Posted by MH reminds you this is his first actual stab at Parodyverse Fan-Fic so be gentle. on November 24, 2001 at 15:19:36:
"Mostly Harmless"
It begins in the darkest depths of man's ignorance. Can you hear it?
Buffalo!
It rises up above it all, to engulf the earth like Orson Welles on cheesecake. Can you hear it?
BUFFALO!
It surges with mysticism, it envelops with essentialism, it falters with unvaryiness, it encompasses with pretentiousness!
BUFFALO!
It all begins innocently enough, over lunch between two friends. But soon, it shall grow into the stomach pains of retribution!
The Hooded Hood wiped the crumbs from his cloak. "Good sandwich." he complimented Dancer.
"You think so?" Dancer replied, hesitantly. "I think that mayonnaise was past expiry."
"Aw, I can just retcon it into being good mayonnaise. So tell me, how did you escape the snails?"
"Oh, that. Well, you know, snails don't like salt, especially not at that size. So, Finny hijacked a truck of salt packets, and while Yo and Visionary emptied them, I went about--"
Suddenly, the Hooded Hood fell to the floor, convulsions rippling through his body like chocolate in ice cream!
"God, Hood, I knew the sandwich was bad..." Dancer started.
"It did taste terrible," the Hooded Hood agreed, "but that's not the problem. I sense something...like a million voices crying out in terror then, suddenly, silenced."
"Someone just stepped on an anthill?" Dancer suggested.
"No, the feeling is stronger than that. Why, it's almost as though..." his eyes widened. "As though...someone just performed a retcon!"
Dancer's jaw dropped like a grand piano on a pedestrian. "But Hood, I thought only you controlled the retcon-force! How can this be?"
"That's quite true, thank you for helping the plot along. Yes, you're right, this shouldn't be possible. The only person I know of who could have done this is..." his eyes widened again.
"Will you stop that trailing off?" Dancer demanded.
"Sorry. Just being dramatic. I, uh, I'm afraid I must be leaving now, Dancer. Important business to take care of. Nothing to concern you."
"Last time you said that, I wound up wearing a cheerleader outfit to the graveyard to bail you out. It's not one those stories again, is it?"
"No, Dancer, no. I'm afraid it's something much more...sinister."
That was what the gravestone read. Occasionally, mourners would leave issues of Rampant American Comics, Severed Finger Comics and Kicking Nazi All-Greats by the stone as a tribute to this great hero. Then the caretaker would gather them up, sell them on Ebay for a tidy profit, and use the money to take night classes, hoping to become a mortician.
Although visitors were few and far between, on this particular evening, one solitary figure stood by the grave, his body enveloped in the gathering dusk like a Mexican in a poncho. His identity was shrouded even more so than his appearance, as he stood there, his motives inscrutable.
But then, he became aware that he was not alone! In a flash, he had drawn his gun, set it to "generic laser" and aimed it into the brush. "Who goes there?" he demanded.
"I am not here to harm/maim/kill you." a voice responded.
"Identify yourself." said the former.
A figure stepped forth from the brush, garbed in a long cape. By his side, he held an axe. "I am Century: Your Alien Hero."
"I don't recall choosing an alien hero for myself."
"Who/what/how are you?" Century inquired.
"I am Gauntlet: Dark Rider." the hooded figure answered. "I have come here to seek out an old ally of mine...only to discover this." he indicated the tombstone.
"I believe we have similiar/identical/alike motives. I too am an ally/friend/comrade of the one called MH."
"Then I suggest we pool our talents."
"Agreed/aye/InDEED. How shall we begin/start/get the ball rolling?"
"First, we must be certain that MH is truly deceased." Gauntlet picked up a shovel. "I find it difficult to believe a being as powerful as he could have been killed."
"Agreed/aye/InDEED. Let us proceed/get underway/do the deed."
The two men began to dig. The topsoil gave way to reveal a layer of unending correspondence with Lenny. They dug further. The next layer was full of Threads That Would Not Die, and took time to dig through and around, but they broke through to the next. Villain bios. Monster reviews. Spelling & grammar corrections. Continuity-obsessive lore. Yes, all this was MH, and was now, approrpriately, used to bury him deep down. At last, they reached the coffin itself, constructed of balsa wood and lined with Hefty garbage bags, as per MH's will.
Gauntlet smashed the side of the coffin in, and lifted the lid. It was the moment they had waited for! There in the coffin lay a figure who could only be MH, his trademark grin upon his face, and his arms held stiffly at his side. Gauntlet lowered his head in reverence to this iconic figure.
Century bowed low. "Most tragic/deplorable/ungood. It appears that MH is truly dead/deceased/long gone and forgotten."
Gauntlet was about to agree, when something struck his eye. "Century-- look!" he tore of MH's head!
Century screamed, and grabbed the head away from him, clutching it his hands! "Alas, poor MH!-- I knew him, Gauntlet; a poster of infinite/unending/undying jest, of most excellent continuity: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times..."
Gauntlet really didn't want to hear the sordid details. "Century, he's a dummy."
"That's a horrible/distasteful/disgusting thing to say of such a noble/gentle/mirthful soul! Unless you...mean...the other kind of dummy?" Century examined MH's head. "Why, it is plastic/artificial/fake! This be not MH!"
"Right! And do you know what this means?"
"He's still alive/well/hale and hearty!"
"Yeah, that. But it also means we've got to vacate this grave, pronto, before we get caught!"
"Agreed/aye/InDEED!"
The grave proved much more easily filled than it had been opened, and soon the earth had been patted back down, with scarcely any trace.
"Come on," Gauntlet insisted, "we'd better--"
But he was cut short by the sight of a mysterious cloaked figure who had appeared before them. "Where do you think you're going?" the figure demanded.
"Hey, the 'mysterious/weird/unusual figures' scene was over a dozen paragraphs ago!" Century reminded him.
The Hooded Hood sighed. "All right, I won't overdo the mysterious angle. But again, what have you two been up to? And where do you come from? Although you are most familiar, I have never seen your like in the Parodyverse."
"We are Gauntlet: Dark Rider and Century: Your Alien Hero, and we are conducting a search for our mutual friend." Gauntlet explained.
"Ah. You are friends of MH. Curious, then, that I should not recognize you. But surely your quest has come to an end, for I see his tombstone nearby?" The Hooded Hood did not wait for a reply. "He is not in his grave, is he?" Their silence was his answer. "Dammit!" he yelled, and punched a tombstone so hard it cracked.
"Hey, that must've hurt/been painful/smarted." Century observed.
"Yes...I should have given myself superhuman strength first." The Hooded Hood reflected. "That will require minor surgery. But then, I shall be off to find MH-- and if you are truly his friends, you had best hope I do not find him first!"
And then, like a fart on Mount Everest, the Hooded Hood disappeared without a trace.
"Come on," Gauntlet said to Century, "we've got a sub-plot to get underway!"
"They were big snails. Enormous, even! I couldn't help but..."
"Get smeared with slime?"
Visionary hung his head low. "It was for the good of humanity! Why, had we simply left those snails alone, they would've been free to continue their nefarious plot to transform the Statue of Liberty into their new snailshells! I deserve a medal!"
Cheryl held her nose. "How about a shower, and call it a day?"
Visionary looked down at his slime-encrusted clothes. "What about my threads?"
"Wash 'em. You remember the deal-- 'sugar, spice and everything nice-- that's what my laundry loads are made of...'"
"'...Snakes, snails, puppy dog's tails, that's what my loads are made of.' I wouldn't have made that deal with you if I'd known about the snails in advance..."
Seeing the futility of arguing his point any further, Visionary headed down into the basement to wash his clothes. Slowly, he separated the slimy garments from his body and threw them in the machine, leaving him in nothing by his underwear. "Man, that was disgusting." he thought, while preparing the detergent. "Last time I got that grossed out was when Finny had worms, and the worms crawled out of him and tried to run for mayor..." he repressed a shudder. "Why did I have to remind myself of that?"
Standing there, alone in his underwear, Vizh felt somewhat helpless and vulnerable. He looked about at his surroudings to reassure himself that all was well. There was the water heater-- good ol' water heater. And the furnace. And then...that storage area beneath the stairs. He hadn't been back there for some time, but then, he knew everything back there by heart-- there was the table tennis board, his lifetime supply of Fresca, his collection of Abba records...nothing to be afraid of. Concerned about, perhaps, but not afraid.
But then, he heard a noise. He looked anxiously at the washer, hoping it would finish soon, but it was still filling with water! And then, he heard another noise, and it filled him with such dread that he ran upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time, and didn't stop until he collapsed at Cheryl's feet!
For, from the blackest depths beneath the stairs, he had heard a voice, a sickening, raspy voice, which would soon fill him, and the entire world with terror:
"Buffalo."
Next Issue: MH is back-- can the Lair Legion stop him? What happens when he and the Hooded Hood meet face-to-face? How did he survive having his neck broken, anyway? What about Century and Gauntlet? Will we ever have world peace? All this, and more, in a tale that could only be called, "This Man...This MH!"
MH