Superhero’s Meeting

Ratman was at the bar, nursing his drink. Supercharger walked over and sat down on the stool beside him and ordered a beer.

Then he turned to Ratman and said, “You look pretty down in the mouth. You okay?”

“Yeah. My wife says I have to go on a diet.”

Superduper Woman joined them. She ordered her usual scotch.

“Hey, Ears,” she said to Ratman. Ears was what she called Ratman because he had big ears. They were his super power. They were like wings he used to fly with. “What’s up?”

“Oh, the usual, Mabel.” Mabel was Superduper Woman’s civilian name.

Supercharger leaned over and said, “He’s getting fat. His wife says so.”

Mabel slapped Ratman on the back. “Ratz, you’re not getting fat. Oh sure, you could use some slimming. It’s that darn costume you’re wearing. It’s shrunk. What you need is a new costume. What do you think of mine?”

Mabel jumped off the stool and turned around. Supercharger hadn’t noticed but now he saw Mabel in a whole new light. The reds were reds, not rust. The yellows were bright and the greens, they were green.

“Wow. I like,” both Supercharger and Ratz said.

“Don’t you think it accentuates my amazing figure?”

“I must say that your butt is nice and firm. You may just win the superhero butt contest at the convention this year. Who did this?”

“Jimmy Olson, fashion designer to the superheroes. Actually he’s done a name change. He’s Jimmy O.”

“Jimmy Olson?” Ratz asked.

“Yeah. He was a cub reporter. He went and took some aptitude tests and found out he was a fashion designer trying to get out. He had always worried about being gay because he paid a lot of attention to Superman’s clothes. He had a real thing for the cape. Hated it. Now he’s set up shop. You should go see him.”

Supercharger piped in, “And me too.”

“Nothing can help you, S.C.,” Mabel said, then she gave it a bit of thought. “Well, maybe some bubble wrap.”

Mr. Smith Teaches a Superhero Class

Mr. Smith stood before seven students on the roof of a twenty-story building.

“For today’s lesson, we are going to fly. Not learn to fly. But fly. Jimmy, you had a question.”

Jimmy, the one with his hand raised, nodded yes. “We’re not birds. We can’t fly.”

“No, we’re not birds. We’re superheroes.”

Emily raised her hand and asked, “Will there be a net?”

“No, Emily, there won’t be a net.”

Jason, the kid with the glasses, didn’t raise his hand. He just asked, “Are you sure? I’ve never flown before. I tried jumping off my dad’s barn. If I hadn’t fallen on a load of hay, I would have broken something.”

“Jason,” there was frustration in the teacher’s voice. “You can’t break something. You’re a superhero.”

Margaret looked scared. “Are you sure, Mr. Smith?”

“Of course, I am sure. I’ve been teaching twenty years and I’ve never lost a student. Now, class, step up to the edge.”

The seven twelve-year-olds turned and stepped onto the ledge. They looked down. It was a long way to the concrete below.

“Now jump off. And don’t forget to land on your feet.” Mr. Smith stepped behind each of his students, confident that they were going to fly.

Well, you’ve heard the old saying that turkeys can’t fly. Mr. Smith’s class couldn’t fly. His students hit the concrete below. And they hit it hard. When he heard the splats below, Mr. Smith’s mouth dropped open. What happened?

Just then, Miss Pettigrew, his assistant, rushed into the classroom. “Mr. Smith, what happened?”

She took the clipboard from his hand and read it, then she looked up at his face. “Didn’t you read this? It says here that this class is the X-ray vision class.”

He took the clipboard and read. The script was blurry. He squinted. Yep, it said “Flying”. He was sure of it. He looked down at the pavement below and said, “Darn kids.” Then he ripped off the page and handed it to Miss Pettigrew. He looked at the next class roster. “Well, it’s not my fault that they didn’t fly. Now, on to the Able-to-jump-tall-buildings class.” He passed the clipboard back to Miss Pettigrew.

She read the class title to herself. “No, Sir, it’s the Shapeshifting class.”

He grabbed the clipboard from his assistant and read, then he looked up at her. “Miss Pettigrew, do not argue with me. It’s the Able-to-jump-tall-buildings class.” There was a lot of frustration in his voice. He was starting to turn blue. When he went dark blue, all hell broke loose.

To calm him down, she said, “Yes, Sir. You’re right.”

Her soothing words brought him back to a state of calm and his body went back to its normal tan. Then he said, “Miss Pettigrew, I think you need some glasses.”

As he left the room, Miss Pettigrew said under her breath, “We know who needs the glasses.”

Kattwoman on the Prowl

Samantha preferred her Kattwoman identity to just plain jane Samantha Katt, tax attorney. As her red Ferrari zipped in and out of traffic, she spotted at least ten possible criminals passing her. She was late for work and she wasn’t about to let her night job interfere with her day work. Being a crime fighter might bring her a lot of highs but it wouldn’t pay the rent on that fancy new apartment she leased in downtown Gotham City.

A black Mercedes pulled out in front of her. It had a license plate of “Joker Dude” on its rump. Should she follow it or drive on into work? Her digital watch showed that her meeting with the people from Penguin Properties was over an hour away. She decided to follow the black car. This was so much more of a high than going through figures with a bunch of dirty old men, checking out her figure. That was why she wore dark conservative when she went into the meetings.

The Joker Dude turned left. She turned left, the adrenaline filling her crime-fighter brain. Batman said it wasn’t good to feel that way. He never did. 

Joker Dude turned off Bruce Wayne Thoroughfare and onto Riddler Blvd. He continued until he was almost out in the country. Then he zipped into a warehouse parking lot. She passed the warehouse, labelled Joker Stuff, and drove a half mile more, then pulled off the highway and onto a dirt road.

She popped open the trunk. Before you could say “Batman and Robin” thrice, she was in her sleek black Kattwoman outfit with her tiny black boots and a mask to match. Out came her Kattcycle. She jumped on and headed back towards the warehouse with the motto painted on its side, “It’s easy to pull a joke out of your ass.” She was higher than a kite. This crime fighter stuff was so much better than the drugs her psychiatrist had prescribed.

Pulling up next to the warehouse, she parked, threw a line up to the roof and climbed quickly to the top. Landing onto the flat surface, she ran across the roof until she found a place to enter the warehouse without being seen. She lowered herself through the window and looked down on the Joker and his gang of thugs. In their midst a seven foot man stood, dressed in a moose outfit with antlers.

“So you want to help us, Mr. Bullwinkle,” she overheard the Joker saying.

“Rocky and I can kill Batman and Robin for you,” Antler Guy said.

“What makes you think I need your help?”

“You’d have killed them if you could’ve. My poisoned antlers will do the trick.”

The adrenalin of danger coursed through Kattwoman’s blood. She was so high now that she could hardly control herself. She had even wet her pants. The last time that happened she had saved Batman and Robin from Carcenoma Girl and her cancerous bite.

She had to warn Batman. But her watch was telling her that it was getting late. No time for Batman now. 

She slipped back out the window and over the roof and back to her hot little Kattcycle. Soon she was back in her civilian clothes and on Bruce Wayne Thoroughfare and pulling into her office parking. It was back to her boring day as Samantha Katt, tax attorney extraordinary, and the dull work of debits and credits. Saving the world would have to wait.

 

The Night Job

It’s rough being a super hero these days. The things you have to put up with. For instance:

S walks into the living room and yells to his wife in the kitchen, “Honey, I can’t get the stains off my outfit. Any idea what will take blood out?”

“If it’s yours, no,” she yells back. She’s fed up with this superhero gig.

“It’s just a little nose bleed.” S walks into the kitchen. Goes over to give her a smooch.

She’s not in the mood for smooching. She’s ready for combat. “I am not going to do any more cleaning up after one of your night forays.”

“But it’s my job.”

“No, your job is to drive a bus, Ralph.” She pushes him away. She is not having any of his excuses this time.

“That’s my disguise job, Alice. My real job is to fight crime. Since crime happens most at night, I have to go out every night and fight it. You know that.”

She goes over to the coffee pot and pours herself a cup. “All I know is that you were quite normal. A good husband and all. Then you saw that ‘Avengers’ movie and some bug must have bit you.”

“I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do. I told you that I received a call from the Planet Varsa. They gave me strict orders. If I don’t do this, they will come and destroy the earth. They said they needed one man to prove that the earth was worth saving. I asked them how could I prove to them that I was that man. You know what they said?”

“Yeah, go suit up in some purple spandex and a t-shirt with a big-ass S on it. Oh, and don’t forget the cape. It’s gotta be periwinkle. It can’t just be blue. Periwinkle, geez. Even Superman wears a blue cape.”

“It’s not just any blue. It’s phthalo blue.”

“What?” She is really laughing now. “What the heck is phthalo blue?”

“That’s the color of Superman’s cape. That’s what it is. Everybody knows that.”

She’s starts to choke on her laughter. Finally she catches her breath and calms down. “C’mon, Ralph, you expect me to believe that cock-and-bull story of yours. Some idiot from God knows how many billions of light years away wants you to be a crime fighter. He just up and calls you. Give me a break.” She laughs again. She can’t help herself. It happens every time she imagines her husband in that get-up.

“I’m telling you. It’s true, Alice.”

“Look, I’m going to my mother’s. You call me when you’re ready to settle down and be the nice, lovable Ralph I married.” She goes to the sink and rinses out her coffee cup.

“Before you go, can you just show me how to get this blood out?”

She shakes her head, walks over to him and takes the suit. “You’re phthalo to the point of being pathetic. You know that.”

He takes her in his arms and kisses her. After a long embrace, she looks him in the eyes.

“You really have to do this?”

“I really do.”

Alice pushes her husband away. “Well, if you gotta, you gotta.” Her voice has resignation in it. “You be careful out there, you hear?” A look of love for her husband fills her eyes. She kisses him lightly on the lips. “Sit down at the table and I’ll make my big superhero some breakfast. But first, I have to take this out to the laundry room. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says thoughtfully. And goes to the table and sits down. She leaves the room, humming.

“It took three wives and I finally found one who will let me be the S I am supposed to be.” Then he calls out to his wife, “By the way, I’m going to need a new mask.”

In the laundry room, Alice rinses Ralph’s costume. There’s a smile on her face. Then she says, almost whispering so her husband won’t hear her, “That guy from Varsa is right. He’s going to need a sidekick. Otherwise.”

Fudgenado

You’ve heard of sharknado. It’s Mother Nature’s way of getting even, and she always gets even. It’s a tornado spewing sharks. Scary stuff. Hope it doesn’t come to your part of the planet. If it does, learn how to duck. Those teeth are vicious. Never forget how much damage that thing did on the east coast, the west coast and the in-between coast.

I, for one, am glad it’s over. We can take a little breather. While we wait for the next disaster. But here’s a comforting thought. There is a new superhero on the block.

Yes, you heard me right. A new superhero. And he’s one for the 21st century. His name is Fudgenado. All those other superheroes are old school. They are so 20th century. Of course, I’m talking Superman, Batman and all those D C Comics guys, and the Marvel gang—The Fantastic Four, Thor. You know the ones.

This Fudgenado is a rootin’, tootin’, genuine superhero up to the villainy of the new millennium. He’s taking on all the baddies. Evil villains like The Nugget and his sidekick, Candy Bar. The twins Creamy and Delicious. And, of course, Caramel. You know, how sticky he makes things when he flies through. Last time he came to my city we were up to our fingers in sweet stuff for a month.

Then there’s the most dastardly, evilicious, black-hearted Brownie Maker. She has been making brownies without the nuts and taking out planets one-by-one all the way from the star, Titus Andronicus, to Sirius. She is on her way to Planet Earth. Rumor has it that she left last Monday from her home planet. She’ll be here by Saturday. And she’s got plans for us humans. She’s about to make global warming look like a game of tiddly-winks.

So read this fast, then get ready for the show. Pop a tub of popcorn and pour yourself a beer, or a soda, and sit out on your back lawn and watch. You’re in for a treat. There will be a really big show. She has brownies to bake and one of those brownies is our planet. But there is no need to worry. Fudgenado is ready and waiting for the knock-down, drag-out. She won’t know what hit her. He’ll k.o. her in the first round. That’s for sure.

When they meet, it will be the superbowl of super dooper folks. It’s going to be out of this world, that show. Just be comforted by the thought that Fudgenado is our guy. Without him, it would be like a tsunami on steroids. We’d be baked. I hate the thought of that prospect.

For now, Fudge (that’s what we call him for short) is out barn-storming the planet with his absolutely unbelievable, delicious fudge. You really have to try his maple. It’s so good the gods think it’s ambrosia. Oh man, just writing about the stuff makes my mouth water.

And make sure you put out your fudge buckets. He will making fudge out of Miss Brownie Mix. There will be plenty of fudge to go around for everybody.