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Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: The Family of the Pointless Monday, 03-Apr-2000 18:58:18
#44: Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: The Family of the Pointless ”Alright,” Coincidence sighed. “I stand in my gallery and I tune in my TV set to your eternal channels. I summon the Family of the Pointless to a working breakfast!” Seven very different TV sets sat before the eccentrically-dressed character in the mad hatter hat (complete with price tag in old English currency, two shillings and sixpence). The first one was showing an adult movie. Meggan Foxxx was doing things to make a gynaecologist’s eyes water when the picture went fuzzy for a moment until a naked she-male flickered into existence splayed across the top of the set. “Hello, brother,” Lusting purred. “Time for a Family do?” The second TV set was showing Springer. A man with a patched-up nose was complaining to a less-than sympathetic audience how he’d been beaten up by his superhero girlfriend after he tried to hit her. Again the set fuzzed, and a prissy-looking youth in buttoned-up check tweed jacket and spats popped into reality. “This is an extremely inconvenient and inconsiderate time to call a Family gathering,” Whingeing complained. He glanced across to Lusting. “Can’t you ever wear clothes?” The third screen was a mass of hypnotic, swirling colours. They coalesced and finally a woman looking halfway between an elf queen and a superwaif model shimmered in beside the set. She was definitely drawn by Charles Vess. “I’m surprised Coincidence is summoning the Family again,” Glamour noted. “I thought he’d vowed never to have us over again after the jelly spoons incident. The fourth TV screen was completely black. Dead. The pale girl with the ankh and the black leathers who appeared next to it was also most definitely dead. Or, more precisely, Death. The fifth TV had a test card on it, reading Normal transmission will be resumed as soon as possible. With a hasty little whumph of infinite power, another pale girl, identical to the first one if Death had put on forty pounds had an acne problem, toppled off the top of her set. “Ooops, sorry,” Death’s twin sister, Temporary Death, apologised. “Sorry everyone. Forgot the co-ordinates. Sorry.” The sixth TV screen was filled with nothing but static, interrupted by the occasional snatch of some cartoon channel, some Three Stooges movie, or some televangelist’s harangue. No Family member attended Coincidence’s call here. Space Ghost was out to lunch, and had been for many years. There was a seventh set, but it was only a shell, with no glass to its screen and no innards. Common Sense of the Pointless had long since abandoned his office and the Parodyverse all together. “Well this is nice,” Lusting declared. “Shall we play Happy Families or something?” “I just want to know what Coincidence felt was so important that he had to take me away from my work criticising the Parodyverse,” Whingeing, uh, whinged. “I was just about to start on Star Wars Episode One, and the Abomination That Is Jar Jar Binks.” “I’m sure Coincidence has a good reason,” Death told them calmly. “What’s going on, Coincidence? After all, you should know?” Coincidence settled down at his tea-table, pushed a sleepy dormouse out of sight in a teapot, and got down to business. “This is about our little brother, Space Ghost,” he told the Family of the Pointless. “I miss Ghostie,” Glamour admitted. “We should have kept a better watch on him after… what happened.” “The pants thing was not my fault!” Lusting protested. “I never told him to…” “You didn’t have to tell him!” Whingeing accused. “I don’t see why you weren’t cast out for that stuff with the Pink Celestian, I really…” “Do you always have to argue?” Temporary Death cried. “It’s like this every Christmas, and you never like the jewellery I make for you. Never!” “Perhaps they don’t like skull motifs?” Death suggested gently and tactfully. “Perhaps we don’t like crap?” Whingeing added. A glance from Death settled him down. “As I was saying,” the oldest of the Pointless said insistently, “I am starting to get concerned about the Space Ghost. As you know, each of us personifies a defining feature of our Parodyverse. We are that feature. Being Coincidence, I maintain the many strands of happenstance, interaction, and ridiculously contrived causality, Death and um, Temporary Death handle the dying needs of the cosmos…” “With variable effect,” muttered Whingeing. “Hey, temporary death is an important element of what we’re doing here!” protested Temporary Death. “Glamour maintains the Mythlands, the visions, the dreams, and the illusions which make the universe run,” Coincidence struggled on. “You’re too kind,” Glamour smiled. Somewhere the dawn came up. “But absolutely right.” “Whingeing,” Coincidence continued, “He…” “I am the only person here with any real sense of the mission we have, our reason d’être so to speak” Winging asserted. “If the rest of you were only half as assiduous... “ “Got the ass part right,” Lusting pointed out. “Yeah, we understand what we’re all about, big bro. Get to the juicy stuff.” “Well, Space Ghost is the random element in the mix, the unpredictable bit,” Coincidence reminded them. “The annoying bit,” Winging continued. “The cat in Shroedinger’s Box,” smiled Glamour. “The pantsless wonder,” smiled Lusting. “Whatever,” Coincidence persisted. “Anyway, he’s a vital bit of what we do here. And he’s been missing for far too long. I’m worried that something might have happened to him.” “Something bad?” Temporary Death fretted. “Something normal,” answered Coincidence. Death considered this. “We’d better do something then,” she suggested. “A couple of us had better search him out and bring him home.” “I’ll go,” Temporary Death volunteered. “Space Ghost makes me laugh.” “And he doesn’t call you fat, even though you are,” Whingeing pointed out. “Then it is settled,” Coincidence spoke. “Temporary Death and Whingeing will go forth into the Parodyverse and seek out the Space Ghost.” “Me?” Whingeing complained. “Why me? I didn’t volunteer. Did any of you hear me volunteer.” “Now,” concluded Coincidence of the Pointless. Visionary sat in Jarvis’ chair and composed another resignation letter stepping down as leader of the Lair Legion. This was his twelfth this week, and everybody seemed to ignore them. It was as if there was some vast conspiracy to keep him in post until he’d been dragged into some vast cosmic multi-part apocalyptic storyline that was coming up. The door slammed open. “Hey, alleged boss,” Troia 215 called out, “there’s a couple of geeks out here who want to talk to you. They don’t have appointments but one of them sure can whinge about the state of our appointments system. You want to talk to them before I introduce an Amazon war-spear into his nether regions?” “Er, don’t we have anyone else who can see them?” Vish asked nervously. “Only Cheryl told me not to mess anything up while she was out shopping, and…” “You can go right in,” the Amazon administrator told the far pale woman in black and the fellow in tweed check and spats. “Hey, I know you,” Temporary Death beamed as she saw the reluctant Leader of the Lair Legion. “You got killed by the Apostate a couple of times. And by the Parody Master. And by everybody else. Hi, how are you doing?” “Erm,” Visionary answered. “This is who we’re coming to see?” Whinging scoffed. “Him? He’s hardly the head of a powerful cult who may have bound our brother into an eternal prison with their foul sorceries, is he? He’s a fake if ever I saw one.” “I’m real dammit,” rallied Visionary. “What exactly do you people want?” “Ah,” Temporary Death explained, “We’re here to destroy your universe.” Flapjack had finished folding Tina’s underwear for the eleventh time an was heading back down to his cellar room to practise leering and lurching when he met Hatman and Exile on the main staircase of the Lair Mansion. “So how’s it going?” Hatty asked the Legion’s newly-hired butler. [It’s true, Visionary agreed. For Mr Flapjack’s CV application just look here] “Settled in yet?” “I’m learning the rules very quickly, master,” Flapjack genuflected. “Don’t wake Master Fin Fang Foom when he’s sleeping, or mention anything to do with women, women’s bodily parts, women’s problems, the existence of women, etc, and then he won’t step on you. Don’t go into Master NTU-150’s laboratory. If you hear a noise from Master NTU-150’s laboratory, duck and evacuate the building. If you don’t hear a noise from Master NTU-150’s laboratory, be ready to duck and evacuate the building. Don’t annoy Mistress Cheryl by letching at her or speaking to her or existing. Don’t videotape Mistress Troia in the shower. Don’t try to eat Yo’s bunny. Don’t try to stroke Lisa’s cat.” “How are the stitches doing?” Exile asked sympathetically. “They are wonderful, master, some of the best stitches I’ve ever had. And Mistress Lisa’s induction beats the orientation session the Hooded Hood gave me hands down.” “Lisa’s inductions are legendary,” Hatman agreed with a shudder. “I believe they’ve been adopted as a standard part of Navy training.” “I can see why, master,” Flapjack admitted. “Er, you don’t have to call us master, you know,” Exile told the hunchback uncomfortably. “I get enough of that at home with Valeria.” “I’m sure you do, master,” leered Flapjack. “Well, I must go. I still have all the non-underwear laundry to do and the spiders to feed and fresh linen for the bedchambers. A hunchback’s work is never done.” Hatty and Exile watched the strange new retainer lurch to the foot of the stairs and head across the hall. “Y’know, Vizh has made some weird command decisions in his time…” Hatman worried. “I know what you mean, man,” Exile agreed. “Hiring old HH’s butler has got to be… Hey! No! Don’t go in there! Don’t open that cupboard!” The energy-manipulating Legionnaire shouted his panicked warning too late. Flapjack had already opened the broom cupboard in search of clean linen. “Get to him!” Hatty shouted, vaulting over the balustrade and dropping to the floor, fumbling for his Jets hat to improve his speed. “Flapjack” Get out of there!” Exile shouted, also diving for the closet. “That’s no ordinary cupboard. That’s Space Ghost’s…” The door slammed shut and then vanished. “…broom closet,” Exile finished. “Ah,” said Hatman. “Has that room ever just, you know, disappeared before?” Exile checked. “Possibly,” shrugged Hatman. “We just haven’t heard about it if it has.” “So what do we do now?” Exile wondered. “Tell Vizh to advertise for a new butler?” Hatty frowned. “No. This is serious. Let’s tell Lisa.” “I’d like to introduce Temporary Death and Whingeing,” Visionary told the Lair Legion. “They’re here to destroy our universe. Temporary Death and Whinging, this is the Lair Legion.” “Er, could you just repeat that bit about the universe?” asked G-Eyed worriedly. “You seem… familiar,” NTU-150 told the pale fat girl in black. “Have we met before?” “Way to use the classic chat-up lines,” Exile smirked. “Heilsa, travellers,” Donar told the newcomers. “If thou are here to do property damage to this universe then I shalt smiteth thee with Mjalcolm right verily for the nonce.” “Oh this is ridiculous,” Whinging said to Temporary Death. “Why don’t we just wipe this miserable plane clean and set our brother free and go?” “Yo is thinking Yo knows both these two,” Yo frowned. “Yo is worrying that these are of the Family of the Pointless.” “They art?” Donar also frowned. “Then we shall have a most wondrous time being slaughtered into Vanhalen against them. Let the bloodletting begin!” “Who exactly are the Family of the Pointless?” Fin Fang Foom demanded. “They are being ideas made into bodies to… be representing ideas,” Yo struggled. S/he puzzled over the best way to express this. “Yo is pure thought being, yes?” “Sure,” Finny agreed. “But Yo is whatever Yo thinks Yo is. The Family is each just one big thought, and that thought is what the Family person thinks it is. See?” “Absolutely not,” admitted Troia, “but don’t feel you have to explain it again.” “The problem is,” Visionary explained,” that Temporary Death and Whinging here are looking for their missing brother, whom they believe has somehow become trapped in this dimension for so long that he’s forgotten who he really is. The easy way to find him would be to destroy this plane so that he’s easy to spot as the only thing that survives the destruction. I suggested that would be a not-so-good idea from our point of view.” “I think you’ve got a broad consensus there,” Lisa agreed. “So what’s the deal? And what has this to do with Space Ghost’s cupboard going miss…ing… Oh no! It can’t be!” “Yay!” celebrated CrazySugarFreakBoy, “My old friend the Space Ghost turns out to be an eternal personification of bizarreness! I knew there was something special about him when he started having lots of adventures that never happened because they were too disgusting to allow.” “The deal is that we have to find Space Ghost for Temporary Death and Whinging here before…” “Before my patience runs out,” Whinging interrupted menacingly. “If you don’t mind,” Temporary Death added politely. “He was last seen calling himself Vision Boy after being born to the Vision and the Scarlet Witch in their third limited series.” “Vizh and the Witch didn’t have a third series,” CrazySugarComicsFanatic! objected passionately. “John Byrne took over West Coast avengers, decimated Vision, wiped Wanda’s kids, spun a lot of sub-plots that are only getting sorted out just now…” “There was such a series back when Space Ghost decided there was,” Whinging shot back. “Although frankly it was a disappointment from the art point of view and rather sloppy in editorial spelling mistakes and colour separation…” “Wow” CSFB! wowed to Hatman. “A limited series that never existed. I’ve gotta have it!” “So we’ve got to find Spacey before whiney here decides to wipe out universe, and our only closet has gone walkabout,” Trickshot summarised. “Does Flapjack get his wages docked for not being at his job?” Troia wanted to know. “Wages?” smiled Lisa evilly. “Okay,” Finny called, bringing the group back into focus. “So we need to find Space Ghost fast. Anybody happen to know where he’s got to?” Space Ghost settled onto the back seat of the rather old school bus and listened to Lisa lead the communal singing. “99 jugs of coolwhip on the wall, 99 jugs of Coolwhip, ya’ pass it round eat it down, now there’s 28 jugs of coolwhip…” followed by Banjooo objecting, “”Shut up!!!!!” and Lisa objecting to his objecting, “No you shut up!!!!” “No, you!!!!!” And so on. It was good to be back. Counsellor Cheryl demanded that they both shut up. “I’m trying to listen to the radio!!!!” she told them grumpily. “Mmmbop is on!!! Mmmbop.... MmmMmmMmmbop....... “ “Why don’t you all be quiet??????” Counsellor Visionary objected. “I’m trying to drive!! And we’re almost there!!!” “Where are we going again????” Counsellor Cheryl checked. Space Ghost silently mouthed the answer along with Counsellor Visionary. “Camp Cool-whip Lake.” It was one of his favourite stories, and Space Ghost liked to live it again and again. [Note: old timers may note that Space Ghost is reliving a parody he wrote in November 1998. Space Ghost’s own version of this tale appears here. A lot of the dialogue with multiple exclamation marks is taken from there !!!!!!!!] “Hey, isn’t that the place where that kid drowned????” asked Jarvis. Space Ghost suddenly realised that there was somebody on the seat next to him; somebody who shouldn’t be there. “Hello,” whimpered Flapjack. A few rows forward, Starseed lost patience with his Game Boy Tetris as he always did at this point, “LeftleftrightrightyesyesNONONO!!!!!!! This game is enough to drive one mad!!!! Be gone I say!!! Be gone!!!!!” “Aw, no!” Space Ghost berated the worried hunchback beside him. “You distracted me and I missed the bit where the Game-Boy gets flung out of the window and hits this mysterious figure in the woods.” “Where am I?” Flapjack panicked. “This isn’t a broom closet. Why are we in a bus in the woods? Why is it stopping?” “Thou letseth backupeth!!!!Starseedeth could ofeth hurt somebodyeth!!!!!” Donar was saying. “Oh, they look for the mysterious figure but can’t find him. And of course it’s Tuesday the 12th, and they all die one by one.” “I saw that film,” the hunchback worried, “Well, not that film, I saw Friday the 13th… Er, isn’t that the Friday 13th music floating in from nowhere? Is there a deranged psychopath out in the woods?” “Oh no, don’t worry,” Space Ghost assured him. “It turns out to be just a wrinkly old man.” “Whew,” Flapjack relaxed. “I turn out to be the killer in this one and slaughter everyone on the bus. spiffy, Banjooooo, Lisa, Donar, everybody. It’s great!” “Not me,” Flapjack gibbered. “This is too weird. I don’t belong here.” “Hey, don’t worry,” smiled SG. “I’m sure I can work you into the massacre.” “I am so going to kick Space Ghost’s ass when I catch him,” Finny muttered as he checked the address on the paper Lisa had given him. “Even if he does turn out to be a cosmic being, he’s going to have a dragon-foot-shaped mark on his cosmic behind.” “You’ll have to drag my spear our of his colon first,” warned Troia. The door was opened by Jim Carey. “Er, is this the base of the Anti-Space Ghost League?” Finny asked through clenched teeth. “And do you happen to know where he is?” “This is where the Gaaahhh! League hangs out?” Exile sniffed. “Why is it disguised as a smelly old gym with some dubious weightlifting apparatus and a strong smell of urine?” “That isn’t actually a disguise.” NTU-150 told the new Legionnaire apologetically. “I guess since Starseed left to go into space there just hasn’t been anybody to keep the old group going. Sad really.” “Look!” Exile called urgently. “Over here. By this pile of beer cans. Aren’t these SG’s pants?” Enty checked. “Yes,” he confirmed. “But he could have discarded them here at any time over the last three years. There must be pants like that scattered all over Paradopolis. He’s not here. Let’s go.” The heroes left the old discarded gym, and only lost echoes of Gaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!s past remained. A purple neon ripple of Gaaaaaahhh! energy spiralled up in one distant corner… “Are all these forms really necessary?” Hatman asked for the eleventh time. “I mean, we only want to know if you know where Space Ghost is.” “We only divulge information about members to other members,” substitute Grim Reaper, told the capped crusader. “Now would you say you despise or detest Wonder Man more?” G-Eyed wasn’t concentrating. “I dunno about Wonder Man,” he commented to the president of the Anti-Wonder Man League without thinking. “It’s Triathlon I don’t like.” Things turned nasty after that. “Xander? Hey, Xander the Improbable! Where are you going?” demanded CrazySugarFreakBoy! as he saw the Master of the Mystic Crafts locking up his shop. The red-robed mage was carrying three heavy suitcases, an umbrella, and seven heavy packages. Well, he wasn’t, but ManMan (who owed him a favour) was. “Oh, just taking a vacation, you know,” Xander shrugged. “Getting out of Paradopolis for a while.” “When wilt thou be backest?” Donar wondered. “We are sore in need of finding Spaceth Ghost ere his family annihilate the universe.” “I don’t have time for minor problems,” the mage snapped. “I’ll be back after the multi-part story arc in Untold Tales #45 gets resolved, but for now I’m implementing the first rule of sorcery.” “Cool!” What is it?” CSFB asked. “Don’t be there when it happens,” Xander told them. “Er, you said I had to be here to look after your shop,” ManMan pointed out worriedly. “So?” “Hey, don’t think I’ve forgotten that you had my this-dimension counterpart murdered, Nazi!” Trickshot the Archer snarled at Baron Heinrich Zemo. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten how easy it was to accomplish,” countered the Parodyverse’s premiere villain. Lisa and Yo moved between the two antagonists. “Be nice, Tricky, we’re here for the Baron’s help,” the first lady of the Lair Legion reminded him. “He could still help with a few less teeth,” Trickshot pointed out. “Yo is thinking that uncute villain-Zemo should be calming down too and be helping to not have the Parodyverse be blowing up,” the pure thought being advised the purple-and pink-masked monarch. “A Zemo is always in control,” Zemo proclaimed, folding his arms and posing. “Except last week when you found out about how your great grandad got killed and you said you were going to get ManMan and stick Knifey up his...” Pegasus pointed out before being quelled by a glare from her boss. “A Zemo is always in control.” “Great,” Lisa smiled. “In that case, do you happen to know where Space Ghost is? I know he sometimes brings his broom closet over to your castle for a bit of a break. Is he here?” “You actually want to find Space Ghost?” Pegasus checked. “He is not here,” Zemo replied. “If you really need to find him, why not employ the services of the Interdimensional Transportation Company? They seem to be able to find pretty much anybody anywhere if the fee is right.” He handed over Mr Limpqvist’s card. “I use them for all my interdimensional freight needs.” “This isn’t over, Zemo!” Trickshot called as the heroes departed. “I’ll avenge my murder! Count on it!” “Another one for the assassination list,” Zemo sighed. “YoOoOoUuUUr AlLLLL dOOmEDD!!!!” the mysterious figure warned the campers in Space Ghost’s Friday the 13th parody. “Is this what you do with your spare time?” Flapjack demanded of the pantsless wonder. “Make up scenarios where all your friends get massacred?” “Not always,” SG answered. “Sometimes they drown on the Titanic. And sometimes I drink. And sometimes I clone Visionary’s wife.” “Tell me more, wrinkly old man,” Visionary asked of the clichéd grizzled wanderer who was confronting them with their doom. “Okay, Space Ghost is writing this parody,” the told the frightened campers. “And we all know how lazy Space Ghost is. He can’t even put his pants on!!!!! So this parody will go on and on forever and you will be stuck in this parody forever!!!” “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!” screamed the BZL regulars. “Noooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!” screamed Flapjack. “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home…” “Relax,” Space Ghost assured him, “you’re not trapped here forever. Soon I creep into the bushes then pop out, turn the campers against the mysterious old man, kill him, and then kill everybody else. Then you can go home.” “But won’t I be, in fact… dead?” the hunchback ventured. “No. You’re not real,” Space Ghost assured him. “You won’t feel a thing.” “Help!” screamed Flapjack. “Help, I’m trapped in a parody with a madman! Heeeeeeeeeeelllllpppppp!” Space Ghost reached for his Spank Ray. “This is one of our more interesting delivery jobs,” Mr Limpqvist told Miss Framlicker at the Interdimensional Transportation Company’s skyscraper offices in uptown Paradopolis. “Getting into Space Ghost’s fantasies, that’s a new one. Usually people pay to get out of them.” “People can get out of SG’s fantasies?” Troia shuddered, looking behind her. “Of course,” the director of ITC assured her. “Where do you think Mr T and Shaka Khan and Bob Dole came from?” “The delivery system’s going to be a bit arcane,” Miss Framlicker warned the Lair Legion. “We can get some of you in by having you inhabit your fantasy counterparts – but you may experience… interference from the roles you’ve been cast in. The rest of you we’ll transmit straight in the target’s subconscious to see what you can do there. Are you ready.” “No,” answered G-Eyed, who had wires and electrodes attached to every sensitive bit of his body, since he was the conduit for the transfer they were about to attempt. “No,” answered Exile, who didn’t like having his sensitive bits wired to G-Eyed’s and who was the power source for the transfer. “No,” answered Visionary, who had to lead the team into Space Ghost’s mind. “Then I’ll begin,” smiled Miss Framlicker, pulling an unnecessarily large lever and shifting the remainder of the Lair Legion to where no Legionnaire had gone before. “It is so great when other people get teleported into the crap instead of me,” admired Nats. “Where are we?” Hatman wondered, turning the light on his miner’s helmet on. The beam played across a cluttered attic full of discarded props and costumes, old broken mannequins, broken furniture, and festering sheets. “This has got to be Space Ghost’s subconscious,” guessed CrazySugarFreakBoy! “Hey, cool! Look at these Furry Freak brother comics!” “Is this a stuffed Rocket Raccoon?” Troia asked. “You’re right, this place is cool.” “Well it’s creeping me out,” Trickshot admitted. “The way all those heads mounted on the wall seem to follow you with their eyes. And I swear George Harrison put his tongue out at me.” “Well if we are in SG’s mind,” Hatty advised, “we’d better find a way of getting him back before those Pointless people decide to blow up the planet.” “More biscuits?” Cheryl asked politely. “I’d have expected rather more crème-filled centres,” complained Whinging, “and laid out neatly on the plate, not just spilled on all higgledy-piggledy.” “Yes please,” mumbled Temporary Death, cramming the last of the previous plateful into her mouth. “Although you’d better make it quick, because we have to get on with destroying the universe.” “Of course, dear,” Cheryl assured the fat woman in black. “Asil will run along as fast as she can. But I was fascinated listening to Mr Whinging’s explanation of what was wrong with our world today, and I hope he’ll take the time to explain what he was saying about young people’s haircuts in more detail before you annihilate us.” The Family of the Pointless were possibly out of their depth with Cheryl. “The old man lied to us!!!” Lisa screamed. “He’s the killer!!!” She pointed an accusing finger at the wrinkly old man whose warnings of doom had just been proved wrong by Space Ghost (as per the script). “Nay, Lisa. Thou art getting too caught up in they role. Remember that we are here to gather our ally Space Ghost and mayhap find yon hunchbacked flunky for the nonce, but not to make vague and meaningless accusations at a contrived fictional character who is…” “Spaaaaaaaannnnnnkkkkkkkk Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyy!” shouted Space Ghost, cutting the old man in two with his weapon. “What is Space Ghost doing?” demanded Yo. “Is to be being wrong to spank wrinkly old men to death in the woods.” “Space Ghost!” shouted Visionary. “He’s the killer. Get back into the bus, kids – I mean, stop him, Lair Legion!” “LL? Is that you?” Flapjack asked desperately. “It must be,” NTU-150 answered angrily. “I’ve somehow managed to cause this bus’ engine to explode.” “The woods are burning!” screamed spiffy. “Burning! We’re all going to diiiiieeeeee!” “Didst we bring yon coat rack on this adventure with us, mayhap?” Donar asked Fin Fang Foom. “Not that I remember,” Finny answered. “Good,” Donar declared, pounding the fictional spiffy into the ground with Mjalcolm. “I begin to see the joy of yon Space Ghost’s fantasies.” “Be stopping the fire” urged Yo. “Be thinking of Bambi’s mother!” “The psionometric readings I’m getting here are off the scale!” Enty warned, checking his instrumentation. “And the falling burning trees are pretty big too,” Lisa pointed out, pushing the armoured Legionnaire out of the way.” “I don’t remember this happening before,” puzzled Space Ghost. “Oh well… Spaaaaaaannnnnkkkk Raaaaaaaayyyyyy!” “SG, you’ve got to wake up and save the planet!” Finny warned, dodging the force which vectored towards his nether-regions. “I don’t believe I just said that.” “Now you’ve done it,” Frank Sinatra warned, making one of his frequent guest appearances in a Space Ghost scenario. “The volcano god is angry.” Then Colorado blew up. “How much longer do we have to keep searching these boxes and bags?” Troia demanded. “I don’t like putting my hands into some of the stuff SG’s got stashed up here.” “Until we find the way to get Space Ghost back to reality,” Hatman insisted. “Time’s running out, so hurry.” “I say we torch the whole place and be done with it,” Trickshot suggested. “No, that’s not right,” CSFB! considered. “But we are going about this the wrong way. What would Bugs do?” “Bugs?” frowned Hatty. “I’m not entirely up on all the new superheroes. Is he the one who works for ITC?” “Naw, that’s Nats, but it’s an easy mistake,” snorted Trickshot. “Bugs Bunny,” amplified Dreamcatcher Foxglove. “He’d find a way out of here by just, I dunno, drawing a door on the wall with a piece of chalk and walking through it.” “That’s ridiculous,” Hatman argued. “That’s why it might work,” countered Tricky. “There’s some chalk here,” offered Troia practically. CSFB! took the stick and went over to the wall. “let’s see what’s behind door number one,” he suggested. “When this is over I am so going to kick Space Ghost’s ass,” warned Finny as he tried to stem the volcano that threatened to engulf them before Darth Invader’s TIED fighters vaporised them or the gigantic holed steamship falling from the skies above towards them pulped them flat. “Yo is thinking we should all be being friends,” Yo contributed, “after Space Ghost had been kicked by cute Makluan,” s/he added as s/he avoided the rain of chat show hosts. “Spaaaaaaannnnnnkkkkkk Raaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!” offered the pantsless wonder, aiming his weapon again. “I summons ghostie’s spank ray,” frowned Lisa crossly. “There. OK, Spacey, let’s see how Lisa dishes it out,” “Again,” added Visionary. “Who’s singing A Hard Day’s Night?” puzzled Enty. “Art that two hundred foot long Baron Zemo-shaped Zeppelin really dropping an atomic bomb on us?” wondered Donar. “I shall attempt to grapple with yon weapon of mass destruction anon.” Then the cupboard door opened spilling Vizh, Lisa, Yo, Enty, Foom, and the hemigod of thunder out into the Lair Mansion hallway on top of CSFB!, Trickshot, Hatman, and Troia. “Aaaaaaggghhhhh!” screamed G-Eyed. “How much longer do I have to keep this up?” “Yeah…. This is killing us,” grimaced Exile, straining to pump energy into his cousin. “Oh, you could have stopped ten minutes ago,” Miss Framlicker told them. “I would have mentioned it but I was busy watching you sweat.” “We’re back,” breathed Visionary. “We’re alive,” gasped Enty. “I couldst have taken yon atom bomb,” grumbled Donar. “I’m at the bottom of this dog-pile and some of you are very heavy,” complained Troia. “I have dreams like this sometimes,” smiled CSFB! “Ah, you’re back,” Cheryl noticed, peering through the lounge door. “Did you find Space Ghost?” “Er, can someone check the bottom of the pile?” requested Lisa. There was no Space Ghost. What there was was the sound of a key being hastily inserted into the mansion’s front door before the stunner disintegrators had fully cycled up. Space Ghost wandered through the door carrying two crates of Duff beer. “Hey, you had a game of Twister and didn’t invite me,” he moaned. “I bags Cheryl as my partner.” “In your dre… forget it,” muttered Visionary. “Where have you been?” Hatman asked the pantsless wonder. “We ran out of beer,” explained SG, “So I stole Vizh’s wallet and here I am. Starseed warned me that you might need my help.” “Starseed?” Trickshot echoed. “Strange are the ways of the Gah!” philosophised Finny. “Never mind that,” Lisa said practically. “Ghostie, you have some visitors. Family.” “Uncle Reg and Aunt Ethel?” the pantsless wonder beamed. “It’s us,” Temporary Death told him, appearing at the doorway. “Oh it’s so good to see you again, brother!” “You put us to a lot of inconvenience to find you,” added Whinging. “Help, I’m trapped under this pile of mops,” came Flapjack’s voice faintly from the broom cupboard. “I need rescuing so I can pile on Troia – ouch!” “My spear slipped,” an anonymous Legionnaire explained. “You do look vaguely familiar,” Space Ghost admitted, peering at the two Pointless with the larger of his two eyes. “You’ve been trapped in this reality for too long,” Temporary Death explained. “We’ve come to free you, to bring you home.” “And at great personal inconvenience,” added Whinging. “I’ve got to go?” Space Ghost asked. “To leave all my friends and return to being one of you?” “Yo doesn’t want cute annoying embarrassing Space Ghost to go,” wailed Yo. “If he doesn’t come voluntarily then we’ll just have to deconstruct your universe and free him that way,” snapped Whinging. “Bye, SG!” Enty answered. Space Ghost took a last look around at his human and almost-human friends. He sneaked a can of beer under his cape in case they didn’t have beer in the Place of the Pointless. He swallowed hard and wiped a tear from his eye. “Well, I guess this is it then. I’ve really enjoyed being a Legionnaire, and then being booted off the team, then turning evil, then turning good again, and being tied up in my closet by Jarvis’ wife, and massacring you all again and again in warped, distorted stories and… Goodbye!” “We’ll never forget you,” Finny said. “True,” shuddered Cheryl. “Thanks for all the biscuits,” Temporary Death bade the Legion. “I’ll be seeing you.” Then the Family of the Pointless was gone. “I’d better telephone ITC and let G-Eyed and Exy know we’ve saved the universe,” Lisa said at last. “Yeah,” CSFB! agreed. “But the universe seems a little bit duller without… without…” “Without what?” asked Space Ghost, waking form a rather nice drunken stupor at the bottom of his broom closet. “Hey, who’s been moving my stuff?” “Ghostie?! You’re back?” the first lady of the Lair Legion grinned. “Back where?” the pantsless wonder asked. “Ah, someone got in some more beer. Wicked!” “But what about you being a cosmic being of the Family of the Pointless and the universe being destroyed and you dreaming up stories about us all and…” gabbled Hatman. “He’s Space Ghost,” CSFB! advised the capped crusader. “He doesn’t have to make sense.” “But…” “He’s Space Ghost.” “But…” “Space Ghost.” “Ssshhh,” advised Troia. “He’s asleep.” “Uh-oh,” frowned Finny. “I think he’s dreaming…” Coming soon to an Untold Tale near you: The countdown to Untold Tales #50 begins with one of those superheroes-take-time-off-to-socialise-then-get-attacked-by-villains stories. The Lair Legion buy a lighting conductor, a spooky old fair comes to town, and dark deeds are afoot in the Tunnel of Love. Plus Messenger is made to be sociable, Dancer gets a blind date, Zemo has an unexpected visitor, and a shock ending that hasn’t been done before! Don’t miss “All’s Fairground in Love and War.” Due just as soon as I get round to it and not a minute before. Still a journey into the mind etc. etc, see blurb above, but this time with a slight HTML correction and a significant amount of swearing at it by... he Hooded Hood |
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