LNH: Classic LNH Adventures #247: Another LNH Title, Really? #4 and LNH vII #60

Arthur Spitzer arspitzer2 at gmail.com
Sun Jun 12 13:58:22 PDT 2022

You can sift through the racc list archive
or you can try google groups racc for these LNH issues.

First off it's Another LNH Title, Really?  (No!  Really)!  This one is by Drew Nilium
and it's Number Four in the series.  We've got Namer Boy, You're-Not-Hitting-Me-Hard-
Enough Lad, and Library Lad VS that old NTB foe -- The Universal Office!  And is
Library Lad perhaps a little too pro-Universal Office?!  (And side note: those
Paul Smith X-Men were the first X-Men comics I read when I was a kid.  I do remember
my Mom looking at the comic that had like a scantily clad Storm knife fighting a
scantily clad Callisto on the cover and wondering if this really was appropriate
entertainment for like a seven year old kid and my Dad answering that it
was totally fine -- it's got the Comics Code on it).

And finally we have LNH vII #60 by Saxon Brenton.  It's the Final Issue of the Second
Volume of the LNH series  (Drew started a vol. 3).  And is it also the final Saxon 
Brenton LNH story? (Did a google group check on this and Saxon does right a Bite-Size 
Tales of the LNH v20 issue after this -- although that's LNH20 -- so this would be his 
last classic LNH tale.)

And will Saxon give the Second Anal-Retentive Archive Kid a name before he rides his
kangaroo off into the sunset?  And will it be a name worthy of character called
Anal-Retentive Archive Kid?!  (And all joking aside I do hope Saxon got through the
whole Covid Plague fine -- and that if Saxon never writes another LNH story again
it's because he realized it's all a sucker's game that won't get him to the fame and
fortune glory land -- and not health reasons.  Anyhow, here's to you, Saxon!  
(Tip of the Crocodile Dundee Hat).

Anyways all that aside, let's all read...

             | |      Classic			
             | |                      =
             | |      ____    ____    _    ____    ___
             | |__   | [] |  | [] |  | |  | [] |  | _ \  

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

                                    ADVENTURES #247

               Another LNH Title, Really? #4 and LNH vII #60

From: Andrew Perron pwerdna at gmail.com
Date: Sat Mar 14 15:04:43 PDT 2015

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                              < LIBRARY LAD >
                               < NAMER BOY >

                        #4: "Maintenance Overtime!"
                             by Andrew Perron


    Namer Boy and You're-Not-Hitting-Me-Hard-Enough Lad were walking
through the LNHQ's library with armloads of comics (their book club had
just gotten to the Claremont/Smith run of X-Men) when YNHMHELad almost
tripped over a length of rope that was lying on the floor. They followed
it to a door that was open just a crack, with a sign on it saying

    You're-Not-Hitting-Me-Hard-Enough Lad looked at Namer Boy. Namer Boy
looked at YNHMHELad. As one, they pushed it open.

    On the other side, a neverending landscape, with a drop ceiling for a
sky and a savannah of beige carpet. Rows and rows of cubicles and
fluorescent lights went off as far as the eye could see. Many of them
had mannequins busily tapping at keys, but huge segments of the endless
room were unlit, spots of shadow stretching to the horizon.

    In the nearest cubicle, a figure stood, stretched, and walked out. It
was Library Lad, with the rope tied around his waist; his eyes lit up
when he saw them. "Oh, hey guys!"

MMMMF MMF! ...mmf?"

    Library Lad removed his hand from NB's mouth. "Hang on..." He looked
around at the mannequins, but they stayed at their posts, continuing
their work.  The net.heroes stepped outside, and LL closed the door and
took off the rope. "Okay. So, don't worry, the Office isn't attacking."

    "Oh, ha ha, the Office isn't attacking! That's good! I guess we don't
need to worry about you being corrupted by its power, then!" Namer Boy
leaned over and stage whispered to YNHMHELad, "You istract-day him, I'm
going to et-gay Earless-Fay Eader-Lay!"

    He took off running... and didn't go anywhere. Library Lad had him by
the collar - he was pretty strong for a thirteen-year-old. "Will you
just listen for a second? Fearless Leader already knows about this."

    Namer Boy glared at YNHMHELad, who shrugged. "He doesn't seem too
corrupt-y. Give him five minutes."

    "Okay, okay. But what's going on, if it's not an attack?"

    "I'm fixing up the Looniverse's Universal Office!"

    Namer Boy took off again, running in place for a few more seconds. He
whirled around, shook off LL's hand and shouted, "WHY?! The Office has
been nothing but trouble since the NTB first fought it [in the now-
classic Wrath of the Administrator - Footnote Girl]! Why would you want
to fix something that only exists to create and enforce stupid and
pointless rules!?"

    "Because..." Library Lad hesitated on the edge of a word. "Because
what it represents is important."

    "Bureaucracy?" said YNHMHELad quizzically.

    "Rules. Ones with a point." Library Lad started picking books up off
a cart and shelving them as he talked. "Without rules, without law, you
have anarchy, where what the strongest says goes, whether or not it's
fair or just. Rules, laws, policies and paperwork were created to check
power, balance it, make it accountable - match power to responsibility."

    "The temptation of the Office is to use the rules to unbalance power,
turning on the people they're meant to serve, vampiric red tape that
drains energy and resources. But as a Writer Character who represents
one specific aspect of a personality - and as a former god with a very
specific profile - I'm not tempted. I just want to make the system work

    "So you're saying you're too simplistic of a character to be
corrupted," said Namer Boy, skeptically.

    "I prefer 'pure', but whatever works."

    "But do you really think it can be used for that?" asked YNHMHELad.

    "I'd like to think so. But the system is only as good as whoever's in
charge of it - which is why it's still locked away."

    "Locked away? I thought you'd taken charge," said Namer Boy, finally
relaxing a bit.

    "Nah, I'm just on a basic user account." Library Lad wheeled the book
cart back behind the desk. "Sig.Lad drove the Sword of Sig, a powerful
Arthurian artifact, into it. Now, the higher functions of the system are
locked down tight, and only the one who is worthy to draw the sword from
the stone may become the Administrator."

    "I got it, I got it." NB scratched his head. "So in this metaphor,
you're... what, Merlin?"

    "I think the equivalent might be... the Lady of the Lake? Or perhaps
Griflet. I should actually read Mallory sometime." Library Lad shrugged.
"Anyway, I'm not the hero of this story. I'm the one who sets it up so
that others can be." He cracked his knuckles. "Speaking of which, did
you want to check those out?"

    "Oh, right..." They put the comics on the desk. "Thanks."

    "No problem! Just keeping things going."


Author's Note: Continuity-wise, this is a followup to Wrath of the
Administrator, as well as the later Bad Forms crossover in the LNH, but
thematically, it's a followup to "The Office", the ASH arc that explores
what the Multiversal Office is like when someone's *not* trying to use
it for villainous purposes. I was re-reading Bad Forms and got to
thinking about what kind of person would be compatible with its nature,
and this is what came out.

Andrew "NO .SIG MAN" "Juan" Perron, also using Mighty Medley-style
indentation, but longer paragraph breaks.

From: Saxon Brenton saxonbrenton at hotmail.com
Date: Sun Jul 5 02:01:40 PDT 2015

[LNH/HCC] Legion of Net.Heroes Volume 2 #60 
___  ___________________________
| |-|                           \
| |-| []                        /              #60
| | | [] egion of               \ 'Short Story About Mistaken Identity'
| | | []__ [] []   []  []       /  (Part of High Concept Challenge #54) 
| | | [___][ \[]et.[]__[]eroes  \ 
| | |      []\ ]   [ __ ]       /     written by and copyright 2015 
| |-|      [] []   []  []       \           Saxon Brenton 
| |-|___________________________/
| | 
| | 
| | 
| | 
| | Cover shows a LNH action figure of a buff green-skinned figure
| | with tusks.
| | 
| | 
     The second Anal-Retentive Archive Kid was hanging out with friends 
at a coffee shop near the university.  There was ARAK 2 and...  Hmm, you 
know, I should give the guy a real name.  I mean, he's been around for a 
few years and even got a co-starring role in LNHv2 #50.  Uhm, okay, Fred 
Gnarshteeth.  That'll do.
     So there was Fred, currently doing non-Legion stuff with some 
friends: Aaron and Richard and Kwame and Wen and Jlipdoopleyop.  The 
later was one of the extraterrestrial students.  Despite the fact that 
he wasn't human there's no way that Fred was anything like the weirdest 
looking dude sitting at the table.
     They were talking about, oh, I dunno, let's say an interesting new 
paper in slood dynamics.  Now, recall that Fred was a political sciences 
major rather that an engineer, but he was able to keep up (and even make 
pertinent comments) when Jlipdoopleyop started enthusing about slood 
viscosity co-efficients.
     They were interrupted.  "Gnashteeth!"
     Fred looked over and saw another student, and as it happened 
another orc.  A maths prodigy by the name of Trak who was on the 
gridiron team and had a girlfriend who was in the anime club.  The 
newcomer didn't look happy.
     "Hey Trak, what's up?"
     "This is what's 'up'," said Trak angrily, and waved a toy at him 
with one hand.
     Fred didn't recognise it.  "What is it?" 
     "It's your freaking LNH action figure, idiot!" went Trak, and then 
decked Fred with a punch to the jaw.  He threw down the toy onto the 
table and snarled, "Double check your damn merchandising contracts!" 
before storming off.
     Fred massaged his jaw and took a dubious look at the toy lying on 
the table.  "That's supposed to be me?"
     Aaron picked it up and looked at the name and copyright indicia 
printed on the underside of the feet.  "That's what it says."
     Fred was utterly bemused, and he wondered what excuse Public 
Relations Kid would have for this.  For one thing, Fred didn't recall 
even having the toy forwarded to him for approval of his likeness.  Out 
loud he said, "But that doesn't look anything like me!"
     Which was true.  For one thing, the action figure was handsome.  
There was a trend in fanart about orcs to depict them as buff looking 
dudes, like human body builders who had been painted with green body 
paint and given prosthetic tusks and then told to stand around in their 
underwear (or less) doing pinup poses.  And while that general 
appearance certainly fit the description of Trak, it didn't look at all 
like Fred.
     Sure, Fred was large and muscular.  But he was an unflattering 
greenish-grey colour, with a bristle of brown hair that he kept trimmed 
short.  More importantly, his face looked like someone had taken a 
felt-tip marker and drawn a very detailed face on a balloon.  All the 
features were there, but looked at from the side he had a bulbous face 
with no prominent chin or nose.  In fact, Fred looked like he *should* 
have a large nose - probably one of those pig-like snouts that you saw 
on the orcs in the Dungeons and Dragons TV cartoons made in the 1980s - 
but it had somehow gotten pushed flat into his face (possibly in an 
incident involving chasing parked cars).
     "Huh.  I guess someone saw the licensed toy and thought he was 
you," guessed Wen.
     "I guess so," mused Fred.  "But I wonder what happened to make 
him so angry."
     What indeed?  Let us backtrack a mere 48 hours to find out.
     Trak woke up on the floor of a barred cell.  It was made out of 
stone blocks rather than cinderblock bricks, and it had the ambience of 
medieval dungeons.  But that was okay.  Trak had lived in university 
frat houses that were worse.  What worried him was that he wasn't 
wearing his jeans, sneakers and t-shirt, but instead was wearing some 
sort of gladiatorial costume.
     That did not bode well.
     He got up and circumnavigated the cell, examining it and looking 
for a way out.  The barred door was locked and there seemed to be no 
other ways out.  Nevertheless, he set about searching for secret exits, 
because he had free time and what else was he going to do to keep 
himself occupied.
     Trak hadn't found anything by the time a pair of armoured guards 
came and ordered him out of the cell.  The student demanded to know 
here they were taking him, but they just zapped him with staff-like 
electric prods, kind of like stun pikes used by the guards in the 
original Tron movie.  "Move!" ordered the guards, and Trak was herded 
through the corridors and out into an arena like space.
     The first thing that Trak noticed that although the arena wasn't 
more than a few tens of yards across, the seats surrounding it were 
full.  A roar of approval went up as Trak entered and looked around.  
Next was the pile of swords and other weapons lying on the ground near 
the entrance.  Nothing that would help him against the guards with their 
electric prods, worse luck, but then that would be expected.  Finally 
was that the arena was enclosed.  Trak wondered if they were underground.
     A figure up in the stands in what seemed to be a prominent booth 
stood up.  A male figure in faux medieval clothes, from what Trak could 
see.  His clothing contrasted strangely with the Roman gladiatorial 
motif.  The figure held up his hands, and the crowd stopped making 
quite so much noise.
     "My friends!  I, the Duke of Poughkeepsie, welcome you to the 
gladiatorial games!  Tonight's advertised entertainment: one of the 
Legion of Net.Heroes!"  The crowd roared again. "Let the games begin!"
     Across the arena another door was raised, and out stalked some 
hungry lions.  Trak instinctively backed up, moving closer to the 
weapons.  He glanced about, once again looking for escape routes, but 
as with the cell there seemed to be none.  Keeping an eye on the lions, 
Trak scooped up a sword.  He hoped that his football throwing arm, not 
to mention all the batting he did during baseball season, would help him 
with using the thing.
     The lions stalked closer.  They had crossed about three quarters of 
the distance when suddenly the roof of the arena was torn off and search 
lights strobed down, searing across the seated audience, the lions, and 
most especially onto Trak himself.  "There he is!"
     Even magnified over a mecha loudspeaker system, Trak recognised 
that voice.  It was Aiko.  She had obviously gone to the other members 
of the anime club, and they had used their mecha to come and rescue him!
     "Bad kitties!" Aiko announced, and launched some missiles if not 
necessarily at them, then at least in their general direction towards 
the centre of the combat area.  The resulting explosions sent the lions 
fleeing.  Trak had already taken cover, since he knew what the anime 
club got up to with their 1:1 scale reproductions.  The screams from the 
audience had changed, since they were now fleeing as well.  Trak could 
see that the so-called Duke of Poughkeepsie was already gone.  Just as 
well, from their point of view, since the first mecha then proceeded to 
rip the hole in the roof even larger, sending debris falling into the 
     In all there were three mecha that clambered into the gladiatorial 
chamber.  Trak was wondering if there were any others outside, when the 
cabin to the first mecha opened and Aiko jumped out.  She was wearing a 
full body combat suit that, leaving only the head, with her lovely 
purple skin and the waving forest of squid-like tentacles on her scalp, 
     She raced up to him and glommed him, kissing him deeply.  Cue the 
crescendo of romantic music.  
     Then: "What the hell did you do to end up here!?"
     "I have no idea!" protested Trak.  "They were talking about having 
one of the Legion in as a star attraction for a fight!"
     "Huh.  Sounds like it may have been a case of mistaken identity," 
she said sourly, and still sounding as if she only half believed what 
he was telling her.
     "Maybe," he snorted.  "If it is, I'll make whoever's responsible 
regret it."
Character credits: All characters are my responsibility.
Author's notes:
     Written for the 54th High Concept Challenge: Neon Talking Super 
Street Bat-Luge! "Insert a character, costume, accessory, secondary 
mutation, or concept that has as its primary motivation the promotion 
of a new addition to the toy-line". 
     So after procrastinating on this for a while, and then 
procrastinating some more when there was an extension, I came up with 
this in the last half day.
     If you want some sort of explanation, then I can tell you that 
slood is a joke made in on of the early Discworld novels by Terry 
Pratchett (there was once a world so primitive that they didn't know 
what slood was...), and that the Duke of Poughkeepsie is a character 
that I've referred to a few times and whose name derives from the 
L. Sprague de Camp story 'Divide And Rule'.  Ah, but that's not the 
explanation you were interested in, was it?  You want to know what I've 
smoking to get another story that *swerves* so darn much.  Okay, okay, 
fine.  Desperately trying to get a story finished by the contest 
deadline is my drug of choice.
Saxon Brenton   University of Technology, city library, Sydney Australia 
     saxon.brenton at uts.edu.au     saxonbrenton at hotmail.com 
"These 'no-nonsense' solutions of yours just don't hold water in a complex 
world of jet-powered apes and time-travel." - Superman, JLA Classified #3  	


Next Week:  Hmm.  Where are we at this point?  2015?  Wait.  What is that?  I
            see a crack in reality!  Flashing images from the past!  Dan Quayle! Ross Perot!
            Bill Clinton playing tenor sax for Arsenio Hall!  Aladdin!  Basic Instinct!  Batman
            Returns! Whitney Houston!  Nirvana!  Simply Red!  Azrael!  Doomsday!  No!  Something 
            from the past is grabbing the Classic LNH Adventures series!  Something dangerous and
            chaotic!  Something that can't spell the word 'Seize'!  It's the Age of wReam!!!!!!
            May Dvandom Save Our Souls!!!


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

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