The Meekrat Entertainment Group

Where mayhem is the man-fish!

Posts Tagged ‘Mister Unlucky’

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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MMM Event #56: Mister Lucky VS Cinco de Mayo

Posted by meekrat on May 26, 2010

Mister Lucky: I see four of you. Where’s the gnome?
[Jerald flies in on his disc.]
Jerald: Right here! Mister Frink agreed to take a break while I deal with this event.
Mister Lucky: You got Frinky to take a break?
Jerald: I cast a sleep spell on him.
Mister Lucky: Clever.
Thomas Iavi: If you two ladies are done clucking, we have an event to do. Since Mister Lucky is a bit more competent than the Scottish Boxman, I had to think up a different way to test his mettle against that of Cinco de Mayo. I had to bring in some help from the other side.
Shoshy Raphael: Hello, Lucky.
Mister Unlucky: I’m here, too!
Iavi: As your opposite numbers, these two have come up with a series of increasingly dangerous death-traps for you to navigate.
Mister Lucky: One’s a sap and the other’s… well, lights are on but no one’s home, if you catch my meaning. You do realize this, right?
Iavi: Between the two of them, I think they came up with some pretty good death-traps. Agent Villain came by and took a look. Didn’t see him leave, but really, who wants to hang around a death-trap?
[Mister Lucky scowls at the mention of Agent Villain, and his face becomes a mask of determination.]
Mister Lucky: Well, that changes a thing or two.
Iavi: Great. Go wait over there while I explain the challenge for Cinco de Mayo.
Mister Lucky: Sure thing.
Iavi: All right. Now, for you five, there’s a series of five rooms. Each one is tailored to one of your unique… Charlotte!
Charlotte: What?
Iavi: Pay attention!
Charlotte: There’s a frayed string on your coat.
[Iavi finds the string and yanks it off, letting it blow away. Charlotte watches it go, but as soon as it’s out of sight, she returns her attention to Iavi.]
Iavi: Okay. As I was saying, each room is tailored to one of your unique talents. [sighs] Yes, Toddo?
Toddo: Did you get our archenemies to help you with it?
Iavi: No. I don’t even know who your archenemies are. I checked up with Lamp Prime about what you guys are about, though. The rooms should be challenging, but not impossible. I had El Scientist Magnifico run the numbers. Even allowing for several mistakes and mishaps, you five should be done around the same time Mister Lucky is. Now, I did get some help with a few of the rooms from —
[The skies turn dark and a single bolt of lightning erupts from the heavens, striking the ground and leaving a cloud of black smoke. A figure walks out of the smoke, wearing a black hat and carrying a staff. A muscle-bound barbarian with an axe on his back and an ice pick in his hand follows closely behind.]
Xuxim: I am Xuxim.
Baggy Wallis: Input fear!
Toddo: You know him?
Baggy Wallis: Input adventure. Input lizard. Input ice.
Xuxim: Ah, yes. That whole debacle. You used to be a vagrant, were you not? Anyway, Iavi asked me to magic-proof several of the rooms so that the gnome doesn’t simply magic the five of you to the end.
Jerald: I don’t think you can be trusted.
Xuxim: Come now, I’ve no reason to kill any of you here and now — just as Misters Raphael and Unlucky have no reason to kill Mister Lucky. It’s all for sport.
Shoshy Raphael: Besides, we’ve been promised that if we go out of our way to kill any of you during an event then things will go badly for us.
Xuxim: Quite badly indeed.
Iavi: Right. Okay, both teams ready? Good. Go!

Learn more about the challengers:
Mister Lucky
Cinco de Mayo
[The Ghost of Charlemagne floats through the crowds gathered outside the various stadiums. There is much chatter.]
Baco: Did you hear about Meekrat?
Antwon: What the hell is Meekrat?
Baco: I don’t know, but Howard Cosell was blathering on about it!
Tom Phillipson: Don’t tell anyone I heard this, but I heard that Meekrat is some sort of intergalactic peace-keeping organization who’s throwing this tournament to find a champion.
Elvin Clovar: Like “The Last Starfighter”?
Tom Phillipson: Don’t be an idiot. It’s nothing at all like that.
Matt Omley: Is Meekrat like the Purple Lamp Corps? They’re an intergalactic peace-keeping organization!
Tom Phillipson: No! They’re more like that Star Trek thing.
Brendan Phillipson: Player One taped one of the early matches on his phone. Howard Cosell said something about March Meekrat Madness.
Elvin Clovar: My god! Do you think the champion will have to fight the Great Old Ones?
Ethan Crane: Don’t be daft! Why would we want to fight them?
Elvin Clovar: They cause madness in the minds of mortals, duh.
Ethan Crane: Don’t sass me, fatty!
Xig: Last year, there was another tournament, and I shouldn’t be telling any of you this, but the three champions had to go save the Embodiments from another embodiment. The embodiment of Chaos! Chaos is sort of like madness!
Solana: Xig!
Xig: It’s true! Do you think maybe the March Meekrat Madness has to do with the Embodiment of Chaos?
Ethan Crane: I remember that. No television at all for the longest time. It was a horrid experience.
Plasticine Cube: Then why is it March?
Metallic Spheroid: Obviously, it’s because March… is a month. And also it’s something you do. So it’s the March of the Meekrats against Madness!
Plasticine Cube: 2010?
Metallic Spheroid: Yes!
[The Ghost of Charlemagne, who has been listening to all of this with a look of ever-growing befuddlement and anger, finally snaps]
Ghost of Charlemagne: Listen to all of you! It was just an insane old man babbling! There’s no such thing as Meekrat! Or March! Or madness!
Metallic Spheroid: March and madness do exist, though.
Ghost of Charlemagne: Quiet, you! Howard Cosell is just a crazy old man! Don’t listen to anything he says about March or Meekrat or Madness!
Tom Phillipson: That’s just what the Man doesn’t want us to do!
[The Ghost of Charlemagne sighs heavily and floats away]
Ghost of Charlemagne: And Howard wonders why they only gave him three events this round…

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