LNH/ACRA: Mister Blister and Sister State-the-Obvious # 1

Tom Russell milos_parker at yahoo.com
Sat Jun 21 22:27:43 PDT 2008


   Bob was a dick: to begin with.  There is no doubt whatever about
that.  He was roughly six inches tall when erect, handsomely
circumcised and complete with two testicles of decent size, upon which
he bounced, so that he might move to and fro.
   Bob Blister was a talking disembodied penis, and this must be
distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am
about to relate.
   Our story properly begins when Mister Blister (as he preferred
rather obstinately to be addressed, most likely demanding this small
dignity because, given the peculiar and prickly circumstances of his
existence, he was so often denied the basic courtesies with which most
persons-- outside the city of New York-- afford another) decided to
became a member of the Legion of Net. Heroes.
   While he certainly existed before that moment, and endeavored to
exist for some time after, the most interesting and illuminating
episodes in his life-- the ones that really stick out and leave some
stain on the blue dress of history-- all took place during and after
his time deep inside that august body.  Before that time, his story is
sadly all-too-common and, I dare say, a tiny bit depressing, for his
life had been a hard one: he had been beaten often-- though not nearly
as often as he would have liked.


   Mr. Blister thrust himself through the revolving glass door,
landing inside the lobby of LNHHQ.  After a moment, he righted himself
and began bouncing towards the desk.
   A rather large boot very nearly came close to ending our story
prematurely; Mr. Blister snarled at the boot and its owner, in his
shrill squeaky voice: "I'm walking here!  Watch it, buddy!"
   "Oh dear," said the owner of the boot, whom faithful readers will
recognize as PC Person.  "I'm very sorry," he said.  Then, looking at
the scrappy little mess of flesh below him, he repeated: "Oh dear, oh
   "Frickin' lame, man," said Mr. Blister.  "You people need to look
where you're going.  Do I step on you?  No.  I don't even step on a
fly, man.  I don't even step on ants.  I did step on an ant once.
Just once, mind you.  He bit me.  My left nut just like ballooned.
Swelling didn't go down for weeks."
   "Oh dear, oh dear," said PC Person again.  "I don't think we should
be having this conversation.  I don't think I should be in this room
with you.  I don't think I should be in this story.  I don't think, I
dare say, that this story should exist in the first place."
   "What, you got a problem with me?" said Mr. Blister.  "You have
something against Penis-Americans?"
   "Oh dear, no, no, of course not!" said PC Person.  "I'm very
sorry.  I just never knew that there was such a thing!"
   "Oh, I see," said Mr. Blister.  "Because I don't have legs, or
arms, or a digestive system-- I must not exist.  Only white men over
the height of five feet must exist.  The rest of us don't count!"
   "Oh no, no, please-- ah-- I'm very sorry.  I can't believe-- I'll
never take a Penis-American for granted again.  In fact, I'm going to
form a PAC to raise awareness of and fight for the rights of Penis-
Americans everywhere!"
   "Well, I appreciate that," said Mr. Blister.  "But all that isn't
necessary.  If you want to make it up to me?"
   "Yes, yes, of course!" said PC Person.
   "As you may have noticed, I'm a little short," said Mr. Blister.
"If you could help me onto that desk, so I can fill out an
   "I'd love to!" effused PC Person.  "In fact, there's a lift that I
personally fought to install here to assist persons in your
   PC Person pointed to a miniature elevator running along the side of
the receptionist's desk.
   "Elevator for the Vertically Challenged?" read Mr. Blister.  "Are
you trying to insult me?"
   "What?  No, no..."
   "I am six inches tall!" said Mr. Blister.  "And that is not
'vertically-challenged'.  Six inches is the average height.  It is
not... small!"
   "I'm very sorry," said PC Person.  "I certainly meant no offense!"
   "Frickin' lame, man.  Frickin' lame... I'm going to call the
media.  I'm going to cause the biggest stink you've ever smelt!"
   "No, please," said PC Person.  "I'll help you up.  Personally."
   "Okay, then," said Mr. Blister.  "That's better."
   PC Person reached down, his thumb and prime finger tensed and
ready, as if about to daintily pluck a napkin.  He grabbed Mr. Blister
just underneath the glans, pinching slightly, and began to lift him
   "Ahhh!  Ahhh!" Mr. Blister ejaculated.  "Why are you lifting me by
my head!  Ahhh!  Oh God, it hurts so much!!!"
   "I'm sorry!" cried PC Person, instinctively releasing his grip.
   Mr. Blister fell to the ground with a hard thud.  "Oh my God, I
think I broke my shaft!  You son of a seahorse!"  Savagely, Mr.
Blister lunged towards PC Person, biting him toothlessly on the ankle.
   It did not hurt very much, but PC Person, being generally unused to
contact with genitalia of either sex, quickly fainted.
   "Frickin' lame," said Mr. Blister.  "I guess I'll have to take the


   The elevator door opened with a "ding!", and Mr. Blister waddled
out.  Fred the Receptionist looked up, nodded, and pulled out his LNHQ
Receptionist Bingo card, placing a red mark on the square marked
"sentient penis", immediately under "evil car battery" and adjacent to
"summer crossover tie-in". All he needed to win was "sudden
resurrection of a third-string character" or "viable third-party
presidential candidate".
   He then slid a single page application-- "they're only more pages
if it's funny"-- to Mr. Blister-- "hey, watch the sack, buddy, what're
you trying to do, give me a paper cut?"-- and handed him a pen, which
our hero wrapped himself around.
   With great difficulty, he began to scrawl his name on the top of
the application.
   "You have terrible handwriting," said a woman passing by the desk.
   He turned to face her-- as best he could, anyway, being that he
didn't have a face.
   "You don't have any hands," she noted.  "You need someone to write
it out for you."
   "I don't need anyone, toots," said Mr. Blister.  "I can stand tall
on my own."
   "I can help you," she offered.
   His foreskin gently curled part-way up his glans and fell slack
again, in the closest approximation he could make of a shrug.  "I
guess that sounds okay.  My name's Blister.  Mister Blister."
   "I'm Sister State-the-Obvious."


   And so begins one of the greatest team-ups of all time.  Like Burns
and Allen, like Stan and Ollie, like Nixon and Kissinger: Mr. Blister
and Sister State-the-Obvious would soon become a force to be reckoned
with.  For when crime reared its ugly head, they would be there to
say, "Boo-yah!"
   But we're getting ahead of ourselves.
   First, there's the matter of his application.


   "Full name?"
   "Bob Blister."
   "No middle initial?"
   "Any powers?"
   "Um..." Mr. Blister pursed his lips in thought.  "...I'm a talking
   "That's not much of a power."
   "Oh, and I suppose stating the obvious is extremely useful?"
   "It's very useful," said Sister State-the-Obvious.  "Things can get
kind of crazy in this world of ours.  A lot of people-- even very
smart people, especially very smart people-- tend to overlook the
simplest solutions.  They ignore the basics and make things far more
complicated than they have to be.  I would say-- if it's not too
immodest-- that, yes, my little gift for observation is extremely
   "Well, I'd say the same for mine."
   "How so?"
   "Well, uh... um... covert missions."
   "Covert missions?"
   "I'm extremely stealthy," said Mr. Blister.  "I mean, we're talking
about some Metal Gear Solid shit right here, man.  Recon,
assassination-- I'll all over it."
   "Uh-huh," said Sister State-the-Obvious.
   "What?  I am.  Plus, if, well, if there's a female enemy agent that
needs, well, seducing-- I gotta say, I'm very popular with the
   "I'm sure," said Sister State-the-Obvious.
   "I got a certain swagger, if you know what I mean."
   "Right.  Well, no offense, but maybe you should apply to Homeland
Security or the CIA or something?  Because we don't really do
assassinations or female enemy agent seductions here."
   "Oh, and, ooh!, I almost forgot..."
   "I have super-senses."
   "Well, a super-sense.  Of touch."  He proudly stretched himself up
to full height.  "You do know that this is the most sensitive part of
the body?"
   "So I've heard," said Sister State-the-Obvious.  "Let's just move
on to the next question, shall we?  Ahem.  Do you have any previous
crime-fighting experience?"
   "You bet your ass I do!"
   "Well, if gorgeous women not having orgasms is a crime-- let's just
say that I'm crime deterrent, if you know what I mean."
   "It's not really a crime."
   "You're kinda pig-headed there."
   "Okay, so my head's a bit fleshy and bulbous, that's no reason for
   "I mean, you seem kind of full of yourself."
   "Well, technically, physiologically..."
   "I mean psychologically," said Sister State-the-Obvious.  "You're
kinda sexist and crude and, well, full of yourself."
   "Admit it," said Mr. Blister.  "It turns you on."
   "I'm a happily married woman," said Sister State-the-Obvious.  "And
I've got a kid."
   "Ooh, hot mommy.  I won't tell if you don't."
   "Yeah, no."
   "Which is it?"
   "It's no," said Sister State-the-Obvious, "and if you ask again,
I'm going to snap you in two.  Understood?"
   "Good.  Now, any crime-fighting experience?"
   "Not so much, no."


   "Okay," said Sister State-the-Obvious, "last question.  Why do you
want to be a Legionnaire?"
   "Hmm.  That's a tough one.  Why did *you* join the LNH?  If you
don't mind me asking."
   Sister State-the-Obvious frowned.  "If you must know, I started off
playing for the other team."
   "You were a lesbian?"
   "No; I was a net.villain.  I don't remember a whole lot about that
time, and to be frank, I don't really like talking about it."
   "But you switched?"
   "Yes," she said.  "I... became infatuated with someone.  With a
hero.  I guess you could say he brought out the good in me."
   "That your husband, then?"
   She shook her head, but refused to elaborate any further.  "I think
if you just be honest, then you'll have the right answer.  Why do you
want to join the LNH?"
   "I want to pick up chicks and blow shit up.  Food and shelter sound
pretty cool, too.  But mostly I want to get laid and cause mayhem."
   "I want... to do... good... in the world," she said out loud as she
wrote it in the blank.  "That should do it.  Just put your John
Hancock at the bottom, and you should be all set."
   "Oh," said Mr. Blister, taking the pen from her, "I'll put my
Hancock on it alright."
   "Yes, yes," said Sister State-the-Obvious.  "You made a penis
joke.  That's so amusing.  Are we done now?"
   She took the application from him and took it up to the desk.  Fred
looked it over, saw that everything was in order, and nodded.
   Just then, the revolving door revolved open once more; a scraggly
figure, covered in dirt and blood, shuffled up towards the desk.
   Sister State-the-Obvious recognized him immediately.  "Pants Rabbit
Lad?  But you're supposed to be dead!"
   Fred was jubilant.  "BINGO!"


Why (and how) has Pants Rabbit Lad returned?

What strange fate does he have in store for our dynamic duo?

Why does Mr. Blister have such a prickly personality-- always rubbing
people the wrong way and sticking himself where he doesn't belong?

What kind of prizes do you win in a game of LNHQ Receptionist Bingo?

Find out in the next exciting issue of


Politically Correct Person - Jay Leigh Volk
Fred the Receptionist - Ken Schmidt
Sister State-the-Obvious - Ray Bingham
Mr. Blister & Pants Rabbit Lad - Tom Russell


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