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Posts Tagged ‘Mister Frink’

The Apocalyptic Council: Suddenly, an End!

Posted by meekrat on September 30, 2010

The head of the Apocalyptic Council sat at his desk in the darkness. He couldn’t remember being a young man. He couldn’t remember being an old man, either. He could only remember the days when he had been less ancient, but he truly wanted to remember his younger days so he could undo the curse of immortality that had been placed upon him. This was the reason he had founded the Council, after all. Surely the end of the world would end him as well. It was all he dreamed about, all he wanted: the sweet embrace of death. He could not even remember the name he had been given at birth, and simply called himself Checker. He couldn’t remember why.

The door opened, letting in a sliver of light and a young man with claws.

Checker squinted, his ancient eyes rapidly adjusting to the light. “Ah, Joshua.”

Joshua leaned against the wall and took a steel file out of his pocket and began to sharpen his claws, “How are you doing today?”

“Absolutely wretchedly,” Checker hobbled over to a file cabinet and began paging through its files, “Any luck?”

“None whatsoever,” said Joshua, “We’ve sent out many agents to try and find out who you are and why you’re still alive. No luck yet. Also, we’ve had an infiltration.”

Checker slammed the file cabinet shut and hobbled back over to his desk, “Has it been taken care of?”

“Kind of,” said Joshua.

Checker cursed under his breath, “Kind of. How do you kind of take care of an infiltration? Did someone escape?”

“Nothing like that. We seem to have attracted some very interesting individuals.”

“How interesting?”

“Charleston Charge, for one.”

Checker hobbled back over to the file cabinet and began paging through the files contained within. The cabinet was a surrogate memory, though some things had been forgotten entirely. Joshua sat and waited patiently for Checker to pull out a file, read it, place it back into the cabinet, and hobble back to his desk.

Checker grinned, though his teeth had long ago been replaced with dentures, “Charleston Charge, eh? Good thing you’ve captured that one. According to my memory, he’s quite important. Could have put this entire operation in jeopardy.”

“That’s not all. We also captured a young man named Edwin Cloudstar. No, don’t bother going to your cabinet. He’s not in your memory,” said Joshua.

“He sounds familiar, though,” said Checker, “So familiar. Cloudstar. Hm. If he’s not in the cabinet then he can’t be important. Good work, all the same.”

“We also captured the Impossible Mister Frink and Vincenzo Fitzpatrick,” said Joshua.

Checker’s eyes lit up, “I remember those lads! Dashing young men. I remember seeing them so many years ago. Weren’t there more?”

“Yes. They weren’t here, but I think we should take the precaution of contracting some outside help with this. I’ve got contacts out there, and there’s probably more than a few people who would like a piece of the Basset Hound Brigade,” said Joshua.

Checker nodded, “No. The Basset Hound Brigade and Charleston Charge? We’ve got to move our operation.”

Joshua balked, “Do we have time?”

Checker chuckled, “You know damn well that you and I have all the time in the world.”

“I know that, but really, sir. We’re on a time-table.”

“We’ve got time. It’s better to just move than to have our whole operation dismantled by the likes of them. Get on it, please. Release the prisoners, first. Give them a fight, but let them go. We mustn’t let on that they haven’t won, nor can we kill them. It’ll bring the rest of them down upon us” said Checker, leaning back in his chair.

“Of course,” Joshua left the room, grinning. He was itching for a fight.

***

Charleston Charge paced the cell while Mister Frink sat in the corner and thought. Vinny Fitzpatrick gazed longingly out the window while Edwin Cloudstar remained up against the wall, being unable to move.

“Back in the day, we could count on the Little Spick to get us out of jams like this,” said Vinny with a sigh, “Back in the day. I wonder what he’s up to?”

“He’s dead,” said Mister Frink, “I think Orphan Freelance is still operational.”

“That’s sort of racist, isn’t it?” asked Charleston, who had stopped in his tracks upon hearing “the Little Spick”.

“It was a different time. Now, are we going to go through with this plan?” asked Mister Frink.

“It don’t feel right, Mister Frink, killin’ some lad,” said Vinny, “Even if he says he’ll just pop back.”

“It’s the only way,” said Edwin.

Vinny slumped to the ground, “Can’t we just wait for something to happen to you?”

“It’s impossible for anything to kill Edwin while we’re sitting in this cell,” growled Mister Frink.

Just then, a meteorite came flying through the window, hitting Edwin square between the eyes. It plowed through his brain and burrowed itself deeply into the wall. Vinny stared.

“We must act!” screamed Mister Frink, throwing himself against the door. It budged slightly, and Charleston aided him in the next impact. The door broke off of its hinges.

“Grab Edwin!” said Mister Frink, striding down the hallway. There were no guards. This bothered him.

Charleston threw Edwin’s body over his shoulder and Vinny followed. The quartet walked down the hallway to the next door, easily opening it.

“This can’t be right,” said Mister Frink, “There’s nothing in here but the sword.”

***

In the realm between life and death, Edwin watched as his companions carried his body down the hallway. There was a tap on his shoulder and he turned to see a tan red-headed woman wearing a purple blazer and skirt, holding a clipboard.

“Nice to see you again,” she said.

“Nice to see you, too, Camilla. I’m pretty sure I haven’t fulfilled the prophecies,” said Edwin.

Camilla looked at her clipboard, “No. Of course you haven’t. So what mess have you gotten into this time?”

Edwin pointed to Charleston, “I’m helping that guy with the hat stop a group dedicated to the Apocalypse. They had to kill me so that they could reunite me with my sword.”

“Fun,” Camilla wrote something on her clipboard and it vanished, “How’d you get separated from it in the first place? You haven’t died for a while.”

“What?” Edwin’s brow furrowed, “Then how did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” said Camilla, “Well, looks like it’s time for you to get back to living. Be careful. Not that I don’t like seeing you, of course.”

“Of course,” Edwin vanished from the realm.

***

Fifteen minutes later, the quartet was wandering through the mysteriously empty halls.

“This isn’t right,” said Mister Frink.

“You’re telling me,” said Charleston Charge, sidling along the wall.

“I feel a disturbance,” said Edwin, stopping dead in his tracks, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword, “Not really. It’s more of just bad mojo.”

Joshua stepped around the corner, his claws shining, “Hello. You can’t leave here alive.”

Edwin stopped and stared at Joshua, his hand resting on the sword’s hilt, and suddenly things made sense.

“Maddon! He’s you!” shouted Vinny.

“I’d love to know your history sometime,” said Joshua Cloudstar, “Not right now. Right now, we’re going to test your immortality.”

Edwin Cloudstar drew his sword, “Same to you.”

“So witty,” Joshua ran forward, claw raised. He brought it down, meeting Edwin’s sword and giving off sparks.

“Run,” said Edwin, attempting to force Joshua forward. Despite being dimensional twins, Joshua was stronger, and so this attempt met with failure.

As the pair continued to battle, Mister Frink and the others were running through the compound. Suddenly, there was a flash of light, and they fell to the ground.

***

Vinny Fitzpatrick awoke to find himself on Mister Frink’s couch. Charleston Charge was eating a plate of waffles on a cot next to him, while Mister Frink was already up and about. Edwin Cloudstar was nowhere to be seen, but Mister Frink’s son was there.

“Are you sure you don’t want the Neo-Bassets to track these people down?” he said, not wearing his uniform.

“You know them?” said Charleston, in between mouthfuls.

Brian Frink stopped, and then nodded slowly, “Yes. I’m their pal.”

“What happened?” said Vinny.

“Ah, good. You’re awake,” said Mister Frink, “It’s been nearly a week. To be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely sure what happened. All I know is that that compound has vanished into nothingness.”

“So we won?” said Vinny.

“I can only assume so,” said Mister Frink, pouring some tea.

“For the first time in years, I have nothing to do,” said Charleston, “It feels weird. I tell you what, though. I’m tendering my resignation with Brachiosaur. I’m going to do things my own way from now on. Maybe start a detective agency.”

“Bully for you,” said Mister Frink.

Vinny walked over to the table and took a cup of tea, “What happened to Edwin?”

“I don’t know,” said Mister Frink.

“The Neo-Bassets could find out,” said Brian.

“No. I don’t think we could find these people again unless they wanted to be found,” said Mister Frink.

***

Edwin Cloudstar floated in the void between universes once again, shunted once the Apocalyptic Council’s compound transported itself to its new location. Joshua was nowhere to be seen, and Edwin couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to his dimensional twin that made him think the Apocalypse was a good idea. Oh well. Soon, Edwin would either find his way back to a universe at some point soon.

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The Apocalyptic Council: Mister Frink’s Holiday

Posted by meekrat on September 27, 2010

Note: This is the finale of Choose Your Own Blogventure.
Note #2: This takes place before March Meekrat Madness 2010.

Charleston Charge awoke to find himself in a closet, and remembered what he was doing there. There was a conspiracy to bring about the Apocalypse, or at least to keep it on track, and Charleston had somehow become responsible for making sure that the world didn’t end. He opened the door to see a tribe of Mayans standing in the hallway, some walking and chatting with each other, some drinking coffee. They all turned to him and Charleston slammed the closet door behind him and hoped and prayed that his ally, Edwin Cloudstar, was able to find him.

***

Deep within the bowels of the Apocalyptic Council’s headquarters, Edwin Cloudstar sat in a dank dungeon. It wasn’t the worst dungeon he had ever been in, to be certain, but it was still quite annoying because they somehow knew how to circumvent the mystical connection he had with his sword. Again, not the first time, but no less annoying than all the other times. He sat and hoped that his ally, Charleston Charge, would be able to find him.

***

The Impossible Mister Frink sat in his breakfast nook, sipping some tea and reading his paper, basically enjoying his morning. His adopted son, Brian, was off on some adventure with some costumed heroes, so it was a fairly quiet day. Most days had been quiet since the unofficial disbanding of the Basset Hound Brigade, in fact. Not too quiet, of course. A man like Mister Frink knew how to create his own excitement, after all, but it was still nice to have a quiet day every now and again.

There was a knock at the door, the sort of knock that insinuated that if you didn’t open the door, then it would be opened by force. Were Brian there, Mister Frink likely would have continued sitting there enjoying the comic strips. Since he wasn’t, he cracked his knuckles and walked over to the door.

Vinny Fitzpatrick was standing on the other side, holding his aviator cap and goggles in front of him.

Mister Frink sighed and opened the door, “Good morning, Vincenzo. What brings you here?”

“I know we only get the ol’ team back together for big things, Mister Frink, but I got word that there’s the mother of all trouble brewin’ down south,” said Vinny.

“Very well,” said Mister Frink, “I suppose we’re expected to just go down there and solve things?”

“I was hoping,” Vinny smiled, “Only I wasn’t able to get anyone else.”

Mister Frink’s eyebrow raised, “What’s Douglas and Jenkins doing that are so important?”

“They’re on a case,” said Vinny, “And Mister Lucky’s nowhere to be found.”

“He’s busy with that blasted literature club,” replied Mister Frink, grabbing his overcoat, “Details, Vincenzo! Details!”

They walked to Mister Frink’s private airstrip, and along the way Vinny explained how he had found himself in contact with the new iteration of the spy organization, CAST, most notably a young woman who called herself E. A young man she knew had traveled south months ago and no one had heard from him since, and she was unable to travel there herself. Since she knew Vinny’s history with the Basset Hound Brigade, she hoped that he would at least check into it, which eventually led him to this point.

Mister Frink nodded, “Do we know where this complex is?”

“She says she don’t know,” said Vinny, “Could we take your plane? Only I had a bit o’ trouble wit’ mine.”

Vinny’s plane had been crashed, like the vast majority of his planes, into a small grove of trees several hundred yards from the airfield. He had never been able to land, except in the direst of circumstances. Mister Frink just tossed him the keys to the plane and hoped for the best.

***

Several hours later, the pair flew over some farmland.

“Have you been here before?” asked Mister Frink, pointing to a crashed bi-plane.

“Never,” said Vinny, “I think we’re on the right track. Look!”

A giant monster loomed in front of them, lumbering down the road, its massive black wings flapping slowly. As far as such things went, it wasn’t that terrifying, having the normal amount of arms and legs. Of course, all these arms and legs were tentacles, and its head looked like an octopus. It looked up and its giant coal-black eyes narrowed.

“It’s seen us, Mister Frink!” shouted Vinny, who threw the plane into a dive.

“Pull up, lad! Pull up!” screamed Mister Frink.

It was too late. The tentacle monster reached out and plucked the plane from the air. Instead of crushing it, he placed it gently on the ground, and then shrank, pulling his wings inwards. They formed a cloak around his body. He slithered over to the plane and knocked on the window.

“Are you two all right?” slobbered the demon.

Mister Frink and Vinny stared out the window, a look of shock upon Mister Frink’s face. Vinny, however, was either too afraid or too dumb to realize that he should be afraid, and gave the monster a thumbs-up. He hopped out of the plane.

“I’m so sorry about that,” said the tentacle monster, grasping Vinny’s hand, “I was in deep thought. I didn’t mean to make you crash.”

“No harm done,” said Vinny, gently pulling his hand away, “Say, you couldn’t tell us where some base for a bunch o’ Apocalypse nut-jobs is, could you?”

Mister Frink groaned.

“You’re the second two guys I’ve met today who are on their way there,” said the tentacle monster, “I’m S’treafael, but please, call me Steve. It’s right up the road. I’d love to help you storm the place, but I’m probably already in deep with my uncle.”

“No worries,” Vinny smiled. He saluted Steve and hopped back into the plane, “He said — ”

“I know what he said,” said Mister Frink, “Take us there, and for the love of God, keep us alive until we get there.”

***

Charleston Charge sat in the closet. He had built a small-scale model of his homeland, the Lost City of Uhld, out of various janitorial supplies. He pulled a voice recorder out of his pocket. He clicked the record button, “While trying to figure out what to do, I’ve built my home town. I would build a scale model of this place, but I’m not entirely sure what this place looks like.” He clicked it off and put the recorder back in his coat.

“At least they’re not trying to kill me,” said Charleston, idly knocking over bits of his model with flicks of his fingers, “They could totally get in here if they wanted to. Kill me right off.”

He leaned on his side and thought about taking a nap when he heard a noise. By the time he realized what it was, a small plane had crashed into the wall. Charleston barged through the door, knocking it from his hinges, and continued running down the hallway, holding onto his fedora-like hat. Behind him, the plane continued to come, by this time its wings had snapped off and it was just the cockpit and fuselage sliding down the hallway, knocking over Mayans left and right. It began to slow, and Charleston braced himself for its impact, hoping his low-level super-strength would be enough to stop it entirely.

The plane slid into his ready hands and his feet began to skid down the hallway, but Charleston could tell that the plane was slowing down. Behind him, a wall continued coming towards him, and he hoped he would stop before he became a pancake.

He grinned and laughed, “After all, I prefer waffles.”

Soon, the plane stopped, several feet away from the wall. Charleston stepped back and sat heavily on the ground, trying to catch his breath. The plane’s doors opened and two men he recognized as the Impossible Mister Frink and Vinny Fitzpatrick hopped out.

Vinny looked at him, “You Charleston Charge?”

“I am,” said Charleston.

“We’re here to rescue you, though it may not look like it,” said the Impossible Mister Frink, “Now then, shall we get going?”

“Not yet,” said Charleston, “My friend is somewhere in this complex. Also, these people are trying to bring about the Apocalypse. Or make sure it happens. I’m not really sure. We have to stop it.”

“You were trying to stop it by yourself?” said Mister Frink, obviously impressed.

“No,” said Charleston, “I had a friend with me. Is Mister Lucky with you guys?”

“He was busy with other matters,” said Mister Frink, “Though I’m sure if he thought he was required to stop these people, then he’d be here by now.”

Vinny nodded, “Do you know where this friend of yours is?”

“No,” said Charleston again, “We got separated when we came in.”

“Damn and blast,” growled Mister Frink, “It’ll be impossible to find him!”

Just then, all the Mayans that had fled when the plane began to crash through the hallway returned. They took their spears and pointed them at the two Bassets and Charleston Charge. It didn’t take a genius to know what they wanted.

***

“I’m so glad you found me,” said Edwin, “I really mean that. Even if this really stinks as a rescue attempt.”

Charleston Charge was shackled to the wall next to him, with shackles strong enough to withstand his super-strength, “It’s not like we planned this.”

“I know. At least we’re all together now,” said Edwin, “Who are those guys?”

Vinny smiled, lying on his side. Both his hands and ankles had been tied. Mister Frink has shackled to the wall on the opposite side of Edwin and Charleston.

“Those are Vinny Fitzpatrick and Mister Frink. Two members of the Basset Hound Brigade,” said Charleston, “They’re adventurers. Bassets, this is Edwin Cloudstar.”

“Are they? Good,” said Edwin, “I’ve seen stranger.”

“Your hands aren’t bound,” said Mister Frink.

“They don’t need to. My sword’s on the other side of this wall, and the only way it leaves my back is if I grab hold of its hilt,” said Edwin, “It’s a mystical thing.”

“Vincenzo is, for some reason, not secured in any way,” said Mister Frink, “I can’t imagine why our captors would do this, but we can work this to our benefit. Vincenzo, please see if you can make your way over to Edwin. Good, good. Now, Edwin, can you untie Vinny’s hands? Good. I would hate to have to stand alone against these ruffians.” Mister Frink took a deep breath and then tore his shackles from the wall, freeing himself.

Charleston’s eyes went wide, “You’re super-strong?”

“Indeed I am, though I do prefer to use my wits instead of my fists. Needs must, however,” said Mister Frink. He grabbed hold of Charleston’s shackles, “On the count of three, boy! One. Two. Three!”

The shackles resisted at first, remaining secure against the wall, but eventually gave when Vinny lent his own strength to the effort.

“Now what?” said Edwin, still unable to free himself, “How am I going to get free?”

“What would Mister Lucky do?” asked Vinny.

Mister Frink chose to ignore that comment, knowing full well that there was no way he could match Mister Lucky’s intelligence. He was still quite formidable in that department, able to craft machines that pushed against the laws of the universe. Mysticism was not one of his strong suits, however, and so the mechanisms of the sword’s bond with Edwin were a puzzle he could not solve. Something else puzzled him, though.

“How did you get into this position in the first place?” asked Mister Frink.

“They killed me and tossed my body in here, and my sword in the other room,” said Edwin, “When I came to, I was stuck against this wall.”

“Hold on, killed you?” said Vinny, stepping back, “You a vampire?”

“No, I just can’t stay dead,” said Edwin, “I’m still not entirely sure how they did this. Usually, the only one able to lift my sword is me.”

Charleston turned to Mister Frink, “Couldn’t you just impossible us out of this situation?”

“It’s passive,” said Mister Frink, “So if you’re killed, the sword can leave your body, but the only one who can lift your sword is you?”

“That’s what I said. I guess they could have moved my body,” said Edwin.

“You’re not from this place, are ya?” asked Vinny, “You got the air of a traveler about ya.”

“No, I’m from a different universe,” said Edwin.

Vinny nodded, “You don’t stay in this business this long without picking up a few things.”

“We could smash through the prison door and the door to wherever they put Edwin’s sword, and then kill Edwin and carry his body to his sword,” said Charleston Charge, “Not the perfect plan, I grant you, but it’s the only one I’ve got.”

“Could work,” said Edwin.

***

Elsewhere in the compound, the second-in-command of the Apocalyptic Council sat and watched their captives on a closed-circuit television. He was sure they didn’t know they were being watched, and was quite pleased that none of them had realized what had gone on. He smiled. It was only a matter of time now.

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An Unimportant Matter

Posted by meekrat on September 24, 2010

It was the early nineties, and Mister Lucky, famed member of the Basset Hound Brigade, found himself tied to a chair. He was quite surprised, as this sort of thing hadn’t happened in decades. Since he was a rookie, in fact, just starting out in the adventuring business. A cold shiver went up his spine as he realized that he was genuinely surprised by this turn of events. While to the world at large he was the Luckiest Man in the World, he was actually the smartest man who ever lived, and had long been able to extrapolate what would happen to him using his excessive intelligence. Surprise was something that no longer happened to him. As he tried to free himself from his bonds, he felt his finger brush against another finger, followed by a low groan. Another surprise. It was not a very good day.

Mister Lucky tried to turn to look at his fellow prisoner, but whoever tied him to the chair knew darn well that a knot had to be tied ungodly tight to trap Mister Lucky. He settled on whispering, “Hey there, I’m Mister Lucky, and today’s your lucky day, because I’m going to get us out of this mess! But wait, there’s more! When I find out who did this, I’ll kick his teeth in!”

He waited a few moments for the other prisoner to respond, and when he did, Mister Lucky instantly recognized the voice of Shoshy Raphael, “Not my lucky day if I’m stuck here with you.”

“Sure it is. You’re some Detroit councilman, you’re on the straight and narrow! It’s my job to save people like you, long as you don’t try to kill me first,” said Mister Lucky, “Now let’s see about getting out of here.”

A light went on, momentarily blinding Mister Lucky. He bet it did the same to Shoshy Raphael, and another groan confirmed this. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a figure standing in the shadows.

“You’re awake. Good. I was getting bored,” said the figure, “My name is unimportant, but my message is quite important.”

“Well then, Unimportant, give us the message and let us go on our way,” said Mister Lucky, smiling wryly.

“I’m not stupid,” said Unimportant, “For too long, you and your kind have been a cancer upon this world. Adventurers and costumed heroes and the like running around thinking they’re better than the average man. I’ve taken the liberty of reuniting the Basset Hound Brigade and Nantucket Dragon Group, or at least those I could find, and there’s quite the surprise waiting for all of you once you’re out of here.”

“What kind of surprise?” slurred Shoshy Raphael, probably coming off the effects of some sort of drug.

“If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?” said Unimportant, “In five minutes, I’m sure you’ll both be free. Then you’ll find out what the surprise is.”

The light went off and a door opened. Mister Lucky’s mind and hands began to race.

“He didn’t gloat,” said Mister Lucky.

“So,” said Shoshy Raphael.

“Villains gloat. It’s what they do,” Mister Lucky managed to free one of his hands and began work on the other, “So either he’s not a villain, or… I don’t know.”

Shoshy Raphael sat straight up, “You don’t know?”

“Why’s that so surprising,” said Mister Lucky, freeing his other hand and working on the other bonds, “I’m the World’s Luckiest Man, not the smartest one.”

Shoshy slouched, “Yes. Of course. Are you almost free?”

Mister Lucky stood up and began untying Shoshy Raphael, “Sure am! Sit tight, councilman, I’ll get you out of here in a jiffy.”

A minute and twenty seconds later, Shoshy Raphael stood up. Neither he nor Mister Lucky looked a day older than they had in the nineteen-twenties, owing their longevity and youthfulness to a mystical dragon ring and an immortality serum, respectively. Mister Lucky closed his eyes and turned on the light. The door was open, at once inviting and menacing.

“I’m not looking forward to this surprise,” spat Mister Lucky, making his way to the door regardless. He looked out and saw a dimly-lit warehouse, and not a very good one, either. There was a catwalk connecting several second-story rooms and an empty floor. No boxes at all. In addition to a normal door, there were two loading docks.

Shoshy Raphael joined him at the doorway and peeked out, holding his ivory cane in front of him, “No boxes? What is this world coming to?”

“I know,” said Mister Lucky, “Back in the good old days, you made sure there were boxes to buckle swashes off of and all that.”

“Remember the Charleston Death Ray,” asked Shoshy Raphael, “You almost didn’t make it out of that one.”

“I think that was your most fiendish plan,” said Mister Lucky, almost smiling.

Shoshy Raphael did smile, “Why is that? The casualties? The far-reaching implications of such a device?”

“Nope,” said Mister Lucky, “If it wasn’t for that, I think that stupid Charlie Charleston would never have shown up.”

“Ah, yes. Charlie. During the second Great War, we all joked that he was the true force behind Adolf Hitler,” said Shoshy Raphael, “Could you imagine it? A legion of Nazis dancing the Charleston across the battlefield? A race of Aryan Supermen who were exceptional at dancing that infernal dance.”

“I shudder to think,” said Mister Lucky, “Just because I’m all chummy with you right now doesn’t mean I like you. I still think you’re one of the worst eggs I’ve ever come across.”

“Of course. My hatred for you is matched only by my hatred for Edwin Cloudstar,” said Shoshy.

“Who? Never mind, let’s check the other rooms. See if our compatriots are in them,” said Mister Lucky.

A quick check of the rooms revealed the Amazing Rando tied to a chair with Vinny Fitzpatrick, Guerdon Trueblood shackled together with the Impossible Mister Frink, Guy Magistro chained to a wall with Jojo Jenkins by his side, and Simon McCockindale in a room with Dick Douglas. All had been visited by Unimportant.

“I can’t wait for the surprise,” said Vinny Fitzpatrick, “D’ya think it’s a party?”

“Nazi jewel thieves,” said Dick Douglas, “I’d bet your hat on it.”

Guy Magistro flicked his wrist and summoned his basket of magic eggs, “Don’t be daft. We’ve done nothing worth celebrating. More likely that fool means to kill us.”

As if on cue, a large television screen flipped down from the ceiling and the silhouetted Unimportant appeared on its screen. The collective members of the Basset Hound Brigade and Nantucket Dragon Group looked up and waited.

“By my estimates, you should all have escaped by now. Don’t bother looking for me, as I’ve been gone for several minutes, and I took measures to keep you from following me. Now, if you’ll look down, you’ll see two loading bay doors. If my instructions are followed, then they should be opening now,” said Unimportant. The doors did, in fact, open and ten men walked out of the trailers. The Bassets and Nantucket Dragon Group looked down upon them warily. Unimportant continued, “I scoured the Earth to find beings who were your polar opposites. Anti-Bassets and Anti-Dragons, if you wish. It’s my hope that you all kill each other, though I admit my hopes aren’t very high. Have at it, gentlemen.”

The screen ascended and the ten men stared up at the Basset Hound Brigade and Nantucket Dragon Group.

“It’s impossible for us to survive,” gasped Mister Frink.

“Anything’s possible,” said a hippie, among the men on the ground, “I can do what you do, Mister Frink. You can call me the possible Mister Harold.”

“I never liked hippies,” said Mister Frink, under his breath.

“There’s no chance you can beat us,” said Mister Lucky, “I mean, look at you? Are you supposed to be my guy?”

A hulking brute of a man dressed like Mister Lucky just stared, “I’m Mister Unlucky. We’re gonna kill you dead.”

“I like him,” said Shoshy Raphael with a grin, “Right to the point. Nantucket Dragon Group, it would appear that they’re one short, and I’m sure we’re all terribly busy, so why don’t we end this quickly?”

“It’s been years since we done that,” said Simon McCockindale, “You think he’s still around?”

“Of course,” said Guy Magistro, “He’s a demon.”

“True,” said Simon McCockindale.

“Fire,” said Shoshy Raphael, thrusting out his fist.

“Earth,” said Guy Magistro, doing the same.

“Air,” said Guerdon Trueblood.

“Water,” said the Amazing Rando.

“Energy,” said Simon McCockindale.

The five dragon rings each emitted a beam of energy, meeting in the center of the room and drilling into the ground. Moments later, in a flash of brimstone and fire, the demonic hobo Baggy Satan emerged.

“What’s all this, then?” he said, honestly confused. He looked around and realized what was happening, “You lot! Just the other day I was having a chat with me mate about you! How long’s it been?”

“Decades,” said Shoshy Raphael, “If you would, destroy all those men on the ground.”

Baggy Satan’s eyes glowed with happiness, “Truly? No pullin’ levers or makin’ bears out of pizza? Just straight up hellfire an’ brimstone?”

“Yes!” said Shoshy Raphael.

The men on the ground began to converse nervously, and then they all stepped back. The possible Mister Harold waved to the Basset Hound Brigade and Nantucket Dragon Group, “Sorry, fellas, but we quit. Come on, Mister Unlucky.”

The veins on Mister Unlucky’s neck throbbed, his eyes bulged, and his suit tore. He turned to the possible Mister Harold and growled at him, “No!” He ran at Baggy Satan and punched him into a wall, leaving an imprint. There was a collective gasp, “I don’t run!”

“We do,” said Mister Harold, “Good luck taking on ten men and a demon.”

With that, the Anti-Bassets and Anti-Dragons disbanded, leaving only Mister Unlucky to oppose the Nantucket Dragon Group and Basset Hound Brigade.

“I don’t run, neither,” said Baggy Satan, standing up and wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, “Let’s see you do that again!”

Mister Unlucky cracked his knuckles and lumbered towards Baggy Satan, who lashed out with a flaming uppercut that threw Mister Unlucky into the air. He landed with a sickening crack, but immediately stood back up, tearing out a piece of the floor and hurling it at Baggy Satan. The demon countered it with a stream of hellfire, and then turned the fire on Mister Unlucky. He shielded his face from the fire and strode through it as if it were water, back-handing Baggy Satan once he reached him.

“Should we help?” said Vinny Fitzpatrick.

“Already on it,” said Mister Lucky, who took out a notebook, wrote something down, and slid the notebook into his pocket. Scant seconds later, a hundred Mister Luckys appeared in the warehouse and all of them swarmed Mister Unlucky. The brute easily threw them off and used several of them as weapons against Baggy Satan.

“He’s impossible to defeat,” said Mister Frink, whose words caused the large television to fall from the ceiling and crash upon Mister Unlucky, knocking him to the ground. Baggy Satan spat on him and vanished back into Hell and all the Mister Luckys dissolved into goo. The one true Mister Lucky made his way down and walked over to the fallen brute.

He checked for a pulse, “Oh my god. He’s still alive.”

“Quite a feat,” said Shoshy Raphael, “Now then, are we going to continue this little team-up or can we all go our separate ways?”

“We’re done here,” said Mister Lucky, nudging Mister Unlucky with his foot, “Be on the look-out, though. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of this Unimportant. Or Mister Unlucky.”

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I Don’t Give Adam

Posted by meekrat on September 23, 2010

It was a lovely spring day, seemingly like any other, and most of the city’s notable citizens were gathered at Central Park to celebrate the city’s upper crust, its most generous citizens. Among those gathered were Mister Lucky, the Impossible Mister Frink, and Dick Douglas, who had been invited by the mayor himself.

“There’s absolutely no reason for us to be here,” groaned Mister Lucky, looking at his pocket watch, “It’s a complete waste of our time, and I don’t like the fact that we left Jojo, the Little Spick, and Vinny Fitzgerald in charge of things. Who knows what trouble they’re getting into?”

“Yes, our unique talents do seem to be wasted here,” said Mister Frink, trying to deal with the situation with the legendary stiff upper lip of the Britons. He was not doing a very good job, and seemed to be on the verge of shouting at someone.

“This is the worst free play I’ve ever been to,” said Dick Douglas, reclining on the grass, “When are they going to stop just milling around and get to actually doing something?”

Mister Lucky put away his watch and was about to leave when a large blond man took the stage, “Look, that big fella’s about to say something!”

The man took the microphone and smiled at the crowd, the sun glinting off his perfect white teeth, “Hello, fellow philanthropists and people working for a better tomorrow! As many of you know, I’m Adam Supreme, and the mayor has asked me to say a few words on behalf of the Committee for a Better Tomorrow. In order for us to have a better tomorrow, we certainly have to work for it, and there are some in this fair city of ours who want nothing more than to upset the delicate balance we’ve achieved so far. This, my friends, is the worst form of injustice: trying to undo what others have worked so hard to achieve…”

“Blah blah blah,” said Dick, shaking his fist at Adam Supreme, “Won’t this guy ever shut up?”

“Don’t be so impolite,” said Mister Frink, who felt some sort of odd connection with Supreme, “I< for one, find him very charismatic."

"If you think he's so charismatic, why don't you marry him?" sneered Dick.

"Look up there!" whispered Mister Lucky, pointing to the tree line, "The sun's glinting off something in those branches! It looks like a gun!"

Mister Frink turned, "I do believe that assassin means to shoot Mister Supreme!"

"We have to act quickly," said Mister Lucky, glad to have something to do, "I'll go try and warn Supreme, you two go after the assassin!"

"Indeed!" said Mister Frink, sprinting towards the gun.

"Meh," said Dick, who lied down and put his hat over his face.

Mister Lucky grabbed his hat and threw it after Mister Frink, "Just do it, Dick!"

"Fine, fine," Dick grudgingly got up and stalked off after Mister Frink, picking up his hat on the way, "I'm going."

"We must hurry," Mister Frink ran back, grabbed Dick by the arm, and began running again, dragging the detective behind him, "If we don't make it to the tree line before the assassin shoots, then a man might fall this day!"

"Why don't we just shout at him," asked Dick, half-struggling against Mister Frink's vice-like grip.

"We want to capture him if we're able, and then question him, of course," said Mister Frink.

"Oh yeah, of course. So shouting is a no-go," said Dick, reaching into his coat for his gun, "What if I shoot him?"

Mister Frink turned to him and scowled, "I think it would serve us best if you would keep you mouth shut and kept running!"

"Fine, Mister Grump," muttered Dick, though he was nearly drowned out by the sound of a gunshot, "We're too late, anyway."

Mister Frink let go of Dick and kept running, "No, there's still a chance that we may be able to catch him, but I fear it's impossible for anyone to save Adam Supreme now!"

"I don't see why you're so worried," said Dick, slowing down to a casual saunter, "The guy seemed like kind of a self-righteous jerk."

Mister Frink shouted back to Dick, knowing that once the assassin's deed was done, the need for stealth was negligible, "He seemed like a good man to me, and I consider myself to be an excellent judge of character. Look, descending from the treetops! The assassin!"

"Eh, he's getting away. Oh well," Dick stopped to nudge a dead squirrel with his foot, "Let's go back, I think they had some food, and no one's going to be eating it since that Supreme guy got shot."

"No! I shall persevere!" screamed Mister Frink as he launched himself at the retreating assassin.

Dick stared in amazement as Mister Frink flew through the air, tackling the assassin with a heavy thud, "Jesus, you probably crushed that guy."

Mister Frink stood up, lifting up the assassin with one hand, "He is unharmed, except he appears to be a harlequin!"

"No, that's a clown," said Dick.

Mister Frink chose to ignore him, "This is positively bizarre."

***

As the gun went off, Adam Supreme stopped speaking and looked up, "What was that?"

Mister Lucky leapt onto the stage and shoved Adam Supreme to the ground, "Get down!"

As the two men fell to the ground, the bullet whizzed overhead. Adam Supreme looked at the hole it left in the backdrop, "I owe you my life."

Mister Lucky stood up and helped Adam Supreme up, "Just part of what the Basset Hound Brigade does, Mister Supreme."

"Please, call me Adam," said Adam Supreme, holding out his hand, "I'd like to invite you and the rest of the Bassets to my home for dinner. Just my way of saying thank you."

"Sure thing, Adam!" Mister Lucky grasped Adam's hand enthusiastically, "See you there!"

By this time, Dick Douglas and Mister Frink, clown assassin in tow, had made their way back to the stage. Adam Supreme and Mister Lucky watched them, and all the blood drained from the latter's face. Adam noticed, "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," said Mister Lucky quietly, "We'll be by around seven."

Adam Supreme looked at him for a moment and then walked away as Mister Frink and Dick Douglas walked to the stage. Mister Lucky hopped down and Mister Frink tossed the clown down in front of him.

"We caught the assassin," said Mister Frink, immediately regretting stating the obvious.

"I see that," said Mister Lucky, unable to tear his bespectacled eyes from the clown, "We have to turn him over to the police, I guess."

"So he almost killed that Supreme guy," said Dick, leaning against the stage, "He should get a medal, not jail-time!"

"I won't hear you say an unkind word about Adam Supreme," said Mister Lucky, who had begun to feel the same odd connection with Supreme as Mister Frink felt, "He's invited all the Bassets over for dinner."

"Aw, shucks, do I have to go?" said Dick, pouting.

"We're all going," said Mister Lucky, "Even Jojo and the Little Spick."

"Aw nertz," said Dick, "Pardon my French, but you're a pain in the rear!"

"Not to interrupt, but the clown has gone quite limp," said Mister Frink, leaning over the assassin.

"Mister Lucky probably bored him to death talking about Supreme," said Dick.

"I'd say it's far more likely that he took a poison capsule after he got captured," said Mister Lucky, deep in thought, "It doesn't matter. Just toss the body somewhere, we have other things to worry about."

"More important than a suicidal assassin clown?" said Mister Frink, who couldn't believe the malarkey that was coming out of his mouth.

"Yes," said Mister Lucky.

"We really should find out who's behind it," said Mister Frink, "Or at least bury him."

"No, we don't," said Mister Lucky with the air of someone who was done with the conversation, "It's nothing for us to worry about."

"My keen detecting skills tell me something's bothering him," said Dick Douglas as Mister Lucky walked away.

Mister Frink watched him walk away and a deep sense of unease fell upon him, "Yes, but it's something he alone must face, I think. Let's get back to the Fox's Den. We must prepare for tonight. Whatever is happening, I doubt this clown is the end of it."

***

Around seven, the Basset Hound Brigade arrived at Adam Supreme's house, which was a mansion on the outskirts of the city.

"Golly!" said the Little Spick in awe, "I ain't never seen a house this big!"

"My granddaddy used to work at a house like this," said Jojo Jenkins, "Then he and his friends burned it down."

"Why'd they do that? Oh!" said Vinny Fitzpatrick.

"Well, it was during the war, and my granddaddy and his friends were just fed up with being treated like slaves," explained Jojo.

Vinny looked at him while still trying to look at the house, "They weren't?"

"No, they was," said Jojo darkly, "Until they burned the house down."

"Yeah, I know how he felt," said the Little Spick, "I burned down this one workhouse I used to live at. Best thing I ever did."

"Maddon! You two are the devil's own brand o' nuts," said Vinny.

"Enough chatter, you three," said Mister Lucky, walking past them and motioning for them to follow, "We have to be on our best behavior. That means no stealing. Any of you."

"I don't need to steal when they're givin' me stuff," said the Little Spick defensively.

"I wasn't necessarily talking to you, Little Spick," said Mister Lucky, turning his gaze upon Dick Douglas.

Dick grumbled, "You take one cup from a place and you get branded for life. I don't even want to be here. This Adam Supreme is bad news."

"You're the only one who thinks that," said Mister Frink, who had combed his beard for this occasion.

They reached the front door and before they knocked, Adam Supreme opened it, wearing an apron, "Hello, Bassets! Come on in, dinner will be ready soon. Until then, I've got a slight problem."

"Told you," said Dick, "He just wanted us to come over and fix his problem for him."

"Shut up, Dick," said Mister Lucky, "What's the problem?"

"Since I got home from the banquet, someone keeps shooting things at my house," said Adam, removing the apron, "Strange things."

"What sort of things?" said Mister Frink.

"Little people with pointed helmets," said Adam.

"Midget bullets?" said Dick, immediately scanning the skies for any sign of such a thing.

"Yes, I suppose you could call them that," said Adam, "You've gone all white again, Mister Lucky."

"I just need to get inside," croaked Mister Lucky, "That's all."

The team followed Adam inside, and the Little Spick looked at the splendor surrounding him, "Golly! It's even better on the inside! A man could eat like a king all his life with all this loot!"

Adam wagged a finger at him, "A man could also eat like a king by working hard and staying on the straight and narrow, young man. Earning your way in life is better than just surviving."

"Yeah, I guess so," said the Little Spick dejectedly.

"Of course, tonight you can eat your fill and more," Adam placed his hand on the Little Spick's shoulder, "All of you can!"

There was a knock on the door and Adam walked over and opened it. No one was there, save for a package. He picked it up, "I wonder what's inside."

"Don't open it," said Mister Lucky, "I think it's a very good idea not to open it."

"Don't be silly," said Adam, placing the box on a table, "What's the worse that could happen?"

"You should listen to the man," said a voice. Everyone turned as a man stepped out of the shadows, "He is known for his luck, after all."

Adam Supreme grabbed an umbrella from the stand by the door and held it in front of him, "Who the blazes are you?"

"Mister Lucky knows me all too well," said the man.

"I certainly do, PT Barnum!" said Mister Lucky, venom in his voice.

"But didn't you die years ago?" said Adam Supreme.

"That's just what I want the world to think," said PT Barnum, "I'm a master showman, after all, and all the world's my stage."

"Why is the owner of a circus trying to kill Adam Supreme?" said Mister Frink.

"I'll tell you why," said PT Barnum, pulling a telescoping baton from his belt. He pointed it to Mister Lucky, "It's all because of him!"

"I find all of this hard to believe, especially that," said Adam Supreme, "Besides, why would you attack me because of Mister Lucky?"

PT Barnum whipped his baton at a chair and it telescoped to it, wrapping around it, and the chair was pulled towards Barnum, who sat upon it, "It all started years ago, before Mister Lucky joined the Bassets, when he was just a man wandering around the country getting by on his luck. You know how he operates, don't you?"

"I certainly do," said Adam Supreme, "He's the World's Luckiest Man! Good luck happens all around him, and he uses that to perform good deeds."

"Yes, and as you know, a circus has no need for the world's luckiest man," said Barnum, "However, I happened upon Mister Lucky performing a feat of so-called luck and it got me to thinking that, perhaps, he wasn't the world's luckiest man!"

"Then what is he?" said Adam Supreme skeptically.

PT Barnum stood up and kicked the chair away, forcing it to flip through the air and land where it had originally sat, "The world's smartest man, which would be an attraction indeed! However, until he joined the Basset Hound Brigade, I was unable to find him and test my theory. Now, though, I had the happy circumstance to be performing in New Jersey and heard about the banquet in the park. It was the perfect chance to see if Lucky was, indeed, lucky."

"Hold on a second," said Dick Douglas, attempting to digest all this information.

"Yes?" said Barnum.

"The circus is in town?" said Dick.

"Yes," said Barnum, sidling up to Dick, "The famed Dick Douglas, no doubt acting dumb in order to lure me into a corner! It won't work."

"How the blazes is attacking Adam Supreme testing Mister Lucky?" said Mister Frink angrily.

"I don't expect anyone to understand my motives," said Barnum, "Except the world's smartest man! Do you understand why I did this?"

"What?" said Mister Lucky, "No? No! Of course not! I'm not smart, just really lucky!"

"I see," said PT Barnum as the front door opened behind him. He stepped through it, "Well then, I'm done here. Farewell."

The door shut and all was silent until Adam Supreme said, "That was relatively bizarre."

"I only got one question," said the Little Spick, "When are we gonna eat?"

Adam Supreme smiled and laughed, "Right away."

"I'll be along in a minute," said Mister Lucky, still staring at the door, "I need to wash my hands. No need to test my luck. Heh."

"Right you are," said Adam, "In fact, we should all wash our hands."

"Don't think you're off the hook, Supreme," hissed Dick Douglas, "I swear I will take you down one day."

Soon, Mister Lucky and Mister Frink were left alone in the foyer. "Now that we're alone, tell me. Are you the world's luckiest man, or the world's smartest man?"

"What do you think I am, Frinky?" said Mister Lucky weakly.

Mister Frink pondered this for a moment and nodded, "I see."

Adam Supreme returned, "It sure takes you fellas a long time to wash your hands!"

"Yeah, but they're washed now," said Mister Lucky, the weakness vanishing from his voice, "Let's go eat!"

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Article of Evidence

Posted by meekrat on September 22, 2010

At the Fox’s Den, headquarters of the world famous Basset Hound Brigade, the team was enjoying a rare night in when suddenly trouble stuck! In the form of a man knocking on the door! The first on the scene was Jojo Jenkins, gardener.

“Hello?” Jojo answered, but as he opened the door he was met with a flash of blinding light.

“Gee whiz, what a story!” said the light, though as it dimmed it revealed a short stocky man in a pork-pie hat with a “PRESS” ticket sticking out of its brim, “The Basset Hound Brigade keep a slave!”

Jojo stepped back nervously, raising his hands defensively, “Why you taking my picture? I never did no crime!”

Jojo’s cries did not go unheard, and the Impossible Mister Frink joined him at the doorway, “What’s going on here, Mister Jenkins?”

Jojo pointed to the reporter outside, “That man just took my picture!”

“A slave and one of our British oppressors? The Basset Hound Brigade is a regular house of sin,” exclaimed the reporter, snapping more pictures, “This is the story that’ll take me right to the top!”

“Oh dear,” sighed Mister Frink as he rolled up his sleeves and approached the newspaperman, “You must be a newspaperman. I believe our official policy is to turn you out upon your arse and wish you the best.”

“I’ve no doubt about that,” said the reporter, escaping Mister Frink’s grasp with the ease of one who had done so many times before, “What else do you have in there? Vampires? Automatons?”

The Little Spick, commander of the Orphan Freelance and member of the Basset Hound Brigade, chose that inopportune moment to join his compatriots at the doorway, “What’s goin’ on here?”

The reporter snapped more pictures, deftly moving so that he could see past Jojo and Mister Frink, “Why, hello there, son! I’m Arlo Flannery, newspaperman! What do you know about this Basset Hound Brigade?”

The Little Spick grinned and jammed his thumb into his chest proudly, “Why, I’m a bona-fide member!”

Arlo nodded, “What do your parents have to say about that?”

“Nothing, on account of me not havin’ any!” said the Little Spick, still grinning.

Arlo shot more pictures, “Child labor! Not only that, but minority child labor! I know we don’t have any laws against that sort of thing, this being the nineteen-twenties, but it’s still sensational! Off I go to make a name for myself by dragging yours through the mud! Farewell, gentlemen!” With that, Arlo Flannery tipped his hat and ran off.

Jojo turned to Mister Frink, “We’re in trouble, ain’t we?”

“Indubitably,” said Mister Frink solemnly, “We must alert the rest of the Bassets!”

***

In no time flat, the team was assembled in the study. Mister Lucky paced back and forth in front of a statue of the team’s founder, Horatio Chan, who was otherwise indisposed. Mister Frink stood against the wall, arms crossed, while the rest of the team lounged on various couches and chairs.

“I thought we had an agreement with the newspaper,” ranted Mister Lucky, waving his arms, “We keep providing the derring-do and they don’t try to pull stunts like this!”

“Faith and begorrah,” said Vinny Fitzpatrick, the team’s pilot, tears welling in his eyes, “What are we going to do?”

Mister Lucky slammed his fist on a nearby desk, “For one thing, it’s pretty clear to me that anyone with a skeleton in their closet is going to cause this guy to jump to some crazy conclusion. Which means that, god help us, Dick Douglas is our only hope.”

Vinny Fitzpatrick looked up in shock, “But Mister Lucky, what did you ever do that was wrong? You don’t got anything to worry about.”

Mister Lucky stared at Vinny and loosened his bow-tie, “Why, I was one of the founding members of the Orphan Freelance. That’s it. No other skeletons in my closet. Heh.”

“Sorry for bringing it up,” said Vinny, who remembered he was distraught and began almost crying once again.

“It’s all right, you didn’t know. No one did,” said Mister Lucky, tightening his bow-tie again, “Anyway, that’s why Dick’s our only hope. As far as I know, he’s the only one of us without any blemishes on his record. Well, not his personal record, anyway.”

“So I’m the only hope, huh?” said Dick Douglas, who had been reclining on a couch and forcing Jojo to stand, “Well then, I guess that I’m on the case! Uh, what am I doing again?”

“You have to track down this Arlo Flannery person and convince him not to do whatever he’s planning,” said Mister Lucky.

Dick stood up and walked to the door with a swagger, “Heh. Yeah, that’s right. This is a job only Dick Douglas can do, and the rest of your jokers better not forget it.”

After he left, Mister Lucky turned to the rest of the team, “While he’s keeping Arlo busy, let’s find a new headquarters and think up a new name for ourselves. In fact, we might as well try to think up pseudonyms, too.”

***

Dick Douglas wandered the streets, searching high and low for his quarry but also trying to find his office and remember exactly what he was supposed to be doing. After wandering around the city for half an hour, he finally found his office and sat down in his chair and leaned back, putting his feet on the desk.

“I remember when this office was haunted,” said Dick, reminiscing about the founding of the Basset Hound Brigade, “That was a mystery and a half, but I solved it, I did, and took down those Nazi jewel thieves! And I can solve this case! Whatever it is, no matter how many Nazis I have to take down. Huh. Maybe I should have written down what my case is…”

There was a knock at the door and Dick sat up, “Come in?”

The door creaked open, revealing Arlo Flannery, “I’m looking for a private eye to help me dig up some dirt on the Basset Hound Brigade.”

“So you came to the best,” said Dick, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Arlo sat down in the chair opposite Dick’s desk and shook his head, “No, I came to the cheapest.”

Dick didn’t miss a beat, “That’s because I don’t want to deny anyone my keen detection skills. Who did you say you were?”

“The name is Flannery. Arlo Flannery,” the reporter held out his hand, “I’m a newspaperman and this story I’m working on is going to be my big break!”

Dick completely ignored Arlo’s hand, “What story is this?”

Arlo, nevertheless, kept it raised, “The one about the Basset Hound Brigade. You know, maybe I can find someone else.”

Dick continued ignoring Arlo’s hand, but went on the offensive, “Ah, no. I’m just being thorough. I need the money up front.”

Arlo’s hand finally went down, reaching into his pocket to get his money clip. He paged through the paltry amount of bills it contained, “I only have fifteen bucks. You see, this story is going to be — ”

Dick Douglas grabbed the money and shoved it into his own pocket, “Yes, yes. The thing about the Basset Hound Brigade. Fifteen bucks will do.”

“It’s all I have,” said Arlo, “That and this camera.”

“Huh. That’s a nice camera,” said Dick, reaching over and grabbing the camera. Since it was latched to Arlo’s neck, it wasn’t going without a fight, “I’ll take that, too.”

“I can’t give you my camera,” said Arlo, struggling against Dick, “I have pictures on it that I need for my story.”

Dick continued to pull, trying to free the camera from Arlo’s grasp, “Uh, I’ll give you the pictures. Just give me the camera and I’ll help you with your story.”

Arlo sighed and unlatched the camera, “All right. Fine. Here’s the camera. When will you give me the pictures?”

Dick began fiddling with any button or latch he could find on his new device, “Right now. How do I open it?”

“No! You’ll ruin my pictures! You’ll ruin — ” shouted Arlo, nearly leaping over the desk to save his photographs. He was too late, however, as Dick pushed a button and the back of the camera opened up, spilling out film, “– my pictures. You just ruined my pictures.”

“Did I? I never used a camera before,” Dick looked at the camera and tossed it on the ground, shattering its lens, “Oh well. It just so happens that I know where these Fox Hound Coalition fellows are holed up, and pardon my French, but they’re a pain in my rear. It’ll be a pleasure to help you take them down. I’ll even do it free of charge.”

Arlo stared at him, his face pale, “You just took my camera and all the money I have.”

“I mean from this point forward it’ll be free of charge,” said Dick, “Plus expenses, of course. Now let’s go, if we hurry we’ll be able to catch all of them. Including their ring-leader!”

The color returned to Arlo’s face and his eyes glistened, “You mean Mister Lucky? Golly, if I could just get an ounce of dirt on him, it’ll undo all the damage you’ve already done to my blossoming career! It’s a deal!”

Dick Douglas stood up and strode to the door, “Let’s go take down some Fox Hounds!”

Arlo stood up and followed him, “You mean Bassets?”

Dick opened the door and the pair walked out, “Whatever!”

***

Dick Douglas and Arlo Flannery stood in front of the Fox’s Den after wandering around the city for an hour and a half, consisting of Dick trying to remember where he was going and, once he remembered, where the place he was going was.

Arlo turned to Dick, “I was just here an hour ago.”

“Yeah?” said Dick, “Well, now we’re back here again, and this time we’ll bring down Mister Lucky. Hey, do you have a notebook I can borrow?”

Arlo stared at the detective, clutching his jacket close to his body, “I need my notebook. It has all the information I have on the Bassets so far, and I won’t be able to write down anything about Mister Lucky if I don’t have it. So I’d really rather not give you my notebook.”

Dick glared at him, “Listen, do you want me to solve this case?”

“Well, yes, but — ” stammered Arlo.

“Then give me the notebook!”

“Fine,” Arlo relented, pulling his notebook from his jacket and handing it over. He pulled out a pen, “Do you need this too?”

Dick grabbed the notebook and the pen, “I thought that went without saying.”

“Oh well,” said Arlo, rubbing his hands together with malevolent glee, “When I bring down Mister Lucky, it’ll more than make up for it!”

“All right. Knock on the door,” said Dick.

Arlo looked at Dick as if the detective had just told him to shoot the president, “Why?”

Dick smiled in what he hoped was a cunning way, “How else do you expect to get in?”

“I thought you had a way in!” said Arlo.

“Yes, knocking on the front door,” Dick pointed to the door, “It’s the perfect plan. They’ll never expect it.”

“If you say so,” said Arlo, who walked up the steps and knocked on the door.

It opened to reveal Jojo Jenkins, whose eyes bulged in surprise, “Hello? What you doing back here, Mister Douglas? Why’d you bring the newspaper man with you?”

Suspicions began to rise in Arlo’s mind, “What is he talking about?”

“Never you mind,” said Dick, pushing Arlo out of the way, “Let me in, Jojo. My client and I have business to attend to.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Mister Douglas,” said Jojo, standing his ground.

“As your employer, I demand you let me in or I’ll not feed you for a week!” said Dick.

Jojo thought about bringing up the fact that Dick rarely remembered to buy any groceries and so he and Jojo had to dine nearly exclusively at the Fox’s Den, but thought better of it, “If you say so, Mister Douglas.”

“Thanks, Jojo,” said Dick, entering the Fox’s Den. He turned to Arlo, “Follow me.”

The suspicions that had begun to rise had finished their ascent and were at the forefront of Arlo’s mind, “Wait, you’re that Dick Douglas?”

Dick stopped as if he had been stricken through the heart, “There’s more than one?” He regained his composure and continued walking, “They’re right through here.”

“So you’ve just been trying to trick me?” said Arlo, his face once again pale, his eyes sunken, looking for all the world as if someone had just shot his dog.

“No,” said Dick, “As I said, these Bassets are a pain in my rear. And they’re right through here!”
Dick swung a door open, revealing the Basset Hound Brigade, all of whom had changed their clothes. A set of fake IDs was sitting on the desk and someone had brought in a chalkboard and written down a list of locations with the heading “New Headquarters?”

Mister Lucky turned to the newcomers, dressed in a mortarboard and gown, “Dick? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m helping to bring you and this crooked organization down,” said Dick smugly, “Why are you all dressed like that?”

“We knew you’d screw up, but we never thought you’d outright betray us,” said Mister Lucky, trying to keep from panicking.

“Well, he decided to do what’s right, not what you say,” said Arlo, who actually had no idea what was going on but was going to make the most of it, “As well he should, since I gave him all my money, my camera, and my notebook! I have virtually no proof of your wrongdoing other than my word!”

Mister Lucky stared at Arlo, then at Dick, “Is this true? You took all his stuff?”

“I sure did,” said Dick, in the middle of tossing the notebook and pen into a fireplace.

“Did you mean to?” said Mister Lucky, “I mean, did you plan to take all of his stuff?”

“I certainly did,” said Dick.

“So, wait,” said Mister Lucky, taking off his mortarboard and scratching his head, “You took all the proof he had. And all his money.”

“That’s what I did,” said Dick.

“So you actually,” started Mister Lucky, trying to force the rest of the words through his mind and out his mouth, “Saved the Basset Hound Brigade?”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” said Dick, shoving the Little Spick off a couch and reclining upon it, “Maybe I planned it all along.”

“So you… you… what?” Mister Lucky sat down, “You actually did it? You saved the day?”

Arlo Flannery stood in front of Dick and removed his hat, “Dick Douglas, you’re the most cunning and devious man I’ve ever met. I take off my hat to you, and it’s clear that in any battle of wits, I’ll quickly lose to you. Any organization with you as a member must be top-notch do-gooders.”

“Yeah, that’s right, spread the word,” said Dick. Arlo nodded, put on his hat, and hurried out the door.

Mister Lucky turned to Mister Frink, “Did you have anything to do with this, Frinky?”

“No,” replied Mister Frink.

“I need to go lie down. This is just too much,” said Mister Lucky as he removed his gown and exited the room, “Good job, Dick. Good job saving the day.”

“Yep, I’m great,” said Dick Douglas.

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Mister Lucky’s Off Day

Posted by meekrat on September 20, 2010

The sunlight poked through the curtains of the Impossible Mister Frink’s quarters, slowly engulfing the modest hotel suite he called home in a dank light. He grumbled to himself and rolled over, pulling his nightcap over his ears to block out a din coming from other room in the hotel. The whole situation was not to his liking, and he ached to return to his rooms at Oxford with the terrible beds and cobweb-infested windows. He could get a decent night’s sleep there, and he could be certain that any noise he heard could be quelled with the threat of expulsion or some sort of reading assignment. Yet, as a member of the Basset Hound Brigade, he was counted on to reside in New York, though he refused to stay at the Fox’s Den, the storied home of the Basset Hound Brigade.

The riotous din was growing closer, and suddenly Mister Frink’s bedroom door flew open, revealing the all too familiar face of Mister Lucky, upon which the unfamiliar look of fear had settled, “Wake up, Frinky! Wake up!”

Mister Frink attempted to roll over, but knew that there was no stopping Mister Lucky once he set his mind upon something and so he rolled onto his back and sat up, “What the devil? Mister Lucky, why are you in my private rooms?”

Mister Lucky smiled, completely failing to convey any sense of comfort or happiness, “Today’s your lucky day, Frinky! It’s our day off!”

Mister Frink’s brow furrowed, his mind already acting at peak efficiency despite being active for a meager amount of minutes, “We do not take holidays. We are adventurers and scholars!”

Despite his obvious fear, Mister Lucky cocked an eyebrow and managed a sly smile, “Would you say it’s impossible?”

Mister Frink folded his arms across his chest, “Yes! It’s quite impossible for us to take a day off!” Slowly, Mister Frink realized that he had activated his power to affect probability, which rendered the impossible quite possible indeed, “Oh, drat. I’ve done it again.”

Mister Lucky dug through Mister Frink’s closet and pulled out a suitcase, and then took it over to the wardrobe and began tossing various items in, “You sure have! What do you want to do with your day off?”

“I’d quite like to return to my slumber,” said Mister Frink, already reclining and shutting his eyes.

Mister Lucky stopped packing the suitcase and leapt atop the bed, grabbing Mister Frink by his lapels and pulling him up, panic dripping from his every word, “And waste your day off? We should go somewhere! Far, far away! For a very long time!” He laughed nervously, then leapt off the bed and resumed packing.

Sensing that his slumber was over for the time being, Mister Frink removed his covers and walked behind an oriental screen, a gift from an Oriental trader the Bassets had helped previously, “What are you blathering on about?”

Mister Lucky tossed Mister Frink a gray three-piece suit and sat down on the bed, “I got a message from the Nantucket Dragon Group. They’re going to set off a series of bombs in the city today and I don’t want to be here for that.”

Mister Frink emerged from behind the screen fully dressed and straightening his tie, “I’m surprised at your behavior! You are one of the foremost adventurers of this age, and here you are acting like a common coward! I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re addled, for some reason, but we not must turn our backs on this crisis! We must join up with Douglas and the rest and — ”

Mister Lucky slumped forward, removing his bowler hat and putting his forehead in his hands, “They’ve all been kidnapped, Frinky. Every last one. Even Jojo and the Little Spick, and some ancillary member we just inducted last night and who’ll probably be dead before this whole thing is over.”

Mister Frink froze momentarily, “We must save them, even if it seems impossible for us to do so!”

“Oh, damn it. Fine. Let’s go save our…” Mister Lucky ran a few words through his head, found one he was happy with, and continued, “Let’s go save our allies from the clutches of the Nantucket Dragon Group and avert a city-wide disaster.”

“Indeed! First, let us eat breakfast. One can’t operate properly without a full stomach, and I sense that your stomach is very empty indeed,” said Mister Frink, ringing the bell to summon room service.

Mister Lucky smiled pathetically and nodded, “Okay!”

***

In a warehouse across town, the rest of the Basset Hound Brigade was, indeed, in the clutches of the sinister Nantucket Dragon Group.

Vinny Fitzpatrick scowled at the Dragons, “You’ll never get away wit’ this!”

Shoshy Raphael, sleepy-eyed and sharply dressed in a white suit with a fur-lined coat draped across his shoulders, laughed once, “Oh, but I think we will! Just to show you how serious we are we have secured your newest member, Quick-Exit Quinton, to our deadly explosion apparatus!”

Dick Douglas began frothing at the mouth and fighting against his bonds, “You fiend! Let him go and take me instead!”

Vinny tried to turn to look at his detective compatriot but only managed to get his head half-way turned, “I’ve never seen you so worked up about anyone, Mister Dick!”

Dick Douglas stopped struggling for a moment and closed his eyes solemnly, bowing his head and gritting his teeth, “In the short time I’ve known him, he’s become like a brother to me.”

Shoshy Raphael tapped his ivory cane against the floor and smiled maniacally, “All the more reason to destroy him! Amazing Rando, are his bonds secure?”

“Hizzah!” The magician Amazing Rando waved his hands mystically and stroked his immaculate mustache, “Nothing up my sleeve, no slack in the bonds! Let’s make him disappear!”

Shoshy Raphael pointed towards a Cockney pick-pocket, “Is the power prepared, Simon?”

The pick-pocket nodded, “Cor! It sure is, or my name ain’t Simon McCockindale!”

Shoshy Raphael stared for a moment, and then cast his eyes downward, “Yes. Guerdon Trueblood and Guy Magistro, are your tasks complete?”

The Native American warrior Guerdon Trueblood nodded, his voice slowly reaching a crescendo, “As sure as the sun rises in the east and the white man took my land.”

A crazed-looking man in robes and holding a basket filled with colored eggs turned to Shoshy Raphael, “He shall know centuries of pain in moments!”

“Then let our powers combine to summon Baggy Satan,” said Shoshy Raphael, thrusting his ring-adorned fist towards the heavens, “Fire!”

Guy Magistro thrust his fist towards the heavens, “Earth!”

Guerdon Trueblood did the same, “Air!”

As did the Amazing Rando, “Water!”

Simon McCockindale was the final link in this chain of power, “Energy!”

Thin beams of multi-colored light emanated from the rings, arcing towards the sky and quickly descending and meeting in the center of the five members of the Nantucket Dragon Group. As the five beams met, a hellish rainbow drilled towards the Earth and in a flash of fire and brimstone a demonic hobo emerged.

“Blimey! What’s all this, then?” said Baggy Satan, waving his arms to escape the smoke. He recognized his surroundings and rolled his eyes, “Not you lot again.”

“Yes! Baggy Satan, pull the lever that will activate the machine to destroy Quick-Exit Quinton!” shouted Shoshy Raphael, pointing towards the explosion apparatus and a lever not five feet from Simon McCockindale.

Baggy Satan looked from Shoshy Raphael to the lever, and back, and back again, “Really? I could just blast ’em wit’ the ol’ hellfire, I could, or any number o’ creative and ‘orrifying t’ings.”

Shoshy Raphael replied, “The lever, Baggy Satan!”

Baggy Satan floated up to the lever, trying to ignore Simon McCockindale as he did so, “Whatever you say, guv’nar.”

Baggy Satan pulled the lever and the machine below him started slowly, rumbling softly, sounding somewhat like an oncoming train. The Basset Hound Brigade watched in terror as the Nantucket Dragon Group looked on with glee as Quick-Exit Quinton quickly tried to free himself from bondage. An escape artist by trade, he easily freed one of his hands and reached down to undo his feet. With each foot, the machine rumbled louder and more quickly, until Quick-Exit Quinton reached up to free his other hand. As he did so, an explosion erupted from the machine, engulfing Quinton and leaving behind nothing but a singed hand which tumbled into the bowels of the machine.

Dick Douglas screamed, “No! Quinton! You’ve killed him, you filthy bastards! You’ve killed him!”

Shoshy Raphael laughed, “He’s just the first! We shall kill every last one of you do-gooders, as our machine runs on the power of virtuous souls, and we shall use those virtue-laden souls to destroy the city!”

“You people are mad!” shouted Vinny Fitzpatrick.

“Only because that fool Mister Lucky isn’t here to witness my triumph!” said Shoshy Raphael, completely unaware that Mister Lucky was across town arguing with Mister Frink about toast.

Dick Douglas looked around and gestured to his African-American gardener and a young Hispanic man, “Too bad the Jojo and the Little Spick are knocked out. I’m sure they could use their native magicks to free themselves, and then us.”

Vinny Fitzpatrick attempted to glower at him, mouth agape, “That’s a bit racist, don’t ya think?”

Dick Douglas thought about this deeply for a moment, “We’re tied to a wall. How can we be racing?”

Shoshy Raphael giggled madly, “You are racing Douglas! To your deaths!”

A dirty child named Mugsy dropped from the ceiling, landing with a cat’s grace, followed by a baby, a young Brachiosaur, and several other children, “Not so fast! Orphan Freelance is on the case!”

Shoshy Raphael turned towards the new arrivals, his eyes bulging, “What? Urchins? What madness is this?”

“Go get ‘im, Babyface!” shouted Mugsy.

The baby simply sat there, “Goo.”

Mugsy beamed with pride, “We call him that on account of the fact that he’s a baby, with a face!”

“He’s just sitting there,” said the Amazing Rando, who was nevertheless too bewildered and fearful to approach the infant.

Mugsy just smiled, “Okay then, plan B! Brachiosaur?”

Brachiosaur stepped forth, “Brachi!”

Mugsy pointed to the Bassets, “Go free the Basset Hound Brigade!”

The other orphan tugged on Mugsy’s sleeve, “What do you want us to do?”

Mugsy grinned, “Pillage and plunder, same as always! Crack all the safes, and make sure the Little Spick gets his cut or he’ll crack some skulls!”

“Right away!” The other orphan saluted and dashed off with several of his fellows.

Shoshy Raphael waved his arm theatrically, “Nantucket Dragon Group, kill the orphans! Every last one! We shall use their pure souls for our machine!”

Guerdon Trueblood raised his eyebrows, “Bear spirit thinks that’s rather harsh.”

Guy Magistro had no such qualms, however, and was chucking his magical eggs at the orphans as they ran about the warehouse over-turning boxes and making a general mess of things. As the eggs burst, unleashing various magical effects such as bursts of ice and fire, the orphans screamed and fell to the ground. However, Brachiosaur was finishing up his work.

“Brachi brachi!” he said, finishing removing Vinny Fitzpatrick’s bonds.

Vinny Fitzpatrick pat the young dinosaur on his head, “Thanks a load for untyin’ us. Let’s go get ’em, Dick! For Quinton!”

Dick Douglas looked up from rubbing the life back into his wrists, “For who?”

Vinny Fitzpatrick slapped his forehead, “Quinton. The man who said was like a brother to ya.”

Dick Douglas shrugged, “All right, but there’s six of them. The orphans skedaddled, and Jojo and the Little Spick are still lying around being useless. Lazy minorities!”

“They’re knocked out, Dick,” said Vinny, praying that history would understand Dick’s casual racism.

“Yeah, lazy. Anyway, there’s two of us and they have a giant machine to kill us with,” said Dick.

“I know it looks grim, but I think we can pull through!” said Vinny, striking his chest, “Just like Mister Lucky would!”

Dick Douglas looked thoughtful for a moment, “Huh, if that incompetent lout could pull through, then I can, too! Watch out, Nantucket Dragon Group, here we… er, where’d they go?”

Vinny looked around. The Nantucket Dragon Group were nowhere to be seen, nor was their machine, “I think they left while we was talkin’.”

Dick Douglas smiled and rubbed his hands together, “Great! Another case solved. Let’s go get us a drink.”

***

Elsewhere in the city, the Nantucket Dragon Group sat atop their incredibly slow-moving explosion apparatus as it made its way towards the center of the city. Amazing Rando attempted to practice his card tricks while Guy Magistro chucked his magic eggs at passer-by and laughing. Guerdon Trueblood stood with his arms folded, looking over the white man’s domain. Simon McCockindale sat with his legs dangling off the side of the apparatus, wondering if he should use his energy ring to increase the apparatus’s speed. He opted not to, as Shoshy Raphael was standing on the edge and gesturing out towards the city and ranting. Speeding up would no doubt cause him to fall off. Simon McCockindale’s monkey climbed on the outside of the machine while Baggy Satan hovered some distance behind.

“We shall take this apparatus to the very center of the city where we shall use its awesome power to destroy the centers of population,” he shouted, occasionally pointing at a pedestrian.

“Not to be cheeky, sir, but ain’t the whole city a center of population?” said Simon, listlessly waving his legs.

Shoshy Raphael turned to Simon, “That’s now what I meant and you know it.”

“I guess, sir,” said Simon, as he went back to his ponderings.

Shoshy Raphael pointed at the still-rising sun, “In any case, this shall be the first strike of the Nantucket Dragon Group’s war against the world!”

Several streets in front of them, a ghostly voice traveled on the wind, its sing-song cadence heard only by one man, “Here comes Mister Lucky, sad that he missed the handsome young boys…”

Mister Lucky scowled and whispered harshly, “Shut up, you!”

“I didn’t say anything,” said Mister Frink, frowning.

“Never mind, Frinky,” said Mister Lucky, “Here they come! Let’s go!”

Mister Lucky and Mister Frink stepped into the straight, causing the already nearly immobile explosion apparatus to become completely stationary. Shoshy Raphael looked down upon his enemies, “Oh, drat! It’s the rest of the Basset Hound Brigade. No matter, it’s still seven against two!”

The Nantucket Dragon Group descended from atop the explosion apparatus and took up a battle formation in front of the two members of the Basset Hound Brigade. Mister Lucky stood firm, “Too bad you’re facing off against the Luckiest Man in the World!”

Mister Frink stood two steps behind, “Even with your… ahem… luck, it’s impossible for us to triumph!”

“Just what I needed to hear, Frinky! Let’s have it!” said Mister Lucky, lashing out with a roundhouse punch.

It landed on the side of Simon McCockindale’s head, who cried out, “Oh no! I’ve been waylaid!” He slumped to the ground and his monkey dragged him away.

“A bit of fisticuffs, eh? Take this!” said Mister Frink, hitting Guy Magistro in the jaw with a right hook. The sorcerer fell to the ground in a slump. Mister Frink followed up by hitting the Amazing Rando with a right hook.

As the Amazing Rando fell, he said, “Now I see you, now I don’t, because I’m unconscious now!”

Mister Lucky found himself facing the man-mountain known as Guerdon Trueblood, and so he attempted to appeal to the Native American warrior’s better nature, “Your proud native American heritage can’t possibly agree with using innocent souls in a death machine, Trueblood!”

Trueblood looked down at him, “It does when they’re the souls of the white man.”

Mister Lucky smiled and wagged his finger, “In that case…”

A flowerpot fell from the sky and hit Guerdon Trueblood square in the head, knocking him unconscious.

“That flowerpot came out of nowhere,” said Shoshy Raphael, hissing.

“Did it?” said Mister Lucky with a wink, “It’s your turn, Shoshy! Give up and we’ll go easy on you!”

Shoshy Raphael stepped back, holding his ivory cane up as if to repel Mister Lucky, “Not so fast, Lucky! You forget that we have the power of Hell on our side! Baggy Satan, transport us back to our secret headquarters and destroy this machine! Farewell, Mister Lucky! We won’t meet again, because you’re going to die!”

Baggy Satan groaned and waved his hands, causing the Nantucket Dragon Group to vanish into thin air. Mister Lucky and Mister Frink braced themselves for the destruction of the explosion apparatus, but it simply fell apart.

“Well, that was a let-down,” said Mister Lucky.

“I believe they sought to have it explode. They should have given their demon more explicit instructions,” said Mister Frink.

“Well, then, I suppose today really is our lucky day!” said Mister Lucky, picking up a piece of the machine to examine.

“It will never be a lucky day so long as their evil roams the world,” said Mister Frink solemnly.

“Way to go, Captain Killjoy,” said Mister Lucky weakly.

“That’s not my name,” said Mister Frink haughtily, “You know my name.”

“Just… never mind,” said Mister Lucky, tossing the piece of machine to the ground and walking away, “I knew we should have just taken the day off.”

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MMM 2010: Finale #4

Posted by meekrat on July 29, 2010



Mike P: I’m pretty sure people might enjoy my thing.
Xig: What’s your thing?
[Mike P takes a deep breath and flies above the legion of challengers on his disc.]
Mike P: If you’ve got an energy weapon, shoot me with it!
[All the challengers with energy weapons begins shooting Mike P with them, some with much more enjoyment than others. Those without energy weapons attack Baggy Jesus O’Malley the Jew until Mike P begins glowing like a collapsing star. He turns towards Baggy Jesus O’Malley the Jew, flies towards him, and begins unleashing the energy, forcing himself to keep flying as he does so lest the energy blast push him back. As the last of the excess energy leaves his body, Mike P allows himself to be pushed back. The energy blast seems to do the trick, and Baggy Jesus O’Malley the Jew screams in pain. At the lair of the Embodiments…]
The Stupid: More power! MORE POWER!
Deity Guy: We’re giving her all we’ve got!
The Stupid: You obviously aren’t! The meters are still… oh, wait. They stopped. We’re all now completely powerless!
Lamp Prime: Wait, wait. Really?
The Stupid: Yes! Though we can get our power back at any time by flicking this switch.
Deity Guy: There’s no switch there. In fact, the whole console has been replaced by a featureless purple cube-like shape.
The Stupid: That’s nonsense!
Lamp Prime: He’s right. Turn around.
[The Stupid turns around, and sees that the ghost machine has been replaced by a giant featureless purple cube-like shape.]
The Stupid: This… this wasn’t supposed to happen. Now, once Baggy Jesus O’Malley the Jew has destroyed our enemies, he’ll be able to destroy us as well! He’s basically become a malevolent deity! This is all my fault!
Deity Guy: Don’t be so hard on yourself. You had no idea this would happen.
The Stupid: Well, you see, shortly after Baggy Jesus O’Malley the Jew arrived, I sent someone into his head to stomp around and make him go insane. Apparently, this has also made him much more proactive in his defense.
[Deity Guy and Lamp Prime stare at the Stupid, who grins sheepishly.]
Deity Guy: Dude. What the hell?
[At the stadiums, Baggy Jesus O’Malley the Jew transforms once again. This time, he becomes a giant blob-like creature with a tiny leprechaun hat perched upon it, with various pieces of robot, monkey, bear, leprechaun, and human shifting in and out of its mass. It also begins flinging things at the various challengers, and shooting bolts of various energies. While its accuracy leaves much to be desired, the sheer mass of attacks is proving to be fatal to many challengers. In a misguided attempt to lighten the mood, Charlie Charleston dances to the head of the crowd.]

Charlie Charleston: Charleston, Charleston, dah dah dadadah Charlie Charleston, I’m better than you!
[The the Charleston Hate Imp arrives nearly instantly, and due to his proximity to Baggy Jesus O’Malley the Jew, is beefed up by the excess power. Instead of the small yet dangerous being he once was, he, too, becomes a hulking monstrosity. The crowd lets loose a collective groan, but then the the Charleston Hate Imp touches Charlie Charleston. Charlie Charleston is immediately set on fire, and begins to expand. The man’s eyes pop first, spraying goo all over the place. Next, the buttons on his suit begin popping off, their ricochets dooming several more challengers, until finally, Charlie Charleston’s flesh has been stretched as far as it will go and the man explodes, his flaming body parts landing all over the place. The Camel leaps into the air to grab an errant foot, and greedily begins shlurping the rest of what was once Charlie Charleston. Once he’s completed this, he notices how many more corpses there are, and sighs contentendly. The Thrifty Scouts fly out over the crowd to confront Baggy Jesus O’Malley the Jew. Mike P is none too pleased, especially since Elvin Clovar has convinced Perverto to hold aloft a boombox to blare the Thrifty Scouts Theme Song.]
Mike P: We saw you die! The Kzagnox totally killed you!
Thrifty Scout Asgard: Kawaii! It’s a good thing he didn’t get our special Thrifty Star Seeds! Now then, you big old monster, we will punish you!
[As the Thrifty Scouts are preparing to attack, Baggy Jesus O’Malley the Jew focuses upon them, and with one blast, they’re disentegrated. Ethan Crane and Lord Tentacula join elbows and begin to dance with joy. Scoop Griswald runs around snapping photographs while Jonathan Hortenz, hit by one of Charlie Charleston’s shoes, has begun to drone on as if he was doing a DVD commentary of the battle. Steve the Chach is attempting to light Molotov cocktails using his bottles of Jaeger, a feat which proves impossible considering how he refuses to waste the Jaeger and empties each bottle beforehand. Danger Force sits around and laughs at everyone else as they run around, trying to dodge Baggy Jesus O’Malley the Jew’s attacks. The three champions continue to attack.]
Shoshy Raphael: I’d say this is hopeless!
Mike P: Not if we get a deus ex machina up in here!
[As if on cue, a light comes from the western sky, framing a figure on a mighty steed.]
Shoshy Raphael: Good god, is that — ?
Owen Reilly: It is! It is! Brachiosaur the White!
[Sure enough, Brachiosaur is riding into battle upon Wyandotte Thompson, much to Wyandotte’s chagrin. He is brandishing a relatively small sword which still dwarfs a man. Alongside him ride El Presidente on an especially large dog, Leo Leopolous astride his riding lion, Sexy Jiro on top of his gimp, the Cart King atop one of his carts, Jerald on his flying disc, Mister Frink on his gyrocopter, Cart King and Mad Monkey Jesus aboard the flying cross, and the Unibear on his unicycle.]
Brachiosaur: BRACHI! BRACH BRACH BRACHIOSAUR BRACHI BRACH BRACHIOSAUR!
Unibear: Graaahnk!
[However, one by one the riders are cut down by errant blasts from Baggy Jesus O’Malley the Jew until only Unibear remains. He rolls up to Baggy Jesus O’Malley the Jew and looks up at the monstrous blob, half-heartedly scratching it.]
Unibear: Grahn.
[Baggy Jesus O’Malley the Jew pulsates, the movement being enough to crush the Unibear.]
Iavi: Well, boys, this isn’t how I thought I’d die, but it’s been nice knowing you, I guess.
Charleston Charge: We still have a chance, if only Edolie DePrit would show up. She usually shows up, then I save the day.
Mike P: We don’t have time to wait!
Charleston Charge: Sure we —
[Charleston Charge is suddenly hit with a beam of energy, falling to the ground.]
Shoshy Raphael: You did tell him we didn’t have time to wait.
[Off to the side, the Embodiment of Chaos steps out from between moments. He looks around.]
Embodiment of Chaos: Damn. Looks like I don’t even have to be here.
[He steps back. Other than the three champions, only a handful of challengers remain. This includes Edwin Cloudstar, Baco, Antwon, Iavi, Xig, Fadeaway, the Animajor, Xavier Malcolm, Logan Keanu Solo, Gerald, Jihad Man, Purga the Demon-Thing, the Bear Machine, and Bukake.]
Iavi: I think we should find cover, maybe think up a plan.
Edwin Cloudstar: Oh, forget plans. Get me one of those Purple Lamp bombs.
Mike P: What are you going to do?
Edwin Cloudstar: I’m going to jump into that thing and blow it up from the inside.
Shoshy Raphael: A good plan. I expect nothing less from my old foe.
Edwin Cloudstar: Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you tried to do.
Shoshy Raphael: I don’t.
[A bomb is made and given to Edwin Cloudstar.]
Edwin Cloudstar: I need one of you to get me up to the top so I can sink through.
Iavi: No. It’s a suicide mission.
Mike P: We’ll be fine, I’m sure. Besides, whoever does it can get really close to attack.
Shoshy Raphael: I suppose it’ll work.

Posted in March Meekrat Madness 2010 | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

MMM Event #89: Resolution

Posted by meekrat on July 16, 2010

[Purga the Demon-Thing slowly glides across the landscape, occasionally swooping to use the momentum to carry himself forward. Eventually, he sees a set of train tracks and lands to investigate. However, as he stands on them, they vanish.]
Purga the Demon-Thing: Curious.
[Purga the Demon-Thing flaps his massive wings to gain altitude, and quickly dives towards the ground, following the tracks and managing to outrun them. As he’s gliding, he runs head-first into the back of the train’s caboose. After rubbing his head, he climbs atop the caboose and uses his claws to climb forward. In the car of the Nantucket Dragon Group…]
Shoshy Raphael: So you see, allies, I’m sure that the Stupid has sent one of his cronies to deal with me.
Charleston Charge: What does that have to do with us?
Shoshy Raphael: Beg pardon, but I do believe we’re allies now.
Charleston Charge: It’s your event, though.
Shoshy Raphael: Our plans, though!
Mister Frink: We’d best help him.
Charleston Charge: Fine. Which crony?
Shoshy Raphael: According to this program, it’s the demon-thing Purga.
Charleston Charge: Demon-thing?
Shoshy Raphael: Yes, yes. He’s half-demon or some such nonsense.
[There is a loud noise further down the train.]
Shoshy Raphael: Also, I do believe he’s here.
[Purga the Demon-Thing, the wind beating at his wings, stands facing the Manakeet.]
Purga the Demon-Thing: So we meet again. This time, I’m not feeling so generous. You won’t survive this.
[The Manakeet flaps its wings and chirps quickly and with great irratation.]
Purga the Demon-Thing: Of course, we both know there’s several people on this train who shouldn’t be here. Might I propose an alliance? I’ll do my business and then leave.
[The Manakeet continues chirping, bobbing its head towards Purga the Demon-Thing.]
Purga the Demon-Thing: As you wish it.
[With blinding speed, Purga the Demon-Thing runs at the Manakeet. Before the creature can react, it finds itself clawed. It turns to Purga the Demon-Thing, chirps sadly, and falls.]
Purga the Demon-Thing: Shame, really. Now then, where’s Raphael?
Motley Shakespeare: You brute! He was only doing his job! Even I, his erstwhile target, realizes that!
[Purga the Demon-Thing turns back to the Manakeet and sees Motley Shakespeare kneeling over the injured creature. Baggy Johnson stands behind him, happily eating a sandwich.]
Purga the Demon-Thing: I’ve not the time to deal with you. Stand in my way, though, and perish.
[Purga the Demon-Thing gets down on all fours and crawls up the train, occasionally crawling over the side to peer inside a window. When climbing back on top of the train, he is hit with an inkwell.]
Purga the Demon-Thing: Fool!
Motley Shakespeare: You’re a dishohorable beast!
Purga the Demon-Thing: Of course!
[Purga the Demon-Thing stands, claws raised, against Motley Shakespeare, who has a length of wood and is holding it in front of him, seething with anger. Further down the train, Baggy Johnson ministers to the Manakeet. Before Purga the Demon-Thing can strike, he is hit with an arrow from behind. He bellows in pain and turns to find the Nantucket Dragon Group, minus Shoshy Raphael, standing against him.]
Purga the Demon-Thing: I won’t hesitate to kill any of you! You realize this —
[Purga the Demon-Thing is cut off by an exploding ice egg hitting him in the mouth. As he struggles to get the ice off of his head, Amazing Rando chucks a brick at him. When he finally gets the ice off, he charges the Nantucket Dragon Group, only to be halted by someone jumping on his back.]
Purga the Demon-Thing: I’ve had enough of these games!
Charleston Charge: Blah blah blah.
[Charleston Charge attempts to trip Purga the Demon-Thing up by wrapping his legs around Purga the Demon-Thing’s, but fails, managing only to slow the creature down. Mister Frink grabs Charleston Charge before he falls, then hurls him at Purga the Demon-Thing. Instinctively rolling into a ball, he hits Purga the Demon-Thing in the back, knocking him down. Purga the Demon-Thing’s eyes begin to glow red, his horns become sharper and more ornate, his claws more deadly, his entire being more demonic and evil.]
Purga the Demon-Thing: I’ve had it with these fools on this train!
[The Animajor uppercuts him, erupting from the train car.]
The Animajor: That was almost a reference! So apparently I have super-strength, at the very least.
Purga the Demon-Thing: Let’s see if you can fly!
[Purga the Demon-Thing grabs the Animajor by the leg and tosses him off the train. He smiles, but then the Animajor flies back and punches him mid-flight.]
The Animajor: I can!
Purga the Demon-Thing: GRAH!
[With ne’er-do-wells to the left of him and do-gooders to the right of him, Purga the Demon-Thing is stuck in the middle with nothing but boundless rage. He continues screaming, and then leaps into the air, his transformation allowing him to fly instead of glide. He easily swats away the Animajor, who hits the ground. The train speeds away, leaving him in a crater. Nothing harms him as he makes his way to the engine, where he tears off the door and forces his way in. The small plastic robot turns, rises on tiny jets, and shoots Purga the Demon-Thing with eye lasers.]
Purga the Demon-Thing: You’ll either crash this train or die!
[The robot simply keeps shooting. Purga the Demon-Thing is about to crush him when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns to see Shoshy Raphael standing behind him with his ring pointed at Purga the Demon-Thing’s face. Shoshy Raphael smiles.]
Shoshy Raphael: I’d look out, engineer.
[The robot tips his hat and hurries out the way as Shoshy Raphael shoots a stream of fire at Purga the Demon-Thing.]
Purga the Demon-Thing: I am a creature of Hell! You think a little fire can harm me?!
Shoshy Raphael: It isn’t meant to stop you.
Purga the Demon-Thing: What?
[Shoshy Raphael grabs the doorframe.]
Shoshy Raphael: Now, engineer!
[The small robot grabs hold of the lever to stop the train and pulls it, throwing Purga the Demon-Thing against the wall. This does not stop him, but then Shoshy Raphael starts flinging flaming coals at him.]
Shoshy Raphael: That’s your cue, engineer. I am sorry about what we have to do.
[The robot nods, and hurries to the spike holding the engine to the rest of the train. As Shoshy Raphael flings coals at Purga the Demon-Thing, the robot struggles to remove the spike. He succeeds, and the engine leaves the train behind. Shoshy Raphael runs past Purga the Demon-Thing and sets the train to full speed ahead.]
Purga the Demon-Thing: You fool! We’ll both be killed!
Shoshy Raphael: Oh, come now. I doubt an explosion would kill you.
Purga the Demon-Thing: WHy are you doing this?
Shoshy Raphael: One of the only men I’ve ever considered an equal died and, since then, the Embodiments have gone and made a royal cock-up of things. I intend to stop it.
Purga the Demon-Thing: By killing yourself?
Shoshy Raphael: I’m going to assume your beastial nature is causing you to be an idiot. Toodles.
[Shoshy Raphael salutes Purga the Demon-Thing and steps off the back of the train. Purga the Demon-Thing starts laughing, abruptly stopping when the Animajor flies by with Shoshy Raphael in tow. Shoshy Raphael is thumbing his nose at Purga the Demon-Thing.]
Purga the Demon-Thing: Oh shi —
[The engine smashes into the wall of the Coliseum of the Stupid.]

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MMM Event #86: Resolution

Posted by meekrat on July 16, 2010

[Mister Frink and Charleston Charge are aboard the gyrocopter. Mister Frink is pedaling and steering, while Charleston Charge stands and scans the horizon. He points towards a seemingly random point.]
Charleston Charge: There! I think that’s it!
Mister Frink: Marvelous.
[The gyrocopter changes course, heading towards the train. Ten minutes later, it lands on top of the engine and its occupants disembark. Immediately after doing so, the Manakeet emerges from between two cars, screeching. Mister Frink looks at the creature, aghast, while Charleston Charge sighs.]
Charleston Charge: I’m so sick of that thing.
[He rolls up his sleeves and walks towards the Manakeet, its cacophany ringing through the air. With one swift punch to the gut, the Manakeet starts breathing heavily and doubles over. Charleston Charge brings both hands down upon the creature’s head. This act alone is not enough to do much, but it hits its head on the train car and is knocked out. Charleston Charge throws the beast over his shoulder and tosses it into the engine, where a small plastic robot in an engineer’s hat is driving the train. It turns slowly towards Charleston Charge, tips his hat to him, and goes back to driving the train. Charleston Charge stares at the robot for several minutes, then tosses the Manakeet onto the floor. As he turns to leave, he remembers something, then takes off several of the Manakeet’s feathers. He climbs back on top of the train car where Mister Frink is waiting. He holds up the feathers.]
Charleston Charge: I win, I guess.
Mister Frink: Good show. Which car do you think the vagrant is in?
Charleston Charge: It’s a boxcar at the other end of the train. Let’s go.
[As the pair carefully walk towards the boxcar, they are unaware that below them, people can hear their footsteps. Two of these people nod to each other and head towards the gap between cars, and as Charleston Charge leaps across the gap, he is winged with an egg. He barely manages to grab hold of the guardrail, then he looks up to see Guy Magistro and Guerdon Trueblood standing above him.]
Guy Magistro: You’re not welcome here!
Guerdon Trueblood: You’d best let go, lest I make you, like the white man forced my people to let go of our land!
Charleston Charge: Yeah, yeah. You’re making a big mistake. Just let me up and you won’t get hurt.
Guy Magistro: You’re in no position to bargain!
Charleston Charge: You brought this upon yourself.
[At that, Mister Frink leaps from the top of the car and lands behind the two villains. With great strenght, he punches each in the back of their neck. Each fall, grasping their neck.]
Mister Frink: Tally-ho! Come now, Charge!
[Mister Frink hoists Charleston Charge up onto the platform.]
Shoshy Raphael: Oh dear. It’s you two. I swear, you’re almost as bad as Lucky.
Mister Frink: We haven’t come for a confrontation, Raphael! We simply seek our ally!
Shoshy Raphael: Whatever for?
[Charleston Charge looks at Mister Frink, whose face is locked in an angry scowl. Then he looks upon the calm countenance of Shoshy Raphael.]
Charleston Charge: We’re not really looking for him. I mean, we are, but we’re actually here to stop the Embodiments from killing each other and taking everyone with them.
[By this point, Guerdon Trueblood and Guy Magistro have gotten up and are getting ready to attack. Shoshy Raphael waves them away.]
Shoshy Raphael: Why, I do believe our goals are the same. Just yesterday my team and I attacked the Stupid.
Mister Frink: I knew you were daft, but that daft?
Shoshy Raphael: It was either us or him, and while no one died, Baggy Satan did transport us here. Imagine that, sending us to the one location you’d be sure to find us.
Charleston Charge: Yeah. Imagine that.
Shoshy Raphael: Come now. If I wanted you two dead, you’d be dead already. Come inside, Simon makes a surprisingly good cup of tea.
[Mister Frink and Charleston Charge look at each other.]
Charleston Charge: You know this guy better than I do. It’s your call.
Mister Frink: We might as well.
[The pair follow the trio of Nantucket Dragon Group members into the train car, passing the prone form of the Animajor along the way.]
Charleston Charge: You have him here, too?
Shoshy Raphael: Indeed! He almost gave his life to aid us. Sadly, he is now powerless.
Charleston Charge: I don’t see what’s so sad about it.
Shoshy Raphael: It simply is. Poor boy hasn’t stirred since then.
[Mister Frink checks the Animajor’s pulse, and opens his eye and shines a flashlight into it. He nods.]
Mister Frink: He’s faking it.
Shoshy Raphael: Really?
Mister Frink: Yes. I’m guessing he has a love of melodrama. Luckily for him, I happen to have the cure for what ails him right here.
[Mister Frink pulls out a syringe filled with an orangey-purple liquid. Shoshy Raphael steps between him and the Animajor.]
Shoshy Raphael: What is that?
Mister Frink: Element Frink!
Shoshy Raphael: I won’t let you inject the lad with some crazy magic potion.
Mister Frink: It’s not a crazy magic potion. It simply unlocks a person’s latent super-powers.
[One of the Animajor’s eyes open at this.]
Mister Frink: Now then, move aside!
Charleston Charge: I have to agree with Raphael. The Animajor thinks I’m his greatest enemy. I don’t think giving him super-powers would be a good idea.
Mister Frink: Nonsense! Move aside!
[With a wave of his arm, Mister Frink knocks Shoshy Raphael and Charleston Charge away. Before they can retailiate, Mister Frink has plunged the syringe into the Animajor’s arm. The liquid is drained from the syringe, and once it’s empty, Mister Frink puts it back into his pocket and places a bandage on the shot. Within second, the Animajor has “woken up”.]
The Animajor: Many thanks, Mister Frink. Might I inquire as to what powers I’ve been granted?
Mister Frink: I’ve no idea.
The Animajor: …what?
Mister Frink: It unlocks different powers in different people. I suppose I could run some tests on you when we return to Earth, but for now, it’s simply a matter of trial and error.
The Animajor: I guess it’ll have to do. As for you, Charge…
[Charleston Charge sighs and shifts to a fighting stance. The Animajor, however, simply puts his hands together and bows.]
The Animajor: I beg your forgiveness. I was drunk with power and under the influence of an evil being. I know not what path I shall take, but I do know that I no longer wish to be at odds with you and the Land Captain.
[Charleston Charge lowers his fists, his eyes wide and mouth slightly open.]
Charleston Charge: I… you… er. You’re forgiven.
The Animajor: Many thanks!
[The Animajor leaves the car to join the Nantucket Dragon Group in the next car. Mister Frink, Shoshy Raphael, and Charleston Charge watch him leave.]
Charleston Charge: He talks differently now. Is that due to the serum?
Mister Frink: Could be. The effects are chaotic, to be sure.
Shoshy Raphael: Now then, back to business. You two and my team both want to avert this oncoming catastrophe between the Embodiments. Between us, I’m sure we can think of something. I propose a temporary truce and alliance.
Charleston Charge: I’m game.
Mister Frink: I suppose I am also game, for the greater good.
[The three shake hands, and go to make plans with the Animajor and Nantucket Dragon Group.]

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MMM Event #86: Mister Frink VS Charleston Charge

Posted by meekrat on July 12, 2010

[Charleston Charge sits in the stands of the Hippodrome, watching Lamp Prime fret. He puts his head in his hands and sighs deeply.]
Charleston Charge: This isn’t good.
Mister Frink: Indubitably!
[Mister Frink sits down next to him.]
Mister Frink: This whole situation is a bit of a bother.
Charleston Charge: It feels like we’re heading headlong into another Battle for the World that Came.
Mister Frink: The what now?
Charleston Charge: You probably don’t remember, but there was a battle down south. It was when those Paragon People came back. I was tasked with remembering it, and I think I know why. If I didn’t remember, then I wouldn’t see it coming.
Mister Frink: I see.
Charleston Charge: It was terrible. Scores of people died. They came right back, of course, but it was a lot like this. The forces of good and evil meeting up and fighting, with the neutral people doing what they could. I’d tell Lamp Prime about it, but you know how he’s been lately.
Mister Frink: Indeed! Perhaps we should seek out a means of halting this oncoming doom.
Charleston Charge: We’d have to be able to leave the Hippodrome, and Lamp Prime isn’t letting anyone leave.
Mister Frink: What about your opponent two events hence?
[Charleston Charge thinks about this for a moment, then realizes what Mister Frink is talking about.]
Charleston Charge: Baggy Johnson? What about him?
Mister Frink: One would have to think that, as over-protective as Lamp Prime has become, he would want all of his champions within the walls of the Hippodrome.
Charleston Charge: I get it. We ask him to make our event to find Baggy Johnson! Then we can figure out a way to stop all this, maybe.
Mister Frink: Perhaps.
[The pair walk down the stairs and into the Hippodrome’s main area. They approach Lamp Prime.]
Lamp Prime: Oh. Hello, fellows. Are you here for your armor? Your event is next, isn’t it?
Mister Frink: Indeed it is, but it would seem one of your champions is missing!
[Lamp Prime’s bulb flickers.]
Lamp Prime: What? Oh no, oh no, oh no!
Charleston Charge: Maybe for our event we can find him and bring him back? We’ll work together, even, and you can score it by… er…
Mister Frink: Scoring would be simplicity itself. On the way, we’ll collect something. Whoever collects the most of these somethings would be the winner!
Lamp Prime: So it would be like hide-and-seek, but also like a scavenger hunt?
Charleston Charge: Exactly! We’d be safe as safe can be.
Mister Frink: Especially since we’d be taking my gyrocopter.
Lamp Prime: I don’t know about that. Flying isn’t too safe.
Mister Frink: I’ve never had an accident in all my years!
Charleston Charge: We’d stay close to the ground, but not too close. So no one could see us.
Lamp Prime: I guess that sounds all right. Wait a second. Which champion is it?
Charleston Charge: Baggy Johnson.
Lamp Prime: Not Baggy Johnson! Yes, you have to bring the poor man back here! He’s never hurt anyone in all his years. Good luck, you two. I’ll see you when you return. Collect feathers for me!
[Charleston Charge and Mister Frink smile and nod, then quickly exit the Hippodrome. As they board the gyrocopter and take to the air, Charleston Charge looks back.]
Charleston Charge: Uh oh. It looks like some villains are headed towards the Hippodrome. Should we turn back?
Mister Frink: No! Our mission takes us elsewhere, and should we succeed, we shall save them all! Where are we going, by the by?
Charleston Charge: Might as well find Baggy Johnson. He’s on a train with Motley Shakespeare. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.
Mister Frink: Excellent! Then away we fly, my young friend, to save the day!
Charleston Charge: Hopefully!

Learn more about the challengers:
Mister Frink
Charleston Charge

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