Xavier, the Travel Agent

“Dagobah Adventure and Excitement, how can I help you?” I said as brightly as I could muster into the phone.

“Yes,” came a slow evil hiss from the other end of the line. “I understand you offer, eh, ‘special’ vacation packages for the, er, discerning hunter?”


“That’s right, what did you have in mind?” I asked.

“Well . . I’ve always been partial to hunting . . Quayle. Dan Quayle, that is. ”

“I believe we can accommodate you . . Mr. Cheney, is it? We’ll have the shuttle pick you up at 5pm, provided our fee has been delivered in full.”

“I’m doing the transfer now. Whaa, hah, hah!”

Spooky. I dispatched a team of X-Men to pick up the former Dan Quayle and bring him bagged to the shuttle for the ‘hunt’.

No sooner was that done then the phone rang again. I rolled my eyes. It had been ringing all day, mostly from big game hunters looking for the "unusual prey" Jon had been advertising. I have four doctorates for Heaven’s sake. I cannot be playing secretary. “Jubilee!” I yelled. “You’re turn at the phones!”

“Suck it, old man!” The young mutant yelled as she gave me the finger and turned up her IPod. Teenagers.

I placed the image of a giant Noah Bennet in her head. Jubilee shrieked, jumped off the couch and ran to answer the phone. “That was just mean,” she said sulkily.

“Hey, Professor!” Cyclops shouted, a little too enthusiastically. “He’s here! He’s really here!”

A shape appeared in the doorway behind Scott, pausing in a dramatic silhouette.

“Jones is the name,” came the manly voice. “I understand you need my help on a dangerous mission?”


“That’s right,” I answered. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“No problem. I am always willing to help those in need. All part of being a selfless hero. Do you have my fee?”

“Of course.” I mentally summoned Nightcrawler to bring Indiana Jones his fee – a complete set of Transformer Happy Meal toys. The man is such a collector. Then I had Jones pose for some publicity pictures before we headed off to Dagobah.

“So there’s a big party at this place?” he asked as the shuttle was landing on the alien swamp planet.

“A party?” I asked. “Um, sure, we can have a party.”

“Didn’t you say this was a Swab?” he asked as he started walking down the ramp.

“Swab?” I lamely repeated.

“Right, Swab. Ancient Mayan for orgy. I brought a ton of extra jelly butter.”

“Er . .” before I could explain that he had probably misheard "swamp", Indiana Jones slipped off the ramp and flopped down deep into the muck that is the surface of all of Dagobah. When he re-emerged, several long, thick snakes were draped over his muddy body.

“Snakes!” he screamed in a high-pitched girly voice. “I hate snakes!!”

With that, he ran hysterically deep into the swamp. I didn’t see him for several more hours, until he was carried back to the resort hotel we had built for the tourists. Indy was slung over the shoulder of a very tall walking carpet.


The carpet came up to me and let out some kind of strange bellow. I looked into his mind and saw him saying that he had married Indiana using the ancient Wookie ceremony of fluid exchange, and he wanted to rent the honeymoon suite. I let him have it with my compliments. I also had the whole, sordid night video-taped and made into a commercial to be run on adult entertainment outlets with the tag line – “Dagobah, For Those Who Thought They Had Experienced Everything.” For the sleazier outlets, I had the video run with the line, “Dagobah, When A Donkey Just Isn’t Enough.”

As I was heading to the shuttle to take me back to Earth, a naked, screaming Carrot Top came running past, flailing his arms madly over his head. Jon Stewart dressed in camouflage hunting gear hurried behind him, carrying a large bazooka launcher on his shoulder. "You're toast, Red," he muttered as he aimed the weapon.

Ah, Dagobah.