LNH/ACRA: Master Blaster: Super Bowl Special

Tom Russell milos_parker at yahoo.com
Sat Feb 18 22:11:17 PST 2006



   "Why the long face, Master Blaster?" asked Fred as
everyone's favourite gun-toting legionnaire entered
the building.  "Is something wrong?"
   "Every year, I go to the Super Bowl."
   "That's great."
   "I didn't get tickets this year."
   "If I may be so bold as to offer a suggestion?"
said Fred.
   "You may be so bold, sir."
   "Why not find Kid Unique?"
   "And have him use his power to possess any power
that no one's ever thought of to possess the ability
to spontaneously create Super Bowl tickets?"
   "That would be the general idea, yes."
   "First off, Steven Howard's dropped off the net, so
there'd be no way to ask him if we can use Kid Unique
in this story in the first place."
   "And second?"
   "Did that last year."
   "If only there was some way!" said Master Blaster,
banging his fist on Fred's desk and railing against
the fates.  "Some way to change an existing LNHer's
powers so that they included generating Super Bowl
   At that moment, WikiBoy, the LNHer That Anyone Can
Edit, entered the lobby.
   "WikiBoy!" said Master Blaster.  "Old buddy!  You
wouldn't happen to have any tickets to the Super Bowl,
would you?"
   "Really?  Because I think you do.  Why don't you
check your pocket?"
   "I don't have any pockets."
   "You do now."
   WikiBoy reached into his pocket and pulled out two
   Master Blaster put his arm around WikiBoy.  "We're
going to have a great time, man."


   "It's been an hour," said WikiBoy.
   Master Blaster merged into the left lane.  "So?"
   "So you said that after an hour, it would be my
turn to pick a station."
   "Right.  Okay, then.  Go ahead."
   WikiBoy spun the dial and found the local
incarnation of NPR.  He lowered the seat, put his
hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.
   "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah," said Master
   "Nothing."  Master Blaster passed a truck.  "You
know... on the, uh, the station that was on before...
there was this nice classic rock station... they had
this nice block going before we changed it..."
   "It's my turn," asserted WikiBoy, opening his eyes
and sitting up.
   "Oh, I know, sure, sure," said Master Blaster. 
"And it's totally your choice.  I mean, do you like
classic rock...?"
   "I like it fine," said WikiBoy.  "It's just that
I'm listening to my program right now."  He lay back
again, stretching out his legs, closing his eyes,
   "But you hate this kind of stuff," said Master
Blaster.  "You're all about rockin'!"
   WikiBoy opened his eyes and sat up, a sour
expression on his face.  He turned the dial back to
the classic rock station.
   "What are you looking so pissed off for?" said
Master Blaster.  "You're all about..."
   "Rockin', I know," said WikiBoy.
   "What, do you miss your NPR?"
   "No," said WikiBoy.  "I hate NPR.  I didn't used
to..." He trailed off.
   "Oh, come on.  That was boring!  You were killing
me there!"
   "Ssh!" said WikiBoy.  "This is a wicked guitar
solo."  He began head-thrashing.
   "Tell you what," said Master Blaster.
   WikiBoy began playing air guitar.
   "Next exit, we'll get something to eat.  My treat,
   WikiBoy nodded and turned up the radio.  "Let's
rock out, man!"


   "... and two burgers, some fries, a coke..."
   "Is that all?" asked the redheaded girl working the
   "No, I'll have, uh, your ice cream treat.  What's
that called?"
   "Ice Cream Treat," she said, testily.
   "Thanks," Master Blaster said, testely.  "And one
of your baked apple pies.  Those two for a dollar? 
Two, then."
   "And for your friend?"
   WikiBoy tugged at Master Blaster's arm.  "Do you
have enough cash to cover both of us?"
   Master Blaster opened his wallet.  "Uh, on second
thought, nix on the ice cream treat, then."  He back
turned to WikiBoy.  "That should give you a dollar
five to work with, there.  I'll, uh, I'll share my
coke with you..."
   "They don't have anything for a dollar," said
WikiBoy, pointedly.  I say pointedly because he
actually pointed at the discount portion of the menu,
which started at a dollar fifty apiece.
   "Damn.  I knew we should have went to White Castle.
 Say, uh, WikiBoy... do you have any money...?"
   "I thought you were treating me."
   "I am.  I just... I'm a little short on cash, you
know...?  So, if you could spot me the price of your
order... minus a dollar five..."
   "You can't borrow money from someone when you're
treating them," said WikiBoy.
   "I'm not borrowing, exactly," said Master Blaster. 
"I mean, you owe me like fifty bucks."
   "I do?  Since when?"
   "Since now," said Master Blaster.
   WikiBoy scowled and handed Master Blaster two
twenties and a ten.  Master Blaster turned back to the
redhead.  "Uh, on second-second thought, let's have
that ice cream treat after all.  Your turn, buddy o'
   WikiBoy placed his order.  The redhead was about to
give Master Blaster the total when she unleashed an
orgasmic scream.
   "I knew I had these Mack Daddy Vibes going," said
Master Blaster, smirking, "but this is ridiculous!"
   "I don't think it's you," said WikiBoy.  "Look,
over there!"
   He pointed at a strange young man sitting a table
near the window.  The young man was staring at the
redhead, smiling mischievously.  The young man spoke. 
   The redhead cooed, gripping the table.
   "Come!" commanded the young man.
   She screamed, pulling at her hair and sweating.
   "Weirdo," sneered Master Blaster.
   "Come!" said the young man.
   "Gah!" ejaculated Master Blaster.  "Great!  Just
great!  Now I've got to get a change of pants!"


   After eating, our heroes made a quick change of
wardrobe.  Master Blaster changed into some combat
fatigues.  WikiBoy decked himself out in leather pants
and a leather jacket with spiked shoulder pads. 
"Let's rock `n' roll," said the LNHer Anyone Can Edit
as he climbed into the front seat and hit the


   Master Blaster sat in the passenger seat, bug-eyed
and quivering.
   "I revert the passion for rockin' out!" he said,
yelling over the radio.
   WikiBoy immediately flicked it off.  "Thank god. 
That was getting irritating.  There's only so much a
person can stand before rock psychosis sets in."
   "Wait!" said Master Blaster.  "I don't get it.  How
could you get irritated if you were all about rock?"
   "Just because you can change part of me doesn't
mean I have to be happy about it," said WikiBoy. 
"What?  You've never met a character who was unhappy
with changes made to his personality?"


   Frat Boy sighed.


   "You might be able to edit me, to change any aspect
of me, but I'm still me, at the core.  I still have a
soul and nothing you do can change that..."
   "Unless," offered Master Blaster, "you sold it to
the devil to acquire your wiki-powers in the first
   "You... you did not just alter my origin... did
   "Did you even have an origin before?"
   "I did," said WikiBoy.  "Can't remember what it is
   "What can you remember?"
   WikiBoy sighed and grumbled.  "I can recall quite
clearly selling it to the devil to acquire my
wiki-powers.  And a fiddle."
   "Well, there you go."
   "On the bright side," said WikiBoy, "I do feel
about twenty-one grams lighter."


   Master Blaster sighed and looked out the window. 
The sun was starting to set.  "Are we there yet?"
   "Are we there..."
   "What the hell is that?" said Master Blaster,
freaking out.  "What happened to the road?"
   The entire car was vibrating.  "We've just entered
Michigan," said WikiBoy.
   "But the road was so smooth, and then all of the
   "Yep.  Michigan."
   "Oh my god look out for that meteor crash site..."
   "That's a pothole."
   "Jesus!  What about that one?"
   "Yep, pothole."
   "They can't all be potholes!"
   "I think at a certain point, the percentage of road
is dwarfed by the percentage of potholes and that the
potholes become road.  If that's any consolation."


   "Awful lot of right-wing bumper-stickers," noted
Master Blaster.  "I thought Michigan was a blue
   "All the Democrats are in Detroit," explained
WikiBoy helpfully.  "They're surrounded on all sides
by Republicans.  Kind of like Italy surrounding the
   "So Detroit is like the Vatican, but left-wing,"
marveled Master Blaster.
   "Yeah.  Like the Vatican, only they care about


   "Ah, Detroit!" said Master Blaster after they had
parked the car.  "Home of the... the... who plays
here, anyway?"
   "The Lions," said WikiBoy.
   "Okay, so not the best football team.  Uh, who's
their baseball team?"
   "The Tigers."
   "Okay, but they have a good hockey team, right?"
   "Red Wings, won the Stanley three years in a row. 
To celebrate," added WikiBoy, "they put a giant Red
Wing jersey on the statue of the Spirit of Detroit."
   "That's tacky," said a passerby.  "Even for me."
   "Who are you?"
   "Tackmaster T."


   "Joe Louis Arena," said Master Blaster.  "Now, that
gives you a sense of history, huh?  Joe Louis, the
brown bomber, the main man!  A true gentleman, the guy
who knocked out Nazi Max Schmeling in the space of two
minutes and four seconds!"
   "Yeah, the guy who owns the building is going to
tear it down," said Tackmaster T.  "Make more room for
the expansion of Cobo Hall."
   "Who the hell is Cobo Hall?" said Master Blaster.
   "He was mayor of Detroit when Cobo Hall was being
built," explained Tackmaster T.

BUT... BUT...

   "Look at all these buildings!  Huge!  Gothic!"
   "Abandoned," said Tackmaster T.  "Crumbling. 
Condemned.  Great if you're an urban explorer, but


   "But this is Rock City, man!" said Master Blaster. 
"The home of the Motown Sound!"
   "They haven't recorded at Motown for years."


   "All the people!  Look at the streets!  Vibrant
with night life!"
   "Hobos and drug addicts."


   "It's not all poverty and everything," said Master
Blaster.  "Look!  There's some limos coming by!"
   "That'd be the school board.  There isn't adequate
busing for students, but..."
   "Wait!" said WikiBoy.  "It can't be the school
board!  It's Saturday!"
   "Oh.  That'd be the mayor, then.  Oh, yeah, there's
the SUV he bought for his wife with the city's credit.
 Before he was re-elected.  Yes, that would be the


   Master Blaster stood in front of the Spirit of
Detroit, now sans jersey, his fists clenched.  He rose
them up in the air, screaming:
   "Feel better now?" asked WikiBoy.
   "Much.  Let's find a hotel."


   They did.


   The ticket-taker looked at their tickets,
scratching his head.
   "Well?" said Master Blaster.  "What's the hold-up?"
   "These tickets are genuine," said the ticket-taker,
almost as if it was a question.  "It's just that...
we've appeared to have sold the same ticket three
times over.  Our error..."
   "What do you mean, three times over?"
   "I mean, thrice."
   "Don't dick around with me, man," said Master
Blaster.  "Just explain what the problem is."
   "These tickets are for a suite, currently occupied
by Mr. John Travolta.  And it appears that we have
sold the same box to both you, Mr. WikiBoy, and you,
Mr. Blaster."
   "That's Master Blaster."
   "Yes, of course."
   "Say it.  Say Master Blaster."
   "Master Blaster."
   "That's right.  Now, as to this problem... I say,
let's handle it democratically.  We have two tickets. 
The boy in the plastic bubble has one.  Majority
rules, man.  We have a mandate.
   "Now show us to our box."


   En route to the elevator, Master Blaster and
WikiBoy noted three half-man half-animal hybrids.  The
bird-man was trying his best to open a pickle jar.  He
handed it to the frog-man, who had a jar-opening tool,
the kind with the slide to adjust to the proper size. 
What is that called?  Man, the prose in this paragraph
would be a lot tighter if I knew what that was called.
 Let me ask my wife.
   Mary!  What's that jar-opening doo-hickey called? 
She says a jar-opener.  I guess that will have to do. 
Thank you, Mary.
   The frog-man couldn't seem to figure out how to
properly apply the jar-opener to the lid.  The third
of the three, who was half-liger and half-man, which
would make him one-quarter lion, one-quarter tiger,
and one-half man (though he claims to also be
one-eighth Cherokee) took the jar and tossed it to the
ground, breaking it.  The animal-men clapped their
hands and descended greedily upon the exposed pickles,
cutting themselves carelessly on the glass.
   "Idiots," snorted Master Blaster.
   WikiBoy nodded in silent agreement as they boarded
the elevator.  A black woman with freckles waited on
the other side.
   "Don't I know you?" said WikiBoy.
   "I don't see how," said the woman.  "I don't
remember ever meeting you before."
   "Are you famous or something?" said Master Blaster.
   "I'm a Professor at Stanford, poly-sci," the woman
   "No, I didn't think so," said Master Blaster.  "I
don't recognize you.  I was just trying to help
WikiBoy here.  You ever go to Stanford, WikiBoy?"
   "Oh, goodness, no.  I just thought I recognized
you, that's all.  I'm sorry, Miss...?"
   "Condoleezza Rice.  Call me Condi.  Well, this is
my floor."  She exited the elevator.
   "I have this strangest feeling," said WikiBoy as
the doors closed anew.  "Like, in some other time, or
some other universe, she was someone of great
importance.  And evil."
   "Beats me," said Master Blaster.
   A pause.
   "Boy, Hex Luthor's been taking a beating in the
press lately, hasn't he?" said WikiBoy.


   When they opened the door to their box, John
Travolta was waiting for them.
   "I'm going to call security," said Master Blaster.
   "No, wait, man.  Wait.  Please, let me stay."
   "Give me one reason why I should let you stay."
   "Uh..." Travolta sputtered.  "Um, I'm famous...?"
   Master Blaster looked to WikiBoy.  "Yeah, sounds
good to me."


   "So, uh, Johnny..."
   "Right.  You got money riding on this game?" said
Master Blaster.
   "A bit, yeah.  You?"
   "Thirty thousand dollars."
   "Do you even have thirty thousand dollars...?"
asked WikiBoy in a hushed, desperate whisper.
   "Well, no.  I had to borrow from some mobsters. 
And cash in some of the saving bonds wReanna's been
buying every month for the kids, in case we ever have
them.  But, I've got a sure bet with this thing.  I'll
be able to pay them all off and have a handy load of
   "You do realize this plan is doomed to failure,"
said WikiBoy.
   "Oh, ye of little faith," said Master Blaster.
   "No, I mean, with all the set-up and attention it's
been given, the only way this could pay off
satisfactorily is if you lose."
   "That is one of the risks, true," said Master
Blaster.  "But this is a sure thing."
   "Well, who are you betting on?" said Travolta.
   "Well, you know the Steelers, right?"
   "I'm betting on the other team.  Whichever it is."
   "Yeah, whatever.  I just bet, Not the Steelers."
   "But the odds..."
   "Which is why I'm going to win big," explained
Master Blaster.  "See, I look at it this way.  The
Steelers-- they're like steel-workers, right?  The
American Working Man.  And we all know that corporate
America always sticks it to the Working Man.  And this
is the NFL.  That's corporate America.  My logic is


   "Seven to three," said WikiBoy.
   "It's anybody's game," said Master Blaster,
dismissively.  "The, uh..."
   "Right.  The Not-The-Steelers will make up for it
in the second half."
   "Come on, fellas," said Travolta.  "Let's just sit
back and enjoy the half-time show."
   "Bring on the cheerleaders!" said Master Blaster.


   "Look!" said WikiBoy, pointing to the stage. 
"There are those half-animal, half-men from before. 
They're climbing on the stage with the Rolling
   "Now two of the animal men are picking up Mick
Jagger!" exclaimed Master Blaster.  "They're throwing
him off the stage!"
   "Is he hurt?" asked Travolta.
   "No," said WikiBoy.
   "He must have landed on his lips," said Master
   "The other Stones are leaving the stage!" said
WikiBoy.  "Why am I narrating this?  Has our
third-person narrator gone on strike?"
    "What are the animal men doing now?" asked Master
Blaster, oblivious.
   "Some kind of... incantation... there's a figure,
some kind of mummy in a red cloak, materializing in
the center of the stage... he's speaking..."


   "Ancient spirits of music
   "Transform this decayed form
   The mummy's wrappings and cloak fell away. His
blue-coloured body grew, muscle mass developing in a
matter of seconds, pectorals rippling.  Huge veins
pulsed up and down his arms and legs.  He situated
himself in front of a keyboard and began to play a
requiem.  In a powerful, forceful voice, he commanded
the animal-men.  "Now, my mutant henchmen, go forth
and cause havoc!  So speaks Mo-Zart, the Ever-Living!"
   The mutants leapt off the stage, firing pulsing
lasers into the crowd, but surprisingly (or not
surprisingly, if one is familiar with eighties
children's animated action television) harming no one.


   A stray shot hit the glass window of Master
Blaster's box, shattering it.  Air rushed in. 
Travolta gasped.  "The germs!  They're attacking my
weak and ill-developed immune system!  I'm dying...
dying... dying..."
   "Wow," said WikiBoy.  "He must have destroyed his
immune system in preparation for his role in BOY IN
THE PLASTIC BUBBLE, all those years ago."
   "Talk about method acting," said Master Blaster.
   "Actually, the kid was alive at the end," said
WikiBoy, kicking Travolta's limp form.
   "That's not important right now," said Master
Blaster.  "I have to get back to my room, quick!"
   "But what about...?"
   "It's the only way we can stop them.  Can you
teleport us there?"
   "But I can't teleport..."
   "You can now.  So vamoose!"


   "Rob!  WikiBoy!" proclaimed Sister
State-the-Obvious.  "You just teleported into the
   "I'll be right back," said WikiBoy.  "I think I
better grab something while I'm here."  He departed.
   "Sweetie, quick," said Master Blaster.  "I need my
   "Your what?"
   "My scimitar.  Help me find it.  It's a matter of
life and death."
   "What is this about, exactly?" asked Sister
   "wReanna, you remember that time, before we were
even seeing each other seriously, when I stepped out
for a few minutes, and when I came back, I had a
moustache, a beard, a new tattoo and a scimitar?"
   "Well, I was actually traveling through time.  I
was testing this prototype motorcycle and I got stuck
in the past."
   "Where?  Or rather, when?"
   "Oh, all over.  Just, y'know... having
adventures... meeting people... looking for fuel to
jump to the next time period and attempt to return to
our time..."
   "Meeting people?  Like who?"
   "Famous people, y'know?... like, uh, Cleopatra,
Helen of Troy, Joan of Arc, Queen Victoria, Alma
Mahler, the Bronte sisters, Jane Austen..."
   "Those are all women," said his wife astutely, if a
bit obviously.
   "Well..." Master Blaster grinned sheepishly.  "I
kinda sorta spent three or four years jumping through
the time stream seducing famous women through out
   "Kinda sorta?"
   "Okay, well, I actually did.  No kinda sorta about
   "For three or four years?"
   "Well, five.  I mean, it *was* before we were
dating seriously..."
   "Why didn't you tell me before?"
   "I never had the opportunity."
   "It never came up!"
   "What about when you came back with the moustache,
beard, tattoo, and scimitar, and I said, hey, Rob,
what's the deal with that there moustache, beard,
tattoo, and scimitar?"
   "I said I'd tell you later, right?  And this is
later.  So now I am."
   "But why did you do it?" asked Sister
State-the-Obvious.  "It's a bit irresponsible."
   "I was actually being very responsible," argued
Master Blaster.  "I was thinking about my resume..."
   "Your resume," she said, flatly.
   "I thought it would look good on my resume.  I
mean, I'm the only guy in history, besides Henry the
eighth, who bedded all six of his wives!  Boy, was he
pissed.  Had some narrow escapes there... and it is a
bit creepy, in hindsight.  See, I, uh, I'm probably
Elizabeth's father.  But I look at it this way: I met
her before I met her mother, and since I bedded her
*before* I actually helped conceive her, it's
technically not incest."
   "I'm back," said WikiBoy, carrying a strange box. 
"Let's get back to the Super Bowl and stop Mo-Zart
from wreaking havoc."
   "Ah, there's my scimitar," said Master Blaster,
locating it.
   "But," said Sister State-the-Obvious to no one in
particular, "what does all that have to do with the
Super Bowl and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart?"


   "Look at them!  Look at them run like... like...
insignificant running things!" cried out Mo-Zart to
his mutants, cackling.  Well, actually, not cackling. 
It was more of a giggle.  But evil.  And annoying.
   "He must be the real thing," said someone in the
   "Either that, or he saw AMADEUS," said another.
   "Hold it right there, buddy!" Master Blaster said,
announcing his arrival.  "Your reign of musical terror
ends today!"
   "Master Blaster!" said Mo-Zart.  "Oh, sweet, sweet
day!  Today I shall have my vengeance!"
   "What's he talking about?" asked WikiBoy.  "What
did you ever do to him?"
   "I balled Mrs. Mozart," said Master Blaster
   "You're kidding," said WikiBoy.
   "I know, I know.  She's not much to look at. 
Especially with those big eyebrows.  But she put out
like a sailor."
   "That doesn't even make any sense," said WikiBoy.
   "Fool!" said Mo-Zart.  "You did far more than spoil
my sweet Constanze!  Her betrayal made me weak, made
me sick with worry.  I became obsessed with finding a
way to take my vengeance upon you!
   "When I discovered that you were a time traveler,
it seemed that said vengeance was beyond my grasp!  My
despair was ultimate.  My body could not handle it.
   "They blame poor Salieri!  He is condemned only by
whispers!  Now, the world entire shall know that the
blame for my death is rightfully assigned to you...
Master Blaster!"
   "You boffed his wife, *and* you killed him?" said
WikiBoy.  "Man, I'd be pissed!"
   "And pissed I am!" said their adversary.  "For I am
   "That doesn't even make any sense," said WikiBoy. 
"You're pissed *because* you're Mo-Zart?  Because
that's what you just said."
   "It matters not," said Mo-Zart with a growl, his
muscles rippling.  He leaped towards Master Blaster.
   "No, it doesn't," agreed Master Blaster.  "For with
this mystic scimitar, I shall..."
   "Got it, boss!" said the frog-man.  He hopped away,
ribbiting, the scimitar in tow.
   Mo-Zart socked Master Blaster in the jaw.
   "Leave him alone!" said WikiBoy.
   "What are you going to do, little man?"
   WikiBoy opened his strange box, revealing... a
   "You got to be kidding me," said Mo-Zart.
   "This is a cosmic fiddle," explained WikiBoy. 
"Given to me by the Dark Lord himself in exchange for
my soul..."
   "You sold your soul to the devil?" said Mo-Zart.
   "No, you didn't," said Mo-Zart, scoffing.
   The fiddle evaporated as the edit took effect. 
"Oh, shit."
   Mo-Zart's powerful arms shot out, and he grabbed a
net.hero by the neck in each hand.  With a war cry, he
threw them both.  They sailed through the air, landing
on the turf.
   Master Blaster helped WikiBoy up.  Mo-Zart the
Ever-Living was running towards them.  "I have a
plan," said Master Blaster.  "But first, I just want
you to know that I've learned something today.  That I
respect you as a person, and a valuable member of the
   "Sure.  Now, come here."  Master Blaster
interlocked his fingers and crouched down.  WikiBoy
stood in front of Master Blaster, his back to him, and
put one of his feet on the interlocked palms of his
teammate.  "You ready?"
   "Ready or not, here he comes!"
   "Fastball special!" said Master Blaster,
catapulting WikiBoy into the air.
   Mo-Zart stopped in his tracks, confused.  "Uh...?"
   "Um, Master Blaster?" said WikiBoy, sailing through
the air.  "What do I do when I get there...?"
   "WikiBoy, you're a vending machine!"
   WikiBoy found himself instantly transformed into a
soda vending machine just as he began his descent. 
His now rectangular shadow loomed over Mo-Zart's
horrified face.
   From underneath the vending machine, bursts of
strange blue light dispersed, flying this way and
that.  Master Blaster looked at the mutants.  The
frog-man fell to his knees.  "Your scimitar, sir?"


   "WikiBoy, you're not a vending machine anymore."
   "Damn it," said WikiBoy.  "I'm not a play-thing,
Master Blaster!  You can't just keep tailoring me to
your needs, for your own benefit and slash or
   "What are you going to do about it?" said Master
Blaster, slapping him casually in the stomach. 
WikiBoy coughed up a can of Mr. Paprika.
   "Nothing," said WikiBoy, rubbing his stomach.  "I
just want you to respect my rights as a human being,
you know?"
   "You're being way too whiny," said Master Blaster. 
"Stop whining.  And stop being so assertive.  It's not
attractive in a guest star.  This is my story.  I'm
the assertive one.  The man of action.  The man with
the plan.  And the plan worked, if you were paying
attention... Mo-Zart is dead (again), the mutants have
been rounded up... and they're about to start the
second half the game.  Yes, I'd say everything turned
out okay..."
   "Mister Blaster!" said an NFL official, running up
to the net.hero.
   "Master Blaster," he corrected.
   "When you splatted that guy..."
   "I did the splatting, actually," said WikiBoy,
rubbing his rump.
   "Mozart," said Master Blaster, helpfully.
   "Right.  The energy that rushed out of his body...
it appears to have been quite lethal."
   "Bummer, man," said Master Blaster.
   "People have died, Master Blaster."
   "And their sacrafice will not be forgotten," said
Master Blaster as he chugged his soda.
   "It's the Seahawks," said the official.
   "The Seahawks...?" said Master Blaster.
   "Not the Steelers?" chimed in WikiBoy helpfully.
   "They're all dead," said the official.
   "All of them?" said Master Blaster, dumbfounded.
   "Every last one."
   "What... what was the score..."
   "Seven to three.  Steelers."
   "Right.  I thought so," said Master Blaster.  "It
would have turned out different if it wasn't for
   "Actually," said Condi Rice in passing, "I have the
strangest feeling that even in a world without
net.heroes, the Steelers still would have won.  Maybe
by a greater margin, too."
   "By the way," said the official.  "There's some
gentlemen here to see you..."
   "Let me guess, mobsters," said Master Blaster.
   "They would appear to be, sir," said the official. 
"At the very least, they did break my kneecap."
   "That explains the pool of blood.  Is that them
over there, by the gate?"
   "I think so..." said the official before passing
   "WikiBoy, me lad," said Master Blaster.  "Did I
ever tell you how much you look like me?  It's like
we're twins."
   "What?" scoffed WikiBoy.  "I don't look like... oh,
   Master Blaster took off running.
   WikiBoy turned to find himself face to face with
the mobsters.  "I don't suppose you gentlemen would
believe that I'm not Master Blaster, but rather his
teammate and Best New Character nominee WikiBoy?...
no, I thought not."


Master Blaster is the creation of Martin Phipps and
not reserved.  I did consult with Martin, however,
before writing this story.

WikiBoy is my creation, and is currently reserved by
myself.  He is useable with permission.  Readers
interested in more WikiBoy can check out his
appearances in WEB OF MAINSTREAM MAN.

Frat Boy is the creation of Uplink and not reserved.

Fred the receptionist is the creation of Ken Schmidt,
as far as I can ascertain.  He is not reserved. 
(Whatever happened to Lester O'Brien, anyway?  I know
Kyoko is still around and Bart became The Dark
Receptionist.  Hmmph.)

Hex Luthor is the American President in the LNH
continuity, and is still President as recently as the
ALT.RIDERS FOX.NET SPECIAL.  He was created by Chris
Hare, first appearing only in a roster/FAQ.  Saxon
Brenton, continuing the grand tradition of taking
FAQ-only throw-away character names and developing
them into actual characters that he began with
Limp-Asparagus Lad, Hex Luthor made his first actual
appearance in LIMP-ASPARAGUS LAD # 45.



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