Friday, December 28, 2007

Separated at Birth IV: More Separated at Birth!

Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages welcome to another amazing edition of the astounding series that won both the Sundance Channel Blog Site Award Award and the Presidential Internets Medal of Freedom.* That’s right, It’s the Separated at Birth series. Let's see what our super powerful computer has cooked up for us today. Hey, it’s Chicken Vesuvio!

Now let’s see who's been Separated at Birth.

Rumors have been circulating for quite a while now and you’ve heard those rumors other places, but it is now confirmed by our super computer. Ladies and gentlemen, Dick Cheney and the Penguin are separated at birth!

Michael Bolton and Steven Segal are separated at birth!

Is there a tingling in your spine yet? (A chill in your spine will also be acceptable). Can you stand more? Boy George and Ralph Wiggum are separated at birth! Remember, true believers, this is confirmed by our super powerful super computer!

This is the most amazing Separated at Birth yet! Johnny Depp and Helena Boxam Carter are separated at birth! Ladies and gentlemen, Tim Burton keeps impregnating one and putting the other in his movies. Can you guess which is which?

Are you ready for the final Birth for today? We hope so and here it is: Dr. Zaius and The Lawgiver are clearly separated at birth.

Wait a minute. What kind of a result is this? What do you mean they all look alike to you? That’s clearly speciesist thinking. Hey. Don’t blame it on your programmers.

OK, kids, that’s all the time we have for today. Tune in next week where you’ll see me throw the supercomputer into a 20 gallon fish tank.

*Awards do not actually exist.

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

How I spent my Christmas, by Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator

As you may recall, there was a certain gauntlet thrown down by Dr. Smith for a little Christmas Eve competition. My wife Patricia and I made it there and I was ready to go.

I hefted Del my lucky ball into the air and the crowd oohed and ahhed. People parted left and right as I made my way up to the lane and set myself.

Image Hosted by ImageShack.usStrike. The ball arced smoothly across the polished wood and knocked down all ten pins.

Image Hosted by ImageShack.usStrike. The crowd cheered as ten more pins crashed and bounced.

Image Hosted by ImageShack.usStrike. I was on a roll. The crowd was really getting into it.

Pin after pin fell without fail. Everyone in the joint cheered wildly at my endeavor as I made it to the tenth frame. Something then crossed my mind, where was everyone else? I didn’t see any of the other competitors there.

“Excuse me, where are the other candidates?” I asked a fellow wearing a sash that said judge on it. I figure he’s the judge.

“Candidates?” he asked.

“You know, for the competition,” I said.

“Oh, they’re all here,” he answered. “There’s Jake, Clem, Joe Bob, Skinner, Jake Bob. Everyone’s here for the bowl-a-thon.”

“What about Dr. Smith or Dr. Zaius?” I asked.


“You know, that creepy older gentleman and the hyper intelligent monkey from the future,” I replied. “Isn’t this Big Lucy’s All Nite BBQ Grill and Bait Shop?”

“What? No, this is Big Lou’s All Nite Bowling Alley and Bait Shop. Big Lucy’s right across the street.”

“Uh, Just Big Lucy or her restaurant as well?” I asked.


“OK, everybody!” I called out. “This was fun but I have to go.”

“You’re on the tenth frame and just three strikes away from a perfect game,” the judge protested.

“Yeah, but bowling’s really not my thing, you know,” I shrugged. I then grabbed Patricia and we raced out the door and across the street.

We threw ourselves through the doors and saw everyone dancing already. We quickly ran onto the dance floor and began shaking our own groove things. Or “thang” as the kids call it these days.

Things seemed to be getting a little out of hand. People were not behaving in a manner consistent with what I would expect the clientele of this bistro to behave. I don’t remember exactly what happened next, but I remember the Police showing up.

They started their set, but they only played Synchronicity 2 before they began fighting over what type of cake goes with a dance off (German chocolate, of course), next thing I know it, Stewart Copeland is on top of Andy Summers, who is on top of Sting and biting his ankle.

The men in blue quickly arrived on the scene, but they too made their way to the dance floor and began to boogey down.

They were followed by another policeman, the sheriff, his faithful Indian companion, the shore patrol, and for some reason a construction worker and a biker. This group didn’t last long before joining the fracas themselves. Something about pineapple upside down cake versus devil’s food cake as far as I could tell.

The whole place was starting to break down into some kind of riot, it was terrifying – not for me, of course, I’m an Intergalactic Gladiator. My wife, however, rarely finds herself in the middle of bar fights in redneck eateries.

“Let’s go,” I said as I grabbed Patricia by the wrist.

“You got it.” She kicked someone away (In the mayhem, couldn’t tell who) and we made our way to the door where we immediately found ourselves face to face with Homeland Security.

“Freeze!” the lead agent commanded. “Put your hands up.”

“The fight’s that way,” I threw my thumb back towards the bar and the melee therein.

“I’ve got orders to take everyone in,” the agent growled. “And I don’t have time for your games, I’ve got to defuse the nuclear bomb, find the stolen nerve gas, uncover the mole in CTU headquarters, take down the Yugoslavian mob, save my daughter from a mountain lion, and find the president’s dognapped dog. And I’ve got less than 24 hours to do it.”

“Wow,” my wife said. “Good luck with that.”

“Yeah.” I rubbed the back of my head. “That’s a lot to do.”

“I know it,” he growled again. “And time is running out. Tell me where the bomb is!”

I looked at my wife and she shrugged. I shrugged back at her and we looked at the agent.

“We don’t know anything about the bomb,” I shrugged again.

“Take these two in,” he growled in his trademarked growl. The other agents snapped to it and grabbed my wife and me by our arms. “I have to go stop a plane from taking off, detour the president’s motorcade, and bake a casserole.”

“OK, I didn’t want to do this, but I guess I’m going to have to.” I pulled my badge out and showed it to the agent.

“Damn,” the lead agent growled again. “Alright guys, turn them loose. Let’s get going, as soon as we stop this bar brawl, we have to keep that cyanide-laced cocaine from hitting the streets.”

“You sure are busy,” my wife said. “And all on Christmas Eve, too.”

“I know it,” the agent growled back. “After that I still have to defuse a time bomb on the bridge, take down a cell of terrorists, pick up my niece at the airport, stop a runaway train, and still find the perfect gift for my boss. Let’s go men!”

The agents shouldered past us as they raided the bar. My wife and I walked off hand in hand into the crisp, Christmas Eve night.

“Merry Christmas, Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator,” my wife said with a slight giggle and she planted a kiss on my cheek.

“Merry Christmas,” I answered. “Baby, you’re the greatest.”

Sunday, December 23, 2007

Rudy the Red-Toed Reindeer

You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen
Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen
But who do you recall the most famous reindeer of all?

Rudy, the red-toed reindeer
had some very shiny toes.
And if you ever saw him,
you would even say they glows.

All of the other reindeer
used to laugh and call him names.
They never let poor Rudy
join in any Massively multiplayer online role-playing games.

Then one foggy Christmas Eve
Santa came to say:
“Rudy with your toes aglow,
won’t guide my sleigh ho ho ho?”

Then all the reindeer loved him
as they shouted out with adulation,
Rudy, the red-toed reindeer,
BMI has this song in heavy rotation

Rudy, Rudy, Rudy, Rudy
Do you, do you, do you, do you
Know what you're doing, doing, to me
Rudy, Rudy, Rudy, Rudy

Could it be, could it be
That you're joking with me?
And you don't really see you and me
Could it be, could it be
That you're joking with me?
And you don't really see you and me

Rudy, Rudy, Rudy, Rudy
Do you, do you, do you, do you
Know what you're doing, doing, to me
Rudy, Rudy, Rudy, Rudy
Do you, do you, do you, do you
Know what you're doing, doing, to me

Everyone knows about Rudy the red-toed reindeer, right?
He’s the reindeer that visits all the Junior Intergalactic Gladiators this time of year to wish every one a Merry Christmas.

Let me know if you’ve seen him.

Merry Christmas

Friday, December 21, 2007

Twas the night before implementation

Twas the night before implementation and all through the house,
Not a program was working, not even a browse.

The programmers hung by their tubes in despair,
With hopes that a miracle soon would be there.

The users were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of inquiries danced in their heads.

When out in the machine room there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.

And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a super programmer ( with a six-pack of beer ).

Her resume glowed with experience so rare,
She turned out great code with a bit-pusher’s flair.

More rapid than eagles, her programs they came,
And she cursed and muttered and called them by name.

On Update! On Add! On Inquiry! On Delete!
On Batch Jobs! On Closings! On Functions Complete!

Her eyes were glazed over, fingers nimble and lean,
From weekends and nites in front of a screen.

A wink of her eye and a twitch of her head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work,
Turning specs into code; then turned with a jerk.

And laying her finger upon the “ENTER” key,
The system came up and worked perfectly.

The updates updated; the deletes, they deleted;
The inquiries inquired, and closings completed.

She tested each whistle, and tested each bell,
With nary a bomb, and all had gone well.

The system was finished, the tests were concluded,
The users’ last changes were even included.

And the user exclaimed with a snarl and a taunt,
“It’s just what I asked for, but not what I want!”

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Intergalactic Update

Here’s a quick update for all my Jr. Intergalactic Gladiators out there.

Does everyone remember Futurama? Now available on DVD is Futurama: Bender’s Big Score. It’s a good movie and I wrote a review for it over on the Sci Fi and Fantasy Lover’s Blog, so click away and take a look.

Meanwhile, have you been keeping up with Who Wants to be a Supervillain? There’s a bunch of crazy characters on it who are trying to win the completion of who’s the evilest of all or something. And the wacky thing is, some brain in a jar won. Man, that’s crazy. Go check that out, too.

Monday, December 17, 2007

I know a boy. His name is Billy.
He likes to lick on a great big lolly.
Yes, Billy loves a lolly. Loves a lolly, does Billy,
And he’s got a box of really big lollies.

Billy lick a lolly, lick a lolly, lick a lolly.
Billy lick a lolly, lick a lolly, lollipop.
Billy lick a lolly, lick a lolly, lick a lolly.
Billy lick a lolly, lick a lolly, lollipop.


Billy has a friend. Her name is Molly.
And Billy gave a lollipop to make a Molly jolly.
Yes, Billy gave a lollipop to his friend Molly,
And now Molly has a lolly, and she’s jolly, thanks to Billy.


Molly lick a lolly, lick a lolly, lick a lolly.
Molly lick a lolly, lick a lolly, lollipop.
Molly lick a lolly, lick a lolly, lick a lolly.
Molly lick a lolly, lick a lolly, lollipop.


Molly has a friend whose name is Lilly.
And Lilly loves a lolly, just like Billy and a Molly.
So Molly gave to Lilly just what Billy gave to Molly,
And now Lilly has a lolly like a Molly and a Billy.


Lilly lick a lolly, lick a lolly, lick a lolly.
Lilly lick a lolly, lick a lolly, lollipop.
Lilly lick a lolly, lick a lolly, lick a lolly.
Lilly lick a lolly, lick a lolly, lollipop.

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la. La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

Now, Lilly has a friend whose name is Solly.
And Solly says, “Oh, golly!” when he sees a lolly.
So Lilly gave to Solly just what Billy gave to Molly,
Just what Molly gave to Lilly. Don’t you think it’s kind of silly?


Solly lick a lolly, lick a lolly, lick a lolly.
Solly lick a lolly, lick a lolly, lollipop.
Solly lick a lolly, lick a lolly, lick a lolly.
Solly lick a lolly, and we’d better just stop.

A vote for Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator is a vote for freedom.

A vote for Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator is a vote for progress.
I'm Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator and I approve of this message.

Friday, December 14, 2007

Outside Dis Guy's, Inc.

“Hammer, Rod Hammer.” Hudson dropped to one knee and feigned shooting at a target. He followed that up with humming the James Bond theme. “License to kill. And to thrill.”

I rolled my eyes. Professor Xaiver rolled his eyes. Hudson gave a goofy grin.

“OK, you’re set with your disguise, I’m going to be Guy Smiley,” I said.

“Guy Smiley? Isn’t that a game show host?” Xavier asked.

“No, I think it’s a Muppet,” Hudson laughed.

“No it isn’t,” I answered.

“Of course it is,” Hudson continued. “I remember seeing him with Cookie Monster once.”

“Well how would I know if Guy Smiley’s the name of a Muppet? Do I look like the maintainer of the Muppet Wiki? It’s just a good name is all.”

“Pshyah, right,” Hudson chortled.

“Don’t use that name Jon,” Professor interceded. “Use John Smith as your moniker.”

“What? No, that’s not going to work,” I answered. “She’ll sniff that one out right away.”

“John Smith will work because it’s so generic that no one will suspect that it’s a fake name,” Professor Xavier replied.

“John Smith, ha ha,” Hudson laughed. “So who’s gonna be Pocahontas?”

“I happen to like that movie,” the telepath insisted.

“Come on, I don’t wanna be John Smith,” I said. “Tell you what, let me be Joe Purple. That sounds good to me. I'm Joe Purple.”

“You’re not Joe Purple,” Professor growled. “Another X-Man undercover on another mission is Joe Purple. You’re John Smith.”

“Fine,” I conceded begrudgingly. “Let’s just do this.”

“OK gentlemen, it is imperative that this mission goes smoothly without a hitch,” Professor Xavier announced. “Mystique is a wily character and if she gets the feeling that something’s going down, she’ll either bail before you can nab her or take it out on you.”

“Oh, I’m ready for her,” Hudson answered smugly.

“Yeah, I’m getting tired of all this waiting,” I agreed. I agreed with Hudson? Ugh.

“As I was saying,” Xavier continued. “We all have to make sure we’re on the same page, got it? Let’s synchronize watches.”

“I don’t have a watch,” Hudson shrugged.

“Me either,” I shrugged.

“Very well, I will synchronize my watch,” Xavier checked the timepiece on his wrist.

“Oh wait, I do have a chronometer on my Wristcomm,” I held up my left arm to show. “It’s connected to the InterN.E.T, so it’s time is always right and I don’t have to set it.”

“Well bully for you,” Xavier replied dryly. “We’re ready to go. Remember the plan, Hudson you go in first, Jon you follow in ten minutes.”

“Check,” I answered.

“Roger,” Hudson answered.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Splotchy's Story Meme

I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. (Splotchy)

"That's strange," I said out loud to no one in particular. My fingers slowly reached towards the jar again. My body experienced a wave of apprehension as weighted blanket covering me as I did so. The jar was completely frozen.

I picked it up and stared at it, my fingers stung with little knives of chill. "What the..." again I spoke aloud. Then I realized what had happened with a shock. Suddenly the jar flew from my hand. It shattered creating a collage-like mixture of frozen applesauce and glass shards on my kitchen floor, the lid lazily rolling to a stop across the room.(FranIAm)

I half noticed at first glimpse that there was something odd amidst the solidified apple sauce as I reached for the broom and the dust pan. As I knelt down to clean up the frozen mess, I could clearly see a tiny figure within the goopy mess. It was a human eye, with tiny arms and legs! I resisted my initial urge to pick it up with my hand, and then reached down to scoop it up with the dustpan. The eye looked up at me in horror and gave out a frightening high pitched screech as it ran for the living room.

I was dumbfounded by this turn of events. I didn't even like applesauce - And I had guests coming for dinner! It would not be proper to have a homunculus eyeball running around during the appetizer - I had to think fast. I crept into the living room so as to not startle the small creature. The eyeball was under the coffee table, peeking out from behind one of table legs. When I approached, it quickly darted under the couch!

I got on my hands and knees to look under the couch, but I could not see the eye through all of the old newspapers and dust bunnies that had accumulated under there. I had to hurry! the guests were coming at seven o'clock, and I had not even started the buffalo chicken skewers with blue cheese dipping sauce yet! Not to mention the couscous and the broccoli noodle salad. (Zaius Nation)

I shook my head and leaned back against the wall. Surely this couldn’t be happening, surely there isn’t an anthropomorphic eyeball running around under my couch. It just couldn’t be real, could it?

“Ahem,” a little voice squeaked. “Ahem.”

I looked all around for the source of the voice. I finally found that it was from the eyeball peering around the back of the couch. I leaned in and looked at it closer. It still appeared to be uneasy (I mean, I’m sure that’s how it appeared, but then again I’m not all that certain about behavior patterns of walking eyeballs.

“Did you say something?” I asked it.

“You’re not going to poke me are you?” it asked. “I hate getting poked.”

“Uh no,” I answered dumbfounded. “I won’t poke you.”

“And you’re not going to lock me away in a jar of applesauce are you?”

“No, I’m not going to do that,” I replied, still bewildered by the sight in front of me.

“OK.” He made the eyeball equivalent of a nod, hitched up a pair of nonexistent trousers, adjusted the chimerical hat on his head, and walked up to me. “I am forever in debt to you, sir, for freeing me from the confines of that jar.”

“OK, sure,” I smiled lamely. “How’d you get in there?”

“The evil wizard trapped me in there,” he answered. “He knows the only way to trap a geneye is to use a jar of applesause.”

“You’re… you’re a geneye,” I managed to blurt out. I may not get the appetizers done, but this may be one heckuva party anyways.

“At you service,” it bowed. “And to thank you for freeing me, I would like to reward you with two wishes.”

“Oh, so you’re like a genie.” It all started to make sense to me now. No, not really.

“Yes,” it rolled its eye. “Like a genie, only we’re geneyes. They sure do know how to warp a good story in Hollywood, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, again dumbfoundedly. “So I get two wishes? What about three?”

“Ugh!” the geneye slapped the top of its head, or the top of its eyeball at least. “You get two. Two. Only two. That’s how it works. And no wishing for more wishes, we’re onto that. Aladdin tried that once, it wasn’t pretty.”

“OK, so I get two, let me think,” I said thoughtfully. Screw the party, this is way more interesting.

“Yeah, hurry up, I don’t have all day,” the magical homunculus eyeball tapped it’s foot. “I’ve got places to go.”

“OK, OK,” I answered. Well, I could always wish for a lot of money, except that never works in the stories. The villain always wishes for riches and gets trapped in the cave with the gold, or sent to the bottom of the sea with it or audited by the IRS because of it. As much as I’d like to pay off the mortgage, I don’t think I can.

“Well?” it asked impatiently.

“I want peace on Earth and good will toward men,” I say with a forfeiting shrug.

“Peace on Earth and good will toward men?” it repeated. “Is that one wish or two?”

“One,” I replied. “You know, ‘tis the season and all.”

“Nice choice,” it nodded. Then the geneye snapped its fingers. “It is done.”

I felt it. For one moment, I felt nothing but peace and joy all around me. Others felt it, too but no one would ever be able to explain it. All around the world, people stopped what they were doing and just enjoyed the moment. Evil men stopped thinking evil thoughts and just smiled nicely. The hurt, the sick, and all who were in pain be it physical, mental, or spiritual, felt the warmth of a brief reprieve. Bells rang. Angels sang. Then I felt it end.

“Hey, that was nice,” I said. “Why didn’t it last?”

“Come on,” the magical being snorted. “I’m not that powerful. You got one more wish.”

One more wish. What should I wish for? Hmmm.
This is an installment of Splotchy's Story Meme. According to Splotchy, "Here's what I would like to do. I want to create a story that branches out in a variety of different, unexpected ways. I don't know how realistic it is, but that's what I'm aiming for. Hopefully, at least one thread of the story can make a decent number of hops before it dies out." You can read all of the details here. I was tagged by Dr. Zaius. I tag the following people to continue the story in their own direction:

Captain Picard
Captain Koma
Blockade Boy
Professor Xavier
The Great Flukizmo

Sunday, December 09, 2007

The Enterprise Christmas Party

“Come on, Jon, take me to the Christmas party with you,” whined the Colonial Marine.

“No way, Hudson,” I shook my head. “Not this time.”

“Come on,” he pleaded. “I didn’t get an invitation this year.”

“You didn’t get one last year either,” I added. “You came along to guard the Queen and look at what happened. You started a fight with a bunch of Orions.”

“I was trying to protect the Queen,” he answered in all earnestness, as if the actual events and how he remembers them did mesh. “I was totally outnumbered, but I had them all until Lt. Wolf stunned me.”

“And that’s why you’re not going,” I answered. “Plus, this time I’m bringing my wife.”

“You’re bringing Patricia?” Hudson asked. “Hubba hubba in the Hubble. Ground control to Major Jon, you’re ready to dock on the Space Love Boat.”

“Yeah, OK, enough.”

“Ha ha, your circuit’s dead, is there something wrong?” Hudson continued. “Can you hear me Major Jon?”

“If you keep talking, I’m going to have to say something that will hurt your feelings.”

“Well, I’m ready.” Patricia walked into the room dressed in stunning, yet simple and hip, evening wear. “My mom’s watching the kids. We’re really only going to be gone for a half hour?”

“One of the pleasant mysteries of time travel,” I smiled back at her. “You look gorgeous. I can think of two very big reasons why I like that outfit – the color and the style.”

“Thank you,” she answered as she planted a kiss on me. “Oh, and that line wasn’t funny the last time you said it either.”

“Some day I’ll say something that’ll charm the pants off you,” I promised. “But for now, let’s get in the Danger Sled and head back… to the future.”

“Is he always like this?” Patricia asked Hudson.

“Constantly,” he rolled his eyes.

My wife and I rocketed into warp and fired through time towards the Enterprise Christmas party. The trip was uneventful (as warping through space and time typically is), but my wife, who is unaccustomed to such journeys was very impressed.

“Oooh, the colors,” she said as she looked out the window. “I haven’t seen anything like this since college.”

I chuckled at her comment as we dropped out of warp and aimed for the shuttle bay of the starship. After the ramp of the Danger Sled clanged to the deck, we exited my space plane and were immediately met by the scowling face of Lt. Worf.

“Welcome to the Enterprise,” the security chief growled. “Please follow me to the party but I must warn you about getting into any altercations like last year. Don’t do it.”

“Altercations?” Patricia looked at me. “You were in an altercation?”

“Hudson,” I explained.

“Oh,” she nodded understandingly.

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant,” I said. “I left the troublemaker behind. I give you my word as an Intergalactic Gladiator that I will not cause any trouble on board your ship.”

Worf seemed unconvinced.

“Don’t worry,” my wife said. “If he causes any trouble, he’ll have to answer to me.”

“Very well,” the Klingon cracked a slight grin as he ushered us into the holodeck. “Enjoy the festivities.”

Patricia’s jaw dropped as she looked around the place.

“Wow, it looks just like a casino in here,” she said. “And this is all holographs?”


“How do people keep from bumping into each other if the room isn’t as big as it looks?”

“I have no idea,” I said. Then something caught my eye. It appeared to be a brain floating in a jar of some kind of liquid. Lt. Commander Data was standing next to it and seemed to be talking to it as well.

A woman dressed like a 20’s-style gangster with a slightly bored look on her face was standing next to the two.

“Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator, nice to meet you,” Commander Riker pumped my hand excitedly. “And who is the good looking mol you got here?”

“Commander Riker, this is my wife Patricia. Patricia, this is Commander Riker.”

They shook hands and exchanged greetings before Riker turned back to me. “Jon, I have to warn you. Have a good time, but don’t start anything with any of the other guests.”

“It’s OK,” I explained. “I left Hudson at home.”

“Oh, OK,” Riker grinned. “By all means, enjoy the party.”

“One thing,” I said. “Can you tell me what that brain in a jar is over there? Is it some kind of Klingon war trophy or something?”

“Not quite,” Riker laughed. “That brain is Dr. Nemonok. He’s from your time and is apparently the galaxy’s greatest psychiatrist. Or was, I’m not sure. The woman with him is related to of one of our crew members.”

“Distant relative, I bet,” I laughed back. Something’s not right here. “Why are they looking at me like that? At least she is, I can’t quite tell what that brain’s doing.”

“Jon, don’t start anything,” Patricia warned. “We haven’t even had a chance to dance yet.”

“Hey don’t worry,” I gave her my best roguish grin. “I won’t. It’s Christmas.”

I strapped on my friendliest smile as I walked towards the unusual duo. If I could make a guess, I would say that the brain was agitated about something. They appeared to be conversing and the woman was talking to him quietly through her teeth.

“Hi, I’m Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator,” I said as amiably as possible. “I noticed you two from over there. Do I know you?”

“Please, I am sure that you know of me,” the brain replied with just a hint of disdain. “I am Dr. Nemonok.”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” I shook my head. Then the significance of his name dawned on me. “Normally, I don’t forget a face. Uh, no offense.”

“None taken, of course,” he replied. Wow, if a brain could sneer I’d be looking at it right now. “I am sure we never met before, but as your reputation precedes you, I was certain that mine preceded me.”

“Right,” I said. He’s definitely with Galactor the Evil Galactic Overlord. I have to play this cool, though. “Oh yeah sure, I know you. You’re a psychiatrist, right? Didn’t you lose your license?”

“Yes of course. It was taken away from me,” Nemonok replied, endeavoring to contain his tension. “You know how these government bodies are. All red tape, heh heh.”

“Tell me about it,” I chuckled back as disarmingly as possible. “Hey, you’re on that Who Wants to be a Supervillain show too, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am on that show,” he answered cautiously.

“Ha ha, I love that show! You guys are too much,” I laughed. “Well, I have to get going, if I don’t dance with my wife, she’ll skin me alive.”

I turned my back to them and quickly walked back to my wife. What are they doing here? It couldn’t be just pure chance that I’m here along with one of the cronies of the galaxy’s greatest villain. Could it be a coincidence? Does evil take Christmas off? I’ll have to keep an eye out if they’re planning something.

“What was it?” Patricia asked me.

“Nothing,” I replied as music started playing. “Hey it’s the Charleston. Let’s dance.”

Star in Your Own JibJab! It's Free!

Thursday, December 06, 2007


“Where am I?”

I didn’t get an answer, but I looked around and saw that I was in a field. Alone.

“OK, how did I get here?”

Obviously, there was no one around to answer. Last thing I remember, I was in the Danger Sled with Professor Xavier and Private Hudson and on my way to Pittsburg.

“Something tells me I’m not in Kansas anymore.”

There ya go, Jon. Make with the yucks.

“OK, first thing I gotta do is quit talking to myself.”


“OK, that’s better.”

I took another look around me and noticed that I wasn’t just in some field. I was in a field filled with amber waves of grain. And off on the horizon were purple mountains, and off in the other direction I saw fruited plains.

“I’m in America.”

“Of course you are,” said a voice behind me.

I turned towards the voice and looked at the living embodiment of the United States himself. The spirit of America personified.

“Uncle Sam,” I said.

“The one and only,” he nodded slightly in reply.

“Wow. Hey, I just want to say that when I was in the Army, I sometimes called you Uncle Spam. I hope you’re not too offended.”

“No, of course not,” he laughed it away. “America has strong shoulders and a thick skin.”

“So I’m dreaming again, right?” I asked.

“Yes,” Uncle Sam answered. “Professor Xavier was talking about harmony between human and mutantkind and you dozed off.”

“This is pretty cool. I’m not usually cognizant of my dreams, you know. Except for that one time I dreamt that I was a gargoyle. That was pretty cool, I was flying around in the full moon and everything.”

“I brought you here to tell you that you are at the end of you dream quest.”

“OK, but I have one question,” I answered. “WARTTRG. What does that mean?”

“WARTTRG?” My companion looked at me with a furled brow. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Well, I figured that if I put all the names together of the presidents of my dreams, I’ll get their powers like Shazam.”

“Well it doesn’t really work like tha—”

“Wait! Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Roosevelt, Taft, Harry Truman, Roosevelt, Grover Cleveland. WARTHRG. That almost makes sense.”

“Jon, I don’t think that you’re getting th—”

“I got it!” I snapped. “It’s the Oh is Franklin Roosevelt which makes it WART HOG! So all I have to do is yell out WART HOG!”

“I’m trying to tell you tha—”

“WART HOG wouldn’t be my first choice,” I continued. “But I guess it works. There’s the A-10 Warthog and the Ramones song and that one warthog from the Jungle King. Warthogs are kind of cool, I guess.”

“Jon, you’re not getting it!” Uncle Sam yelled.


“The names don’t matter,” he said. “They never mattered. “What matters is the knowledge and abilities that are conferred upon you. Washington’s strength, Lincoln’s courage, Theodore Roosevelt’s tenacity, Taft’s justice, Truman’s resolve, Franklin Roosevelt’s Longevity, and Grover Cleveland’s stick-to-itiveness are all yours now. Use them wisely.”

“Oh. OK,” I answered. “I will, don’t worry.”

“With all of these abilities combined,” Uncle Sam continued. “You will be the greatest president this country could ever hope for. Use them and they will lead you to the answer to any problem or challenge this country will face during your term.”

“Cool, so I’m gonna be the best president evah?” I felt the knowledge and the resolve and everything flow through me. It felt pretty good. “This is going to be great. For the country I mean.”

“Of course,” Uncle Sam answered. “There’s just one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You have to get elected first.”


Monday, December 03, 2007

Flying to Pittsburg

“I had everything under control,” I said.

“Of course,” Professor Xavier nodded.

“Honest.” I insisted. The Professor was sitting in the copilot’s seat and Hudson was sitting in the seat behind him. We were on our way to Pittsburg and though there was still technically a garbage can-sized hole in the fuselage, my Emergency Repair Droid was working on it and will have it patched up in no time flat. In theory, anyway.

“I believe you,” the Professor responded.

“Seriously,” I added. “I mean, sure we had a little issue getting here but I wasn’t about to crash my ship into you or anything. The Danger Sled is my baby, I wouldn’t crash her.”

“What about that time you crashed on Throneworld?” Hudson asked.

“Well, I couldn’t really help that,” I answered. “We were kind of shot down by Zerg, you know.”

“What about that time we had to make an Emergency landing on Salinas V?” Hudson asked numbly.

“You mean when your space mouse chewed through the power converter for the warp drive?” I responded sharply.

“Oh yeah, I miss George,” Hudson looked down dejected. “Well then, what about that time when you crash landed on Space Station Alpha?”

“Shut. Up. Hudson,” I growled.

“Jon, when you said that you had control over your reverse thrust whatnot, I said that I believed you,” Professor Xavier interjected. “I understand that flying something like this is difficult, but I also know that you know what you’re doing.”

“Right,” I nodded.

“Alright then,” the Professor nodded back.

“What about the time you crash landed on Dagobah?” Hudson popped his head between the Professor and me.

I responded by shoving him by his forehead back into his seat.

“How long until we reach our destination?” Xavier asked.

“You know, it should only be an hour or so from your place to Pittsburg,” I answered. “Sure does seem like it’s taking forever, though.”

“Yeah, I hope we get there soon,” Hudson added. “Pittsburg’s a nice city. I can’t wait to get a delicious cheesesteak there.”

“Hudson,” the Professor replied. “You do realize that—”

“Don’t even bother, Professor,” I interrupted. “He’s on a roll.”

“Yeah, I remember the last time I flew out to Pittsburg from Texas.” The Colonial Marine leaned back with his hands behind his head. “The lady at the airport was really hot. Stacked, you know. So when I went up to her I accidentally said ‘Gimme two pickets to tittsburg.’ Oh man, what a day.”

“Really,” Xavier replied dryly.

“Yeah,” Hudson nodded numbly.

“Almost as funny as the first 40 times you said it on this trip,” I muttered back.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Hudson and the Hudson Detective Agency Players starring in "Call Me Hudson"

The night had enough precipitation in it for the pretty weather girls to go from calling it “drab” to “dreary.” I sat behind my desk and poured myself one more shot. The desk was mahogany and the shot was cheap bourbon. If only I were as strong as either.

The phone rang. I knew who it was even before I picked up the reciever. Charlie down at Joe’s coffee house and I go way back. Every Thursday I show up and he makes me dinner. At least one night a week I get a good meal.

My name is Private Hudson, I’m a complete dick. No wait, that’s private dick. I’ve been hammering out a living doing this for too long and eventually it’s going to catch up to me. Dying like a dog in the street over some cheatin’ dame ain’t no way to go. Now a blimp accident on the other hand – that’s a good way to die. Having the cab of a semi truck crash down on top of you, that’s another good way to die. Maybe not the way I’d want to, but it would make a pretty cool ending to a movie, I bet.

I was jarred out of my malaise by the phone ringing again. Like I said before, I knew who it was.

“Yellow,” I said into the phone after I picked it up.

“Hey Mac, what’ll it be tonight?” Yeah, it was Charlie all right.

“Pork chopsh and applesaucshe,” I answered. You have to say it the cool way so everyone knows you’re a 1920’s-style tough guy. “And don’t you skimp on the applesauce, either. You hear me pal?”

“Ha ha, I hear ya,” Charlie laughed back. “I’ll see you in ten.”

“Make it five,” I replied. “It’s deader around here than a mortician’s daughter’s bed on her wedding night.”

“You got it, Mac.”

“And don’t call me Mac,” I snapped back. “It’s too cheesy.”

I put the phone down and looked up to see a dame in the doorway. Normally, I’d say that dames were all trouble, but this one looked classy. As in classy trouble.

She sauntered up to me and leaned in close. Her hips bounced back and forth as she walked like some beautiful apple tied to a string and swung back and forth like some kind of appley pendulum.

“You got a cigarette, Sparky?” she purred.

“You know those things’ll kill ya,” I replied.

“I didn’t come here for the doctor’s report,” she snapped back huskily. “You got one or not?”

“Sure. Sure I got one.” I reached into my desk and pulled a pack out from the C-rations sitting there. Her ruby red lips quivered just a bit as she slid it into her mouth. I reached up with my lighter and she took a puff.

“I need a man,” she said in a near whisper.

“I’m all man,” I answered. “Don’t let that full page ad in Variety fool you.”

“The thing is,” she said as she puffed a cloud of smoke out of her mouth. “I need a real man.”

“If you want a real man, then I am your man.” I answered with just a bit of a smirk. Wow her legs looked good. They were wrapped in the sweetest pair of silk that I ever saw. And her can was really nice, too. Nice enough to make a man beg for buttermilk.

She leaned in close. I drew up out of my seat. Her full lips were pouty like a baby on Sunday. Her hair bounced off her shoulder in a cascade of raven.

Wait a minute, why do they call it raven? The Baltimore Ravens wear a lot of purple. Her hair ain’t purple. Not from what I can see anyways.

Anyway, her dark hair cascaded down to her shoulders and bounced just a bit as she moved in closer. She licked her crimson lips and drew a long, deep breath. Though I never commanded it to, I felt my body leaning even closer towards her. I felt all tingly inside like some confused kid seeing a pretty face for the first time. I better call Charlie back and tell him to hold off on my order of pork chopsh and applesaucshe.

“See, what I wanted to tell you was…” she trailed off and her face drew even closer to mine.

“Yeah?” I said. I could smell her perfume now. It smelled like lilacs. Or maybe petunias. Hell I don’t know, I’m not a botanist. It smelled pretty, and pretty expensive.

“That…” she said in barely a whisper.

“Go on,” I replied just as quietly.

“Stop doing this 1920’s-style detective shtick!” she yelled as she grabbed my cheeks with her hand.

“Ow ow ow ow! OK!” I gasped as the steel-like grip of her steel-like claws wrenched even harder into my cheeks.

“God, Hudson, you are such an idiot,” she growled through her perfectly clenched teeth. “I already did a noir style detective story three months ago for Next Top Hero.”

“Ow ow ow!” I said “OK! Stop squeezing my cheeks like this, it smarts.”

“You don’t know what smart is,” she said as she snapped my head back and let go. “You don’t know what pain is, either. You pull a stunt like this again and I’ll make you hurt so bad you’ll be crying in a bucket ‘til Tuesday.”

“Oh yeah, izzat so?” I asked. “Well maybe if you make it hurt real good, I’ll like it.”

“Shut up,” she rolled her eyes. With a spin that made her look like she was floating mere inches off the ground, she turned her back and her perfect ass to me and slid away towards the door. As the door slammed shut and I saw the sign on the front of it drop to the ground like a wooden body being dumped into the East River I could think of only one thing to say.


"Call Me Hudson" courtesy of Dr. Zaius.
Pulp meme by way of That's My Skull.