LNH/ACRA: The Coming of Pants Rabbit Lad!

[Tom Russell]

THE COMING OF PANTS RABBIT LAD!
(C) COPYRIGHT 2006 TOM RUSSELL

1998.

   "Let me guess," said Lester as he peered over his
receptionist's desk at the slightly-blurry
spandex-clad figure.  "A new member?"
   "Indeed, sir," said the man grandly.  "For the time
has come for Mr. Elision to join the--"
   Lester waved at him dismissively and procured a
stack of papers and pen.  "Over there, with the
others."  He pointed at a row of chairs equipped with
writing desks, and to the other wannabe legionnaires
filling out their own applications (and making very
little headway at that).  Mr. Elision took the
paperwork and the pen and walked over to his fellow
applicants.
   There were five others: four sat in a row at one
end, while another sat by himself at the opposite end
of Applicant's Row.  Mr. Elision sat down next to the
loner.
   "I have crabs."
   Mr. Elision moved over one seat.
   "That's my power," explained the grubby-looking man
with a sniffle and a scratch.  "Just thought I'd give
you some fair warning."
   "Thanks.  I'm Mr. Elision.  With one L.  But my
friends call me Warren.  Warren Ellision.  Uh, with
two Ls," he added with Authority.
   "Nick Scratch, at your service.  I don't have any
friends, myself.  But if I did, they'd probably call
me-- Pants Rabbit Lad!"
   "Pants Rabbit...?"
   "Antiquated term for crabs.  I dunno.  I think it's
more appealing than Body Lice Boy or That Guy with
Crabs."
   "Certainly cuter, anyway.  Conjures up all kinds of
images of furry little bunnies.  But."
   "But?"
   "But with pants."
   "Exactly."
   "So, how do your powers work, exactly?" asked Mr.
Elision.
   "Well, ever since I was born, I've had crabs."
   "How is that even possible?  People aren't born
with -- uh -- body hair."
   "I started early."
   "Ah.  I was a late bloomer, myself," admitted Mr.
Elision.  "Bit of a wall-flower and all that."
   "Me too, actually.  The, uh, wall-flower part."
   "Really?  I figured that, uh, 'starting early'
would be something of an asset.  Deep voice and all
that, a little moustache.  I mean, you could build an
empire in damp panties."
   "Well, there's not much action to be held in
kindergarten."
   "True, true."
   "Teacher was very understanding though."
   "Oh?"
   "Well, until I gave her crabs."
   "Oh!"
   "No, it's not like that, Warren  I gave the entire
class crabs."
   "Gah!  You-- you monstrous pervert!"
   "Oh, sweet merciful God, no.  It was nothing like
that.  It's my powers.  Not only do I have crabs, but
I give crabs to others.  Not through intimate
contact!... but through any kind of contact!"
   "Oh," said Mr. Elision.  "That's alright, then. 
Um.  Sorry about the whole accusation of child
molestation slash leaping to conclusions thing."
   "Not a problem," said Pants Rabbit Lad.  "I get
that all the time.  Truth be told, I'm still a vir..."
   That's when he noticed Warren had moved to the
other side of Applicant's Row.
   "Oh..."

   Pants Rabbit Lad was half-way through his paperwork
when Mr. Elision sat next to him again (by which we
mean, he sat in the chair adjacent to the chair that
was adjacent to the chair that Pants Rabbit Lad was
adjacent to).
   "You're back!" said Pants Rabbit Lad.
   "Eh, those guys are all a bunch of pikers."  (By
which we mean, Ike the Talking Pike was among them,
which is a glaring continuity error, considering that
he does not even exist in 1998.)
   "So," said Pants Rabbit Lad, "how's your paperwork
coming along?"
   "Oh, I haven't even started yet.  Watch."  Mr.
Elision snapped his fingers.

   Suddenly, the two of them were standing outside the
Peril Room.  "I don't understand," said Pants Rabbit
Lad.  "What happened?"
   "I have the power to elide unimportant or
uninteresting scenes," explained Mr. Elision.  "Since
all that paperwork is boring, I just skipped ahead to
the next scene of interest: your initiation by Peril
Room."
   "But what about the paperwork?"
   "Oh, it got done.  It was boring and painstaking
and mind-numbing, and we've both got a touch of
writer's cramp."
   "But who filled out the forms?"
   "We did.  I didn't change what had to be done, I
just-- oh, never mind.  It might be a little too meta
for you to comprehend.  Now, stop worrying and get
into that Peril Room and show the Ultimate Ninja what
you can do."  He snapped his fingers.

   The Ninja exited the Peril Room.  "Four seconds. 
Pathetic.  Rejected, naturally."  He looked up at Mr.
Elision before scratching his ninja bush.  "I've got a
bit of an itch.  I'll be ready for your initiation in
fifteen minutes."
   Snap!

   "I got in, naturally," said Mr. Elision as he met a
bewildered Pants Rabbit Lad outside the building. 
"Sorry you didn't make it, Nick.  What are you going
to do now?"
   "Plan B."
   "What's Plan B?"
   "Working for a Laundromat."
   "Well, it just so happens that the Legion's machine
is busted, and the Ninja has asked me to take all the
laundry to a Laundromat to be laundered.  Want to help
me carry it over?"
   "Well, sure, but how are the two of us going to
carry all that--"
   Snap!

   "Oh."
   They were in the Laundromat, and Mr. Elision had
just finished loading the last load into one of the
washers.
   "Well," said Pants Rabbit Lad, "I guess I'll go ask
for an application..."
   "You've already turned it in," said Mr. Elision. 
"You have an interview tomorrow at ten o'clock."

   "Nick," said the owner two weeks later, "I want you
to keep an eye out for any suspicious characters."
   "Oh?" said the former Pants Rabbit Lad.  "Why's
that?"
   "Some pervert must be putting his pubic hair in
with everyone's wash.  All of my customers have come
down with... crabs!"
   "Really?" He tugged at his collar uneasily.  "Well,
uh, I'll keep an eye out."

   Every story needs a villain and (well, alright, not
every story needs to have a villain, but this
particular story does) this is where he comes in.
   He entered, dressed in a bulging baggy black trash
bag (especially altered to allow his extremities to
move freely) that jingled with each step he took.  He
strode to the center of the Laundromat, announced by a
thousand dissonant ka-clinks, and struck a dramatic
pose.
   "You there!" he said, pointing to our hapless Nick
Scratch, "I demand all your money!  Empty those
machines!"
   "But we're a Laundromat.  Those machines are full
of quarters!  Wouldn't it make more sense to rob some
place with paper money, with larger denominations?"
   "No," snarled the net.villain, "for I am-- THE
QUARTER-MASTER!"

   The Quarter-Master!  Of course!
   Over the last few days, he had made the front page
of all the local papers.  Once he had Felix
Flipperfinger, twenty-six-year-old god of the arcades.
 That all changed when, while trying to set the high
score record for the SUPER VAN GOGH BROS., he ran out
of quarters.
   Quickly, he rushed to the change machine and
inserted a five.  He waited for the machine to spit
out his quarters; he waited in vain.  It had eaten his
money.
   By the time he had found a quarter on the ground,
it was too late.  Someone else was playing his game,
fondling his beloved joystick.  Someone younger. 
Faster.  Better.
   Driven by insane jealousy, he swore he would never
run out of quarters again.  It was on that day that
the man who no longer answered to the name of Felix
Flipperfinger embarked on a crime spree, swiping
quarters from arcades, soda-vending machines, pay
phones and, yes, even those annoying catch-a-quarter
win-a-free-burger games at fast food places that no
one ever wins (at least there's a slim chance of
success with a crane machine!).
   It was on that day that the Quarter-Master was
born!

   "For goodness's sake, Nick," cried the owner. 
"Don't argue with the man!  Our very lives are in
danger!"
   Nick emptied the machines, collecting the quarters
in a large wicker basket.  He handed it to the
Quarter-Master.
   "Bah!  I'm not going to carry them around in some
fruity basket!"
   "I like wicker," said Nick despondently.
   "Here," said the Quarter-Master, lifting up his arm
so that the opening in his costume became slack. 
"Pour it in my sleeve."
   Nick did as he was told, the quarters from the
basket clinking as they collided with the bulging mass
of quarters within the villain's GARB-age bag.  The
fiend smiled with sick pleasure.
   "And now, I shall take my leave... of..." He rubbed
the black bag near his abdomen.  "Itchy... suddenly...
very itchy..."  He rubbed harder, faster.
   "ARGHH!  I can't get at it!  Too-- many--
quarters-- !"
   Struggling, screaming, and sputtering expletives,
he wriggled his arms into his costume, driving his
fingers into the clinking sea of quarters, trying to
quench his relief-thirsty shrubbery.  "Too many!  Too
many quarters!"
   He crumbled to the ground.  The owner of the
Laundromat would never forget his screams.

   Sgt. Paddy O' Furniture and Pocket Man arrived to
take the Quarter-Master into custody.
   "Good work," said Pok to Nick.
   "It was nothing," said Nick.  "He was defeated by
his own greed."
   "Young man," said Pok, "we could use more people
like you in the LNH."
   Snap!

   LNHHQ.
   "What am I doing here?" said Nick.  "And in my
costume?"
   "That'd be my fault," said Mr. Elision.  "I just
didn't want to see you explain to Pok that you had
tried out and failed, and then have Pok talk you into
trying out again, and then he fixes-- well, you get
the point, Nick.  Anyway, you made it this time."
   The Ultimate Ninja touched Nick on the shoulder. 
"Welcome, Pants Rabbit Lad-- to the LNH!"

   Epilogue.
   "Wow," said Pants Rabbit Lad.  "Not only am I a
Legionnaire now, but I even have a friend."
   "Actually," said Mr. Elision, "I probably won't be
seeing you for a while."
   "What?  Why?"
   "I'm going to skip ahead to the next scene. 
Nothing important's going to happen to me till 2006. 
I'm sorry, Nick.  But that's just the way I am. 
Always roving, always seeking the next big thrill." 
Mr. Elision snapped his fingers and disappeared.
   And Pants Rabbit Lad was alone, not for the first
time, and not for the last.

---

Pants Rabbit Lad, Mr. Elision: Tom Russell.
Ultimate Ninja: wReam.
Lester: Ken Schmidt.
Pocket Man, Paddy O' Furniture: Gary St. Lawrence.

(C) COPYRIGHT 2006 TOM RUSSELL.




---

Tom Russell
Director of MILOS, LIFE AND TIMES OF A DREAMER
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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