The Company Apprentice

You're Hired!

2009-08-30T09:42:00.004-04:00

Coming back from the commercial break, the audience erupted into spontaneous applause, brought about by the lighting of the applause sign.

"Let's here from the people whose opinions don't matter at all," I suggested. "Henchman. Who would you hire?"

"Gyrobo, of course," the non-descript baddie answered.

"Ciera?" I asked.

"Gyrobo!" she happily cheered the mechanical maniac's name.

"How about Koma, perhaps the most controversial Australian contestant ever on The Company Apprentice?" I asked. "What's he got to say?"

In that odd accent of his, he replied, "I'm going with Gyrobo."

"Even though he had your former team capture and interrogate you?"

"Because of it!" he announced proudly. I always suspected he was a masochist.

"Wolverine?" I continued.

"Xavier," he said, then growled, "Hold on there. Out of my head, Chuck. Hire Gyrobo."

"Well, all four of your teammates think I should hire you. What do you think about that?"

"Hmm..." Gyrobo contemplated, "I'm flattered and legally blind in some states."

"I see," I said, moving quickly to Charles. "Now, let's see what your team thinks, Professor. Mr. Muggles, who should I hire?"

I looked over at the loser bench, but didn't see my wife's Pomeranian. "Mr. Muggles? What happened to Mr. Muggles?"

A stagehand came and whispered about the dog's agent requesting a cash incentive for his appearance on the finale. I remembered how this show has no budget, and moved on. "Bernard? Who would you hire if you were me?"

No response.

"Well, come on, then. Answer," I insisted.

Still, there was no response.

"Umm, who is Bernard?" Charles asked. "I'm sure he'd say you should hire me, but I just don't know who you're talking about."

"Bernard," I repeated the name. "You know, the doofus boy that I fired in the first week."

"Oh, me?" Bernard asked.

"Yeah, who should I hire?"

"Uh, it's Lyle," Bernard replied.

"Lyle isn't one of the options," I explained. "Either Charles or Gyrobo. Who should I hire?"

"This is too hard," Bernard cried. "I don't want to be special anymore. Can I please just go home? The camera lights are giving me a sunburn." The scrawny loser darted out of the studio, shielding himself from the glaring studio lights with his hand.

"Jon?" I said looking over at our trusted intergalactic gladiator. "What say you?"

He hiccuped and passed out.

"Great," Nepharia rolled her eyes and pried an empty bottle from his hand, "more Irish whiskey. I'm sure when he's sober again, he'll go with Xavier. And I'm going with Xavier, too. You should obviously hire him."

"One out of four ain't bad," I nodded at the professor.

"Not bad at all," he replied.

"This is it," I announced. "It's time for me to make the decision. Professor, you lost the very first task as project manager. Nepharia was the only one that thinks I should hire you, and with her being a Sith, I have to assume it's all part of the Emperor's grand scheme. That makes me think you're a pawn. Gyrobo, though, he's not a pawn. He's a Queen. He can move anywhere on the board, and he does, usually to places he has no business going. While you've been a tough competitor, Gyrobo has continually shined on every challenge. Nobody else has come close."

"So, you're saying," Xavier rubbed his chin as he spoke, "that it's a tie?"

"What I'm saying," I explained to the contestants and the audience, "is that this competition is over. We have our Company Apprentice."

The audience leaned forward in their chairs awaiting the announcement.

"Professor X," I said.

"Yes?" he waited.

"Don't pick him!" Gyrobo warned. "I was manufactured to do this job."

"Charles..." I continued. "You're...fired. Gyrobo, you're hired!"

The Company Apprentice

The Final Boardroom

2009-08-23T04:16:00.008-04:00

"Ten of you set off on the most grueling job application process the blogosphere has ever seen," I said dramatically. "You two are all that's left. And now, one of you, like eight before, will be fired. Are you ready to find out who will be The Company Apprentice?"

That cued the theme song music, and the live studio audience began cheering.

"The world has been waiting," I read from the teleprompter, "for weeks, and we have finally arri--Was that Jimmy Fallon?"

We all waited as security escorted the so-called comedian from the premises.

"Now, we have finally arrived," I continued, "at the moment where somebody will be hired."

There was more cheering, and a gasp from Jon.

"Gyrobo," I spoke the name of everyone's second favorite robotic clown. The audience cheered, and there were a few screams admitting to feelings of love for the oddball.

I waited for the enthusiasm to die down, and moved on, "And Professor Xavier." The audience cheered once again as I spoke the name of everyone's fourth favorite rumored sex offender.

Once the crazy outburst calmed, I began my judgment. "You two have out performed all the others, and you're both showing me today, in this boardroom, how much you truly want to be The Company Apprentice. Gyrobo, I appreciate you dressing up as a woman in an attempt to lure me into hiring you. Mind you, hiring females can come with so my legal technicalities. And Professor, the mustache is a great touch. It makes you look truly....well, something. I just don't know what."

"Ah, stuff it Bennett," said the bald teach.

"It's Bennet," I corrected him.

"I believe I will spell your name however I choose," he replied, "after all, I'm the one with the gun."

The audience cheered enthusiastically. Someone shouted, "I love being shot!"

The Haitian tensed. "It's okay," I said to my trusty foreign friend, and he relaxed back in his chair. "Why the violence, Professor?"

"We all know you're going to hire Gyrobo. This so-called contest is rigged," he explained. "So, I thought I'd take matters into my own hands. I don't need a job this badly, but I would enjoy the parking space in the city that comes with it. I'm not one for the subway, and I can't rightly walk in my condition, and taxis....forty dollars for a ride into Manhattan?"

"Well, actually," I said, "the job doesn't come with a parking space."

"Oh," Charles lowered his rifle. "Well, carry on then."

"But you shouldn't worry. I really haven't made up my mind yet, and this contest definitely isn't rigged."

The audience erupted into applause.

"Oops. Sorry 'bout that Mr. Bennet," the crewman in charge of the applause sign said embarrassingly.

"You're fired!" I said to the schlub.

"Hey, you can't fire me. I'm with the union," he replied in a thick Brooklyn accent.

"Why didn't we think of that?" Jon mumbled to the other former contestants sitting on the loser bench.

Mr. Muggles barked.

"Let's get on with this," I took back control of the show. "Now, let's see here. Gyrobo, you did some good work taking down Australia, and by that I mean Koma. Your team man and duck handled Australia's least genius evil genius. Your humiliation of the Queen....did that ever happen? I don't read the tabloids. I'm hoping the plan worked, though. It was a good plan. And a smart move going after the Queen of England. Most people forget that wrinkled bag of bones controls most of world, not just her little island of Brits."

"But," The Haitian interjected, "there was no mention of Rupert Murdoch."

"Yes," I said, looking critically at Gyrobo's clowny little face. "He's perhaps even more of a threat than their border fence. And you let him go on unscathed."

"There just wasn't time to scathe everyone," Gyrobo explained in his defense.

"Now, Professor, you went up against the single most evil and powerful organization on Earth, with perhaps the exception of the Vatican. I'm sure it was a very taxing challenge."

"Boo!" The audience said in unison. I threw my speaker phone at the aforementioned schlub. He quickly flipped a switch and the audience applauded my delightful pun.

"You made excellent use of your X-Men team," I said. "It must be nice to have a special ability for any situation at your disposal like that. That's our ultimate goal here at the Company. However, I'm not sure exactly what Nepharia was doing. A Sith is a far more valuable asset than a mere mutant. They get lightsabers!"

"Well, she..." he began. "...maybe I should reconsider shooting you."

"No need to shoot me, Doc," I assured him. "It's still anyone's game. I want to know why the two of you want this job. Why should I fire the other one? Why should I hire you? You have both given superb performances. And I'd like to see what the other contestants think, too. Who should I hire? How was it working with these two? Let's find out, after this."

And with that, we cut to a commercial break. What happens next in the boardroom? We'll have to wait and see.

Duck and Cover

2009-08-21T21:50:00.003-04:00

“Can’t… break… free…”

The now finger-sized Captain Koma struggled valiantly against the rubber bands binding him to my shoebox. It wasn’t enough to extract his national secrets and cupcake recipés — no. He would soon be witness to the abject humiliation of Australia’s most respected and underweight prime minister in 300 years.

I pulled back the curtain and surveyed Canberra. “Think of it, Koma. In each building, there is at least one toilet and sink. AT LAST, my extensive knowledge of plumbing espionage is paying dividends!”

“Madness!”

“You know so little. Imagine,” I whispered, caressing the $80 million mainframe, “we can hear every conversation conducted in any loo in the city. Even the prime minister’s headquarters’ hindquarters.”

He banged his head contemptuously. The ducks were waddling closer and closer to the box. “What are you going to do to Rudd?”

I laughed. “You want to know my plan so you can escape and foil me! How delightful.”

I ate another candied yam from my tray of caramelized vegetables. This one was shifty, this Koma.

“You’re planning to spring coils of wires out the toilet and give him a massive coronary?”

Persistent little bug. “Ha! No… all I need are the records. Do you know who he’s called from that toilet? How many people he’s conference called? Once the public gets wind of this, they’ll be clamoring to put Ron Howard back on top!”

“Toy fiend! I mean, you fiend! I mean, wait — what?”

“RON HOWARD! Brilliant plan of mine, it is, bringing in a deposed former leader to create the appearance of legitimacy whilst I pillage your treasury.”

“You’re confusing politicians and Hollywood show-folk again.”

I sneered. “If you’re referring to my 2004 campaign to stop Jim Carrey from becoming president of the good ol’ U.S. of A. then you really didn’t pay any attention to my manifesto. He couldn’t have been president — he may have been a senator, but Jim Carrey was born in Kenya.”

“Canada.”

“I don’t much care for the local pronunciation, thank you.”

Alternating the z-control knob brought up an oscillating display on the LCD output. The prime ministerial toilet was online!

“It is now…” I counted the ticks on my analogue watch, “3:25 PM, local time. As his usual habit, Kevin Rudd will now enter his private restroom and order a large pizza with extra garlic.”

“His one weakness! How did you—”

“You forget, I’ve been analyzing his sewage and communication lines for weeks. There’s nothing I don’t know,” I sprayed, spewing bits of hydraulic cupcake onto the nosy homunculi.

“No harm can ever come to the prime minister while in the sacred confines of the ‘Marble Ministry,’” Koma declared, referencing the common phrase coined for the prime minister’s secret, state-protected toilet.

“Really?” I asked, arching my left eyebrow while drawing in my lip provocatively. I grabbed a taped-up microphone and flipped to the out line. “KEVIN RUDD! THIS IS THE SPIRIT OF LOW-FLOW PLUMBING!”

The speakers buzzed. “If it isn’t the anus of the body politic.”

I have never been more insulted by anything said over the public airwaves, and immediately moved to censure the originator of that sentence. “Who is this?”

“Lars Plumberdale, executive flush co-ordinator.”

He sounded so familiar, but I couldn’t place the voice. “Where’s Kevin Rudd?”

A flushing sound drowned out any further communiques. Somehow, my plan to wiretap Kevin Rudd’s toilet and force him to publicly admit his office was haunted had gone horribly awry.

By now, Koma had freed himself and was using the broken rubber bands and a toothpick as a makeshift harness to bridle the carnivorous duck. “Come on,” I said, plucking him up like a tick on a dog’s ear.

The confused (and probably dyslexic) duck chased after us as I shimmied down the spiral staircase to the hotel’s lobby. I threw the concierge a dirty look and violently knocked over a potted palm tree. The security guards were too busy racing to fetch dustpans to remember my boyish good looks when the police would ask for my description.

Cleanliness. It had always been Australia’s Achilles heel.

I crossed the street discreetly, keeping my juggling act to under five pins and only one flaming chainsaw. Large men with swords and walkie-talkies stood outside the federal palace, flexing and keeping watch. There were more men than usual; something had happened.

“Howdy!” I shouted, trying to pull off the old “Dancin’ Texan” maneuver. “I’m here to see Kevin Rudd. You may have heard of him—”

“Nobody gets in,” the largest, angriest man said. His sunglasses were bulging with muscles, and his shoes looked like they could spit iron bullets.

“But I’m here to see him!” I danced. “He paid good money to see a leprechaun fight the world’s smallest kangaroo!”

They studied Koma closely. He put up a fight and totally beat on one of their moustaches, but I think what convinced them was the green suit I’d forced him into, and the shillelagh glued to his arm.

“Coming through!” I brayed, tossing aside interns and coatracks with equal measure. Finally, I arrived at Kevin Rudd’s office. He stood there, mouth agape, awed by the little man struggling in my fist.

“Is he rea—”

“Enough idle chatter. I’m the fabled garbageman-savant, Lou Tintarello. You may remember my travails on the US Board of Landfill Ecology?”

He hesitated. “THE Lou Tintarello?”

“Well, I ain’t his one-toothed grandpa. My grandpa was a circus performer, juggled from sunup to sundown until his shoulders gave out on him. Then he settled down and became a lion tamer. Tell me everything about the current plumbing-related mishap.”

Rudd wavered. He may have been wearing a large coat to hide it, but one arm was half the size of the other. “Someone stole an ancient statue from my private washroom.”

“Fascinating,” I said patronizingly. “You did a good job!”

“Where was your flushing co-ordinator?” Koma yelled from my hydrogenated vest pocket. “Lars Plumberdale?”

“I don’t have a flushing co-ordinator.”

“REAL Australians let the Coriolis Effect do their flushing,” I said with an air of unearned expertise. “This crime was obviously perpetrated by Ron Howard in an attempt to humiliate you.”

“Why? Why would Ron Howard do this?”

“POLITICAL REVENGE. Canberra’s most prestigious periodical, the Daily Beagle, has already confirmed as much.”

It was amazing someone so idealistic could survive the rigors of Australia’s cutthroat system of kickbacks and daily elections. He even had all his original teeth!

“What should I do?”

I weighed his options. “Australia’s border fence is a proven farce. Likely, Ron Howard has absconded with your statue to his homestead in the Philippines.”

Rudd slammed his tiny fist on the porcelain sink. “What can I do?”

“I’ll need surveillance footage from the room.”

“It’s a toilet.”

“You’re right, I’ve already got what I need. Here,” I handed him a piece of paper with an address on it, “at 7:45 PM tonight, Ron Howard will be at this address AND disguised as an old lady. Apprehend him at all costs!”

He saluted me. “You’re the best, Mister Tintarello.”

I stamped out of the building, touching each desk obsessively on the way.

“It was a long con, but we nailed him, Koma!”

The microscopic varmint gnawed to escape my denim slacks. “What? By getting him to go after Ron Howard?”

“You think I’m a no-neck who buried his head in the cat litter when it comes to Australian government, you frivolous bogart! Rudd wasn’t my target.”

He squirmed uncomfortably. “Then what…?”

“It was STAGED for you. So you wouldn’t warn him,” I said as I picked up pace.

My elaborately laborious plan was now hurtling inexorably to fruition! I flipped the lid to my portable mobile cellular devicicle and called mister “Plumberdale.”

“What’s going on?!”

“Plumberdale? The leak’s been mended. Repeat, the leak’s been mended.” There was a chuckle on the other line, then it went dead. I tried to resuscitate — no luck.

“This was all a wild goose chase to humiliate Ron Howard, wasn’t it? What’ve you got against Opie?”

“I don’t understand that reference, not being Australian. It was never about Howard, or Rudd. This was about getting a pot-shot at Australia’s REAL leader.”

“Was that a clone of Rudd?”

“Yes, but the original didn’t matter anyway. Remember, I’ve got all Canberran toilets wiretapped. Even toilets with… diplomatic immunity?”

He stared incredulously. “What does that mean?”

“My intended target has always been Australia’s rightful ruler, the Queen of England.”

His jaw dropped like a tea tray. “That’s…”

“When Rudd’s surly, surly swordsmen drag her out of her bath, the resulting diplomatic incident will shame them both and likely cause the British Empire to fracture! Warlords will roam the Outback once more, as it was in the days when Ron Howard’s iron fist was law!”

“But the statue…”

“The Torso of Artemis. I let Karl take it. After all, what use is it to him when the world’s only expert in ancient Greek belly dancing is… me? It’s about as useful to him as…” I had pretty much checked out by then. “You know, maybe a box. With another box in it.”

“WHY?! Why did you need to take me through all that?!”

I stopped. We were there. “Why, to distract you.”

A big sign hung over us, white letters on a green board.

Canberra Duck Park

Team 1 cracks open a can called whoop-ass!

2009-08-21T21:32:00.004-04:00

Sometimes it comes in handy having your own private army. Jon had successfully managed to gain useful intel on penetrating IRS headquarters, despite the aid of Private "Game over, man" Hudson. In the meantime, Nepharia was completing her own part of the master plan.

I telepathically communicated with the leader of the Gold team. "Psylocke, engage."

"Yes, Professor," my psionic ninja responded in her alluring English accent. Her squad, which also included Nightcrawler, Shadowcat and Gambit, snuck into the IRS building, using the codes Jon had obtained. Shadowcat, by hugging Psylocke around the waist, phased both of them through the building to Commissioner Shulman's office. There Psylocke used her mental powers to peer into Shulman's mind and then broadcasted the image to Gambit who, using a special high-tech device built by Forge, was able to encode the images on a disc which he transmitted digitally back to me. Nightcrawler snuck into the women's executive bathroom because, well, he's into that kind of thing.

With the mental images from Shulman's mind now in my computer system, I copied them onto a zip drive and handed it to Quicksilver. "Take this to the Blue team leader," I instructed. With a mind-numbing burst of speed, he ran to the Treasury Building in Washington, DC where IRS Commissioner Shulman was part of a panel chaired by Secretary Geithner. Shulman was in the middle of a Power Point presentation to the press about new revenue sources.

Quicksilver handed the zip drive to Mystique who was loitering in the back of the room. She instantaneously transformed herself into Stone Philllips and proceeded to storm to the front of the room. Her bold, masculine stride intimidated everyone she passed. No one challenged her as she marched onto the dais.

"Mr. Commissioner," she said to Shulman in a perfect imitation of Stone Phillips' commanding voice, "enough of this farce!"

Shulman gasped and shrank back before the power of Stone Phillips. "The public has learned of your plans to tax children's toys . . little, innocent children's toys . . 100 percent! Have you no shame, sir!" Mystique's voice thundered now. "How are the little children suppose to get The Rise of Cobra toys?? 100,000 children are marching on Washington as we speak! And it be on you're head, jackal!"

"Wow, that Stone Phillips is impressive," Secretary Geithner whispered to Neal Wolin, his Deputy.

"But what is even more egregious is that you plan to tax the Interwebs. The Interwebs! The last bastion of freedom and lawlessness in this world and you sir want to destroy it! One million online porn addicts are massing outside this building as we speak!"

The assembled press corps gasped. Shulman looked horrified. A dozen camera flashes went off in his face.
"But this," Mystique held up the zip drive, "this is the most . . disgusting . . depraved . . depths to which a mind can sink." She plugged the drive in the computer and put the image taken from Shulman's mind up on the giant screen behind the podium.

"This is you, at the Burning Man festival. This is the man that wants to steal from our children and deny us our internet porn."

The press screamed in horror as the cameras caught all the humiliating chaos. In the immortal words of our President, Mission Accomplised.

Kidnapping Koma

2009-08-20T21:21:00.018-04:00

I couldn't believe my ears.

"You want me to kidnap and interrogate Koma?" I asked Gyrobo. "But...but..."

"Why, yes my dear. You'll be perfect at it!" the robot said cheerfully. "After all, he's been gunning for you since day one. Wouldn't you say you have an axe to grind?"

"Hmmm, since you put it that way..."

"I knew you'd agree. Here, when you're done use this on him." Gyrobo handed me a small device.

"What will it do?" I asked, hoping my still wild electrical charges wouldn't fry the innards.

"Oh, you'll see." He laughed somewhat maniacally.

"Well, ok." I retreat to the inner rooms Gyrobo set aside and contemplate my next move. Obviously Koma is expecting us. It was nice of him to let us know where he's at. 2 hours south of Melbourne...unless it's a misdirective...

Wolverine storms in. "I can't believe that punk called me smelly."

I look him up and down. "I can't believe he called you little."

"So darlin'...want some help."

"Quite. Let me call the boys and we'll be on our way." Shatner and Kenobi have been hanging around me ever since I gave them those jobs when we were doing the Dagobah gig. I place a few quick calls on me cellphone and soon Kenobi materializes in front of me and Shatner beams in. "Ok,Kenobi...I need you to scout this out. Find Koma. He is really two hours south of Melbourne? Shatner...when Kenobi sends the word, I'll need you to either beam us there...or..."

"Beam...him...here..." Shatner grins evily.

"Exactly."

While we wait, I indulge a little.

Just a little.

A few happy hours later, Kenobi gives us the location.

"So, what...do...you want...us...to do..." Shatner asked.

I consider. "Kenobi, lure him outdoors...and then Billy-boy, you beam the cocky aussie here..."

"Yes, Your majesty," Kenobi said with a nod of his head, disappearing again. I never should have told him I was a princess.

Shatner rubbed his hands gleefully and began chattering into his communicator.

I tune mine into Kenobi's end and listen...

"Now!" Shatner shouted.

A stunned Koma was deposited infront of us.

I nod to Wolverine who knocks the Aussie upside the head and ties him into a chair. Too bad there wasn't more of a struggle, there's nothing quite like watching male muscles. But that's beside the point, isn't it? Bennet would accuse me of thinking like a man and give me a hard time about it.

Rising slowly to my feet, I toss the rest of my wine into Koma's face.

"You!" he cries, waking back up. "I should have known it would be you, you red-headed..."

I can hear the electricity crackling at my fingetips. Koma apparently brings it out in me. "Go ahead...call me a harridan...one more time..."

Koma reconsiders. "Uhm, red-headed amazon..."

"That's better." I move slowly, gracefully around the table. Reaching out my hands, I act like I'm going to caress his cheek.

"No!" He starts crying. "Please! The last time you touched me, I was out for hours."

"That would explain your sudden obsession with ducks," I reply remember how I had accidently knocked him unconscious. He was never right after that.

"Actually, I've always loved ducks," he said, still sobbing.

"Nevermind." I reign my power in. "Come now, Koma. Don't make this hard for any of us. Just tell us what we want to know, and we'll go easy on you"

"Like I believe your promises. I don't know anything about the beer consipracy. Nor do I know the combination code to the Australian fence."

"Or the secret ingredient to the beer, I would imagine."

"Don't be ridiculous. Everyone knows it's kangaroo pee..."

"Do you think I'm that stupid?" I demand. I step closer to the silly purple man and get in his face. "Kangaroo pee doesn't explain the addictive quality, or the mind numbing side effect that allows the drinker to be hypnotized and seduced."

Koma doesn't answer and I realize where he's looking. I slap him hard. "Quit looking at my boobs!"

"But you put them right in my face!"

"That doesn't give you permission to stare!" I walk away. "Wolverine, beat some sense into him."

"With pleasure."

"Noooo!" Koma starts crying again. "Please, don't..."

"Then give me what I want!" I storm back to him. "Tell me the numbers, the ingredient...everything!"

"I...."

In a heart beat, I change tactic. "Koma, Koma, Koma..." I lean in close again. "Would you like to see them closer? What about touch them? Be with a real woman instead of those lame synthoids."

"I think I'm gonna be sick," mutters Wolverine.

"Give me a real woman and I will!" Koma nearly shouted. "You're no woman..."

I slap him again, this time releasing a touch of electricity. Just enough to put a glaze in his eyes.

"I've seen her in the bath," Wolverine admitted. "She's more woman than you'd ever be able to handle, bub."

"You weren't supposed to tell!" I hissed.

"7 - 4 - 4 - B..." Koma started to drool. "5."

I transmit the numbers to Gyrobo, hoping the silly purple man isn't just rambling.

"Hydroxy Solution #248, with a dash of NHY-987-O."

Well, not sure what to do with that but I'm sure it'll come in handy sometime.

"Go on Koma...what else..." I give him another small zap of electricity.

"I love ducks..."

"That's no secret...unless you mean..."

"I'm wearing pretty underwear..."

"I see."

I call Gyrobo. "What do you think?"

He laughs mechanically. "The code's legit, as are the ingredients. Good job, girl. Now use that button on him and leave him to me."

"Ok Boss," I reply. I snap my phone shut.

"I know now's not the time for a stupid question, but..." Wolverine scratched his ear. "Why do we need the combination to the fence? Why can't we just have your...Billy-boy beam him in and out?"

"Australia raised their Ionized Particle Shield when we beamed him out," Shatner answered from the corner, managing to string an entire sentence together. But it didn't last long. "Can't...beam...through."

"Good enough?" I asked Wolverine as I pulled out the device Gyrobo had given me.

"Yup."

Koma was still spouting information. "Cylons are coming...soon..."

"Thanks for the warning." I point my device at him and press the middle button.

"Whoa..." we all manage to say.

Our eyes clear and we wait for the little dots to disappear.

"Where's he go?" Wolverine asked.

The ropes around the chair are empty...we search the room frantically...

"Ow!" I exclaim as something bites my ankle. "Oh...here he is...

Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator: Ohhh, that BURNS me up

2009-08-20T18:33:00.004-04:00

“Buddy, you want another one?” the bartender asked. “Are you gonna drink that one or make love to it?”

“Ha ha, if he was making love to it, he’d be done already,” I slurred as I slammed my hand on the bar. My own drink spilled from the enthusiasm. “Just kiddin’ man. Hey barkeep why don’t you give him a refill when you get me one. ‘Preciate it.”

“Thanks,” the guy in the nice suit next to me nodded as the man behind the bar worked up two more drinks for us.”

“Hey no problem,” I sloshed back at him. “I’ve got nowhere to go right now, really. I was in this game, you know Company Apprentice?”

“I don’t think so,” he shook his head.

“Yeah well it’s big, lemme tell ya,” I replied. “But then they fired me even though I put my résumé on paper. You’d think a paper company would appreciate that, but nooooo. So then what do they do? They go and then ask me to come back to help out my former teammate. Can you believe it?”

“I guess not,” he answered noncommittally.

“But I’ve got a plan,” I hiccupped triumphantly. “I’m gonna screw them all up just like that one chick did on that other Apprentice. What was her name? A’Mimosa? Amaretto? You know who I’m talking about.”

“Heh heh, yeah.” He held up his newly filled glass. “Hey, cheers, man.”

“You got it.” I sloppily clacked my glass against his and took a sip. “Hey, I’ll be right back. I have to drain the main vein.”

I stumbled past my new friend and into the men’s bathroom. As I stood in front of the single urinal, I heard the door open behind me.

“Jus’ a minute,” I called. “Occupied.”

I stuck my thumbs up just as I felt the garrote hit my neck.

Anyone who’s been in the business knows a great way to set up someone perusing you is to act drunk. It will make them think they have the advantage which actually puts you at an advantage. To drink a lot without getting drunk takes a little timing, ice to water down your drinks, and you have to spill a lot.

With my thumbs giving me just enough breathing room between the wire and my neck, I threw my body down and tossed my assailant right over me.

“I should kill you now, but I need you alive.” I quickly wrapped him up in my Superman S-Symbol Snaring Kit. Then knocked him out with a punch to the jaw.

My name is Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator. I used to be a contestant on Company Apprentice until…
Bennet: Blah blah blah. You’re fired.
When you’re fired, you’ve got nothing: no cash, no plane ticket home, no pencil sharpener or LED keychain tchotchkes. You’re stuck in whatever city they dump you in.
Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator: Where am I?
Nepharia: You’re still in New York, idiot.
You do whatever work comes your way. You rely on anyone who’s talking to you. A lightsaber-happy dark Jedi.
Nepharia: Should we stab them?
An old friend who used to inform on you to the FBI…
Private Hudson: You know spies… game over for them, man.
Other friends too…
Private Hudson: [Phone rings] Hey is that your mom again?
Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator: No, it’s Professor X, dummy.
Professor Xavier: Someone needs your help, Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator.
Bottom line? Until you figure out who fired you… you’re not going anywhere.
Oh yeah wait, it was that tool Bennet.

“I’ve got everything we need man,” Hudson grinned. “Check it out! Independently targeting particle beam phalanx. Vwap! Fry half a city with this puppy. We got tactical smart missiles, phase-plasma pulse rifles, RPGs, we got sonic electronic ball breakers! We got nukes, we got knives, sharp sticks...”

“You sure we’ll be OK in this factory?” I asked.

“Yeah, my buddy owns it but it’s going to be closed for quite a while,” Hudson answered. “Looks like the economy is hitting the novelty dog poop business pretty hard, too.”

“Good,” I smiled. I had noticed our quarry tied to his chair had woken up but was still feigning unconsciousness. I tipped my head quickly towards him, Hudson smiled and walked over to the man.

“Wakey wakey,” the private said as he slapped the man in the face. “Hey Jon, I say we grease this rat frack son of a bitch right now.”

“No no, not yet,” I prodded Hudson away from him and looked down at the guy. “Tell me, what’s your name?”

“West,” he sputtered. “Agent Elliot West.”

“Look West,” I answered. “Can I call you West?”

He gulped and nodded.

“Look West, I don’t want to unleash the beast here.” I threw my thumb back at Private Hudson. “But he’s really itching to shoot something—”

“Or someone!” Hudson interrupted.

“Or someone right now,” I continued. “I know you’ve been following me and I’m just a little bit miffed that you are.”

When you have to get info out of someone, the classic set up is always the Good Cop/Bad Cop routine. It’s well known and anyone with the right training can avoid succumbing to it, but there’s no doubt to its simple effectiveness. Of course with Hudson, you might call it the Good Cop/Dumb Cop routine.

“You’re being investigated because we got a tip that you were plotting an attack against the IRS,” he sputtered. “I was ordered to follow you to check it out. I’m just doing my job.”

“I know,” I answered. “I’m the one who made the tip.”

“You what?”

Hudson put the barrel of his pulse rifle against West’s temple. “Lemme kill ‘im,” he growled. “Come on Jon, lemme kill him!”

“No!” West cried.

“Not yet,” I pushed Hudson away again. “Well Agent West, you’re right. I am in a little group called the Americans Liberating the Oppression of IRS Dollars.”

“Altoid?” he asked.

“No thanks, I just had an Ice Breaker.”

“No, I’m saying your group’s acronym is ALTOID,” he explained.

“Shut up!” Hudson slapped the agent across the face. “We don’t need any smart mouth smartness out of you.”

“OK Hudson,” I held the Colonial Marine back like a corner trainer would hold back a caged beast in a boxing ring. “Take it easy.”

Hudson feigned another strike against the agent and then stalked away.

“We want you alive, Agent West,” I said. “Because I want you to get me into the IRS office.”

“What?”

“I know there’s a security system and badges and codes and I just don’t have time to deal with all that,” I explained. “I need you to get me in and then I’ll turn you loose.”

“Don’t turn him loose,” Hudson pleaded. “Let me have him.”

“You’re going to turn me loose? I don’t believe it.”

I leaned closer towards West. “I’m not a killer like this guy,” I assured him. “In fact I’m more like you. You and I are a lot alike; I just want to do my job and then go home to my wife and kids.”

“I’m single…”

“Well you get my point nonetheless. And you will help and there’s going to be no funny business or else…”

I pulled Betsy, my blaster pistol, out just enough so he could see it.

“OK OK,” he sighed.

There are several ways to get into a high security installation. You can go in with a squad of well-armed and well-trained commandoes and guns blazing or you can do it the sneaky way. With the sneaky way, you can get in and do the damage from the inside before anyone knows it.

Agent West led me through the secured office. I kept a close eye on him to make sure he wasn’t tipping anybody off. He played it smart though, and soon I was in the main computer room.

“You’re gonna hack into the systems?” he asked. “No way. It’s triple layered super encrypted. Nothing on Earth can get through that.”

“Fortunately, I have this.” I pulled the Intergalactic Serial Port cable out of my Wristcomm and plugged it into the port on the mainframe. In no time at all, I was in the system and putting the false information into the system.

“What are you doing?” he blubbered.

“Just sending out a few official memos,” I answered.

“What?”

“Oh yeah, and I can’t have you blabbing about what happened here, either.”

“Bu-but you said that you weren’t going to kill me!” he babbled.

I sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

I shot him with the sonic disrupter on my Wristcomm. He’ll remain unconscious for at least a day from the blast. Long enough for the memos to circulate.

Memo 1

Memo 2

Memo 3

They are out there, somewhere.

2009-08-19T21:51:00.001-04:00

The following public service announcement has been brought you by Victorious Secret

2009-08-18T02:27:00.015-04:00

Hello I'm Wolverine, star of movies, cartoons, and more comics than any one person can buy each month. I want to talk to you about Australia. Yes I know most of you think that it's a harmless little continent where ducks appear like magic in microwaves, and koalas become your friends.

It's anything but that. For years they have been trying to sell you swill that pretends to be beer. This is what they want you to think about Foster's

But I stole this from this flyer that shows what they're really planning.

That's right they want to destroy America's brain cells with Kangaroo pee. Now normally I wouldn't care since I'm Canadian. But being a member of the X-men I have to see the ill effects of Foster's every day.

Yes a very well known X-man drinks Foster's: Cyclops. Here he is thinking an under age rock monster is a beautiful woman.

Worst yet Foster’s also has mutating properties, look what drinking it did to this poor young lad.

That's right it turned him into a monster, now poor Eddie's dream to sleep with a barely legal leather wearing motorcycle riding super heroine is forever out of reach.

Still not convinced that Foster's is evil, and Australia should be completely destroyed for inflicting on us? Well look what a lifetime of drinking this bilge water has done to pro wrestler the Ultimate Warrior.

Do you want your entire flamin' country to be like that? And Australia won't stop with the US. Oh no. They want to rule the world. Imagine the entire world but Australia being like the Ultimate Warrior. That's not a world I want to live in. This is why I hope that you will join Victorious Secret in destroying Foster's and Australia forever. This has been a Public Service Announcement.

The Final Task

2009-08-17T14:33:00.009-04:00

Congratulations. You are the final two. One of you will become The Company Apprentice.

At the beginning of this competition, you were a sad bunch of equals. But Gyrobo and Professor X, you both proved to be more equal than the rest. That is why you're still standing, and they're fired.

These lesser beings are here to fulfill the role of the common foot soldier, a vital part of any organization, good or bad. You two must prove your effectiveness at leading unimaginative and expendable peons such as Ciera, Wolverine, Jon and Nepharia.

Jon, stop picking your nose. This is a ceremonious occasion!

Professor X, you are the El Jefe of Team One. Jon and Nepharia are your two foot soldiers that will be assisting you on this task.

Gyrobo, you're The Boss of Victorious Secret. Ciera and Wolverine have been recruited to do your bidding.

"Gee, I wonder what Koma's up to these days. It's just not going to be the same without him on our team."

That is highly irrelevant, Ciera. But now that you mention it, I can't help but ponder about what the purpley numskull is doing....

...Well, that passed. Now, to the task at hand.

This task is war. Literally.

You each will be assigned a top notch organization to wage war upon. Failure is simply not an option. We're not in France. This is America. We fight until there is nothing left to fight for, and even then we don't surrender. Cease fire, maybe, but never surrender!

"Go Joe!"

Thanks, Jon.

For this challenge, you will be required to capture and interrogate a member of your enemy organization. Make them talk, by whatever means necessary. There are secrets in their heads, and you have to uncover it. Find out something unknown about the organization and its doings.

You will also need to wiretap their headquarters. Infiltration techniques are all up to you. Simply ensure that you can acquire live audio and video feed of their meetings and conversations.

You will also need to launch a public campaign to discredit them or their public interests. An organization is only as strong as its backing. Destroy whatever it is that's providing them with support, financially or otherwise, by demoralizing it in the eyes of the public. Call them out in a panel discussion on FoxNews. Blame them for Global Warming. Accuse them of wanting to pull the plug on Grandma. (Only five dollars for my twelvth birthday? Really?) People will respond, and without the people's support, either directly or through complacency, no organization or movement can survive.

Finally, you must deal the fatal blow. Humiliate their leader. Simple. Sweet.

Now, which organizations are the unfortunate targets of your power-hungry feast?

Gyrobo, your enemy organization with which you'll be warring is Australia.

Professor X, the organization that will be receiving the blunt end of your ugly stick is The Internal Revenue Service.

Final Challenge
Capture and interrogate group member

Wiretap headquarters

Destory public interests

Humiliate leader

This is it. Your final task. Put your cronies to work effectively. Dominate your selected enemy, and prove that you have what it takes to become The Company Apprentice!

You're Fired: The Final Two

2009-08-15T17:55:00.011-04:00

"Four of you remain," I said to the remaining four. "You are perhaps the most talented, most mysterious and most expendable four people in the Universe. But two of you are going to prove to be a bit more expendable than the others and will be fired....right now."

Jon gasped.

"Let's find out who it should be," I suggested and pulled out the evaluation cards from my briefcase. "Here is what your interviewers noted about you."

"After reviewing your résumés and looking over the notes left by your interviewer," I stated, "it's going to be a difficult decision."

Claire added, "You're just, like, all really good and stuff. Really."

I continued, "But it's time to get rid of two of you."

Jon gasped again.

"Nepharia," I looked at the evil face, half-hidden by the far more evil cloak. "You've performed quite well. You kidnapped me. You gave us YouTube cats. Your logo was cool and three-dimensional."

"Jon," as I spoke his name, the so-called gladiator gasped. "A great performance from you as well. Uncle Yoder's, a MonkeyBoy in your subconscious Force cave battle, and consistently good work despite an Irish hangover."

"Gyrobo," I looked next to the clownbot. "It's no secret that you've managed to really shine throughout this competition. What is that? Titanium finish?"

"I'll never tell," he answered coolly.

"Well, regardless, you've done good work. A battle of wits with your physical examiner. Traveling through time. Threatening to force Angus McGriddle into owning a dog."

"Professor," I said turning my attention to the pretend crippled. "You designed great hats for your team. Showed great directing ability. Quayle hunting. A very good job, Charles."

"Thank you," he replied.

"So, that's why my job is really tough at this point," I explained. "I've got to axe two people right now. Jon, I was disappointed you didn't kill Serpentor yourself. It doesn't seem like you've had as many lifetime kills as Professor X, who's had almost three thousand, according to his self-written résumé. While you do good work, and you manage to really shine on the business side of things, I don't know how suited you are to the other half of the double life required by The Company. So, Jon, you're fired."

Jon gasped.

"You can go now," I said. We all watched as the Action Man leave the boardroom.

"Whew," Xavier sighed. "I really thought I might get fired today. Stupid Dr. Manhattan. He's just upset because I made him wear clothes."

"It's not over yet," I announced. "There's still one more person to fire."

We could hear Jon gasp from outside the boardroom.

"Gyrobo. You've proven your knack for mystery during this competition," I complimented him. "You've not only managed to complete the mysterious tasks themselves, but you did while the mystery of your own life swarmed around you. However, if there's anywhere that you're lacking, it's in team management. You haven't been able to lead your team to victory. The Company works on the principle of 'One of us, One of Them,' which one you are, I'm not sure. But the point is we need someone who can make those around them better.

"Nepharia, you've managed to do that well. For an evil Sith, you seem to be really good with teamwork. You've got a great set of skills, and really are a vital tool in any circumstance. But I'm concerned how effective you are as a leader. Though you did win Yoda's task as El Jefe.

"Xavier, you're on the opposite end of this. More fit to lead, but you lend nothing to your teammates, aside from your orders. However, what you lack in physical skills, you more than make up for with mental ability. You've won a task as El Jefe, but also lost one. But the loss was most likely the fault of my family rather than your leadership. You did a good job, even on that task.

"This is the toughest decision yet. I'm going back and forth on this. I'm still not really sure who to fire, but I have to fire someone.

"I think you're great. I think you've done a great job all through this competition. But I have to say, Nepharia, you're fired."

Nepharia powered down her lightsaber, deciding not to kill me, and left the boardroom.

"Congratulations, Charles and Gyrobo. You're the final two. And you'll be going up against each other in one final task to prove who has what it takes to be The Company Apprentice. But first, it's time to pick your team."

The boardroom doors opened and in walked Wolverine, Ciera, Jon and Nepharia.

"You each get two, and we'll take turns picking. First pick goes to whoever calls it first."

One day in front of the vending machines

2009-08-15T00:32:00.002-04:00

Interview with the Time Vampire

2009-08-14T20:45:00.002-04:00

The whole row of crystal glasses shattered in rapid succession. Each chandelier shook, and the light-bulbs flickered and sizzled like bacon on a griddle.

Nixon was back in town.

I tented my hands in silent prayer. The smell of dampness and unnatural cold seeped into my body, it draped me in its toxic blanket. From the oppressive shadows, a silhouette shone against the boardroom wall like moonlight through cracked cellophane wrap.

Nixon was back in town.

“Nice day out,” I choked.

Quick as death, the imposing interviewer snared me with his talons. “SILENCE!”

He still wasn’t over our last encounter. To escape his massive gambling debts (I’d egged him on at the bookie’s) Richard Nixon had had no choice but to fake his own death and live a secret new life as a blacksmith in the old west. He’d become quite adept at mending wagons and shoeing horses, but the fact remained…

“You’re the last witness,” he rasped, his skin sagging like over-stretched rubber bands. “You brought them right to me!”

“No… I can’t be. There’s Ford—”

“Ford’s dead! Chuckle-head choked on his own necktie.”

I sighed. It was still hard to believe that that lovable oaf had fallen under the reaper’s sickle.

“Wait a minute… something doesn’t add up,” I puzzled, “Gerry was an expert knot-tier. How did he…?”

Nixon crack-a-lacked his knuckles. “Everyone has an off day.”

“I swear I didn’t tell anyone about you!” I professed. Nixon was unmoved. “Maybe my dentist, but he’s taken a vow of silence.”

“What’s his name?!” Nixon whipped out his infamous hit list. Every person on that list was automatically denied service at the post office. Even in “death,” presidential power is strong.

“Um… Karl… uh, Überdale. That’s who my dentist is.”

Nixon clicked his fountain pen. “How many ‘goobers’ in that?”

“Let’s get down to the meat and potatoes,” I thundered, full of confidence at his sudden absent-mindedness. “Are we here to do an interview or is Karl Überdale more important than you getting back to yer hosses an’ wagons?!”

That’s when the man hit the ceiling. His face grew paler, and red like polished iron. He dug his fingers so strongly into the table I could hear disconcerting snaps as the wood buckled.

He was more upright than I’d ever seen a man, his clenched jaw grinding those second-hand dentures into clouds of powder. Like a cobra, he snatched a wad of paper from his coat pocket.

“AROO! THIS your résumé?!”

He slammed down the wrinkled paper so hard it left a crater. I looked at the familiar handwriting. “Yes.”

(Click to enlarge)

The temperature fell as Nixon rose. “This is more impressive than Kissinger’s portfolio. The man never progressed past crayons.”

My heart beat faster. “Henry Kissinger could barely feed himself, and he was Secretary of State. I can tie my own shoes!” I smirked.

Those late-night stress-induced bags under his eyes contracted. Cogs were turning behind those scheming eyes. Grimly, he held up a blood-spattered clipboard.

“I got the most interesting ‘unofficial’ report from your doctor.”

Aw, SNAP.

“My note says I’m fit as a fiddle.”

Horseshoes clattered in his pockets. “SILENCE!”

“Are you calling for James Silence? I saw him in the lobby.”

Now he was purple. “This report is quite damaging. Your head cheese smells like feet. Your tongue depressors are too upbeat. Your appendix reads like a bibliography. You fell asleep at the switch at the electrical plant.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“And these notes about your personal life! You drive on parkways and park on driveways. Your house’s front door is out back. Your watchdog can’t tell time.”

“Hey, my dog is the cat’s pajamas!”

“You’ve called the water department to put out fires, and the fire department to put out waters. Your dehumidifier is all wet. And your toes are barely towing the line.”

“Well, all toe-ld…”

“Your bank says you made a deposit, but your therapist says you’ve withdrawn. You can carry an instrument — but not a tune. And your inferiority complex isn’t good enough.”

“Then it’s worse than I thought.”

“The story of your life is riddled with spelling errors. You’ve been seen sawing a see-saw by the sea shore. And your dog—”

“Quit hounding my dog! You’re barking up the wrong tree!”

The former president regained his composure, flustered and dazed. “It says here on your résumé that your last job was… television director?”

“I directed the first two seasons of ‘Paper Jam’ but I left over creative differences with those greedy muppets.”

He clucked, not unlike a chicken. “How does the season one cliffhanger end?”

“So, you’re a paper pusher after all?” I asked, smiling.

Nixon reeled. “You get bored shoeing horses.”

My smugness was only temporary. Night had fallen outside, as the twinkling starlight and mournful owl calls sounded. The janitor would be by soon to collect the day’s scraps.

If I didn’t close this deal soon, my teeth would end up in the rubbish bin and the rest of me in a ditch outside Burbank.

Facts and figures flooded my frontal lobe, my fractured faculties frantically foraging the fringes of the feasible for some faint, fortuitous fragment that could finagle this furious fool into finally forgiving my former flaws and fete my fortitude.

“My vocabulary ain’t bad.”

“SILENCE!”

“Dude, I think he went home for the day.”

Nixon massaged his bulging temple. “That’s just the kind of talk I’d expect from a man who put a trowel in a washing machine and dug a flower bed with his trousers.”

“What…? My trousers are the pants!”

“Sit. Down.” Nixon’s shaking hand hovered just over my stool.

I thought I’d lighten the mood with a little ditty. So I gently caressed his dainty, sallow hand as I sang,

“What makes Gloomy Gus so gloomy?
And why is he so sad?
Why’s Gloomy Gus a sour puss
Who thinks he’s got it bad?”

Without uttering a word he got up and walked out of the room. He’d undoubtedly gone to put a good word in for me.

Good luck was definitely headed my way — I’d pilfered his horseshoes.

Interviewing Xavier

2009-08-14T20:35:00.013-04:00

First I had to create a resume and now I have to subject myself to an interview? Couldn't they simply read my autobiography, It's Xavier's World and Your Just Living In It, if there was something they wanted to know about me? I waited, with the patience of a saint, in a Primatech office, chatting up a cute secretary, until my interviewer arrived. He made quite the entrance.

"Dr. Manhattan, I presume?" I asked the floating, naked blue man in front of me.

"That is correct, Professor Xavier."

"Tell me, Manhattan, is it true that your are consciously aware across all . . throughout your entire time . . Manhattan, would you mind putting some clothes on?"

He glanced down at himself, as if unsure what I meant. "Does my lack of clothes bother you?"

"Well . . it is a bit distracting. You are rather . . jiggly."

Looking into his mind telepathically, I could see that he was willing to dress, but he seemed unsure what clothes were, as if he had forgotten. He glanced at an open magazine on a desk and recreated what he saw.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you. Now as I was asking . ."

"It is for me to ask you questions," he interrupted.

"Alright, what would you like to know?"

"On your resume, you list beings that you have killed. Why is that?"

I paused, dramatically. "Given the mysterious nature of the job that I'm applying for, I thought it might be relevant. You knew that I was going to say that, didn't you?"

"Yes, I am aware of all the answers that you will give me."

"In that case," I said, "since you already know everything I will say to you, there is really no reason for us to waste our time continuing. Such inefficiency would be an illogical use of our time."

Dr. Manhattan stared back at me, a little confused. "I suppose from a certain point of view, that makes sense," he answered slowly.

"Fine then, let's move on to the physical."

He hesitated and then shrugged. "There is a nurse on the next floor who will examine you."

I left the floating blue man in the Snuggie and headed for the nurse. She was a rather cute blond who knew how to examine a man. Unfortunately, the Haitian was standing behind a screen, discreetly blocking my powers. The physical went smoothly. The nurse did express some confusion as to why I was using a wheelchair, though. Habit, I explained.

The problem came when she wanted to administer a drug test. I usually enjoy a shot or four of Cognac in the morning to get my started, and then a few more for lunch so that I can make it through the afternoon. I didn't know if Primatech would appreciate that particular skill of mine. Being a genius level intellect, I had anticipated this moment though and arranged for Scott to stop by before my interview and provide me with a clean sample. I went into the rest room, admired my reflection for a bit, and then returned, giving the nurse Scott's sample. She tested it.

"Well the good news, Professor, is that you are drug and alcohol free," she told me. "The bad news is that you are pregnant."

Xavier's Resume

2009-08-14T19:16:00.020-04:00

A resume? I've never written one before. I've always been . . self-employed. Ah well. Here goes.

CHARLES F. XAVIER

(the F is for Fun)
_____________________________________________________________

OBJECTIVE ..........................................................

To create peace and understanding between human and mutantkind.

EXPERIENCE ......................................................

1963 Created the X-Men Westchester, NY
Professor
* Started Xavier's School for Gifted Children as a front for the X-Men
* Trained the mutants combat skills in the Danger Room
* Sent the team on life-threatening combat missions

1978 Lead a Rebellion Shi'Ar Empire
Rebel
* Successfully overthrew Deathbird, the rightful ruler of the Shi'Ar Empire
* Installed fiance Lilandra as new Empress
* Co-Ruled Shi'Ar Empire for a period of time

1982 Created the New Mutants Westchester, NY
Professor
* Restarted school, accepting actual students
* Began training teenage students in the Danger Room
* Sent half-prepared teenagers on life threatening combat missions

EDUCATION ........................................................

1950-1959 Harvard University Cambridge, MA
* B.A., Ph.D. - Genetics, Biophysics and Psychology
* Graduated Magna Cum Laude.
* Adjunct Professor at Columbia University

ABILITIES ............................................................

Telepathy, Astral Projection, minor Telekinesis, Psionic Attack

STATISTICS .........................................................

Team Affiliations: X-Men, New Mutants, Shi'Ar Imperium, Defenders, SHIELD, Brotherhood of Mutants, X-Force, X-terminators, Excalibur, X-Factor, Starjammers, Illuminati, Project X

Confirmed kills: Human: 28; Mutant: 15; Other: 2,842

Getting Physical

2009-08-14T10:28:00.001-04:00

"Why aren't you in that backless gown the nurse gave you to wear?" the doctor asked when he came in.

"Because I don't wear them," I said. "They are cold and make me feel...exposed."

He made a noise and wrote something down in my file.

"Well, it says here that you are in for a complete physical," he said.

I waived my hand and quietly said, "You don't need to take my physical."

"I don't?" he questioned.

"No," I answered.

He sighed and crossed his arms. "Now, Lady Nepharia," he began, "that Jedi mind trick stuff does not work around here."

The look on my face must have given away my surprise.

"That's right," he continued. "We have Force suppressors in some of the rooms. This one happens to be one of them."

"Whah???" I said. "Your planet doesn't even know how to...."

"Hey, watch it," he held up a finger, "We may not be fast, but we sure are slow."

I know I didn't just hear that: how did this guy make it through med school?

"So," he said, rubbing his hands together, "Why don't you remove your clothes and..."

"Listen," I interrupted, "I don't remove my clothes unless I'm alone or there are...ahem...some extracurricular activities involved: I can't see either of those conditions happening right now."

He opened up my file and raised his eye brows. "Well," he began, "I'll just have to put down that you refused your physical and it will be a mark on your record of hire..."

At this point I pulled out my light saber and turned it on: it hummed softly as I stood up from the examination table.

"Ok, you might be able to suppress my Force powers, but it doesn't appear you can suppress the power of this light saber," I said. "I'd say you have two clear choices at this point: Live or Die."

He swallowed and thought a moment then started writing. "Lady Nepharia, thank you for coming in today -- it appears you have a clean bill of health and even passed your drug test."

I smiled and took my file from him as I turned off my saber and walked from The Company clinic.

Interviewing for the Position

2009-08-13T23:03:00.008-04:00

I tugged at my best clothes that I pulled out for this interview. I don't know why: I hate interviews and I hate Hell O'Kitty. But they made me look half way respectable in this place where paper executives walked the halls: at least we were in the executive offices rather than around the mail room. All the men wear those nice $5,000 suits that are perfectly tailored to their....*sigh*

"Ms. Nepharia," a voice called, shaking me from my silent fantasy. I looked up. "Ms. Kitty can see you now, if you will follow me."

She led me down the hall to a small meeting room where Hell sat waiting for me.

Giggling slightly, she spoke: "I'm so glad to finally meet you, Lady Nepharia!" she said as she stood up and took my hand in her furry little one and shook it vigorously.

"Thank you, er, it's nice to be here," I answered.

"Please!" she motioned to the table and pulled out a chair, "Do sit down so we can have a nice chat."

"Thank you," was all I could say. Getting seated, the little cat sat forward and put her paws on my knees.

"Now," she began, giggling once more, "tell me all about yourself -- I'm dying to hear about you: life as a Sith Lord must be *SO* exciting!"

"It has it's moments," I responded. "Aren't you going to ask me about how I qualify for this new apprentice position?" I asked.

"Well, ok," she conceded. "Can you tell me what qualifies you to work for our little paper company as a spy and assassin?"

"Well, as my former master would tell me, 'Nepharia, you have a Masters in Talking Back, and a PhD in Kicking People's Ass. Go out and put them to use.' "

"My point exactly;" she flipped her hand at me. "From what I know, you've been apprentice to people much worse than Noah Bennett and have kicked ass from one end of the galaxy to the other -- not even Mr. Bennett can make *that* claim," she said, shaking her head so furiously, that her ribbon bobbed about.

I sat a moment in awkward silence. "So what do you want to hear?" I asked.

"What does one do as a Sith Lord?" she said, cocking her head slightly. "Do you have special powers?"

"Actually, I have many," I answered.

She clapped her little paws together. "Oh, goodie!" she exclaimed. "Which one is your *favorite*!" she sat up straight in her chair, looking eagerly into my eyes.

"Well, I guess it would have to be the way I can subtly change my features -- it can help me blend in or stand out or create fear in my opponent. Depending upon the circumstance, any of these can can be useful."

"Ooooooooo," she ooo'ed, "can you show me?"

So I did.

"Oh my *heavens*!" she sat back in her chair. "You can be terrifying!" and she covered her little eyes. I reverted back to my original form.

"So," she began hesitantly, "Do you know how to do hand to hand fighting?" She seemed a little nervous after this question.

"Actually, it's one of the first things we learn as a youngling: to defend ourselves." I answered. "It still helps me to know how to do this."

She looked at the door and scooted forward in her chair and whispered: "Can you give me a demonstration?"

"Well," I began. "it's a little difficult when you don't have anyone to spar with."

She giggled. "How about we go to the lunch room?"

I thought about it a moment and nodded. "That would work."

We got up and walked to the 4th floor cafeteria, just in the entrance. I looked down at her and she motioned me further into the room:

When I got back to her, she was standing -- mouth agape -- in surprise. I wasn't sure what she was thinking.

"That.....was.....AWESOME!!!!!!" she said. "I wish I could do that."

"Of course you can," I said, "every girl...er...kitty should know how to defend herself to some extent."

"Truth be told, I've always wanted to play the bad guy, but I'm under contract to portray the nice little kitty, always a NICE little kitty, JUST A NICE LITTLE KITTY!" and she stamped her little foot on the floor. "I tell you, it just gets old sometimes going around being happy and cheerful no matter what anyone says to you."

"I'm sure it does," I commented, "Why don't you stand up to people?" I asked. "Tell them what *you* want."

"Oh," she looked at the floor sheepishly, "I could never do that..."

"That is where you are wrong," I answered. "I can feel the anger and frustration within you...use it to your advantage: it will make you strong."

"But how?" she asked.

"How do you feel when they tell you to just be that 'nice little kitty'?" I aksed.

"Well," she began, furrowing her little furry forehead, "It makes me angry."

"And don't kitties come with natural defenses?" I asked.

"Yes!"

"Don't you have claws?" I asked.

"Yes!"

"Don't you have sharp teeth?" I asked.

"*Yes*!"

"Aren't you a natural hunter?" I asked.

"YES!"

Next thing I know, I find her under one of the tables:

"
After crawling out from under the table, she smoothed her fur and straightened the bow on her ear.

"Lady Nepharia, I think we are done with this interview," she said finally. "Thank you for your time; we will be in touch, I'm sure."

All in all, I think that went fairly well.

Who’s the Doctor

2009-08-13T14:53:00.002-04:00

“Turn your head and cough.”

As I did so, a stream of mucus, blood, and various acidic compounds spurted onto the doctor’s immaculate pant-leg. Deeply abashed, I tried to distract him by asking about his children.

“How old is the one with the ridiculous comb-over?” I laughed, pointing to a family portrait on his desk.

“That’s me.”

I straightened my collar. “Tough room!”

These kinds of medical evaluations always give me butterflies in my stomach. And moths.

“This next section is multiple choice…”

“I can’t do it!” I sobbed, “I’m a fraud! A two-bit hooligan! Why did I think I could pass this exam?!”

“Now calm down,” the doctor reassured me as he dabbed his galoshes with a wet tissue. “Just tell me what’s up.”

“What’s up, doc?!” I sneezed violently. “My step’s got no pep! I’ve got ants in my pants! My superiority complex has an inferiority complex! I think I’ve got multiple personalities, and so do I!”

“Go on.” He took out a clipboard.

“Bright lights hurt my ears. My shadow is losing weight. And my high blood pressure is low, too!”

He scribbled furiously. “Go on!”

“I’m dangerously short for a man of my weight. My bald spot is covered with hair. And I don’t have the energy to be hyperactive,” I yawned.

The clipboard was starting to smoke. “What kind of environment did you grow up in?”

“My parents were addicted to placebos. Our house didn’t have an exit that you could go into.”

“Astounding,” he mumbled, “were you successful in dating?”

“Well, I fell in love with the baker’s daughter. Her family was rolling in dough. Then I fell in love with the mortician’s daughter, but anyone cadaver.”

“I see,” he said, putting down the clipboard. “And does your face hurt?”

I blinked. “Why, no, it doesn’t.”

“Well, it’s killing me. Here,” he handed me a form with his signature at the bottom. “I’m clearing you for work on the condition that you leave this office and never come back.”

“What if I come forward?”

Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator: An Interview with a Cobra

2009-08-13T14:33:00.008-04:00

Destro poked his head through the door to Cobra Commander’s office. “Your 3:00 is here now, my dear Cobra Commander.”

“Excssssellent,” Cobra Commander cackled. “Let me sssslip into ssomething more comfortable.”

While the Scottish weapons dealer looked on, the terrorist leader pulled off his battle helmet and replaced it with his ceremonial hood.

“Pleasssse, ssssend him in,” he hissed.

“As you wish, my dear Cobra Commander.”

I stepped into the office and placed myself in the chair in front of the Commander’s desk. He was sitting behind it, pouring over the contents of a manila folder.

“Uh, here’s the bottle of urine for my drug test,” I placed a two liter bottle on his desk. “I had to drink a lot of ice tea to fill it up. I hope it’s enough.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, asss long ass you’re not on Venom or that stuff that Headman’s pushing, I'm sure you’ll be fine.” Still looking at the file, he took the bottle and placed it in a drawer in his desk. “I sssee you included your résumé as well as your official filecard and a headshot.”

“Yes,” I smiled. “I understand you would probably like to see a different kind of a headshot produced by one of your operatives, but so many agencies are asking for them now…”

“Heh heh, yesss,” he laughed. The Cobra leader finally set down the file and looked at me. Behind the hood, I could just make out the expression on his face change. “You! You! You’re the one who blew up my gloriousss airship! You are the one who worked with the cursed Joe team to stop my plans in Springfield! I ssshould kill you right now.”

“Whoa whoa, hold on right there,” I held up my arms. “To be fair, your assassin Zartan tried to kill me. It was my duty as a presidential candidate to investigate. Then Colonel Scar captured me and was going to kill me as well. I had to defend myself.”

“Hmmm…” Cobra Commander tapped his fingertips together as he thought.

“And at Springfield, er well…” I thought for a moment. “The fact that I’m here now shows that when I was there, I was just doing my job. Pay me now, and I’ll work for you. Pretty mercenary of me, huh?”

“Yessss,” Cobra Commander’s eyes lit up. “I do like mersssenaries… Sssso tell me, right off the bat, if you were to attack a landmark, like sssay the Eiffel Tower, how would you do it?”

“Well let’s see,” I replied. “Teleporting it away has already been done. So has destroying it with meteorites and nanotech. I would still want to do something elaborate though. Probably have a one of a kind machine made that has real unusual and hard to get components, like maybe a freeze ray that uses ionic ice from the South Pole, a rare cold metal found in a South American pyramid, and some sort of power core that we would have to steal from a research lab.”

“I like it! I’ll get my bessst men working on it right away.” He looked at my filecard again. “It says here that you’re a qualified paratrooper.”

“That’s right,” I answered.

“That’s good. You could be a Firebat pilot or a gunner on a Rattler. If your plane gets shot, you could just jump right out and parachute to the ground.”

“Er… sure.”

Cobra Commander slammed the paperwork down and placed his palms on top of them. “I tell you what, Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator, I don’t like this interview very much. I like action. Do you consider yourself a man of action?”

“Of course,” I responded. “I’m Action Man, that is I’m a man of action, you know.”

“Right, right. This issss good because I have a little test for you. Ever take a test to get a job?”

“Sure,” I answered. “I had to write a press release to get a job as a PR intern. I assume that you don’t want me to do any writing though, do you?”

“No I don’t,” Cobra Commander answered. “I have something a little more physical for you; in fact this mission will be your physical. I want you to go to Cobra Island, find a way to sneak into the base there, take out the Cobra ninja guarding Serpentor, and then kill him.”

“Kill Serpentor?” I asked.

“Yesss! I hate him! I hate that damnable clone with his regal arrogance and hisss ‘Thisss I command’ and that stupid cape!” the Commander howled. “I hate that cape. I hate him! Kill him then meet me at the Terror Drome.”

“You go it.” I winked at him and made a pistol out of my forefinger and aimed it at him, making a clicking noise to complete the effect.

* * *

The guard was bored. It was a quiet night with a full moon and no one ever attacks a base under a full moon if they can help it. There’s just too much light.

The coffee he just drank to keep him awake just went right through him. A full bladder and boredom make for a long night, so he decided to just let it out right there.

Nobody else was down by the docks. There was a small river that led straight into the Gulf of Mexico with a number of buildings built up around it. Further down were it was deeper, Water Moccasins and Moray Eels were docked but nothing was here where the water was only about a foot deep.

Splish splish splish.

The trooper looked up. Some idiot was running straight at him in the river. It wouldn’t be an attack would it? Why would someone attacking be right out in the open like that?

With a jumping back kick, I sprung up out of the water and clocked him in the jaw. I was then ready to give him my cool action line.

“I thought you’d get a kick out of that,” I smirked. Yeah, I’ll use a better line next time.

The Cobra Ninja was tougher. He was too quick and agile for me but I managed to stun him with the sonic disrupter on my Wristcomm and finish him off with a flying kick.

I then made my way to Cobra Commander in the Terror Drome. “Mission accomplished,” I said.

“You killed Serpentor?” he asked.

“Well no,” I answered.

“You failed?!” he screamed.

“No, I just subcontracted it out,” I explained. “I hired Zartan to do it.”

“You got someone else to do it?” he hissed gleefully. “I like it. Showsss that you’re definitely management material.”

Resume: Darth Nepharia

2009-08-12T19:51:00.010-04:00

Meridi Drana
aka, Darth Nepharia
Coruscant, Core Systems

Objective

To see Chancellor Palpatine (aka Darth Sidious) die a painful and hideous death. Take over known space and be a ruler with an iron hand of all I see.

Education

Jedi Temple, Coruscant; 43-29 BBY.

Learned from many of the great Jedi Masters; beginning and intermediate Force manipulation; Light Saber defense and attack; meditation techniques; emotion control.

Private tutelage, Caius Aldacia, Dark Lord of the Sith; 29-25 BBY.

Learned advanced Force manipulation; harnessing emotions to increase Force strength as well as physical strength and speed. Perfected many advanced, dark-side techniques and skills such as Paralysis, Force Lightning, and Temporary Madness, among others.

Experience

29 through 25, Before the Battle of Yavin; Caius Aldacia, Dark Lord of the Sith.

Worked learning a trade as a gem cutter as a cover for being a Sith Apprentice. Gained experience as an assassin and spy as well as how to infiltrate and manipulate more powerful social circles to our advantage

25 through 24, BBY; Chancellor Palpatine, Dark Lord of the Sith.

Personally recruited by Chancellor Palpatine to hold the position of Left Hand of the Sith Lord. Worked closely with his advisor serving as her body guard; also performed assassinations as needed; learned to communicate with those that have passed on to be one with the Force.

24 through 23, BBY.

Currently working as an independent contractor.

Skills

Int. Light Saber Fighting
Force Lightning
Force Persuasion
Force Wound
Paralysis
Force Madness
Force Push
Force Stun
Mind Trick
Force Speed

Force Slow
Force Throw
Force Healing
Levitation
Saber Throw
Mind Control
MS Windows XP /Vista
MS Office 2003 / 2007 for Windows
MS Office 2008 for Mac
Linux

Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator: Team One has a picnic

2009-08-12T13:08:00.005-04:00

I sat smiling at my teammates as I popped a grape into my mouth.

“Guys, we’ve been doing great,” I grinned. “We’re on a tear, winning an unprecedented 3 challenges in a row.”

“I’d think it was unprecedented,” Nepharia smiled slyly. “This is the first time this game has been played.”

“Right,” I nodded. “And since I am, ipso facto, El Jefe for this week’s challenge I thought I’d reward us all with a picnic lunch.”

“Jon, you do realize that we’re in the boardroom, don’t you?” Professor Xavier asked. “Having a picnic indoors is a little unusual, to say the least.”

“Yeah but I don’t want to have it outside,” I explained. “Too many ants. Anyway, I’m the ipso facto El Jefe and Team One’s been an unstoppable juggernaut—”

“I don’t think ipso facto means what you think it means,” the telepath interrupted. “And please refrain from using the word juggernaut if you can. There are some bad memories there.”

“OK whatever. So we have a real opportunity to shut down the other team with this challenge. Sure Gyrobo shed a little dead weight in the last few rounds, but he’s going to come out tougher than ever. He’s going to eat lightning and crap thunder. Literally. I’ve seen him do it. That’s why we’re going to work harder as a team to snuff him out.”

“Um Jon,” Nepharia attempted to interrupt.

“Yeah, he’s going to come out of the gate swinging,” I continued. “He’s going to be tough, like one of those little tough animals with the claws that are sharp... what are they called? I dunno, doesn’t matter. That’s why I’m going to pull out the most dangerous secret weapon of all.”

I paused for effect.

“Teamwork. He doesn’t have any teammates anymore, so he’s going to have to do all the work himself but we’ll be working together, like a well oiled clock or something and bingo! His house of cards will come tumbling down like so many dominoes. Checkmate.”

Nepharia rolled her eyes.

“That’s right, we’re going straight for the jugular, or whatever his robot clown hybrid equivalent is, and we’re going to slice it open and he’s going to be thrashing on the ground bleeding all over the place and messing up the carpet and dying. Figuratively speaking of course.”

“Ahem, Jon,” Xavier cleared his throat.

“Oh yeah, Gyrobo knows that it’s 4th and long and he’s down by 5. He knows he needs to go the whole nine yards and he’s going to try a flea flicker, statue of liberty, end around halfback option pass, hail Mary hook and lateral. But you know what that pass is going to do?”

“I’m not even sure what you’re talking about any more,” Nepharia answered.

“He’s talking American football terms again,” Xavier sighed. “Is it football season already?”

Ignoring their comments, I answered my rhetorical question. “That pass is going to clang to the ground.”

“Jon,” Xavier interrupted. “I appreciate your enthusiasm and all, but I have to tell you. We’re not working as a team anymore.”

“What?”

Nepharia folded her arms across each other. “I wasn’t going to tell him.”

“What do you mean we’re not working as a team?”

“We need to work alone to complete this task,” Xavier explained.

“We do?”

“Uh, yeah,” Nepharia added.

“Well that does put an interesting spin on my plan,” I rubbed my chin in deep contemplation. At least I was contemplating thought. “I tell you what, we still got all this food here. Why don’t we just enjoy this meal as a last function of a team?”

I stared at my new opponents as they happily munched on their picnic foods. Professor Xavier eyeballed me back, but took a bit of cold chicken in silence. Nepahria’s gaze shifted back and forth between me and Xavier as she popped a cube of Colby jack into her mouth. My eyes darted between the two as I munched on a handful of BBQ potato chips. Xavier looked at Nepharia, then at me as Nepharia looked him and then at me. We looked at each other. Oh yes, the competition is on.

Duck!!!!!!

2009-08-11T07:26:00.001-04:00

Task Six: Applying Effort

2009-08-10T02:06:00.010-04:00

Welcome, teams...or what's left of them, I should say.

As you can see, Victorious Secret has been decimated.

"Yay! Go team!"

Calm down, Gyrobo. One person does not make a team.

I've got good news and bad news.

The good news is that you are the final four. You've got a one in four shot of becoming The Company Apprentice and winning the grand prize, a dream job of a lifetime with me and my new secret company.

"Woo hoo!"

"Yippee!"

*applause*

The bad news, however, is that two of you will be fired this week!

"Whaaa??"

"NooOoOoocoooOOOO!!"

*screams*

For this task, there are no more teams. Each of you will be competing individually. Now, it has occurred to me that it's several weeks into this job application process and not a single one of you has interviewed or turned in a résumé. We can't have that. And for legal purposes, there is the standard physical and drug test.

Permission not obtained for use

And here at the Company, we're all about doing things in the most legal way possible.

So, it's time for the four of you to submit yourselves to a true job application process.

Jon, your interviewer is on his way here now.

Cobra Commander

Nepharia, your interviewer is driving in as we speak.

Hello Kitty

Charles, it's quite possible yours is already here, and if not, he'll teleport here shortly.

Dr. Manhattan

Gyrobo, you may have thought your interviewer has been dead, but I assure you that was all a grand conspiracy. He's on his way over from the undisclosed location he's been living in for the past fifteen years.

Richard Nixon

Each one of you will be posed numerous questions by your individual interviewer. They will report back to me using a sophisticated performance chart.

You will also need to somehow manage to pass a drug test and physical.

And don't forget to create a résumé. This should be given to me and your interviewer for review. Impress us with your extensive qualifications.

Challenge Five
Prepare and submit a résumé

Interview with your chosen interviewer

Pass, truthfully or not, a drug test and physical

This is it lady and gentlemen and robot. Only two of you will remain after this. You four have proven yourself worthy so far, but half of you will not make it to the final round, and only one of you can become The Company Apprentice!

You're Fired: Number Five

2009-08-10T01:17:00.002-04:00

"So, who should I fire?" I asked the remnants of Victorious Secret.

They sat silently. Nobody made a sound.

"Well," I continued, "should I fire Koma?"

Gyrobo dropped his so-called magic eight ball, which proceeded to roll under the table. "I think that's a 'Concentrate and ask again' one," he said.

"Ciera? Should I fire you?" I asked the fiery woman.

She rolled her eyes and replied, "Don't ask me. I'm a dog person."

I ignored the fact that didn't make sense and went on to Koma. "So, tell me. You've been the most losingest of all. Why shouldn't I fire you?"

"Cats?" he cried. "YouTube cats??" He threw his hands up in the air and said, "I don't care who you fire. Nothing you say or do makes any sense, and your lackeys are idiots."

"Yeah, flip a coin or something," Ciera added.

I pulled out a special coin, just for this occasion. "In honor of Maverick University, and all the great entertainment it's provided us this season of the Company Apprentice, I have this special, commemorative quarter."

"Heads."

"Tails."

Gyrobo, Koma and Ciera oohed and awed on the inside.

Before flipping the aforementioned coin, I explained, "Heads I fire Koma. Tails I fire Ciera."

I positioned the commemorative quarter on the edge of my index finger with my thumb tucked beneath. Pressure built up slowly before my index finger allowed my thumb to shoot up, propelling the shiny currency high into the air. As it began its journey downward, a sudden blast was heard. The coin was struck in midair by a bullet, and we all turned to witness the gunman.

"Where's my money?" the blue coin-assassin hollered.

Just as I trained him to do, The Haitian quickly tackled our new foe. He was quickly subdued, though his limbs flailed about sporadically making him difficult to pin. As The Haitian escorted him out, taking him down to Level 5, Claire asked about the coin flip. "So, like, who won the flip thingy?"

"I think that's a 'Better not tell you now' one," Gyrobo answered.

I looked at Koma, then at Ciera, and said, "You're both fired."

Tongs of Doom!!!!!

2009-08-10T00:22:00.001-04:00

Fifth Boardroom

2009-08-09T03:18:00.003-04:00

"That was a close one," I said, "but you guys lost. Barely. But you lost. YouTube cats...probably seems so obvious now."

"Those cats were great," The Haitian added.

"Oh, my god! So cute!" exclaimed Claire.

"Your team," I looked at The Boss, Ciera, "didn't have YouTube cats. Why not?"

"We're dog people," she answered.

"I see." I looked over at Gyrobo, with his silly little grin on his robotic face. "You look happy. Probably with good reason. You made the website, right? It was great. Excellent."

"It was very good," The Haitian added.

"Oh, my god! So cute!" exclaimed Claire.

"The website was ingenious. The TV show was great, too. Paper Jam. I love it. I'd watch it." I leaned onto the board table and let a pause pass while I adjusted into serious criticism mode. "But filming the pilot, that was a bit of a mess, wasn't it? Drunk, sex-offending Muppets? Was that the best you could come up with?"

"They were not great," The Haitian added.

"Oh, my god! So lame!" exclaimed Claire.

I continued, "To be honest with you, it looks like it's between Ciera and Koma. Gyrobo, has really been a superstar during all this. Hasn't he? I think you'd agree that he's been a superstar. I'm not sure which one of you to fire, though. Koma, you're still falling a bit flat, but the graphic design work for the last task was great. Ciera, though, you have really been stepping up since about two tasks ago. Very good performances. The other team is just doing slightly better. So, I gotta see what you have to say."

The three sat there silently. Gyrobo continued grinning.

I fired off questions. "Who would you fire? Why should I keep you? Why should I fire Koma? Why should I fire Ciera? Do you really want to stay in this? Do you have what it takes? Who has a better shot at going up against Team One?"

Task Five: Winners

2009-08-08T13:37:00.003-04:00

The two teams gathered in front of me, anxious for their judgment.

"Incredible work," I said as I finished going through the Paper Jam website. "Now, let's see how Team One did."

Nepharia smiled (a rare occurrence) as she showed me a hilarious cat YouTube.

I laughed all through it, and after it was over said, "Amazing. Absolutely amazing."

Jon and The Professor high-fived each other.

"Now, it's time," I announced, "to find out who won this. It's close. I really think it's close."

Koma rolled his eyes and mumbled, "He always says that."

"First up," I said, ignoring Koma's untoward behavior, "your messages."

The Haitian spoke up about Team One, "The message here was quite clear. Team One Rocks."

Claire interjected, "Actually, it was Team One Rules."

Nepharia clarified, "Team One Rocks or Rules."

"Victorious Secret," Claire began, "went with, like, a message of totally buying paper and then, like, had undertones (Oh, my god! How do I know that word?) of protecting family."

"Team One's message is very effective," I stated. "It's short, simple and to the point, despite having two variations. But remember, you're being judged on the creativity of it. And while 'Team One Rules/Rocks' may be an effective subliminal message to sieze control of the hearts and minds of the world, it's not very creative."

Jon's bottom lip dropped forward.

I continued, "On the other hand, Victorious Secret's message wasn't extremely creative either. I was hoping one of you would convince the world that helium balloons are powered by the yeast from invisible loafs of bread, or something. Gyrobo, what happened? You had the opportunity to propagate any message, and you went with Buy Paper, Protect Your Family. I do appreciate the obvious butt-kissing there, however. And they're good solid messages. While I think having an evil paper company that attempts to kill its employees, and their family, may put the public at odds with paper and paper products, I've got to award the point to Victorioius Secret. Team One, you had an effective message, but it just wasn't creative."

The Professor tried to reverse my decision with his telepathy while The Haitian struggled in his seat. Eventually, he gave up, and I went on to the next point.

"Originality of the premise," I rubbed my chin in thought. "Victorious Secret, I'm not sure how you came up with such an engaging, complex and dramatic storyline full of deceit and surprises. It's very original, and a very good premise, thoroughly fleshed out. Team One, your premise was obviously not original, right?"

Jon nodded. "But it's tried and true!"

"While the crime dramas make an effective show for syndication and profits, they don't have the powerful manipulative effects of a program like Battlestar Galactica or LOST. Another point to Victorious Secret. So say we all."

"So say we all," Jon whispered lamentably.

"Now, the quality of the pilot," I looked over at Koma. "Synthoids, are they really as good as real humans?"

"You tell me," he replied. "How was Megan Fox?"

"Like I said before," I explained, "I had to confiscate her. In this business there's no time for physical intimacy."

Professor X jumped out of his wheelchair. "What?"

I continued with the judgment, and Charles settled back down in his handicapable seat. "You never get evil Muppets to write a TV series. Ever hear of Journey Man? Exactly. Charles, excellent use of cleavage. Not only did it raise the quality of your pilot, but it also raised....the viewership of The Company Apprentice. You and Jon were great actors, perhaps even proving that, unless you want a show like Grey's Anatomy, you shouldn't use robots for actors. Sorry, Gyrobo. This point goes to Team One and the Professor's excellent directing ability."

"Unfortunate," Gyrobo stated, "but not very chewy."

"Effectiveness of the pitch," I said. "Jon, the executives were very impressed with your pitch. They see the opportunity to make a lot of money. When I asked them what they thought, they told me, 'Team One Rocks'. It was good move putting Private Hudson up as patsy to let the executives remove. They always want to make you feel like their in charge. You knew they would kick out Hudson. Who wouldn't? And that would give them the illusion of having some creative control."

Jon smiled.

"Ciera, you could have used a Private Hudson. The executives were all over your decisions. I would have stood strong on the three hour pilot. They were impressed with your business model, though. I think one was using business model as a euphemism for something else, however. It was very close. You both gave great pitches, but I think Jon has the upperhand when it comes to wowing dull, uptight nondescripts. Team One gets the point."

Ciera counted on her fingers, then said, "Oh, no. We're tied."

"That's right," I responded. "Two points each. And all that's left is the viral element of the task. Victorious Secret, your website is excellent. I scored a 60% on the quiz. I also enjoyed the Making Of commentary, though I'm not sure if that's viral or not. It was, regardless, an interesting and entertaining addition to the overall project."

The mentally untarded robot smiled.

"The review of Team One's show was really great. I'm not sure how you accomplished that, but I suspect Jon had something to do with it. He truly has a billion dollar brain. But then there was the YouTube cats...."

I paused for dramatic effect.

"Eh," Professor Xavier said, "the dramatic effect pause doesn't really work here."

So, I continued, "That was great. Hilarious. If the cats were on a third team competing on The Company Apprentice, I think you'd all be fired by now. So, the point goes to..."

I paused and glanced at Charles. He nodded.

So, I let the pause linger a while.

"Team One," I announced. "Team One wins. It was very, very close. Both viral efforts were excellent, but ultimately you can't say no to a cat YouTube."

Ciera looked like she was holding back an inferno.

"Since there is only three on your team," I explained, "there's no reason to pick people to join you in the boardroom. Ciera, Gyrobo, Koma....one of you will be fired."

Meeting The Execs

2009-08-07T22:35:00.008-04:00

I had at first thought to dress a little more conservatively to meet with the network execs, but when I heard the problems Koma was having with the team of writers and shooting the pilot, I decided to stick to my normal outfit.

It does get a bit chilly sometimes, especially when the AC is running full blast, as is the case in the office of head network executive Todd Bently. With him are three other nameless character, all looking like they've been cut from the same bolt of cloth. Literally.

Bently lowers the script he is reading, the original, not the one that's been hacked to pieces by two bit writers. "So what we have here, is a man torn between protecting his family and uncovering the truth."

"Plus lots of action and scandal to go along with it," I reply.

"Hmm, I see that. Hired guns. Daughter being seduced to the dark side, so to speak. It's a frustrated marriage, causing friction...tell me, Miss Ciera...is there going to be any sex in this series?"

"How could there not be when the very danger that they face reignites the passion between Nathan and his wife? Not to mention that Jessika is a young and beautiful woman...no doubt the evil Dingus seducing her to betray her father will involve some sort of sexcapade." I am beginning to feel a little nervous, but am trying not to show it.

"I see that you and your team have already started to go viral," he commented.

Not sure if that was a direct question, I answer anyways. "Yes. I take it you've seen our Paper Jam website that details the cast and characters?"

"It's very impressive. Especially since haven't approved the show yet, or even the pilot. One might even say risky."

"Risk is part of the business! And it shows how much we believe in the message of our show."

"Quite. The thing is...heroic fathers aren't much in demand at the moment. Better that we recast the wife as the hero, and the husband as a bumbling oaf who keeps tipping the hand to the assassin. We like the changeling daughter though."

"You can't change that!" I demand angrily. "That's the very reason why fathers are frowned upon and disregarded as useless these days. TV keeps casting them as oafs! It's time that someone changes this. This show, if you'll allow it to remain as is, will speak to nations as to the role of the father, his struggles between balancing family, work, and duty. You can start that change, if you're brave enough!

"We have plenty of fine sponsors chomping at the bit for this series to be given the green light. Not to mention we'll be using synthoids instead of real actors. Think of the money that would save! If you want that money to go to someone else, then fine...this meeting is over and I'll be on my way..." I stand with a flourish of my cape.

"Oh, sit Miss Ciera." Bently sighs. "It always comes down to the money, doesn't it?"

I sit back down, crossing my legs unladylike, hoping it's seen as provactive. "Do we have a deal? Koma's all set to film a three hour pilot using his synthoids."

"Three hours! That's outrageous!"

I sigh dramatically. "Fine, how does an hour and a half sound? That'll give you a whole half hour to devote to commercials."

"That's much better. All right, go ahead. You've got the green light. Send us the pilot and 12 more episodes...if you can sell it to the public, we'll talk about a second season."

Realizing that's as good as I'm going to get, I sign the paperwork.

"Tell me, how do the stars feel about not acting in the series, instead relying on these synthoids you mentioned?"

"We sold it to them as free publicity. I've even got my crew from last task starting fake blogsites, MySpace and facebook profiles. It keeps them out of trouble."

My cellphone rings and it's Koma. "Don't tell them that there's a fire...please...but get down here now!" he all but yells in my ear.

Bently chuckles. "Maybe you should have set him to writing those fake profiles instead."

"Maybe. If you'll excuse me."

He's still laughing as I leave.

Making Of Paper Jam

2009-08-07T22:30:00.002-04:00

The viewpoints presented are not those of SyFy. For more information about the series, please visit the Paper Jam Website.

JOHN: “Hi, I’m John Colm, lead writer for the hit series ‘Erased.’”

ELLIOT: “I’m Elliot Lewis, the other lead writer.” *laughs*

CHRISTINE: “And I’m Christine Han, from storyboarding.”

JOHN: “First off, thanks for buying the first season of ‘Erased’ on DVD. Actually, didn’t we change the name to ‘Paper Jam?’”

ELLIOT: “’Erased’ was the codename, and the name of the pilot. The series is ‘Paper Jam.’”

JOHN: “The muppets came up with both names.”

CHRISTINE: “Next, let’s tell the viewers a little about how we got started here.”

ELLIOT: “I started working with Gyrobo in the 90s. We wrote some scenes in ‘Titanic’. Of course, we lost the rights to them when Gyrobo refused to work with Leonardo DiCaprio. He originally wanted to cast Chris Farley as Jack Dawson. This came literally right after Gyrobo was thrown out of Icon for trying to cast Phil Hartman as the lead in ‘Braveheart.’”

CHRISTINE: “Wasn’t that when he started that doomsday cult?”

ELLIOT: “No. That was after Farley and Hartman died, because those were literally the only two actors he was interested in casting. But that’s how we met. He surprised me last year when I was working on ‘Atlantis’, said he was onto a new project.”

CHRISTINE: “Similar story here, we worked on ‘Clumps: The Musical’ in 2002. It was a rebuttal to ‘Hair.’”

JOHN: “He stuffed me in a burlap sack until the crying stopped.”

CHRISTINE: “I got a phone call from him last week, ‘Chrissy! Pack up the kiddos and speedos! We’re goin’ fer the BIG TIME!’”

JOHN: “…but it didn’t…”

CHRISTINE: “We went to Europe to visit paper mills and Egyptian papyrus museums. He said we needed a feel of the history of paper.”

ELLIOT: “We spent literally days sketching paper.”

JOHN: “I asked him, ‘why paper?’ He told me he’d been conducting an experiment with clocks, hanging them over his sink, when he slipped and hit his head. And that’s when he had a vision. He saw an image—”

CHRISTINE: “Futuristic paper, written on with digital ink.”

JOHN: “…it’s liquid paper. That was his thing. That was the show. But we couldn’t sell it on that alone.”

ELLIOT: “We spent… God, at least four months working with branding consultants, trying to get a message. Remember Tintar…?” *others nod in agreement*

JOHN: “Lou Tintarello. He actually approached us. Wasted weeks trying to convince us to use our ‘digital pulpit’ to push his message of ‘heavenly dumpster-diving,’ or whatever it was.”

ELLIOT: “’Tell the people that their path to God lies in their own droppings.’ ‘The spiritual awareness of a people derives from their material discardation.’ He was crazy.”

CHRISTINE: “Gyrobo believed in him.”

ELLIOT: “Gyrobo believes it’s not possible to photograph the dark side of the moon because ‘satellites don’t work that way.’ If we could’ve kept paying his outrageous consulting fees, the show would be 43 minutes of pure garbage.”

JOHN: “He tried to cast Sarah Palin.”

CHRISTINE: “Gyrobo or Tintarello…?”

JOHN: “Gyrobo was intent on proving Alaska was part of the continental United States. He wanted her to tell people it was. That was his agenda.”

ELLIOT: “We ended up making Alaska a big part of the show. That’s where Doctor Nunn worked, at Maverick University.”

JOHN: “It’s a real place. We got permission to shoot there, but we had to bring in a ton of extras. The male-female ratio there is even worse than the rest of Alaska.”

ELLIOT: “Is your chair sticking?”

CHRISTINE: “My chair is fine.”

JOHN: “So after Tintarello left I told Gyrobo, ‘if you want a message you need conflict.’ He said, ‘why not have his boss trying to kill him like they do that there?’ He slurred his words, too.”

ELLIOT: “Does anybody want to change chairs?”

JOHN: “So we decided to have his boss try to kill him, which was perfect, because we’d already decided that his boss had stolen the liquid paper formula from Dr. Nunn before having her ‘erased.’ Hey, I just got that! ‘Erased.’”

CHRISTINE: “That’s why we called the pilot ‘Erased.’”

ELLIOT: “My chair is the Leaning Tower of Pisa here.”

JOHN: “The series starts with Nathan Carter, a manager at a paper mill in the future — LPI, Liquid Paper Incorporated — overseeing the output of millions of sheets of liquid paper each day. He stumbles onto an old newspaper from one of LPI’s biggest clients during an audit before LPI merges with Google.”

CHRISTINE: “Keep in mind, this is while Google faces an antitrust lawsuit. LPI can’t afford any improprieties.”

JOHN: “The paper talks about LPI founder Devlin Dingus, but says that an enigmatic Dr. Nunn was the one who invented the technology behind liquid paper. Nathan checks the paper against the ‘official’ records, and can’t find the article or any mention of Dr. Nunn.”

ELLIOT: “It was my idea to have a newspaper as THE central plot device. A bridge between the past and not-too-distant future.”

JOHN: “This contradicts everything Nathan knows about liquid paper, that it was created by Dingus in his mom’s basement. His bosses suddenly take notice and tell him to drop it. But he’s too headstrong, and decides to keep pressing. He finds himself fired and under fire from hired guns… ”

CHRISTINE: “The only way he can protect his family and expose Dingus is to find Dr. Nunn and shatter the conspiracy. Every episode has him using a clue from the previous episode to reach a new location. Along the way he encounters recurring assassins, people with secrets of their own to protect, and his biggest foe, liquid paper itself — each sheet of which is actively scanning for his face and ready to transmit his whereabouts to LPI.”

*** BEGIN SPOILER ALERT! ***

ELLIOT: “As the series progresses, we learn that Nunn’s wild experimentation with liquid paper produced an amazing new variant codenamed ”Papyrus“. What it does is anyone’s guess — once Nathan learns of its existence it at the end of season one, it becomes the focus of season two.”

*** END SPOILER ALERT! ***

CHRISTINE: “And Nathan can only keep his family safe by leaving them. That was the message I think we latched onto: protecting your family.”

ELLIOT: “His daughter doesn’t seen to think so.” *laughs*

JOHN: “That was Koma’s idea.”

CHRISTINE: “Koma?”

JOHN: “You didn’t work with him, you were in storyboarding. He was one of the investors. Came by every day, at first with donuts. We liked him, but then the donuts stopped and he started bringing those pit-bulls.”

ELLIOT: “His idea was that Nathan’s daughter Jessika would be approached by Dingus, who would lie and convince her that her father was the real criminal. She would turn against him without him knowing, setting up that cliffhanger.”

CHRISTINE: “My kids loved that cliffhanger.”

ELLIOT: “Your kids loved that episode of ‘SpongeBob’ where he ingested toxic paint.”

CHRISTINE: “That show’s gone downhill…”

ELLIOT: “Speaking of downhill, find out how that cliffhanger ends when the new season of ‘Paper Jam’ starts.”

JOHN: “Season 2 premiers on SyFy on Friday, July 1, 2011 at 10 PM eastern.”

ELLIOT: “Thanks for watching. And remember…”

ALL: “Let’s Jam!”

ELLIOT: “I’m standing up now.”

Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator: Team One Rules

2009-08-07T18:18:00.002-04:00

http://allthatcoolnews.blogspot.com/2009/08/team-one-criminal-intent.html

Xavier Shoots A Pilot

2009-08-07T17:30:00.005-04:00

"Quiet on the set!" shouted the best boy. "Team One: Criminal Intent, scene one! Rolling!" he burst again.

"Action!" I called from the director's chair, also my hover chair.

Darth Nepharia strolled through the doorway onto the set which was made to look like a restaurant kitchen. Jon followed her in, his agile eyes scanning the room. Nepharia walked over to the still body laying sprawled on the floor. She crouched down, leaned forward and felt his neck. She looked up to Jon and said, "He's dead."

"That would explain all the brains splattered against the wall," Jon said.

"Do you think we'll be able to catch the killer?" asked Nepharia.

Jon hung his head at a dramatic angle. "Fortunately for us . .," Jon paused to dramatically put on his sunglasses, " . . we now have brains to spare." As Jon spoke the last word he dramatically tuned on his heel and walked off camera.

"Cut!" I yelled. "Good work, everyone. Let's do one more. This time, Nepharia, I'd like you to lean in a little more towards the camera."

"Why?" she asked.

"Er, dramatic effect?"

"Fine," she answered with a shrug.

While the scene was being reset, I walked over to the second unit, taping across the lot. Margeaux with an X from the network was there waiting.

"Ah, Professor Xavier," she said in a stiff, corporate drone kind of way. "Oh, I didn't realize . . that is . . your wheel chair . ."

"Yes, that was a sprained ankle. I'm feeling better."

"Wonderful," the studio executive said. "So, which scene is this?"

The set was dressed as a living room. Several cats were roaming around. "This is the killer's home," I explained. "Evil people always have cats. These are the same cats we're using in the viral video to promote the show."

"Excellent," she said. "And what's going to happen in this scene?"

"The killer will enter his home and hide the murder weapon in the one place no police person would ever check - the cat liter box. We never see the killer's face though, to build suspense to the end."

"And how does the show end?" she asked.

"On that set over there, at the funeral. In fact, I think we're almost ready to shoot now."

After Jon and Nepharia finished their previous shoot, they changed and walked over to the funeral set. We three took our places off set while the other actors and extras stood around the open coffin. "Action," I called and the extras started walking past the casket. A woman was crying over the body. Jon and I walked over to her.

"Mrs. Pilottee?" I said, dramatically flipping open my wallet to reveal a non-descript badge. "Hannibal, CSI. We have uncovered your husband's murderer."

The actress looked shocked. "That's right, ma'am," Jon continued. "It was simple really, once we uncovered the motive. You see your husband had become involved in an illegal kitten juggling syndicate. He had been feeling guilty about the nature of the business though and was about to rat out his partner."

"And that would be you, Escobar!" I said accusingly, as I whirled dramatically towards an actor standing nearby, pointing my index finger.

The actor suddenly turned and started to run towards the door. Nepharia moved in front of him, drawing her lightsaber. She was about to flick it on and cut him in half when I shouted, telepathically, no. Instead she kicked him in the face, hard. The actor went flying back, crashing on the ground. Blood poured from his nose. Jon and I looked at each other and shrugged. I turned to the camera and said, dramatically of course, "I guess our killer couldn't . . face the music."

Paper Jam - Writing and Shooting the Pilot

2009-08-07T06:32:00.015-04:00

Write and shoot the pilot.
It was not as easy as I thought it was going to be. In fact I'd prepared 2 groups of writers to hammer out the initial pilot. One was a crack group of televsion writers who'd produced award winning British, American and Australian drama.

The other group was these guys.

Of course the crack group of writers had egos and rifts began to form quickly. In an attempt to unify the award wining writers I locked them up in a basement. I checked on them a day later and they had all killed themselves. It might have had something to do with the motivational song I had playing in a loop.

I asked for the Dolly Parton version, but, the producers wouldn't allow it.

It was left to the b-listers to write the pilot, but, under my direction I was sure we'd have a total hit on our hands. By the end of the first day we had the basic plot of the series down and were working hard on the dialouge of the lead characters.
"And I'm cute too!" threatened the skinny blue guy whose name was Grohvar. "Say it you piece of fluff. Say it!" he screamed. He was holding a revolver on the head of the guy call Bjert.
"Ten to one he kill him then I eat his carrot." said the carrot monster to me.
"Thats all great dialouge guys." I congratulated. "But I'm not sure thats what a loving daughter says to her father even if she's in league with the bad guys trying to stop her father from uncovering their evil consipiracy."
The script was finished and no one died, Bjert went mad and left, but, the script was finished and that was the main thing. Then we had to cast the family and the main cast of this drama I had my pick of the finest actors available for pilots. I beleive we got it right.
Then the bad guys. The evil corporate overlord.

Excellent!

Now getting the assassin was a bit diffcult cause El-moe went and advertised in "Soldier of Fortune"
We got a few basic mercs and some extras. They said they'd do their own stunts so we hired them all. Of course then Urnie got all up in my grill about not hiring a female assassin to subvert the male dominated stereotype. Urnie had a point so I hired one.

Of Pilots and Funerals...

2009-08-06T20:49:00.008-04:00

We do not have te-le-vi-zhun on Courusant. And quite frankly I don't understand it.

What I can gather it is, that people watch security holotape footage of other people doing strange stuff. Except the people doing the strange stuff are just *pretending* to do that strange stuff. You people call it entertainment. I call it down right weird.

My favorite form of entertainment: staying out of the Emperor's way. My real life is far more exciting that any footage on a holotape; I just don't understand you people.

Then we get told by Bennet that we have to create a TV show with a message, shoot a pilot, pitch the show to some boorish execs, and, if we have time, do some viral marketing. I signed up for shooting the pilot of course: seemed right up my alley. But then I discovered something...

"Nepharia...." Xavier began, mouth agape. "That isn't quite what we were looking for when we told you we needed a pilot."

"But Jon said we were pitching a show about crime -- couldn't we just use him for that?" I said, motioning to the body on the table. "So what type of pilot did you want? American Airlines? Southwestern? I probably could have got one of those Delta pilots, but they run real fast...."

Jon sat over in his corner with his hand over his mouth, shaking and silently laughing to himself. I think I saw tears streaming down his eyes.

"Nepharia," Xavier began, calming himself down. "A pilot is the first episode of a TV show. It gives executives an idea on what the show will be about so they can test it and possibly put it on television and make a lot of money."

He continued, "Our pilot is indeed a crime show, with an underlying -- and subliminal -- message that Team One Rocks or Team One Rules...you get the picture."

I looked at body of the dead rebel pilot on the conference table and sighed.

"It took me a lot of time to get this guy -- it wasn't easy." I said. "I'm not sure if I still have enough time to film an entire pilot -- I think I could probably do a season trailer or something like that," I suggested.

"I'm sure that will do just fine," Xavier said. "I can manage the rest -- then get with Jon and work on some of that viral marketing."

"Ok," I said, then slung the dead body over my shoulder and left the room.

With the information from Xavier, and some creative coaching from Jon, I managed to come up with a slick new advertisement to tease the masses into joining us at the only available time slot:

Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator: And Here's the Pitch

2009-08-06T16:10:00.005-04:00

“Good afternoon we’re from the network. I’m Margeaux Duvoux. That’s with an X.”

“Which name?” I asked as I shook her hand.

“Both,” she replied.

“Hi, I’m Richard Head and I’m an alcoholic.” The second executive shook my hand. “And we’ve got to be honest with you, we’ve got a lot of shows in the works. You’re really going to have to wow us today.”

“We need you to engage us with synergy!” Margeaux added as she pushed her hands together. “We’re looking for something with pizzazz – but not too much pizzazz, we need something that people will want to watch. Something that will put money in the bank.”

“Of course,” I answered. “That’s why I would like to show you Team One: Criminal Intent.”

“Hmmm,” Richard rubbed his forefinger on his upper lip. “Isn’t there already a similar show to this?”

“There is,” I conceded. “But there’s a certain simplistic elegance to the police procedural that works and we’re looking to use that to our advantage.”

“Explain,” Margeaux harrumphed.

“Well, it should be obvious that the police procedural does very well not only in first run, but then subsequently in syndication as well,” I said. “You have a crime, the characters investigate, throw in a few clever lines, solve the crime, then you run the teaser for the next week. Nothing to get you bogged down in a long running story arc or any messy personal details to confuse watchers and prevent them from coming back again.”

“Interesting,” Richard nodded. “But the story arc shows are quite popular right now.”

“Of course they are, but who’s going to watch Lost or Battlestar Galactica in reruns? Nobody, that’s who, because if you miss an episode you miss what’s going on. A viewer needs to either catch up or else drop out. And don’t get me started on that grand ending to BSG. Blah! It ruined the whole story from beginning to end.”

“Well you do have a very valid point, I would rather be in another drug-fueled orgy with Richard here than watch that Battlestar Galactica ending again,” Margaeux agreed. “Tell me though, what is the message that you’re trying to convey with your show?”

“Team One rocks.”

“You just lost me,” Richard groaned with disinterest.

“Look at it this way,” I pushed forward. “You want a simple but easily valid statement for everyone to believe in. This is it. People watch the show, get hooked on the show, then they want more, and that’s what we give them: Spinoffs: Team One Special Victims Unit, Team One: Miami, Team One NCIS, Team One Beach Patrol, Team ONe Beach Patrol Nights, kids shows, lunch boxes, video games, syndication everywhere. That’s how it’s done.”

“I see what you’re saying,” Margeaux with an X nodded. “But I think we need something with a little more oomph, you know. We want to take over everything, what about ‘Bow Down to Team One?’”

“No no, that’s a little too much,” I insisted. “People will get wise to that and start working against our cause. We don’t want our TV station to be overrun by elite counterterrorist units or suave British spies – believe me I’ve seen plenty of that kind of stuff in my day. We just want everyone to dully accept the truth.”

“I like it,” Richard nodded. “It’s a good plan and we don’t really have to work all that hard at it. It’s win win.”

“I like it too. This thing is going to print money,” Margeaux agreed. “One question: who is that first guy on the left in the first picture?”

“Private Hudson? Oh yeah, he’s harmless.”

“Yeah,” Margeaux exhaled. “I don’t think he’ll work for the show.”

“Yeah, not what we’re looking for here,” Richard nodded. “Definitely not the right look.”

“Yes, you will need to ditch the private,” Margeaux agreed.

“You got it,” I said. “He’s gone.”

Rising to the Task

2009-08-04T00:23:00.001-04:00

As Gyrobo and Koma talk amongst themselves, ignoring me, I find myself in the dream again, even though I'm awake. My sister Ariana is tormenting me with her telepathy and I am powerless to help her. No doubt she would give X a run for his money, I think briefly before another wave of projected images assault me...images of me in various humiliating positions, all public and all painful. Then there was the final straw:

And then I'd had enough. I scream in pure agony. I can take her bullying no more.

Energy courses through my body, crackling at my fingertips. It's as though I've suddenly been plugged into a power station...or a thunderstorm...or a small sun. I feel as though I am on fire.

Abruptly I realize that I am awake and the energy I feel coursing through me is no dream. I flare my hand and suddenly Gyrobo and Koma are both looking at me as tiny streaks of lightning arc prettily from my fingers.

They're staring, in fact. Shock. Awe.

"Oh great," Koma mutters, rolling his eyes. "Red Sonja's going postal on us."

"For the last time...I'm not Red Sonja!" I snapped. "Just because I stole one of her pictures up above and doctored it with paint before I found GIMP doesn't mean anything!"

Gyrobo is slowly inching away from Koma, as he is no doubt surmising that my ire is for Koma and Koma alone. "Hey Koma, I have a great idea...let's let her have another chance at being PM."

"What?! Are you kidding?" Koma asked, but then he looked at me again. "Uhm, yeah. I mean, sure. Why not?

"Good." I declare solemnly. "Now that's settled...to business. I think our obvious message ought to be selling paper. Buy Paper - It's our Friend... It's something Bennett will appreciate."

"You do know that he doesn't actually sell paper, right?" Koma asks.

I swat him lightly upside the head. "Don't be a dolt!"

Maybe I shouldn't have done that, for I forgot about the lightning. Koma's eyes go wide and he swoons, passing out prettily on the divan. "Oops."

"I like that idea," Gyrobo said. "And not just because you're as full of energy as a phoenix rising from its grave nor the fact that you just incapacitated our team mate."

"He'll be ok. I've shocked myself worse trying to repair my ship's warp drive. Seriously, do you have any idea how much power they put out?"

Even now, the little purple man was moaning.

"See? Now, since you a great story teller, why don't you start developing a plot about a man who sells paper...but doesn't."

"You mean kind of like..."

Suddenly he and I are aware of our audience...that is, all of you.

"Dammit," I mutter. "Now we'll have to come up with some other message."

"Why not do both?" Gyrobo suggests. "Make the paper message obvious...but insert a second more subtle message?"

"Hmmm...I like it! Increases our challenge." I look at my fingers, the lightning beginning to die down but not completely gone yet. "Well, that was unusual."

"My dear," interjects Professor X, eyeing my hot outfit, no pun intended. Honest. "You do know I run a school for mutants? I could help you train and harness that power to protect you from your sister."

"Uh-huh. No offense, I think I'd be better off learning on my own. But later. Gyro...pick up Koma and let's go find a more private spot."

Gyrobo lifts the moaning Koma over his shoulder, and follows after me.

Farewell

2009-08-03T23:17:00.007-04:00

" In a way this a a flamin' relief I don't have to stay around you any longer Koma." I grin at the purple clad emo genius oops sorry evil genius after we left the boardroom.

Before he answers I tear the suit off revealing a costume underneath.

" Why do you have to wear different costumes?" Koma looks disgusted.

" What ya don't change yer clothes everyday bub? Explains why ya have to date robots." Before he can answer some pasty face dork runs up to me from down the hall. "Ha ha! Loser!"

My claws pop out with a snikt, and Koma vanishes a "voop!" sound sound marking his exit. he knows what's comin' next ain't pretty. But the kid's head explodes in the next second, not by my hand, in a hail O' gunfire.

I turn to find the crimson wearing Merc with a Mouth AKA Deadpoool at the end of the narrow hall gun drawn.

" It's you, and me now! Logan! No Safes! No alien amazons who hurt little Wade in unspeakable ways! You'll pay for making me look bad! And for tryin' to steal Mister Winky!"

I really hope he's talkin' about his teddy bear, either way I know this nut has the advantage in this cramped hall I charge the freak deflecting the bullets I can, many still hit their marks stingin' for a moment before the Healing factor kicks in.

I kick The insane mercenary into the work office of Primatech. The human worker bees all scatter away as I slice through Pool's guns. He take out a sword and from the scabbard on his back, and we go blade to blade.

Fer a moment a sick feeling hits my stomach, and my bones ache like I've never felt before, I growl as my rapidly failing senses pick up the Haitian. So he's tryin' to block my powers huh? well all he's gonna get is the water cooler I toss in his face. " Text this Bub!"

It's kind O' satisfying to watch him slip around in the puddle, tryin' to regain his footing on the slick floor. Dumb thing is I took my eyes Off Pool, as he sunk his blade into my guts lucky for me the Ol' healin' factor had come back.

I slam my claws into his head. " Hey! Thanks you just cleared my sinuses!" Damn it his powers make him as hard to kill as me.

" Look Bub We can do this this all day I drop something on you you drop something on me I claw you, you shoot me and neither one O' us are gonna die."

" You gotta point and since you ain't written by Claremont or Hama anymore, your not guranteed to win, and neither am I since Joe Kelly stopped writing me."

I shake my head at his ramblin'. " Look bub I gotta an idea of how to make it up to you for wantin' to steal your stuffed animal." I smile.

" MR. Winky is more than that! he's my partner and... "

I put my hand up in a stop motion to Deadpool. " Look Wade in that boardroom is a hot blond who's all into ya why don't you go meet her."

He runs down the hall kicks down the heavy wooden dorr hops on the mahogny tabble, and starts some kind O' weird dance in front O' Claire who looks like she's gonna be sick it's even worse when Wilson starts singing' Brittany Spears songs.

Bennet shoots Deadpool straight between the eyes. he falls like a puppet with his strings cut, then Bennet's eyes go wide as the bullet is ejected from Wade's forehead and the hole closes.

Deadpool takes the gun from Bennet. " Hey Pops quit cramping my style. Then he's back to the dancin' Well it's more like a full body dry heave but whatever Deadpool is their problem now.

As I race off on my Harley explosions rip through the building I grin to my self That's before I see this in in the road.

" Fool! Did you think I wouldn't pay you back for that little stunt you pulled on me for this game? Die Rodent!"

He fires a golden beam from his hand and an inferno engulfs my body. Last thing I hear before I black out is his mockin' laughter.

Task Five: Piloting Public Opinion

2009-08-03T13:00:00.005-04:00

Welcome, teams.

As we begin into the final legs of this competition, things are really heating up. The six of you left are all very strong competitors. The next few weeks will be very interesting.

This week, we have a task which I believe will require all your skill, all your ingenuity and all your anything that's left.

You're tasked with creating a new television series. Television, since its inception, has been a primary tool for corrupting the minds of the masses, as the hit blockbuster film, Batman Forever, proved.

Industry giants such as GE and the NewsCorp have long used television networks to influence public opinion. GE of course works through NBC to convince the world that black people don't exist. And NewsCorp is an Australian attempt at world domination.

Now, more than ever, television's role in a society is one of extreme importance. According to this scientific article, television-viewing is at an all time high.

For this task, you'll be setting up your very own television show that will take advantage of this fact. You will be creating a series that will influence the world in some manner to accept or adopt a message or belief of your choosing.

Challenge Five
Develop a TV series

Insert a message or belief into the series

Shoot the pilot episode

Pitch the series to network executives

Optional: Go Viral

You will be judged on the creativity of your message or belief, the originality of your TV series premise, the quality of the pilot and the effectiveness of your pitch.

Optionally, you may come up with some kind of Internet byproduct to take advantage of "viral" marketing. This could be a YouTube video, a fake website, or even these silly things I recently heard about known as Character Blogs. If you feel so inclined, come up with a way to use the Internet sensation to your advantage, to help promote your TV series and further the reach of your message or belief.

This will likely be the most difficult challenge so far. Choose your project managers quickly and get to work. You have until Friday at midnight, Eastern Standard Time, to complete the task.

You're Fired: Number Four

2009-08-03T12:42:00.003-04:00

Koma, Ciera and Logan sat nervously awaiting my decision.

"Koma!" Claire shouted. "Just fire him, like, already. Gah!"

"It wasn't at all my fault," the selfish purple-clad man whined. "My team failed me. They all failed me. Fire them. Fire The Haitian. Fire that pineapple. Fire anyone but me!"

"Ciera, should I fire Koma?" I asked.

"Sure," she replied quickly. "I think you should leave me in this, at least one more round. I can do better. I will do better."

I nodded thoughtfully and turned to Logan. "Should I fire Ciera?"

"I don't know," he responded. "I'm much better than I've been doing. You'll see."

I let a dramatic silence drop over the boardroom as I glanced over each of the three. There was still an important decision to be made. And it was time to make that decision.

"You know, all three of the members of Team One have been bringing their A game since the beginning," I explained. "They're down one person, but manage to do a lot with the little time and resources available. Victorious Secret needs some work. Hopefully, after this boardroom, things will improve, or they could easily pick you all off one by one."

Another dramatic silence.

Then, I continued, "I think you'll agree that you're performance has been lacking something. I know you can do better. I'm sure of it. I wish I could have seen it earlier. At this point, somebody has to be fired, and I can't very well give everyone a second chance. One of you has to go. And I think the other two fought a little harder to stick around. I'm really sorry to say this, but Logan, you're fired."

Fourth Boardroom

2009-08-02T11:32:00.003-04:00

"Master Yoda was great, wasn't he?" I asked rhetorically to the three losers before me. "You know, he's probably pushing one hundred or so by now, but he's still got a mostly keen mind. Great guy, that Yoda."

The Haitian nodded.

"He's icky," stated Claire.

"So, let's see then," I turned to Koma, The Boss of this losing team. "It was close, wasn't it? Don't you think it was close?"

"It was," he answered. "I think we should have won."

"But you lost," I replied. "I have to fire someone. Who knows? Maybe it'll be you."

"Yeah, like, fire Koma," Claire said. "I don't get the whole, like, syn...fake women, like, thing."

I carefully considered her reasoning. Then, The Haitian spoke out, "Fire Logan."

"What?" Wolverine demanded. "That guy speaks?"

The Haitian continued, "His performance has been mediocre thus far."

"But," I added, "on the plus side, he scares small children."

"This is true," The Haitian conceded.

"But," I further added, "on the down side, he brought back disturbing memories of Granny Goodness.

Logan looked tense. Most likely not due to the possibility of getting fired, but rather because we forced him to wear a suit.

I looked over at Ciera. "Should I fire Ciera?" I tossed the idea out there.

"No," The Haitian replied.

I gave him an odd look. "Any reason why?"

"No, not really," he answered.

"This is a tough one," I said. "You know, I probably say that a lot. Every boardroom is tough, but they just keep getting tougher. This is the toughest yet."

There was a quiet buzzing sound. Ciera looked down, read something then giggled. The Haitian smiled.

Ignoring the odd, obviously rebellious behavior, I continued, "Koma, you've been in the boardroom a lot, barely escaping each time. However, you've also been improving each week. Ciera, you've been consistent. Consistently not great. Good, but not great. I see potential, but you're not reaching it. And Logan, you've been consistent too. Consistently not great. Consistently not as good as Ciera. Consistently sometimes better than Koma. But you get things done, Logan. You fend off ninja brats, you crush Deadpools."

"It seems to me," The Haitian spoke up, "there is a considerable lack of effective team work. With the exception of Ciera."

"And Gyrobo," I added. His point resonated. It did seem that Victorious Secret has always had a tougher time picking a project manager and deciding on what to do. "Maybe there are too many strong personalities on this team. For some reason, you're not functioning effectively. Too much time is wasted early on with logistics, and you can't get as much done. Is that the case? What can be done about it?" I looked them over again then said, "Who would you fire? Why shouldn't I fire you?"

Fired You Are: The Decisioning

2009-08-01T17:26:00.013-04:00

"So, to an end this task comes. A decision I must make," I said to Darth Horn-Rimmed as for the teams to gather in the hall we waited.

"Yes," he replied, "it's time."

I nod, "Who lives and who dies, I must decide."

"What? No!" he said, as out his nose his coffee came, "Just choose which team won the challenge! That's all!"

"So lame this contest is."

"You know, you didn't have to dress like me. It wasn't really necessary."

"Like you, I have dressed? Hmm, yes, the similarity I see, now. But for the Isaac Asimov look, I was going."

In to the hall, the two teams filed. Covered in mud and swamp grass, most of them were. A few days and some kerosene it will take to get that smell out their hair and skin.

"Well," I said to them, "like to congratulate each team on its performance, I would. Many tourists to Dagobah have come:"

"A fine time they appear to be having, hmm, yes.

"Crowded, my restaurant and bait shop have become. No longer rely on the export of alligator poop, the Dagobah economy must. Perhaps improve the parking situation we could, though. But risen to almost 15%, the Visitor Survival Rate on Dagobah has! Twice as good as last year that is! So, good news all around, there is.

"But, choose a winning team, I must. On your performance I must score you. Only one fair way to do this, there is. The Google algorithm I must use."

All at once, the crowd gasped.

His bald head, Professor X rubbed, "Do you mean the algorithm Google uses to rank web pages? That knowledge is forbidden!"

"What Google uses it for, that is? Stupid Intern, tell me that, why did you not?! Been using it to organize my CD collection, I have. Anyway, the nerdiness of my Stupid Intern, you have underestimated. A doofus he is, yes, but strong with him, the geek side is. As your strengths and weaknesses I list, into his laptop enter them he will. When done he is, revealed the winning team will be! So, begin with Victorious Secret I will.

"Captain Koma, a very good idea, your heath spa was, so a value of 57*3.4 I can assign to your team."

"Cool!" psyched, Koma was.

Over I looked at my Stupid Intern, furiously into his computer he typed.

"But," I continued, "divide that total I must by the square root of the number of innocent tourists caught in the crossfire when mowing down your synthoids you were."

More, my Stupid Intern typed.

Dejected, Koma looked. "Aw, man!"

"Ciera, though risky, hiring Kenobi is, glad I am that a job you gave him. Always over at my house, watching my cable and bringing his dirty laundry he is. But this week, too busy to do that he was. So, a value of 84.9*3 I can apply to your team's performance. But, stuck in my front yard, Mr. Griswald's Family Truckster got! So deduct the number of credits I had to pay my landscaper to fix the place, I must."

Very intensely, at his keyboard my Stupid Intern worked.

"Wolverine, good initiative you showed when 'The Wolverine Experience' you created. So a value of 27*6.9 I can add to your team's score. However, unforgivable it is that Granny Goodness in a bikini you inflicted on Dagobah! Scarier than your ~~admantyem~~ ~~adamenti~~ ~~admanateeuhm~~ sharp pointy things that come out of your hands, she is! Unable to go to sleep at nights I am, because everytime my eyes I close, that image I see! So deduct from your score I must 3.4*n where the hours of sleep I have lost, n represents."

With incredible focus in his eyes, at his laptop my Stupid Intern labored.

"Gyrobo, very well-written and entertaining your account of your experience was. Your posts I always enjoy. So a value of 33.7*5.239 I can add to your team's total. But, too bad it is that nothing to do with any of the specific tasks I gave you, the post had! So .87*w, where the number of words in your posts w represents, I must deduct from your team's score.

"Besides, a slogan did your team come up with? Required, that was. So another 99*2.8 I must deduct from your score."

On fire, my Stupid Intern's fingers were!

"To Team One, this brings me:

"Jon, very impressed and amused I was by your presentation and advertising campaign. A lot of effort into it you put. Very creative it was. So, a value of 89*23 I can apply to your team. But, the one rule I gave you people, you broke:

"No unicorns on Dagobah are there! Liable for this false advertising the Dagobah Tourism Council is. So deduct from your score I must 19*u, where the lawsuits brought by parents of disappointed 10-year-old girls, u represents."

"Nepharia, very well you organized your team, and a very catchy slogan you came up with. 47*34 I can add to your team's score. But, the neighborhood Senior Center your slash-and-burn program almost destroyed! Play Bingo and do line-dancing, now, where will I? So divide your team's score by how much I would have made on Bingo this Tuesday."

Feverishly, my Stupid Intern clicked his mouse.

"Professor Xavier, very entertaining, witty, and amusing, your account of your experiences in your travel agency was. Also, very effective was your travel agency. A value of 34*pi I can add to your team's score. But, Darth Cheney you unleashed on Dagobah. Several holes he shot into my landspeeder. He said that a squirrel, he thought it was. So, deduct from your team's score 4376.3952/.73x, where the repair bill of my speeder, x represents.

"To the end, that brings us. Stupid Intern," dramatically I said, "who the winner is, reveal now!"

Still engrossed in his computer, he was.

"Stupid Intern!" I yelled.

"Oh, huh? What?"

"Stupid Intern! Say what, does the Google thingy? The contest, which team won?"

"Oh, I dunno. The Justice League?"

"Doofus!" I smacked him. "Your computer show me!"

"Doofus!" I yelled again. With my cane, repeatedly I smacked his head.

"Ow! Ouch!" he whined. Like a little girl, he is.

"Uh, Master Yoda," Darth Horn-Rimmed interrupted, "if you could put your beating of your Stupid Intern on hold for a moment, we would really like you to DECIDE WHO WON THE CHALLENGE!"

"Hmph! Have to shout, you do not! OK, have to do this the old-fashioned way, I will." So my scientific calculator I brought out, but make all of the calculations on it, I could not. So, my slide rule I brought out, then my abacus.

"Why have you taken off your shoes, Master Yoda?" Darth Horn-Rimmed asked.

"Enough fingers to count on, I have not! Use my toes, I must! Let's see, where I was? Oh, yes. Times two, carry the one, you must..."

"Wolverine!" Darth Horn-Rimmed said, "Please stop humming the Jeopardy theme song while Master Yoda is adding the score. He is trying to concentrate."

"OK, an answer I have arrived at. The winner, Team One is!"

"Great, thank you, Master Yoda. Team Two, you are safe from the boardroom this time..."

"No, wait, hear me right you did not. Team One the winner is."

"Yes, that means Team Two won."

"No, Team One."

"Right, Team Two."

"No, the contest, Victorious Secret lost. So, the other team, the winner is."

"Exactly, Team Two."

"Darth Horn-Rimmed, at the right side of your blog, look."

"OK"

"The team logos do you see?"

"Yes."

"The logo that says 'Team One' on it, belong to which team, does it?"

"Team Two."

"Aaaagh! Two teams there are, yes?"

"Their names, what are they?"

"Victorious Secret and Team One."

"So, if lost, Victorious Secret has, won, which team has?"

"Team Two."

Up, I give!

Ruination Day

2009-08-01T01:36:00.006-04:00

My dream was in tatters. The restort a shambles. What wasn't burned to the ground had been trampled by giant monsters or wild bands of synthoids that were still running amok.
"Look its the master!" exclaimed one the muddy synthoids recognising me.
"No Disassemble! No Disassemble!." they screamed. They covered their ears so they could not hear the commands I gave. It didn't matter I had my blaster and shot them all.

"All I wanted was to turn Dagobah into a Health Resort where cute co-eds and hot cougars could indulge in treatments and massage." I whined blasting the cute synthoids and wiping a few tears from my eyes.
"WHAT WENT WRONG??????" I screamed to the skies

"On evil ground you did build." says a voice behind me.

"Yoda!" I turn in hope but it was just Henchy.

"Dude! Don't do that to me." I complain. "How did we build on evil ground?"

"Hey look it up on Wookiepedia. Evil cave full of Dark Side Mojo and thats where you put your Resort. " explained the worlds best number 2 man. "You didn't do your research and guess what, Epic Fail!"
"Ciera is gloating already isn't she?" I sigh.
"I ain't seen her but Yeah she is." replies Henchy. "C'mon lets see if any of those co-eds and cougars survived we can "entertain" them till the rescue ships arrive."
"You mean ply them with Tequila and get them to go skinny dipping?" I enquire.
"Yeah good times!" answers Henchy."Cause I've scoped two hot courgars already."

Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator: Watch Out For That Tree!

2009-08-01T01:07:00.003-04:00

“This soup is delicious,” I exclaimed. “I thought it would be just snake, but there’s something more in here. How’d you get this interesting flavor?”

“Oh tell, I never will,” Yoda giggled. Well, not really a giggle per se, but some kind of equivalent that his species would employ.

“Well it’s good, I never thought I’d like snake soup this much, but I do,” I said as I took one more slurp. “This place is crawling with big game hunters and your Snake House is as filled with as many people as you can fit in here (which I admit isn’t very much, but hey they’re here, right?). We’re doing a pretty brisk business here, if I do say so myself.”

Before Yoda could answer, I noticed something outside in the swamp. It seemed like some sort of old, twisted tree with a cave at the base of it. I thought it was interesting that I hadn’t seen it before, but it certainly caught my attention now. It was giving off this whole creepy vibe, like some sort of evil, dark force was emanating from it.

“Say, what’s that over there?” I asked. “There’s something not right here.”

“That place...is strong with the dark side of the Force,” Yoda answered. “A domain of evil it is. Stay away from it, you probably should.”

I quickly sprang up and clipped on my pistol belt. My blaster pistols Betsy and Winona were charged and ready to go. I started walking towards the cave.

“Your weapons…you will not need them.”

I checked the charge of the sonic disrupter on my Wristcomm. I then ran my fingers over the stunball grenades dangling from my web belt. They were set. I pulled my vibroknife out of its boot sheath, thumbed that, then slid it snuggly back into its place.

“I said your weapons…you will not need them!” Yoda called louder.

“Right,” I nodded in agreematude. I checked the survival knife that was strapped to my web belt as well, then verified that the pins on the frag grenades were securely in their place. With my Wristcomm, I called up my ship, the Danger Sled, armed the torpedoes and cannon, and prepped it for a strafing run. After that, I wiggled my back and felt my holdout pistol clinging to it, the back of its holster damp with sweat. Finally, I checked that the penlight laser in my shirt pocket was also charged.

I then double checked the throwing stars that were snuggly tucked into the strap inside my lower arm opposite my Wristcomm. The dart gun with the tranq darts was ready to go as well. I sighed as I thought about my double phase powertronic sniper rifle sitting in the weapon storage locker in the Danger Sled but there was no chance of getting it at this point. I would have to be content with the Nunchakus, short katana, and the three poison gas pellets that I had secreted away.

Yoda rolled his eyes in exasperation as I stepped into the cave in my trademark casually-nonchalant-but-extremely-cautious manner.

The cave was dark, foreboding, and one of the scariest places I have ever been. Way scarier than a roller coaster at Six Flags. My head buzzed like a crescendo on a tympani when I saw a dark figure step in front of me.

It was Darth Vader.

I’m serious, it was totally the Dark Lord of the Sith. Not some whiny teenager wannabe. He stalked towards me in some manner that made me wonder if this was reality or some weird vision.

I ignited my lightsaber, which interestingly enough I neglected to mention up until now.

We traded blows. Lightsaber against lightsaber.

Darth Vader brought his weapon back for a killing blow.

And then I totally chopped his head off! Hell yeah! Score one for the good guy, it was awesome!

Vader stood for but a moment until his lifeless form crumpled to the ground like some sort of cyborg marionette with its strings cut mercilessly.

I watched as Vader’s helmet rolled across the soft earth of the cave. It sat for just a moment there as I heard the tympani roll once again.

And then it exploded open, revealing the face inside. What could this possibly mean?

The Dagobah Digs Resort & Hotel

2009-07-31T22:43:00.006-04:00

“Vermin.”

I hastily closed the blinds to my seaside casement window. The last thing I wanted to see were the native rat-people singing on the beach. Every day was another of their pagan “holidays,” and the tourists flocked to their dances and bought seashells and whatever crafts those rodents pulled out of the swamps.

I’d like nothing better than to run every last one of them back to the pit they crawled out of.

The thing of it is, Dagobahn beaches are considered public property. Owning and operating the Dagobah Digs Resort & Hotel doesn’t give us the right to fence off the beach; we have to maintain it, however.

There have been a few… altercations… between the natives and my cleaning crews. They stopped coming by at night.

“Shall we see what kind of walking wallets Starlite Express dropped in our lap?” I asked rhetorically. My loyal Toady (one of the natives) bowed in lieu of the unintelligible squeaks so common to his (?) kind. That coarse, ear-piercing chatter was banned here.

Toady slid the door (paper thin with white canvas in the wooden frame) to my office and I stepped into the main foyer.

Fans rotated slowly overhead and the faint sound and smell of crashing waves blew in through the open veranda. The furniture had the texture of bamboo with Hawaiian-style patterns on the material; faux-Asian paintings hung from the walls. Some of the more well-rested guests were sitting peacefully on the sofas reading books or magazines.

One of the new faces stood right out at me. “Angus McGriddle,” I waved, making my way to the concierge desk. “How is San Serriffe?”

“Much colder and snowier than here,” he opined, taking in the ocean spray. “I’m surprised to find an actual beach. I thought Dagobah was all swamps, despite your flashy television adverts.”

“A common misconception! The swamps are much farther inland. If you’re interested in the marshes, we have an attraction called The Wolverine Experience that might interest you…”

“No, no, I’m quite alright.” He handed his luggage to a uniformed attendant, stretched, and bade me good day as he headed off to soak in the rays of Dagobah’s furious orange sun.

“Welcome to Dagobah Digs!” I shouted unnervingly at the remaining guests. Despite just blowing my nose, I shook each of their hands. “Welcome.”

“I’m Rachel Graye,” said a woman in her early thirties with short auburn hair and the most striking green and orange eyes. “I teach sign language at a community college in Pennsylvania.”

“My name is Kieth Powers. I’m an archaeologist-man interested in studying native cultural artifacts.”

I studied Kieth intently. What an ugly plaid vest. Why would they even sell those? What company would even make something so tasteless? My very expensive spider sense was tingling. “Do you regularly use a bullwhip for grabbing objects?”

He sighed. “Only about one in thirty archaeologists has an Indiana Jones-type adventure during their careers.”

“Sad to hear it. Toady! Attend the newcomers! It’s alright, really. Just settle in. The staff is trained to respond immediately. Yes, your rooms are prepared. I believe you have the keys.” Taking them on the boilerplate tour of the ground floor, I pointed out the major sectors: “Kitchen, dining room, library, rec room. Guest suites are on the second, third and fourth floors.”

“Are there any books in the library on Timu’s Love?”

For a split-second, the ears of every nearby staff member shivered; but they continued their duties as usual. The question was innocuous, but something about that Kieth still needled at me. He blinked too often, that must have been it. He did look like he had the galloping pink-eye.

“There are some legends… but they’re just primitive oral traditions among the locals. It’s not fully known—”

Kieth puffed his chest pompously. “That’s because the ancient manuscripts were burned.” An awkward pall hung over us. The Dagobahns did their best to remain unseen, but the cat was out of the bag now.

“Sir, this resort is not responsible for any ‘cultural’ —” I smirked, “—contamination that happened long ago.”

He fumed. “Resorts like this condone the theft of Dagobahn culture.”

“Sir, we brought the Dagobahns culture,” I hissed, barely audible. Those miscreants may have the IQ of children, but they have the eardrums of dogs. “When the earthmen arrived, Dagobahns were living in caves and eating slime. We brought them jobs. Medicine. We gave them a future.”

Rachel fidgeted uncomfortably. It wasn’t her fault; there was one of these humanitarian-types in every bunch. They seem to forget than humanitarianism ends with humans.

The self-righteous lack-wit finally turned in consternation, held his valise proudly, and, nose upturned, stomped up the stairs.

“Your advertising campaign was amazing,” Rachel started, breaking the awkwardness, “can you really find ‘immortality’ here?”

“Yeah, the commemorative plates with your photo are $35 each. Guaranteed never to break or fade.”

***

I had the nightmare again.

Those beasts, armed with machetes and guns, smashing down the front door. Tearing up the place. Butchering the guests. My loyal staff, helping them. Joining them. And then they descend on my office, shredding the door like paper. I’m at my desk… I never saw it coming. Surprise. Shock.

As they come for me, for a brief moment I can see the resort from the outside; it’s burning. I suddenly wake up, covered in sweat and baby powder. Is it any wonder the doors here all have deadbolts, and the windows, bars?

“They’ve gotten worse since Kieth showed up,” I remarked, peering through the blinds. He was there on the beach, talking to one of the rat people.

He’d been going to their village, in the swamps. Asking questions. Learning their forked tongue. I don’t like interfering with what my guests do…

He seemed to be getting on well with Rachel this last week. The two of them had had many discussions out along the beach. Maybe it was my imagination, but they seemed to know one another.

Maybe I need a vacation.

Rubbing my weary eyes, I walked over to my hand-painted portrait of Leona Grubber, the first human born on Dagobah. She was riding Dusty the moon-calf, her favorite multiped. The Grubbers still held sway in parliament. But they were on the wane.

I pulled on the corner of the portrait, revealing a hidden wall-safe. I never opened it anymore. No need to. For the last decade, this safe housed the “lost” manuscript of the Dagobahns: the tome of heretical folklore known as Timu’s Love.

I’d read it once. The story was this:

Long ago, many spirits fought for godhood over Dagobah. There was a Great War, with great weapons. The fires were so many and so huge that their embers reached the heavens, and scorched the sky; that’s where stars come from.

The strongest of these was Timu. A being of pure love, he banished the evil and greedy spirits to the sky, to spend the rest of time cleaning the scorch-marks they caused. For many years He ruled over the Dagobahns in a shining, golden age. Pax Dagobah.

For reasons unspecified (those pages really were lost), Timu left. The book said that one day, a Prophet would return to Dagobah to reconnect Timu with his people. And of course, Timu Himself wrote this book so His Prophet would be recognized and his temple rejuvenated. Because he loved the Dagobahns that much.

Balderdash.

“It’s high time I removed this thorn,” I mumbled, remembering the combination. It was getting too dangerous to keep it here; Kieth and Rachel might be plotting, the staff could — would — probably tell them about the safe. And Angus vanished the day he got here.

Oh, God, what had they done with Angus?!

The tumblers creaked from disuse and age, and for a second I thought about just putting the painting back and re-collating expense reports yet again. The door clicked open.

The next thing I knew, I was face-down on the ground, registering the throbbing pain in the back of my head as I lost consciousness. I could already feel the flames, see the flashing machetes. Sensational…

***

“Praise Timu!”

The haze faded. I looked around… just barely. I was tied up with the chains used on snow tires, apparently. The rocky roof was rolling with dripping stalactites, and the smell of swamp gas wafted through the cavernous hall from a large hole in a (formerly) bricked-in staircase. Lining the walls were metal cages that resembled turbines, with arm-thick wires that raced to the raised area.

Dozens of Dagobahns lay prostrate before the raised platform. Two ancient stone bins on each end held the balls of flame keeping the cave heated and illuminated. A lone figure stood between them, his back to me; he seemed so familiar.

“You’ve gone mad with power, Powers!” I sputtered, struggling to wiggle my toes. “Let me go!”

The archaeologist spun around, saliva pouring from his distended jaw. The rumpled pages were clutched in his hands. “Still haven’t figured it out yet?”

He pulled a pink ball out of that god-awful plaid vest with his free hand, and tossed it on the ground. A pillar of yellow smoke rose in an unnaturally constrained column, then enveloped him. As soon as it tightened around him, the smoke dissipated, taking with it his facade.

“Karl Überdale,” I spat, “come to ruin my resort?”

“The Dagobahns have been looking for this place since the colonists sealed the entrance,” he said with a sick half-smile.

He gestured behind him, stepping aside to unveil a statue twice the size of a normal Dagobahn. It had a pained expression of timeless loss stained across its visage. But was really drew me in were the hands. They were a different hue than the rest of the statue, and seemed a little too perfectly manicured.

“The Hands of Artemis.”

“The very same,” he replied. “How they came here is a mystery. But my quest is now over.”

“It won’t work, you madman! Only the head could talk. The foot, the one Brad Pitt had — it couldn’t have helped you rebuild the head, you must know that.”

“You don’t need a mouth to talk,” a voice echoed beyond the staircase. A very sly Rachel Graye slunk into the chamber. She put on a strange display with her hands. “Sign language.”

“Sweet Barracuda of Bermuda!”

“Rachel here is an expert on ancient Greek sign language. One of the best in the world,” Karl beamed. “She’s going to help me talk to the hand. And then the other hand.”

I sat there helplessly as the erratic enchanter connected the final cable to Timu’s spine. The energy cost of reanimating a pair of hands to the point of consciousness was far greater than you’d need for a mere head. Ho ho! At least the head had a brain in it!

With a chirping sound, the Dagobahns ran to their exercise wheels. “Faster!” Karl shouted as sparks flew past the ceremonial pyres. Chasing after the parts of Artemis had left him a broken shell of his buoyant self.

What happened to the Karl I went to high school with?

“FASTER, mongrels! I am the Prophet of Timu!” he bellowed maniacally, “I am his Messenger! His Oracle! FASTER, and he will speak to you! Timu demands you run! PRAISE TIMU!”

I fell into despair. Karl had won. Power too cheap to meter flowed into the idol; the fingers! They twitched!

*Thump*

My fevered mind must have been playing cruel tricks on me.

*Thump*

There was something in the walls!

I pressed my ear up against the primitive masonry. Nothing. And then…

*BOOM*

The room shook as a gigantic clenched fist broke through the wall with a deafening roar. Stalactites poured over us like acid rain.

“NO!” Karl cried, as a hail of the piercing dripstones slashed through Timu, cleaving the hands and startling the Dagobahns. As another rocky spear ripped through his cheek, Karl pointed at me accusingly and burst into yellow smoke.

“Traitor!” Rachel hissed, limping toward the staircase. Blood spurted from her leg.

“It’s Timu!” I shouted at the Dagobahns. Another hand shot through the wall. “The false idol has angered him and now he’s here to banish the nonbelievers to the sky!”

I don’t know how well those simpletons understand human speech, but it was as if a herd instinct took hold. Almost in unison, they stampeded the stairs, trampling poor Rachel into an auburn smear. A true tragedy — neither her nor Karl had payed their bills.

A burly, mud-covered monster crawled out from the hole, reached down, and snapped my chains right off! “Angus?”

“Don’t… think I ever had this much fun on San Serriffe!” the old inventor laughed, wiping the mud and seaweed from his face. “I… I was sunbathing, right? Then a tidal wave sweeps me out to sea. I’m dead, right? Nope, a whirlpool sucks me in. I spent a week wandering around these caves, eating mushrooms and drinking the nectar of the gods!” He held out a hand full of dotted fungi.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m itchy and I can’t stop dancing because it hurts when I stop,” he said, pointing at his bunions.

“Yes, well, it’s a good thing I finally found you. We can call off the dogs, then.”

“You were looking for me?!” Angus asked incredulously.

“Oh, yes,” I lied, “’Spare no expense!’ I told the staff. ‘Not while Angus is in danger!’”

He started crying. “What would I have done without you?!”

“You would have died in this godforsaken pit.” I walked over to the idol and pocketed the damaged manuscript.

He hopped tranquilly on one leg. “Take me home, mommy!”

***

“You signed a contract,” I said very calmly into the telephone. Poor Angus was becoming more and more acquainted with Dagobah’s labyrinthine legal codes.

“I don’t have that kind of influence!”

I leaned back in my genuine leather office chair, facing the window. The pale, rust-colored moonlight rippled on the Dagobahn waves.

“You agreed,” I reminded him, “to arrange for all McGriddle sandwiches to be wrapped in a Dagobah Digs brochure starting in Q1 of fiscal year 2010. I can sue you.”

“I can’t just waltz in—”

“You were waltzing when you agreed to our deal.”

“I was hallucinating!”

“Well, you still need to wrap those sandwiches with my brochures. I can sue you in Dagobah. And in San Serriffe,” I remembered, “I know judges there, too.”

“Well, you can go ahead and do that.”

“Hey, if you don’t do it, I’ll have my judge friends, you know, I’ll have them take away your driver’s license and give you a boating license. I’ll do it.”

“Well, that’s good, because I own a boat.”

“Then I’ll have them give you a dog license. For your wife,” I added rudely.

“My wife is dead and I don’t own a dog.”

“I’LL MAKE YOU OWN A DOG!” I shouted, and hung up the phone.

A slight chill pulsed through my veins. I looked down at the wastebin; the fire was dying. I tore another page out of the manuscript and let it float into the bin. For a minute I sat and heard only the crackle of the fire. Then I reached backward under the desk.

“I know how Karl got into my office,” I said, my hand resting on the laser cannon not even Toady knew about. I had been much more careless with the safe.

There was no sound, then. Even the fire waited with bated breath. There was the sudden clanging of objects hitting my hardwood floor, then the patter of little feet and the slam of my office door.

Swiveling around, I sneered over my desk: a machete, a gun and an ID badge lay in disarray before me. I tossed the remainder of the manuscript into the bin and walked over to the Grubber portrait. Timu’s melting, curling-up face had the same timeless pain etched into the idol.

“Ignorant savage,” I said, admiring the portrait. Exquisite. “You just can’t bring sunlight to the blind.”

A band of ruby moonlight shimmered over the painting. Then another…

“That’s no moon…”

My various expense reports were burning like twigs! The fire had leapt from the bin — my desk and curtains were aflame!

“Where’s the extinguisher?!” I screamed, searching frantically. Every room was supposed to have one!

I slammed the office door to try and contain the fire and ran to each room; none of them had an extinguisher. Having finished my office, the flames now shot under the door frame. Within seconds, the support beams in the wall gave way and the door imploded.

The flames must’ve hit a fuel line, because right then a firestorm streamed out into the main hall. “No! Noooooo!”

All I could do was stand awestruck as my livelihood immolated around me. The protective barred windows were now a white-hot deathtrap. Not even the asbestos in the walls and furniture could halt the onslaught.

“Help me!” I cried, sprinting to the front door, “For the love of God, somebody help me!”

I pulled the handle crazily, and when it wouldn’t open I pounded on the treated wood and enamel as hard as I possibly could. Even as the smoke overtook me, I fought, I yelled with burning lungs, I lashed out at that door.

The deadbolts remained safely secured.

Xavier, the Travel Agent

2009-07-31T16:40:00.005-04:00

“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.

The Wolverine expirence.

2009-07-30T21:53:00.012-04:00

So come up with an idea for advertisin' a mud planet eh? Koma's idea works just fine foe sissies. but ya need to be a little more diverse. My first idea was Super hero babes vs Super villain babes mud wrestlin' contests. We only had one bout before Superman showed up, and whined how it was exploitin', and should stop right now. Oh and the fact that Squirrel Girl was eaten by a giant snake and everyone actually listened to the flamin' boy scout... now all I got left fer that is Granny Goodness in a bikini...

And whatever this is.

No one wants to see that...well maybe the Discovery Channel.

So up came up with another idea advertsin' to rednecks. that went pretty well, Yea lot O' them became stuck in the swamps when they tried to go mud truckin' but that ain't my concern, they were warned, another odd thing I've never gotten is rednecks like to shoot zombies I don't get it but hey they're payin' their money.

At first I had a Witch Doctor create zombies for them to shoot, but well there was a dispute about money and he somehow ended up savagely clawed to death.

That was okay but I wanted more so when another member of the team created a mud based amusement park I pitched the Wolverine Experience.

Pretty much while the kiddies, are enjoyin' the park, and the ladies are soakin' in mud I take out the warriors, and the wimps who fancy themselves warriors out into the jungle. What they don't know is I film them, and sale the footage ( givin' a cut to Yoda.) As a type O' survival game show.

After I let them out into the swamps I unleash wild animals, alien warriors, and rabid Twilight fangirls onto the unsuspectin' tour goers. On the first tour, Someone yelled out ' Where's the exotic women? Twilight fangirls don't count!"

Well I left a bit out they are exotic, and women but they're also crazy red alien amazon warriors that can crush boulders between their fingers here's me first meeting one.

Only two didn't get crushed. or run away screamin' to their mommies. Bobba Fett who was annoyin' the me with his constant " Yeah Bobba blasts the synthiods How can Bobba escape the fangirls? He can't have plasma grenades on him? Oh yeah Bobba has plasma grenades!"

And this guy who reminds me O' someone.

Hmmm I know someone who keeps babbling' about yellow text boxes.... Deadpoool! Ya gotta be kiddin' me him again?

He glares at me " Okay bunky you're gonna pay for dropping a safe on me in the last challenge!" He shoots me a couple o times in the chest " I'm going to bag me a Canadian clawed wolverine Crikey!"

" Crocidile Hunter jokes Wilson? Really He's been dead how long now?" I growl popping my claws but Pool was grabbed up by the red warrior women. " We love You Ryan Reynolds!" They scream and drag him off to where ever they go when they ain't crushin' people.

" I'm not Ryan Reynolds this is just a disguise....aaaah! My ribs you crushed my ribs no don't kiss me aah! My face!"

I snicker as Bobba Fett walks up to me Bobba is awesome! he lived through he's the greatest warrior ever what did Bobba win?" At that moment he was attacked, and eaten by a giant snake. I hear he has a problem with being eaten by giant animals. Oh well I'd better get ready for the next tour.

Starlite Express Travel Agency

2009-07-30T21:52:00.000-04:00

I can't believe Koma's in charge...but Bennett said everybody needed a turn.

He assigns me the task up setting up the travel agency and then takes off to set up some sort of amusement park, all the while muttering about synthoids. The man is cracked I tell you. He didn't even tell me what our slogan was to be!

Setting up shop at a busy space station, where there is lots of traffic. I set to luring as many people to Daogobah as possible. Of course, I hire a gaggle to answer the phones:

And I even hire a couple of guys to go out on the street to lead people to us:

"Bill," I say, "I don't care what you have to do, kidnap people in a van if you have to...just...get...me...people!"

Happy to have work, he stutters and then takes off.

"Obi-Wan..."

"I'll just tell them that it's the will of the Force!" he said almost cheerfully. He disappeared from sight. Man, death sure has changed that guy.

While the girls are giggling, waiting for the phones to start ringing, I post the poster I made:

It's not the best, but it's simple and straightforward. Maybe if Koma had had a few moments to spare for me- no doubt he wants to ruin me...either that or my challenge to mud wrestle him scared him. Sometimes I come on too strong!

So we wait...and wait...Soon enough Bill pulls up in a van and drops off a bunch of people.

They have no problem taking vacations, but they don't want to go to Dagobah. "Too dark and slimy," they said.

"Slimy?! Yoda's home it is!!" I replied.

The first two groups didn't budge, they all wanted to go to Yavin or Endor. I've never seen what's so great about little Wookiees anyway. They are going to be pissed when they discover that the Starlite Shuttles I sent them on land on Dagobah...and even more pissed when they learn that the refund fee costs more than the actual ticket.

Finally a bedraggled family wanders in.

The father walks up to me and introduces himself. "Hi, I'm Clark Griswold. That's my family over there. We're on our family vacation, but the theme park we wanted to go to was closed. There's this creepy ghost out there that said you could help."

"Of course I can! Here at Starlite Express we charter cheap flights to some of the most exotic locales this galaxy can offer. This week's special is a trip to Dagobah."

"Dagobah? I've never heard of it."

"Wonderful!" I exclaim. "What an opportunity to discover one of the galaxy's diamonds! There's something for everyone. There's Koma's theme park for the kids, there's a lovely health spa for the missus, and for yourself sir - you have the choice of exploring the deep woods filled with adventure in the iscover The Wolverine Experience...or..." I lowered my voice just a little. "If you look hard enough, I'm sure you can find some mud wrestling."

"Well sign us up!" he says exuberantly.

He didn't even wait for the bit about Gyro's gryos or the hotdogs!

I send the happy family off.

No doubt he's thinking:

To bad he's gonna find:

And so...with a smile, I move on to the next group of people driven in...

Who's the Boss?

2009-07-30T02:14:00.009-04:00

"That's right I'm the Boss now." I declared to the remnant of Victorious Secret.
"Yeah! Right on! All the way with Captain K!" I screamed hoping that the congratulations would spur the others the join in.

They didn't.

"So how are we doing this Koma and what can we advertise with Dagobah?" complained the red haired harridan Ciera.

"With one simple word." I replied "Mud."

Then I showed them the genius of my plan to turn Dagobah into THE health spa planet.

"Essential oils, mud baths, massage. Beauty therapies all over. They yuppies and the gays will love it." I smile confidently. "Of course we can't forget the local population they need to be included so here's our spokes person."

"C'mon this is going to be great. Now grab the concept and run with it guys. Soar on wings of eagles with this re-badging of Dagobah for the ages." I command standing defiantly on the table. Ciera and Gyrobo are gone all that's left is Logan who's snoring, reclining in his executive chair.
"Snort! Huh! You finished Koma?" he asks being awoken by the silence.
"You didn't hear any of that did you?" I ask rhetorically.
"Nup!" replies the hairy diminutive Canadian.
"So what are you going to do?" I ask him.
"I'll think of something..." says Logan getting comfortable in the chair. He takes a sip of whatever is in the bottle he's been holding and goes back to sleep.

Oh well I hope the others take my vision and run with it. Hang on did they even hang around to hear it?

Oh well never mind.

Tourism in the Outer Rim

2009-07-29T21:44:00.011-04:00

El Jefe.

It was a position for which I was destined. I'm also the only member of the team that hasn't yet been E.J. But at least I'm sober, which is one up from Jon's condition when he was in charge.

"So Dagobah it is." I said. "That place is a hell hole." I commented shaking my head, throwing the file on the table.

"Yoda must be off his rocker," Jon commented.

"Well, we always knew that though," Xavier added.

I picked up the file once again. Thumbing through it, I started mumbling: "Let's see, what line items we must accomplish on this challenge:

Come up with a catchy slogan;

Come up with advertising campaign materials;

While running our own travel agency, convince travelers to visit Dagobah; and

If possible, initiate other methods of driving more tourism to the planet."

I stood for a moment, just thinking a bit.

"I wonder if scheduling it for demolition and inviting the rest of the galaxy to watch would work?" I said outloud. "We could sell tickets -- that might bring in enough money to satisfy Yoda and rid that sector of a planetary eye sore."

"Working on the 'two birds with one stone' principle, are we?" Xavier asked. "However, you definitely could not have a repeat performance."

Kill joy, I thought at him then sighed heavily.

"Jon," I began, "I'm putting you in charge of the advertising materials. You have a talent for coming up with reasons to do the unreasonable.

"Xavier, you've got the travel agency. You're good at convincing people to do whatever it is you put your mind to."

"Personally, I think this is a rather easy challenge," I commented.

"How do you figure?" Jon asked, skeptically raising an eye brow.

"Look at your planet, Jon," I began. "Someone has convinced people to enjoy taking vacations to places like Mexico and Louisiana! It's not going to be that far a stretch to convince those same people to travel to Dagobah.

"It's definitely a wild place," Xavier said.

"No," I contradicted, "It's unspoiled."

"So what would you call a place where you have to carry a blaster to fend off the local fauna?" Jon asked.

"That," I suggested, "is an adventure."

"I think I know where you're taking this," Jon sat forward in his chair. "We definitely need to make it sound so much more exciting..." he trailed off in thought.

"Oh, that's it Jon!" I exclaimed:

Experience Adventure. Experience Excitement.
Experience Dagobah.

They both nodded.

"Now, if we could only work into some sort of hunting safari, it would be perfect," I commented. "But, honestly: how does one mount a 30-foot swamp monster?"

"Who cares," Xavier said. "I've met some of those big game hunter types who would give up their eye teeth just to have the bragging rights."

"Perhaps you could come up with a few packages based upon that theme?" I said to Xavier. "Just use your imagination."

"We could probably recruit some of those adventurers to get more press for Dagobah," Jon added. "I'm pretty sure I can wrangle some celebrity endorsements as well."

"Perfect," I said. Pacing round the room, I thought some more. "Maybe we could even arrange some sort of celebrity hunt to get rid of those useless celebrities on your planet that people love to hate. You know, someone like Paris Hilton, or...who is that couple with all the kids that are on TV?"

"Heidi and Spencer?" Jon guessed.

"Yes, that's them," I said. "We could release people like those three into the swamp and people with guns can go hunt them. No experience required -- it would be open to everyone, not just those with hunting skills!"

"Ahem," Xavier started, "The authorities might take issue with that."

"What authorities?" I responded. "This is Dagobah we're talking about. Once they are smuggled off your planet, there won't be any problem at all."

"Right," Xavier said. "I'll have to see just how well that type of, er, vacation package would be received. I'll also look into frequent fly miles available for any type of travel to Dagobah."

"Good idea," I answered. "Who knows, they might be able to accumulate enough to get a free dinner at Jack in the Box or something."

"One last thing...maybe we could get a YouTube video channel and create a few viral videos. Even Vader knew the value of such things:

"Nice," Jon retorted.

"Oh, I haven't even gotten started," I said as we walked down the hall, "You know, we can even import indigents who will practice slash and burn in the rain forests, and then development companies can come in after the land is no longer good for farming and set up casinos ... they'll create a 'Las Vegas of the Outer Rim'...."

Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator: Mad Men and Women of Team One

2009-07-29T07:23:00.010-04:00

“Good afternoon, Yoda,” Nepharia greeted the Jedi Master. “I am Dar*ahem* Nepharia, the El Jefe for Team One and this afternoon we would like to show you our multipart plan to bring more tourism to Dagobah. Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator has been working on the advertising campaign and I believe that he has a presentation to share with you at this time.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Yoda,” I stretched out my hand towards him.

“Remember you I do,” the diminutive wizard spoke. “Sing to me that lame song you have and crash into my backyard in your spaceship you did.”

“Heh heh, yes of course,” I chuckled. “Now that the introductions are out of the way, I would like to show you a little presentation on the campaign that we’ve been working on. Before we begin, would you like some refreshments? We have some delicious sandwiches made with toasted pumpernickel.”

“Those sandwiches I cannot eat,” he replied. “Dark toast intolerant I am.”

“Of course of course,” I replied. “Then how about some lizard skin wontons?”

“Not good for me all that cholesterol is,” he shook his head.

“Then perhaps some fruit,” I offered. “I believe we have some mixed fruit right here.”

Yoda waved his hand “Too much fresh fruit, I cannot take.”

“Then perhaps I should just get on with the presentation.”

“Nice that would be.”

“Here it is, four words, one which is used three times: Experience Adventure, Experience Excitement, Experience Dagobah.”

Yoda was silent for a moment. Then a moment more.

“Adventure? Excitement? A vacationer craves these things?” Yoda asked after a third moment.

“Yes they do!” my eyes lit up. “We’re talking about extreme vacations, surrounded by thousands of acres of untamed natural wild lands. Bush piloting through the swamps, hunting ravenous creatures, fishing for giant water beasts, giant swamp beasts, giant bog beasts, you name it.”

“An interesting idea this is,” Yoda conceded.

“Now as for your restaurant,” I continued. “We’re going in a slightly different direction with that, we want these vacationers to dine there, but we don’t necessarily want to make it part of the ‘extreme’ experience.”

“I see,” Yoda said. “Er, see I.”

“Right, so we’re using a few different methods to get the word out for that,” I explained. “We’ll have fortune cookies.”

“Fortune cookies I like,” Yoda nodded.

“And we’re not scared to try a little viral marketing as well,” I added.

Yoda nodded.

“Er, you’ll have to forgive us on that one,” I smiled weakly. “These are high school kids, you know.”

“Perhaps lose Dooku to the Dark Side I would not,” Yoda sighed. “If drop out of high school he did not.”

“We’ve got our troops excited over the idea of going to Dagobah. Ooops, and uh never mind about this next slide. I don’t know how it got in there.”

“Hmmm,” Yoda scratched his chin.

“And of course, no trip to Dagobah would be complete without souvenir bumper stickers,” I said. “It will be like the Wall Drug of a galaxy far, far away.”

“Nice this is,” Yoda smiled. “Many good ideas you show me, but complete your campaign is not.”

“Of course not,” I assured him. “We’re lining up celebrity endorsements even as we speak.”

“Speak we even as?” Yoda repeated.

“Yes,” I nodded excitedly. “Dave’s in, G.I.Joe jungle expert Recondo is in, Kraven the Hunter is dying to come to Dagobah, well not literally. I admit they’re not the biggest names in--”

“Size matters not.”

“You’re right, Master Yoda. In addition, we have Taarna, last of the Taarakians signed on.” I pointed to her picture in the presentation.

“A fetching creature she is,” Yoda smiled. “If a hundred years younger were I and a hundred years older was she…”

“And that’s not all. We still have a few more ideas up our sleeve.” I tugged on the cuffs of my shirt as a visual cue to what I was saying, like a magic act. All the good magicians do that, like that guy who does birthday parties. What’s his name? The great Flukini or something?

“Meditate on your campaign I must.” Yoda scooted off the chair and worked his way towards the door. “But looking forward to your next part I am.”

Fired, You Are

2009-07-27T16:43:00.001-04:00

Hmm, so, Darth Horn-Rimmed, those who would become your apprentice in the dark art of paper sales, these people are, hmm? With the job market so poor, less goofy-looking candidates you could find, I would think. Hmm, yes.

Anyway, asked to provide a task for you people I have been. At first, overjoyed at this prospect I was. But, then informed I was that just use you to paint my house and mow my lawn, I can not! So lame that is. In my opinion, a fine test of your business skills, washing and detailing my air speeder would be. But able to think outside of the box, this Primatech seems not to be. So, a more business-oriented task I have for you.

Appointed as head of the Dagobah Tourism Council, I have been. Want this job, I did not. That I was signing up for Tuesday night line dancing at the Senior Center, I thought. But the other sheet on the bulletin board that was. So stuck with the job now, I am. At least until trick another doofus into taking the job, I can.

Easy, I thought this job would be. But out it turns that to Dagobah, almost no tourists come! Puzzled by this I am. Want to spend their spring break at a planet that is 100% swamp land and is completely crawling with snakes, who would not? Sure, many ways a person can die on Dagobah, there are. But keep tourists from flocking to Planet Florida, that does not. Such a mystery. Hmm, yes.

Another reason, that more tourists, Dagobah needs. You see, trying to run a business out of my house, I have been:

But, few customers I have had. Yes, a nice retirement community on Dagobah, there is. But very tight with their money, old people are. If more tourists we have, more ~~suckers~~ potential customers I will have.

So, your task this is: design an effective advertising campaign to draw tourists to Dagobah. A few different parts this task has.

1. Come up with a catchy slogan. Better than our existing slogan, it must be - "Dagobah - more than half of the snakes aren't even poisonous!" [Required]

2. Design advertising materials such as brochures, bumper stickers, billboards, radio spots, or tv commercials. Again, better than our current efforts, this must be:

[Required this part of the task is, but what kinds of materials you design are optional.]

3. Run its own travel agency, each team will. Able to ~~trick~~ persuade several tourists to visit Dagobah on their next vacation, you must be. [Required]

4. Come up with and execute other ways to drum up tourism to Dagobah. Completely original with this part of the task you can be. [Optional]

Rules:

Only one rule there is. For legal reasons, lie in our advertising, the Dagobah Tourism Council can not. However, a law against telling the truth creatively, there is not! For instance, at the following examples look:

Not acceptable - "We guarantee your ship won't get permanently stuck in one of our bogs!"

Acceptable - "Once you come, you may never leave!"

Hee hee! See what I did there, do you? So clever, I am. Hee hee! So, anyway, clever like that you must be. Besides, to the Dark Side, lying leads. But only to the Beige Side, tricking people leads. Live with that, you can, I am sure.

Judging Criteria:

Judged on your creativity, humor, and effectiveness in manipulating unsuspecting tourists, your efforts will be. Maybe judge you based on your relative body odor, I will, too. On how many beers I have had when the time comes, that depends.

You're Fired: Number Three

2009-07-27T01:00:00.005-04:00

Gyrobo screamed something about Henchman's yellowness and cited it as a reason for giving him the axe. It sounded reasonable, by Gyrobo standards.

"You know, Henchy, he's right," I said. "You do wear a lot of yellow."

"He does," agreed The Haitian.

Koma nodded.

"What can I say? I like looking good," Henchman explained.

"And Koma, you wear a lot of purple," I observed keenly.

"Fire Ciera!" Koma replied.

I knocked the hard wood of the boardroom table with my knuckles and exclaimed, "I've made my decision." I looked over the three losers. "Your performance has been lacking in creativity and excitement. You have all the unexpected plot twists of an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie, but without the Governator. I don't know if you really want this job or not. Maybe you're comfortable with what you've got going on right now, I don't know. Let's hope, though, because, Henchman432, you're fired."

Gyrobo and Koma saw him out the doors, then got up to go out behind him.

"Not so fast," I said. I hit the intercom button on my speaker phone and said to my assistant, "Gather the rest of the contestants."

"Whaaa???" Gyrobo spouted.

"What crazy scheme do you have up your sleeve this time, Bennet?" Koma wondered.

The rest of the candidates soon arrived and I made my announcement. "Your new task starts now! We have a special, very important, very influential and powerful guest judge to give you this week's task. This is somebody I personally have a lot of respect for."

Ciera yawned, "You woke us up for this?"

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed up our guest judge's stupid intern. "They're ready," I said, then coolly flipped the phone shut.

Third Boardroom

2009-07-26T01:05:00.003-04:00

"Send them in," I commanded through the intercom.

Gyrobo entered first, followed by his two picks for the boardroom: Captain Koma and Henchman432. The three took their seats.

"Well, guys," I began, "why did you lose?"

"Ciera," said Koma.

Henchman grunted, "Koma."

"Überdale!" shouted Gyrobo.

"Like," Claire interjected, "I thought Brad Pitt was so totally hot, but he wasn't a good choice, like, at all."

"Yes," I agreed. "You picked a lame kidnapee, and the ransom demand was only mildly more creative than Team One's. You could have kidnapped Joan Rivers and ransomed her back to her doctors for the secret of immortality. But Brad Pitt?"

"Don't look at me," Koma spoke up. "I was all about Michael Jackson."

"Now, I did like the teamwork this time around. The organization was good. It was structured. There was intrigue and even an overall plot. Thanks mostly to Gyrobo. But the elements making up that plot were where your team was weak. Koma and Henchy, you two both dropped the ball there."

"Hey," Henchman replied, "I got the guy, right?"

"You did," I answered, "but all you did was show up, pistol-whip the guy and throw him in a van."

"Well, what else did ya want? Should I have bought him some ice cream?" asked Henchman.

"Wolverine fought ninja brats," The Haitian added.

"Looking back at past performances, though, things have been similar. Your no nonsense, straightforward approach is fine, if this were a Taco Bell. Take my order and hand over the burrito. But we're looking for people who can think outside the bun, who are quick on their feet, who can deal with any situation, who do more than simple pistol-whipping and keggar-killing."

I moved on to Koma. "And then there's you," I said. "In the past, you've been the exact opposite of Henchman. Perhaps even taking too much risk without the payoff. This week, though, you joined him in serving up a platter of bland penguinless food. The picture of Brad Pitt was a good touch, though. Henchman missed an opportunity there, but you didn't."

"Don't forget the neural destabilizer," Koma tossed in.

"Oh, I'm not," I assured him. "Gyrobo, you handled being lost in time well. I always hate dying in alternate timelines, so I'm glad you ultimately remedied that. If I do ever die, it should be a bullet through the glasses, not crushed by nondescript waste. Not only did you manage to deal with a trickster genie, but you also managed to continue your Body Parts of Artemis side quest. You've done consistently well, and I'd like to know who you think I should fire? Koma? Henchy? Or maybe you since you were The Boss and your team lost? If you were me, who would you fire?"

We all waited eagerly for his response. This was indeed a close one, and it will probably be up to what's said here in the boardroom.

Task Three: Winners

2009-07-25T14:08:00.004-04:00

"This was by far the best week yet," I said to the assembled teams in front of me. "But I have to pick a winning team, and that means someone will be fired."

"But, like, you all did really good," Claire added with a smile.

"Victorious Secret," I started the judgment. "You worked well together as a team, with Gyrobo effectively pulling it all together at the end. For once, Koma, you didn't completely screw up. You netted your team ten million and even got some painted rocks through a side deal of your own."

Koma looked at me distrustingly.

I continued, "Wolverine, a ransom note taped to a safe on top of a Deadpool is a great way to deliver your message. However, you could have ripped apart the Ninja Brats easily, and that would have sent an even stronger message. When you listen to that female voice in your head, nothing good comes from it. I've been married for over 15 years. I know these things."

Wolverine growled something under his breath.

Moving on, I said, "Ciera, maybe you're not thinking enough with your head and instead thinking with...well, whatever it is you females have. Brad Pitt was a terrible choice of target. Other than him being a celebrity, and your attraction to him, there was no reason for it, was there?"

"Uh," Ciera said, "Umm...he's hot, though."

"Henchman," I gazed over at the man in the biohazard outfit. "Pistol-whipping Brad Pitt...that almost gives a reason for picking him in the first place. Otherwise, it was bland, generic, like an everyday henchman. If you want to make it in this business, you have to be World's Toughest Henchman. You got your guy, though, and that's what counts."

"Does that mean we won?" Henchman asked.

Ignoring him, I looked over at Team One. "Now, there's the issue of you people, who chose to kidnap me."

Jon looked nervous. Now that he was sober, it seemed he was thinking more clearly and possibly regretted his actions.

"Jon, I'm concerned about your drinking. Or I was, until it made you man up and pull an impressive stunt like this."

He smiled nervously.

"Kidnapping me was an interesting choice, which is why I let it happen. Obviously, Nepharia, your womanly wiles would never work on me. I'm a nerd. Notice the glasses?" I pointed to the horn-rimmed frames. "But I decided to go along with it to see where this would lead. That, and I wanted to lure out Abrams. At any moment I could have killed your entire team."

Claire balked, "Ugh! You could have, like, told me you were faking. I was, like, so worried! Me and Mr. Muggles even formed a search party."

"Relax, Claire Bear. I'm very well-trained in the art of selling paper," I explained. "I was in no danger whatsoever. But that brings me to the issue of the ransom. In my line of work, if you're captured, nobody knows who you are. Primatech would never, ever pay a ransom. They only went along with it because denying any knowledge of me wouldn't make for good television. You didn't really think that through, it seems, and for the ransom, the best you could come up with was a 'big bag o' cash'. This is Primatech. You could have demanded an unlimited supply of paper and paper products, or vials of mutant-making serum, or The Haitian."

Jon replied, "With a big o' bag of cash, we could get our own Haitian."

I nodded and turned toward the Professor. "A very action-oriented scene for a crippled. Holding your own against The Haitian, impressive work, Charles."

"Thank you," he replied lifting a glass of cognac.

"Now, let's get to the winning team," I said, changing tones. "The kidnapping. Jon and Nepharia's infiltration of Primatech and teleportation of me was far more engaging and exciting than Victorious Secret's simple, pistol-whipping Brad-snatching. One point for Team One."

Nepharia grinned evilly.

"Next up, the exchange. Professor Xavier's epic three-way with Primatech agents and Trekkies was excellent. Kicking Brad Pitt out of a van in a parking lot can't come close. Team One, two points."

Koma began looking at me suspiciously again.

"Ransom creativity. We had a big bag o' cash versus ten million and remembering something about egg machines. It turns out the big bag was stuffed full of singles, and Gyrobo's confusing demand tips the scale in his favor. One point for Victorious Secret, two points Team One.

Jon looked inside his big bag o' cash, then let out a, "Good grief!"

"Target creativity. I suppose you could argue kidnapping me was an obvious choice," I began, "but then so too is kidnapping a celebrity. I think Jon's team showed some real initiative by coming for me, and doing so first. Another point for Team One. Three points Team One, One point Victorious Secret."

Ciera frowned, "I'm not a mathematician, but this isn't looking good."

"Last point," I said, "teamwork. Both teams worked very well together this round. Gyrobo, even though he was in some other place and time during most of the task, was able to pull his team together and orchestrate a mediocre kidnapping. Jon, despite being drunk, was able to execute a grand kidnapping with each teammate playing a vitally important role, and doing so superbly. The truth is, I don't know who should get this point. Either Victorious Secret by a nose, or both teams get a point. It doesn't really matter, since either way Victorious Secret loses."

"Aww, shucks," Gyrobo buzzes.

"Gyrobo. You were The Boss on this task. Pick two people to join you back in the boardroom. One of you will be fired."

Xavier makes a swap

2009-07-25T02:53:00.003-04:00

You want me to what?" I asked Jon, not quite sure I heard right.

"Simple," Jon said as he chewed on his chicebo cigar. "You take Bennet to the pre-arranged drop site and exchange him for a big bag o' cash. Then we can all retire rich. I got those Primatech stooges to pay up big for Bennet. You got a problem with that?"I snorted.

"Just one thing, my friend. Did you forget that I'm in a damn wheel chair?! How am I suppose to transport someone, let alone do a damn swap? I can't even get out of a car without help!"

Jon pulled the cigar from his mouth and tilted his head back. He slowly blew a long column of acrid smoke into the already thick air. "You can handle it, Xavier. I got confidence in you."

I thought about telling him where he could shove his little assignment, but the fact is, I knew he was right. I grabbed my hat and headed for the door. As I passed two maintence men, I took control of their minds and had them accompany me to the holding room. Bennet had a bag over his head and his hands were tied behind his back.

"W-who's there?" he whispered desperately when me and my two mind-slaves entered the room. I didn't say a word. My two zombies roughly dragged him to his feet and out to the van.

We drove in silence out to the desert. Waves of heat radiated from the frying ground. A black, unmarked SUV with darkened windows was waiting at the designated spot, about half a mile off the main road. As our van came to a stop, two Primatech goons in suits and dark glasses got out and waited. One was holding a black briefcase. I floated out of the back of my van in my combat mode hover chair and moved half way between our vehicles. The goons approached me.

I took control of their minds and had them draw their weapons and toss them aside. Then, as I had the one with the case start to bring it to me, the damn Haitian got out of the SUV.

I lost control of all four of the men. As the two maintence men, my former zombies, grabbed my arms to prevent me from manipulating the controls of my chair, the two Primatech goons scooped up their guns and pointed them at me. I warned Jon. Why the hell didn’t he listen?

“You don’t expect me to give Bennet up without a fight, do you?” I shouted at the Haitian.

“No, Mr. Xavier,” he replied, “I expect you to die.”

Just as he barked the order for his men to cut me down, three shimmering lights appeared between us. Human bodies formed and the lights vanished.

“Who the hell are you?” the Haitian demanded as his mens’ guns moved to point at the three new arrivals. The two red shirts pulled out some strange looking weapons and fired, killing the Primatech goons first.
“I’m J.J. Abrhams!” the man in the suit yelled. “Ad I'm here for Bennet!"

"Bennet?" I replied. "Why?"

"This damn TV show Heroes is interfering with my plans! I need to get started on the next Star Trek but my Spock is contractually obligated to do two more seasons of that crap show! I figure if I kill off enough of the other actors, they’ll have to cancel the show and release Spock. My Star Trek franchise is too important to wait on some warmed over X-Men rip off!”

Abrhams pointed at the Haitian and his men turned to fire on him. Before they could though, Bennet, still wearing a bag on his head and having his arms tied behind his back, charged at Abrhams and smashed into him. As he went flying, the red shirts whirled to shoot Bennet. As their energy blasts fired, Bennet tripped over Abrahams and the red shirts wound up hitting each other. Both disintegrated.

In blind panic, the maintenance men holding me let go and ran off into the desert. The Haitian ran over to pull off Bennet’s hood but I quickly moved my chair in front of him, cutting him off.

“My money first,” I said.

The Haitian hesitated but then picked up the briefcase and gave it to me. As I moved into the van and slipped into the driver’s seat, controlling the foot pedals with my limited telekinetic ability, I saw in my rearview mirror a now freed Bennet and the Haitian kicking a balled up, wailing Abrahams.

Fool Me Twice

2009-07-24T23:16:00.002-04:00

WARNING: pace yourself, this story is long and contains alternate timelines, mad sorcerers, bribery, lunch-for-breakfast and trickster genies.

“Planning something big?”

Captain Koma froze, his hand mere inches from the doorknob to the Primatech boardroom our team had requisitioned for the day. He turned to face the intruder.

A thin wraith of a man stood arched against the chestnut wall. He could be described as dapper, crowned with a top hat and fitted with polished black shoes, a subdued brown overcoat, flowing cloak and studded cane. He smelt of lilac and aged oak; his eyes appeared bloodshot, as if he suffered chronic insomnia.

“You smell like a bank,” Koma managed to get out. The man tipped his hat politely.

“My name is Woodrow Wandsworth. I represent the Zombietree Trust.”

Koma grimaced. “Isn’t that the company building that fence along the Australian border?”

“We have many interests.” He opened a folder and held up a photograph.

“Noah Bennet. AKA Mister Sunshine. What’s he got to do—?”

“If you were plotting to kidnap someone of high stature, could you really do better?”

Aghast, Koma flattened himself against the wall. “Did the Hatian put you up to this?”

“Ah, dear me. Another obstacle.” He scratched something down onto an old flip-pad, ignoring the increasingly impatient Koma.

“What’s the Trust got against Bennet?”

Wandsworth held out his right hand, using the left to put weight on the cane. His long fingers opened, revealing a sizable pile of rare gemstones and jewelery. “This is… personal. And also impersonal. Do you find that absurd?”

Koma blinked. The man continued, “It’s not like you’re going to exhume Michael Jackson. Just make sure your team doesn’t go after Brad Pitt — I’ve got some business with him and I can’t afford to have the authorities involved.”

“Now that I think about it, that does seem like a pretty good plan,” Koma admitted, opening the door. “I’ll see—”

As quickly and mysteriously as Wandsworth had arrived, he had departed. The scent of rotted flowers lingered a while. Weird guy, Koma thought as he entered the room.

What followed was a rousing 30-minute debate to elect the new project manager, after which the group unanimously decided on the one person who wasn’t there — me. Ciera passively sat her hat down on the table and ran her hand through her hair. For a while nobody spoke.

“So what’re we doin’ this week?” Wolverine barked with the assertiveness of a Texan.

“Ciera can do the planning and ‘execution,’” Koma laughed. “Henchman can make the demands, and Wolverine can do the exchange.”

“And what will you do?” Ciera blasted, brandishing her sword.

“I’ll pick the target.”

“Well,” Ciera started… “We could do something bold. Kidnap Bennett or one of the judges. Maybe even someone off of the other team. It’s just for the game, so no harm no foul right?”

“Well it’s not like we’re kidnapping Michael Jackson’s corpse!” Koma giggled madly. What inappropriate and unexpected dialogue! The censors must be furious.

“No,” Wolverine growled. “Let’s kidnap Deadpool’s teddy bear.”

“I kind of like that…” Ciera mentioned.

“Nah,” said Henchman. “Let’s kidnap Trump.”

Koma coughed. “I agree with Ciera’s idea, which was completely her idea, and not my idea, to kidnap Bennet.”

This garnered some strange looks. Ciera balked. “You agree with me?”

“And why not? You are wise beyond your years. Now go! Already our ridiculously circuitous plan is one-quarter complete!” Koma clasped his hands in concession.

Smiling triumphantly, Ciera bent over and grabbed her woolen hat. She closed the door behind her as Henchman rolled out the blueprints to the local post office, where the demands would be made.

A faint buzzing instantly jarred the teammates from their comprehensive planning. Reaching down with sterilized tongs, the Henchman removed a fairly-worn cellular phone from underneath the table.

“What’s it do?! What’s it do?!” Wolverine chattered, reacting badly to the buzzing. He had clearly never seen a phone this small before.

“I’ll take that,” Koma said as he grabbed the phone. “It’s Ciera’s. She must have dropped it. Ooh! Texts from the Hatian!”

“Why’s the Haitian texting her?” Wolverine asked gruffly, to no one in particular. His uncontrollable fear of telephones came and went like the tides.

“Let’s find out,” Koma giggled (like a thirteen year old girl).

Erasing the unread message, the three began texting…

***

Time had not been kind to Primatech.

Bird nests sat on the sill of each unbroken window; they were few and far between. Graffiti covered the bricks and harsh weeds tore up the walkways. And that was just from the old photographs.

Currently, the whole property had been torn down to make room for a parking lot. This was the year… 2114!

I sighed and shook the ornate bottle in my claw. “Wandsworth!”

The night before, I’d been planning quite an extensive proposal for the team to follow. It was my time to be manager, I felt it in my bones! This notecard would prove it!

And then… Woodrow Wandsworth appeared out of thin air. At first I had suspicions, but when he told me I’d won the Zombietree Australian lottery, I gave him a hug and offered him a vat of beef stew.

The prize was an ancient bottle with a genie in it!

Unfortunately, the genie was a trickster. When I wished to outlive all my friends, I was transported over a hundred years into the future. I should sue. Still, this was an excellent chance to learn how I could lead Victorious Secret to victory after I used my next wish to return.

“You there,” I yelled at a time native, “Which way to the public library?”

“Library?” The local asked confusedly, “They stopped serving breakfast an hour ago.”

***

“It’s about time,” Wolverine growled, his face buried in a picture-book. “Henchy’s already mailing the ransom note… WHAT?!”

Koma likewise gaped as Ciera lugged the unconscious body of Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator onto the boardroom table. “Tonight we feast!”

“Where’s Bennet?!” they both asked.

Ciera shrugged. “I traced Bennet to this abandoned mace factory. When I saw Jon there, I knew he had planned the same thing, and that I’d have to execute the perfect double kidnap. Of course, while I was fighting Jon for the hostage, Bennet broke free and clocked us both.”

She propped her boots up on the table. Wolverine scowled.

“Who’s gonna pay HIS ransom?”

“I would’ve called you, but I can’t find my phone.”

“And Henchy already sent Bennet’s family a ransom note,” Koma added, his iconic cape fluttering in the air conditioned breeze. “WHAT ABOUT HIM?!”

The door swung open. Infinite sorrows! It was the Hatian, followed by the Henchman himself! “Henchman is doing better than Bennet,” the Hatian lamented, snapping his fingers. Instantly the Henchman cleared his throat.

“Ladies and gents,” he began, “it is our sad duty… heh heh, duty… to report that Noah Bennet, shortly after escaping his captors, was… crushed to death by a frozen 300-pound slab of waste dropped by an airplane.”

Koma keeled over laughing. Wolverine let out a small chuckle and picked up his funny-book again. Ciera was more sombre, and went to console the Hatian. Before she could reach him, he dropped to his knees and grasped her hand.

“Ciera, oh, your text messages have touched me in this time of need. And now that we are beyond the mere statuses of ‘judge’ and ‘contestant,’ we can finally go forward with what we talked about!”

“The what now?”

He produced a small leather case from inside his designer vest. “Will you marry me?”

***

In 2114, the pizza bagel was now America’s national food. That’s what the librarians told me when I went to learn. So I ordered a dozen and sat by the curb (or kerb, as was common in Ingsoc dialect) and pondered my far-flung team.

“They surely have failed without my sober guiding hand!” I cried, tossing the bagels and my meticulously transcribed notecard to the rubbery asphalt sidewalk. “How I wish those fools had my notes all those years ago! *wheeze*!”

Uh oh. Smoke poured from the mouth of the bottle, seizing on my verbal blunder. The sidewalk glowed indigo as the notecard curled up into an increasingly-shrinking ball.

Thinking on my toes, I snatched the bottle and thrust it as hard as I could at the woolen hat emerging from another point in time. Sparks flew as the world reordered itself around me; history was changing.

I felt a burning sensation in my shoulder, and then it was dark and quiet.

***

“You’ve betrayed me.”

Koma swiveled in this lazy-guy desk chair. “Wandsworth.”

“The Henchman is nearing Brad Pitt’s high rise. What did we agree to?”

“I was going to get them to go after Bennet. I was! But then we got the text message saying he was already kidnapped…”

The shady man massaged his temple. “Fine, we’ll work with what we’ve got. Here.”

“What’s this?”

“It’s a ransom note. Give it to Wolverine. Tell him it’s from that computerized colleague of yours. Add it to the note you’ve already worked up. Hopefully it’s so confusing it’ll delay the ransom until I’ve gotten what I need from Pitt.”

Koma tucked it away thoughtfully.

“This may just work out… what is your part in all this?”

“I’m delivering Pitt for the ransom exchange.”

He smiled. “No, you’re bringing him to me. I was planning to come to an equitable deal with Mister Pitt… now I won’t have to.”

***

That trickster genie!

I groaned — or, I would have, if I could. When history is changed, it instantly reverberates up to the present in a massive shift, the universe’s way of expunging paradoxes. Because I was a part of that nonexistent future, I would have been completely eliminated from time!

Genies are immune to that.

Instead of allowing the universe to delete me, I shoved my arm into the active timestream and POOF! Now the hat, the bottle and my arm were… somewhere, probably within a few hours of when the notecard arrived.

I waited patiently as the tonnes of metallic mass stored in my forearm began the arduous task of rebuilding my body, down to the lint in my pockets. I’d have to eat a lot of cars before I could do that again!

My vision returned once the backup memory files were transfered from the pinky drive to my primary brain. I was wading in a hot-tub in a ritzy hotel room! I plucked the hat out of the water and scarfed it down, like it was a scarf. Then I made my way to the bottle…

“Who are you?!”

Jumping from the tub, I looked up a brass staircase. An angry mustachioed man frowned down at me. I finally glanced around the room: gaudy art, overly-expensive ornaments, a man-sized vault at the top of the stairs, photographs of unlovable children with — Sweet Capybara of the Sahara! — Brad Pitt!

“Alonzo will make short work of ya,” the belligerent bodyguard bellowed as he bore the blimp-sized box-safe on the brawny bulk of his back. He tore at the stairs like a dingo at a baby!

“Gah! I wish that safe was someplace else!”

The bottle exploded and a mist of pure spiritual energy shot at the safe, quick as a mag-lev train. It vanished in a split-second, along with the safe. After granting three wishes, the genie was free! The sudden imbalance hurled the bodyguard forward. With a scream and a sickening CRUNCH, he lay in a crumpled heap by the hamper.

So I propped him up against the elevator door as a lark. A lark! A man loses his life, and I turn him into a Halloween decoration? What’s the world coming to when the most dignity we can hope for in death is an inoffensive disposal?

Preparing to rappel the building (on the government-mandated utility rappel lines, of course) I took one last look at the photo of Brad Pitt. Uh-oh.

*Sigh.* I would have to make a final pit stopp — I mean, Pitt stop — I mean, I mean, I need to get to the Brangelina Complex NOW.

Folding the photo into my fully-restored and remastered jacket pocket, I jumped through the locked hotel window. Glass fell on the pavement like shards of rain.

***

Brad Pitt shifted uncomfortably in his sporty utility stool. I turned up the intensity of the light.

“What do you remember?”

He coughed. “I was in my hotel… they took me…”

“I’ve had a rougher night than thou,” I grumbled. I licked the remaining banana cream from my fingers. “Pierre says ‘hi.’”

“Wh… the kids’ chef?”

“Reduced to ASH, I’m afraid. I also had the displeasure of destroying your security drones.” I shed a tear. “Ten — no, twenty — Roombas, armed only with their courage. You fleshy slavemaster.”

“I think I have internal bleeding…”

“Well I regrew a body tonight. Now tell me,” I unfolded the photograph and pointed to a broken sculpture, “what is this?”

Brad’s pupils grew until his whole eyeballs were coal black. “WHERE IS IT?!”

“Where you can’t get at it, Wandsworth… or should I say Karl Überdale?”

Brad Pitt smiled. But it wasn’t him behind those baby blues. “What did you do with it?”

“The Foot of Artemis? Gone, gone, it’s gone.”

Brad Pitt’s eyes burned with the fiery rage of the vindictive mage. “Then it was with Angelina Jolie?”

“And as you suspected, their home was magic-proof,” I went on, “so you concocted this hare-brained—”

“DON’T YOU MENTION RABBITS TO ME!” Karl thundered via the unwilling proxy.

“—scheme to send a mind-controlled Brad Pitt in there to steal it for you. And you bribed Koma with rocks painted as gems!”

Karl bristled. “The Foot could have helped me extrude the Brain of Artemis from that laval morass… but there are other pieces, you know.” He chuckled. “I’ll make it work.”

I stuck Brad Pitt with an anti-magic mattress label and tossed him out the back of the moving van.

“Hey, Pitt,” I yelled as he struggled to stand, “forget works of art. The real money’s in pizza bagels!”

Spirited Away

2009-07-24T23:07:00.010-04:00

Jon has a drinking problem. He doesn't want to admit it; however, I have to admit he has good taste in the spirits he chooses to imbibe. I'm especially fond of that stuff he brought back after his mission to the multiverse: Irish Whiskey, I believe he called it. Although, it actually comes from Ireland...which is on Earth...from the same time period in which he lives. Why did he have to go to the multiverse to get that? Hmmmmmm....

But Jon's idea of a kidnapping sounded more like a weekend of shop-lifting at Wal-Mart -- a lot of fun but the merchandise you get isn't going to be worth much. But, hey, he's El Jefe this week and what he says goes...for now.

He also is clearly oblivious to the fact that in my universe we do not have any type of "teleporter" thingy other than a shuttle. I had to go find Jean-Luc, who was way out in BFE this week, and beg to have Geordy install a small one on my ship before I even began my part of this week's challenge.

Once done, I took my ship and landed on the roof of the Primatech Paper company -- they had a rather nice landing pad all layed out. The helicopter that was there did prove to be an obstacle, but a few well-placed shots from the laser canon resolved that issue. I only had to navigate around a few remaning pieces to to safely land.

Walking down the ramp, I was met by a rather distraught official and an armed security guard with his gun aimed at my chest.

"You completely obliterated Mr. Bennett's personal transport!" the official said.

I looked at the remaining pieces still on the deck.

"Oh, that hunk of junk?" I said, then motioned back at my own ship. "I brought him a replacement that is much better. I didn't think he'd mind a small demonstration of what it's capable."

The official seemed to calm down and the guard put his weapon back in it's holster.

"Is he in?" I asked, hold up a set of car keys that I lifted from Koma earlier that day, "I'd like to give him the keys."

The official backed off a bit then a look of recognition came over his face. "Hey, I know you," he began. "Your one of the contestants in that Apprentice gig that the boss is holding."

I nodded and smiled. "Yes, that's right."

The guy looked up at my ship and then back at me. "She's really nice. I hope this big a bribe gets you what you want in the contest -- but I'm not sure if it will guarantee that you will win."

I smiled once again. "You're right," I answered, then turned on my heels and walked over to the stairs and into the building.

No one in the building seemed to think I was out of place. An odd person or two asked me if I needed help, and they were nice enough to point in the right direction to Bennett's office.

I quietly slipped into his office and saw him reclining in his chair, looking reflectively out the windows. He turned to see me standing by the door.

"How did you get in here?" Bennett asked.

"I let myself in," I answered.

"What do you want?" Bennett asked.

"I'm here for you," I said, moving forward.

He smiled. "Business or pleasure?" he asked.

"Oh," I began, "This is both." I straddled his legs and sat down on his knees. He stiffened noticeably when I did so.

"Nepharia," he began, "this type of approach will not win you any points in my boardroom."

I reached up and put my hands on his shoulders then slid them down the full length of his arms to his wrists. Taking them in my hands I brought them up and to my chest: Bennett became even more uncomfortable, but he did not withdraw from my grasp.

"I'm not looking for what you think," I answered. Before he knew it, I had cuffed his hands together.

"Whah??" he said. I immediately stood up and removed a roll of duct tape from my belt.

"If you think I was actually going to try and give sexual favors for your help in this week's assignment, you are sorely mistaken," I said. "Now, if I can use sex as a distraction when working another plan, I will use it every time because it works: you men are so predictable."

That was when I placed a strip of duct tape across his mouth and around him and the chair, making his seated position rather permanent for the time being.

Then, I removed my outer cloak, revealing a garment that accentuated my best assets. Laying my cloak across his lap, I moved around the back of his chair and began wheeling him out of his office and down the hall toward the roof.

Whenever we met the occasional person, and they asked the obvious question, "What are you doing?"

I would coyly reply, "Why, I'm kidnapping Mr. Bennett, of course."

The strange thing is, everyone seemed to think that it was perfectly ok and I didn't have to use Force mind tricks on any one to make them believe it was an innocent S&M-style kidnapping. Which leads me to actually wonder, what does Bennett do in his spare time when I'm not kidnapping him. And does his wife know?

Getting him up the stairs and into the ship was easy enough (hey, I'm a Sith, remember?). The short trip back to the warehouse and an easy teleport and I was off for Miller Time. Actually, I had lifted a 5th of that Irish Whiskey Jon brought back and I killed a better part of it when I got back to my room.

No early wake up calls for me folk.

The gouger, the biter, the neural destabiliser

2009-07-24T04:03:00.016-04:00

Driving in the states is vile. Not only do you have to drive on the wrong side of the car, but the wrong side of the road. I was running late and I got there just in time to pick up Henchy and Brad. I couldn't help but smirk as the Hollywood hunk was bundled into the van.

"Whadda you laughing' at?" complained Brad.
"If you knew, you wouldn't be laughing." I replied with a devious chuckle.
Brad tried to reply but Henchy shoved a rubber ball in his mouth and a bag over his head. Laughing, I drove away. This was the best time I'd had since eating Penguin, and it had only just begun.

Later when I removed the bag from Brad's head, he was livid. His eyes were filled with rage, and there was a nice bruise on his face where Henchy had pistol whipped him.
"Urrrrrr urrr urrrr urrrrr urrrr urrah urr-rer." mumbled Brad forcefully.
"Oh I'm sorry! But do you actually think you're in charge?" I chuckled. "No you're not in charge but guess what? Neither am I."
Brad glares at me. He looks at the briefcase I'm holding onto.
"Oh this! Its nothing. Just the right tools for the right job, that's all." I tell him as I put the briefcase on a bench nearby. "Now I don't want you to be nervous, so I'm going to show you the tools we'll be using for these sessions."

"This is the gouger."

"This is the biter."

"Oh and, this is the neural destabiliser." I point at him my weapon of choice.

Fizzzzzzzz-ummmmm!

The green beam strikes Brad and he instantly falls into unconsciousness.
Out of the shadows a lone figure reveals himself. Meance is in his steps and the lone figure continues silently toward me. I realise he's there just before he reaches me. I'm enjoying this too much to realise he's even there.
"Oh Its you." I say disappointedly. "You're late, I've already sedated him. Lets make your dream come true."

The ransom demands were agreed to within 24 hours. We dropped off Brad in the wilds of New Jersey. What happens to him is going to be very intersting.

Now how is this all going to fit together?

Where was Gyrobo in all of this?

Who was the lone figure and what were his dreams for Brad Pitt?

And what did Koma use the gouger and the biter for?

All these question may never be answered. But tune in to the finale of the Kidnapping of Brad Pitt.

When Gyrobo gets around to doing it.

Wolverine: Ransom demand.

2009-07-23T22:50:00.011-04:00

The distraction went with outta hitch while everyone else was busy with me the bromance of the super villain set got Pitt. I stop pretendin' to be drunk (healin' factor keeps me from actually gettin' me drunk.) and wave for the cameras, and say "next performance is at eight try the veal!" And run outta the Hotel.

Next is gonna be the "fun" part. I have to get into Angelina's compound, and make the demands. Why would that be a problem ya ask? Well remember the movie Mr., and Mrs. Smith? Ain't far from the truth where Angelina's concerned.

Those kid's she's been adoptin' just a front for trainin' Hand ninjas. Brad Pitt's about as clueless as he looks though, doesn't know what's goin' on in his own backyard.

I use the teleporter I "borrowed" from Koma in the last challenge, and appear right in front of her house. I pop my claws and cut my way through fence, I try sneakin' in but somethin' tripped the Flamin' alarms. At that moment I smell circuit boards and.... banana cream pie?

It don't matter because I'm ambushed by the kids.

I try to negotiate with'em, and show them the error O' their ways... Okay that ain't true I went bezerker on 'em.

Right when I was gonna go for a kill my mind explodes with a shrill female british accent. “Don’t you do it Logan!"

“What the Flamin 'Psylocke? Why are ya in my head?"

No answer... gah women! Like I aibn't beeen havin' enough trouble with 'em. Fine I didn't kill the brats but I got more damage from not doin' so. I hope that telepathic witch is happy where ever she is. I did give them all the kids a paddlin' though.

I finally get to the house, when I hear police sirens in the distance I'll have to hurry this up, "Hey Wolvie am I on TEE VEE?" A voice yells behind me. Great just what I don't need Deadpool. " Angelina hired me to get her hubby back! Even if I have to shsikabob you to do it old buddy! What? Quiet yellow text bubbles I'm being all dramatic! “He started rantin' to the voices in his head.

Last time I fought this dork he dropped a piano on me. So I was ready, and willin;' to take him down But I didn't have much time.... then all of a sudden a safe fell on his head from outta the blue. I think Gyrobo may have somethin' to do with that. Too bad that won't kill him.

I tape the envelope with the ransom demand onto the safe, and run outta there before the police show up. On my motorcycle, I catch a look from Jolie,

Looks like she ain't too happy with it can't be the Ten Million... must be the other demand "The Boss" put in the letter.

Henchy's guide to kidnapping.

2009-07-23T20:16:00.005-04:00

Ladies and Gents,

At first I was planning to the job and frame Jon for it. He just dug his grave already.

So for my part of the task. I have to plan and execute kidnapping, with Ciera's help we chose Brad Pitt.

Here was her reasoning " What about...Brad Pitt. He's famous, handsome, a humanitarian who adopts a lot of kids, has a beautiful wife..."

Brad, it is. I put some feelers out and find out he is filming a sequel to two movies at the same time. Guess which two...

Through my union contacts, I get put on Brad's bodyguard detail.

I get the address to the hotel where he is staying.

Not bad.

Koma finds the plans for the building. He is in a black van just down the street and gives me the layout. Thanks to him, I find out that Brad's suite has a panic room in case he is in danger.

For a successful kidnapping. There are certin things that you need to do.

Get close to the target, Check.

Know your battle ground; the exits, the fire system and the security detail, Check.

Last, but not least. You need a distraction. That's where Wolverine comes in. The furball is always high drama. Check.

He enters the lobby. He is drunk as a skunk and starts screaming how Brad's wife should be with him.

As you can imagine, he causes a lot of trouble. This is good. I take Brad back to lift and take it to the top floor with another bodyguard.

Once we reach the penthouse, the lift's doors open and a dead bodyguard falls out.

"Dude, WTF?" Brad asks.

He tries to fight me, I pistol whip him and his lights are out.

I drag his body to the roof and repel off to the ground floor.

Everyone else is busy with Wolverine on the other side of the building.

30 seconds later, Koma pulls up with the van.

"Your late." I say.

I get in with Brad, Koma smirks and we drive off.

Dental for All.

Raptor Jesus rules.

Pitfalls of being demoted

2009-07-23T03:03:00.008-04:00

One of the pitfalls of being demoted, is that no one listens to your ideas anymore. Just because I have problems leading, doesn't mean I don't have good ideas!

I listen passively as everybody at the table votes Gyrobo in as "The Boss". I'd gladly hand over my hat --- but the new boss isn't even here!! I slide the hat into the middle of the table...where it mysteriously disappears and is replaced by a note.

Koma grabs the note up and starts chuckling. "It's from The Boss," he says, smirking at me.

I flip him off, but he's too busy reading the note to see. Wolverine saw and grinned at me. "No hard feelings, darling," he whispers to me. "You just let Koma push you around too much."

"I should have brought my bigger sword," I whispered back.

"Are you going to tell us what the note says?" Henchman asked a little impatiently.

Koma reads ~
"* Choose target : Ciera
* Plan and execute kidnapping : Henchman
* Demand ransom : Wolverine
* Make the exchange : Koma"

Great. "Well," I start... "We could do something bold. Kidnap Bennett or one of the judges. Maybe even someone off of the other team. It's just for the game, so no harm no foul right?"

"Ooohhhh, let's kidnap Michael Jackson's corpse!" Koma giggles madly at this.

"No," Wolverine growled. "Let's kidnap Deadpool's teddy bear."

"I kind of like that..." I mentioned.

"Nah," said Henchman. "Let's kidnap Trump."

My cellphone tweets and I check my text message. I groan. "Guys, we might be in trouble. Jon IG just nabbed Mr. Bennett."

"Why the cad!" Koma cried.

"Isn't that cheating?" Henchy asked.

"Why's the Haitian texting you?" was Wolverine's question.

"He's a friend," I reply. "Well, so much for that. We're never going to be able to top that. We'll just have to go a different direction. What about...Brad Pitt. He's famous, handsome, a humanitarian who adopts a lot of kids, has a beautiful wife..."

"I've been meaning to make a synthoid of Angelina," Koma mutters. "This'd be the perfect opportunity..."

"I've always wanted to take on those adopted kids of his. How many's he got now?" Wolverine growled, flexing those muscles.

"I know the perfect place," Henchman volunteered.

"Well, ok then." If they really manage to pull this off, I wonder if they'll let me keep Brad? Probably not.

The others take off, intent on kidnapping Pitt. Now that my part of the task is done, maybe the Haitian could use my help? It's either that or spend the rest of the time 'tweaking' Koma's synthoid of Megan....hmmm.....

I look at the spot where the Boss's hat disappeared and the note reappeared. "Does anyone know where Gyrobo is?!?!"

Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator: Large and in charge, baby

2009-07-22T13:16:00.007-04:00

“And so I think this week’s task we’ll have the perfect opportunity to—” Professor Xavier paused. “Jon, are you listening?”

“Sorry, dude,” I replied. “Every time I hit F5 on my Wristcomm, it plays that Money song.”

Professor Xavier and Nepharia looked at each other. “Have you been drinking again?” she asked.

“Jus’ a little,” I pinched my fingers together and squinted. “I’m a’ight… really. You smell nice. Brrrrrrup.”

“You know Jon,” the Professor stated. “As a former private in the US Army and a presidential candidate, I would think you have the leadership skills necessary to get us the win. I was about to suggest that you would be the ideal El Jefe this week, but it doesn’t appear that you are up to the task. ”

“I don’t think he’s got it,” Nepharia smirked. “Look at him. He was missing from the first week’s task for some alleged mission to save the multiverse and he came back smelling like booze. What kind of a mission to save the multiverse comes with booze?”

“Hey, I’ll be the Jefe,” I slurred. “I’ll be the Jefe.”

“Managing a Sith and Earth’s greatest telepath?” Nepharia snorted. “Not in your condition.”

“You clearly seem rather tipsy, as the kids say,” Xavier concurred.

“This is the worst intervention ever!” I indignantly blurted back at them. “Look at you, Charlie. You’re sitting there and drinking a cognac.”

“This isn’t an intervention, this is a team meeting,” Xavier answered with a hint of frustration.

“It is?” Huh. They might be right, maybe this is getting a little out of hand. I have only one choice and so I opened the hidden compartment on my Wirstcomm and pulled out the lone pill contained within. I popped the Bacchusian Anti Intoxicant into my mouth and swallowed it whole. Immediately, I felt the effects like my body swelled up and quickly returned to normal starting from my head and traveling all the way to my toes, then straight back up again. My head immediately cleared up, the lethargic, fatigued feeling was chased away, and my muscles felt tighter. I curled my arm to show my bicep and the image of an M1A2 Abrams tank firing its 120 mm smoothebore gun briefly appeared on it.

I think I even heard nautical music.

“OK, I’m your man,” I said. I picked up a yardstick and slapped the image of the man on the wall with it. “This will be a real easy snatch and grab. Nepharia, you use the technologies and Sith abilities at your disposal to teleport our objective to here.”

I smacked the map on the wall next to the picture of our victim with my makeshift pointer.

“Professor,” I continued. “With your abilities, we’ll easily negotiate an exchange with our objective for the ransom. This will be a cakewalk, no fuss, no muss, in and out, easy stuff. I’ll leave you two to your portions of the task and meet our friend when he arrives at the hideout.”

Later, I was alone in the abandoned warehouse. Odd shadows chased each other throughout the open space where I stood.

“Hey, what the?” a surprised voice cried out behind me.

I turned around and saw my victim had appeared sitting in a wooden chair.

“You’ll have to excuse the accommodations,” I said coldly as I pulled a length of duct tape from its roll. “I’ll make you as comfortable as possible but I’m going to have to keep you secure for the duration.”

“You kidnapped me? That’s cold.” Mr. Bennet exhaled. “I like it.”

“Yeah, you should have seen the look on the Haitian’s face,” I smirked. “He was speechless.”

“That’s his character!” Bennet growled. “Anyway, who do you think is going to pay to get me back, huh?”

“We have several options on that,” I grinned. “Maybe the producers of this show will want you back, maybe Primatech won’t want any dirty little secrets to come spilling out of your head, or maybe your family will cough up the dough. Hey, maybe we’ll get lucky and get all three, huh?”

“My family would never betray me!” the man with the glasses shouted angrily.

“I think your kid would,” I answered.

“Claire?”

“No,” I shook my head and pulled my jacket off to get a little more comfortable. “Lyle.”

“Ooh,” he sucked in his breath. “Yeah, him. Well, my family doesn’t have that kind of cash lying around, you’ll never get any from him even if he agrees to the make the exchange.”

“Come on, Noah, you’ve been doing this sneaky black ops stuff for years. You must have a little cash squirreled away under your mattress or buried in your basement. I know your type. And as for your son, you know the one who plays second fiddle to your adopted daughter at every turn? The one who you just kicked out of the competition? I’m sure he’ll play ball if it comes to that.”

“Yeah well…” Bennet’s bluster hissed out of him like the air out of a balloon. “Fine. So what will we do until then?”

“I Guess that I’m just stuck in the middle with you,” I smiled menacingly as I reached into my pocket.

“Wait… What?” he gasped. “You’re not going to cut my ear off are you?”

“Naw, just make you a little prettier.”

The real reason I wasn't fired

2009-07-20T18:52:00.006-04:00

My Synthiod Megan Fox had disappeared. She's only a prototype and doesn't even talk properly. She's still set to Breathless Miss Scarlet mode. Hmmmm! How best to find her.

I decided to send Victorious Secret's own Celebrity, Charlie Sheen to find her. If anyone can find a smoking hawt female starlet its Charlie. Needless to say Charlie was eager to get on with his investigation.

"Where was she last?" asked Charlie assuming some detective character he'd played.

"Well first she was taken by Logan."

"So Wolverine has her, then. I'll go ask him?" said Charlie.
"I ain't got the sex-bot. I left her in the penthouse. Ain't seen it since then. But uh... if you find it uhhhh..." trailed off the hairy mutant.
"If we find it what?" I ask smiling.
"Forget about it." growls Logan and he storms off.

"Dead end Koma." says Charlie.
Just then Ciera walked in....
"Have you seen Synth-Megan?" asked Charlie.
"Ugh!" shook Ciera. "The Yellow troglodyte left with her saying something about booze and skinny-dipping." With that the Boss-lady left, muttering something about getting dog hair out of her clothes.

"Well that only means the river. We better get there." advised Charlie.

We get to the river and Henchy's there, with Synth-Megan.

"Henchy you better bring her back." I tell him.

"It'll be a while man." calls Henchy back. "Now git!"

When I finally saw Henchy again I asked him where the Synth-Megan was.
"Hey I don't know. "replied Henchy tiredly. "I brought her back here and Bennet was all up in my grill. He took her away saying she was contraband, whatever that is. Anyway you can make another one."
I went straight to Bennets office and lo and behold H.R.G was definitely Horned and Rimmed.

"Umm! as you were Miss Fox." stammered Bennet.
"Control override. Get dressed and back to your coffin." I command the synthoid. "And as for you Bennet. Shame on you. I expect this from Logan and Henchy but you're a married man."
"I'd appreciate it if this never was revealed Koma." demanded Bennet.
"Hey as long as I don't get voted off this round, I'm okay with that." I reply.

You'd think that'd be the end of my troubles, but no. I turn on the TV and its Entertainment Tonight with news about Charlie Sheen with a new younger woman.

"Charlie!"

Task Three: People Picking

2009-07-20T11:42:00.005-04:00

Good morning, teams.

Hopefully you are all much smarter now having been to college. In reality, you're probably just high and in debt.

Regardless, we have a new task for you today. I'll let The Haitian explain.

"Kidnapping is an extremely profitable enterprise. It is dangerous, but rewarding. This week you will be kidnapping a person of your choosing and holding them for ransom."

Thank you, The Haitian.

"If you'd just be uglier, maybe I wouldn't have to worry about your safety."

Remember, the Project Manager is in charge. So, once you pick one, follow their lead. Democracy is slow and inefficient. That's why in secret organizations we have dictatorships. Plus this method gives each contestant their own time to shine, or fade away into oblivion.

After you choose your Project Manager, you can get started on the task.

You'll first need to decide on a target. The victim should be someone that would be able to bring in a good ransom, but they have to be obtainable as well.

Once you decide who you'll kidnap, then you'll need to spend some time learning their behavior. You can't just drive up in a van and grab someone. You don't have The Haitian. Intricate planning is a must. Devise a good plan and execute it.

Once the kidnappee is in your custody, it's time to demand a ransom. Demand too much and their so-called loved ones will let them die. Demand too little and you'll fail to impress me. How you deliver your ransom notice, and what you demand from them, is all up to you. Be creative.

When you've got an agreed upon price, it's time to make the exchange. There will most likely be cops. There are always cops. Even if your plan included a "no cops" clause, expect there to be cops. Be prepared for whatever may happen, but whatever you do, make sure you come back with the ransom.

Challenge Three
Choose target

Plan and execute kidnapping

Demand ransom

Make the exchange

You'll be judged on the success and efficiency of your kidnapping and exchange, the creativity of your ransom and target choices and, of course, teamwork.

If you need any kidnapping tips, you can check out my guide to a successful kidnapping, soon to be out in paperback.

You're Fired: Number Two

2009-07-20T11:41:00.001-04:00

"And in conclusion and in summary," Jon said.

We waited.

Nothing.

So, I responded, "Relax, Jon. I really don't think you have anything to worry about. You did well enough, and this whiskey is great."

Jon smiled.

"But then, I don't know,"I continued, "I may have to fire two people this time."

I looked over the four losers. Ciera, Koma, Mr. Muggles, Jon.

"Ciera," I concentrated on the fiery writer, "you led your team to victory last week, but this week it all fell apart. Clearly it was all Koma's fault, but what's worse than his mistakes is that you let him make them. As The Boss you shouldn't let someone else push the team around. I think next week you should give someone else the chance to be The Boss."

I looked at my wife's Pomeranian, "Mr. Muggles, last week you came this close to getting fired. I like your fight, which is why you barely survived the boardroom last week. But I don't know if you're cut out for this line of work. You were a real alpha dog taking the role of El Jefe, but then you screwed the pooch on this task."

"Jon," I raised a glass to him, "do better next time."

Finally, we came to the masked-idiot. "Koma, your team seems to blame you. At least Ciera certainly does, and I think she's right. You've been pulling the strings behind the scenes and twice secretly led your team into a lackluster performance."

The Haitian nodded in his intimidating, Haitian way.

Claire rolled her eyes.

Jon took a shot of whiskey.

Mr. Muggles sat up.

Ciera took a shot of Jon's whiskey.

"I have to weed out the weaker contestants," I explained, "because soon we could be having a very important, very special guest judge. And so far it's been pretty disappointing all around. I'm hoping that after this boardroom the teams will become stronger, perform better. I think you've got a lot of heart in this game. You definitely want to win, and you've got what it takes to be a winner, just not in this line of business. Mr. Muggles, you're fired."

"You can go back to the room, Jon."

The Intergalactic Gladiator pet the sad, little doggy on its head before the two left the boardroom. Captain Koma and Ciera looked at each other.

"As for Victorious Secret," I said, "you two can both go back too. I'm not firing anyone else today. Don't make me regret that, Koma."

Second Boardroom

2009-07-19T01:55:00.003-04:00

"Oh, brother," I sighed. "What a disaster."

"Like, yeah," Claire agreed.

"..." said The Haitian.

"Send them in," I commanded over the intercom.

The four entered the boardroom. They were nervous. They were frightened. They were mildly sweaty.

"Well, this is a first," I said, "no winning team? What happened?"

Ciera pointed her thumb over at Koma. "The Wizard of Oz here just had to pick Alaska."

"I know you're Australian, Captain," I said to the purpley villain, "but I'm sure you know Americans suck at geography. We'd never officially realize that Alaska is indeed on the same continent. It feels too far away to be part of the Continental US, so it isn't."

He was clearly thinking terrible things about me in his mind, but remained silent.

I turned my attention to Mr. Muggles. "I like that you stepped up to be El Jefe this round, but you really didn't impress me."

"I really have no idea who I should fire," I admitted. "I thought last week's decision was tough, but this one's tough. Maybe I should fire two of you, one from each team, what do you think about that?"

Before either of them could answer, I posed the question to Claire. "What do you think, Claire Bear, should I fire two of them?"

"Like, totally," she answered.

"What do you think, Haitian? Who should I fire?" I asked my trusted right-hand man.

"It seems to me that Koma performed poorly. The only reason he seemed to want to go to Alaska was to eat a penguin. I truly don't understand the rationale. And he had so many typos. It really made Wolverine look like a literary scholar."

"So, you think I should fire Koma?" I asked.

"Hey, so you guys don't like penguins," Koma interrupted, "I get it. They're not for everyone."

Claire offered her own suggestion, "Why don't you, like, fire Mr. Muggles? I know he's cute and all, but, like, Mom really misses him, and this is, like, his second time in the boardroom."

"That's true," I nodded. "Mr. Muggles. You didn't do a great job leading this task. Your team did perform well, and maybe if they would have gone after some local competition, they would have won. Whose fault was that?"

He barked.

Jon interpreted, "He says, 'Jon did an excellent job, and he shouldn't be fired.' Aw, thank you puppy. That's really sweet."

Mr. Muggles growled.

"Jon...." I looked at the intergalactic gladiator. "You know, you did reasonably okay. Reasonably. I mean, maybe you did great, but going up against Gyrobo...well, that's tough, right?"

"Right," he replied.

"So, I don't know. I suppose you held your own." I looked at Ciera, "Maybe you should have quit while you were ahead, huh? Again as The Boss....didn't work out so well this time, huh?"

"It's all Koma's fault. Koma, Koma, Koma."

"She makes a good point," I said.

"No, she doesn't," Koma responded.

"Yes, she does!" Ciera countered.

"Koma, you know, the post really did have a lot of typos," I said. "Have you considered investing in a spell checker? I gotta disagree with The Haitian on eating the Penguin, though. Maybe I wouldn't have done it myself, but it was a good use of a lower lifeform, and, like you said, he didn't make the cut. But do you think you were a bit strict if nobody at all made the cut? I mean, even the CIA can find a job or two for imbeciles."

"This is really tough," I continued, "Really tough. I'm still considering firing two of you. I don't know if I should or not. Jon's reasonably safe. He didn't do a great job, but I don't think he was the reason Team One lost. Ciera was The Boss, and while she did a good job getting a faculty advisor, maybe she didn't take charge enough to steer her team in the right direction. Koma made a lot of big mistakes this round, but I'm okay with the penguin-eating. He takes risks, but sometimes that can be, well, risky. And Mr. Muggles is here for a second time. Maybe you could have done more for the team. You seemed to delegate well-enough, but other than signing off on Xavier's school, it doesn't seem like you did much else."

I gave them each one final look. "Well," I said, "I have to fire somebody, maybe two people, so let's hear it. Who do you think I should fire? Why shouldn't I fire you?"

Oh Snap

2009-07-18T23:19:00.002-04:00

I can't believe it, A tie??? Maybe I am being prejudice but Team One should have won. We totally rock the socks off of the other team. I am proud of everyone on my team this week. We did the best we could do.

Words can not describe how I feel right now. Everyone pulled their weight this week. My cute behind maybe on the line this week due to a remark taken out of context. "Mr. Clean" was a joke at Professor X. It was not at any way aimed at one of our wonderful advisers.

The break down for who I should take to the board is going to be hard. Nepharia did receive praise for her recruitment skills and being fashionable . Professor get points for heading a school but picked Carrot Top as our adviser. Jon was hit and miss this week, got points for location but no society history or good recruitment speech.

With great sadness, I choose Jon to come with me into the boardroom.

Not Contintenal?

2009-07-18T22:04:00.000-04:00

"Alaska's not part of the Continental US?" I asked, incredulously. "What the frig?!" I look around the table my teammates and I are seated at.

"I tried telling you we should go to Yale," said a quiet voice.

"So you did. And if I survive the Boardroom, you can be project manager next time around." I sigh. "Koma, I'm going to have to put you up on the chopping block. Not only did you run roughshod over the issue of the college, you also allowed Kale to die and you ate the penguin. Everyone else completed their assignments, but we didn't even get any initiates and the one that did survive..." I shake my head in disgust.

"But - but - but..."

"That and you routinely call me names like 'she-devil'. I don't appreciate that."