🚀 go-pugleaf

[Continued From Part One!]

     "Okay, steeeaddy," the Swede at the top said as he saw the very last
Swede scaling up the backs of the hundreds of Swedes below. "You're almost
there...."
     The Swede scrambled onto the Swede's shoulders and beamed.
     "Ahoy!" he exclaimed.  "A five-mile tall tower of Swedes!  Now all I
have to do is open an auditorium window and the remaining thousands of me
can climb up and through and join the festiviti... er."
     "Er?" a Swede who was about three Swedes down asked. "Er what?"
     "Shouldn't we have started our tower a little closer to the Beanstalk?"
     The Swedes considered the Beanstalk, which was about fifty feet or so
from where they were swaying in the breeze.
     "Right!" the Swede at the top exclaimed. "We'll just have to walk very
carefully over there. Walk!"
     "Walk!" the next lower Swede ordered the one below him.
     "Walk!" that Swede ordered the one below him. And so on, and so on.
     Eventually, the command filtered down to the Swede on the very bottom,
who groaned and started lurching toward the wall of the Beanstalk, stepping
carefully.
***
     "Oh bother," muttered the small stuffed bear as he trotted out onto
the stage, and looked over at Mime Man. "I seem to have forgotten my
spectacles. No, wait, I know, I must've left them in the honey pot.
Christopher, would you mind terribly fetching them for me?"
     In the crowd, a small boy looked up from popping several hormone pills
which kept his voice high and shrill. "All right, you silly old thing!" he
announced, his voice spiking into the ultrasonic range and attracting a
record number of bats to flock outside the Beanstalk. The glasses were
washed of their honey and conveyed to the bear, who immediately began
interpreting for Mime Man.
     "Oh look. The next category goes ever so nicely with the last. Why,
it's the Most Gratutious Destruction! Why, I remember when the bees invaded
hundred acre woods... now that was frightening! Not to mention destructive
- why I think Tigger had a sore arm for days and days! And here to present
the award is... oh my. Chris Robertson."
     Chris walked out onto the stage, rolling his eyes. He just knew that
this was everyone's way of laughing at his lack of power control. Most
Gratuitous Destruction indeed. What a kick in the seat.
     "Might as well get this over with," sighed Chris, accepting an
envelope. "Our nominees - all of whom have blown up _much_ more than I
have, really - are: Planet Perky, _Hard Times_ #10 and _Blow the House
Down_. And the people, places or things who are _really_ threats, as
opposed to those of us who just accidently have a bad day once in a while
are... those in _Hard Times_ #10 _and_ _Blow the House Down_!"
        With that, a mighty scream erupted from the back of the auditorium.
The entire audience turned to see the massive green form of the accepting
representative of that episode rise from its seat as if it was rising from
Tokyo Bay. Blue light flickered around its three dorsal ridges, blue
radiance streaming from deep inside its throat. It lifted one mighty foot
and brought it forward, its ponderous tail smashing through the rear of the
auditorium as if it were no more than thin paper. The audience began to
stream to the sides, in a vain effort to escape the now-descending foot-,
which landed in the cheap seats with a concussion that blew the fleeing
populace to the sides, tumbling seats, crushing through the concrete of the
floor, shredding metal...
        And the creature took another step.
        It opened its mouth and roared as it moved, and glowing gas, blue
wisps of energy, poured from its jaw, its claws ripping lights down from
the ceiling, its tail scouring the concrete. Blood flowed in torrents from
beneath its feet, and when it took a step, shreds of bone and flesh rained
down.
        It took one more step and turned, its tail sliding across hundreds
of people as they were ground screaming into a mass of flesh, bone, steel,
and tacky seat-covering material. It leaned down, picked up the Grunion
from Chris' outstretched and quaking hands, turned to the audience,
knocking the small bear and most of the stage into the crumbling walls,
waved at the cameras, held up a sign that said "You like me, you really
like me," and returned to its seat.
     Dog-Thing, accepting on behalf of the various combatants in Blow the
House Down, realized she could not top the creature's destruction output,
settled for kicking the chubby little cubby in the shins before picking up
the Grunion and returning to his seat.
     "Ow... ow... my stuffing..." moaned the bear. "Could someone fetch the
sewing kit?"
     Mime Man sighed and waited for the next interpreter to be trundled out.
***
     "Almost there!" the top Swede called.  "Just one more... steeeep!"
     The tower lurched, sending the Swede face first into the window with a
solid thwack.
     Thwack!
     "Ow," the Swede said, as he extracted his face from the breakproof
glass. "Let me see... well, how about that? We're on the right floor and
everything. Now just let me get the window open here... ah, there we go."
     "We ready?" the Swede below asked.
     "Ready!" the Swede declared. "Tell the rest of me to start shimmying
up here!"
     The order was relayed down. Soon, thousands of Swedes began the
treacherous ascent, even as the ceremony continued.
***
     The Masked Bruce stepped into the Men's Room, whistling "Always Look
on the Bright Side of Life" and grinning. He slipped a Xolchacomb from his
pocket and walked to the sinks. Just a couple of seconds worth of grooming
before things heated up.
     "Hey," he said with a grin. "How's it going, T?"
     "Hey," the Awesome Force's musical powerhouse said with a return
smile. He had a comb of his own, and was expertly adjusting his hair, which
billowed dramatically despite there being no wind in the bathroom. "Good to
see you, Mike.  How's it going?"
     "Not bad, not bad." the Masked Bruce darted his comb over his head
with practiced ease.  "Big night, huh?"
     "Yes and no. We didn't get nominated for anything, and so Angi's
talking about killing the entire readership of Superguy in retribution."
     "Mmm... did you appear in anything?"
     "Just your series -- and I didn't even appear in that."
     "Right, right. Well, we got nominated for Best Series and Best
Supergroup, but those are pretty pro-forma. We're not going to win. We
never do."
     "Right. So it's kind of a loss evening?"
     "Yeah."
     The two combed.
     "Well, except for `Best Hair,'" T said with a grin.
     The Masked Bruce laughed. "Right," he said. "There's a nail-biter of
an award!  Best Hair... I love it."
     "Yeah. I can just see the Vegas Handicappers now." The two heroes laughed.
     "Still -- want my hair to look good, in case they cut to me when they
announce it." The Masked Bruce kept combing.
     "Yeah, that was my thought too," T said, combing.
     There was a pause.
     "They're just going to cut to the winner," the Masked Bruce said. "You
do know--"
     "Yeah, I know that," T said. "What's your point?"
     "Well, I don't see why you're taking all this time then."
     "Um... Mike... it should be obvious why I am."
     "I don't think it's obvious at...."
     The two heroes stared at each other.
     "Mike, we figured all this out in '94. I won then, I'm going to win
now. No offense, but--"
     "No offense taken, because you're not going to win. T, you're an
Awesome Force member... at the time, the A.L.U. was almost a fringe group
in comparison. But now we're the most public team currently active, and the
Awesome Force barely ever leaves the Sherstone. Who remembers your hair?
And my hair's finally gotten the attention that was it's due. You got an
award for it once -- console--"
     "Wait wait wait. Are you saying the only reason I won in '94 was
because I was more famous than you were?"
     "Well, come on -- advanced Xolchipalian Hair Care techniques have--"
     "Advanced alien *hair* techniques? I don't need advanced alien *hair*
techniques! I have the ultimate heroic hair! See it billow! See it flow! I
don't even need conditioner!"
     "And it shows -- look at those split ends.  Now I--"
     "Split ends? Mister flat hair Two-in-one Shampoo plus conditioner is
talking about *my* split ends?  Do you have any--"
     "Look, I'm in a good mood because of the ceremony, so I don't want to
ruin it my yelling at you. I'm just going to go out, join my team, and wait
to hear the words `Masked Bruce--'"
     "Listed as a nominee, and then `T' as the--"
     "Oooooo...."
***
     A tiny man took the stage and walked over to Mime Man's side at the
podium. He was small person, barely coming up to the hero's waist, and wore
a strange suit of armour that concealed everything except his eyes which
peered out from the inky blackness of his helmet's interior. On top of said
helmet was a plume which looked like nothing more than a scrub brush.
     "Greetings!" he announced, in a refined voice. "I've been asked to
interpret for Mime Man tonight... isn't that just peachy? I'm so looking
forward to it before I destroy your world with my incredible 3-hole punch
cannon, secretly hidden on Mars where no one will find it! But tonight, we
have this ever-so-spiffy award to hand out! What is this award you might
ask, and well you may? Why it's the Best Holiday Special Grunion! And here
to present the award is someone whose work I'll miss dearly when he's been
atomized at the hands of Mars... Santa Claus, AKA Superclaus!"
     Santa walked out on stage, his beard and beer-belly well groomed for
the occasion. "Ho ho ho, has everyone here been a good little boy or girl?"
     The heroes beamed, while the villains tried to look unnoticable.
     "Well there've been some _very_ good boys and girls who're getting
their Christmas presents a little early tonight. For Best Holiday Special,
there's the _Bob City Holidazed Special_, the _Preteen Patrol Halloween_
and _Mr Morbid's Halloween_. Hmmm... that can't be right, can it? Only one
of the specials was for Christmas. I think the Grunion Awards committee can
expect a lump of coal in their stockings this year."
     "Darn it," muttered Frobozz. "And I was hoping for a Slinky."
     "But, I see from the envelope that a group of very good little
children have won this award: the Preteen Patrol!"
     Sporkboy lifted the Best Holiday Special Grunion over his head,
triumphantly as he jumped onto the stage, to the noise of raucus applause.
"I'd like to accept this award on behalf of all the kids who ever put on a
Halloween costume. Halloween has always been a special day for me, and
dressing up in costume..."  He smiled. "Well, I think I would do it even if
it wasn't a holiday. Thank you!"
     "What a nice young man," commented the invader from Mars, as Sporkboy
left the stage. "Perhaps he can be spared the coming destruction to work in
the uranium mines of my home planet! Wouldn't that just be nifty of me? But
I believe my esteemed colleague is indicating that we must press on, for
time runs out - both for these awards and for your planet!"
     The invader waited a beat for the joke to register, but received three
coughs and several nervous grins.
     "Is this indeed an audience or a three-dimensional Fritzeen picture
representation of an audience?" he asked, again receiving no response.
Tough crowd. "Your lack of response doesn't make me mad, just very, very
hurt. And as my invasion fleet departs to annihilate your world in just
fifteen minutes, I really must fly! Ta-ta!"
     Doyle turned to Kent with a look of utterly tired homicide in his
eyes. Kent gulped once and stalked into the crowd to find the next
interpreter.
***
     The sleek spacecraft fired retro-thrusters and altered its trajectory,
pointing for a very tall structure on the third planet from the sun.
Soon... very soon... its mission would be complete, and all would be right
again. Until that moment though, it would know no peace.
***
[Continued In Part Three!]