🚀 go-pugleaf

[223DON'TTRYITAUTHORSONLY]

     "Hey, what did the other Authors say about putting Authors' Altiverse
pieces into your regular stories?" Kat asked, fluttering menacingly in the
Dvandroid's face.
     "They said, 'Don't Do It.'  But they also said not to do crossovers with
the LNH, and did I listen?" the trenchcoat-clad Author shot back, waving his
Editorial Staff in front of him to make Kat [his Muse, not the Dvandom Force
character, for those keeping score - Ed] back off.
     "Yes, but they were right, yes?"
     "Well...."
     "You lost so many readers during that thing it took a minor miracle and
payoffs to seven different Luck Gods to pull off that RACCies sweep."
     "Don't forget ripping off Mark Waid.  That's always good for votes.  And
Ozzie Goth's crack kneecapping squad I sent around to the voters."
     "Well, now you're up for some Grunions, and those tricks won't work
here.  You need someone to show you the ropes on how to pull off a Grunion
win," Kat admonished.
     As if on cue....
     Dvandroid looked around expectantly.
     "Haven't you used this joke already?"
     "Have I?  Whatever.  Looks like someone missed his cue, anyway."
     Ahem.  As if on cue....
     Dvandroid felt a tapping on his left shoulder.  Trained from an early
age in the ancient arts of Kid Fu, he immediately whirled around to his
right, to face his surprise guest.
     "Ahem," came the voice behind him.
     Dvandroid whirled back around to his left.  "Ah, Robotech_Master.  I've
been meaning to thank you for the use of the body, here," Dvandroid thumped
his chest, creating a hollow drumlike sound.
     "No problem.  I heard you're up for Best New Author, so I figured I'd
swing by and give you some tips on Grunions etiquette.  After all, if you
win, it wouldn't do to get up on stage and offend a room full of omnipotent
beings with the brains of toast and the ability to hold a grudge longer than
any other coherent thought, would it?" he finished, pausing to take a deep
breath as he was turning a deep blue by the end of that run-on sentence.
     "True.  And since I'm in a robot body, I don't have to worry about
having the brains of toast, right?"
     "Er, well, I've been meaning to tell you.  I never intended for these
bodies to see extended use, so when I was building their brains, I skimped on
parts and...well...used recalled Pentium chips."
     "You lie, dog..." Dvandroid stepped back in horror.
     "No, really.  What's 2 plus 2?"
     "3.999999798999699499999...gasp!  Can anything be done?"
     "Well, I suppose I could slap in a BeOS emulator after I teach you how
to dress and act at the Grunions."
     "Thanks millions."
     "Don't mention it," Robotech_Master grinned, with a glint of mischief in
his eye that the heads-up display in his helmet obscured from Dvandroid's
view.  "Now, the first thing you need to know is that all Best New Author
nominees must attend wearing chicken suits.  It's silly, but it's among our
oldest and most revered traditions...kinda like beanies in the engineer
fraterities...."
     Kat just sighed and fluttered away, figuring her Author deserved
whatever he got.

Coherent Comics UnInc. Presents:   ___  __   __ ___ _  _   ___   _  _ _  _
         CRAZY GUY #16            /   '/  | / |  /   \/   /   ' /   /  \/
   "Lawyers, Guns and Money"     /    /--' /--| /    /   /  __ /   /   /
copyright 1997 Dave Van Domelen `___ /  | /   |/__ _/    `__/  \__/  _/
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

[000SUPERGUY]

     "Well, that was certainly bizarre," Sister Sara noted, "but we're no
closer to solving the demon problem than we were before.  Unless one of you
speaks squirrel, I don't think we'll be able to get the squirrels to call off
the demons."
     "I'm...afraid they wouldn't anyway," Brother Charles replied.  "I've
gotten to know some of the squirrels over the years, and they're a very
stubborn and prideful people.  Now that your friend here has destroyed their
crystal, he has earned their eternal wrath, and nothing we could do would
convince them to end the siege.  Unless we gave Jack to them."
     "Huh?" Jack jumped back a bit.
     "And we're not going to," Sara said firmly.  "We don't negotiate with
demons, and we don't negotiate with anyone who would hire demons," she
uncocked her pistols for emphasis, holstering them now that the barrels had
cooled down.  "If the Church doesn't stand against evil, how can we expect
the common man to?"
     "Er, yeah," Jack added.  "Maybe we can find a squirrel and, I dunno, use
it as a...why are you looking at me like that?" he asked Brother Charles.
     "It's the way your lips don't match what you're saying.  It's very
distracting.  How do you do that?"
     "I'm from Hong Kong," Jack explained.  Brother Charles arched an
eyebrow, then shrugged.  "Anyway, if we find one of the squirrels, maybe we
can find out what their deal was with the demons and make a better one?
These *are* Chinese demons, after all.  They can be bribed."
     "I still don't like the idea of paying off demons," Sara insisted.
     "Don't bother," came a high-pitched voice from one of the trees.  "Alla
da stinkin' Reds'll be long gone by now," it added.
     "Another squirrel!" Jack yelped, leaping in the direction of the voice
and reaching out to grab the small, furry figure in the branches.
     The squirrel skittered to one side at the last possible moment, leaping
from the branch onto Jack's head and clinging to his hair.
     Jack responded by swatting at the squirrel, but it only ran down the
back of his shirt, leaving him to smack his own head.  "Ow!  Hey, get out of
there...yaaaaah!"
     "All right," came a muffled voice from Jack's pants.  "I just wanna
talk.  Everybody ease down or Mister Hong Kong here gets a free operation."
     "I think he means it," Jack winced.  "Sara, put the gun away."
     A small lump moved down Jack's trouser leg and a squirrel shot out of
the cuff, leaping onto a bench and sitting back on its haunches.
     "Okay, I ain't here ta fight, and I ain't one a dem crummy Reds, y'got
it?"
     Everyone nodded, almost getting used to the sight of talking squirrels
by now.
     "Hey, why don't you need a translator?" Jack asked as he adjusted his
pants.
     "Some a' us appreciate th' value a' learnin' a second language, capice?
Name's Louie, I hail from Central Park originally," he puffed out his chest
in pride.
     "Hello, Louie," everyone chorused.
     "Anyway, I gots sent here ta keep an eyeball on dem lousy Reds...better
dead den Red, I say...and I quite enjoyed yer display of fisticuffin' on dat
hunk a' stolen parts dere.  But yer not gonna find any Reds around here no
more, dey're dirty cowards, dey prolly t' the state line by now.  But my heart
goes out ta ya over dat demon trouble, so I'm gonna shows youse how ta get
inta dere underground base and tap inta dere communicatin' thingy.  Walk dis
way," he hopped off the bench and slowly headed for a corner of the yard.
     Jack started to follow him, but Louie turned back and said, "No, I
really mean 'dis way,' if you'll pardon da 'Young Frankenstein' gag.  Da
entrance is only a coupla feet high."
     Jack made an "Oh" shape with his mouth and got down on all fours to
follow the squirrel.
     "Careful, Jack," Sara called after him as the two descended into the
ground.

               *              *              *              *

     "There, I think that's the last of it.  He'll just need to sign here,
here, here, here and here when he gets back," the Mage Municipal said,
pushing back a slightly sweaty lock of hair.
     The phone rang, and Hans snatched it up.  "Kartoffelkopf investigations,
you lost it, I find it, ask about the name and I'll lose it.  Oh, hi, Jack."
     "Give me the phone, Hans," the MM asked.  "Thanks.  Hi, Jack?  Yes, in a
moment.  It's vitally important I tell you about the possible loopholes I
found in your contract.  Firstly, you'll never be required to do something
you know is wrong, but that doesn't leave out situations where you don't
realize the full consequences of your actions."
     "Yeah, I think I figured that out," came Jack's voice over the speaker,
Hans having turned it on so he could listen in.  There was an odd reverb to
his voice, as if he were in a cave.  "We can't evacuate the monastery,
the demons can then come in and defile it, and three hundred years of
accumulated power will be down the drain," Jack recapped for the benefit of
Hans, the Mage Municipal, and any readers who missed last episode.
     "Sounds like the kind of thing I'd expect from Jonesy," Hans noted.
The Pretidigitator of Portfolios nodded his agreement.
     "Any other loopholes I should be aware of?" Jack asked.
     "Well, if you become gradually corrupted by the subtle influences of the
jobs you're sent on, obviously your objections will become less and less,
until you're totally evil," the MM replied.
     "Most Totally Evil?" squeaked another voice over the phone.
     "Who's that?" Hans asked.
     "Oh, it's just Louie, one of the Grey Squirrels, he helped me find this
Red Squirrel communication room after I stopped a plot by the Reds to take
over the world and...never mind, I'll explain when I get back."
     "Er, yeah," Hans replied.
     "Anyway, guys, I can't beat all those demons myself, and we can't pull
the monks out of here.  And I'd rather not call in other superguys and maybe
have them get killed...any ideas for a bloodless solution?" Jack asked.
     "I think I've got one," Hans started.  "It's bloodless, I guess, but
it's not any nicer...it's the sort of fate I wouldn't wish on a guy who
spends his night threading cub scouts onto strings of barbed wire and passing
them through department store perfume sections while bleached-blonde
salesclerks spray them with the extract of dead pigeons distilled with whale
vomit and dipped in vegemite," he finished.  The narrator turned slightly
green.
     There was a pause while everyone else tried to banish this mental image
from thelr minds.
     "Er, okay," Jack said.  "What was the idea, and how much will it cost?"
     "That's the beauty of it...you don't pay a cent if you don't win..."
Hans started ominously.

               *              *              *              *

     "Are you sure they'll be here on time?" Sister Sara asked nervously, her
hands on the holsters of her twin automatic pistols.  "We're far enough from
the Mission that the demons could just swoop down and gobble us up if they
really wanted to."
     "They'll be here," Jack assured her, scanning the treeline for the
occasional flash of putrid green or violently garish orange that marked where
the demons lurked.  "We need to lure them all into one area so we can get
them all at once, and the two of us make the best bait, since we might
actually survive an early rush."
     Sara's left hand strayed up to the crucifix around her neck.  "I hope
you're right.  We're taking a major risk here...if they attack and find I'm
not as hard to get at as they think, they might try an attack on the Mission
itself."
     Jack looked down at his slightly tattered outfit.  "Hmm, maybe I should
have had Brother Charles bless my clothes before I left...a sort of armor of
God, you might say.  Well, I shouldn't need...wait, look over there!" Jack
pointed to the east, although he really didn't need to.  The thing that was
crawling out from behind a tree was so eye-rendingly garish that a blind man
on another continent entirely could have seen it.
     "Brace yourself, this could be it!" Jack hissed, pulling out his sea-fix
pin staff and shaking it out to combat-ready size.
     "Holy Mary, Mother of God," Sara whispered.  "I'd seen pictures, but
they're so much worse in person!"
     "Wait, I thought you were an experienced devil hunter," Jack replied
nervously, casting her a look over his shoulder as they went back to back in
defensive posture.
     "Well, actually, this is my first real contact experience.  Satan's
forces are a lot less active than you might think...it's not like devils are
walking down the streets of L.A. on an everyday basis," she said as she put
the safeties off her pistols.  "Besides, Chinese demons are a lot uglier than
Christian ones."
     "Well, yeah...wait, do you hear that?"
     "The slithering, the slavering, or just the pounding of blood in my
ears?" she shot back, trying to figure out which demon was the best target
for her first shot.
     "No, the airplane motor!"
     Suddenly a line of restraining orders peppered the ground between the
two and the advancing demons, who recoiled at the sight of the writs.
     "Look, up in the air!" Sara pointed to a group of parachutes rapidly
gliding in.
     "It's..." Jack started.
     "NICK JACOBI AND HIS HOWLING SOLICITORS!" they finished in unison.
     The elite squad of crack personal injury lawyers landed all around the
small horde of demons, shucking their parachutes with practiced ease and
pulling out their briefcases.  Fear shone in the eyes (and other assorted
sensory organs which may or may not have been eyes) of the demons as the
lawyers started to produce writs for damages.
     "Our clients, the monks of the Holy Mission of Santo Andreo, hereby
accuse you, the Chinese Demon Horde Local 342, hereafter referred to as the
Defendants, of infringing on their civil rights, causing emotional distress
and interfering with free exercise of trade and tourism.  Our clients seek
damages in the amount of...."
     At this point, the terrified howls of the demons drowned out the words
of the lawyers as the demons sought to escape from the area and found they
couldn't.
     "Come on," Jack shouted in Sara's ear.  "This won't be pretty, let's get
back to the Mission!"
     "Right!" Sara replied, gingerly stepping over the remains of a demon
unlucky enough to have gotten a tort lodged in its head.  "We don't want to
get caught in the fallout!"

WILL THEY GET CAUGHT IN THE FALLOUT ANYWAY?
WHAT'S THE HALF-LIFE OF LEGAL FALLOUT?
WHEN WILL SARA FIND OUT WHO JACK'S WORKING FOR?
WILL THE DEMONS' UNION LAWYERS BE ABLE TO BEAT THE RAP, AND WILL THE RED
     SQUIRRELS APPEAR IN COURT TO HELP DEFEND THEM?
WILL LOUIE BECOME PART OF THE REGULAR CAST, OR RUN AFOUL OF ANOTHER LOUIE
     IN SUPERGUY AND BECOME A TASTY SNACK?

Some of this and less, on the next...SUPERGUY!

============================================================================

Author's Note:

     I'm not high, honest.  Man, this chicken suit itches.