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This message Dancer #32 was posted by Dancer (via HH, who wishes to disclaim responsibility for anything but proofreading) on Saturday, March 2, 2002 at 13:31.
Dancer #32
[The Scene: Dancer, Pegasus, Ziles, and Troia are about to close in on a seedy waterfront warehouse where nefarious things are going on.]
Ziles: And you are sure that nefarious things are going on in there, Pegasus?
Pegasus: Absolutely. Very nefarious.
Ziles: Only Finny cries when we break into places and cause random property damage if we don’t have reasonable cause.
Pegasus: Don’t worry. I have lots of experience of nefarious. There is nefariosity happening down there even as we speak.
Troia: What are we waiting for? Let’s blow the wall in and pound some villain.
Ziles: Well, if everyone thinks we should intervene. What do you say, Dancer? Er… Dancer?
Dancer [who is even now knocking on the front door of the warehouse]: Hi! I’m Dancer, a newish but devastatingly attractive crimefighter, and I’m on patrol seeking out evil. Do you happen to have any in here?
Ziles: We have got to have that talk about stealth tactics again.
Pegasus: Is she allowed to do that? Shouldn’t we be having some gratuitous fighting right now?
Troia, sulkily: Yes.
Dancer: Come on, ladies. The doorman here says we can go in.
Ziles: This has got to be a trap. They probably have lethal weaponry concealed behind… behind those sewing machines. And.. and…
Troia, helpfully: They *might* be deadly assassins disguised as little old ladies making clothing.
Dancer: Hello, Mrs Stankowski. How are the bunions these days?
Ziles, glaring at Pegasus: You said there was nefariousness happening here.
Dancer: Well, the kind of wages these poor folk get is something of a crime.
Pegasus: Fools. Don’t you see what they’re doing here? What they’re making?!!
[Dancer, Ziles, and Troia look]
Ziles: It looks like… superhero costumes?
Dancer: No, superheroine costumes. I recognise that impossible tight bodice design and those ride-up-your-crack panties. This looks like X-wear!
Troia: More like XXX wear. You couldn’t possibly battle evil in this without stopping to pop yourself back in again every two punches.
Pegasus: Now do you see? This is the place all those demeaning, uncomfortable, unfeasible superheroine outfits come from. This place is responsible for all the misery of high-heel-wearing chafing-leather-gusseted improbably-nipple-outlining adolescent-male-tittilating female herowear across the Parodyverse.
[The adventure stops for a few moments as our heroines remember Finny’s telepathically-adjustable high-heels idea and pause to mock him]
Troia: I don’t see why we need costumes at all. Back on Amazon Isle we don’t bother with clothes for gymnastic events.
Dancer (shudders): That is because you are a technically backward people who have never learned the blessings of the sports bra. Besides, if you go into combat like that your male team-mates tend to bump into walls and hit each other accidentally. Er, so I’m told.
Ziles: Well, I agree that anyone who designs things like this spike-studded bustier is probably evil, but what exactly can we do about this? It’s not as if there’s any law against making sexist impractical clothing to pander to arrested-development fanboys, is there?
Pegasus: But it is nefarious. We have to do something?
Dancer: We could call in Sydney St Sylvain and get her to do a fashion critique on them. That would be pretty devastating. [Thinks] Hmmm…. You know, I’m starting to smell something familiar about this…
[Suddenly the sewing machines and their surprised old ladies drop through the floor, the walls rotate, and our heroines find themselves surrounded by high-tech automated annihilation systems. A gigantic video screen fills one wall, and lights up with the picture of…]
Dancer: Magenta St Evil!!! Who else would be working so hard to make women conform to comics stereotypes?
Magenta St Evil: Indeed! And now I have you all just where I want you.
Ziles: Watch out, those molecular transformer guns are firing! Aaagh!
Troia: That bitch! She’s transmuted our clothing into… ouch. How can so little chainmail pinch so much...? Agh... can’t move without causing bikini-line depilation…
Dancer: Ow! Bry-lycra fishnets attracting… eek! …static… into silver-foil g-string…
Ziles: Can’t breathe or see through PVC mask… can’t move for weight of chains on rubberwear…
Magenta St Evil: So you are rendered helpless! And now to deploy my webcams!
Pegasus: I don’t know how these little bell things things are holding on to me like they do, and they’re pinching like hades… but horses don’t wear garter belts [transforms to winged horse dorm]
Dancer: You’re just not going to the right sort of parties, Peg.
[Pegasus swoops up and kicks the molecular transformer guns to pieces, reverting all the clothing back to normal]
Troia: Right. Spear time! Get her!
Magenta St Evil: Curses! Foiled again, this time by My Little Pony! I shall have my revenge!
[Magenta pushes the Super-Villain Emergency Escape Button to be transported to her underground getaway monorail. Unfortunate Dancer’s probability-altering causes the evacuation chair to malfunction, instead sending Magenta flying off into the stratosphere.]
Pegasus: I should probably catch her.
Ziles: Yeah.
Dancer: So.
Troia: Pizza?
Dancer: Great idea. But first let me salvage one of these molecular transformer guns to hit the LL boys with the next time they stay in watching football…
This poster posed from 212.159.1.4 when they posted
Message Thread
- Dancer #32 - Dancer (via HH, who wishes to disclaim responsibility for anything but proofreading) - 13:31 on March 2, 2002
- Bravo! - (nt) Wesley - 00:02 on March 4, 2002
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