. Such a waste to not use them.

The winner for this round is........

I can't believe I'm doing this, but it was the best.

Bennet you win. You do have experience in turing innocent ones to evil.

Just a reminder people.....

2009-01-26T02:30:00.000-08:00

Ok most of you have posted, which is great and gives you a chance to possibly continue in this game. However, 2 of you have not and I'm going to have give an absolute deadline of.........
8:30pm NY time Monday 26th January.

Yep. If you post later than 8:30pm (and thats your posted FINISHED challenge not a draft or when you started) you will be disqulaified and loose the round.

It doesn't matter if your post is the best YOU WILL BE DISQUALIFIED.

This is my first and only warning.

After this the deadline will be 8:30pm NY time every Monday UNLESS NOTIFIED BY MYSELF OR HENCHY.

Cyclops, the Baby-Sitter

2009-01-25T15:13:00.000-08:00

"Come on, Gustavo! Baby-sitting?? I can't do that!"

"And why is that, Mr. Cyclops?"

"Because I hate kids! Professor Xavier has a whole bunch of them running around the mansion all the time. Those little turds are always eating all my cookies and peeing in the pool. I can't stand them!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but the challenge has been set for this round. There is no alternate. This is not that Amazing Race show you mutants do."

"Well this sucks. Where's Doom? Maybe I can talk some sense into him."

"The Master has already departed. Shall I tell him you forfeit?"

" . . .(sigh) . . . no. Fine. I'll do it. But I'm not going in the pool with him. Where is he?"

"Actually the Master has several heirs, just in case. The others have already been spoken for. The only one left is there . . . in that room."

"Alright, let's see who I'm stuck - AAAGGHHHHH!!!!"

"Hey! What's with the crazy glasses, Four Eyes? Are they like X-Ray specs or somethin'? Can you like see through babes' clothes? Heh heh heh. That would be pretty hot, man."

"George Bush? I have to babysit George Bush? Aren't you, like, 60 or something?"

"Hey man, you are only as young as your feelers, you know what I mean?"

"Er, no. Say, where did Gustavo go?"

"It's just your and me, Four Eyes. Mano a mano. Just like me an Sadam Whosey-whats-it. Man, I kicked that guys ass. That sure felt good. I got the video here on my Ipod. You want to check it out?"

"No."

"Ooh, then let's watch Sponge Boob. I love that show. I got 'em all on Blue-Ray. That Patrick just cracks me up. Reminds me of myself."

Uh, no thanks. Let's go out for a little trip. I'll bring a camera and take some pictures."

"That sounds great! Let's go to Hooters. I love their chili cheese fries."

So I took Bush out to see some sights -

First I took Bush to the Latverian Burger King. He just loved that paper crown. He told me he collects them.

Bush ate like four hot cherry pies. He cried like a little girl when I told him he couldn't have anymore.

In the parking lot some creepy old guy tried to lure Bush into his limo. He said he could have a puppy if he came with him. I let them make out for a few minutes and then pulled Bush away.

I told Bush he had to give the puppy back but he gave me the finger.

I took Bush back to Doom's castle. He was still on such a sugar high that he fell out of the car.

Bush ran straight to Doom's laboratory and started throwing switches on an experimental device. It took an hour to get him back to "normal".

I told Bush it was nap time and he gave me the finger.

I blasted the turd into powder. Just then, Doom returned.

"Where is my heir?" he roared at me, his voice coursing with anger.

"Uh, well it's like this Doom. I was talking to Bush and he told me that, uh, he was actually part of a, um, plot to, uh, kill you. Yeah, that's it. He was an assassin! So I blasted him."

"Oh. Well done then, Cyclops."

Splitting Heirs

2009-01-23T17:48:00.000-08:00

“I’m ready!” I shouted, kicking the door open with a brush in one hand and a bottle of conditioner in the other. “We’re gonna take such good care of Doom’s hair—”

“Heir. Not hair, his heir. His protégé,” Codex whipped. He was at the far corner of the study, staggering studiously over a stuffy scroll. Good thing for him, I’d’ve cold-clocked him for that. He really dodged a bullet there.

Travis was busy making small talk with the lad. First time I’d seen a baby with a 5 o’clock shadow. All those growth hormones in the milk, I say!

I’d hoped to make up for being four hours late by dazzling the good doctor with my fascinatingly, titillatingly scintillating hair ministrations. But now I was apparently charged with cutting his heir’s hair.

That’s when I noticed a familiar glimmer in the boy’s upper left eye.

“Hold him still, but quick,” I ordered solemnly, pulling out my portable guillotine. “I have a barber-ous reputation to maintain.”

The baby giggled. Travis, on the other hand, freaked out. “Give me that!”

“You’ve never given a baby a haircut before, have you?” Codex clucked. Finally! Someone who could understand my predicament.

“Listen to me!” Travis and I both looked sideways. I pulled up his already comically high collar. “I didn’t want you to find out this way, since you’ve already bonded with the child, but…”

He looked down at Baby Doom. Although the child was kicking around some building blocks, the stubble and occasional lapses in demeanor cracked (what to me was) an obvious facade.

“Travis, the child is possessed.”

“What?! Preposterous! You nonsensical coxcomb, if you lay one misbegotten finger on that child’s head—”

I slapped him. “Are you that easy to brainwash? What happened to the master hypnotist, wanted worldwide, from the sultans of Microstan to the Haraguaian junta?” I pulled up my shirt — Travis had hypnotized me into making a relief carving of his GENERIC hometown on my own metallic torso. “What about the people of Anytown, USA? If they could see you now. Tut tut.”

Collapsing in a heap, Travis recited the Hypnotist’s Credo, as all hypnotists do when questioning their own sanity:

“I am not a chicken, I am not a chicken, I am not a chicken…”

“And not a peep out of you,” I scowled at the baby what caused this situation. He grinned evilly, or perhaps gasilly, and drooled like an infant. “I’m onto your game, kid.”

Codex put down his engrossing scroll and glossed over to us, agitatedly. “Could you two keep it down? Doctor Doom has some amazing ancient texts that can help prove my thesis.”

“I thought you forswore writing your thesis until you solved your parents’ murder?”

He stared at me blankly. Some day I would trick him into revealing his past. It was more fun than a thousand Googles.

Travis composed himself enough to ask a thunderously idiotic question. “Can anything be done to save this wretch?”

“Not only can something be done, but in the future it has already been done! Hold the child close to you — we’re going to conduct a highly unorthodox exorcism.”

Travis cringed. “How will it differ from an orthodox exorcism?”

“I was taught the ‘traditional’ exorcism by a heretical bishop, but he had a stroke halfway through. So I added in all his spasms and whatnot, and I’ve been doing it that way ever since. Now…” I kicked off my shoes. “Make sure to hold his mouth open the whole time; if you don’t, the pressure imbalance will cause immediate organ collapse.”

“Should we not, good sir, ask the child’s legal guardian before performing a religious ceremony on him?”

“Sure. And maybe I should bring all the children of the world PRESENTS every year on Christmas eve, flying through the sky on a SLED pulled by gravity-defying reindeer. Ain’t. Gonna. Happen.”

I squeezed the hairbrush; the bristles instantly perked up, transmogrified to hardened Aluminium™, the wondrous new metal that will change the face of industry by 1960.

Imagine it: a world of sandwiches wrapped in an Aluminium™ foil. Houses constructed with Aluminium™ beams and pipes. Aluminium™ telephone rotors that never rust.

Truly, whichever superpower harnesses the awesome potential of Aluminium™ first will become the defining force of the 20^th century.

The force I now wielded in my right hand.

“Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!” We cleared a circle around the accursed heir. I got my groove on. “All right, let’s clean out his spiritual P-trap. Codex! The electric razor! Travis! Forty gallons of mousse, quickly! We’ve not a moment to—”

“I’m home,” a voice echoed just outside the study, smacking of familiarity.

“Okay, if you guys could just unpack the groceries, I’ve got your money— hey! YOU!”

“You’re off your rocker… I’ve never seen you before…” My eyes darted for a blunt object as Doctor Doom advanced on my position in his casual wear.

“You were here months ago with that alpha-flight whatsit.” His nostrils flared. “You broke my time machine! And the second storey of my castle has been completely inaccessible since that time!”

“Serves you right for not using Aluminium™!” Codex piped, engrossed with the scroll and his own arrogance.

I equivocated. “Things were said and done that cannot be undone… but… Travis here has something that will abate your anger and put you in a happy place!”

Taking my lead, Travis Read with rife speed attended my need for a hypnotic deed.

“Watch me watch you watching my watch,” he bobbed, lobbing the slob to the Land of Nod with a flick of his wrist and a twist of his bod.

Incidentally, Doctor Doom soiled himself. I promised myself I wouldn’t tell people, but it’s not only a funny story — it’s historically accurate.

“I’d say we’re pretty much done here,” Travis announced, sidestepping the prostrate form that once threatened to sue me. “Should we make tracks back—”

“Did I die and leave you in command? Because I thought—” I touched my face, “I thought I was very much alive and in charge of this mission. Underling! Minion! Cretin! We’re done upon my assent! Now… being henchmen, it is our sacred duty to commit crimes, of which we have not done enough. So while I pack up my styling supplies, you two grab everything that isn’t bolted down.”

They saluted me (in my mind) and set off to cavort and caper about the castle. I turned my attention downward, curler in hand.

“Now then, you rascally demonspawn… how do you want your bangs?”

Mission Two: The Heir Necessities

2009-01-23T15:50:00.000-08:00

Ugh! Babysitting. It seems no matter where I seek employment, my advanced combat training and superior paper knowledge is always overlooked and I'm relegated to the menial task of babysitting.

"Alright," I said to the plethora of heirs before me, "Raise your hand if you're potty-trained."

Prince didn't raise his hand.

Arafat didn't realize that was something people were.

Sarah Palin raised her hand.

"Good," I said, but before I could make my decision, a little boy spoke up.

"She's lying!" the scrawny little foreigner stated.

"Aw, gosh darn!" Palin exclaimed. "Ya got me!"

I was intrigued by this little tattletale. He seemed so innocent, so morally-certain, so malnourished. I'm sure Doom would want to fix that.

"Alright, you, boy. What's your name?"

"Mowgli," it replied with a smile and a salute. "Are you my babysitter?"

"Think of me as your life coach," I said with an evil grin as I thought about how I would turn this boy into a worthy heir by the time Doom gets back from his shopping excursion

Hours went by and the little boy did nothing but sit quietly and occasionally read a book on organic chemistry.

"You're a really good boy," I commented.

"Thank you, sir."

It was looking hopeless. This kid could not be any nicer. "Let's go do something about that. Do you like breasts?"

"I cannot eat chicken," he replied.

Moments later we arrived at the Bada Bing.

"Now, the first thing any good bad guy needs to know is that women are meant to be objectified," I explained to my new protégé. "Then just view the rest of the world like that. Once you realize everything and everyone is here only to fulfill your basic desires, you'll be on the right track."

"Like the bare necessities?" the boy asked as I slipped the bouncer a c-note.

"Sure, whatever."

While we pushed our way inside, Mowgli began singing. "Look for the bare necessities, the simple bare necessities. Forget about your worries and your--"

"Can it, kid!" a heavily-tattooed man yelled while making a threatening gesture toward Mowgli.

"I think I will not sing in this place," he whispered to me.

I patted him on the head and set him down near the stage. "You'll get a good view from...stop that!" I slapped his notepad out of his hand. "You don't need to take notes, just watch."

Unfortunately, Britney Spears was stripping tonight. I guess that's to be expected at the Latvian Bada Bing. If you can't meet the standards of American strip clubs, then you end up having to perform in some obscure European nation. (Speaking of which, is Latvia even on the map?)

Despite this minor setback, I think the boy benefited immensely from the experience.

"Wasn't that entertaining?" I asked once we returned to the castle.

"Did somebody say entertainment?" Brad Pitt walked out smiling. "Just give me a few seconds and I'll put on the orangutan outfit. You like that right? You like Mr. Orangutan."

Mowgli just cheered.

"Mr. Orangutan?" I asked.

"Yeah," Brad replied. "His dad hires me to entertain from time to time. The kid likes monkeys."

"Hold on a while," I said to the overly-attractive actor. Turning to Mowgli, I said, "You know what would be really fun? Firing that stupid actor and insulting his career."

"Really? Is that...appropriate?" Mowgli asked.

"Of course! It's what Daddy Doom would do." I pushed him forward and said, "Give it a shot."

"Umm...Mr. Pitt," Mowgli said softly. "Your services are no longer required."

"What?" Brad Pitt screamed. "Are you kidding me? You're kidding me? You're kidding me, right?" He pulled out his phone and hit a speed dial number. "Babe, this kid is firing me. No, he's kidding me. He has to be kidding me. You're kidding me, right, kid?"

Mowgli glanced back at me for advice. I just shook my head.

"No, sir. I do not kid you," he said.

"You little jerk!" Brad Pitt said still on the phone. "No, this kid. He's like three years old. No you can't adopt him! I don't know. I guess I'll just have to do another George Clooney movie. Well maybe you could stop buying so many clothes!...."

"Go on, insult his career," I encouraged.

Mowgli let out a nervous cough before stuttering, "L-legends of the Fall...it was very long. I fell asleep during it, sir."

Suddenly, Brad Pitt flipped out.

He struck poor Mowgli with the phone. I took advantage of the moment. "Say the word, and I'll shoot him," I offered.

Mowgli replied coldly, "Do it."

I fired three shots into his torso.
"Why?" Brad Pitt screamed out before falling to the floor, dead.

"Good," I said, helping Mowgli back up. I think you're going to make a good super-villain yet. Say, how would you like to sit in the throne while the old man's away?"

"Will you be my orangutan?" he asked.

I thought it over and then answered, "Sure. Every good super-villain needs a henchman."

I'm sure Doom would be proud.

Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator: to Heir is Human...

2009-01-23T08:49:00.000-08:00

I got to the castle and the Doom Nanny showed me to the nursery.

“The Heir is in here,” the robot said monotonally.

“I hope so, I need it to breathe, ha ha get it?” I laughed and slapped my knee at the super funny joke.

The Doom Nanny stared at me blankly.

“Oh yeah, you robots aren’t programmed with a sense of humor are you?” I asked.

“Thankfully no,” it replied dryly. With its finger, it punched the code to open the nursery.

“Hey 1-2-3-4, that’s the combination some idiot might put on his luggage!” I called out ecstatically.

“Indeed.”

“Hey, remind me to have the code changed on my suitcase,” I added.

“Were I programmed to appreciate your inane comments, I assure you that I would. This way.”

I stepped through the doorway and my jaw dropped when I saw what I was looking at.

“What the hell are you looking at?” the fat kid growled at me.

“Er, you, obviously,” I replied. I then turned to the Doom Nanny. “He’s huge.”

“It’s glandular,” the kid snorted back.

“I bet,” I replied. But the kid didn’t say anything in return; he just ran up and started sniffing the cargo pocket on my pant leg.

“What th--? Hey kid, don’t be creeping up on me like that, yo.”

“Do you have any foodstuffs on you person?” the robot let out a robot-like sigh.

“Yeah, I have this Snickers bar here.” I pulled it out of my pocket. “Normally I don’t carry candy bars around in my pocket like this, you know, ‘cuz I try to keep in fighting shape on account of I’m an intergalactic gladiator and all, but I didn’t get to my breakfast this morning because, well, let’s just say that Cyclops gets a little gassy when he has mushroom omelets, OK?”

“Gimme gimme gimme!” the fat kid yelled. With a shrug, I handed him the bar.

“No, don’t!” the robot warned but it was too late as the Heir scarfed it down. Suddenly, his eyes glazed over and he let out a horrendous cackle.

I looked at the Doom Nanny and then back at the kid.

The kid leapt up and tore around the room laughing maniacally and tearing down the tapestries, upsetting furniture, and breaking anything fragile in his path.

“You should not have fed the Heir the candy,” the robot said dryly. “He suffers from Hyper Glucosemia.”

“Suffers from it?” I asked. “Looks more like he’s enjoying it. I’m surprised someone that fat could move that fast.”

“I’m not fat!” the kid yelled as he sped past a chair, knocking it over. “I’m retaining water.”

“Yeah, retaining water in his fat cells,” I muttered. The kid didn’t hear me as he sped past and the robot appeared to have ignored my comment.

“More more more!” The kid ran up to me and held out his hands. He was panting and his eyes were glazed over.

“Sorry kid,” I shrugged. “I’m all out. I think there’s a snack machine down the hall, though.”

The Heir laughed and sped down the hall.

“If the Heir of Doom comes to any harm, I have been programmed to disintegrate you,” the robot announced casually.

“Now you tell me,” I said as I chased after the fat kid.

I rounded the corner and skidded to a halt. The fat kid was held in the clutches of two gunmen.

“Hi,” I said. “And you are--?”

“We are the Latverian Liberation Army and the Heir is ours!”

“You’re the what?” I asked. I looked back down the hall and saw the robot trundling towards us. Something tells me that I have to end this confrontation fast before that thing turns us all into smoking pile of ash.

“We are the Latverian Liberation Army!” the man repeated. “We have a list of 28 grievances against Dr. Doom and his rule of evil!”

“Take it to the UN,” I snapped back.

“We have,” the woman answered. “They said they’d get back to us in 8 to 12 weeks. That is why we are kidnapping fatty here until our demands are met!”

“I’m not fat I’m big boned!” the kid screamed.

“Shut up tubbo!” the man growled.

“Look, we don’t have time for this,” I explained. “There is a robot coming down the hall that will disintegrate us if that kid is in jeapordy.”

Their only reply was to level their weapons at me and start dragging the kid backwards and away.

I cursed under my breath and gassed the three of them with my knockout gun. They slumped to the floor just as the robot turned the corner.

“The Heir is damaged,” it said and weapons immediately popped out of its arms and from around its back.

“Wait wait!” I waved my arms. “He’s OK, just knocked out!”

“You will be deleted.” The Doom Nanny trained the weapons on me.

“Wait wait!” I yelled.

“You will be deleted!” it repeated.

Much later, I was sitting at a desk reading (you know, looking casual and stuff) when Dr. Doom strode in.

“Where is the Heir of Doom?” he demanded in a metallic rasp.

“Right in here,” I punched the code to the room. The door slid open and the fat kid was lying in bed, breathing deeply in sleep and letting out an occasional rumbling snore.

“Doom must change that code,” he sighed. “But Doom is pleased that the Heir looks well. He did not cause you any trouble?”

“Oh no, the kid was great,” I smiled and shrugged innocently. “He’s just so tuckered out from running around all day. I do have to report, however, that the Doom Nanny doesn’t work anymore, a little, uh, unfortunate business with an electromagnetic pulse.”

“That is unfortunate,” Doom said. “But what is the worth of a machine when the Heir is treated so well?”

“Oh I agree, sir,” I nodded. “Oh yeah, also, I captured a couple of members of the Latverian Liberation Army. They’re in the dungeon right now, I was going to torture them myself but I figured you might want to be hands on with this case and all…”

“Doom is very pleased,” the monarch said with a bit of admiration creeping into his voice. “Tell me, are you available to babysit the Heir this Saturday night?”

Match :Challenge 2

2009-01-21T18:01:00.000-08:00

You know this disguising myself as Super loser has somewhat paid off. I got this cheerleader's phone number who's been hanging around the hotel. That and got a real good look at her with X-ray Vision. I mean a really good look.

The problem was I was too distracted to hear the next assignment all I heard was Dr. Doom. Suh-Weet! The biggest bad guy on the planet. Or top five at least. I fly to Latveria hoping to make a good impression.

At Castle Doom I'm greeted by some old guy named Boris. "You're one of those from that Henchman show? The master is waiting for you."

We walk down this long corridor, until he opens up this door and instead of Doom I get this.

"What the? A kid?" I yell.

“Yes you are to take care of young Kristoff, and be sure he does not get into too much mischief while Dr. Doom is gone. Good day Mr. Match is it?"

"Yeah" I say before I turn around, and find the brat is already gone. I find him in the Doom-Bot control room. As I open the door I'm attacked by Doom bots, and some of them have Kryptonite.

I barely get out, after crushing the lot of them. I'm bleeding, and sore, and one of the Doom bots kept calling me a "fat cow" man that one must have really been malfunctioning.

I don't want to explain this one to Doom So I throw all the Doom-bot parts into the Time Machine it's not like it can cause any problems in the past right?

“Conquer for Doom!"

After flying around the castle I find him with a devolving ray turning all of the servants into apes.

By this time I had more than enough. “Okay you little brat, you're going back to your room, and you're doing it this second!"

“You can't make me clone!" he takes a green rock out of his pocket how much Green K does Doom have? Funny thing about Kryptonite, you have to be pretty close for it to work.

This kid was on the other side of one of those comically large tables you see in rich people dining rooms on sitcoms. Not close enough for me to even feel a tingle. I reached out with my Tactile Telekinesis, and grabbed the kid as on as he hit the floor.

“What? I'm stuck what happened?" he screams as I push the rock away from his hand. At this moment I get an idea. With a little Super Ventriloquism I make a scary voice come out of the wall. “I’m the Boogey man and I gobble up bad little boys! If you don't mind you will be next!"

The kid screams and runs back into his room hiding under his bed. He didn't move since in fact I even took a nap, and he was still there. When Doom came back he was surprised that Kristoff was quiet for once.

“I would give you a bonus but Doom is afraid that your fee will go to replacing all the doom -bots you and young Kristoff destroyed."

Aw#@%$%%%

Challenge #2

2009-01-19T18:30:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gents,

Thank you for your first posts. I enjoyed them all. Congrats Jon, you have a mean streak, I like it.

Now time for your next Challenge.

Dr.Doom

is going away for a day and he needs you to ...

...

...

...

Babysit his next heir.

Why does Doom need an Heir, you ask? Between you and me, he shoots blanks.

So you guys are heading to European nation of Latveria, which he rules with an iron fist. From there you will head to the playroom and pick an heir to babysit.

It's your job to keep them away for the Time Machine,, Doombots and Torture Chamber amog other places of danger.

Best of luck (you will need it)

Dental for All

Raptor Jesus rules.

Introducing your Judge Jury and future employer

2009-01-18T17:20:00.000-08:00

Yes thats right the grand prize is working for me.
Captain Koma.

-whisper whisper whisper-

Ummm! What was that Henchy?

- whisper whisper whisper -

They're not going to be working for me. Awwww!

Oh well at least I'm going to be your Judge for this contest. Yes thats right the tables have been turned and your all going to be subject to my own subtle whims. When I say jump you'll say how high. When I say attack, you'll attack. And when I say massage my manky toes you'll throw up and then do it.

Now on with the judging.....

Cyclops you do have great legs. But are those breasts real or are you just using chicken fillets? Your post was clumsy and foolish up till you shot Bennet in the back. Way to impress a future employer. You may suck at being an X-man but you just may have what it takes to be a henchman.

Where is the real Gyrobo? No white background, no wonderful out of context hand drawn pictures, actually finishing the challenge set. This cannot be Gyrobo.

Mr Bennet. Ah! where do begin. Your Henchmen evilness must be lacking. A true Henchman would have killed Mariah Carey or at least financed another movie staring her. Your weak attempt at double entendre battle with white cracker Two-Face, mildly funny. Not as bad as the others but below par for you.

Nepheria, my sweet bundle of sith. Your manga transformation wasn't as shocking as I thought but only henchy finds that sexy. But where was the blood and the gore as your lightsaber took apart those goons who were protecting the dragon balls. I don't think you understand what this is. Its worlds toughest henchman. We want to find the toughest. Better prove yourself darling, I expected you to be a Jedi Electra not a Jedi Miss Tessmacher.

Jon IG yes you have delt with Henchmen before and it shows. You succeded in being underhanded when dealing with Bulma. Your Dragon Ball was full of information required to make the Henchman Union's Christmas in July party a huge success. However you forgot the big monster that was guarding the Dragon Ball. To leave out that battle was a dissapointment.

Match I liked the use of disguise, I liked the dragons and the fact that you used your brain in getting a hold of your ball (see I can do it too). However a real Henchmen is not subtle and who remembers what happened in LGS unless you like gee I don't know, put a link to it.

Well there's my roasting of you all. If this was an elimination round I'd elminiate a few of you.

Yet there has to be a winner.

Cyclops..... you did the one thing that I will always love shooting Bennet in the back. But you didn't win.

Jon you win, you made me laugh.

Cyclops has a ball

2009-01-18T17:01:00.000-08:00

Crap! Professor X told me I had to go and do this game show. I told him the last time I did one of these things, I wound up naked in a desert somewhere. I really didn't want to do another one of these. He said it would be good for my character. I told him there was nothing wrong with my character and anyway, what the prize was el lamo. I mean I'm not anyone's flunky. I'm leader of the X-Men! Unless Storm is around. Then she takes over.

Anyway he said I had to go so I went to pack and found all of my uniforms were missing. I noticed a burned out cigar stub at the bottom of my closet which is odd since I don't smoke. I asked everyone if I could borrow their suit but no one had a spare. I ended up having to borrow an old Marvel Girl costume from Jean. It's kind of embarassing but at least I have great legs.

I jumped on an X-Bike and hurried to the contest. Everyone had already started off on the first challenge. We had to get some dragon's balls apparently. The only dragon I know is Kitty's pet, Lockheed. No way that guy is letting me anywhere near his testies.

Henchman handed me a dragon ball tracking device. Perfect. I jumped back on my bike and turned the thing on. Just then I noticed a rather hot looking chick standing nearby. She had a cheerleader outfit on. Very sexy. I gave her a wink and showed her some leg. Her eyes rolled around which I took as a good sign. I moved closer to her but then I caught a whiff of her perfume. It was White Diamonds.

For some reason I am horribly allergic to anything having to do with Elizabeth Taylor. I let loose a huge sneeze, spraying the chick with a snotty mist. My ferocious sneeze also dislodged my special ruby quartz glasses, leaving my eyes momentarily uncovered. My optic blast shot out, shattering the dragon ball tracker.

Crap!

I threw a kleenex at the chick and hurried back to Henchman. I asked him if he had any extra tracking devices and he just laughed his ass off. I walked back to my bike and saw the cute cheerleader was still there, toweling off. I figured now was my shot since the ice had already been broken. I gave her my best line.

"Hey baby, there are 265 bones in the human body. Would you like one more?"

"What? Get the hell away from me you perv!"

She seemed pretty mad. Maybe the line was a little strong. Wolverine swore it would work. The thing was, the cute chick didn't leave. Maybe she was just being coy. I decided to try another line.

"Let's play carnival," I said. "You sit on my face and I guess how much you weigh."

Her mouth dropped open and then she smacked me hard across the face. My glasses went flying. That seems to happen a lot. Maybe I should try ruby quartz contact lenses. As I crawled blindly around the ground trying to feel for my glasses, the blond cheerleader kept yelling at me.

"When my daddy gets here he is going to shoot you right between the eyes! He has a huge gun and he loves to use it! I'm going to tell him what you said to me and then you're dead, creep!"

I put on my glasses and looked up at the chick. She was fuming. She was also wearing a short skirt. That made up for a lot.

"Oh yeah," I said as I got to my feet. "Well I'm a big time super-hero baby and I'm not afraid of your dad."

"You should be!" she shot back. "A lot of people tremble when they hear the name Mr. Bennet!"

Mr Bennet? He's that four eyes guy from the other game show? He's out getting a dragon ball? Hmm. That gave me an idea.

"Look, you're name is Claire, right?" I asked. "We kind of got off on the wrong foot. I'm sorry about sneezing all over you and everything."

She folded her arms across of her chest and was still scowling, but at least she stopped talking.

"In fact, you still have that gunk in your hair." I pointed at the side of her head. She started to get a little nervous. "You look kind of like Carmen Diaz in Something About Mary."

With a loud squeek, Claire ran off for the rest room. Just then I saw Mr. Bennet down the block headed this way. I ducked into a doorway and just as he was passing by, blasted him in the back. He went sprawling on his face. I jumped on top of him, patting him down and found the ball in his pocket. Triumphantly, I ran over to the Henchman to deliver my prize.

Now I realize that shooting someone and the back and stealing from him isn't particular heroic but I'm trying to play by the rules of this game because that's the kind of guy I am. One who follows the rules. Also it was a lot easier.

Parkside Panda-monium

2009-01-17T09:19:00.000-08:00

Slipping in undetected, I tapped the confirmation code on my Morse transmitter. Outside the compound, Travis Read and Codex responded by cutting the power and setting the contents of twelve garbage bins aflame. Next, I—

WHOA! Maybe I should slow down and explain myself.

Hello, all! My name is Gyrobo, a colorful rogue from a far-flung future where time travel is practical but highly unethical. I’ve been to virtually every period of historical importance, hence my many bumper stickers. Due to the bungling of some British interlopers, I’ve lost my ability to navigate the multiverse, becoming trapped in your frame over 80 years ago.

I have now decided to pursue a life of crime, in the service of the inestimable Doctor… well, let’s just say he wouldn’t like me handing out his name to just anyone.

Travis Read is the doctor’s right-hand man, wanted in Canada for his unspeakable hypnotic horrors. A former Black Cheddarist, Travis knows more about hypnotic domination and infiltration than anyone else alive.

As for the other one… nobody knows Codex’s origins for sure. Some say he was the unwanted child of two archaeologists who took it upon himself to continue his parents’ work, regardless of cultural taboos. Others say he came from a good home but had sociopathic tendencies and a penchant for tomb raiding.

One thing everyone agrees on is that he got his nickname translating an unknown Mayan codex he found at a garage sale. They say it predicted future events… and that what he read drove him mad. He occasionally clips articles from newspapers and arranges them in patterns that only he understands.

“Travis,” I tapped onto the pad, “is the Panda cage clear?”

That’s right, the dragon ball the three of us had sworn to retrieve was at the Linkin Park Zoo, deep in the heart of Chicago. We had scoped the park out earlier, tracing the location of the ball to the panda tanks, where those glorified raccoons swung from branches all day (or whatever is is pandas do, I’m not a bionomist).

The one thing I do know about pandas is that they don’t like it when you try to take their eggs. And their eggs look just like — you guessed it — dragon balls.

“All zoo personnel are tied up at the moment,” Travis texted back. Whether this meant they were preoccupied with the fires or physically incapacitated was a question best left to the philosophers.

What followed was a series of digits: the security code to the pandadome. One or more of the guards was clearly under Travis’ hypnotic influence; as with all his victims, they would spend the remainder of their natural-born life thinking they were chicken.

A pretty explicit calling card, to be sure.

With the radar as my guide, I made my way past the Sasquatch pen and the Microstani mini-Hulk display. Squealing in trepidation, I entered the ill-gotten code.

Bracing myself for the stench took a minute. Pandas are among the nation of Earth’s most filthy creatures. Pigs look upon pandas in disgust (at least they did in the future, when pigs were bipedal but still nude).

Kicking open the unlocked door, the interrogation began. “Which one of you has my quarry?!”

The two pandas in the room ignored me, pretending to be asleep. At the far corner of the room was an egg clutch. Jackpot!

Before the pandas could rend me limb from limb (my good friend Benita had been a panda trainer and supporter until one balmy summer day deep in the Amazin’ Rain Forrest, she was eaten by a superpanda), I chloroformed them remotely. Paintball guns have 101 uses — and possibly many more. Paintballing had a place in Mayan culture unparalleled in modern society, Codex says.

Grabbing the dragon ball, I smashed all the eggs out of spite. “That was for Benita!” I screamed at the dripping yolks.

The whole situation had a surreal quality to it: me, in a panda cage, smashing panda eggs while Travis and Codex used hypnosis to transform the Chicago PD into a nonstop party machine à la Jim Carrey in Mask.

“All of my victories seem empty,” I sighed, tucking the dragon ball under my arm and racing to the exit.

Racing to the zoo’s only exit at breakneck speed isn’t something that should be done by amateurs. I’m a trained professional, ma’am.

Codex greeted me at the gate. Travis was at the front of a department-wide conga line and couldn’t be disturbed.

I laughed: “That mad hypnotist!” Operation: Black Cheddar had not only bestowed upon him the godlike powers of hypnotism, but had made him, hands down, the life of the party.

“We should…” Codex quickly checked his palm. There was something written in hieroglyphs. “…return to base. Travis knows the plan.”

“Delightful.”

Simultaneously, we activated our JimmyLegs™ jet packs and took off.

Best. Heist. Ever.

Mission One: Dropping my Dragon Balls

2009-01-16T22:23:00.000-08:00

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.

Nepharia: Chasing the Dragon...ball

2009-01-16T20:38:00.000-08:00

I stood shivering in the knee-deep snow as the wind whipped around me. I turned on the Dragon Radar that we'd been given for this portion of the competition and it sputtered to life. Taking a few readings, it blinked a couple of times briefly before shutting down. I tapped on it and then retried, with limited success before it died again. Trying one more time, it flickered and then died completely: it was totally useless. I cursed loudly at our luck.

"What **** idiot decided to hold this game in Chicago in the middle of Winter and then has the **** balls to **** give me defective equipment?" I hollered through the screaming wind. Iomel just stared mutely back at me. "I was in Cozumel, bathing in the tropical sun. I can't believe I volunteered for this." I shook the Radar and a small piece fell off the top. More cursing.

Iomel still said nothing.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" I asked.

"I think my teeth are frozen together," he said, chattering fiercely, then asked what I'd been wondering: "What is a dragonball? And how do we find one now that our Radar has been damaged?"

"I haven't a clue," I answered. "Let's get back inside and consult the Interwebs."

Relieved to be back inside, I pulled out my data pad. "I sure hope they have free wireless here," I punched up a browser and searched for Dragon Ball.

"Sith's blood!" Iomel exclaimed at all the search results. "There's all kinds of information here."

"Yeah," I answered. "But how do we find one?"

Finally, clicking on each of the links, I ended up at Wikipedia and read through the entry. "Look here," I said, pointing at the content. "It says here that Vegeta has had some of these dragon balls."

"I'm sure the girls found him irresistible," Iomel quipped.

"Maybe he'll be able to help me out," I said, ignoring his comment.

"Well, those balls aren't going to find themselves," Iomel said, clapping me on the back. "You should get going. I'm going to go sit in the hot tub."

"Nice," I answered. Pulling my cloak about me, I headed back out into the biting cold and to Vegeta's lair in West City -- who knew it was this close to Chicago?

Actually, it was a really nice dwelling; didn't have that lair feel about it. I was invited in and shown to Vegeta's workout room. I was about to step in when Bulma held me back. "I'm sure you are very strong, but I think even a Sith Lord would die under the pressure of 300 times normal gravity."

"Ah," I replied, "I think you may be right."

Vegeta stepped out, greeting me with an acknowledging smile, then frowned. "Hey, what's with the big eyes?"

"Big eyes?" I echoed.

He pointed to a nearby mirror. Gazing in, I saw that I'd been anime'd!

"Geez Louise," I whined, "how did this happen?"

"Well," Vegeta began, "it appears you're in my world now. The look suits you."

Turning from the mirror, I began. "Actually, I'm here because I'm taking part in Henchy's World's Toughest Henchmen competition."

He snorted. "Yeah, I'd heard as much," he replied, "Whadaya want from me?"

I wondered exactly how to ask, so I just blurted it out: "I need to know where to find a dragonball."

He laughed at me. And not just a chortle either -- a great big booming laugh that filled the room. Then he slapped his leg as he pulled in a breath to laugh again.

"That's the big question, now, isn't it?" he said as he continued to whoop.

"I'm being serious," my ire beginning to get the best of me.

"So am I," he said, finally quelling his laughing fit. "As if I just had one laying around here to just give you."

"That wasn't my intention," I answered. "But I thought you had experience finding them."

"Of course I do," he responded. "But they scatter and the search process has to start all over again. I'm sorry, but I can't really help you there: they could be anywhere."

This time I snorted and then thought a moment. I watched as Bulma casually went around the room, picking up the place. She then stepped into the gravity chamber and I saw an opportunity: I force shoved the door closed and stepped between it and Vegeta, knowing I was taking a risk. I turned the settings to 10 times normal gravity, slamming Bulma immediately to the floor.

"That wasn't the smartest thing I've known you to do," he said calmly. I have to hand it to him: he held on to his composure very well.

"Possibly no," I answered. "But you have to consider this -- if you attack me, you risk the life of your wife. Or," I paused momentarily, increasing the gravity very slightly, "we can participate in a few negotiations."

"What exactly is it you want, then?" he asked. "I already told you we don't just have a dragonball laying around."

"No," I replied, "but you do have a way to find them, don't you?"

He cursed under his breath.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"Wikipedia," I answered. "Give me the Dragon Radar to use during this competition and you get to keep your wife."

He paused a moment in thought before answering. "Alright," he said, "but don't think this is over -- not by a long shot."

"Vegeta, I wouldn't expect anything less," I answered, reducing the gravity back to normal before opening the door to the chamber.

**********************

After getting the Dragon Radar, finding a Dragonball was a cinch. But it was guarded by this strange group called Ginyu Force -- except I don't think they were the real thing. The real guys must have been on vacation and left this group in their place, thinking no one was going to try and take their ball. Boy, were they wrong.

Once securing the ball, I headed back to the hotel and to the hot tub where I could thaw out those body parts that are STILL numb from the cold....remind me again why I volunteered to do this?

Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator: Dragon Ballsie

2009-01-14T08:26:00.000-08:00

The first mission was handed down to us and I was ready to roll because that’s how I roll.

We were told that we could use the Dragon Radar but conveniently, Henchman432 didn’t tell us if we would be issued one or if we had to go get one. Because I’m a henchman now, I just assumed that I’d have to go steal one. It was easy sneaking into Castle Corp because I am a sneaky guy.

I used the mini EMP on my Wristcomm to disable the security devices and I quickly made my way to the laboratory and started rummaging around to find the device.

“Freeze right there!” Someone commanded from behind me. I turned and saw a soldier in a generic looking set of fatigues pointing a laser rifle at me.

I looked at the weapon. “An XMLR-3A laser rifle, you must be on the Joe team.”

“Yeah, what’s it to you?” he answered. “Get your hands up.”

“You look like one of the Greenshirts,” I continued. “Got a codename yet?”

“No,” he sighed dejectedly.

“Hey I understand,” I nodded and smiled all friendly-like. “You want to serve your country, you’re the best at something. You get recruited by G.I.Joe and now you’re just cannon fodder. I was recruited by the Joes once myself and now look where I am. Out of the Army and being a henchman just to make ends meet.”

“Man, my job sucks,” he sighed even louder and lowered his weapon. “They only call us if they need a bunch of bulletstoppers to haul energy mirrors to Washington or lead a charge in a bunch of mini tanks against a Cobra base. My tank’s always the first to get shot, too. Good thing I can jump pretty good.”

“I hear you man,” I said. “If there weren’t parachutes available when I was in that Tomahawk helicopter, I’d be a burned up smear out in the Pacific somewhere. You and I are a lot alike. I’m not here to hurt anyone, I just want to grab a Dragon Radar and get out. I’ll be gone in a flash.”

“A Dragon Radar?” he asked. “We don’t have radar here, this is the lab that’s developing ejector seats for the Mauler tanks.”

“It is? I thought this was the Castle Corp, you know where Bulma and Dr. Briefs work.”

“Oh no, that’s the Capsule Corp,” he replied. “They’re just up the street a bit.”

“Oh, Ok,” I smiled. “Thanks for your help, I’ll just make my way out the window here and be on my way.”

“OK, see you later, man,” the grunt smiled. Just to be sure though, I shot him with a little knockout gas. I couldn’t be too careful. I then leapt out the window and swung over the security gate on a convienient rope. I suppose that was a little too swashbuckley for a henchman, but I was feeling the moment, you know.

I made my way to the Capsule Corp lab and quickly located a Dragon Radar. It was a small green circle with blinky things on it and with one quick yoink it was in my hands.

“Excuse me, what are you doing here?” I heard a voice behind me.

Not again I thought as I quickly turned around to face the owner of the voice. It was Bulma herself; at least I assumed it was. How many women with green hair do you think are running around this building? Oh yeah, plus she had that hat on.

“Wait, aren’t you Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator?”

“Er, uh yes I am,” I replied with a sheepish shrug. Ooh, that would be nasty of me to trade on my celebrity credentials to get the radar. Heh heh, I’ll do it anyway. I smiled broadly and stuck out my hand. “I’m very glad to meet you.”

“I don’t think so.” She refused my hand and nodded to the device. “Put that back right now.”

“Look see, I have to borrow it for…” I started to explain but then I figured to heck with it and shot her with a little knockout gas. She’ll be out long enough for me to make my getaway and when she comes to, the details of our encounter will remain hazy. Good for me, too, because her husband is one of those “punch first and ask questions later” kind of guys. I hate to have him after me.

I’m just a henchman, I chuckled to myself. I’d never stand a chance.

With my precious cargo in tow, I quickly jumped out of the window onto the top of my trusty space plane the Danger Sled. Interestingly enough, the Dragon Radar has an Intergalactic Serial Bus port on it and I was able to plug it into my ship’s sensors.

In no time flat, I was in the middle of a desert and digging through the sand. The radar pointed me right here and I was getting excited at the prospect of finding one.

“Wait a minute,” I said to myself as I clawed through the fine grit. “These Dragon Balls have power right? If I get the power from this one, maybe I don’t have to be just a henchman after all. I could be so much more. I could be like the team leader of a bunch of henchman!”

Glowing energies pierced through the ground and I eagerly grabbed it. I felt it course through me, bathing me in super extraterrestrial juice. I felt the change, I felt something new and exciting wash over me, knowledge that I’ve never had before pulsed through my brain.

INGREDIENTS
• 1 1/2 cups uncooked long grain white rice
• 3 cups water
• 5 cups diced cooked chicken
• 1/2 cup mayonnaise
• 1/2 cup plain yogurt
• 1 (10.75 ounce) can condensed cream of mushroom soup
• 2 cups chicken broth
• 2 tablespoons lemon juice
• 3 tablespoons chopped onion
• 1 (8 ounce) can water chestnuts
• 1 1/2 cups sliced almonds
• 1 cup chopped celery
• 2 teaspoons ground white pepper
• 1 tablespoon salt
• 3 cups cornflakes cereal
• 1 cup butter, melted
DIRECTIONS
1. Combine rice and water in a saucepan, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes.
2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Lightly grease a 9x13 inch baking dish.
3. In a large bowl stir together the cooked rice, diced chicken, mayonnaise, yogurt, cream of mushroom soup, and chicken broth. Mix in the lemon juice, onion, water chestnuts, 1 cup of sliced almonds, and celery. Season with white pepper and salt. Transfer the mixture to the prepared baking dish.
4. In a bowl, toss the remaining 1/2 cup sliced almonds and cornflakes cereal with the melted butter. Spread evenly over the casserole.
5. Bake 35 to 45 minutes in the preheated oven, until lightly browned.

What the heck was that?

12 eggs, separated
6 cups milk
2 cups heavy/ thickened cream
2 cups bourbon
1+ ½ cups sugar
¾ cup brandy
2 teaspoons ground nutmeg
In a large bowl and using a mixer, beat the egg yolks together with the sugar for approx 10 minutes (you want the mixture to be firm and the colour of butter).
Very slowly, add in the bourbon and brandy - just a little at a time.
When bourbon and brandy have been added, allow the mixture to cool in the fridge (for up to 6 hours, depending on how long before your party you're making the eggnog).
30 minutes before your guests arrive, stir the milk into the chilled yolk mixture.
Stir in 1+ ½ teaspoons ground nutmeg.
In a separate bowl, beat the cream with a mixer on high speed until the cream forms stiff peaks.
In yet another bowl, beat the egg whites until stiff peaks form.
Gently fold the egg white mixture into the egg yolk mixture.
Gently fold the cream into the egg mixture.
After ladling into cups, garnish with the remainder of the ground nutmeg.

There was another one. Egg nog?

INGREDIENTS
• 1/4 cup sliced leek (white portion only)
• 1/4 cup chopped celery
• 1 tablespoon butter or margarine
• 1 (10.75 ounce) can condensed tomato soup, undiluted
• 1 1/4 cups water
• 1 cup fresh cauliflowerets
• 1/2 cup frozen peas
• 1/4 teaspoon dill weed
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
DIRECTIONS
1. In a saucepan, saute leek and celery in butter until tender. Stir in the remaining ingredients. Bring to a boil; reduce heat. Cover and simmer for 12-16 minutes or until the vegetables are tender.

Awww. This Dragon Ball is just some kind of depository for a bunch of dumb recipes. This sucks. Whatever. I’m taking it in anyway.

Match: Dragon Dragon Dragon! Rock the Dragon Ball

2009-01-12T21:05:00.000-08:00

While everyone else was laughing about stealing balls from a dragon I went ahead, and started searching. I already know what they are marbles that call a magical dragon to grant two wishes.

Why more of us so called "bad guys" don't get them to grant our wish is that they are hunted for mostly by Saiyans a race that's oddly similar to us Kryptonians, well except for the color changing hair, and turning into big monkeys.

Whatever I think I'm tough enough to take one on. I'm a clone of Kon-El with powers he'll never obtain. If that dunce can beat a saiyan so can I.

So I fly following the ding on this radar, and oddly the D-ball was on an island half way between California, and Japan. The air here was hot, sickly hot it was hard to breathe, and mountains were about the only things that broke up the sand well that and dinosaurs, lots and lots of dinosaurs.

After my mind processed that I punched my way through a bunch of them. Then all of the sudden something hits me hard enough to throw me through a mountain. As I dig myself out I notice my mouth and nose are bleeding.

No way an overgrown lizard has that kind of power. I find out how right I am when I see a girl that looks like she's about my age athletic figure bluish hair, a tail all in a tight fitting Green Lantern outfit.

"Hello princess of saiyans." I grin.

“I don't know what you want that Dragon Ball for, but you’re not getting it."

“Would you believe that I want it for a game show?" I ask.

“No." She replies flatly.

“Thought not." I shrug and fire my heat vision. She blocks it with a green shield. We fight for a little while until her turns all gold. I was programmed with several styles of martial arts when I was cloned, and had the little chick on the ropes but the craziest thing happened when she transformed, her skills became greater as well.

She kept transforming until she was stronger, faster, and a better fighter than I leaving me flat on my ass, by a girl barely over 5'9 this is embarrassing. When I use my TTK to throw rubble at her, I get trounced with a bunch of ring constructs that look like cartoon characters. Oh and of course my yellow costume does nothing to them now. Ugh this is the worst day ever.

“What did I ever do you Vella?" I yell.

“You tried to kill my boyfriend that time!" She shrieks.

“Oh yeah that failed clone Cadmus made. Didn't he die anyway? Aren’t you slumming with the Jan Brady of the Bat Family now?"

That gets me beaten with a giant green glowing mallet.

Okay new plan. I bend the light around us making it flash in her eyes, and then I fly off a few feet. Then bend the light around me making go from this.

To this.

How the hell does he wear jeans that tight without cutting off circulation to certain parts?

Now I just have to hope her naiveté beats out her book smarts.
“Hey Conner what are you doing here?"

Okay have to make this convincing. “Hey sweet thang just scopin' out the scene because I was totally having a smack down with Match. And he brilliantly dodged me and got away."

“He ran from me with his tail between his legs." She laughed. While I clenched my fists. “I was looking for the Dragonballs to bring Inertia back then I ran into him when I catch him he's so going back to the Vault."

Good thing I came for the Dragonball then no way do I want that treacherous speedster back among the living. Also, no way am I going back to the Vault. I just escaped. She looks at me as if deciding to ask me something then goes.

“On LGS three after we drank that stuff Wonder Girl says she didn't drink any and that nothing happened except you hit on a plant is that true?"

Sounds like that idiot. He probably thinks he scored while kissing some kind of tree. I took this opportunity to say that Wonder Girl was lying, and I say she did every sick twisted demented thing I could think of for two people to do together.

She starts crying. Hahhahahahaha! And while she's blubbering I fly back to the site of or battle, and get the Dragon ball. Ha! Perfect I make the little Princess think she's a super pervert, and make her believe that Superboy stole the Dragonball. And hopefully driven a wedge between Conner, and Wonder Girl. I love it when things workout now back to show with my prize.

Challenge #1

2009-01-11T10:56:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gents,

Once again, welcome to World's Toughest Henchmen. Here lying,cheating and stealing are a way of life. Do whatever you have to do to get the job done. Thankfully, we will be hosting this game in Chicago and I have already paid off a certain Politician.

Meaning with the exception of killing someone the contestants can do whatever is needed to complete a challenge.

On to the first Challenge of the Game.

Find/retrieve a Dragon Ball.

To help you on your quest each of you will get a Dragon Radar.

The Dragon Radar; was built by Bulma to find Dragon Balls very quickly when compared to conventional methods. This is due to the fact that Dragon Balls emit a faint electromagnetic pulse,[7] which the Radar can detect. It then points arrows in the directions of nearby Dragon Balls. Pressing the button on the top can cause the view to zoom out and show more and more of the planet.

Be careful, for Dragon balls are always in dangerous terrains and sometimes guarded by powerful beings.

This Challenge is a non elimination round, so no worries.

Dental for all.

Raptor Jesus rules.

Iz-Intergliz-alactic Gliz-adiator in the Hiz-ouse!

2009-01-06T11:09:00.001-08:00

Vice President of Marketing and Talent Coordination J’onn Sinew’Nu called me into his office.

“Jonny, my boy,” he said. “Have I got something for you.”

“Dare I ask?” I asked skeptically.

“World’s Toughest Henchman,” he gushed. “You’re in it.”

“Well sure, I was a roadie for my roommate’s brother’s band for a while back in college,” I nodded. “I can see myself doing some of that again. Pull some cable, set up a few drum sets. It’ll be sweet.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m talking about the World’s Toughest Henchman.”

“Wait, the World’s whatest what?”

“World’s Toughest Henchman,” he repeated. “That 432 guy’s hosting it. It’s going to be our next ratings bonanza.”

“Yeah… I don’t think I want to do this,” I said. “Besides, I’m not a henchman, I’m a hero. A loner, a rebel. Getting by in a universe he didn’t create. The guy who usually beats up henchmen. You know, all that.”

“Too bad,” Sinew’Nu countered. “It’s in your contract. You’re a henchman now.”

“In my contract? It wasn’t in my contract before.”

“You Earthlings sure have a primitive view on legally binding agreements,” he sighed. “You have to be more fluid.”

“More fluid,” I repeated dully.

“More fluid!” he repeated excitedly. “Besides, think of the merchandising. Think about all these other guys competing, you’re sure to win. I mean, that Cyclops guy may be a nice fellow and all, but what he’s got sure doesn’t play on Peorion, as they say.”

“They do say that,” I nodded thoughtfully.

“Now you’re getting it!” Sinew’Nu beamed.

“Well OK, I guess,” I shrugged. Meh, it might be a nice vacation. And hey, I just might win, too. “Where do I go?”

Game time.

2009-01-05T07:12:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gents,

We will be starting next week. No worries the first round is a freebie. Meaning noone will get the boot.

See you soon.

Dental for All.

Raptor Jesus rules.

Accommodations

2008-12-14T18:20:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gents,

While we will not start the game until January. I thought,I should show the accommodations, for those playing. Please note these will be shared dorms.

Dental for All.

Raptor Jesus rules.

Getting together

2008-12-05T19:12:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gents,

Word of mouth about World Toughest Henchmen (WTH) is building a following. However, some of you might like to start at a later time. I just put a poll, please vote.

PS. I am the King of Typos.

Dental for all.

Raptor Jesus rules.

Come one come all.

2008-11-29T10:29:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gents,

It is I, Henchman432. The 2 time runner up of Last Gladiator Standing, this time I chosen(blackmailed) to host a blog game.

World's Toughest Henchmen.

J'onn Sinew Nu, called and offered/told me, I would hosting a New Blog Game. (I knew those pictures, I took when I was younger would haunt me. But I was young and needed the money)

Back to the point.

If you would like to join.

Hit me up here or leave me a comment.

Dental for All,

Raptor Jesus Rules.