Tales of the Parodyverse

Since it's Wednesday somewhere: Mr. Epitome #15


Post By

killer shrike
Tue Oct 21, 2003 at 10:06:07 pm EDT
[ New ] [ Tales of the Parodyverse ]

Mr. Epitome #15


“Everybody’s Two Cents Are Falling Like Pennies From Heaven”


Again, thanks to CSFB! for his invaluable pair of pennies. And a bit of a warning: there is some language in here that’s a bit provocative, one word especially. If you offend easily, best not to read this.

Last time: Mr. Epitome watched as superheroes De Brown Streak and CrazySugarFreakBoy! held a press conference that revealed some controversial details of E’s plans to address the mutate situation in America. The Exemplary Man decided to take a leave of absence and confer with DBS and CSFB!, in an attempt to set the record straight. Another party has taken interest in our heroes as well: a group of mutate zealots called the Race Warriors.


11:56pm, Pacific Mountain Time:

“This was unfair,” Glory sulked inside her Dog Caddy. It had been the tenth time she had made the observation since Mr. Epitome had gotten her from the baggage claim at the nearly deserted Seattle airport.

Epitome sympathized. Since he was taking a leave of absence and his visit was unofficial, he had chosen to travel in his civilian identity. Though his OPS credentials had allowed him to transport his non-regulation gear, there was no way he could have bought Glory a seat without blowing his cover, “Just a few more minutes until we get to the rental car, then I can let you out,” he mumbled, inaudible to all except those with genetically enhanced hearing.

“I want a good present to make up for this, please.”

“How about I make Beef Wellington when we get home?”

“Beef what-you-said is good. Thank you.”

By now Mr. Epitome and Glory had picked up their car from the appropriate kiosk. After letting Glory out she jumped into the passenger seat and asked, “Tell me more about the targets.”

Epitome started the car, “Joshua Clement, The Brown Streak, is a mutate gifted with super-speed and reflexes. I’m not sure of his top velocity, but he can easily outrun us. He is a vocal advocate of mutate rights, and a bit of an inamorato. He has helped the Lair Legion and the world through several crises. If Herbert Garrick had any competence at all, this ridiculous man-hunt for him would have ended long ago.

“Dreamcatcher Kokopelli Foxglove is, of course, Crazy Sugar Freak Boy. He’s connected to some type of essence that makes him agile and resilient to attack. He also has an array of high-tech gadgets with toy or junk food motifs.”

Mr. Epitome paused for a moment, wondering whether he should soften his analysis of the young man. He decided against it, “Mr. Foxglove suffers from an obsessive neurosis that has him relate everything to the world of pop culture, especially comic books. I wish his EKG scans were available so I could determine if this dementia is biological in nature. His condition makes it difficult for him to hold a linear conversation. In addition: he is vulgar, provocative, epicurean, and narcissistic. Everything negative about America’s youth is amplified to the point of parody in Crazy Sugar Freak Boy.”

“How are you going to reason with them?” Glory asked.

“They want conflict, drama. We must resist their attempts at goading us. If we go in and present our case in a level-headed manner, they will have no choice but to respond to the facts, and since the facts are on our side, we’ll win.”

Mr. Epitome drove the rental to his hotel, checked in, and rested. Before dawn he and Glory took the car and parked it a garage near the Mnemosyne Media headquarters. From there he changed into his costume, and walked the rest of the way.

The security guard in the lobby was surprised to see the Star Spangled Splendor and the Mutt of Might march in at 7am. More surprised when he checked the records to see that they were expected. And even more surprised that two of the company’s biggest night owls were up and waiting for him.

*****


Mr. Epitome was a man of indomitable will. But as he and Glory stood in one of Mnemosyne Media’s reception areas, it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to remember that the woman shouting hateful obscenities was, in fact, someone’s mother.

“I don’t care whose knob you slobbed to get that suit, you uptight fascist Gestapo prick, you can’t do shit to my boy!”

“Miss Hasting-” Epitome said quietly.

Meggan Foxxx, heaving chest barely restrained by her tied-off “Run, DBS, Run” tee shirt was on a roll, “I know your kind: a broke-dick repressed control freak who only gets off by pushing others around. You’ve been jonesing for the Lair Legion for years, and now you think you have something.”

“Miss Hastings, I was wondering if you could give me an autograph.”

“But you’re- excuse me?”

Mr. Epitome smiled awkwardly, “One of the men I served with in Sybia; actually, he’s at a Veteran’s Hospital now, Corporal Simon Wollencroft. He’s a fan. I remember him being disappointed when the State Department refused to approve your request for a visa to Sybia.”

The woman snorted at the memory, “Right, because adult entertainers make poor goodwill ambassadors. That’s bullshit. Me and the Vivid Girls had a whole tribute to burlesque worked out. Brianna Banks spent eight hundred bucks on peacock feathers alone.”

“That’s a shame,” Epitome said, adding thoughtfully, “At least she can claim them as a business expense for tax purposes.”

“Taxes. Right. So you want me to sign something for your friend?”

“Please,” the Paragon of Power took a glossy magazine from his briefcase. Meggan recognized it, and smiled wistfully.

“My first pictorial in Playboy! Where’d you get it?”

“I found it at an online auction site,” the man handed her the magazine and a silver pen. After the statuesque redhead had jotted down something appropriately ribald Epitome continued, “I appreciate this.”

“No sweat, hon. So, what’d did you think of the spread?”

Epitome collected his secret weapon and smiled, “It was very fetching.”

“Fetching,” Meggan Foxx gave Epitome an appraising eye, “You talk like a rube, but you really are a smooth sonuvabitch, aren’t you?”

“That’s what they pay me to be, Miss Hastings.”

“My boy’s in his office. I’m right outside. You be as much a gentleman to him as you were to me, or I’ll put your nuts in a vice.”

Mr. Epitome kept that in mind.

*****


The office of CrazySugarFreakBoy! was a geek cornucopia: movie posters adorned the walls alongside snapshots of the Wired Wonder with a vast spectrum of celebrities, some of whom looked quite perplexed having to share space with the ebullient hero. There was a thicket of spinning racks bursting with comics. A plasma TV sat across from a pair of leather recliners, with video game cartridges covering all three pieces of furniture. Bags of junk food and bottles of soda lay opened on the Formica counters of the room’s kitchenette.

CSFB! sat at his desk, which was covered with a sprawl of comics and snacks. Framed photos of his family and teammates competed for space with action figures and bobble head dolls. There was no evidence of any work at all, unless Epitome counted the “ten level dungeon” the young man was designing on his lap top. Which he didn’t.

The Legionnaire immediately stood. He was in costume, but had on one of the “DBS” tees his mother wore much more spectacularly. CSFB! pointed at the logo, “Pretty cool, huh?”

“A very high quality shirt. Is that Egyptian cotton?” Mr. Epitome tried to make small talk.

CSFB! shrugged, “Damned if I know. Me and the boys at Graphitti Design came up with it. 75% of all proceeds go to the Mutate Rights Forum. How many can I put you down for?”

Mr. Epitome smiled politely, “None today, thank you.”

The day-glo hero bounded over to Glory, “Hey, girl, say something: I want to see if my Eavesdropping Earring can translate it,” he tapped the jade stud in his left ear.

The Border collie gave her partner a pensive look.

“C’mon, say ‘Puppy Power!’ and I’ll give you a Snickers Bar.”

“You don’t give sweets to dogs,” Epitome interrupted, “and Glory doesn’t like speaking in front of strangers. It makes her uncomfortable.”

“But telling strangers what makes her uncomfortable doesn’t make her uncomfortable?” CSFB! asked facetiously. He squatted down and playfully rubbed the dog’s head, “S’OK, Glory girl; take your time. I don’t bite.”

Suddenly the young man shot up and faced his other guest, “Hey, you know what would be cool? If Glory could turn into a human sometimes, like the Pre-Crisis Comet.”

“What?” Epitome asked, instantly regretting that he did.

“Comet… Comet the Superhorse. Well, he was more of a centaur than a horse. But, yeah. I bet Glory looks like Alexis Bledel. Think of the story potential: super dog turns into this hot chick and poor Mr. Epitome has to be the anxious surrogate father in addition to government stooge. Glory could fall in love with, I don’t know, Chronic or somebody.”

Mr. Epitome tensed. If CSFB! noticed he gave no heed.

“Or, if you wanted to go the Marvel Max route, there could be a quasi-incestual-beastiality-relationship between the two of you.”

“Glory, I need you to leave, please,” Epitome spoke softly to his partner.

The Mutt of Might did not try to object. She left through the door Epitome opened for her. More than capable of working the building’s elevators, she decided to head for Puget Sound and see how giant those giant octopi really were.

Mr. Epitome waited a moment before rounding on CrazySugarFreakBoy!, “There. Now you won’t be so distracted and we can get on with this.”

Dream smiled, “This is the way it should be: in the beginning the two principals square off to make it clear how much they hate each other without any supporting players to complicate matters.”

“So it’s just the two of us then? Mr. Clement is not coming?”

“Nope. He wanted to, just to see the look on your face when he escaped from whatever trap you planned for him. But Mr. Book has taken a big risk putting him on the air in the first place, so when he asked DBS to leave, he did.”

Gideon Book was the owner of Odyssey Opportunities, the parent company of Mnemosyne Media. He was one of the few corporate players Epitome knew little about.

“Very well. I think the two of us should look past the ugliness that just occurred. There is more at stake here than egos and petty bantering.”

CSFB! nodded. This was going to be the funnest debate of inhuman rights ever.

*****


The Sacramento headquarters for the Global Alliance for the Advancement of Mutated Persons was destroyed at 8:05 am, Pacific Standard Time. Cacophony struck first, transforming her body to sonic force and keening through the converted brownstone, shattering glass, teeth, and bone. Big Mo was next: he absorbed the momentum of passing traffic; redirecting it, the mutate caved in the building’s ground floor with the kinetic energy stolen from four lanes of speeding cars.

Coyote Loki, clad in the maroon and purple colors of the Race Warriors, walked through the rubble to give the GAAMP his message. A near comatose volunteer was chosen to deliver it. Loki willed his fingers to become as long and sharp as shears. He gouged a triple helix across the man’s face. Then he sliced out the man’s tongue.

“This is how we deal with traitors,” he said, before hefting his victim onto a twisted collection of pipes and rebars, impaling him.

Each member of the mutate terror group slipped away as inconspicuously as they had arrived. There was another, more important statement to make, far away from here, and they could not afford to be late.

*****


Mr. Epitome cleared one of the chairs opposite CSFB!’s desk and made himself as comfortable as the situation warranted, “We should start with the matter of the abortion charge, since it is the most inflammatory.”

“OK,” the Wired Wonder nodded.

“It was an outright distortion of the truth to suggest I advocate the termination of mutate fetuses.”

“But we didn’t say that,” Dream countered, ready to pull out the transcript, if necessary.

“You implied it.”

“Well, it’s your proposal that will lead to those abortions. It might be an unintended consequence, but it will happen. And you’d be responsible.”

“Not at all. If I had my way, no child would be aborted.”

CSFB! waved dismissively at Epitome’s pronouncement, “Yes, yes, I know the world would be different if you ran things. The government wouldn’t have to worry about honoring people’s privacy.”

“Show me in the Constitution where Americans are guaranteed a right to privacy,” Epitome had the document, along with all of the US Criminal and Civil Codes, memorized.

“It’s an unenumerated right.”

“Ah.”

“I love the fact you dismiss one of our country’s core values with as snide Ah. It shows your true colors. How do you feel about the right to protest?”

The Exemplary Man’s pale blue eyes narrowed, but he answered, “It depends on the nature of the protest. I had no problem with the methods you and Mr. Clement used yesterday. However, some civil disobedience goes too far.”

“That’s why you want DBS arrested: for going too far.”

“The Brown Streak is a wanted fugitive. One, who if he turned himself in, would have his day in court, a far more respectable forum to make his case for mutate rights than the grandstanding displays he performs now. In fact, the man would probably face minimal jail time if convicted, considering his good works.”

“If Josh’s crimes are so picayune, why spend so much time and money hunting him?” Dream’s voice rose.

“The law must be upheld.”

“So, when are you going to arrest Karl Braun?”

Mention of the crime-fighter some wags had called Epitome’s Eviler Twin surprised the hero, “On what grounds?”

CSFB! rolled his eyes, “Oh, I’m sure whatever trumped up charges you have against De Brown Streak would apply just as well to the Aryan Ideal.”

“Except that there’s no credible evidence that either Braun or any of the acknowledged members of his so-called ‘Pogroms of Purity’ have committed any actual crimes. By contrast, Joshua Clement is a known ideological terrorist, who has broken the law on any number of documented occasions. THAT’S the real issue here.”

“No, the REAL issue here is the fact that Josh Clement is both a mutant and a black man, which as far as you’re concerned, makes him a NIGGER twice over, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t think that at all. And your histrionics are wasted on me,” though the Paragon of Power’s body language seemed to contradict his statement.

“Everything is wasted on you,” CSFB! began counting off on his fingers, “Common Sense. Appeals to human decency.”

“Insults. How typical. Your arguments have no merit so you need to attack those who disagree with you.”

“Isn’t that the American way?” Dream sniped.

Mr. Epitome shook his head, clearly disgusted, “Liberal cynics need to get over their disdain for their own homeland. This country may not be perfect, but I’m proud of it- as trite as it might sound to your ears, I’m proud of America, and I’m proud to be an American, and I’ll defend both my country and my fellow citizens to the death.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick about me. I love America too, and I’m least as much an American as you are. The main difference is, my dad, and his family, and all their ancestors, were living on this land for thousands of years before any of you Anglo carpetbaggers decided to make this place your home, so the America that I think I’m defending is one hell of a lot different from the America that you think you’re defending. And you know what? We were here first, Mister John Wayne Cowboy, so maybe you should back the fuck up a bit before you start to pull that self-righteous bullshit here. I’m a native-born American citizen AND a Native American to boot, and by my count, that makes me TWICE the American you are, okay?” CSFB! was on his feet, almost shouting.

Epitome stood, ready to take his leave, “This is solving nothing.”

“You came here expecting to solve this?!”

“Yes, in my naiveté, I thought you could be reasoned with. But all you are is another whiner willing to play the victim card to score cheap political points.”

“Hey, watch the insults, Mr. E. You don’t want to seem hypocritical. You know, like you were when you busted the Legion’s chops for having Pegasus on our team while shtupping the Idiom during conjugal visits to Greentown,” Dream hit the man with the current Lair Legion gossip.

Mr. Epitome lost his temper only briefly, but for a man capable of moving at velocities close to MACH 1 a moment was all he needed to do considerable damage. He smashed the desk in front of him to flinders and hoisted CrazySugarFreakBoy! three feet off the ground, held by the collar of his novelty shirt.

“You perverted-” Epitome began, before taking a face full of Sticky String Spray.

CSFB! slipped out of the oversized tee that his foe held him by and landed cat-like on the floor. Vaulting backwards he pulled a gob of Combat Candy from his Black Hole Backpack.

“Awright! I was waiting for this!” he exalted. But Epitome’s attention was elsewhere.

The door flew open, “Get away from my boy, you dickless sack of-”

“Shut up, both of you,” Epitome mumbled to son and mother while wiping the edible material from his face, “Your station’s reporting a super villain attack in Sacramento.”

CSFB! got out of his crouch, “How bad?”

“Very,” Epitome paused, “They’re blaming mutates.”

Next: Our guest star will have to wait until next issue, but he’ll show up to complicate things. So will DBS, CSFB!, and the SOB of the OPS: Mr. Epitome #16, “When Ideologies Clash!”



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