🚀 go-pugleaf

     Meanwhile, back in the Beanstalk's observation room...
     "See.  There it is again!"  Locke shook his head.
     "I'm telling you, it's updrafts."
     "Why haven't we ever seen updrafts like that before?"
     "Because we've never had this many weird ships here before."
     "Well... I suppose.  But it's pretty weird.  I say we call the General."
     "And interrupt him?  Are you mad or merely stupid?"
     "Hey!"

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

               Chris Angelini/Frobozz Magic Productions

                             -and-

                       Task Force Aurora

                             -and-

                      The Superguy Authors

                 -through inspiration provided by-

                             Murphy
                    (Also appearing as herself)

                              -and-

                      Mademoiselle Muse Inc

                       -in association with-

           'We Didn't Mean To Colour The Sky Pink, Honest!'
               Industrial Special Effects and Magic

                              -and-

       The Overworked and Underpaid Lisa MacDougall (producer)

                            -present-

               *************************************
               ***The 1995 Golden Grunion Awards!***
               ************Part Three***************
               *************************************

               Spot Special Guest Lucky the Turtle!
                    (Hint, watch the buffet)

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

     Johan, mop and Mime Man took the repaired stage once more, the janitor
shaking like a leaf at the events of the night. Mime Man sighed again and
mimed a backbone, which was one concept that the perceptive - if timid -
janitor could not translate.
     "Learning is power..." said Johan, standing under the bright lights
and scrutiny of the glaring audience once more. "And we wish that some of
the more clueless out there would get a little bit more powerful. Also,
everyone could stand to learn a little more every now and then. That's why
we're here to honour those who've made teaching a part of our life and
theirs. To present this award is someone who needs help the _most_...
Someone Who Sent an Unsubscribe Message To Superguy!
     The young man, wearing a well-washed 'New Kids on the Block' shirt and
carrying a neon pink Gameboy in one hand walked onto stage, to a deafening
silence. He looked around, trying to remember what his job was again,
before shrugging and playing a few rounds of Super Mario 383 - Attack of
The Creatures We Scraped From The Bottom of the Barrel. After a good deal
of hemming and hawing, his attention was drawn over to Mime Man and Johan,
who held up an envelope.
     Realisation dawned across the man's face, a rare enough sight. "Oh,
cool man... I was supposed to read something, wasn't I?"
     "Yes, you were," said the janitor, pushing the paper into the boy's
hand, "Read that."
     The boy looked at the envelope. He looked up at Johan. He looked down
at the envelope again, then back up at Johan. He looked at the envelope,
squinting at the writing. He rattled it a bit, listening. He blew along the
edges of the envelope, producing a papery whistling noise.
     "Just read it!"
     "Whoa, sorry geezer," said the boy, grinning a smarmy grin. "Okay. So
we've got these nominees. There's the really hot 'Admiral Morgan Explains
How to Unsubscribe From The Superguy Listserver'. Like anyone needs to know
how to do that. Duh, you just send an unsubscribe to the same place the
post comes from. Even an idiot could think of that. Then, we've got 'Manman
and Dadaman Explain' the same thing. And the 'Superguy 101' thing that I
didn't understand, cause it didn't have a crossover with that mutant with
claws and a healing factor in it. And the guy who won that big goldfish
over there is.. um... 'Superguy 101'."
        Rob Furr bounded out onto the stage..
        "Hiya, hiya, kids! Ben's passing the roll around now ..." Down in
the audience Ben was handing out pieces of paper along the various rows and
smiling broadly. "Now, to start off this week's class, we'll have a pop
quiz. Take out your number two pencils, please. Ben is also, as you may
have noticed, passing out the Scan-Tron(tm)  sheets, and we'll be starting
the quiz just as soon as everybody has one. Put your books away, kids -
that means you, Bill."
        Ben stood at the back of the auditorium and waved, as hundreds of
men, women, n-dimensional entities, giant monsters, hideously deformed
misfits of science, aliens, and Pat Buchanan stared at the small pieces of
paper they now mysteriously held in their hands.
        "Right!" shouted Rob, as he pulled a notebook out of an undefined
location. "First question...what is that sticking in my back?"
        A voice came from behind him. "A, a shotgun. B, a shotgun. C, a
shotgun, or D, a shotgun."
        "Aha," said Rob. "It's my faithful, talented character, the Lawgiver."
        "Just ... accept the damn award and get out of here," the world's
only shortsless superhero grated.
        "What? What award? This isn't an awards show, it's the class." Rob
stood there and gestured at the audience. "Look out there ... all those
people ..." There came a reverberating scree-growl from a gigantic yet
shadowy form in the corner "... and giant radioactive monsters ..." There
came a 'woo-woo-woo! Hubba! Hubba!' from a small yet shadowy form with a
bowler hat in another corner "and smaller radioactive ... thingies ..."
There came a faint squeak from overhead. "And, to wrap up with, all those
sixteen-ton weights..."
        The bearded form of the Battling Babylonian paled. His entire form,
it must be noted, as there really wasn't much between the Lawgiver's
muscular frame and the piercing eyes of the viewing public besides an
intricately-worked beard, a pointy cap, and a sort of half-skirt,
half-loincloth thingy. He looked up. Yup, a sixteen-ton weight was hanging
just above him. On a fraying rope.
        "You bastard," he said, as a sharp snapping sound echoed across the
gigantic auditorium.
     "That wasn't funny," said the Unsubscribing fool, fiddling with his
Gameboy. "Like, where was the sexual innuendo? And he didn't even laugh
about body parts. I don't get it."
     A rumble of power sounded, followed by a roar. Suddenly and without
warning, the Vespa scooter shot out onto stage, executing a daring aerial
jump that caused it to seem to hang in the air for a long moment, making
all those who saw it gasp in awe. Then, hang time over, it fell to the
ground with a crash of rubber against stage and bone, crushing the clueless
wonder under its weight. There was a moment's pause before a cheer rose up
from the audience. The scooter suggested a bow with its front end and
roared from the stage, showering the pitiful unsubscriber's remains with
exhaust fumes.
     "It... learns fast," commented Johan. Mime Man nodded, then moved on
to miming the next award. "And speaking of learning fast, let's move on
before that... thing can get back."
     A whiff of two-stroke engine exhaust wafted across the stage, chilling
Johan to his bones. Impatiently, Mime Man gestured for the janitor to
continue translating.
     "Heroes have to learn things too. They have to learn right from wrong,
good from bad and a comedy beat from a moment when they could seriously get
the stuffing knocked out of them. But most of all... they need to learn to
rely on their supporting cast. Mostly this is relying on the fact that
they're going to be kidnapped and held hostage by the villain du jour and
need saving from their own incompetence. Here to present the award for
'Best Supporting Character' is Windjammer, from the Guardians of
Rectitude!"
        Thunderous applause, intermingling with murmurs of whispered
"Who???"'s and "How should I know?"'s filled the auditorium as Judy stepped
up to the podium, her low-cut dress gleaming in the spotlights, her short
dark hair curled and arranged attractively around her face.
        "Windswimmer!  That's Wind*swimmer*!" Judy shouted at the
announcer, then waited for the din to subside before speaking into the
microphone. "Ahem. I see a few confused faces out there.  For those of you
who don't know me, let me refresh your memory." She pulled a book out from
behind the podium, raised it above her head and let it fall to clonk her
soundly in the noggin.
        "Ow!" she cried. "_Now_ do you remember?" The chorus of "Oh, yeah,
HER!!!"'s that came from the audience gave her the courage to continue.
        "Call them sidekicks, call them bit parts, call them one-joke
wonders, they're all supporting characters. And quite frankly, the main
characters, whether they want to admit it or not, would usually be toast
without them. Too often, way too often, take it from me, I *KNOW*, they're
left to idle for episode after episode, only to pop up every now and again
as the butt of some lame joke. But on occasion, in the hands of a truly
gifted Author, as opposed to that slug *I* got stuck with, that self
serving bitch who most episodes couldn't think of anything *better* to do
than have me get bashed on the head by a bunch of *BOOKS*!  Then when she
finally writes me a decently heroic scene put the damn series on *hiatus*
for four frinking *MONTHS* and literally left me hanging from a damn
*bridge* all that time!! And to top it all off, now she'd *still* rather
write sappy mushy scenes between Grey Leopard and *that* *whiny* *KID* than
a decent love scene with him and *ME*!!! It's not *FAIR* I tell you, it's
just not *FAIR*!!!!"
        Judy had started to perspire and her hair was looking dishevelled
as she gripped the podium with white-knuckled fists.
        Mary Agnes tugged anxiously on Grey Leopard's sleeve. "Whiny kid??
Cory?  What's she talkin' about?"
        "Never mind, Mary Agnes!" Cory leaned across and whispered to
Liberty. "Dr. Richards, I thought you were going to give her a sedative
before she went on!"
        "I _did_!" Liberty hissed back. "Tony, do you think we should do
something?"
        "Unnecessary, doctor," whispered Tony, glancing over to where
Thelma was seated in the company of a few other Authors.  "Our Author was
wise enough to bring her edit board with her..."
        Meanwhile, Judy continued to rant. "Face it, if it wasn't for
crossovers, I'd never have seen any action at *ALL* this year!
Furthermore..."
        As Thelma tapped at her keyboard, Jim Fowler and Marlin Perkins of
"Wild Kingdom" fame materialized on stage. Marlin feebly nodded at Judy,
and Jim took careful aim with his tranquilizer gun. A dart struck the young
woman squarely in the shoulder, and she relaxed instantly.
        "As I was saying," she continued, wavering as her speech grew more
slurred. "In the hands of a truly gifted Author, a Supporting Character can
reach his or her full potential, enhancing the plotline, moving the story
along, and making a real contribution to the Superguy Altiverse. On rare
occasionssss, they can even become more poopular than the title
charactersss."
        Out in the audience, Spoonman stood in his chair. "Yeah, I did
that! Me!! Me, you hear???!!!"
        Judy continued, sounding more and more like Lucy doing the
Vitameatavegamin ad.  "....ssssomething all of us can twuly persssssspire
to!!! Thith year, the nomineessss for Besssst Thupporting Chawacter are..."
Jim was slipping up behind her, net in hand. "Pr-pr-profeshor...
Deshstruction... Andro...hee, cute li'll guy... and... Emma... Damma Nun...
er.. Emma Dunne..."
    "And the Golden Grunion goes to...." Judy slumped forward as Jim threw
the net over her unconscious form. Marlin Perkins hobbled up to the
platform to pluck the envelope from her hand.
    "Emma Dunne!" said Marlin into the microphone. As Mrs. Dunne took the
stage, the aging naturalist briskly handed her the statuette, then rubbed
his hands together greedily over the fine specimen had bagged.
    "My, she's a nice one!" he gushed and followed as his partner Jim toted
Windswimmer offstage.
   Mrs. Dunne reached the podium and the applause died down. "Emma looked
out over the crowd," she said into the microphone, "still finding it hard
to believe that with all of these important people in stupid-looking
costumes, and she was the one selected for the award." The applause died
down even more. "She wondered briefly who had voted in the awards, since
many of the people she had met that evening had seemed especially
dull-witted. Some of them even seemed completely unable to figure out that
Mighty Guy is really Kent--"
   "That's fine, ma'am!" Marlin Perkins reemerged from backstage. "Now,
just take your Grunion, Mrs. Dunne. Congratulations, and I'd like to take
this time to let you know about the fine whole life policies Mutual of
Omaha offers to Grunion winner like you..."  He hustled her off the stage
before she could say more.
   The crowd clapped uneasily as she returned to her seat, narrating as she
went.
     Mime Man applauded heartily, then winked to Johan, who nodded and
began to interpret again. "And just as heroes need something on which they
can rely, they've also got to remember to rely on the surprises that are
around the corner at every turn. That's why our next award, presented once
more by the king of prediction himself - the Sage - honours this year's
'Best Surprise'!"
     "I just knew I'd get called back," grumbled the Sage, as another
twenty was pressed into his hand. "The nominees that you're all just
_dying_ to hear about, being such limited and ephemeral creatures as you
are, are: the highly predictable _Out of the Nest's_ journey to the
Metaworld subtopic, the Radian and Ramrod Romance that I saw coming a mile
away, and Zen Navigator's being Ninja Taxicab Driver, which was just so
blatant that I don't even know why anyone bothered acting surprised, except
to save the Author's feelings. Well, I won't keep you in suspense any
more... the winner is the Radian and Ramrod romance. Rah."
     The audience was prepared this time, ironic given the category of the
award. As Ramrod and Radian strode towards the stage, gazing into one
another's eyes with a saccharine intensity of biblical proportions, the
exits were jammed with superguys, supervillains, henchmen and others who
suddenly had to take smoke breaks, even though a good number of them were
non-smokers. Those who stayed behind were stricken with an epidemic of
dropped pens, contact lenses, and keys, or suddenly became fascinated by
the entry in the Grunion Program on the skin conditions of the Ill Dudes.
     As a result, after accepting their Grunion, they found themselves with
almost no audience.
     "Hurm," Ramrod said. "I'd like to... um... is anyone listening?"
     "Hey!" Radian exclaimed. "Pay some attention!"
     "What should we do?"
     "We could give our speeches like we were planning."
     "Or?"
     "Or this." They resumed their earlier lip-pressing activities,
completely forgetting about the audience that was trying its best to forget
about them.
     Well, almost all the audience, anyway.
     "Do you suppose Rob Lowe will be in the next production number?"
Manman asked, flipping through his program. "Or maybe Anne Murray?"
     "Kit Carson flurry beets on mytosis, Berl," Dadaman replied, as he
gazed at a portrait of Ayn Rand that he had fingerpainted painstakingly
over the course of five minutes. "Luminous beans are we, not this screwed
fish!"
     Manman looked around, but saw no glowing beans.
     "Truncheon!" Dadaman exclaimed. "Sing of pants, halogen wonderbra!"
     Feeling a bit peckish, Manman started enjoying some of the leftover
white jelly beans that he'd cleverly thought of bringing along with him, in
case such an eventuality occurred.
     "Enigmatic ferret rolling!" a voice from halfway across the auditorium
yelled. Dadaman looked up to see Captain Non-Sequitor waving a copy of
Redbook and a can of reddi-whip at him. Next to him, the Surrealist was
strapping pate to his chest and humming some Neil Diamond favorites. As
Dadaman ran off to join them in a spirited round of 'flail about aimlessly
and emit strange sheeplike noises,' Manman reached the article on the Ill
Dudes and, a few paragraphs in, decided to send them some coupons for an
acne cream containing benzoil peroxide.
     He looked up and saw Ramrod and Radian were still going at it.
     "Hello?" he asked. "Hello?!?" They failed to notice he was speaking at
them. Realizing that the others were incapacitated by the sickening
sweetness of the romance, Manman acted with something approaching a fast
pace. Going backstage, he located a dolly and wheeled it around the
curtain.
     The tricky part was getting all four feet onto the dolly, and it took
several attempts at wedging the metal edge under their boots before he
succeeded. Grunting, straining his muscles to their mediocre utmost, Manman
tilted them back and wheeled them offstage, leaving them near their seats
before returning to his own.
     Smoke breaks over, dropped items found, articles read, the audience
returned to their seats, deliberately not looking in the direction of
Ramrod and Radian, who had not yet sat down. Shadebeam took care of that
when she whacked them on the back of their knees, causing them to fall into
their chairs.
     Mime Man recovered from turning green, feeling the world spin around
him as he grasped onto a podium to steady himself. Blinking, he noticed
something odd, and tapped Johan the janitor on his shoulder. Turning, he
pointed out the catapult which the bored Authors had begun to construct,
its payload delivery set exactly for where the MC and his interpreter
stood. Johan gulped and Mime Man began to mime.
     "I think it's time to keep the Authors entertain--er.. time to present
another award to those tireless scribes who keep our world turning... when
they're not blowing it to smithereens."
     The Authors looked up from their projects and cheered, their egos
stroked once again.
     "Our next Authorial award will reward those who've put a good amount
of their lives into this business: the Lifetime Achievement Award. The
presenter is the woman who's been inspiring Authors since time immemorial,
but don't ask her for her age... the Muse Calliope!"
     The elegant Grecian woman took the podium, tapped her microphone twice
to be sure that it was on, and cleared her throat lightly. "There have
always been those called to duty above and beyond what was expected of
them. Those who sacrifice all in the cause of their art. Those who think of
nothing but the furthering of beauty.
     "This, of course, describes not a one of those beer-swilling,
Nerf-weilding maniacs who live in the Author's Altiverse with me. Some of
them occasionally have a run of longevity, and occasionally a few bursts of
nobility during it, specifically that... Man with Two First Names... the
much less odious Pickle, and the rather nice Rob Furr."
        Rob turned to Ben. "Lifetime Achievement Award," he said.
        "Yup," Ben said.
        "Won't get it."
        "Nope."
        "Wanna go get the chicken suit ready?"
        "How can we get the chicken suit ready if we don't know who's gonna
win?"
        "Easy," said Rob. "We just get it made in a size halfway between
BillWest and BillEast. If Pickle wins, we cut his feet off, and if the Man
wins, we shove him in it and put him on the rack for an hour or so."
        "Sounds like a plan," said Ben.
        "Yup."
        "What if someone else wins?"
        "Then we take the chicken suit and fill it with trout, then put him
in it."
        "Trout is good."
     "And so, for the third time in as many years," continued Calliope, "we
are proud to present the Golden Grunion Award for Lifetime Achievement
to... Pickle!"
     Long applause filled the auditorium as Calliope stood beaming on the
podium, the Grunion glittering in her hands.
     The applause slowly died away.
     "Ahem," muttered Calliope. "We are proud to present the Golden Grunion
Award for Lifetime Achievement to Pickle!"
     There was applause again, for a shorter period this time.
     "Does, ah...does anybody know where Pickle is?"
     "Have you tried the bar?" called Rainy Day Woman.
     "I'll go look-" Sabre began, when the auditorium doors suddenly swung
wide open with a blare of music.
     "Oh, please," Rob Furr groaned.
     Six dozen dancing girls leapt into the room, flinging rose petals from
baskets to the floor as they made their sinuous way toward the stage.
Heralds followed with eight-foot trumpets supported at the bell end by
pairs of fluttering cupids. Elephants followed, thirty of them walking two
by two, their flanks adorned by enormous banners bearing the pickle-shaped
standard of Pickle. Every third pair bore a human pyramid of perfect
Athenian youths, the topmost men and women carrying blazing torches held
high over their heads. A dozen muscular eunuchs followed, leading white
Siberian tigers on jewel-studded leashes, flinging gold coins into the
crowd. Immediately behind them, a marching band began crossing the
threshold into the auditorium.
     "Does this seem reasonable to you?" the Swede shouted to Lord Sabre
over the din. Sabre shook his head and turned back to watch the entourage.
     Ninety-three minutes passed in a similar fashion.
     Finally, six beautiful Red Women of Mars rode in on magnificent
thoats, sprinkling scented oils on the carpet behind them. Ten tall,
bronzed men in turbans strode in gracefully, five pairs of two, bearing
long silver poles on their shoulders. As they continued forward, it became
apparent that the poles were attached to an enormous gem-encrusted sedan
chair, on which Pickle reclined languidly while the beautiful edit-vampire
Ruth peeled and fed him grapes. Behind the chair, another ten bearers
walked elegantly forward, carrying the enormous assembly as if it were no
heavier than a feather. Behind them came a quarter-mile double column of
Benedictine monks, and finally a small, angry-looking man with a dust
bucket and a pushbroom.
     When the sedan chair finally reached the stage, an enormous lion
stepped forward and knelt underneath it. Ruth hopped down and reached up a
hand, assisting Pickle as he stepped from the chair to the lion's back, to
the stage, where he tripped over his shoelace and fell off the stage and
into the Swede's lap, knocking his head against the Swede's two-year-old
Lifetime Achievement Grunion and rendering himself semiconscious.
     "Hmm. Should we get a stretcher?" asked CHAOS Engineer.
     "Nah," decided the Swede after a careful quarter-millisecond of
thought. He leaned forward, dumping Pickle's limp form into the orchestra
pit. Calliope tossed his award in after him, muttering words of
congratulations.
     "I'm...the god..." Pickle moaned quietly. "I'm...the...god..."
[Continued In Part Two!]