SG: Sporkman #13 - A New Escape
gfishbone at gmail.com
Wed Feb 6 19:30:12 PST 2008
Mickey Dunne, Samuel L. Jackson, Courtney Yates, Britney Spears,
and Lindsay Lohan stood together, looking through an open doorway at
250 pheromone-addled and lovestruck lemurs in the cockpit of the
Supersonic Airship Unsplodable.
"Nobody move," said Mickey from the corner of his mouth. "The
worst thing we could do right now is panic."
"Hic!" Lindsay agreed.
A particularly large lemur leapt in front of his fellows with a
loud "P'tang!"--which in the language of lemurs apparently meant
"Dibs!" A dozen other lemurs jumped forward to contest the claim,
causing a scrum of frenetic lemur fury.
"Samuel?" asked Mickey, taking advantage of the moment of
distraction. "Do you have your flamethrower ready?"
"Courtney? Do you have your bow and arrows?"
"Lindsay and Britney, do you have... well... anything?"
"Loose morals, bad parenting skills, and a mediocre singing
voice," said Britney, taking a quick inventory.
"Hic!" echoed Lindsay.
"And I've got an armful of Portentous Piranha posters," said
Mickey. "Looks like there's only one plan open to us."
In front of them, more and more lemurs joined the furious furry
mob until they resembled a single giant blob of flashing teeth and
"So what's the motherfarkin' plan?" asked Samuel impatiently.
Mickey barely had time to give out the assignments before the
lemurs surged dangerously forward.
"It's been nice knowing you guys," said Samuel, "now run for your
** The Sporkarific Sporkman
** Episode #13: A New Escape
** By Greg R. Fishbone
** Lemurs on a Dirigible #8 of 10
** Having achieved the height of fame, popularity, and power
** as the child hero, Sporkboy, Mickey Dunne finds himself
** friendless, broke, and haunted by a traumatic past. Can he
** pull himself together to save the world one more time?
In the back of the Coach Class Level, the Queen of England
munched a bag of peanuts and wondered where that nice man next to her
had gone and whether he would mind terribly if she aired out her bare
feet on his seat cushion while he was gone. He hadn't been much of a
conversationalist, but still a pleasant change from her son--who was
now going on and on about some riddle that had struck his fancy.
"Come on, Mumsy, where would they bury the survivors?"
"What survivors?" asked the Queen. "Really, Charles, why are you
bothering us with this nonsense?"
Prince Charles rolled his eyes. "I told you, Mumsy, it's a most
amusing conundrum. If an airship were to crash on the border between
France and Spain, where would the survivors be buried?"
"Where?" the Queen demanded.
"Nowhere!" exclaimed the self-satisfied prince. "Because airships
are perfectly safe, so they would never crash and the question is
completely meaningless! Isn't that wonderful?"
The Queen stared at him. "You got this riddle from the in-flight
magazine published by the airline, didn't you?"
"Why yes," said Charles. "How did you know?"
At that moment, a rear access door opened and a man charged
through with his arms loaded down with pinup posters. He was chased
closely by a pack of ravenous animals and a whole lot of frinking,
p'tanging, and woo-wooing. "Out of the way! Coming through! Someone
move that snack cart, please!"
The cart wasn't moved in time, so the man had to vault over it
while the lemurs charged around and through it. Then the man and his
avid pursuers zig-zagged down the aisles and disappeared through the
access door at the other end of the level.
"So, Mumsy," said the prince, breaking the ensuing shocked
silence. "How 'bout a knock-knock joke to pass the time?"
* * *
Mickey burst through another door into the First Class Level of
the airship, where there was more space between the seats and any
innocent bystanders had already been gnawed and nibbled to death by a
previous lemur attack. "Fire at will!" he announced.
Courtney popped up from her hiding place, took aim with her bow,
and fired with all the skill and accuracy she'd obtained during 39
days of wilderness competition.
Mickey blocked the shot with his spork, inches from his left eye.
"Hey, watch it! Shoot the lemurs, not me!"
"Oops! Sorry!" Courtney lined up her next shot to skewer three of
the leading lemurs, ducking back behind the other skeletons to reload
her weapon. She kept up this routine until she ran out of arrows, and
managed to thin the pack of lemurs by around ten percent.
"Nice job!" Mickey stepped through another access door, leading
the lemurs upward to the next level of the gondola.
"Courtney wins reward!" The exuberant reality show contestant
celebrated by claiming the clock from around the neck of Flavor Flav's
* * *
Samuel stepped onto the Luxury Level and began to herd the
remaining VIP passengers together. "Listen up, people! In about thirty
motherfarkin' seconds, a pack of motherfarkin' lemurs is going to
burst in through that motherfarkin' door on the left--"
"Why do you have to curse like that?" asked Hillary Clinton.
"I beg your motherfarkin' pardon?"
"Like that," said Hillary, crossing her arms. "Not only is it
profane and unnecessary but it adds needless words into your
instructions and eats into the time you have to impart vital
"I'm sorry for wasting your motherfarkin' time," said Samuel.
"Now get over to the motherfarkin' right side of the motherfarkin'
ship before the motherfarkin' lemurs chew the motherfarkin' meat from
your motherfarkin' bones!"
The other passengers complied but Hillary stood her ground. "As
the only Presidential candidate with the experience to fight for
change, I must protest--"
"Oh, for motherfarkin' heaven's sake--I'm not cursing. I'm doing
a motherfarkin' product endorsement."
Hillary blinked. "What?"
"Every time I use that motherfarkin' word, I get a motherfarkin'
residual check from the makers of Mother Farkin brand fruit pies.
Mother Farkin uses real fruit by-products and an old family recipe
dating back to the late 20th Century. So the next time you're in the
pie section of your local supermarket, why not pick up some Mother
Farkin fruit pies? They're motherfarkin' good!"
"Oh. Okay then." Hillary lowered her voice to a whisper. "By the
way, if you need any help fighting those lemurs, I've got my mask and
costume with me."
Samuel's eyes bugged out. "What costume?"
"My Scarlet Shrubbery costume, passed down from First Lady to
First Lady since Eleanor Roosevelt."
"Well, that's what Nancy Reagan said, but who really knows? I was
supposed to pass it along to Laura Bush but forget that! I'm waiting
to see Bill strut around in it, and let's see if he can maintain any
shred of credibility then!"
"So would you like to fight alongside the legendary Scarlet
Shrubbery or would you rather fight alone?"
"I'd rather fight alone."
She shrugged. "Suit yourself."
"You two as well," Samuel told the two men at the gaming table.
"We're almost done with this hand," said the one in the black hat
and trench coat.
"And I'm hardly afraid of lemurs," said the one who looked like
Bill O'Reilly's animated corpse.
"Over with the others!" Samuel insisted, with a short blast from
his flamethrower. He checked his watch and, right on time, Mickey
Dunne burst through the door with the pack of lemurs at his heels. The
guy was pretty good at being live bait, Samuel had to admit, and his
timing was military precise. Perhaps when this was all over he could
find work as a stuntman in the movies. Or at least a lemur wrangler.
"Jeanette!" Mickey called.
"Over here!" Jeanette waved. "I knew zhat you would save me!"
"We're not safe yet," Mickey replied. While Samuel used his
flamethrower to keep the lemurs at bay, Mickey stepped to the intercom
and dialed the cockpit. "Blow the hatch!" he ordered.
"Yeah! Okay! Hic!" came the reply, and a panel popped off the
ceiling with a rush of explosive decompression. A rope ladder dropped
down, leading up to the rubber-coated dirigible framework above.
"Give me five minutes before letting them through," said Mickey
from the first rung of the ladder.
"I'll try my motherfarkin' best," Samuel pledged.
In the crowd of passengers, Number Thirteen grabbed Jeanette's
left arm while Zombie Bill O'Reilly grabbed her right. "Still think
your boyfriend will save you?" asked Zombie Bill.
"I do," Jeanette affirmed. "At least, temporarily."
"And after that?" asked Number Thirteen.
Jeanette sighed. "Zhat will depend on the two of you."
Number Thirteen nodded to Zombie Bill. "I guess poker is out of
the question right now, but what do you think of rock, paper,
"Bring it on," said Zombie Bill with a grin.
WILL PAPER COVER ROCK?
WILL SCISSORS CUT PAPER?
WILL ROCK CRUSH SCISSORS?
Find out in the next episode of the Sporkarific Sporkman, only on SUPERGUY!
Sorry to be a couple days late with this week's episode but I have a
very good baby-on-the-way related excuse. We have a baby on the way.
That's the excuse. Bags need to be packed, breathing needs to be
practiced, tiny little pairs of shoes need to be purchased and all
that--so forgive me if I've been distracted.
By the way, thanks to whoever sent in the Sporkman-related nominations
to this year's RACC. I totally didn't expect that since I only started
posting in November and everyone else has a ten-month head start on
me! It's a huge honor just to be nominated.
Portentous Piranha, late of Superguy's ALUA, belongs to Eric Alfred
Burns and is used here with permission. Or at least referenced here
with permission. The question is still open as to whether Porty ever
modeled swimwear or if somebody really did photoshop her head onto
somebody else's body--and if so, that's got to be at least as
disturbing as that pineapple stuffing thing.
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
More information about the racc