SG: Sporkman #10 - A New Smackdown

Greg Fishbone gfishbone at
Tue Jan 15 05:41:39 PST 2008

     On the Luxury Level of the Supersonic Airship Unsplodable, two
flight attendants wheeled a large aluminum box onto the stage area,
where the VIP passengers were jeering and booing the lack of
entertainment. "Ladies and gentlemen, during the extended intermission
of Samuel L. Jackson's one-man show, by popular request, we invite you
to enjoy the comedy styling of..."

     They flipped open the latches and the box opened, disgorging
fifteen pounds of Styrofoam peanuts and a thin man with dark brown

     "...Dane Cook!"

     "Who?" asked Dick Cheney.

     "I'm the poor man's Adam Sandler," explained Dane, "but with even
less talent."

     Dick Cheney jumped forward and punched Dane Cook in the stomach.
"Sorry," he said, as if startled by his own actions. "It's a reflex
whenever somebody mentions Adam Sandler. I just can't control myself."

     Dane groaned and struggled back to his feet. "That's okay. I get
that a lot. Especially when I remind people that I was in 'Mystery

     Dick Cheney punched Dane Cook in the jaw, knocking out two of his
teeth. "Oops! I'm really sorry! It's just that that movie was such an
incredible waste of a good premise and talented cast! Except for you,
I mean."

     Dane spit out a mouthful of blood. "Ugh. I guess it could have
been worse. I might have mentioned that I did three puppet voices on
'Crank Yankers'--"

     Dick Cheney bashed Dane Cook over the head with a two-by-four,
which somebody had left lying carelessly next to the stage. "Crank
calls require context! Crank calls require set-up! Crank calls require
follow-through! Crank!"

     "--and I co-starred in 'Employee of the Month' with Jessica Simpson--"

     Dick Cheney gave Dane Cook two kidney-punches and a kick that
shattered his right kneecap.

     "--and you can see me in 'Good Luck Chuck' and 'Dan In Real Life'--"

     Dick Cheney gave Dane Cook several knees to the groin and an
elbow to the ribs. He let up for a moment, breathing hard from the
exertion. "Sorry, Mr. Cook, but you just keep saying things that make
me want to beat the crap out of you."

     "Are you...going to...shoot me in the face?" Dane squeaked in a
pained and barely audible voice.

     "No, of course not. I only do that to people I like and respect."

     "I...understand. I really do...get that a lot. More than ever
since...I did those...annoying commercials during the...2007 Major
League Baseball playoffs."

     Dick Cheney's eyes went wide and his fingers clenched tightly
into fists. "That was you?"

     This time Hillary Clinton grabbed Dick Cheney's right arm before
he could launch another assault. Rush Limbaugh grabbed his left.
"You've got to stop," said Rush, firmly.

     "Must kill... Must kill... Must kill..." The Vice President spoke
through gritted teeth.

     "We know, but you've got to give the rest of us a turn too," said
Hillary, indicating the line behind her which included Lindsay Lohan
with an aluminum baseball bat, O. J. Simpson with brass knuckles,
Britney Spears with a lead pipe, Michael Jackson with a Grammy Award
in each hand, and Ann Coulter wriggling her freaky-looking fingers in
a strangulation gesture.

**  The Sporkarific Sporkman
**  Episode #10: A New Smackdown
**  By Greg R. Fishbone
** Lemurs on a Dirigible #5 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?

     "Hmm." Samuel gave the skeleton a kick. A loose chunk of flesh
fell from the ribcage onto the floor. "Those are definitely some
motherfarkin' human remains."

     Mickey frowned. "That's it? The best you can do is state the obvious?"

     "Give me a break. I'm an actor, not a motherfarkin' forensic
whatsis. I don't suppose you can do any better?"

     Mickey sighed and knelt down next to the corpse. "Male Caucasian,
approximately 65 years of age. The body is too badly mauled to
identify, but the clothes are consistent with those last seen on the
former mayor." He nodded at a 9/11 lapel pin attached to a fragment of
navy blazer. "Preliminary cause of death would appear to be an animal
attack. More like an animal swarm, really. Small animals, judging by
the bite and scratch marks in what's left of his soft tissues, but not
shaped like those of rodents. Strange. Time of death is consistent
with the scream we all heard--about ten minutes ago, give or take."

     Samuel whistled. "Man, you're good. You're like one of those CSI guys."

     "I'm okay," said Mickey, "but I used to work with someone who was

     "So what now, Sherlock?"

     "The tracks lead off," Mickey pointed, "in that direction."

     "Hey, whoa!" Samuel put a hand on Mickey's shoulder. "You're not
suggesting that we go after these things, are you? I'm an actor, not a
motherfarkin' animal trainer. I just had to find out why he left my
show, and now we know."

     "Come on." Mickey moved along, following the tracks. Samuel
followed, lighting the ventilation shaft with his purple lightsaber.
Mickey pointed. "There! The trail leads to the level below the Luxury
Level. What's there?"

     "That's First Class."

     Mickey peeked into the cabin and gasped at the scene of mass
carnage. Skeletal remains were buckled into most of the seats, except
for those who had died while attempting to run away down the aisles.

     Samuel pushed past him. "Holy motherfarkin' cow! Giuliani was
just the appetizer. These folks were the main course!"

     "It looks like this entire level was made up of everyone who has
ever been on the 'I Love New York' reality show, the producers of the
'I Love New York' reality show, the person who wrote the theme song
for the 'I Love New York' reality show, New York's mom, and everyone
who has ever appeared as a background character on the 'I Love New
York' reality show, plus Flavor Flav."

     "How can you possibly know that?" asked Samuel.

     "First, this skeletal heap of remains appears to be sucking on
the toes of that skeletal heap of remains. Second, all the bodies are
wearing stickers. 'Hello, My Name Is...Tailor Made. Hello, My Name
Is...20 Pack. Hello, My Name Is...The Entertainer.' And third, there's
this flyer."

     "Due to popular request," Samuel read, "First Class on this
flight will be made up of everyone who has ever been on the 'I Love
New York' reality show, the producers of the 'I Love New York' reality
show, the person who wrote the theme song for the 'I Love New York'
reality show, New York's mom, and everyone who has ever appeared as a
background character on the 'I Love New York' reality show, with
Flavor Flav as your celebrity host."

     "Dang!" exclaimed a voice from one of the seats. "I knew I was on
the wrong flight!"

     "Who said that?" asked Mickey. He scanned the rows of
skeletonized remains until he found a blonde-haired stick-figure that
was inexplicably still moving.

     "It's me!" The skeleton waved her metacarpals. "I'm a Survivor!"

     "Only just barely, by the looks of it," said Mickey.

     "No, silly. I'm Courtney from 'Survivor: China.' I got bumped
from my scheduled flight and snuck onto this one by walking sideways
through the security checkpoints. I should have been killed along with
everyone else, but for some reason those creatures skipped right over
me as if I had an immunity idol or something."

     "Guess they figured it wasn't worth their while for the
half-ounce of meat clinging to your bones," said Samuel.

     "What did they look like?" Mickey demanded.

     "About this big..." She held her skeletal hands a few inches
apart. "Furry. Big-eyed. And they made noises like, 'Frink! P'tang!

     "Motherfarkin' Ewoks!" Samuel waved his lightsaber around like a
man with a vendetta.

     "Lemurs," Mickey corrected him.

     "Man, are you sure you haven't been hitting the motherfarkin'
spam bars? Lemurs are herbivores."

     "Not these, apparently."

* * *

Meanwhile on the Coach Class Level...

     Number Thirteen tapped his foot and rolled his eyes, not able to
do much else with the Queen of England resting her snoring head on his
shoulder. Not that he minded the snoring or even the pointy bits of
her crown that were jabbed into his neck--these were minor
disturbances compared with the river of saliva-slime soaking into his

     "Drool Britannia, Britannia drools the sea..." he sang to himself.

     The queen stirred in her sleep at the sound and nearly sliced his
ear off with her crown. "Hmm? Wha?"

     Number Thirteen tried to push her over onto the shoulder of the
Prince of Wales, who was also sound asleep, but the queen's head
bounced off one of the prince's oversized ears and came flying right
back. Number Thirteen wondered how the royals could sleep, since their
seats were right next to the "official airship business only" intercom
handset where one of the flight attendants was holding an animated
conversation with her sister in Bob City.

     "Have they tested for gonorrhea?" she asked, speaking louder and
louder as her conversation progressed. "Gonorrhea. No, I said
gonorrhea. Have they tested for gonorrhea? I didn't say Kong's a
reader, I said gonorrhea. Well use your head, Mabel. Would it make
sense for me to ask if they'd tested whether Kong's a reader? First of
all, he's a giant ape, so the normal reading assessment tests wouldn't
apply, and what's he going to be reading anyway? Banana labels? Well,
perhaps. So... have they tested for gonorrhea?"

     Number Thirteen banged his head against the seat rest in front of
him. Even this did not wake the queen.

     "Hold on, Mabel, I'm getting a call on the other line." The
flight attendant clicked over to the other call. "Hello, this is the
official airship business only intercom handset, Coach Class Level.
How may I help you? What? You're the guest of a
Double-Plus-Plus-Diamond Club member, you say? And you're with a
renowned movie star and a skeletal reality show contestant, you say?
And all the First Class passengers are dead, you say? Attacked by
lemurs, you say? Or possibly Ewoks, you say? Can't get a hold of the
crew cabin or cockpit, you say? Well, that would be a problem. Hmm...
Has anyone up there been tested for gonorrhea?"

     Number Thirteen's frown deepened, which was impressive
considering the discomfort he was already in. The UNCLE operatives
were playing a particularly nasty game and here he was, pinned down in
Coach Class without an exit strategy. "Flesh-eating lemurs... Why does
it always have to be flesh-eating lemurs?"

     He would have to act soon, with or without a signal from his
employer. He would have to tip his hand, draw the ire of the zombie
cultists, and kill anyone who came between him and his objective. His
chances of survival would be practically nil, so the lump of rubber
chicken on his tray table would likely be his final meal--which
figured. Even death row prisoners got better treatment than serially
numbered underlings.

     Number Thirteen stole one final look out the window and blinked
into a cloud of dancing sparkles. It suddenly seemed as if the airship
were completely surrounded by fireflies.

     A smile crossed his face. "Signal received. Sorry, Your Majesty.
It's been a fun time, but I've got a job to do." Number Thirteen
closed his eyes and disappeared with a soft popping sound.

     The queen was jarred awake as her head support vanished and she
fell into the pink cloud where Number Thirteen had been. "Oh, dear!"
She waved her hands to dissipate the fumes. "Perhaps we should have
avoided that burrito after all!"


(Answer: Yes!)

(Answer: Yes!)

(Answer: Eggnog laced with lighter fluid!)

Find out for yourself on the next episode of the Sporkarific Sporkman,
only on SUPERGUY!


If it had been Spoonstryke making the field investigation of Rudy's
corpse, she would have had one of those digital liver-temp
thermometers except that hers would be shaped like a spoon. She would
have noticed tell-tale ligature marks on the skin scraps that had once
been on the victim's wrists. She would have correctly deduced that the
bite and claw marks were made by lemurs and that the lemur pack had a
human ringleader, and she would have acted accordingly. Just another
example of Mickey being good but not quite good enough.

Before the popular requests for "victims" were made, I didn't know
Dane Cook by name. I'd seen him in stuff but he hadn't yet reached a
high enough level of celebrity to penetrate my powerful anti-celebrity
defenses. But if somebody had suggested "that guy who did the 2007 MLB
postseason commercials on TBS," I'd have been all over that bandwagon.
Cook radiated annoyance with his over-the-top display of exuberance
and hype in a way that made everyone around want to reach through the
screen and strangle him. In fact, if the next generation of HDTV has a
feature that simulates the ability to reach through the screen and
strangle somebody, Dane Cook will be the perfect spokesman for the

I'm take-it or leave-it when it comes to reality TV, following some
shows through their entire seasons, catching early episodes or grand
finales of some others, tuning in to random episodes of a few that
have amusing moments, and avoiding or ignoring the rest. "I Love New
York" was one that I'd never even heard of, but a few online clips
allowed me to understand the rage and pain that led somebody suggest
that everyone associated with the show be wiped off the Superguy
version of Earth.

"Survivor", however, is one of my perennial favorites. During the big
"Survivor: China" finale I was rooting for Courtney to win primarily
because I had already written her into this episode and was planning
on posting it imminently to the Superguy list. Also so that she could
use part of the winnings to buy a sandwich or something.

Greg R. Fishbone -
* President: Class of 2k7 -
* ARA: New England SCBWI -

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