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Visionary figures things are kind of slow right now.
Tue Sep 14, 2004 at 11:56:41 pm EDT
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The Memoirs of Kenny: an early glimpse at the history of the Lair Legion reposted
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I am Kenny. And Kenny deserves better. But let me tell you why...



It all started long ago with a butler named Jarvis. On a Sunday. Or maybe it was a Saturday. Football was on... but Kenny supposes it could have been college football. Kenny is no longer sure. Let's go with Sunday.

The phone rang. "Who dares to disturb Kenny on a Sunday!?" Kenny said out loud from the shower, only to emerge dripping wet and clutching for a towel. Yes... the story works better on a Sunday. Although Saturday wouldn't be so bad. Tuesday was definitely wrong, and not as good anyway. Kenny is often disturbed on Tuesdays. Yes, on Tuesdays people dare much... It was then (a Sunday) that Kenny deigned to pick up the phone. "Kenny speaking."

"Yeah, is this the lawnmower guy?" the butler later known as Jarvis asked. Later known to Kenny, that is. He was already called Jarvis by other people then. Which was definitely a Sunday.

Kenny did not approve of his tone. "Lawnmower guy? You have reached to domain of the world's foremost landscape technician! I am Kenny!"

"Er... right." Jarvis replied, obviously mentally shifting his paradigm to accommodate this useful information. People's paradigms often necessitated shifting with exposure to Kenny. "Anyway, we could use somebody to come by once a week to hose down the bushes and cut the grass and such."

"Kenny can do that... for the proper remuneration."

"It says in your ad that would be, um... '$4.35 an hour, plus sustenance'" Jarvis read from his Sunday copy of the Parodiopolis Shoppers Guide. Kenny's ad was just above the one for free puppies. Kenny approves of free puppies. "Just what exactly does that mean? Sustenance?"

"Kenny requires a bologna sandwich and a can of Tab."

"Do they even still make 'Tab'?"

"Kenny has organized a letter writing campaign."

"Um... right" Jarvis said. "Well, lemme check the 'fridge... Hmmmm, we got 'Yoo-hoo' and... ah... pimento loaf."

"Kenny finds your terms acceptable" the butler was informed. "Within hours your lawn will be under the enviable protection of Kenny." The phone was returned to its cradle to await further developments.

And that is how Kenny became the first recruited member of the League of Regulars.



The camaraderie of the position pleased Kenny greatly, at first. Though they were indeed new but powerful heroes back in those days, the League had neither the training nor the know-how to hold at bay the wilds that threatened to encroach upon their very domain. Indeed, the grounds that served as the headquarters of the bastions of liberty were constantly under siege by the tide of Mother Nature. A harsh mistress she may be... but in the end, she be naught but foliage and fury, signifying nothing. A toothless vulture. Kenny's bitch. Yes... the heroes were in awe of Kenny, as indeed by all rights they should have been.

So when, then, did things start to go bad?

It was... a Sunday.








I am Kenny, and the chocolatey sludge at the bottom of a Yoo-hoo has been known to cloud Kenny's better judgment more than once. Never was that more true than with the incident in the early days of the League of Regulars, for evil lurked malignantly within the very heart of the team during those otherwise halcyon days... An evil apparent only to Kenny.



"The scourge of your yard bears bitter fruit" Kenny said sagely. On a Sunday.

"I, ah, beg your pardon?" the lawyer known as Lisa replied less sagely, but equally on Sunday. It was, as Kenny stated above, in the early days of the League of Regulars, and she was fast becoming smitten with the gardening wonder that was Kenny. Kenny was sure of that. This is why Kenny tended to hang around doing yard-work whenever she went to sun bathe.

"Kenny refers to the infernal groundhog that has been nibbling Kenny's freshly planted pansies."

"Ah" Lisa decided, lowering her sunglasses down and laying back to expose more of her glisteningly oiled lawyer flesh to the ravages of the star known as 'Sol'. "Tasted groundhog fruit, have you?"

"Kenny tastes what he pleases."

It was then that the one falsely known as spiffy interrupted Kenny's careful dance of sexual innuendo. Perhaps this was just as well, as Kenny's overalls were getting too tight anyway.

"Heya Leese... oh, er... Hi Kenny" he who was under the fern said. The fern. The ultimate evil, perched on the head of a piquant man-child. Oh... the delicious irony was not lost on Kenny. (Here Kenny uses the term 'piquant' to mean 'lively' and 'engaging', rather than 'pleasing to the palate'... this despite Kenny's earlier innuendo about tasting. Kenny just wanted to make that absolutely clear). The evil little bastard took Kenny's arm and led him a short distance away from their lubricated teammate. "Say, um, Kenny... you wouldn't happen to know where a few certain magazines went to? The ones that were hidden in the back of my closet?"

"Kenny doesn't know what you're talking about" the weedy little 'hero' was informed stiffly. Kenny does not stoop to botanical pornography. Even if Kenny did, it was only because he was lonely. So very lonely. Plus Kenny had been exposed to the works of Georgia O'Keefe at a most impressionable age.

"Dammit Kenny!" the one posing as spiffy swore hotly, turning to glare into the distance. "I have to send away to Holland for those..."

That was Kenny's chance. With a leap that would have been graceful had Kenny's overalls been a bit looser, Kenny brandished a gleaming weed-whacker and lunged for the impostor under the fern. Leaf cuttings flew as the twirling fishing line of justice snaked out to chew into the ultimate weed of evil.

"Gaaaaah!!!" the one later known as 'stiffy' (although, thankfully, not to Kenny personally) screamed like a little girl who had caught the whirligig sting of Kenny's vengeance. Not that Kenny was allowed around little girls anymore. But at least little Cynthia Mae Hudpucker knew better than to ever again place flaming bags of poo on Kenny's doorstep. "Okay! Okay! Keep the damn magazines!!!"

The bikinied warrior of legalese suddenly thrust herself between the combatants, and Kenny was momentarily distracted. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded, most likely annoyed at the fact that fern shreddings clung to every oiled swell and crevice of her intrepid body. At least, that is how Kenny likes to remember that moment late at night.

"I just asked him about some magazines, and he went nuts!" the evil spiffy cried indignantly, cowering behind his teammate and cradling his green and seeping bits.

"He is the ultimate threat to our very existence" Kenny explained rationally. "Be so kind as to hold him down whilst Kenny retrieves his 'garden weasel'."



Alas, it was not to be. In the end, the unsuspecting lawyer lass made Kenny shake hands and apologize, deciding that perhaps it would be best if Kenny kept his weasel to himself. The chance to remove the traitorous tumor that was spiffy had past. Appeased by his sandwich and Yoo-hoo when he should have pressed on, Kenny instead was forced to return to his chores, ever vigilant... For eventually the time must come when the two of them would be left alone, and then the ferned one would know in full the wrath of Kenny.

But the fronded cancer was as wily as he was piquant (see above), and Kenny would not find the chance to wield his weasel in private. Perhaps suspecting the depths of Kenny's comprehension, evil spiffy would flee to Europe, well beyond the otherwise moderately long reach of Kenny. The tool that was the fake spiffy would eventually go on to take over the unprepared people of France, which Kenny figures they had coming anyway. Unfortunately, the rest of the team refused to listen to Kenny's warnings about spiffy until it was too late. That things worked out anyway without Kenny's help is just pure dumb luck.

But the time was quickly coming where the League could ignore Kenny no more. Even though they tried very hard...






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