I'll come up with something in a minute.

It’s happened again. (Part One)

They came running, telling me that she’s gone. Once again, stolen right out from under their noses. I keep trying to walk away, keep trying to leave, but these things keep happening. I know it’ll happen again, that’s why I can’t leave, that’s why they won’t let me leave. Oh sure, they provide amenities, like any good prison. Go Carts, Golf, Tennis, and those bizarre game tournaments they keep organizing. But let’s be honest, I’m a prisoner here, kept until it happens again.

My poor brother, he’s gotten so thin, so gaunt, hardly a shadow of himself anymore. His nerves are getting to him, but he doesn’t want to admit it. He thinks I don’t see his hand shaking, but I can see what the strain is doing to him. If I could get him out of here, I would. I already take most the “missions” myself, acting as the sole agent for this so called kingdom.

If only they’d listen to me about security, if only they’d give a damn about prevention, but they don’t. They only care about returning things to the status quo. Go out there, get her back. Never mind the trauma, never mind that she must be in on these “kidnappings” and never mind the strain on your self and your family… just put on the blue overalls and go get her back. Sometimes of course I have to dress as a raccoon, or a bee, anything to strip away and sense of humanity or dignity I might have been holding on to.

I’d like to avoid the green mushrooms, to grab one of those bombs on legs and not let go, but what would happen to my brother? He can’t take it, he’d snap under the pressure, and I can’t let that happen. So I’ll pull on my white gloves and go do it again. I’ll go find the stupid girl and bring her home. I’ll beat up her captor, who is really her lover and his children as well.

I don’t know who I am anymore, that’s why I had to put my initial on my hat, just to give me an idea. I can hear them at the door, I have to go, because it’s happened again.

June 8, 2011 Posted by | Uncategorized | , | Leave a comment

The War

They said you can’t make someone pay, not for genocide. They said that, but we proved them wrong. We were dedicated, we had friends, we were exactly the sort that he wasn’t expecting. We found him, in that villa where he thought he’d be safe. He never reckoned his assistant Max would betray him.

The night had been warm, wet and extremely stormy. It was a bad night for him, but a perfect night for us. We came in through every window, down every fireplace and through every door. We chased him out into the fields, hunted him down with his own dogs, killed all his henchmen as we went along. A glorious and terrible night, a night of perfect vengeance.

When we found him, we sliced his legs off, batter dipped them and then deep fried them in oil. I even made him eat part of his own foot, just to prove the point, before I put a hollow point in his head myself. Then we burned the place down, and watched as the flame exploded into the night despite the storm. A night of perfect vengeance, a night my brothers and I, with our brothers in arms would never forget.

We can rest now, no one will ever try to get to the bottom of this killing. While it wasn’t officially sanctioned, the right people knew what we were going to do and let us get away with it. Justice was served in a way that no official channel could ever manage.

So rest in peace Doc Hopper, the frogs have returned the favor, and we’ve taken back our legs.

July 30, 2010 Posted by | Fiction | , | Leave a comment

The Eulogy

I would like to start by thanking so many of you for coming. I know Astoria appreciates you being here as much as I do. I would like to explain something about myself for a moment. All I wanted was to make people laugh. It was, I believed, my raison d’être. I worked hard, honed my jokes on the circuit, and I was rewarded with the laughs I needed.

While trying, I of course met up with the two men who lay dead before you. I understand it’s rare to have a double funeral, but their lives were so deeply intertwined we thought this was appropriate. Sadly, both passed away at the same time, and in the same place. However, maybe it’s for the best that they had near simultaneous heart attacks while sitting in the balcony. While they both had families, I’m not sure one would have enjoyed life much without the other.

Back to me though, if I may indulge myself for a moment with out their interference. I just loved to make people laugh, and I always have. It wasn’t selfish, I didn’t want applause or accolade, I just wanted to know I had made someone else feel good. That was what those two never understood. They thought they were heckling me, but they were just part of my show. So long as they were there, so long as they shouted, people did laugh. Best of all, I was still getting paid and they were paying for the privilege to play along.

Now though, as I am just getting over the shock and find myself having to grasp a world without them, I wonder how much of the show really was them. They made me funny, they made me sympathetic, whatever am I going to do without their twinned laughter? I can hear them now, cracking something at a punch line that I had deliberately bungled, listening to them say something far funnier than I could ever think of, and then those delicious laughs of theirs before the rest of audience would find itself grudgingly guffawing along.

Some thought that they dogged me, bullied me constantly through my career. This, I am afraid I must now point out, couldn’t be further from the truth is the truth were on Mars. They were my dearest and most beloved fans. I wouldn’t tell this story if they were still alive, because I think it would embarrass them, but it was the two of them who talked me down off that roof on that horrible night when I thought of ending it all. When they heard about my… addictions, they spent a lot of money to settle debts and made sure that I got the help I needed. When no one else could help, they proved that the heckler is the greatest fan a comedian could have.

So this is to you, Statler… Waldorf. Without you I… *SOB* I’m sorry. *SOB* I’m sorry, I can’t go on. Kermit, please finish up for me.

July 30, 2010 Posted by | Fiction | , | Leave a comment

Hero’s Return

This city has become a cesspit. Without its hero, the city has been lost. Without me, the city has been under his rule, the red haired, babble-mouthed bastard. That filthy son of a bitch who always refers to himself in the third person. He’s destroyed everyone who’s ever dared to stand up to him. Even I was cut low on that memorable day when my strength just couldn’t save us.

It wasn’t always like this. I wasn’t always the broken creature you see before you. Once, I was a hero. I had a secret identity, with friends and even a girl. A pair of queens who lived in the basement of my building, a crazy hobo who lived in the garbage cans outside our building, even a nut who talked to his invisible elephant friend. Sure, I was just a waiter, serving the biggest burgers in town, but it paid the rent and gave me time for heroics.

And what heroics. I helped them all, with great problems and with small ones. They were always glad to see me coming, with my helmet and my red cape, I could help anyone with any kind of problem you could mention. Nothing was outside of my scope, nothing. That was of course, until he came. After that, nothing went right. After him, nothing would ever go right again. He destroyed my world. Before him though, I was something, you should have seen my strength.

And I was cute too, that’s what Dawn always said. Dawn, with hair like corn silk, eyes as black as pitch and a voice like an angel just descended from heaven. She was the sort of good, clean wholesome girl anybody would fall in love with, so of course he did. The red haired bastard took her away, twisted her soul, and now I barely recognize her. She’s been transformed into another slave, caught up in his vicious thrall.

They’re all gone now, the basement dwellers were shot for being gay, the hobo was thrown out for living in a trashcan, even the crazy one, the over eater with the baked goods obsession, the seven foot tall guy who lived in a nest. Yeah, even his imaginary elephant friend was killed. They managed to bring him to life, just so they could blow his head off in front of the bird-brained lunatic. I tried to stop them, but that was the day when it all went wrong, when my powers failed me. That was when they humiliated me, brought me low and took away everything. They even closed down Charlie’s, to go so far as to even deprive me of my only job. Since then the city has belonged to him, and I’m kept around only because I provide someone for them to laugh at.

That, of course, was his greatest mistake.

He should have killed me when they had the chance. I’ve been working out, learning new secrets, gathering up my strength and discovering new powers. That was what the old man always told us after all, never stop learning, never stop growing, always keep trying. I’ve learned all his secrets, I know all his weaknesses, the dirty filthy red-haired son of a bitch. I’ve got some friends with me now too. I’ve found a nut that loves chickens and will perform any stunt, I’ve got a red haired maniac who insists “Fraggle” is an ethnic group, and the less said about our new dinosaur friends, the better.

I hope he’s listening, I hope he can hear this, because I want him to know. You are about to witness the return of everybody’s favorite superhero, the man who is faster than lightning, stronger than steel, smarter than a speeding bullet… it’s Super Grover!

July 30, 2010 Posted by | Fiction | , | Leave a comment