[REPOST/LNH] Jong #4: "Something wholesome this way comes.."
arspitzer at earthlink.net
Wed Apr 12 17:34:48 PDT 2006
Okay. I'm posting this mainly because there's a character who first
appeared here and then appeared in Saviors of the Net #6.
You don't have to read this though. I should mention that for the first
time this issue has been edited although some of the grammar errors seem to
be almost supernatural and thus unable to be completely edited.
This story contains the first appearance of the Legion of Net.Hippies and
also a flashback to Self-Righteous Preacher's early life.
From: cse12... at pine.cse.nau.edu (CSE 122 (student 141))
Subject: LNH: Jong #4: "Something wholesome this way comes.." (1/3)
Date: 15 Oct 1994 23:10:21 -0500
"Hey, Kid Recap here! Hey now, don't look at me like that. I need the
money. Anyway, what has gone on before [Jong 1, 3, Pi]. In the streets of
Espanola, Net.Mexico; you couldn't walk an inch with out running into some
Insurance Salesman, Mime, Pat Buchanan look-a-like, or some other low life
predator. That was until a mysterious green toad like man with striped
boxer shorts appeared. Like a tempest; he eradicated lawyers, mimes, and
carsalesmen -- freeing the city from its fears. The media celebrated him in
the beginning, but it wouldn't last. Immediately, the media's assault
began. Unable to take the attacks, being rejected by the LNH for
membership, running out of Orange Soda, and finding an old flame or look a
like working for the LNH; the green hero or Slobbering Grue! as he called
himself; quit to become a phone psychic. However, a psychopath known only
as the Plum Master began a reign of terror that forced Slobbering! to go to
the city's aid one more time. Having defeated the Plum Master he took a
break, not knowing that his greatest test was soon to come.... Hey that
wasn't so bad now, was it? (And a large piano falls on our hero of
Summarizing) (Hey. I'm a sick and demented person. I need to get my kicks
Espanola, Net.Mexico -- February 15, 1994 -- 1 O'clock AM
The Night is a dark time. A long time ago, a Polynesian by the name of
Wingo the Wang discovered why this was and the same day he also discovered
the secret of making Reese's Pieces by combining Peanut Butter and
Chocolate. Unfortunately for the world, his tribe became sick of these
useless ideas and ate him.
Why is it dark? Several possibilities: It could be because when the earth
rotates around the sun, the side of our planet that is opposite of the sun
does not get light. It could be that the author is wearing incredibly dark
shades and is making a premature judgment. It could be that the author is
really lying and it is indeed light and sunny outside. Or it could be that
the author accidentally misspelled nigth and instead of fixing it is trying
to get away with it by making lame excuses. But to prevent this story from
getting more overly complicated than it already is, the first one shall be
The night is a dark time in Espanola, Net.Mexico. In fact to beat a dead
horse many time over with a stick (and we will do that if it will insure our
ratings go up), the night is a dark time in a lot of places (except in
Australia, or is that summer and winter (never mind --Australians are
strange people)). Stuff happens in the night. The rats come out of the
walls to nimble on old Fritos that you never knew hit the floor. Mimes look
for innocents to terrorize in ways only mimes know how. People turn on
their headlights. A man with a gap in his teeth captures millions of
people's attention by reading off a top ten list, and then shows these same
people weird and unusual acts performed by animals, and calls them stupid
pet tricks. And this man's name is not wReam. Am I scaring you yet? Good.
Espanola has acquired many nicknames over the years. The City of a Thousand
Fast-Food Chains Guaranteed to Give You Horrendous Gas without One Bathroom
that is Functioning. The City of a Thousand Interstate Exists that all
Happen to Eerily Wind Back towards Espanola. The City of a Thousand
Nicknames That Can't Be Published in this Comic because They Involve Doing
Unnatural Things with Cucumbers, Donkeys, and Large Sweaty Men named Fred.
The City that Rhymes with Frespanola. And The City of a Thousand Over Paid
Idiots that Spend Their Time Writing Stupid Nicknames Like These. But one
nickname that has remained true to this date in time is that of 'Espanola
City of a Thousand Strip Joints'. From the small family Ma and Pa run
joints; to the big mall size Mega-Strips Joints with their shoe stores,
bookstores, department stores, and Mr. Paprika stands -- all these strip
joints share one factor: They open at night (with the notable exception of
those that open during the day, but that is not important!). And as all of
you by now should be able to chant (even if you're in a coma -- which you
are if you're still reading this by now) Does wReam approve of all thi..
no.. NO! The Night is Dark. And why am I writing this? Ok -- ok -- I'll
focus more on the strip joints.
The room was filled with cheap smoke and thick perfume. Anyway, out of what
ever it happened to be came a pulsating, sweating thigh (Oh and now might be
a good time to tell you that this story might not be appropriate for
children!) It, however, was not a sentient pulsating sweating thigh about
to go on a blood thirsty rampage only to be stopped by a couple of
wisecracking teenagers (Even though that sounds like a great idea and remind
me to do it someday). It was a normal thigh with a normal foot extending
out of it -- wait that's anatomically incorrect! Anyway, it was a pretty
anatomically correct extension [Publisher Note
-- That doesn't mean we here at the Jong Company don't hire un-anatomically
correct people because we do. And we are proud to say we hire more than any
other company. The Jong Company: "We're ahead of the rest." Heheh -- Get
it? A head. Heheh.. *ahem* Let's get back to the story.] In the distance
you could hear the tune, 'Tie me kangaroo down sport. Tie me kangaroo down.
Everybody now!' It was a normal night at the strip joint. Too normal. And
then out of the bleak abyss we call night came one hundred smiling Lawrence
Welk impersonators playing show tunes. Fortunately, it was an optical
illusion made by the moon; so no one saw it except for the author of this
The local patrons of this particular strip joint were going about their
usual way. Fred was holding his Taco Bell coupons expectantly hoping to
give them to Wanda. Joe was shouting obscenities.
"Hey little *@#&^$ you going to *#$%^& my *#$%^& because I can't *(&*$^%??"
Joe pondered his statement for awhile. Why the #$%#% were his statements
being replaced by #$%^$%^ $^&%&^^@. A chill ran through him. He nudged
another patron and asked him to say a word. The other patron told him to
#$%^&^@ off and then the other patron realized what had just happened.
"We's being doggone..." [Editor's Note: This is relying on the fact that
doggone is used in the conservative sense of the word.] "...Censored!" The
atmosphere was changing. The strippers were morphing into hairy catholic
nuns. Bible quotes were spouted. Only a few managed to escape in time.
And out of this chaos the door of the establishment was opened with some
neat-o colorful light rays, and a silhouette of hand with a cross and a
decree. Well, there was a decree -- unfortunately some guys with
jackhammers in the area drowned it out. We can only guess that it was
"Repent Sinners or face the Wrath of God!"
"Now I shall attempt to do a dog shadow puppet!"
JJJJJ. 44 ___________
J. OOOO. N. N. GGGG. 4 4 | Oct. 94 |
J. O. O. NN.N. G. ## 44444 | |
J. O. O. N.NN. G.GG. #### 4 |Approved |
JJJ. OOOO. N. N. GGGG. ## 4 |by no one|
...Self-Righteous Preacher -----------
[The comic book for people who think comic book is a synonym for lodging...]
"Something wholesome this way comes....!"
[Editor's note: I listened to my pancreas explode.
It makes a cool noise I was tode.]
In Espanola's one out of many Moono's Liquor Worlds, Slobbering! expressed
his quota angst for this issue of Jong by reminiscing his lost love from
last issue. As he broke down in tears...
"Hey get your slimy green hands off me!!" a voluptuous woman said smashing
her purse on the small green toad like man.
"Your loss toots," he yelled as she stormed out of the fast drink bar.
"Babes," he said to the other customers that stared at him.
Okay, so Slobbering! expresses his sorrow in a much different way from your
Rubbing the purse bruise, he climbed up and sat on a stool next to the bar
staring at his Big-Gulp Bloody Mary.
"I just don't know -- bartender. What is the meaning of life?"
"Not sure, sir. Would you like fries with that?"
"Is this what life has come? 'Would you like fries with that?'" he said
slurping his big gulp bloody Mary, "Besides you don't serve fries here
-- or even ketchup!"
"Sorry sir. Was having a Quickie Burger flashback. Would you
like beer nuts with that?"
"Remember when the world respected people who crushed mimes with saliva?"
"Uhh -- no. I never took history."
"Those were days of happiness. It was filled with guy's named Fonze,
freckled kid's name Richie, Ponce, and women who wore the first letter of
their name on their shirts. Those were the Happy Days and -- Hey wait a sec
that was a TV show wasn't it? Now that I'm thinking about it there wasn't
an age when people respected people who crushed others with saliva. Haha,
The bartender, however, had been mulling over his decision to leave Quickie
Burger during Slobbering!'s monologue.
"Quickie Burger was good. The deep fryers. The Styrofoam. It was a secure
place. I'm sorry sir. I can't stay here. Maybe they'll take me back.
Thanks for showing me the way!"
"No, problem," he said to the bartender who exited out the door. Other
people's problems were so simple compared to his. Hmm, maybe he should join
a religious cult.
But like always the TV flared up into a flood of pictures and sounds that
broke our hero's rigid concentration.
"This is Channel 3 Espanola News! When Espanolers want news told by women
with great big hooters -- There is no better choice! Top Stories tonight!
The Terrorist Plum Master is in custody after being captured by two brave
police officers known only to the public at large as Sarge and Kid. The
police are still on the lookout for the vigilante, Slobbering Gruel, who
they think might be linked to the Plum Master. In National News -- It's
been speculated and hinted at, but tonight it's official -- The LNH'rs,
Organic Lass and Pocket Man, are finally engaged to be married! The wedding
will take place at the LNHHQ. It's expected to be the biggest wedding
celebration ever with an extensive celebrity guest list."
"In entertainment news -- as usual, Easily Discovered Man is number one in
the ratings despite rumors flying that the star, Easily-Discovered Man Lite,
is planning to quit the series to do six bad movies with Shelly Long. On
the other side of the spectrum, in perhaps an almost impossible action, Jong
has received the very first negative rating on a system that can only go as
low as zero. Here is our science correspondent for more on this."
"Thank you, Linda. Now even a second grader knows you can't take away more
than you have, but apparently those managers at Jong Publishing have
succeeded! I've been talking to some people who shake test tubes and call
themselves scientists. Here's what they have to say.'
"Well, when I first heard about this I said, 'No way! A comic can't be this
bad!' I was wrong. I barely threw the Jong issues I had with me out of my
range before I started to think that Morphin Power Rangers had some merit in
life. The physical scars are pretty much gone, but..."
The Slobbering Grue! crushed the TV set with a blow of saliva. If anything,
he didn't need to be reminded of his failures in life. To think he had been
offered a part in Archie Comics as Veronica [Editor's Note: Actually, this
is a blatant lie].
All of a sudden the door blew open and in came a gust of wind and rain. A
ghostly white face came dashing through the door. Fear that looked like
someone with white paint attached to his or her face, only more real like,
collapsed near the bar.
"They got Bobby! They got bobby!"
Hmm, Slobbering! Thought to himself, What is this? Some kind of song lyric?
And if so, what kind of music? Show tune? Possibly country music? And if
An old senior citizen, who was filling in for the current bartender who left
for a journey to Quickie Burger [Editor's Note: This will be ironed out in
Jong #10. I'm getting the hang of this mass epic type stuff.], tried to
calm the man down and take his order -- but to no avail.
"What's wrong, sonny? Do you want fries with that?"
"No, no! Nuns! They changed -- Strippers! Charlton Heston look-a-like!
"This man is babbling!"
"No. I believe if he were babbling he'd be saying, 'HUHUyd poiny lipod
ghuk,' a man in a suit stated. Then the man left, probably to go to another
place and another time.
The bar was in confusion. If there had been a banjo in that room, some one
would have probably played it. Slobbering! looked sadly at Moono's Liquor
World. A long time ago, like yesterday, he might have joined in this
ungodly riot -- but now he felt a responsibility on his shoulders. But then
again free beer nuts didn't happen every day. With that Slobbering! leaped
into the crowd ripping old pretzels out of the hands of old ladies putting
them into his hands until they could hold no more.
The man with the white face suddenly shrieked in the confusion. "Stop it!!
All of you!! I barely escaped from Big-Breasted Woman 'R Us! Something's
happened. My friend in the car -- he used to swear constantly, stare at
women's breasts while belching the lyrics to the 'Love Boat'! But now --
Now he's shouting 'Praise the Lord'! He's singing 'Onward Christian
Soldiers'! And he's using cute euphemisms for otherwise vulgar words and
quoting Forrest Gump! It's spreading! People are changing! Songs are
being sung with out the explicit lyrics warning!" he paused and then
finished by saying ".. Something Clean and Wholesome this way comes...!"
With that the man collapsed.
The patrons of the bar could only stare in horror like rabbits being made
into bedroom slippers. Slobbering! shoved the remaining pretzels in various
pockets of his boxers. In a few more minutes, Espanola would become just
another Mayberry. Another -- wherever that kid named after an animal lived.
(No not Badger, Tick, or Mongoose; but close!). There was only one being
that could save this pathetic city. With reluctance he exited to the
bathroom with a saddening conclusion. There would be no more escape. When
he came out he would be forever
......the Slobbering Grue!
But first, he'd see if he could cram more beer nuts into his boxers.
Earlier that same day...
Self-Righteous Preacher briefly thought about asking the Lord to strike down
the fools who had misplaced his luggage with rabid horny toads, but he knew
that he must focus all of his powers for his upcoming battle with the demon.
He looked with contempt at the town of Espanola. Sleaze -- Filth --
Blasphemy! And that was just the escalator.
Where was that fool Netlurker? He shuddered at the thought of hiring such
despicable heathen to help him clean Espanola, but he needed Netlurker's
skills to tap into the Net and censor inappropriate material for the public.
And while Netlurker was handling that satanic glitter toy, he would on the
other hand be scouring the city for every adult bookstore to Democratic
Party office to root out that drooling menace. But right now -- it looked
like some punk airport workers would need to be given some bible lessons!
Meanwhile in a totally unrelated plot line...
Netropolis, LNHHQ --
Foreshadowing Lad wasn't sleeping to well, which probably was because the
bathroom wasn't exactly the most comfortable place to sleep. When he had
tried to get his own room, the LNH room department claimed that all of the
other rooms were already taken -- even the basement and that they would
notify him as soon as there was an opening. That had been a few months ago.
And through out all of complaining and pain, he had managed to get them to
give him a room finally. Or at least he thought until he had seen the room
that they gave him. A bathroom stall! If Rebel Yell were to come back,
would they put him in a bathroom stall? Foreshadowing Lad thought not. It
was just one more indignity he had to live through because he worked for
Jong Comics. Oh well, it could be worse -- at least Captain Clean-up did a
good job of cleaning things.
Living arrangements weren't the only things that were plaguing
Foreshadowing's mind lately. He hadn't been able to get a date for the
Valentine Day Dance, he was still getting minimum wage for this damn comic
book, and people were starting to question him about where the Preacher had
gone to. How was he supposed to know? He hardly knew any of the LNH'rs,
much less the Preacher. The only one he did come to know somewhat was
Procrastination Boy because of the infomercial they had done together.
And he sat back, uncomfortably, and pondered. And that's when the three
figures manifested into the bathroom stall.
\\ Advertisement //
"I really like to bonk people on their heads with a large mallet -- but when
I'm in the office or on the bus they don't allow that sort of stuff probably
because certain people are allergic to mallets. But, hey -- No sweat
because when I can't get that craving for mindless violence I chew BigGum
Wad(tm) chewing gum. Its rich almost aromatic flavors soothe my very being
till I get home."
Also introducing BigGum Wad self-chewing gum, for the person on the go who
can't be bothered by the large amount of effort it takes to chew a piece of
BigGum Wad(tm) From the makers of Wondersocks(tm)
\\ Advertisement //
Slobbering! looked into the mirror in the bathroom of Moono's Liquor World.
"Is this how they judge me? As this disgusting toad-reptile creature? Hmm
-- I wonder how Rush Limbaugh handles it. Why must they fear me? Why can't
they see the real me? Why can't they -- hey, you know -- if I let the hair
in my ear and nose grow really long I could braid them together -- and that
would be kind of cool..." While Slobbering! thought about this another with
entirely different motives entered the bathroom.
The man's face appeared to be covered in a paper sack which amazingly enough
had absolutely no eyeholes. The rest of the man's costume appeared to be
overalls and a plunger. But even though he looked incredibly stupid, you
couldn't help but feel his torment and blood thirst or maybe you could.
'You thought you could get away with it didn't you, punk!" in a pretty darn
close Clint Eastwood voice.
"Huh..?" a startled Slobbering! yelped.
"Don't tell me you don't remember -- Detroit? Tampa Bay? Fargo? I bet you
thought you could get away with it. No one's going to hunt me down. Is
that what you thought punk??"
"Get away with what? What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about pay toilets. I'm talking about cheating our
Yankee Doodle johns out of their right deserved cash!"
"I swear -- I didn't -- I didn't think that..." but before Slobbering! could
finish his sentence the stranger stabbed his plunger straight into
"You can't do this! I've -- I've got rights!"
"Yeah, all you punks got rights now days. Sometimes I go crazy thinking
about them, but right now -- you've got a plunger attached to your chest.
Right now, I'm the only person who can pull it off without ripping your
chest hair. Deadbeats like you make me sick! I'm letting you off this
time, but only so you can tell your friends about me!"
"who are -- You??"
"I'm Plunger Man! And soon those who use toilets with out paying up....
Will!" With that he crawled out of the small bathroom window.
"What the hell was that all about?"
Sorry pointless cameo appearance. Actually, during the interview I told him
that this was Easily-Discovered Man so I managed to trick him out of a few
dollars for working here.
"Out of a few dollars..? Hey, how come I don't get paid?
I'm sorry I brought this up. Look we don't have time to discuss that. In a
few more minutes, you're going to face an almost omnipotent guest LNH'r
who's working for probably ten dollars a minute -- and also a brief
appearance by Netlurker. So brush your teeth or something, and get on with
Slobbering! left the bathroom. And then the bar. And finally, he hit the
streets. He had a date with destiny. The cameos were done.
In the streets, traffic suddenly came to a halt. Lightning flared. Birds
stopped chirping. People stopped mugging one another. Vendors started
selling peanuts, foam number one hands, stuffed Slobbering! and Self
Righteous Preacher dolls. Something was definitely about to happen.
In the crowd that was starting to gather you could even see assorted
celebrity guests, although none to the extent of the Ultimate
Ninja-Nightbeast battle. For example; the only LNH'r present was Ubiquitous
Boy Jr., the sidekick to Ubiquitous Lad's sidekick Ubiquitous Boy or is it
the other way around, nevertheless he was pissed which is only natural since
the sidekicks of sidekicks are rather low on the super hero hierarchy; hence
forced do stupid cameos in comics that no one reads. Other celebrities were
Michael Jackson's llama keeper, Roseanne Arnold's grocery boy, Kato, and The
Man who once shook the hand of someone who had accidentally bumped into and
touched the neck of Elvis Man or at least claimed to. Why all these people
were out in the middle of the night is beyond me though.
It pretty much looked like the end of the movie Ghostbusters -- whoops wrong
paragraph filler. Anyway, from opposite corners of the city the two came.
One in the standard cloth of some generic Christian religion, a bible in one
hand and a pretty neat looking cross in the other. The other an abomination
with cool-striped boxers and sunglasses.
The air was thick with tension. So thick in fact that some of the people
cut it with a knife and sold it to tourists telling them that it was natural
spring water or paper weights. Both beings were in such a rigid state, it
seemed only natural that they would explode right there and then. As the
people saw the two titans preparing for battle they could only hypothesize
what would happen. Would the Loonyvearth split itself? Would time stop,
causing them to be unable to see the upcoming bloodshed, and if so would
there be a riot afterwards demanding their money back...?
And before Slobbering! realized that he was one of the before mentioned
titans, the mindless fight scene had begun and the earth would never be the
same. But before we get deep into that I would like to take this time to...
Salute Yohsvozz Hinlefunk! Creative Genius of the Month!
Back in the late 40's, Yohsvozz or the Yohz as his friends used to call him,
began collecting lint from different people off the street to turn into
dwarf figurines. Here's what he has to say about his artform.
"Dwarves are short! Don't talk much! Clutter the house and they smell like
lint! Did I say they were short? People think I'm weird. Did I mention
that dwarves are short? People now days don't much care for giving me lint
when I ask for it off the streets -- have to steal it now days! Did I
mention that people think I'm weird? Oh -- and by the way -- don't tell
anybody I told you this, but dwarfs -- Are short!!!"
Yohz was set to launch a How to Make Lint Ceramic Dwarf Figurines video
series, but had some problems with the production crew and attacked them.
He currently inhabits a deserted island. Here's to you Yohz, keep those
lint dwarfs coming!
This has been a Jong Creative Genius of the Month Spotlight.
Self-Righteous Preacher muttered to himself, "Well blasphemous spawn of the
Fourth Wall -- Are you through? Or do I have to wait for an LNH under-roos
commercial before I can crush this pestilent leach of all that is right!"
Err, sorry Mr. Self-Righteous, you may go on with the mindless fight scene.
"Hey," Slobbering! said worriedly. "Don't I get a say in this? I think
this might definitely be a good time for an LNH under-roos commercial. Like
a wise old man once said, 'There's always room for under-roos!'"
I think if a wise old man said the word under-roo he would be severely caned
by the wise old man union. S-RP's right, I've been delaying this too long,
we need to get on with the story.
"And further more I refuse to be referred to by a satanic abbreviation.
This has been a warning heathen dandelion!"
Okay, okay! Getting back to the story in before I lose my entire thought
process. Slobbering!'s trip went from the Moono's Liquor World bathroom to
the streets filled with the hoards of masses, many of whom thought some a
renegade fugitive golf celebrity was being chased by the police and that the
chase was going through Espanola. Naturally Slobbering! who had never seen
a renegade golf celebrity in person decided to embark unknowingly to his
doom for a quick glance or autograph.
But when he looked back to the Moono's Liquor World he gasped in horror as
it slowly shifted into a Holy Ned's Christian Kitchen. The wholesomeness
buried Espanola like dirt on the ground. The golf celebrity fugitive would
have to wait, he had to -- but what could he do? Whoever was behind this
was incredibly powerful. Maybe it would be best if he just left this place
like he left all the other dimensions. But as he looked back to the crowd,
could he leave these people to nothing but Lawrence Welk and He-Haw reruns
never to ever again be able to linger on the lingerie ads in the newspaper?
What would Gamer Boy think about all this?
"But then again leaving like a coward is preferable to me dying horribly",
he said as he saw the man in the generic Christian religion suit change a
bunch of ruthless gang members into the Brady Bunch.
And now let us take a break from The Slobbering! and Self-Righteous
Preacher's mindless fight scene for...
An Interlude for Foreshadowing...
Foreshadowing Lad recognized the first figure. It was his shark-finned
agent Harvey who he hadn't seen since this job with Jong had started. The
second two shadowy figures appeared to be in dark cloaks holding wooden
staffs. Nevertheless it was one extremely crowded bathroom stall.
"Well its great to see you Harvey. Let me guess, you've either been working
hard on getting me a part on Easily Discovered Man right and are here to
tell me, or you need one of my kidneys?" Foreshadowing said with a hint of
"Hey! I know I kind of ran out on you, Shades, but -- I've been trying to
help you -- Really. In fact I have right here the person that's going to
make your career sky rocket!"
"Hey now! Harvey! I don't want to get into a Tonya Harding incident. What
were you planning on doing anyway? Snuffing one of the Load Island
One of the cloaked men stepped forward and replied, "No -- oh no. We aren't
freelancing unhealer type folks. My friend is just going to help you get to
"Sleep? Hey maybe I was wrong about you Harvey. I could use some sleep.
So what does this guy do? Hand out Valium?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. You misunderstood me. I guess I didn't introduce myself
properly or my friend. I'm Pointless Euphemism Man -- and this is..."
"Oh. God. I can't believe even you would do this, Harvey!! You've sent
Pointless Death Man to kill me so you can squeeze a FEW MORE DOLLARS OUT OF
"Actually Pointless Death Man is kind of expensive this time of year,"
Harvey pointed out. "This is
"But what about the job on Generation Y? You said I had it in the bag??"
"I exaggerated a little. Sorry. Believe me Shades -- this is the best
thing for you. Well, I guess I'll be off. See you in the funny papers."
"Wait!! How do I die...?" But it was too late. The figures were gone.
Well, it didn't look like Foreshadowing would be getting too much sleep this
night either so he decided he might as well get something to eat.
As he walked towards the kitchen, he kicked a few objects out of his way in
anger. The first time he actually saw his powers use and it was for his own
death. It was the dead of night and no one appeared to be up, which was
fine with him. It was kind of odd though that the LNHHQ was this empty, he
thought. He realized that most were probably asleep after the wild night at
the Ball. He stopped to ponder that last thought, but since he wasn't a
sick and demented being like his author he left it at that.
Surely at least the Incredible Unsleeping Man, Insomnia Boy, or
Multi-Tasking Man were here. Finally he did manage to find a note.
'Gone to get more Mr. Paprika and BigGum Wad chewing gum.
Don't mess around with the red buttons on the control panel.
Foreshadowing sighed. To think that author had gone so low as to slip some
damn product names in this story. Didn't anyone have integrity anymore?
And anyway -- Who In their right minds would chew a gum called... <<Censored
for artistic reasons - The Jong Company>>
It didn't really matter to Foreshadowing though. He had no idea of how much
longer they were going to let him live so he might as well make the most of
As he went for some unknown reason to go eat a big bowl of crunchy and
delicious Easily-Discovered Bran Flakes (tm), he glanced towards the LNH
Communications Typical Control Room. How many of these rooms the LNH had
though was beyond him since he thought he had already passed several on the
way to the kitchen. He did know though that if a super villain spy were to
get into one of these rooms that spy would be able to transmit all of the
most well kept secrets of the LNH to another evil super villain. Of course
this was common knowledge to every LNH'r, villain, and any bystander off the
street; but still Foreshadowing thought he should think about it if for no
other purpose than to waste tons of bandwidth.
But anyway, Foreshadowing noticed that the light was on in this room and the
door was ajar. He, however, decided to go in knowing that by doing so, he
would at least save the audience from a bunch of horrible jar jokes. And
God knows they would have been.
A cold tile floor, computers, and suspense surrounded the room. On the wall
opposite of the door gleamed a gigantic screen over the control panels. In
front of these was a vacuum cleaner.
"Hmm," thought Foreshadowing. "Captain Cleanup must have forgotten to put
it away. Oh well. I might as well put it away. Nothing else to do."
However before he could do that, he was astonished to hear noises coming
from the vacuum cleaner and similar noises from the monitoring screen (in
some weird linguistic syntax that involved the use of Squishy at least every
once or twice in a sentence). He couldn't tell who was making the noises
because of the static enveloping the screen. What horrified him even more
was when the vacuum cleaner picked its nose. Vacuum cleaners didn't have
noses. Something was wrong here. Very wrong.
He had to warn the LNH'rs. But warn them about a vacuum? They would laugh
at him for days -- and heck, it looked small enough. He was an LNH'r. This
is what he was trained for. But what about his hinted permanent coma by his
agent? Maybe this would be the way he'd go. But if he did he would be a
hero. But Death by Vacuum Cleaner? Foreshadowing shrugged his head and
rolled up his sleeves for one last time.
<<Dvandom RoboMAC speak>>
<<Master! Most of the squishies are drunk on the drinks I drugged for their
decadent Ball! The CDs are secured in my computer files and filled with all
of the LNHHQ building information, coordinates, and a complete list of all
the LNH'rs powers and weaknesses! Ready for the jump to the home dimension
when you give the word!>>
<<Good work! Did you also by chance throw in all of the X-rated Kopikat
GIFs as I asked for??">>
<<Sorry Master. The squishie known as Sig.Lad has that data locked up
<<Damn! Oh well. In a few more hours the LNHHQ will be filled to the brim
with squishie blood! Acton Lord is being taken care of as we speak! I
guess I'll talk to Sig.Lad about the matter before he joins his fellow
squishies! Muhahhahahhahh! Beginning countdown for teleportation. 30 --
29 -- 28..>>
<<Uh oh. A problem has developed. A squishie appears to be -- well
Foreshadowing had never really fought anything in his life except for the
Peril Room holographs. And those usually killed him in less than two
seconds so he didn't really know how to go about this whole fighting thing.
He had heard terms such as left hook and right hook, but he didn't have a
hook on him and doubted it would be very effective anyway since vacuum
cleaners sucked up all kinds of nasty things without receiving tetanus or
any other form of disease.
But trying to find linguistic meaning in fighting terms wasn't getting him
anywhere. He would just have to wing it. He walked up to the vacuum
cleaner and slugged it. And his hand felt a great amount of pain after
hitting the hard plastic surface. But it was a pain that told him he was
finally a true LNH'r. The battle had begun!
Time stopped for a second at least. The two met like bulls charging. The
vacuum wrapped its cord around Foreshadowing's neck choking his breath. Its
hose meanwhile tried to suck Foreshadowing's eyes right out of his head.
Foreshadowing couldn't help, but think that this was a stupid way to die.
But he kept fighting. His only weapons were his hands and feet, and
although those might have been enough for the Ultimate Ninja -- they weren't
effective in his use. Where was a bazooka when you needed one?
Foreshadowing, however, despite all of his disadvantages was holding his own
and might have actually succeeded in defeating the monster if the vacuum
hadn't had inhuman stamina. Both were on their last legs though. The
vacuum's bag ruptured creating a cloud of dust which hindered Foreshadowing
further with the exception that it revealed the robot's wiring. Electricity
flowed through Foreshadowing as he tore through the wiring, but it wasn't
the stuff of super-power origin creation.
Though his own blood and the vacuum dust clouded his eye's; he managed to
find the power source of the robot that was still strangling him, although
weakly. By just the act of grasping the power source he caused such an
electric spark that it completely destroyed all of the robot's stolen files
and what life it had. Unfortunately for Foreshadowing, the electric blast
wasn't the healthiest thing for him to do at that moment. He collapsed onto
the vacuum. His last movements were reflexes.
<<Agent 1234? Are you still there?? Countdown has run course. Can't hold
-- transmission -- too much energy! Shutting down communication and
dimensional gateway! Mission aborted! Repeat -- Mission aborted...!>>
The room was silent for awhile, except for the snowy interception on the
"Hey! What's all this racket -- in here! Some of us are trying to sleep!"
Ubiquitous -- err -- err -- one of the members of Ubiquitous Force said
while walking into the room and was immediately quieted by what he saw. He
immediately ran towards Foreshadowing Lad. "Oh God. Oh God. There's still
a pulse! Oh God! oh God!" He used his powers to defy continuity and get
as many medically affiliated LNH'rs and LNH staff as he could.
Foreshadowing was taken to med.lab in critical stasis. Ubiquitous for some
reason couldn't get Organic Lass or Dr. Stomper awake or for that matter a
number of other LNH'rs. After the medical people had left with
Foreshadowing a number of LNH'rs that Ubiquitous had managed to round up
started to inspect the destruction.
"Well, Captain Clean-up! Can you explain why you carelessly left this
vacuum cleaner out here?" Ultimate Ninja's voice was harsh. He had just
awhile ago performed the Spinal Tap on a group of holographic Invisible
Incendiaries (an ancient ninja maneuver which involves ripping the victim's
spinal cord completely intact and while the victim is still alive use that
spinal cord as a whip to mark the victims chest with an 'N' for ninja).
"I have never ever in my life NOT put something away in its rightful place!
And you can't really expect me to believe that a man can get those kind of
injuries by tripping over a vacuum!"
"I've seen all kinds of things in this idiot commune. It is after all
-- the LNH. And yes, I believe a person can receive fatal injuries from
tripping over a vacuum cleaner."
"Yeah. Good job Ninj. Guess you figured ole Spic 'n Span Man's plan there
while he played the rest of us for fools. And you know what? I bet you
while we were sleeping tonight, Mr. Clean, was in his sick and twisted mind
going to wax all the floors. Yeah. All the floors! And then -- yep -- we
were going to slip on them. We were going to slip on them because they were
slippery! Because Mr. Clean had made them slippery! And I'll bet you
anything he would have laughed at us when we did. And probably laughed
psychotically. I'm just glad you found out his plan. Now I can get some
sleep tonight knowing this fiend is locked safely behind bars. God bless
you, Ninj! You have saved us all once again!" Sarcastic Lad said -- err
well not too seriously.
UN glared at Sarcastic Lad as only those trained in ninja skills can glare.
"I'm afraid that there was more involved here than simple clumsiness," said
the voice of Deductive Logic Man who was searching for clues while the
others argued. He had decided to stay the night in a guest room rather than
go back to his house because of exhaustion after the party. "These circuits
aren't the standard for this model, and bear no resemblance to the Kirby or
Contraption Man modifications. There also appears, and although I'm not an
expert on the subject on hand only having read a few books on the matter, to
be a number of features that might have espionage purposes."
"You're saying that this vacuum was a robot spy?"
"Hey, Ninj! I've been meaning to ask you this for sometime. Are you really
Sister-State-the-Obvious in drag??"
The ninja bush barely missed Sarcastic Lad.
"So who do think is behind this, Detective?"
"I'm guessing Manga Man, but it doesn't fit for some reason. I'd like to
question Sig.Lad's girl friend -- um -- Robot Girl about this in the morning
if you don't mind."
"No need to bother, Detective. I'll handle this from here on out. I know
the art of getting information a little better than you. Thanks for your
The detective was about to object, but was interrupted by Irony Man.
"I found out who this LNH'r was. His name was Foreshadowing Lad, ironically
"How is that ironic?"
"Well -- err. I guess it isn't. I just have this untamed fascination with
the word. I guess it all started.."
"And what about the LNH'rs that are sleeping as we speak! Are they drugged
or just drunk as skunks as I imagine?" UN said ending Irony Man's
explanation on his addiction to the word irony.
"They're drugged," Deja Dude said appearing out of nowhere.
"How would you know?" the ninja asked suspiciously.
"Well -- when I was trying to get Julie to -- eh -- never mind. Let's just
say, I know. I don't really think it would matter though even if you woke
Organic Lass. Sure, if this character's problem was that he was just blown
up or blenderized we could patch him up like that. It's always been like
that. This character's problems, however, stem from a factor that none of
you would understand. He has gone to where pointless characters and actors
go. It's kind of a shame. Maybe if I had written him. I -- he was kind of
a -- what's that phrase I'm looking for..??"
"Rip-off of Irony Man and All-Knowing Last-Chance-Whiner Destiny
Woman?" Sarcastic Lad replied.
"Err -- I prefer the word homage, myself," Deja Dude answered.
"This is incredibly fascinating," UN said becoming sick of
all the damn fourth wall references. ".. but if the LNH'rs were
indeed drugged then why are none of us effected?"
"Well," the detective broke in, "All of the people that are awake here in
the room didn't either go to the Ball.." Sarcastic sniggered at the
statement. (Hey, don't blame me! This is all Saint's fault. I would have
otherwise tastefully left it out -- and not just because I would have never
thought of it). Deductive-Logic Man ignored Sarcastic Lad (and me) to go on
with his statement. ".. or those of us who did, didn't drink the punch."
"So you're saying -- someone drugged the punch?"
Before Sarcastic Lad could respond, Deductive-Logic Man went on. "Yes, or
Something. It's to bad that Occultism Kid's in slumber land too or we might
be able to find the exact drug used. We'll also need to find out when
Cheese-Cake Eater Lad wakes up, if he noticed any strange vacuum cleaners in
the kitchen. And there's also the factor of why was the punch drugged, when
it could have just as easily been poisoned."
"It would be ironic if Foreshadowing Lad's own demise was a last show of
power, foreshadowing a bigger conflict up ahead in the future," Irony Man
said unable to resist the irony.
"Well -- I don't know about you guys, but I'm kind of tired. Why don't we
wait until tomorrow to figure this out. I'm going to hit the sack," Deja
"Yes, I agree. You'll be better off tomorrow with some rest. I'll keep
watch tonight and take the vacuum's carcass to my office for safekeeping,"
UN said. The LNH'rs agreed and left the room.
Deductive-Logic Man would have objected except he too was feeling tuckered
out. No, he knew he shouldn't go to sleep. He needed to get to the bottom
of this. UN was acting strange. UN didn't seem to really care too much
about the situation and was treating it rather lightly. About the only time
UN had shown any interest was when he was accusing Captain Clean-up of
committing the murder. Maybe he was just tired, but he knew he should find
Sig.Lad and his robotic friend and not leave it up to UN. Too tired. A
thought occurred to him. It was possible that the drug was in all of the
drinks, not just the punch. Sure, why hadn't he thought of it? The drug
would probably act differently with Dr. Paprika [An abominable substitute to
America's beloved soft drink Mister Paprika (Now that's a Man's pop)(tm) -
Just a little friendly shopping tip from the Jong Company] than ordinary
punch, possibly delaying the reaction?
His thoughts started to become cloudy. Fruit Punch Root, he thought.
Aeneas had told DLM about a South Americ.net (before it was destroyed and
rebuilt by Decibel Dude) tribe he had once visited. The tribe had this
fascination with the game Trivial Pursuit, but unfortunately had only enough
money to buy one set. This resulted in problems because after awhile
everyone knew all of the answers. It was easily solved one day when the
tribe found a root that caused a certain amount of amnesia. It had the
unfortunate side effect though of causing a rather deep sleep. It received
its name because it went great with fruit punch.
There had been another place the LNH had just been to recently that had that
very same root. The name was hidden though in the random vistas of his
Deductive Logic Man barely lifted the doorknob. Why was he thinking about
South Americ.net tribes and Fruit Punch? Jungle? And why was he up this
late? It must have been something important he thought. But his thinking
made him more tired. If it was important, he thought, he'd hear about it in
the morning. Cheesecake? Must stay awake at all costs. He clutched the
Ninjas never forget. It was one of his last thoughts before he collapsed in
his bed and entered nightmares to horrible to imagine, to horrible to
End of interlude
And now -- Finally, the battle of all battles! (You might want to tell your
kids about this someday). If you don't see blood and intestines in this
part, I promise you'll get your money back (You kept the receipt right?)
Espanola Net.Mexico --
As Slobbering! pretends to be a blind beggar, while sneaking onto a bus,
Self-Righteous Preacher touches his shoulder. The Netlurker taps.. The
Netlurker taps. The grue and preacher can still be seen as can the masses
watching, but sound has been replaced with silence. The only sound is
tapping. It might seem to some that the author is using this as an excuse
to not write dialogue. Tapping. The destiny is fulfilled. The Netlurker
finishes his tapping on the Net. With his job done, he watches with the
masses unaware of his presence. But you have to wonder when and why he
started tap dancing? Is that legal still?
"So vile paganist essence of all evil. We finally meet. Funny, I thought
you might be a little taller."
"Funny, I thought you would be more like Father Mulcahy on M*A*S*H. Hey,
could you say the word 'jocularity'?"
'Enough anti-saint! I have weddings, cameo appearances, and atheist
unhallowed pagans to harass until they submit to the lord. So if you would
just simply depart from this existence of reality and never return I'll be
"And if I don't?"
"Well -- I..." Self-Righteous Preacher didn't expect this turn of events and
couldn't think of a counter plan. He thought about leaving. He had better
things to do like waxing his cross -- No! He had never been defeated and he
wouldn't let this slime breathing savage get in his way by not cooperating.
He breathed a little and thought out a solution. "I'll tell a sermon!"
Slobbering! during Self-Righteous Preacher's battle to choose a strategy,
decided to comb his nose hairs. Nose hairs or not, nothing could quite
prepare him for the shock of the Preacher's statement. "Oh!" and several
four-letter expletives danced in Slobbering!'s mind; all of which were
eventually beaten to a pulp by the Blatant Censors of America. Slobbering!
knew he had to act before Self-Righteous Preacher's lips started reciting
the "Staring at smut will cause ingrown toenails" sermon. What were his
options? 'Well I could crush the preacher in a wave of saliva. Or I could
-- hmm no that would involve brains. No -- not that one either -- no
utility belt.' Slobbering! thought to himself, One of these day's I'm going
to have to chew my writer out for giving me such suckin' powers. And then
he went into action.
"It's Booka Time!!" he hollered with as much dignity as you can have
hollering such a statement.
The saliva, like a river, appeared on a destructive course. In a gleam of
special effects, the wave of saliva reflected from the Preacher's cross
spraying sparks of megalithic doom on the street corner with Slobbering!
barely escaping his own fire.
"But -- How? Dave said that you..??" an astonished Slobbering! said failing
to comprehend why the cross had protected the Preacher from all of the
"Dave says a lot of things. Dave lied. But what would you expect from some
heathen who thinks it's funny to replace a respectable citizen's clothes
with lingerie! Now -- where was I. Ah, yes. 'Smut and its..'"
Slobbering! read it in Constellation! It had to be true about the Preacher
being covered in saliva. Dave would never lie! He had to try again.
Sermons and saliva thrusted. Bibles and Boxers parried. None had ever
witnessed such a brutal contest. None now either. Most had left when they
found out that this wasn't the golf celebrity fugitive's run from justice.
That was on another street. The street was clear except for the two aging
legends locked in mortal combat and a couple of people giving me the finger
-- hey! Beat it you punks!! err -- Sorry for that -- getting back to the
"You know. This is kind of stupid," the Preacher said after giving his
'Bill Clinton. And the Anti-Christ. The same man?' sermon as Slobbering!
followed up with a Spit of Age Old Mysteries attack. "Does not your
damnation entrenched fungus of a writer know how to write a bloody fight
"Err -- I guess not. Say why don't we just blow this place and go to a bar
for some drinks?"
The preacher's throat was wrecked after all of his sermons, especially the
one on Madonna (No not biblical one -- well depending on your view of
biblical I guess) and he agreed.
Self-Righteous chugged that fifth Shirley Temple like there was no tomorrow.
"Whoahh, there Preachy! Take it easy."
"I justd -- can't take it. They allo -- allow cat woma -- woma -- broads to
jullst walk aroun nak -- edd. I'm surpised lat awll uh Legion izun prenant
by now. No one listens to me. And have I even ever had a lim-limed series?
No! And did I tell you about the cat plers -- unn..."
"Yes. But only eight times," Slobbering! said as he reflected about the
healing powers of lettuce.
Self-Righteous's words seemed to sober some. "It wasn't always like this --
you know. There was a time when I was a respected member of the LNH
fighting those that would filthy our streets, corrupt our children. Even
back was I was just a kid..." The Self-Righteous Preacher dipped slowly into
a flashback rolling his eyes thoughtfully. The bar blurred into a small
Even when I was eight years old I remember my never ending crusade against
all evil, which in all irony was hindered by the fact that my parents were
right on the edge of Satanism. Oh sure -- they went to church every Sunday
and donated money. But -- I usually had to remind them to give a prayer to
our provider at dinnertime. And they would also never buy me a lamb to
sacrifice. Something to do with zoning. Anyway...
'Grass-Roots America 1955' --
"What ya up to Self-Richus Preacher?" a small girl asked a little boy who
appeared to be writing diligently with a crayon on a piece of paper.
"I'm writing a letter of displeasement to those sacrilegious owners of our
local cinema for carrying such blasphemous smut. To think, that our
American government would allow people our age to watch ducks who don't own
pants, and rabbits who refuse to wear shirts (much less pants) and to a have
them talk in human speech." He paused while holding his crayon tightly as
if it was a cord of his very own existence. "To think we have dwelled so
close to the brink of heck," the little boy at the desk said more to himself
than the girl.
"What's Blass fuh muss mean Self-Richus Preacher? Why don't you play
cowboys and injuns like all the other of us?"
"Because my dear Susan, while you and your innocent friends play -- forces
of evil from the outside dabble for the corruption of your souls. Forces so
evil that they might one day show a person's belly button on TV. That is
why I must! But don't worry over such matters for they do not matter to you
-- for when you grow up your job will be to clean the house and feed your
adoring family. Ah -- it appears that I have almost forgotten nap time. I
suggest you tell your friends to hurry up for nap time too. And also tell
your friends, especially Bobby who I've seen this problem most frequently,
to not eat the paste if not because of Mrs. Clurney's denouncement of the
act then for their own souls sake. Goodday." the little boy carefully put
the crayon in its proper place in the crayon box and then went to his proper
"Oh, Bobby -- he never listened to me. He just kept eating paste and
occasionally even talked without raising his hand. The last word I ever
heard of him was that he was selling used-cars in Provo, Utah. Such a
"As I grew older into my teenage years; I became more involved in politics
and tried to start a few unsuccessful bible, young Republican, and polka
music clubs -- all failed. It was at about this time that I heard about the
Classic Squad and a possible return of the LNH. Government had too many
walls like free elections and a Bill of Rights that prevented my easy
solutions to the moral degradation. Vigilantism, however, suggested
neither. The people seemed to quite easily accept being ordered by a bunch
of fools in tights. I mailed my application to the LNH, which appeared to
be getting started and waited anxiously."
"The LNH had never really had a tremendous amount of population back then --
in fact Boy Lad and Boy Lad Jr. were the only members and both of them
disappeared back sometime in the twenties or so. The Agents of the PULP and
Classic Squad while though they sometimes would use the two-story building
both never actually lived in it. It mostly was there as a reminder of the
greatness of an age gone by. But new heroes turned up and eventually the
LNH started again -- and I joined up in hopes of sharing my crusade for
justice. Of course when I arrived -- I was less than impressed. You see I
had accidentally misunderstood the acronym -- mainly of course the H. I
don't suppose you want to guess what the H stood for?"
"The Legion of Net.Heathens?? The Legion of Net.Heretics??"
"Close -- very close. No -- it was..
..The Legion of Net.Hippies!!"
1970's or sometime around there --
A young man in a white suit and hat stepped up to a desk. A slovenly, hairy
man with dark sunglasses whose hairy feet were lying right on top of the
desk manned the desk. A few daisies seemed to sprout out of the man's hair.
The white-suited man put a folder down on the desk. In the background could
be heard the song "Tie me kangaroo down sport!" (A motif? Or a psychotic
infatuation to a song by the author? You decide.)
"Hello, this is the LNHHQ I presume? I have an appointment with the leader
to discuss joining this -- place." The last word out of the white-suited
man's mouth was filled with loathing and a sense of surprise. The man
hadn't excepted such a filthy and -- smoky -- yes smoky atmosphere. If he
wasn't mistaken he could have sworn it was a.. commune! "My name is -- umm
"Groovy! My name's Pot Lad. Uh err -- we don't really have any leaders,
you know, man. I guess you could go see Procrastination Boy or Super Apathy
Lad -- if anyone's in charge it'd be them. Oh, BTW, we prefer to use the
word LNHQ instead of LNHHQ -- less labor -- you dig my meaning?"
"Yes, that's nice. Are you the secretary?"
"Huh? Oh no. I just sit here."
The Preacher nodded and started searching for the two heroes that the hippie
scum had mentioned.
"Super Apathy Lad and Procrastinating Boy were both watching the Mod Squad.
I entertained the idea of asking for their approval, but I eventually just
declared myself a member and started my crusade which began with cleaning up
my own association. The rules for membership were very lax to say the
"Hey Self-Righteous! Me, Woman's Lib Lass, Make Love Not War Lad, and
McGovern Supporter Lad are going to erect a golden chipmunk idol to worship
and then maybe make fun of Richard Nixon, wanna come along?"
"To say I was appalled would have been putting it lightly, horrified was a
better term. I couldn't believe that a group that had once held the likes
of such great Americans like Boy Lad and Boy Lad Jr would even question much
less mock one of the greatest presidents this country had been blessed in
having. I could only fathom at the fiend that was behind all of this. I
thought about it for many nights and then I started searching through the
folders and files, back before such files were put onto a, how should I say,
satanic computer system.
I knew this person had to be in league with no one lower than the devil
himself. The names of the Legionnaires made the task even more difficult
with their sinning tone. Burning Bra Lass, Kid Grass, Draft-Dodging Lad,
Peace Lass, Demonstration Boy, Calls-Respectable-People-Fascists Lad, Flower
Child, Listens-to-(To say satanic would just be redundant)-Rock-n-Roll Lass,
Needs-a Shave-and-a-Haircut-and-Bath Man, Anti Christ Lad... "
"Like I said, the membership rules were very, very lax. But as you have
noticed, I noticed too. And I had a hunch that this man might be the evil
root behind the corruption of the LNH. It turned out my hunch was right
about his evil manipulation of Net.ropolis and the LNH.
"So Anti-Christ Lad -- have you received some of the reports I sent you?"
the Preacher asked to a man whose back was facing him.
As the man turned around, the leaves began to rustle (This was before
Captain Cleanup became a member). It would be hard not to recognize this
man if he was seen close up, for one thing the 666 burning across the man's
forehead and the horns that reached through his skull weren't commonplace,
even back then. He muttered a few unpronounceable vows (and vowels), before
he spoke to the preacher.
"Yep, Preachy -- got 'em. I dunno though. I really dig your idea of
getting all the cats together, man -- but this mandatory church and banning
drugs in the LNH thing? I mean -- I think its groovy and stuff, but -- some
of the cats here -- Just don't think they'll go for it, but -- I'll try to
talk to the cats -- okay Preachy, man? Oh, by the way, we're kind of
putting together this Rights for Criminals Demonstration at the fascist pig
run police department..."
Anti-Christ Lad's words sliced through my mind. Taunts just taunts. He was
toying with me. He knew my limits, yet in the same respect, I also knew his
fear of God entering the thoughts of these poor brain-washed wrongfully led
lambs. He was a powerful opponent I had to admit. And I knew that if I
were to defeat Anti-Christ Lad I would have to work quickly for each second
that passed another soul was lost. A plan began to form as the
metaphorically speaking heathen clock ticked away.
It was a night of demons, devils, and liberals. Such evil had never been
contained in one room for so long a time. But that was the state of the
LNHHQ, when the preacher headed for the meeting in the lobby of the
headquarters. In the center, like the eye of a hurricane made of sin was
the golden chipmunk. Surrounding it were naked witches writhing around it
in perversional directions of the satanic music of the Beatles. The
preacher stuck a hand in his pocket and pulled out a gleaming golden bible.
The LNH'rs withered away from it, some trying to find an exit. Anti-Christ
Lad moved towards the preacher.
"Glad, you could make it Preachy Baby. Cool threads man! Brought the good
book I see -- gonna tell us some groovy stories, man?"
"You can cut out the charade Anti-Christ Lad -- or should I say.." The
preacher pulled away the satanic menace's mask away. ".. Satan!"
"Actually; I prefer to be called, Ole Scratch, because it sounds so groovy.
So, now that you've found me out; what are you going to do to me? I've
already corrupted all the LNH'rs and I have all the Net.ropolis officials
wrapped in my fingers to do my bidding. You know -- I think my first act as
ruler of Net.ropolis will be to designate a holiday for nude co-ed
"This is your last chance to repent Anti-Christ Lad!"
Anti-Christ Lad smiled. "Well, since you feel that way Preacher..."
Anti-Christ Lad made a gesture to some of his LNH'rs. "Take him away men, I
hear the Netropolis Theater is doing a production of 'Hair'. I hope you
As the LNH'rs approached they became hesitant to touch the Preacher. The
preacher raised his arms in such a way that the LNH'rs were knocked down to
the floor. "So be it. May God have mercy on your soul Anti-Christ Lad."
The gold chipmunk began to crack. The cracks led to the floor, speeding
like running oil and becoming more and more huge. All that was beneath the
cracks was fire. Anti-Christ Lad tried to escape, but was quickly swallowed
into the Earth. The lobby was in Pandemonium. All whose souls were lost
fled to eventually direct or write horrible memoirs of the sixties.
"And that's -- about it. I nursed the LNH'rs back to the proper
spirituality and then led them back to their roots of fighting for justice,
cheese cake (Not the blasphemous kind mind you), and the American way!"
"Hmm -- that sounded awfully like a bad rip-off of the Ten Commandments!
And where did you disappear off to before the Integrity Quest?"
"Are you accusing me of lying you 666 fondler!" The preacher suddenly
leaped up from his barstool. ".. and as to my disappearance -- the 70's and
80's were decades when America needed me more than the LNH -- especially
with such evil inventions like video games, cable, and Madonna! Why am I
telling you this? Why am I sitting here drinking with you? I must have
lost my mind!" The preacher reached into his pocket for a cross.
"You almost tricked me, fiend -- but you have failed! Prepare to be
expelled from this realm, sinner!"
Slobbering!, who had had too many pretzels, was unable to even dribble on
his chin much less crush the preacher with a wave of saliva. Had it come to
this? He had always thought he would die, a more -- well, a more fun death.
Like being hit by an ice cream truck or something like that.
"Wait!" he shouted to the preacher. "What if -- I were to make up for all
my wrong deeds?"
The preacher hesitated and replied, "Your crimes are numerous! It would
take more than your life time to make them up."
"I'm not talking walking on my knee caps repentness. I'm talking moolah --
bread. I'm talking..." He gave a wink. "...Cash!"
"You expect me a man of the cloth to take a bribe!!!" the preacher was about
to exorcise Slobbering! from this reality in a mad fit of passion, yet
paused. "..Still the orphanages, homeless, and Pat Robertson could use
money -- even money from satanic menaces! What are we talking here,
"Err -- well how about 100 daa -- uh.." he glanced at the Preachers
inexpressive face. ".. Million dollars..?"
The Preacher's mouth dropped and quickly shut again into a sneer, "And you
-- a creature that lives in some rundown apartment and steals shoes off
people -- expect me to believe that you of all demonic fools -- have
One-hundred million dollars -- much less one hundred?"
"Err -- I live frugally?? Err well -- you see, me and my writer, are kind
of -- err -- buds. Yeah buds! Yep, ever since I took that bullet for him
in 'Nam -- well, he'll do anything that I ask -- hey would I lie to you?"
"Yes. But unfortunately if I don't throw all the credibility away that I
have and believe you and this inane plot device, I'll be in this stupid
comic forever! Very well, I assume it will be in the form of a check."
The preacher took the Grue's written check and headed off into the sunset.
"Hey, Preacher aren't you forgetting something?"
"Oh yes! And if this -- err check should by any -- err chance bounce --
I'll -- err be back to do err -- something. And it won't be pretty!"
Thoughts of Religious Amusement Parks and crates of hairspray occupied
Self-Righteous Preachers thoughts as he cashed the check at the Espanola
Cash-Depot. Ever since a visit to Dis.net Land, which ended when he
denounced a person in a Donald Duck suit for being lude and was thrown out,
he had been impressed by the fact that people would actually stand in
incredibly long lines to go on machines that were designed to cause a person
to throw up. He had made up in his mind at the time that he would create
exactly the same thing, with the only difference being that people would be
dressed as good American church-going citizens instead of blasphemous
animals that mock the word of God. And of course all the profit would got
to orphanages, homeless shelters, and Pat Robertson. Briefly, looking at
his John the Baptist watch, he was shocked to see that an hour had gone by.
"Hmm. This is taking quite along time. I say heretic bank teller -- what
is with this Beelzebub-inspired delay?"
"Err -- nothing sir! I'm just checking some stuff! Won't be but more than
Suddenly, a police squadron swarmed into the bank.
"Freeze, Slobbering Gruel! Put your hands up slowly! No sudden moves!"
Self-Righteous Preacher had little to no idea of what was happening until he
realized that they thought HE was that
"You fools have been tricked! Blasted! I was tricked by that idiot! I'm
Self-Righteous Preacher of the LNH, fools!!"
'Yeah and I'm Kid Kirby. People like you make me sick. Pretending to be a
priest is bad enough, but pretending to be a great Star Spangled American
like Self-Righteous Preacher -- well, I just hope they give you the chair.
You have the right to be silent. Any word.."
"Look, you fools! I was cashing a check from that saliving villain.."
"Yeah, you're pretty clever in that respect writing your own forged checks
-- but we're onto you and your credit, banking, checking, gift certificate
fraud, and putting Canadian pennies instead of American into gumball
machines. I'm just glad that some sweet old lady with a horrendous cold
called and turned you in, and that these two valiant officers -- Sarge and
Kid were at the Holy Donuts across the street."
"Yeah," the infamous Sarge spoke. "I was showing the kid here the LAPD
technique for dunking donuts. Can you believe he didn't know it? What are
they teaching these kids at those police academies now days?"
"Old lady? You fools -- that was The Slobbering Grue!" Self-Righteous
cursed, but was ignored. The officers finished reading the preacher his
rights and escorted him to the squad car.
Under his breath he muttered to himself, "Well, schismatic beast, you've won
the first round. Do not savor your victory -- for I shall be back. In the
end the good shall triumph!" He paused, "May God have mercy on your soul,"
he said ending with a wry smile.
Somewhere, in a crowd of people awaiting the famous renegade golf celebrity
Netlurker let the cellular phone ring a while before he answered. He knew
who it was.
"Hello? Why yes? You say.. My! That is horrible. The toilet -- right
next to the bed? Oh, I agree, very barbaric. Your cellmate raises
chickens? Oh sorry, misunderstood, your cellmate raa -- why that doesn't
sound quite legal or nice, but then I guess he wouldn't be in there
otherwise. Why, I sure will. What are preferred customers for? I'll just
add that charge to your bill with additional fees for the labor involved.
Oh and well I guess you know that LNH rumor mill of yours -- wouldn't it be
just heartbreaking for the morale of the LNH if they were to find out this.
What? Why yes -- I'm sure I'm already headed there. Yes, yes. Burning in
eternal damnation and all that jazz, but it's nice of you to mention.
Anyway, back to the original question; keeping this rumor down could be very
hard and time consuming, but since you're a preferred customer I can give
you a 10% discount and.."
If there was one thing that had always baffled Netlurker though, it was the
LNH rumor mill. To think that an organization that couldn't stop a simple
purse-snatching incident without blowing up a few blocks of buildings, had
redefined the technology of gossiping to an extreme. Why for example, when
he had first entered Espanola, did he have to dispose of two agents from the
Rumor Mill. Netlurker knew that if the LNH Rumor Mill could afford agents
to follow LNH'rs to other cities, it then had grown far from just a simple
bunch of gossiping secretaries. Who could be the leader though, for there
had to be some driving force behind this. Rumor Monger? A possibility for
he did occasionally hang around and even ate with the LNH's. But Netlurker
doubted it. The brotherhood was almost as incompetent as the LNH'rs were.
Netlurker, suspected it was probably just some bored secretary that had
gotten carried away. Yet, still, when he had questioned the agents
following him they refused to reveal who their master was. But -- oh well
-- he thought. He eventually learned everything somehow, someway.
Netlurker returned back to the preacher's ranting. "Oh, I have another call
coming through -- won't be but a second."
Netlurker chuckled; his usual customer Acton Lord often time and time again
talked about the power of corruption and also for that matter the corruption
of September, but why was he thinking about that? It was February not
September (or for that matter October), but anyway -- the power of
corruption is nothing quite like the power of putting someone on hold.
"Yes, hmmm. Ok slow down," he sighed. Even in his circle of sources he had
his idiots and incompetents. "Now read the newsgroup you're in and you'll
probably find out that it says alt.toys.transformers -- and doesn't say.."
Netlurker sighed. He hated dealing with all these damn newbie lurker
mercenaries for hire. They should have mandatory reading tests before they
let these people on a keyboard, he thought.
"So, you're sure this group is alt.comics.lnh -- and there are robots
running around?? And they're not manga related? Ok -- ok! I'll check it
Netlurker, hung up the phone. Probably was nothing, he thought. Even Acton
Lord wouldn't be foolish enough to -- hmm nevertheless, it was probably a
false alarm. Still, if this were true it could wipe out his entire little
enterprise. He didn't really worry about Self-Righteous Preacher. The
preacher had no choice but to wait for him. What he worried about was a
meeting he had scheduled with some representatives of the Mr. Paprika
Company, over something in -- what was that place called? Omaha! Yes that
name rang a bell. He hoped it was nothing, but some idiot newbie panicking.
He really didn't want to cancel that meeting since he smelled a large amount
of money and fools for the taking. It was probably nothing.
With a flickering melt down of the atmosphere around him he disappeared
totally from Espanola.
Tonight he had defeated a LNH'r and a quite powerful one at that. He knew
though that the preacher would be back and he had blown any chance of
getting into the LNH. But none of that was important now as Slobbering!
looked at the totality of Self-Righteous Preacher's moralization of
Espanola. The streets would be soon be filled with perverts with out a
porno shop to go to. The re-construction and deconstruction could take
months -- hell it might even take till the next issue. Slobbering!
shuddered at that thought.
Going back to his apartment, quietly so not to arouse Land Lady's attention
(who he still owed quite a bit of rent to), he went down into his basement
(Its one of those apartments with optional basement, attic, dungeon...) and
started to open crate after crate. The memories poured into him. He
started to gather all of the Furrboy magazines, Victoria Secret Catalogs,
and Catcher in the Rye Books he had. It was going to be a long night's work
handing all of these out to the pornographically deprived perverts out
there. But, Slobbering! thought to himself, "With great power ..comes great
responsibility, hey that's kind of cool.. I might use that!" Not realizing
of course, that he was plagiarizing a quote from the first Spider Man story.
In the backroom of an eatery somewhere --
"And what -- was he eating again, Mr. Hult?" a trenchcoater asked the
"I told you -- he was eating an artichoke! Fast. Too fast! No one can eat
an artichoke that fast. No human, anyway! That's why I called. Is there
still a reward?"
"Yes, the rewards still there. And you're positive that he didn't just hide
the uneaten artichoke leaves in his pocket."
"No, everyone of them was eaten. Everyone of them! I checked."
"Did he say anything to you, Mr. Hult?"
"He said that prosperity was only a heartbeat away and that I should buy
lottery tickets when the Cubs win the World Series."
"Could you say where he was headed?"
"No, he left out of the door -- and well disappeared.."
"What do you think, Joe," the trenchcoater said to the other trenchcoater.
"It's the man we're looking for all right."
"But how? He was hit by a truck. Is it a clone?"
"Possibly -- or he could have faked his death."
"Who is this man -- and how can he eat so damn fast?" the diner's owner
"A long time ago he was an LNH'r. Had a few more teeth than the average
human. I can't really remember why he joined or why they let him in, but he
called himself -- Doctor Molar! And it looks like he's back again..."
"So?" the diner's manager asked.
"Look you punk! Yesterday in a small town in Denmark a man had his entire
body tattooed with Doctor Molar's face! A week ago, a family in Ohio cut
down a tree, decorated it and sang Dr. Molar carols around it! Evil forces
are at work."
"How do you know??"
"Look, I wear a trenchcoat! I have a five o'clock shadow, smoke, and say
the word 'Bastard' more than the average human does! I Think I should know
when an evil force is threatening all of reality!"
With that the trenchcoaters punched the man in the stomach, stole some money
from the cash register, and left to save all reality -- or at least that's
what they claimed to.
(Yes, there is no good reason for this. But feel free to join in. The Hunt
for Dr. Molar has begun...(Hmm.. I've this feeling that this storyline
sub-plot is going to flop.))
The night is dark. Somewhere in a place called Netropolis, the worlds most
powerful group is in Lotus Land and enjoys a piece of rest that they have
deserved for a long time. With the exception of two. A detective runs from
his own failures and tries to escape the Land. The more he tries the more
he falls. The more he falls the more he tries. A ninja stares at the sky
and the stars. His mind is closed from the most powerful group and the
detective. Is he good? Is he evil? Is he really Sister State the Obvious
in drag? The ninja stares back at the LNHHQ. The streets of Espanola are
clear. The sun is starting to rise. A new day is ahead. In between an
abandoned pet store and a 24 hour eye care center lies a dumpster. A
dumpster, which looks and smells like every other dumpster. But if you look
deeply, you'll notice that its too still. Maybe it's just the moonlight
that gives the dumpster an almost intelligent aspect. A sense of sentience.
A cute little kitten walks upto and climbs on top of the dumpster. Perhaps
to have a snack or perhaps something else. We'll never know -- because
right as it is about to grab something it -- err grabs some leftovers.
After it finishes scarfing them down it then climbs down and walks away.
The dumpster on the other hand has not moved one damn inch all this bloody
time. Joe are you sure that's the right dumpster? Joe, are you listening
to me? How about you kind of just give that baby a poke with a stick? Now
Joe, do you really think I would kill my own set designer? Joe? Well
obviously this is the wrong dumpster. Hmm, dumpster dismembering old woman
on 9th. Bet you that's the one.. ok boys lets get those cameras rolling...
hmm hold it got a phone call. Yes? Oh hi, glad you called.. have this
great plot line developed.. Get this.. Panta fighting Organic Lass.. in
jello.. but it will be tasteful.. get it Tasteful heheh.. Gelatin could even
be the ref! Hmm, yeah I realize the rating were pretty low last time -- but
this issue has a bunch of LNH'rs in it and.. err well.. Ok I'll come, but I
want to know under whose orders.. Mr. Velk? Listen there is no Mr. Velk
trust me, Martin was.. I.. What!?!? The Jong Company can't cancel this
series.. I still have commitments.. All right, I'm on my way...
A new day grins and Robot Invasion begins...
Ah.. now the important stuff...
Credits (In the order of the Gidledon the Muskrat God.. I was never
good with alphebtical order..)
Ultimate Ninja, Deductive Logic Man, Self-Righteous Preacher -
Deja Dude - Martin Phipps
Captain Clean-up - Public Domain
Netlurker - Mark Friedman
Sarcastic Lad - Saint
Ubiquitous Lad and Boy - Rob Rogers
Irony Man - Public Domain
Robo MACs - Dave Van Domelen
All the other characters that I forgot are copy righted or
trademarked by their respective owners and such..
And finally a special thanks to these people, for with out which, this
issue (and previous issues) might have not been possible (Yeah these
are the people to send the flames and death threats to)
to wReam for letting me use and mangle Self-Righteous Preacher to
my own warped perception, and for giving me my first (somewhat)
constructive criticism (even though I didn't listen to him), and for
being a great guy..
to Jeff McCoskey for putting my the series into Continuity (otherwise
I could have easily snuck out of doing this issue).. And for also giving
Slobbering! his own Golden LNH'r counter part (Great Series by the
way, but I suppose you've been told that..)
to Martin Phipps for kicking Slobbering! out of the LNH which gave
me the entire plot line for this arc and also Slobbering!'s angst factor..
and for inventing Mr. Velk my alternate identity (expect to see him in Jong
#5.. well he doesn't exist so.. but expect to hear his namea lot though..)
to Hubert Bartels for rejecting (but nicely) my ideas for plotlines
with a certain feline and abomination giving me the idea for an
(possibly) imaginary LNH'r girlfriend that has also contributed to his
angst, and also for being the only one (I think) that has ever spelled
Slobbering Grue!'s name right (Check out Panta Special #1 I think..
another great issue..)
to Dave Van Domelen for all those plugs in those Constellation (I
didn't pay him folks.. He did it on his own freewill (Great issues by
the way)) and unfortunately giving me the idea to write a Robot
Invasion Crossover (Jong #5.. Aren't you sorry now Dave?)
to Rob Rogers whose own great writing inspired me to take mine a
step above what I was doing (Even though it doesn't seem like it)
and for having Easily-Discovered Man Lite wonder about being
Slobbering!'s sidekick. If you haven't noticed by now, I treat anyone
who has ever mentioned Slobbering! in a story, as a God.
to Ken and Drizzt, Ken who sent me the first LNH FAQ and Drizzt who
sent the second and third after I accidentally deleted the first two. I
mean if it weren't for them I might be President or something
instead of writing inane stories.
to Russ, whose patience I tested often by asking for all those stories
in the archive last year, yet he always came through. (I have real net
access now Russ! Isn't that great? Russ?)
And finally to all those masochists out there who actually read this
stuff (Hell, even I'm not that sick). If I could, I would give you all
purple hearts (But the butcher I buy them off of is kind of in jail..).
And keep reading, because one of these days I might write
something half-way entertaining, and don't worry if by that time hell
is freezing.. it must be that crazy greenhouse effect.
And as always, I welcome comments, criticisms, flames and even
Arthur "'Can YOU find all the hidden continuity errors in Jong #4?'
That great boardgame for kids and adults is now also available on
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