LNH: Classic LNH Adventures #28: Retcon Hour Psi

Arthur Spitzer arspitzer2 at gmail.com
Tue Aug 9 19:40:23 PDT 2016

In this weeks reposting of stuff you can find in the eyrie archive
we have the ninth chunk of Retcon Hour.

The 21st issue of Retcon Hour brings us Paul Hardy's first issue
of Legion of Occult Heroes with some wacky trenchcoat action.

The 22nd issue has Hubert Bartels Tales of the NTB #311 as the
trenchcoater conquest of LNH titles continues.

The 23rd issue has Peter "Tick" Milan writing the final issue
of the the Nicks of Time Limited Series.

And finally for the Penultimate Issue of Retcon Hour we have
Joltin' Jeff McCoskey, Matt "Badger" Rossi, and Martin Phipps
jamming together for LNH Comics Presents #21.

(Side note here:  I plotted a bit of this issue with the
whole Chuggernaut/Time Whino trying to kidnap the
RACCelstial Madonna to force her to make beer commercials.
Just so you know -- Arthur "Credit Hog" Spitzer)

             | |      Classic			
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             |____|   \__]    \__ |  |_|   \__/   |_|\_\
                                |_|  OF NET.HEROES

                                     ADVENTURES #28

                             Retcon Hour Psi

From: Jeff J McCoskey <jjmcc at ix.netcom.com>
Newsgroups: rec.arts.comics.creative
Date: 27 Feb 1997 20:57:37 -0800

Author Credits:  RH24 -- Paul Hardy, RH25 -- Hubert Bartels,
		 RH26 -- Pete Milan, RH27 -- JJMcC/Martin Phipps/Matt Rossi

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(>)                 RETCON HOUR PART 24             (<)
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(>)              Legion of Occult Heroes #0         (<)
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        There was an explosion. Only a little one, though. A few
windows were rattled in the Net.ropolis street that it occurred in,
and when it was done, there was, at it`s centre, not the scene of
generally empty desolation that you might expect, but instead a group
of spandex clad net.heroes consisting of two men and a woman, who
looked somewhat the worse for wear, as though they had just fought
their way through the occasional horde of vile creatures immediately
prior to appearing by explosion. They were wary, and ready to fight
once more. The familiar surroundings had a mollifying effect, however.
        "We`re back? We`re actually back, this time?" asked the young,
longhaired man in the skintight costume with the leering devil on the
        "It appears so. The essence of this place is that of
Net.ropolis," replied the older man in the green trenchcoat and
perfectly green costume beneath.
        "Either that or you recognised the skyline," commented the
young woman, who wore a costume composed seemingly of scales. Reptile
scales. "Sometimes I wonder about your powers."
        "That you may do. But do I question yours?"
        "No. But I wish somebody would."
        "Look," Said the young man, "leave it out for a moment, will
you? We`d better get back to the LNH HQ before GrimLad blows his top."
        "It is as you say. Would you be kind enough to provide
transport?" asked the older man in the trenchcoat.
        "And not the bloody bat, this time!"
        "Fair enough. I think I`ve found a better one." The young
man`s eyes glowed momentarily as he spoke a single word: "TONARETSO!"
And with that, there appeared in the road a gigantic, orange cat,
which was curious in that it had four pairs of legs, and windows upon
it`s side, which looked in upon a buslike passenger compartment.
	"Typical," muttered the woman, who recognised the
creature. The sign above it`s head changed from something
indecipherable written in one of the infernal languages of Dis, to
"LEGION OF NET.HEROES HQ via City". The cat turned it`s head to grin
broadly at them. An opening was created in it`s side, widening to
become big enough for a human to pass through. The net.heroes boarded.

	There was, for one blessed moment, silence. Then it began.
        "This is your fault," accused Mr. Trenchcoat. "You screwed up
the changeover in Finland!"
        "My fault?" returned GrimLad. "You were the one who suggested
all this in the first place. If you hadn`t come crashing into my bar,
we wouldn`t be in this mess!"
        "Oh, that`s right. Blame me for mystical events beyond my
control, go on, I`m used to it. You know damn well that Finnish second
hand account dealer was dodgier than the Welsh cricket team."
        "That was a legitimate business deal. I`ve used that guy
dozens of times before, and he`s never sold me a duff account yet!"
        "Oh, very likely-" 
        "Excuse me?"
        GrimLad and Mr. Trenchcoat turned from their rather heated
discussion to face the occupant or licencee of this particular
voice. "What?" they barked, both being rather annoyed that a perfectly
good argument was being so rudely interrupted.
        "I just wanted to get past-" The owner of the voice was an
LNHer whom the two argumentatives did not recognise. All costumes look
the same when you wear a trenchcoat.
        "Oh, sorry." The LNHer scurried through the corridor that
GrimLad and Mr. Trenchcoat had been blocking up.
        "Look. The question is not so much one of blame, but of WHAT
        "No need to shout," said Mr. Trenchcoat irritably. "I`d
imagine that the first thing to do would be to find out exactly what`s
happened to us, and if there`s anything that we can do about it."
        "That`s remarkably sensible, coming from you."
        "Must be something to do with the change." Mr. Trenchcoat
looked down at his costume, and grimaced. Lots of black, lots of
red. And sigils. Embarrassingly covered with sigils. "God, what
arseheaded tailor designed this?"
        "Probably the same one that did mine," replied GrimLad. His
costume consisted mostly of electric blue lightning on a black
background; and unlike Mr. Trenchcoat, he had been deprived of his
natural rainwear fetish by the change. "I suppose we`d better find
someone who might explain all this."
        "Shouldn`t be too hard. After all, they all remember us as
this "Legion of Occult Heroes". God, what an awful name."

        After some minutes of aimless wandering, prolonged by their
lack of experience with the LNHHQ, and the fact that it was a none too
stable place anyway, the two shameless heroes found their way into the
canteen. In the absence of Cheesecake-Eater Lad, a few people were
enjoying such delights as blueberry pie, freshly prepared pizza and
the occasional mountain of garlic bread. Our protagonists grabbed some
of the local goodies for themselves, and took seating at the same
table as a reasonably intelligent looking man, who was attempting to
work out the meaning of apple pie, and it`s significance to his lunch.
        Mr. Trenchcoat looked carefully at the man. There was
something of the doctorate about him, but nevertheless his clothing
could not be called anything other than a costume. GrimLad began to
eat his sugarladen meal, and found it so remarkably tasteful that he
lost interest in anything but that, at least until he finished
gobbling. The man who shared the table with them looked up from his
pie, and blinked at the pair. "Good lord," he said. "A complete
        Mr. Trenchcoat widened his eyes as the man rounded the table
and began to querulously examine him with a small electronic pocket
device of some description that the trenchcoated one refused to
subscribe to. "Yes, indeed, a complete change within the geomorphic
consistency of the space/time continuum..." The device beeped a few
times. "No, not complete; not complete at all! Merely physical... as
though there is some form of protection at work. Intriguing..."
        "Before I begin to remove your internal organs one by one,"
said Mr. Trenchcoat through clenched teeth, "would you kindly tell me
who you are and what the hell you are doing?"
        The man looked up in surprise. "Oh, please, forgive me. I`ve
completely forgotten my manners. Doctor Stomper." He held out a hand
for the shaking of. Mr. Trenchcoat shook it under protest. "I`m just a
little curious about your status in reality."
        Mr. Trenchcoat raised eyebrows. "Then you`re probably the one
we`re looking for. What the hell has happened to us?"
        "Well, to put it simply, in Layman`s terms (an obscure
physicist from the nineteenth century whose work on contrareality
flows I am a student of), you and your companion have been rewarped
through a reality redefinition process which seems, for some reason to
have been incomplete."
        GrimLad chipped in through a mouthful of pie. "But how the
hell do we stop it?"
        "I`m afraid that there isn`t really any way to do so. The
energy source which affects these kinds of changes is, by the very
definition of it`s properties, extradimensional, and therefore
unreachable by any but the more advanced forms of gods."
        "I know a few gods," mused Mr. Trenchcoat, "but I don`t think
they`d be all that happy to help us."
        "All I can recommend is that you wait and simply let things
happen. I`ve been monitoring a great deal of this kind of energy
washing around lately, which is in itself rather curious, as I only
had it down as a theory before, a theory which stated that this kind
of energy would not be detectable simply due to the nature of it`s
        "Hmph. Thanks for the pseudoscientific explanation of what a
retcon is." said Mr. Trenchcoat.
        "You`re welcome," replied Doctor Stomper. "However, I must
warn you that the effects of this change are wildly unpredictable, and
probably not yet fully apparent."
        "Thank you. I feel so much better for knowing that," said
GrimLad. There was a barking as of a loudspeaker coughing into
wakefulness from the corner of the room. All turned to look at it.
	"Would GrimLad please come to reception... this is a call for
GrimLad to come to reception... thank you..." Grim boggled.
	"I promise you that I have absolutely no idea what this is
	"For once, I agree with you. We`d better go and see what it
is, though," said Mr. Trenchcoat.
	"I'll come with you," said Doctor Stomper.

	Doctor Stomper led the way for the simple reason that he knew
the way. Grim and Mr. Trenchcoat followed hurriedly, growing more
worried by the minute. Although this may have been due to the absence
of alcohol in their bloodstreams. To alleviate this as far as
possible, Mr. Trenchcoat hunted about in his favourite garment for the
cigarettes that he was absolutely certain he had put there before all
this had happened (and were, indeed, the same packet he had been
smoking during all that Barnstable mess), and found to his surprise
that they were still there. As they entered the wide reception area,
Mr. Trenchcoat lit up, and began to feel much better about life in
general. A feeling which didn`t last too long.
	In the reception area were three costumed heroes, who the
reader will recognise as being the same three who appeared at the
beginning of this story. Nobody else did, however; apart from,
surprisingly, the receptionist. Grim, upon entering, looked about for
anyone who might have reason to call him, didn`t see anyone, and
asked, "So who called?"
	"Well, we did, who do you think?" exclaimed the woman. 
	"Er. We got a bit delayed, I`m afraid. After you left to take
the message to Israishus, we were attacked by this horde of
Shishirishni," said the younger of the men.
	"As you do," muttered Mr. Trenchcoat.
	"We escaped but barely. How did the rest of the plan proceed?"
asked the older of the two men.
	"Pardon?" asked GrimLad, who was, not for the first time,
mightily puzzled.
	"Are you alright?" asked the young man. 
	"That`s not the question. The question is: who the hell are
you?" Mr. Trenchcoat looked keenly at the trio, questioningly,
barbedly. The three stared back, obviously a little confused. Not as
confused, however, as GrimLad was. 
	"What...?" asked the woman. "Have you completely lost your
marbles again?"
	"Are you sure he had any in the first place?" counterpointed
the younger man. "Grim, what`s all this about?"
	"Who. Are. You?" asked GrimLad.
	"What?" The young man grew a deep frown on his face. "This is
wrong. This is all wrong..." Doctor Stomper wondered where Cliche Dude
	"He truly does not know us. There is something deeply amiss
here," added the older man.
	"For god`s sake, we`re the Legion of Occult Heroes! Don`t you
remember? You`re supposed to be the leader, aren`t you! Aren`t you?"
implored the woman.
	"Look. Let me say this very slowly. There. Is. No. Legion.
Of. Occult. Heroes. It doesn`t exist. It`s a temporary retcon."
GrimLad paused, and then began to thunder at them. "We`re not heroes!
We`re trenchcoaters!"
	"You don`t exist," added Mr. Trenchcoat, helpfully. The three
heroes were understandably none too happy about this. They looked to
Doctor Stomper.
	"I`m sorry, but it`s true. I don`t remember you either."
	"Excuse me...?" asked the receptionist. 
	"We`re busy," said Grim.
	"I just wanted autographs. I`ve never seen the LOH all
together before..." 
	The woman snapped back at Grim. "There! Somebody remembers
	"Their minds must have been tampered with. Do you think it
might be the Legendary Imp? Or the Diumvirate?" asked the younger man.
	"I fear that it may be more serious than that. It may be..."
-a solemn, bated hush as the older man paused in mid sentence- "the
Incorporate Conspiracy. They have often tried to destroy us."
	Mr. Trenchcoat was taken somewhat aback by this. "The
	"Aye. The very same."
	"Grim, there may be rather more to this than we first
	"Please don`t tell me. I`d much rather have a drink."
	"The Conspiracy is real. I`ve, er, had recent dealings with
	"So," interjected Doctor Stomper, "this is no lightweight,
simple, uncomplicated retcon. These three are more deeply bound to
reality than they seem."
	"Look," explained Mr. Trenchcoat, "It`s not the conspiracy. I
know them. It`s a retcon, okay? You`ve been retconned into
existence. We were retconned too, the only difference being that we
can remember what things were like before."
	"No. We exist. We`re here. We have a past." said the woman.
	"Yes, you do now, but until recently that was not the case,"
said Doctor Stomper.
	"What they say is true. They have not the stench of lies in
their blood." said the older man. "As you have no knowledge of us, I
shall make introductions. I am known as the Green Trenchcoat. The
young man with the creature upon his costume is called Demon Boy. The
young woman is Leviathan Lass."
	"I suppose sensible names were too much to ask for?" said
Grim, pained.
	At this point, there was an explosion.

	The explosion was outside, but not for long. It broke through
into the reception area with ill concealed force and hurled the
occupants of such against the walls. Dust filled the air in it`s
wake. Amongst the rubble, the various LOHers, NTBers and LNHers
struggled to break free of large quantities of ex-reception area that
were attempting to entrap them. The dust began to glow a lurid colour,
a colour projected from outside. The colour grew more intense as the
various people coughed and fought their way out of the debris. And
then it`s source strode into view. 
	"New Series?!? We`ve been going for ages!"
	"Go stuff yourself!" shouted Mr. Trenchcoat
	Mr. Trenchcoat arose from the rubble, sigils sparking. There
being nowhere to run, he determined to make a stand. "Fat chance."
	"Try it, rustbucket! I could do with a laugh!"
burdened with force, and prepared to beat Mr. Trenchcoat into very
small pieces. He struck. And struck. And struck.
	And Mr. Trenchcoat was still standing there. He held aloft a
playing card, that glowed from it`s centre, a popular sigil upon it
that beat back at IMPLO. 
	"NO... NO! I SHALL RETURN!" and with that, the creature was
	Dust settled. "Care to explain?" asked Grim.
	"Ace Up The Sleeve. Only works in moments of dire peril, and
as a last resort. Got it off a man in Alaska."
	"Stole it, you mean."
	"If you prefer. It worked, though." The card, spent, crumbled
in Mr. Trenchcoat`s hand.
	"Actually, the fact that you`re not technically an LNHer and
therefore more resistant to the effects of retcon energy may have
	Grim cut Doctor Stomper off. "We get the idea. What next?"
	The Green Trenchcoat replied. "We are all strangers to this
continuum, but I believe our fates are linked with the battle that yet
goes on."
	"You reckon we should throw our lot in with them, then?" said
Mr. Trenchcoat.
	"A teamup would be advisable, yes." The five LOHers stood
	"So. What do we do?" asked Leviathan Lass. Doctor Stomper
piped up.
	"How about the RACCelestial Madonna Pageant? I heard that they
might need some extra security..."
	"It couldn`t have been something sensible, could it?" asked
Mr. Trenchcoat.
	"Not a chance. When this is over, I intend to be drunk for at
least a week. Care to join me?" asked Grim.
	"How could I refuse?"

	The story continues (for these guys, anyway) in LNHCP #21.

	Be there or be retconned.

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(>)                 RETCON HOUR PART 25             (<)
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(>)                Tales of the LNH #311            (<)
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              _	         Due to Retcon Hour......
             | |      Tales of the			
             | |                      =
             | |      ____    ____    _    ____    ___
             | |__   | [] |  | [] |  | |  | [] |  | _ \  
             |____|   \__]    \__ |  |_|   \__/   |_|\_\
                                |_|  OF NET.HEROES

	Now appearing as Tales of the Net.Trenchcoat.Brigade

                     #311: Panta's letter

[ In Tales of the LNH #310, Panta is sent to the Net.Trenchcoat Brigade
  by the Dvandom Stranger; she was most likely to be retconed by the
  events of Retcon Hour and this would save her. However, Panta finds
  herself in Net.si Germany. It's 1944. Not a good time. ]

Outside the train's windows, the German landscape rushed by. Inside the
compartment, Panta, dressed only in her blue one-piece and her collar
with the cat-bell, was faced with a problem.

Standing in front of her was a Reichsbahn official in a black uniform and
thick glasses. He held a hand out to her and just asked Panta for her
papers and tickets. In German.

Unfortunately, Panta had just realized that she didn't speak German, that
her one-piece had no pockets for papers, and even if she had pockets, she
had neither identification papers nor tickets to put in them. 

"Damn you, Stranger," she thought to herself.

"Ihre Papiere?" he asked again, squinting at her.

Panta threw her left arm across her breasts and dropped her other hand to
cover herself between her legs and in the classic pose of a woman found
undressed, screamed!

Then drawing on all the German she had ever learned while hanging over the
back of the sofa watching 'Hogan's Heroes' reruns with Time-Wasting Lad and 
Procrastination Boy, she yelled, "Raus!"

The Reichsbahn official stumbled backwards, reaching for the compartment door
behind him. "Verzeihenung, meine Dame. Ich komme spater noch mal." 

The door slid shut with a little click.

Panta dropped into the seat. "Oh, sh*t! What have you dropped me into, Stranger?
This ain't the LNH world where cat-girls can run around with guys dressed in
colorful costumes. This is a place where realism rules. And if this is really
Net.si Germany, Panta, then if...." She paused and looked out the train window.

"If they catch me," she continued to herself, "I'll be dissected and spread
over millions of slides, and never get to play in the Peril Room again... 

She slowly shook her head back and forth, trying to clear her mind. Then she
looked up. The tips of her cat ears had rubbed against something in the luggage
rack over her head.

Overhead was a large battered suitcase.

Panta stood on the seat and manhandled the suitcase to the compartment's floor.
A moment later, she had popped the simple locks and looked inside.

On the top of folded clothes was a thick envelope tied with a red string. Panta
snipped the string with a claw tip and spread the contents of the envelope on
the bench seat beside her.

First, there was a identification booklet. The name on the inside was 'Hildi
P. Bruen' and there was a picture.

Panta stared at the picture; something about the pleasant young woman's face
seemed familiar. The woman in the picture was cute, with short blonde hair and
a stub nose. Panta put it aside and pawed through the rest of the papers. There
were tickets for a train from Munchen to Wurzburg, another train going from
Wurzburg to Hannover, and finally, a third set of tickets that would find her
in Berlin.

Hildi P. Bruen, whoever she was, was a pilot; there was a pilot's license here.
A member of the Net.si party; a membership card with her picture on it.

Panta stopped herself from tossing the membership card aside; again there was
that feeling that she should know the face of the young woman on the card.
Panta tossed the other stuff aside and slumped down into the seat. When she
glanced up at the scenary passing outside, her reflection looked sadly back.

Slowly, Panta realized who Hildi Bruen reminded her of. She threw the Net.si
Party membership card onto the floor and dived into the suitcase, pulling
clothes and underwear and stockings out and tossing them aside. Something
small and hard thumped on the floor as Panta dug through the contents of the

At the bottom of the suitcase were several razors and 10 cans of Super
Strength Hair-Removing 'Nair'. It was Panta's hairless face that was staring
back at her from the identification card and Net.si Party ID card.

Panta sank back onto her haunches. "D*mn you Stranger! D*mn you to h*ll!"
she began swearing. And continued until she ran out of breath and tears.

Blinking the tears out of her eyes, Panta glanced around the compartment
where she had tossed the contents of the suitcase. In addition to the
clothes, there were several books wrapped in paper, several copies of
something called 'Der Adler' and a leather case.

Panta scooted across the compartment floor and reached for the case. It was
deceptively heavy as she picked it up. She opened the latch and emptied it
onto the floor.

Several clips of 9mm Parabellum ammunition rolled onto the floor, followed
by a P08 Luger. Panta had never seen one outside of pictures; she picked it
up and checked it. At least she was armed now; a lot of good it would do her.
She had never held a gun before. Panta gathered the clips and the pistol and
returned it to its leather case.

That left only the long blue envelope. Panta used a claw tip to tear it open
and scanned the contents. It was addressed to Panta, not Hildi Bruen and was
from the Dvandom Stranger.

'My Dearest Panta', the letter began.

'I regret to let you know that your title, 'Tales of the Legion of Net.Heroes'
has been canceled. Word was brought to the Legion of Net.Heroes Headquarters
by a tall, dark and mysterious stranger calling himself, IMPLO, that the title
had been canceled forthwith. He seemed quite upset that he was unable to inform
you, Panta, directly. I had left word with Bad-Timing Boy that you had been
transferred to the Net.Trenchcoat.Brigade. Unfortunately for Bad-Timing Boy,
he stated this fact - in rather bald and insulting terms - to IMPLO. Dr.
Stomper believes that the bandages should come off any day now.'

'However, as 'Tales' is for the moment, a NTB title, you may continue your
adventures. There might be some small problems-'

"You aren't kidding," Panta thought to herself, skimming through the letter.

'and in order to return to the Legion of Net.Heroes Looniverse, you must
attempt to recover the Tiara of Density which is now in the hands of Adolf

"It can't possibly get any worse," Panta said to herself. She continued 

'Your identity is Hildi Bruen, a Messerschmidt test pilot. It will help
you get into Berlin. The LNH computer predicts that if the Tiara of Density
is not recovered from Der Fueher's vaults, there is a 95% chance that the
Net.sis will be able to complete work on their Death Ray guns and conquer
the world. Signed - A STRANGER'

Panta threw down the letter. "Stranger, you b____d!" she yelled into the air.
"You aren't Al, my name isn't Sam Beckett and this isn't _Quantum Leap_!"

[ Panta is Copyright, Hubert Bartels, 1994. The Dvandom Stranger is copyright,
  Dave Van Domelan. All other characters are copyrighted by their creators. 
  Tigra appears in Marvel Presents #162! She's back. She's back! She's back!!!]

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T H E  N I C K S  O F  T I M E

P A R T  F O U R

"N I C K N A C K S"

"Nazis. I hate these guys."
-Indiana Jones

When last we left the Nicks (Eggbeater, a.k.a. Decibel Dude, Naime,
the Master of Minutae, and Furry, the Guy With the Big Flamin'
Guns), they were riding a train for Berlin, where they're going to
try and swipe the Tiara of Density from Adolf Hitler.

No, really.


   "Where are we gonna make the heist?" asked Eggbeater, absently
juggling a pair of dinner rolls. He, Naime and Furry were seated
in the dining car.
   "Hitler will be taking a meeting with the heads of the Gestapo
at their headquarters," replied Naime, sipping his champagne. "We
will break into his office and remove the Tiara from his safe."
   "All three of us?" asked Furry.
   "No. Just Nick."
   "Which one?" asked Furry and Eggbeater.
   "Eggbeater. Your ability to travel over sound waves will get you
into the building much quicker than either Furry or I," said Naime.
   "So what are you two gonna be doing while I do my Hudson Hawk
impression?" asked Eggbeater.
   "Your what?" asked Naime.
   "I figger that'll be my cue to make with a diversion," said
Furry. "I've been achin' to blow a few holes in the hides of these
scummy Net.sis since I got on this train to Krautville!"
   "Well, you're certainly in touch with your anger," said
   "You must be very careful with the Tiara," said Naime. "Its
hidden reserves of power could have adverse affects on your mind."
   "Not as much as this crossover has," muttered Eggbeater, taking
a swig of brew.
   "What's that supposed to mean?" asked Furry.
   "Indeed, Nick. Eggbeater. Throughout our association, you have
continually made asides and references to 'readers'. You were also
speaking to this 'Entity' when we first met. What is the purpose?"
   "Well, I don't see any reason not to tell you. Actually, I see
several good reasons not to tell you, but I'm getting tired of
those weird looks you guys give me. It's like this...everything
that's been happening to us is a story. You know, made-up. We're
being written by writers. We're being read by a bunch of deranged
fanboys who find our adventures of computers."
   A long, long silence.
   "This guy's wireless went on the fritz a long time ago," said
   "'Fanboys?' Children with fans?"
   "Oh, forget it. Look, this much is true...Entity is a six-armed
alien. He brought me back in time from 1994 tio get the Tiara of
   "Six arms," deadpanned Naime.
   "He has red skin, too," said Eggbeater.
   "How many o' dem Kraut beers you had?" asked Furry.
   "Look, if I had any of the issues, I'd show them to you. Let's
just drop it, okay?" Eggbeater got up and walked off to their
   "I don't trust this guy, Naime," said Furry. "Sure, he's
powerful, but I think you and I could pull this job off on our
   "Patience, Furry," said Naime. "Admittedly, Nicholas Eggbeater
is...eccentric, but I sense no malice in him. He is dedicated to
our purpose. If that should change...I'll handle it."
   Meanwhile, in a completely unrelated cameo appearance, Panta
walked by, regarded Nick Naime, muttered "Thick brows," and walked


   Meanwhile, in Berlin, two pale-faced figures stood outside
Gestapo Headquarters. The Time Mime focused his eyes on the window
of Der Fuehrer.
   The Tiara of Density was on his head. He was wearing a plush
evening gown, blowing kisses to an imaginary audience, and singing
along to a scratchy recording in the background.
   "Ve're all alone, no chaperone, can't ger our num-bah... za
vorld's in slum-bah...let's miz-behave...zere's zome-thing vild
about you, child, zat's zo contagious...let's be outrageous...let's
   The Time Mime turned to face Chronos the Clown.
   "Shall we take it now?"
   "Not yet. We will wait until tomorrow, when we can destroy the
Legionnaire from the future as well," replied Chronos. "Besides,
I like this song."
   "If you'd be oh zo zveet und only meet your fate, dear...
'twould be za great event of nineteen-tventy-eight, dear..."


   A few hours later, the Nicks were standing in the same area,
next to a payphone. The office was deserted.
   "So when do we move?" asked Eggbeater.
   "Now," said Naime, picking up the phone and dialing. "Take
this." Naime handed Eggbeater a walkie-talkie. "The phone will be
picked up by a guard assigned to protect the safe. When the phone
is picked up, hang back for a moment. Then Furry will begin the
diversion. The guard will leave, and you can open the safe at your
   "Sounds good. I'm ready."
   There was a click on the other end of the phone.
   "Ja?" came a feminine voice.
   "Don't!" shouted Naime, but it was too late--Eggbeater was
already travelling over the wires.


   "YYYYYYEEEEOWWW!!" Eggbeater found himself careening through the
phone system much too fast. "Oh man! With no fiberoptics to slow
me down...I gotta find my destination before I burn out!"
   Nick sprang to his feet, tripped, and landed on an extremely
angry-looking, extremely buxom, extremely naked, extremely wet,
(did we say extremely angry-looking?) young lass. She'd picked up
the phone from her bath. And now Nick was lying on top of her.
   "Er...I don't suppose you know where I can find Oskar
   "Schwinehund!" The woman grabbed a Luger from the rim of the
bathtub (apparently she was extremely paranoid as well) and aimed
at her.
   "Whoa!" The first shot went hurtling over Eggbeater's head. "I
hate to do it, but..." He lashed out with a fist. The woman went
crashing into the bath.
   Pausing only to drain the bath, drag the woman out of the bath,
dress her in sexy black lingerie, tie her up, ogle her for a few
minutes, and change into a spare Net.si uniform that just happened
to be lying around, Nick pulled out his walkie-talkie.
   "What the #=!! was that?!" he barked into the walkie-talkie.
"You were supposed to send me to Hitler's office, not the boudoir
of Ilsa, She-Wolf of the S.S.!"
   "Sorry. I misdialed," said Naime. "Furry's begun the


   Furry stepped into the bar. Net.si grunts were hoisting cold
ones all over the place.
   "Hey, fellas! Why is German beer like making love in a canoe?"
   Blink blink blink.
   "It's #%$&ing close to water!"
   Furry dived behind the bar just as the troopers opened fire. He
grabbed a grenade and tossed in the general direction of the
   KA-BOOM!! A pilsner glass fell on top of him, spilling the booze
all over him. Furry licked his lips to get a taste.
   "Meister Brau? You weasels don't know from brew!"
   Another burst of gunfire. He tossed another grenade over the
   "Sprechen sie Milwaukee?!" he cried as another explosion went


   Eggbeater ducked in the door just as a gaggle of guards went out
to see what the trouble was.
   "What the Hell is Furry doing?!" Eggbeater asked.
   "Offhand, I'd say he just started the biggest bar fight in
history," said Naime. "Now, are you in the office?"
   "I'm there. I'm looking at the safe."
   "All right. Turn it three times around and stop on 42."
   Turn turn turn.
   "Got it."
   "Now twice around and stop on 69."
   "Real original numbers this clown's got..."
   Turn turn turn.
   "Okay. Next?"
   "Turn it twice and stop on...on..."
   It was then that Nick Naime's six week photographic memory chose
to flicker out. Out, out brief candle...er... anyway...
   "Stop on what?"
   A long silence.
   "I forgot."


   The Time Mime and Chronos the Clown disengaged their cloaking
fields and strode towards Nick Naime.
   "It's not my fault!" shouted Naime. "This damned memory of
mine...what was your name again?"
   "You slack-jawed cud chewer!" Eggbeater bellowed from the
walkie-talkie. "You thick-witted clodpole! You shnook!"
   "Oh yeah?!' shouted an exasperated Naime. "Well, you're
   "Erk? What the Hell's an erk?"
   An erk is the sound someone makes when a large evil mime created
fifty years in the future created by a large sentient pile of
poo-poo grabs them by the neck and starts doing their impression
of the "She's my sister! She's my daughter!" scene from Chinatown.
Naime wouldn't have understood this reference, but then, he had
other problems.
   "I will fetch the Tiara," said Chronos.


   Furry had, by this time, run out of grenades and was
concentrating on machine-gun blasts. The corpses of Net.sis
littered the bar.
   "Hey, you sausage-chewers better knock that wall out! Otherwise
you won't be able to get in! I'd like to have some clear shots!"
   There was a massive explosion as a mortar shell obliterated the
front of the bar. Outside stood a battalion of Net.sis.
   "Thaaaaaats' better," said Furry. "C'mon, lederhosen scum!"


   "Naime? Hey, Naime, you there?"
   "Ah, the Hell with it!" Eggbeater scowled at the safe, summoning
his osund power into his right hand. He reared back and delivered
a Supersonic Whomp Upside The Head. The top of the safe flew
through the wall.
   Eggbeater reached inside and pulled out the Tiara of Density.
   "What a guady looking piece of crud," he muttered. "Okay,
Entity, can I get outta here now?"
   SLAM!! Eggbeater went hurtling into the wall. When he turned,
Chronos the Clown was holding the Tiara of Density.
   "Another victory for my master!" it said.


   "You will die now, Master of Minutae!" bellowed the Time Mime.
"I will--ung!!"
   "Ung" is the sound a large evil mime created fifty years in the
future created by a large sentient pile of poo-poo makes when the
person they are acting out scenes from Roman Polanski films with
pulls out a Double Luger and shoots them in the stomach many times.
The two of them fell to the ground.
   "Crime *gasp* does not pay...and neither does retconning.
Whatever that means," Naime muttered. He pulled himself to his feet
and looked at the body of the Mime. "Too bad. I could have learned
so much about the future from you...ah, well."
   The Mime's fist flew into Naime's face, knocking him over. The
Mime stood and picked up Naime's Double Luger.
   "I believe you're wrong, Nick Naime. Crime does pay...the Time
Mime knows! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!"    BLAM!
   The Time Mime fell over again, a large hole having appeared in
its forehead. Furry came running over.
   "I ran out of Net.sis to kill. What happened to him?"
   "The old reverse-firing gun trick. It does that if anybody but
me holds the gun," said Naime. "See what happens when you play with
someone else's things?"


   Chronos grabbed Eggbeater by the neck and began to squeeze.
   "Nothing can save you now, Decibel Dude," said the Clown. "I
will return this to the Time Crapper, and your RACCelestial Madonna
Pageant will never happen!" Chronos held the Tiara up to
Eggbeater's face.
   Hidden reserves of power...Eggbeater grabbes the Tiara and felt
the power course through him.
   He plunged a fist into the Clown's face. The Clown tumbled to
the ground, while Eggbeater remained suspended in mid-air, wearing
the Tiara.
   "Eggbeater!" Eggbeater turned to see Nick Naime and Nick Furry
standing there. "Take off the tiara!" said Naime. "If you don't,
its power will engulf you!"
   "AWAY, SPECKS!" Furry and Naime found themselves hurled back out
into the hall. "I AM NOT THE TIARA'S--THE TIARA IS MINE!!"
   "No, Nick. The Tiara's power wasn't meant for you." Entity
materialized before him. "Only the RACCelestial Madonna can wear
that Tiara without being consumed."
   "THIS CLOWN IS MINE TO KILL," growled Eggbeater.
"I AM...I...I...what am I doing?" Eggbeater removed the Tiara and
gave it to Entity. "Get that thing away from me! Besides, it
doesn't match anything I wear."
   "NO!" howled the Clown, pinned beneath Eggbeater's boot. "I WILL
   A panel opened up on the Clown's forehead. It was a timer.
   "It's going to explode! Run!" Eggbeater shouted to Naime and
   "What about you?" asked Naime.
   "I'll be all right! Get out of here!"
   "See ya in the funny papers, kid," said Furry, taking off.
   "Good luck!" said Naime.
   "Entity, get us outta here!"


   Neither Adolf Hitler nor any other members of the Gestapo were
injured in the explosion, providing yet another argument for the
nonexistence of a just God. Furry and Naime rode the train out of
Berlin largely in silence.
   "Naime?" Furry asked somewhere outside France.
   "Do ya think the kid made it?"
   "I think, Furry, we have become involved in something we have
no hope of understanding...unless, of course, we both survive to
   "Doesn't seem likely in our line of work, does it?"
   "Not likely at all, Furry," said Naime, gazing out the window.
"Not likely at all."


   Decibel Dude found himself hurlting onto Elvis Man. They
collapsed into a heap on the ground.
   "Hey, man, y'all messed up my song," said Elvis Man. "We're
just'bout to announce the winner of the pageant..."
   "The pageant?! You there! Boy!"
   "Me, sir?" asked Bad-Timing Boy.
   "What day is it?"
   "What day? Why, Wednesday, of course!"
   "Wednesday! The spirits did it all in one night! Oh, now I know
the true meaning of Christmas! And you were there, and you, and
you...oh, Auntie Em, there's no place like home! Oh, and I've got
this tiara, too..."



Entity is the property of Badger.
Nick Naime is the property of Jeff McCoskey.
Nick Furry is the property of...hell, I don't know. Either Jeff
McCoskey or Drizzt.
Panta is the property of...damn! Don't know that either. Whoever
she belongs to, thanks.
Concept by Dave Van Domelen...and you'll PAY! YOU'LL PAY, DO YOU

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(<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) 
 _                                                   _
(>)                 RETCON HOUR PART 27             (<)
 _                                                   _
(>)               LNH Comics Presents #21           (<)
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(<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) 

          A Psuedo-Random House/Narcoleptic Dogs Press
               Joint Presentation. (Hey, there's
               Plenty of blame to go around here!)

                  LNH Comics Presents #21
              The RACCelestial Madonna Pageant

          ===============          ================

     "Look, you quite clearly told me to stop work on the Anchor
and make a PLOTICON instead."  Contraption Man was defensive.  "I
smelled, uh heard you myself.  And you were there when we activated
     Time Crapper was clearly irate.  "So you're saying that even
though we Retconned Myk-El so that he _was_ the traitor, thus
deflecting suspicion from you, you_still_ didn't use that time to
finish the Anchor?  You made some PLOTICON instead?"
     "Yeah boss.  You said the Madonna Pageant was the biggest
threat.  You sent two agents into the past to forestall it, and one
here in the present."
     "And who, exactly, are these Agents?"
     "Two you plucked from the ongoing Clown/Mime gang war.
Chronos the Clown and Time Mime.  The last was just some bum on the
street. I think he ended up calling himself the Time Whino."  Time
Crapper stared at his minion."I swear!  Look you were there same
as me.  Smelled a little worse though...."
     "Enough.  All these time streams are dangerously
contradictory.  I have no desire to be ruler and master of
fragmented time.  FIX THE ANCHOR!"
     Contraption Man decided not to remind his boss about the
Deadmeat Earth device just then.  The Crapper stormed out, and a
green cloud followed. Contraption Man muttered, "I won't have to
take your orders much longer.  With the Ring of Retcon belonging
to my master, wReamicus Maximus...."
     "And close that door if you're going to be plotting!"

          ===============          ===============

     The sun set over Net.ropolis.  As dusk rushed in, the great
lights of the bandshell ignited.  Catalyst Lass bustled, as best
she could having no irises, giving the last minute talk to her
     "Ok guys, now don't fret a bit.  We're about to put on a show
that will be televised to the whole LoonivEarth, further maybe!
You guys have put in super work on all the rehearsals and stuff,
so tonight lets just give 'em a bang up show!  Shokk, you've got
the control booth.  You know all your cues and stuff right?"
     The electric man nodded vigorously.
     "Domestic Lad, you're the crew foreman.  All your sets are
ready to roll out and stuff?"
     "Shuweh thang Cat."
     "New-Look Lass...."
     "The costumes are all ready Cat.  Relax, you've organised
everything. Sing-Along Lass has drilled the orchestra, Kid G has
choreographed the dance numbers, Elvis Man knows his lines as MC
and Adamant-Authority-on-Everything is directing from the wings.
Now I've got to join the rest of the women for the first number."
She squeezed Cat's hand.  "It'll be dynamite."
     Cat's head pointed skyward, though of course she couldn't see
up.  "I guess if our judge is ready, we're a go."
     "We're ready!" chimed in Master Blaster, Frat Boy and
Sarcastic Lad. Cat tried to hide a smile.
     "Sillies!  I told you before we don't need special judges for
the swimsuit competition.  Hood are you ready?"
     Hooded Ho`'od Win hovered above the bandshell, still in her
white hospital sheets/cloak.  Her Cosmic call had resulted in every
Net.Heroine on LoonivEarth (not otherwise occupied) entering the
Pageant.  Her voice rang hollow in their minds.  <( Indeed Cat.
We are but a few hours from knowing...
Who`'od Win.  Who is the RACCelestial Madonna?!)>

          ===============          ===============

     Paul Tremens woke in a ditch as the sun was setting.  Which
was fine by him, since it had taken a long time to get the concrete
to conform to his body just so.  His head had that familiar
pre-breakfast beer crushing agony. His tongue had a warehouse of
70's shag layered on it, and his cologne smelled of vomit.  For
Paul it was gonna be a Golden (Grain) day.  This morning (its
always morning when you just get up, right?) was only different in
one respect. Paul was convinced he had made a pact with the devil
for alcohol powers.
     Which was okay in and of itself, but Paul thought he'd already
mortgaged his soul for a bottle of Boone's Farm Cough Syrup
flavored wine. Well if the devil didn't check his own records, who
was Paul to complain? Maybe he'd get a Thunderbird for it tonight.
     But the more Paul thought about it the more it seemed this
wasn't one  last hallucination brought on by eating the worm.
Pensively, Paul grabbed the warm Tecate that he'd passed out in the
midst of, and rinsed.  As he did, his eyes crossed a handbill
advertising the RACCelestial Madonna Pageant.  A dull light
glimmered in Paul's eyes.  The pungent beer flavor reawakened
his mind. He _had_ been given great powers last night, the powers
of Demon Alcohol.
     He was the TIME WHINO!  And let the Madonna beware, for she
would become his Beer Commercial Bimbo!

          ===============          ===============

    The thing about being an evil Vampiress is, it gets old fast.
Ida mused to herself as she placed the brooch of Jayleno on the
cloak. But now, with the power of the RACCelestial Madonna at her
command, what couldn't she do? She felt the writer about to list
the things, and chased him away.
     Ida was, as befits an evil Vampiress, fairly spiteful. When
she found out that she wasn't eligible for RACCelesial Madonnahood,
on account of her brother working for the RACCelestials in their
mailroom, she had decided that no one could. Now, with her evil
complete, she slunk out of the backstage area, with no one the
     "Evil Vampire! Turn and face...the LEGION OF OCCULT HEROES!"
Came a heroic and sorcerous voice. She turned. Facing her were a
group of people who had a strange way about them...as if Steve
Ditko had been their father.
     A man with a Green Trenchcoat (Which just happened to be his
name) stood with his arms spread wide. Various birds were singing
as she looked at him. Next to him were a spandex clad lass
(LEVIATHAN LASS to you, bub!) and a boy flipping through the Roger
Ebert Film Guide (The Curse of the Seven Golden Vampires isn't IN
HERE? Is Ebert out of his pudgy mind? THAT'S IT! From now on I use
the TIME OUT guide!) who went by the name of DEMON BOY. Also there
were two uncomfortable looking men, one who thought his name was
Withnail but had been retconned into the unreliable Mr. Trenchcoat,
and the potent if amazingly confused GrimLad.
     "'Ere now, what's all this, then?" Said Mr Trenchcoat, who
then stopped to stare at himself in shock. He realized that the
maniac typing this has absolutely NO IDEA how a real Englishman
speaks. He decided to try again. "This crime you've pulled a
walkabout to just isn't fair dinkum! WHY AM I TALKING LIKE A BRUCE,
MATE!?" Australian! Now he sounded Australian! And nobody but
GrimLad...he meant GrimSloth...knew that he wasn't!
     "I have no time for this...Ungrateful Dead...to the attack!"
A horde of retro-vampires leapt forward. Leviathan Lass called upon
her demonic patron and became a huge..thing...smashing through the
vampires like common sense through an American Tourist. Demon Boy
yelled "Kyee-eermeet!"
     A gigantic rotting felt frog appeared, looking rather upset.
"It's not easy being dead...hey, what the...I WAS IN THE MOLD PITS,
YOU TWIT!" The gigantic shambling loathsome abhorrent vile
grotesque (gee, guess who reads too much H.P. Lovecraft?) yet
somehow strangely comforting demon also began tearing through
vampires. Meanwhile, Demon Boy stood on top of a monitor and
watched, quoting from John Carpenter's _Big Trouble In Little
China._ "Master, you are Flesh!"
     GrimLad...or GrimSloth, whatever...looked at the erstwhile Mr
Trenchcoat. "I say we let them fight and get snockered."
     "E'cor blimey...that's hardly sporting, old chum...he's making
me sound like a dolt!" Withnail knew one thing, and knew it well:
When this was all over...he was going to have a chat with some
writers about doing Crossovers.

          ===============          ===============

     "Waaal, hullo Net.Ropolis and hullo LoonivEarth," said Elvis
Man.  His image was broadcast all over the globe and beyond.  For
a few brief hours the world would forget its historical chaos,
forget its impending doom (Well, okay, who can REALLY forget
impending doom?) as hundreds of planets rushed in on a collision
course.  No, all eyes were on the tele-vision as their
representative to RACC was chosen, and a lot of cheesecake
shots to boot.  "Thankyou.  Thanyouverymuch.  T'naght th' LNH is
proud(Well, okay, we aren't ashamed) ta bring the RACCelestial
Madonna Pageant!  Ladies, c'mon out, uh-huh."
     All the LoonivEarth's Net.Heroines marched out onto the stage,
each wearing a stunning gown created by New-Look Lass. Except for
a rather imposing young lass carrying several dozen large firearms,
who was wearing a camoflauge gown.  Sarcastic Lad, Frat Boy and
Master Blaster hooted and howled in the front row, along with the
rest of the record crowd.  "Too bad Panta's not here," said Sarc
in an aside.  "She'd win hands down."
     At a signal from Sing-Along Lass, the band struck up.  With
a chorus line vamp, the Pageant was underway.

     "No matter how evil, insane or menacing
      No matter the unlikely way we're dressed
      Though we're attired like a teen-male fantasy
      We're just as capable of making the arrest.

     "We're the 'weaker sex', or so they say,
      we've got few books and fewer Writers;
      but when testosterone can't save the day
      sales will jump with a shapely crime fighter.

     (ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba bumP!)
     "We can bring in the villains (bum-bump)
      Lock 'em up in the Jail (bum-bump)
      A-a-aand pick up the heart rate of pre-pubescent young males

     "Cause we're N-n-nnet.Heroines (the best of the best!)
      Yes we're Net.heroines (not just Maids in distress.)
      Oh we're Net.Heroines (get your eyes off our chest)
          (ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba ba-dum-dum-dum)
               You're under arrest!"
               (Thunderous applause)

          ===============          ===============

     ****Miss Sidekick, Sing-Along Lass!****
     A man in a wig approached the stage door.  Over the load
speaker, the contestants were being announced.
     ****Miss Undetectability, Lurking Girl!****
     Captain Napalm and Nomex Man looked at each other then back
at the grubby, unshaven, alcohol-smelling man with the long blond
     "Surely Brother Nomex, he does not expect to gain entrance."
     "I believe he does Brother Napalm.  You!  Are you a
     The Time Whino replied, "Yes I am." People everywhere realized
that this was swiped directly from a beer ad, but the Time Whino
has such power.
     ****Miss Hand-to-Hand Combat, Ordinary Lady!****
     Naplm and Nomex looked at each other again.  "I don't think
     "Very well, then you leave me no choice!"  The Time Whino
pulled an aerosol can from his grubby overcoat.  Before Napalm and
Nomex knew what he was doing, the Alcoholic Antagonist released the
can's contents with a hiss.  When the mist cleared, Rachel Hunter
stood on either side of the door wearing Napalm and Nomex's
costumes.  Rachels giggled as Time Whino went through the door.
     ****Miss, uh Mrs. Super-Science, Organic Lass!****
     Adamant-Authority-On-Everything stopped Time Whino as he
approached the stage.  "Hey," he hissed.  "You can't be back here."

He grabbed the man roughly to throw him out.  "You either watch
from out front or wait out back for autographs."
     ****Miss Love Interest, aLLiterative Lass!****
     Time Whino pulled out a can of Miller Lite and slammed it
down.  "Let's do both."  From out of his grubby coat, two Weiner
Dogs raced.  But not ordinary Weiner Dogs.  Weiner-National Weiner
dogs.  At supersonic speed they bowled over AAOE, knocking him
cold.  Time Whino clapped his hands and sat in the director's
     ****Miss Psionics, Glitch Girl!****
     Domestic Lad walked up to the Director's Chair.  "AAOE, weyah
missin' a flat for the talent po'tion....Youwah not AAOE!"
     Time Whino spun.  "Too true mah deyah Scahlett.  An' I don't
give a damn!"  Time Whino opened a Miller Genuine Draft.
(Apparently, he has no fear of mighty beer industry lawyers, does
he?) Immediately, swirling, icy winds whipped around Domestic Lad,
freezing him solid.  Time Whino laughed and slugged down the brew.
     ****Miss Power Blast, VAMMO Woman!****
     "Cat, Cat!" came Parking Karma Kid's frantic voice over the
communi-cator thingie.  "something strange is happening backstage.
It's like, it's like we're being attacked by beer commercials!
Napalm and Nomex have been turned into Rachel Hunter, AAOE's been
run over by weiner dogs and Domestic Lad's frozen solid."
     ****Miss Excessive Firepower, Warbabe!****
     "Oh no!  First off, can you run the show?"
     "I-I think so, but we need help...."
     "Cat, I overheard the conversation.  This sounds like a job
for Frat Boy!"
     ****Miss Gratuitous Cleavage, California Girl!****

          ===============          ===============

     Despite the backstage chicanery, the Pageant appeared to be
running flawlessly to the home audience.  It had segued directly
into the talent portion.
     "...and that is how we know it formed a tri-nucleic unstable
molecule!" said Organic Lass triumphantly as she held up a beaker.
She was surrounded by a miniature lab.  Half-hearted applause
sounded out, except for Pocket Man who cheered his throat raw.
     "Thankyou.  Thankyouverymuch," said Elvis Man.  "Next up is
ah little girly who calls herself...THE WHIP!" Despite his
blatantly patronizing attitude, Elvis Man recieved cheers. Out came
a girl in a rather..tight...red leather costume. In fact, it looked
painted on. By people who dislike to paint. The males in the crowd
     "Thank you, Jim Balent!" Screamed Master Blaster. The Whip put
a stuffed Rush Limbaugh man-sized doll up against the wall, turned
her back, pulled out her whip, and...let's just say that if you
watch Benny Hill, you know where that whip went. And if not, I'm
doing you a favor. "AIGH!" All the males in the crowd sucked in
their breath. The Whip walked off stage.
     "Well," Came the slightly squeaky voice of Elvis-Man, "Remind
me never to upset her. Next up, California Girl who, woah girlie.
Thissa the talent competition, not th' swimsuit competition."
     California Girl strolled out in a suit designed to meet the
_barest_ minimum of Comics Code regs.  "But this is my talent," she
giggled. The crowd roared its approval.
     "So ah see.  Well thankyou.  Thankyouverymuch.  Ah mean that.
Next up is Warbabe with a display a trick shootin', uuuh-huh."
     Warbabe strolled out, eyed the audience coldly, then flung a
handfull of quarters in the air.  With a lightening move, she
pulled down her machine gun and sprayed the air with lead.  One
would assume she hit all the quarters, but since the crowd was
wisely scrambling for its life, no one noticed.  Master Blaster
sighed.  "I'm in love," he said.

          ===============          ===============

     The battle between the Legion of Occult Heroes and the
Ungrateful Dead continued. Meanwhile, a thouroughly disgusted
Withnail was trying to speak as a normal, everyday englishman. From
the twentieth century. And he was failing.
     "UUUrgh, Vhen I git my hunds un dis guy, vhat a beatink..."
     "Serbo-Croatian?" Said GrimSloth/Lad. "What an odd choice..."
     The Green Trenchcoat stood dramatically and pointed a
trenchcoat garbed arm at his foe, Ida the evil Vampiress. Most of
her undead flower children had been planted. She looked around and
tried to find a door.
     "I don't suppose you'd believe that I'm really a good hearted
person, would you?"
     "No." FZAAAASH! In a flash of green light, he managed to shoot
a great gob of green light...directly through Ida's misty form and
through the wall.
     "That would be my cue to leave." She floated out in her foggy
state, leaving the Ungrateful Dead to be pummeled mercilessly.

          ===============          ===============
     "Give it up Time Whino," said Frat Boy.  He had backed the
villain into a corner.  "Your beer powers mean nothing to me."
     "Perhaps.  Then shall we test our mettle in the only true test
of manhood?"
     Frat Boy silently agreed.
     "A chug off it is then."
     At a furious pace, the two titans consumed beer after beer,
with little effect.  Frat Boy grinned an evil grin.  He dextrously
substituted the Time Whino's next beer with Haffenreffer, the
so-called Green Death.  The only beer known to give a hangover
_before_ the buzz.  Time Whino picked up the bottle without looking
and downed it.  Immediately, he grabbed his temples in agony.
     "AAAGH!  What have you done!  I can't stand the
......AAARRRGHHHH!" Before Frat Boy's eyes, Time Whino swelled
incredibly, trebling in size and quadrupling in musculature.  He
ripped the grubby clothes from his back with a
flourish, revealing a Bud-Man type costume with ten times the
muscle.  "Now beware the _Chuggernaut_!"
     Frat Boy gulped.  "Can I offer you a Corona?"  Chuggernaut
knocked him unconscious with a single blow.
     "Away with your Cinqo de Mayo! I must have the RACCelestial

          ===============          ===============

     Frat Boy flew through the set and onto the stage in the middle
of the swimsuit competition.  While none of the other suits were
as daring as California Girl's, they were all revealing enough to
boost sales tremendously, not to mention considerably cheesecake
the following fight scene. Warbabe was planning a slow death to
whoever was responsible for this, preferably by torture. If only
she could find a copy of Danny Bonnaduce's album.
     The giant Chuggernaut waded through the backround flats,
reached up and grabbed the hovering Hooded Ho`'od Win.  "Choose
now! Chuggernaut must know who the Madonna will be, so he can make
her his Beer Commercial Bimbo! HAHAHAHA!  CHOOSE!"
     VAMMO Woman took to the air, and immediately unleashed VAMMOO
after VAMMOO, rocking the Chuggernaut slightly.  Ordinary Lady,
aLLiterative Lass and Token Girl all attacked hand-to-hand, for
what it was worth.  Master Blaster and Sarcastic Lad were
dumbfounded, trying to figure a way _they_ could get every LNH
heroine to attack them in bikinis.
     Chuggernaut was momentarily taken aback at the combined
heroine might. "OOoof!  Ungh!  Ow!  Alright ladies, you asked for
it.  Don't say beer, say BULL!"
     At Chuggernaut's words, the rear of the great bandshell shook.
Then it exploded inward spraying concrete and set pieces, followed
by a giant blue ox.  Charging at the stage.
     Half the heroines turned to face the new threat.  Linguist
Lass adroitly ripped a red piece of curtain and began speaking in
Spanish.  The bull charged her as other heroines did their best to
attack the slavering beast. "FINALLY!" Warbabe commited an act of
such cruelty and violence that I cannot, in good conscience, relay
it to you. Blue Hamburger, anyone?
     Meanwhile, the more combat oriented women continued pounding
at Chuggernaut, who still clutched Hooded Ho`'od Win.  Search Lass,
Glitch Girl and some of the other non-combat types did their best
to evacuate the crowd. California Girl posed and giggled.
     VAMMO Woman zoomed down to Token Girl, Lurking Girl and
Organic Lass. "I've got a plan, but it'll require a concerted
effort...."  Like a cheesey B-film the four bikini'd women huddled
quickly and whispered.
     When they broke, VAMMO Woman again zoomed skyward.  Lurking
Girl joined Ordinary Lady and aLLiterative Lass at the
Chuggernaut's shin. "All at once, taste the summed totality of my
Lurk!" she cried.  The three struck as one on Chuggernaut's shin.
     Simultaneously, VAMMO Woman let loose a tremendous


     Chuggernaut reeled and toppled, releasing Hooded Ho`'od Win,
who resumed her watchful position.  As soon as Chuggernaut crashed
into the front thirty rows, Token Girl pounced onto his chest
holding two massive mugs of Samual Adams.
     "You may have bested Frat Boy, Chuggernaut, but now you've got
to outchug the LNH champion!"  She held out a mug for him.  He
sniffed at it and could not resist America's Best Beer for Three
Years Running.
     "Bah! MICRO-BREW! I will dispose of you as easily as this
beer, then claim the Beer Commercial Bimbo for myself!"
     The two tipped their glasses skyward and swallowed furiously.
Organic Lass concentrated and gestured at the liquid.  With her
molecular powers, she changed the Samual Adams to O'Douls.  Alcohol
free.  Token Girl choked and fell to her knees.  Chuggernaut was
more dramatic.
     "What have you done, you witch?!?  I'm poisoned!  Poinsoned!
AND I CAN'T SPELL! AAAALCHH!"  Chuggernaut whithered before their
eyes, becoming an unconscious Paul Tremens.  Behind them, Linguist
Lass managed to mercifully run the bull into a wall,
knocking itself unconscious and stopping Warbabe from shooting it

          ===============          ===============

     In the aftermath, the sweating, panting, scantily clad
heroines (Boy, sure paints a picture, doesn't it?) returned to
center stage.  The audience was half empty, but those remaining
began softly chanting with increasing urgency.(They'd been to lots
of Floyd shows.)
     "choose..choose..Choose..Choose..CHOose..CHOose..CHOOSE! (The
pig is coming...wrong chant! Oops....)"
     Hooded Ho`'od Win floated down to center.  All cameras focused
on her in her flowing white cowl.
     <(The contention is done!  I now know ....who`'od Win.  The
first runner up, who will become the RACCelestial Madonna should
the winner not be able to complete her duties, is California Girl!
)>  California Girl tried to hide her dissappointment.  <(For
resourcefulness and all-around heroism, The RACCelestial Madonna
is.....VAMMO WOMAN! )>
     There was an uncomfortable moment as Elvis Man looked at the
stage hands for the crown.  They shrugged helplessly.
     "Uuuh, how can she b'come th' Madonna without....?"
     Then there was a tremendous flash of light and from nowhere,
Decibel Dude fell to the stage (Mommy? is that you? Am I still in
Oz?), clutching the Tiara of Destiny.  Elvis Man took it
from him as he vomited prodigiously.  "Thankyou, thanyouverymuch."
He placed it on VAMMO Woman's head.
     The Tiara began glowing, eminating an aura that suffused VAMMO
Woman. As she rose dramatically into the sky, a new star of hope,
Elvis Man broke into the RACCelestial Madonna song.  Her voice rose
above it all.


     She seemed to explode in a brilliant flash of light.  The
Pageant ended just in time for Murder She Wrote.

          ===============          ===============

     Contraption Man had been half-heartedly tinkering as the
Pageant played in his workshop.  At the new Madonna's words, "I am
the living anchor," the Universal Anchor began shaking.  CM's eyes
grew wide and he bolted from the room.  He got out in time to avoid
the explosion of the spidery black machine. "So much for
stabilizing the time stream," he said when he caught
his breath, laughing nervously.  "I hope my master wReamicus
Maximus can handle this...."

          ===============          ===============

     Even Squalor had been watching the Pageant despite his unlife
status. When the Madonna flashed out, an echoing glow suffused his
     "I-I, I remember.  I am not Squalor!"  He tore the HP Sunclone
station from his back.  "Nor am I Joker Myk-El, Lex Myk-El, Dr.
Myk-El or Lizard O'Myk-El."  His features seemed to rejuvinate.
"I am MYK-EL, and I will have my Continuity BACK!!!"
     Myk-El roared upward, shattering his roof and screamed through
the sky in search of the Time Crapper.  Either one.

          ===============          ===============

     The recently revamped Load Island Renegades appeared in the
sanctum of wReamicus Maximus. "Now, everybody, what are we going
to do?"
     "Wait for the Rac.ctre to tell us to attack wReamicus."
     "What aren't we going to do?"
     "Sniff monkey butts, go to Tokyo, attack anyone else, make
another gateway to Hell..." As CAW and the Rodent listed all the
things that were verboten, Swordmaster congratulated himself on
managing to avoid appearing in LNH Comics Presents #21.
     So let's not tell him about this, okay?

          ===============          ===============

     Captain Cleanup, Domestic Lad, and the not so aptly named Kid
Not Appearing in Any Retcon Hour Story were beginning work on the
rubble at the Pageant bandshell.
     "There is order and there is messiness, and messiness must be
cleaned. Even in the face of armageddon I shall not compromise in
this," the Captain murmured.
     IMPLO appeared suddenly at center stage.
     "You missed it.  Everybody went home," piped up Domestic Lad.
"Oh no, you again."
     "LNH Comics Presents is cancelled," said IMPLO coldly, then
he dissappeared again.
     KNAARHS looked around, realized he was ina  Retcon Hour Story,
and fainted. Domestic Lad turned to Captain Cleanup.  "Do we still
have to finish?"

          ===============          ===============

Warbabe and Whip come from the cooky kitchen of the Badger
The Legion of Occult Heroes are soley the Fault of Paul "Against
the wall, Anglophile" Hardy
Chuggernaut based on an idea by Arthur Velks
Everybody else is somebody's baby

Written By Jeff "I'm not listening to you" McCoskey and

EPILOGUE (by Martin)

Meanwhile, on the Drizztsat:

  "Oh no!"
  "What is it, Drizzt?" Deja Dude asked.
  The Drizzt, Deja Dude and Continuity Champ were working at the
Drizztsat monitors, having been freed from their temporal loop (See
Generation Y Annual #1 --MFP).
  "Sensors are picking up the Ring of Retcon."
  "Wasn't that destroyed at the end of CRY.SIG?" Continuity Champ asked.
  The Drizzt shook his head.  "No: as Captain Continuity you sent... or
rather you will send it back in time to yourself."
  Deja Dude grimaced.  "And you wonder why people say CRY.SIG was
difficult to follow."
  The Drizzt ignored Deja Dude's comment.  "Apparently some villain has
managed to pull it out of the timestream."
  "The Time Crapper!" Continuity Champ declared.
  "That would not appear to be the case," The Drizzt observed.  "I'm
picking up the villain's Energy Signature (tm) and it doesn't appear to
be that of the Time Crapper.  I'll run a comparison between it and those
from my Defense Files."  The Drizzt worked with speed rivalling
Multi-Tasking Man himself.  "Ah!  We've got a match already."
  "wReamicus Maximus!" Deja Dude observed.
  "Who?" Continuity Champ asked.
  "Of course!  That explains everything!  He must have been after the
Ring of Retcon all along!  The man's a diabolical genius!"
  "Are you sure you're talking about wReam?" The Drizzt asked.
  "What about the Time Crapper?" Continuity Champ asked.
  The Drizzt shrugged his shoulders.  "I'm not picking his energy
signature up anywhere.  If he is involved as Kid Kirby said then he's
masking his presence somehow."
  "They're either working together or at odds with each other," Deja
Dude observed.  "Either way, RETCON MONTH HAS BEGUN!"


     Jeff J McCoskey       |M|   "Preservatives might be preservin' you all:
        DoD# 750A2         |c|   I think that's somethin' you mighta missed."
   jjmcc at ix.netcom.com     |Q|   -- Jefferson Airplane
           >>your Ad here!  low $$, commensurate visibility<<

Next Week: RETCON HOUR OMEGA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Arthur "Same Classic Channel.  But Same Time?  Probably not." Spitzer

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