[SG] Sporkman #1 - A New Beginning
gfishbone at gmail.com
gfishbone at gmail.com
Thu Nov 15 12:38:06 PST 2007
** The Sporkarific Sporkman
** Episode #1: A New Beginning
** By Greg R. Fishbone
The young man's dreams were troubled, and his muscle spasms sent
the warm body next to him rolling to the far side of the bed. She
opened her eyes, groggy and confused, in time to hear her sleeping
companion mutter something like a muffled command into his pillow.
There would be no getting back to sleep now, Jeanette LeBlanc
decided. Not while the pale light from pre-dawn was already bringing
out the wisteria on her bedchamber's wallpaper and lighting up the
drapes like a pair of dancing ghosts. She might have opened the window
to air out the room or to show her visitor a view of the Eiffel Tower
by night, but it was so hard for her addled brain to remember. Too
many drinks, she told herself. Too many birthday drinks, she
clarified, but she couldn't yet remember exactly whose birthday it had
"No, Teeny, put the ice cream truck down," muttered the American
in his sleep, and details from the night before filtered back into
Jeanette's throbbing head. After her late shift, a hunch-feeling had
led her to a dive bar where she'd found the American surrounded by
empty bottles of nasty American beers. He'd looked over when she
claimed the stool next to him, not in a leering-drunk sort of way, but
kindly and apologetic. "Sorry, Miss. I'd buy you a beer if I had a
Euro left, but I just spent my last one."
"Zhat is all right," was all she'd been able to say. Hunch-
feelings jangled every nerve in her body, stronger than she'd ever
felt before. The man beside her would have to be a veteran superguy to
be giving off so much Mask Principle residue, but he was still so
young! Was he immortal and much older than he looked, or had he
started wearing a mask when he was still a child?
The man spoke as if he'd heard her question with telepathy--which
was entirely possible, for all she knew. "Happy birthday to me. Twenty-
two of the longest years in history." He finished his toast by downing
the rest of his glass.
"Eet is your birthday tonight?" Jeanette had asked. "Zhen eet is
I who should be buying zee drinks. Barkeep, your best champagne!"
She'd slapped down a stack of bills that made the bartender's eyes
pop. This particular establishment's best champagne turned out to be a
brand called Chateau Antifreeze, which the bartender kept flowing
until final call.
And now, here was the American, sleeping in her bed. Jeanette
frowned. It wasn't at all like her to take a strange man home with
her. Had anything happened between them? She didn't think so, but it
all seemed so scandalous when she couldn't even remember his name!
She watched him sleep for a while, trying to figure out how he
could look so young and so old at the same time. Was it the careless
stubble on his cheeks or the pale scar across his forehead? Even in
his sleep, he looked tense and troubled, like he had seen the worst
horrors of war, but no active soldier in Iraq or Afghanistan would be
allowed to grow out his hair so long. This was a soldier of another
war, she decided, and it looked like he'd been on the losing side.
One way to find out, she decided, eyeing the man's dirty green
rucksack on the other side of a trail of clothing that led to her bed.
Conveniently, she was able to pick up her underwear on the way over to
"M. DUNNE" was printed in black marker on the strap. Had he
called himself Mark? No, that wasn't quite right... Maybe it had been
Mickey. The bag had a mesh pocket on the side, in which she could see
a passport and ID. She spared a glance back to the bed to make sure
the man was still dozing, then slowly reached for the zipper.
Before she could free more than three zipper teeth, an arm
wrapped around her shoulder and something sharp pressed into her
"Back off, Nancy!" the man hissed.
"Nancy?" asked Jeanette. "I'm not--"
"I said, 'Back off!'"
His grip loosened, and Jeanette took the opportunity to push
away. Her heart raced as she thought about how close she'd come to
having her throat slashed open by his-- She blinked at the gleaming
utensil in the young man's hand. It wasn't a knife at all. More like a
spoon, but with sharpened points like a fork.
"I'm sorry," said Jeanette. "I was just curious, and I didn't
think you'd mind."
"Well of course it's your fault, Nancy," said the man. "It's
always your fault. Everything is gone to crap because of you."
Jeanette was confused until she realized that the man's eyes were
closed and he spoke to empty air. "He's still asleep," she whispered
to herself. "He's still asleep and dreaming."
"I'm not going to argue, Nancy. It's over. We're through! After
what you've done, I don't ever want to even see you again. I wish we'd
"Easy, easy, it's all right," said Jeanette in her most soothing
The man slashed out blindly with his spoon-fork, grazing
Jeanette's upper arm. She held a hand over the cut to staunch the
blood, and marveled at the sharpness of the weapon, which sliced as
cleanly as a surgical scalpel. She didn't want to leave the armed-and-
sleepwalking man alone for the time it would take her to reach the
first-aid kit in the bathroom, so instead she tore part of the sheet
into a tourniquet for herself and tried to stay out of his way.
The man was reliving a battle, she soon realized. A real superguy
martial-artsfest, by the look of it. Graceful flips and rolls
punctuated by slashes and thrusts from his odd weapon. He could have
been a ballet dancer, she thought, so lightly did he tread on the
balls of his feet. He could have been a runner, fast as he moved, or a
professional athlete--if they allowed superguys to compete on the same
field as ordinary mortals. She suddenly realized that nothing could
have happened between her and this mystery man after all, because it
would surely not be a moment she would ever forget.
The man's dance changed as the phantom dream-warrior got the best
of him and beat him back. His slashes became more desperate until the
spoon-fork clattered from his hand. Then the man lay on the ground,
drenched in sweat, pushing back against an invisible enemy. "Nancy,
His hand went to the scar on his forehead, and then his eyes
Jeanette stood and adjusted her tourniquet. She should have felt
self-conscious, dressed only in her underwear, but that didn't matter
when the muscular Adonis before her was still completely naked. "Good
morning," she said to him. "What would you like for breakfast?"
WHO IS THIS TROUBLED YOUNG MAN?
WHAT WILL HE WANT FOR BREAKFAST?
WILL IT BE SCRAMBLED EGGS AND BACON?
These questions and more will be answered if there's ever another
episode of The Sporkarific Sporkman, only on Superguy!
This episode was originally posted to Superguy on October 27, 2007,
and would have fit into the month that Saxon Brenton dubbed Smutober
on RACC. With this episode, I wanted to show that little Mickey's
grown up a bit since the last time we saw him--which was a one-off
Pokemon parody, IIRC. I may have gone over the top a bit, so I
apologize to anyone put off by all the nudity, violence, and adult
situations. The original version was even smuttier, but I've sanitized
it for your protection.
If you were around for my Preteen Patrol series of 1995 through
1998ish, you'll remember our eponymous protagonist as well as other
characters yet to be introduced. If not, Mickey Dune first appeared in
Super Seven #14, posted November 10, 1994, where your first impression
of him would have been as a sweet nine-year-old kid rather than this
drunken naked guy who causes property damage in his sleep. Those were
more innocent times.
Picking up this story after a decade-long hiatus was a challenge. I
once heard a parent, perhaps my own, wistfully wish that children
could be put into a cocoon during their angsty teenage years and
emerge as fully-formed and well-adjusted adults. For me, that feels
like what's happened to Mickey, except for the well-adjusted part.
There's an epic "coming of age" adventure that'll now only ever be
referenced as an off-stage event.
I was oblivious to the fact that Superguy had been quietly trickling
along for all these years until I got word that Gary Olson had posted
a long-awaited episode of Rad. Eric Burns and Mason Kramer followed
with posts of their own, and now it seems we have a full-blown
Superguy Renaissance under way. Huzzah!
Greg R. Fishbone - http://gfishbone.com
* Author: THE PENGUINS OF DOOM - http://septinanash.com
* President: Class of 2k7 - http://classof2k7.com
* ARA: New England SCBWI - http://nescbwi.org
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