LNH/ACRA: Master Blaster: Special # 6, The Return of Ven-Dorr part two: The Road Back!

Tom Russell milos_parker at yahoo.com
Sat Jun 24 22:24:01 PDT 2006

   "Hey, wReanna," said Kid Recap.  "How's your
husband doing?"
   "Not so good," admitted Sister State-the-Obvious. 
"My husband, Master Blaster, has been in a kind of rut
since he suffered paralyzing injuries at the hands of
a young woman who was offended by the recent
'cheerfully misogynist' commercials he had done for
Mr. Paprika's new hybrid energy drink, Pap--
commercials that are now being filmed with Ven-Dorr,
the sentient vending machine with old and mysterious
ties to the LNH."
    Kid Recap blinked.  "Hey...!"

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~   # 6: THE RETURN OF    ~ 
    ~ THE ROAD BACK! ~
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||| ||| | | |||  |  ||| |  ||:SPECIAL

   An elderly couple sit on a porch, drinking
   "You know, Marita," says the man, "when I bought
this lemonade today, there was some young man giving
out free Pap."
   "Pap?  That newfangled hybrid energy drink on the
   "Yeah.  The one with those dreadful commercials. 
Commercials that glorify suicide and violence."  He
sniffs the air contemptuously.  "If you ask me, it was
better when they were glorifying the objectification
of women."
   "I suppose," says Marita.  "Oh!  Donald!  Look!"
   An ominous vending machine appears on the horizon,
rolling slowly and dreadfully towards our elderly,
lemonade-drinking heroes.  Suddenly, it shoots out two
cans of Pap, perfectly aimed so as to sever the heads
of the old couple.
   Donald looks at the camera, a bit wistfully. 
"Well, it could be worse," he says.  "I could be a
loser, like Master Blaster."


   "Mr. Ven-Dorr," said the Mr. Paprika executive.
   "Master Ven-Dorr," corrected the machine, speaking
with a metallic and stentorian voice.
   "The people upstairs are getting nervous about the
new direction you're taking the Pap commercials in. 
Specifically, the mocking of the tragically paralyzed
Master Blaster."
   "Hmm."  Ven-Dorr began to roll away.
   "Master Ven-Dorr...?"


   Ven-Dorr rolled back into the room, blood
splattered over his frame.  "I killed the people
upstairs," he announced, at once cheerful and
emotionless.  "I am now majority stock-holder.  All my
creative decisions are final.  I will brook no
indolence.  Is that understood?"
   "Y-Yes, Master Ven-Dorr," said the executive.
   "We will continue to goad Mister Blaster, as
planned," said Ven-Dorr.
   "Don't you mean Master B..."
   Ven-Dorr rolled two inches towards the executive.
   "Mister Blaster, right.  Uh, Master Ven-Dorr, I
mean no indolence..."
   "It will not be brooked," said Ven-Dorr.
   "Wonderful word, brook," said his sycophant. 
"Hardly ever heard it used anymore.  Unless you're
talking about Brooke Shields, of course... ha, ha...
M... Master Ven-Dorr...?"
   But Ven-Dorr had rolled away.


   Ven-Dorr returned, some strands of hair wrapped
around his power cord.
   "Let me guess.  You killed Brooke Shields?"
   Ven-Dorr made a queer sort of motion, which the
executive took for a shrug.
   "As I was saying, sir," said the executive
carefully, "I'm just wondering as to why you're
goading Mast-- Mister Blaster?  Making fun of a public
hero, especially one who is crippled, isn't exactly
good PR."
   "I am Ven-Dorr," pronounced the machine.  "No
matter what I do, it shall be deemed acceptable.  I
mean, I'm a sentient vending machine.  that's pretty
frickin' awesome.  These peons think I'm so cool, that
they'd line up to let me kill them."  The light behind
his door lit up, causing his face to glow.  "Actually,
that's a pretty good idea..."


   "The body count of today's Be Killed By Ven-Dorr
Line-Up Jamboree reached a record-shattering 135,
bringing his running tally up to 699.  Earlier today,
we asked the LNH why they have yet to stop this wanton
destruction.  Speaking for the LNH is Wordage Wizard."
   "I'm sorry.  Speaking for the LNH is Sloberine, as
aided by Wordage Wizard."
    Sloberine nods, gets a thumbs-up from Wordage
Wizard, and leaps into the air.  "The LNH is made up
of the greatest heroes whom were ever born of the net!
 They have triumphed over Killfile Wars, they have
reversed the carnage at the World Trade Center, they
have even overcome the early writing of Tom Russell!
   "Never have we backed down from a foe, no matter
what mortal peril and fear he inspires in others. 
Never have we balked at the chance to test our mettle
in battle, and, yea, never have we allowed innocent
blood to remain unavenged!
   "If we were to meet Ven-Dorr in battle (and he is
an awesome foe!), we would surely defeat him, for good
always trumps evil!  And, yes, we admit that his body
count is staggering.  But the fact remains that
Ven-Dorr is pretty frickin' awesome.  I mean, come on.
 He's a sentient vending machine that kills people! 
You really can't top that.
   "And so," finishes Sloberine, only now touching the
ground, "we're just going to hope he doesn't kill
anymore people.  Pretty please?"
   Suddenly, three cans of Pap fling through the air,
hitting the reporter's body and pinning her, battered
and bloodied, to the wall.
   "I'm number seven hundred!" she cries.  "I'm number
seven hundred!"


   Master Blaster turned off his television set. 
There was a time when such rampant genocide (for, if
idiots could be considered a race of people, it would
qualify as genocide) who inspire him to action. 
Genocide, he had often said, was frickin' lame.
   But now?
   Though part of him wanted to grab his gun, hunt
down Ven-Dorr, and make him pay for his terrible
crimes, the other part of him (hint: it was the part
that was paralyzed) couldn't really be bothered.
   He had started physical therapy this morning, and
the therapist said he could walk if he wanted to...


   "Rob," says wReanna, "your physical therapist is
   The woman enters.  She is short and somewhat
chunky, with black hair that hangs in strings.  Though
she is over thirty, and it's been several years since
they last met, Master Blaster recognizes her
   "Michette, isn't it?  You used to be Lunchbox
   Michette nods.  "That was a long time ago."


   "Well, that's it for today," says Michette.  "I
know it's tiring, and you're in a lot of pain, but
you've got to try, right?  Because if you don't want
it, Master Blaster, then I can't make it happen."  She
makes her exit.
   Rob painfully cocks his head towards his wife. 
"She's changed a lot.  When she was with the LNH, she
was always the damsel in distress."
   "I think she did a lot of growing up when Lily got
cancer," says wReanna.  "She had to, to help Lily get
through it.  Sometimes, tragedy helps us find strength
we didn't know we had."  She touches her husband
lightly on the arm.


   "Or tragedy shows us who we really are," Master
Blaster mused grimly to the empty air.
   You can walk if you want to, Michette had said. 
But he didn't really want to.  Why?  What was the
   What had he done with his life?  Sure, he had a
little black book with more volumes than AKIRA, but
was that how he really wanted to measure his life, in
inches and minutes?
   He had helped the LNH best a number of foes, but
would it have really mattered if he didn't exist at
all?  There were so many LNH members that any one of
them could have easily taken up the slack.  Really,
his victories had nothing to do with who he was, but
rather that he had been in the right place at the
right time.
   Luck.  Serendipity.  Meaninglessness.
   And this?
   This was karma biting him in the ass.


   "Hey, M.B.," greeted WikiBoy.
   "Hi," said Master Blaster listlessly.
   "Aren't you going to torture me?"
   "Nah," said Master Blaster.  "Not much of a point,
is there?  And, uh, I'm sorry."


   "Thanks anyway, WikiBoy," Sister State-the-Obvious
said once the LNHer Anyone Can Edit had entered the
   Michette gritted her teeth.  "The longer his
muscles atrophy, the harder it will be to rehabilitate
him," she said.  "We've got to do something, wReanna."
   "I know.  I'll think of something.  I love my
husband, and I'm not going to give up on him."


   "I've got Special Bonding Boy to sit with Maria,"
said wReanna, running her fingers through her
husband's hair.  "We've got the whole evening to
   "You might not be able to move your body," she
said, kissing his ear lobe, "but you can still _feel_,
can't you?"
   Her hand slid down from Egypt to Congo. "Can you
feel this?"
   "wReanna, I can't..."
   "Ssh," said Sister State-the-Obvious.  She stood up
and removed her blouse, revealing a sexy red negligee.
 "We can make this work, Rob.  Together."
   "I don't really feel like it."
   "This isn't about me, baby," she said.  "It's about
you.  For you..."
   "I don't feel like it," he said again.  He turned
his head away from her and closed his eyes.  "If you
could turn out the light...?"
   She put on her clothes, turned out the light, and
sat with him in the cold, quiet darkness.


   "Greetings, fellow sentients.  This is Ven-Dorr
   "As you probably know by now, I've personally
killed three thousand of you, making me the most
prolific single-sentient mass-murderer in history. 
Many of you have written in and asked, Ven-Dorr, you
lovable scamp you, when are you going to follow the
example of Bill and Melinda Gates, and start giving
back to the world?  Well, the answer is-- right after
I kill Bill and Melinda Gates."
   The scene cuts to Bill and Melinda Gates.  They
smile at the camera and are about to speak with
Melinda is beheaded by a can of Pap.  A black
electrical chord slides around Bill's neck.  "Why! 
Does!  Windows!  Always!  Crash!" Ven-Dorr demands.
   The scene cuts back to Ven-Dorr's desk, and soon
the vending machine rolls back into the shot.  "Make
that three thousand two.
   "As to how I'm going to give back, I feel very
passionately about the turmoil in the Middle East. 
And I think I've found a solution to these very
serious and complex problems."
   The shot cuts to the lower-half of Ven-Dorr's
anatomy.  An unfamiliar-looking can of Pap shoots out
and cracks the camera lens.  "Oops.  Three
double-aught three."
   Back to the head shot.  "Introducing the newest
member of the Pap family: strawberry suicide.  This
delightfully piquant strawberry-flavoured hybrid
energy drink not only gives you that extra bit of pep
you need to get through your day, but it also
transforms you into a walking, talking suicide bomber.
 Expect to explode within ten to fifteen minutes of

   "Boy," said Michette, "and I thought this whole
Middle East situation was tense before!"
   "What does it matter?" said Master Blaster as
Michette finished rubbing his legs.  "So a bunch of
people die.  So what?  It's a fictional universe
anyway.  None of this matters."  He sighed.  "Nothing
   "I can't believe you," said Michette.  "The Master
Blaster I served with as a legionnaire would never
talk so nonchalantly about the loss of human life."
   "The Master Blaster you served with could walk!"
   "And so can you," said Michette.  "If you wanted
it.  You've got to fight, Rob!  You've got to find
something worth living for!  Worth fighting for! 
Worth walking for!"
   "Yeah, well, when you find it, let me know," said
Master Blaster.
   "You know who you remind me of?" said Michette. 
   "Oh, go to hell.  I'm nothing like him."
   "Ven-Dorr doesn't care about anyone, not even
himself," said Michette.
   "Ven-Dorr kills people!" countered Master Blaster.
   "He takes the easy path," said Michette.  "Easier
to be a murderer than to be a hero.  Just like it's
easier to give up than to walk.  The only difference I
see between the two of you?  Ven-Dorr is cool.  You?
   "You're freakin' lame."
   "That's frickin'!" Master Blaster called after her.
 But to no avail.  She had left.


   "It didn't work," said Michette.  "I appealed to
his sense of honour by comparing him to Ven-Dorr.  To
his sense of nobility by bringing up the Middle East
   "Perhaps," said Sister State-the-Obvious, "as is
often the case with my husband, we'll have to appeal
to something less noble.  I have a plan.  It's risky,
but it just might work.  I'll need your help..."

I HAVE A cunning PLAN

   "Well," said Michette to Sister State-the-Obvious
as the next day's therapy session ended.  "I don't
know what to tell you, wReanna.  Pretty soon, there'll
be very little chance that he'll ever walk again."
   A tall and thin woman, a few years older than
Michette, entered.
   "Hi, Lily," said wReanna.  "Rob, you remember Lily
Paschall, don't you?"
   "Yeah," said Master Blaster.  "You're hard to
recognize without all the pebbles on your face."
   "I kind of miss the powers," said Lily.  "But I
don't miss the rocks."
   "Me neither," said Michette, touching Lily's face
with her hand.  "She's smooth all over now."  The
shorter woman leaned up and kissed her lover full on
the mouth.
   "Well," said Lily, "we've got to get a move-on. 
We're going to go have hot, nasty, messy, wet lesbian
   "Say," said Michette, turning to Sister
State-the-Obvious.  "wReanna, would you like to join
   "That's a very tempting offer," said wReanna. 
"After all, Rob's just about useless now.  Okay, gals.
 Let's have ourselves a three-way munch-fest!"
   "Make sure you grab my medical bag," said Michette,
pointing to the table besides Master Blaster.  "That's
where I keep all my strap-ons."
   The three women quickly disappeared.
   A moment later, Master Blaster heard orgasmic
cooing and giggling.
   "Oh God!" said wReanna.  "I wish my husband could
see his hot redheaded life dyking it out with these
two hard-bodied lesbians, right here in the middle of
the LNH hallway!"
   Master Blaster stared at his atrophied legs. 
"Wiggle your big toe.  Wiggle your big toe. 
   "Oh, yes, wReanna!  Spank me!" cried Michette from
the hallway.
   "Well, it's obvious to me that you're very naughty
   His toe wiggled.  "Now, wiggle your other big toe. 
Come on.  Wiggle it.  Wiggle it..."
   "Oh god!" cried wReanna.  "I've never touched
another woman's breasts before!"
   "Wiggle, damn it, wiggle!"  His other toe wiggled
just as he heard Lily Paschall let loose with a wail
that compared to the atomic yodel of the Great
   "Now, wiggle your next toe.  Wiggle your next...
wait a minute!  At this rate, it'll be hours before I
can walk again!"  Master Blaster cannily changed
tactics.  "Walk, damn it, walk!"
   He rolled out of the bed, landing on his painful,
stiff legs.  He held onto the night-table to steady
himself, and took a deep breath.
   It is moments like these, he mused, that define a
   "I'm not the best man in the world."
   He let go of the table.
   "Sometimes I fall short of who I want to be."
   He started to fall forwards.
   He stepped forward, his leg heavy and ponderous,
stopping his descent.
   "I do try."
   Another excruciating step.
   "And I ain't ever going to stop."
   And another.  He could feel his tired body
   "I'm not just some random legionnaire."
   And another: he's a little short of breath.
   "I am Robert Ramirez."
   And another: it's getting a little easier now.
   "I am a loving husband and a decent father."
   And another: he's getting closer to the door.
   "I have a personality."
   He could hear wReanna screaming in ecstasy.
   "The things I do are important, and more important
than that is the fact that I did them.  I did.  Me. 
No one else."
   He's thankful when he can grip the door frame.
   "My life is important."
   He felt his legs start to give.
   He shouted at the top of his lungs: "I AM MASTER
   He pivoted out into the hallway and fell flat on
his face.  A moment later, he looked up to see his
wife, Michette, and Lily: all three of them fully
clothed, and seated, reading from scripts while some
other members of the LNH stood and watched.
   "You did it, sweetie!" cried out wReanna.  She
quickly maneuvered around the table and was at his
side.  "I knew you could do it!"
   "It was all just pretend?"
   "Of course it was, Rob," said wReanna.  "I would
never cheat on you, just as you would never cheat on
   "And deep down," said Michette, "you knew that. 
You see, folks," here she stood up and addressed the
congregation, "this wasn't really about Master Blaster
being motivated by a voyeuristic desire for kinky
phallocentric lesbian sex!  This was about love.
   "The thing that motivated Rob, that gave him back
the will to live, was his love for his wife!  He
didn't want to see her making out with hot lesbians!"
   "I didn't?"
   "No!  You just wanted to see her happy.  And since
you felt that in your paralyzed state that you
couldn't make her happy or satisfy her sexually, it
formed a block that prevented you from responding to
the therapy!  So, all we did here was find a way to
remove your block!  He just wanted to see you happy,
   Sister State-the-Obvious looked at Michette like
she was nuts.  "Or, maybe it's just because he's a big
ol' horn-dog."
   Master Blaster leapt up to his feet, miraculously
cured.  "But I'm your big ol' horn-dog," he said.  He
swooped wReanna up into his arms, and carried her back
towards the room with a tiger's growl.  The door shut
behind them.


   "I'm sorry," said Master Blaster.
   "That's okay," said his wife.  "It happens."  She
sighed.  "A lot."


   "I feel renewed, wReanna.  Like I matter again.  I
mean, that fake lesbian sex gag wouldn't have worked
for just any character.  Speaking of... you know... if
you and one of your friends ever..."
   "Doesn't hurt to ask."


   "Greetings, fellow sentients!  It is I, Ven-Dorr!
   "Many of you are asking what's next for Mr.
Paprika, now that I've taken over the company.  Well,
I've given the matter a lot of thoughts between
massacres, and I've come up with a doozy of an idea.
   "Not only am I pleased to introduce our newest
product in the Pap! Hybrid Energy Drink family, but
also the rarest: we're only making... one can.  That's
right.  Just one."
   A small child appears.  "But, Ven-Dorr, wouldn't
that be expensive?"
   Ven-Dorr tips himself over and crushes the child. 
Then he rolls over and rights himself.  "Impressive
for a vending machine, eh?
   "No, it's not going to be any more expensive than
any of the other products in the Pap! Hybrid Energy
Drink line.  In fact, all it's going to cost you is
some paper, a pen, an envelope, a stamp, and a moment
of your time.
   "Simply write an essay detailing why _you_ should
be the lucky recipient of our only can of our newest
product.  The best essay wins the first and only can
ever manufactured of...
   "Oreo Oblivion!  That's right, we've managed not
only to make an energy drink that tastes like Oreos,
but we've also combined that with the total erasure of
the Looniverse as we know it."


   "He's gone too far," said Master Blaster.  "It was
one thing when he was killing people, but if he
succeeds, he'll kill me."
   wReanna harrumphed and crossed her arms.
   "Oh.  Everybody.  He's going to kill everybody. 
That's what I meant.  Anyway.  No matter how cool he
   "He _is_ a sentient vending machine," noted
   "... this is where I draw the line.  Better get my
gun, mother.  Daddy's going hunting... for
   "Um.  You have your gun in your hand."

           I know we promised it last time,
           but this time we MEAN IT!

Master Blaster: Martin Phipps.  Not reserved.

Sister State-the-Obvious: wReam.  Not reserved.

Lunchbox Lass, Groundswell, WikiBoy: Tom Russell.  The
latter can be used for random cameos/gags, the other
two are reserved.

Sloberine: Mike McKellar.  Not reserved.

Wordage Wizard: David P. Murphy.  Not reserved.

Kid Recap: Josh Geurink.  Not reserved.

Ven-Dorr: Dave Von Domelen.  Used with permission.


   The bugs in Windows aside, I have nothing against
Bill Gates or his family.  Usually, I have this weird
grudge against rich people (I think it's called "I'm
living from paycheck to paycheck and trying to stop
our savings from hemorrhaging"), but that doesn't
apply to the Gateses, even though they hold the
second-largest fortune in the world.
   Through the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, the
Gateses have done so much, including work for world
health and libraries, two issues that are near and
dear to my heart.  They are arguably the most
responsible, compassionate, and sympathetic wealthy
couple in the world.  (No offense to Brangelina.)
   They certainly have a much better track record than
_the_ richest family in the world-- the Wal-Mart
Waltons.  (And at least Microsoft isn't _evil_.)
   The murders of the Looniversial counterparts of
Bill and Melinda Gates are meant as satire, somewhat
akin to my own "death" in SAVIOURS OF THE NET # 17.  I
mean, for chrissakes, they're killed by a sentient
vending machine.  One can't possibly take that
   It's a joke.  I think it's kind of funny.
   Not sure if the Gateses agree, but... I just wanted
to reiterate here that it's just a joke, and that I
have a lot of admiration for the Gateses.

   Beyond that, if anyone was offended by anything in
this issue, I just want to say you're welcome. :-)



Tom Russell
Limited autographed dvds now on sale, directly from the filmmaker

"In the beginning, Milos seems to have no clue how to relate
 to anyone.  He is quizzical, leaving the viewer questioning
 and wondering..." 
  -- Ryan M. Niemiec, co-author of MOVIES AND MENTAL ILLNESS


"If a comic book, book, movie or novel is not somebody's fantasy 
then who wrote it and to whom does it appeal to?  In order for a 
shared universe to have a widespread appeal, it has to appeal on 
a primal level.  If somebody says superhero comics are just 'wish 
fulfillment' then he needs to explain what is entertainment that 
doesn't satisfy our wishes and what satisfaction at all you can get 
from it." -- Dr. Martin Phipps

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