Unca Cheeks the Toy Wonder's Silver Age Comics Web Site!

CONTESTANT #4: THE MIGHTY CRUSADERS

[UNCA CHEEKS' ASIDE: This site entry comes to us courtesy of our two extra-special guest reviewers. this week: the balding android super- organism known as Crispy, and his good-natured (and similarly cybernetic) sidekick, Hy -- two of LAST week's contestants in The Great Four-Color Feeb-Off.]

[SCENE OPENS on a shot of two swivel chairs on a raised Washington Week In Review-style sound stage; a low, circular table equidistant between them both, with a pitcher of water and two glasses resting atop.

[Crispy ENTERS from Stage Left, to audience APPLAUSE; he scowls disapprovingly, waving off their approbation with curt dismissal as he strides toward his assigned seat.Hy BOUNDS IN from Stage Right, to audience APPLAUSE. Grinning hugely, he lopes eagerly towards his own seat; trips over an exposed length of studio cable; flails desperately for an elastic, horrified moment, arms pinwheeling crazily; and (finally) pitches forward, headfirst, off the stage. There is a RESOUNDING CRASH, as Hy manages (apparently; judging from the resulting cacophony) to cannonball his luckless way into several metal folding chairs; a studio audience member or three; and -- inexplicably -- several small cats.]

CRISPY (shaking his head disgustedly, as he settles into his seat): "Good to see you haven't lost those panther-like reflexes of yours, Nureyev."

HY (clambering clumsily onto the stage; favoring both Crispy and the audience with a fixed, mortified grin): "H-Hi, Crispy! It's great seeing you again, after all these years! Where you been keeping yourself, ol' buddy, ol' pal...?"

CRISPY (turning towards the audience; sighing heavily): "Lookit, people: we all know how this 'Unca Cheeks' half-wit works by now, right? 'One Gag; No Waiting.' " [Jabs a thumb in the direction of the red-faced Hy; the latter whom -- having finally reached his seat -- stumbles over it; performs a highly involuntary somersault; and ends up doing a Lucifer's Hammer on several studio cameramen who couldn't hightail it quickly enough.]

CAMERAMAN (shrill, terrified shriek): "FIIIIIIIIRE INNNN THE HOOOOOOOLE -- !"

CRISPY (continuing; grimacing): "Assuming -- solely for the sake of argument, mind -- that the vast majority of you, out there, aren't lifelong and inveterate GOMER PYLE, U.S.M.C. fans; let's nip this particularly ham-fisted little homage to The Golden Age of Slapstick in the proverbial bud, right from the very git-go, shall we...?"

[Unclipping the cellular phone from his belt, Crispy quickly thumb-

jabs a number; waits patiently, through several rings; and then commences speaking, as soon as the receiver is picked up on the other end.]

CRISPY (coolly efficient): "The following web sites are all ones the details of whose genesis and/or ownership are not -- as of this moment -- public knowledge, but very easily could be: www.spankmebeppo.com; www.isleptwithjohnbryne.com; www.iwannaboffjarjarbinks.com -- "

HY (popping up from behind the stage, looking appreciably more rational and intelligent): "Hey! I don't feel like Scott Lobdell no more!"

CRISPY (drily): "Our long national nightmare is finally at an end, then." [Gesturing towards the other chair]: "Take a seat, Madame Curie. We've still got a decidedly lame and awful comic book to wade through."

HY (sitting down; still a little "shaken"): "I... I remember wanting to watch FELICITY re-runs... sing in karaoke bars... a terrible, all-consuming urge to post on the rac*dcu boards... "

CRISPY (not unkindly): "Honey. Hush." [Turning towards the audience]: "The Sinister Agents of The Nameless One" -- THE MIGHTY CRUSADERS #5; June, 1966 -- was authored by a pseudonymous and deeply, deeply ashamed Jerry "Superman" Siegel; penciled by Paul "Martian Manhunter" Reinman; and edited -- after a fashion -- by crusty and unshaven winos reeled in from the street, on a rotating basis, with the promise of free bottles of Night Train; Thunderbird; and Extra- Strength Nyquil, just so long as nobody up and squealed to the Feds."

HY (nodding): "Yup. That's pretty much how I remember it, too." [Licking his lips, in fond memory of the taste]: "MMMmmmm... Nyquil..."

CRISPY (continuing): "THE MIGHTY CRUSADERS Plus THE ULTRA- MEN Plus THE TERRIFIC THREE Dramatically Combat THE SINISTER AGENTS OF THE NAMELESS ONE (Part One)" is the full title, actually."

HY (perplexed): " Huh? 'The Ultra-Men'? 'The Terrific Three'? Vas is los, Colonel Hogan...?"

CRISPY (archly): "Just. You. Wait." [continuing]: "The ordeal begins with a shot of The Mighty Crusaders -- i.e., Fly Man, Fly Girl, The Shield, The Comet and The Black Hood -- being attacked by the masked, purple-and-yellow agents of D.E.M.O.N.; inexhaustible (if no less ineffectual, for all of that) henchdweebs of The Nameless One."

HY (still confused): "What does 'ineffectual' mean, anyways, Crispy? Huh? What's the big, hard word meeeeeaaaaan -- ?"

CRISPY (patiently): " 'Incapable of taking out the Mighty Crusaders in pitched battle.' " [continuing]: " 'D.E.M.O.N., of course' -- the following caption helpfully provides -- 'is the code-name of the international terror organization which furthers Destruction; Extortion; Murder; Oppression; and Nefariousness!' "

HY (brightly): "... which they do, obviously, by wantonly destroying; extorting; murdering; oppressing; and... ummmm... nefariating. I guess."

CRISPY: " 'Mission accomplished!' the leader of the D.E.M.O.N. Dork Deployment Team cackles, discharging his weapon. 'The anti-matter blaster has destroyed the Star-Olator, which was able to predict emergencies! They'll have to get their old crystal ball out of hock! Ha, Ha!' "

HY (giggling): "That dialogue reads the way Rae Dawn Chong acts."

CRISPY: "... when, suddenly: there's a frenzied squealing of high-grade rubber tires, and the terrifying tableau is interrupted by the addlepated arrival of -- "

HY (excited): " -- The Kids From FAME!"

CRISPY (shaking his head): "No."

HY (excited): " -- The POWERPUFF GIRLS!"

CRISPY (more emphatically): "No, Hy."

HY (excited): " -- Dolly Parton; Jane Fonda; and Lilly Tomlin, from that rollicking and irreverant cinematic family fun favorite, NINE TO FIVE!"

CRISPY (nodding, resignedly): "Close enough, then."

CRISPY: " 'Meet The Fox, finks!' the black-clad brawler snarls, leaping from his crazy, customized Corvette."

HY: " '... assisted by Yours Truly, The Web,' the big green-and-yellow poof alongside him seconds, agreeably."

CRISPY: " '... and that dedicated pummeler of punks... Captain Flag!' the third and final wannabe warbles, in wispy, unconvincing summation."

HY (muttering; sotto voce): "... sure look like The Kids From FAME, though."

CRISPY (sternly): "Shhhh. You promised." [continuing]: "The sudden and wholly unexpected arrival of Larry, Moe and Shemp, here, leads us straightaway into one of the patented MIGHTY CRUSADERS-type fight scenes of the period; in which the stunned and disbelieving no-goodniks find themselves reeling under the ferocious twin assault of both balled-up fists and Truly Crappy and Bollixed-Up Dialogue."

HY (helpfully): "Sort of like a Dean Martin MATT HELM movie. Only in tights."

CRISPY: " 'I'm here! You're there!' a philosophical Web observes, introducing a welcome aspect of the Kierkegaardian dynamic into the narrative. 'You've got a weapon! I haven't! What're you waiting for? An engraved invitation?' "

HY: " 'You've sung your last taunt, Web!' the D.E.M.O.N.ic doofus challenges; hefting his hand-cannon in Our Hero's general direction."

CRISPY: " 'A speck of dust on my boots!' the Web interjects, dropping to one knee in sudden consternation; the lethal bolt of destructive force a-

whizzing across the space where his head used to be. 'Excuse me while I brush it off -- !' "

HY (sighing): "... 'cause women go crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man!"

CRISPY (leaning forward and smacking Hy a good, hard'un): "No ZZ Top beyond this point, dammit!"

HY (pouting): "... not even the guitar solo from 'Tube Snake Boogie'...?"

CRISPY (meaningfully): "They're your 'nads, Ace. Wager 'em any way you wanna."

HY (continuing; sulkily): " 'No applause, please!' a strutting Fox informs the assembled Mighty Crusaders, post the summary dispatching of the D.E.M.O.N. doofii. 'Just make us Mighty Crusaders members, in gratitude!' "

CRISPY: " 'Gratitude?', an incredulous Black Hood remonstrates the tyro triumvirate. 'Fly Man, tell these Grade-"A" morons how they just goofed up everything!' "

CRISPY: " 'Behold the genuine Star-Olator mechanism!' a grim-visaged Fly Man seethes, moving aside what appears to be your standard, common, garden variety papier mache boulder -- "

HY: " -- always a helpful sort of thing to have, really, whenever your super-team of choice is given to holding regular monthly meetings in deserted cow pastures -- "

CRISPY: " -- 'The one we permitted the D.E.M.O.N. agents to destroy was a phoney!' the cranky Crusader concludes. 'When the prediction globe of the Star-Olator tipped us off yesterday to the imminent threat to it, we hid it in a hole in the ground, and substituted a fake! Can you guess why?' "

HY (hand instantly shooting up and waving frantically, a la Arnold Horshack): "OOOoooh! OOOoooh! Me! MemememeMEEEEEEEE -- !"

CRISPY (head slumping wearily, in resignation; sighing): "Knowing full well, in advance, how very much I'm going to regret this: yes, Hy -- ?"

HY (enthusiatically): "RACCOONS!"

[Crispy regards the still-beaming Hy for a frozen and infinite moment of complete and total silence.]

CRISPY (finally; flatly): " 'Raccoons.' "

HY (leaping to his feet and emitting a shrill shriek of panic): "AHHHH! Where? WHERE -- ?!?"

CRISPY (irritated): "No, no, you red-garbed retard! I was repeating what you blathered about bloody raccoo -- "

HY (scrabbling under the table, bleating in mortal dread): "AAAIIIIEEEEE! The paws! The hideous, unspeakable little PAWS! MOMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYY -- !"

CRISPY (turning towards the audience; matter-of-factly): "Lookit: I'll freely and readily grant you all that I appeared -- voluntarily, mind -- in one of the all-time crappiest super-hero comics known to man or God. And, all right: maybe I should be punished for that, ultimately -- "

HY (still curled up under the table, in a fetal position): "Oh, god! They're washing me! They're WASHING MEEEEEEEEEEEEE -- !"

CRISPY (continuing; pleading): "... but... I mean: Jesus! Come ON -- !"

HY (screeching, raw-throated): "SOMEBODY CALL THE KIDS FROM FAME, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD -- !"

CRISPY (crouching; murmuring in low, soothing tone): "Hy? It's all right, Hy..."

HY (moaning, piteously): "... Bruno... Coco... nonononononooooooo -- !"

CRISPY (still soothing): "They've already been here, Hy. Took all the evil, stinky, nastybad raccoon-type thingies and ate 'em alllllllllll up."

[Silence, for several heartbeats. Then:]

HY (popping up, grinning; as if absolutely nothing had happened): "Oh. Okey-dokey, then!"

CRISPY (philosophically; facing the audience once more): "Could be worse, actually. We'd probably both be buggering one another senseless right about now, if it was Garth Ennis doing the entries for this misbegotten site."

[Hy brightens apprecialy at this.]

CRISPY (emphatically): "NO." [returning to the narrative, once more]: "It turns out the Crusaders were hoping the D.E.M.O.N. dorks would mount an assault versus their precious Star-Olator, in order that the former might then track the latter back to their own villainous lair; there to kick themselves an appropriate amount of hinder."

HY: " '... only we barged in,' a mortified Fox glumly concludes; '...and messed up your strategy!' "

CRISPY: " 'Exactly!' an imperious Fly Girl commands the trio of abashed adventurers. 'Now that you've ruined everything, take those agents away from here before I forget I'm a lady and -- !' "

HY (staring avidly at the page reproduction; enraptured): "I'm in love with her, you know."

CRISPY (kindly): "You are a pinhead." [continuing]: " 'We won't waste time trying to force information out of these captives,' a contemplative Web muses, lobbing unconscious D.E.M.O.N. agents into the back of the Fox Car like so many cords of firewood; "... because it's common knowledge their minds are programmed so that once they're defeated, all D.E.M.O.N. info is mentally blocked out of their memories!"

[Crispy pauses; glances expectantly at Hy. Hy shakes his head.]

HY: "Nah. Even I could tell how stupid that was."

CRISPY (nodding; relieved): " 'The only way the three of us can redeem ourselves,' an embittered Captain Flag posits, 'is by forming a great crusading team of our own! We'll call ourselves... the Ultra-Men!' "

HY: " 'Ultra-Men,' the Black Hood sneers, contemptuously. 'Those jokers will never make good!' "

CRISPY: " 'Some people who at first belittled the Mighty Crusaders look ridiculous now,' the Shield observes, lying smoothly. 'Let's see how that new fighting team makes out, before deciding they're hopeless!' "

HY (suddenly curious): "Crispy...?"

CRISPY (warily): "Yesssssssssss...?"

HY (squirming in his seat; embarrassed): "Do you think Fly Girl would... well... you know... like me? Kind of, I mean? A little, maybe...?"

CRISPY (sunnily): "Only the tiniest smidgen less than a long, lingering and unmourned death by way of peritonitis." [continuing]: "Shortly thereafter -- whilst gadding about the city on patrol, in their Fox Car -- the Ultra-Men are startled and slackk-jawed by the incredible sight of wave after wave of heavily-armed D.E.M.O.N. storm troopers, parachuting their way downwards towards a shrieking and panic-stricken populace."

HY (curious again): "Crispy...?"

CRISPY (testily): "Yesssssssssss, Hy...?"

HY (puzzled): "What does 'peritonitis' mean...?"

CRISPY: "It's something your father gave your mother, in France. Along with the nylons. And the chocolate bar."

CRISPY: " 'On towards our most implacable foe!' the first D.E.M.O.N. soldier commands his fellows."

HY: " 'The Nameless One strikes!' the others carol, gleefully. 'For D.E.M.O.N.!' "

CRISPY: " 'Astonishingly,' the following caption goggles; '... the target for this mass attack is one man: Jack Desmond, the top agent of A.U.N.T.I.E. ...Amalgamated Universal Network To Inhibit Evil!' "

HY (wonderingly): "What do you suppose it actually takes, to become 'top agent' for an organization calling itself 'A.U.N.T.I.E.,' anyway...?"

CRISPY (knowingly): "Lederhosen, most likely."

HY: "The D.E.M.O.N. assault squad opens fire upon the Ultra-Men; and are frustrated, in turn, as their machine gun bullets end up bouncing off the 'newly-invented secret alloy' chasis of their ubiquitous Fox Car."

CRISPY: " 'Since being passive targets isn't in our scheme of things,' the Fox informs them; '... have our bizarre contribution to this swinging hullaballoo! Terror Bubbles!' "

HY (to the audience): "... and this was the guy who came up with Superman, folks." [Shakes his head, sadly]: "There's a lesson in this for all of us, I think."

CRISPY (nodding): "Never develop a five-hundred-dollar-per-day tar heroin habit. And never, ever fall behind in your multiple alimony payments."

HY: "The D.E.M.O.N. dinkweeds all start collapsing to the pavement, quivering and blubbering uncontrollably, as the aforementioned 'Terror Bubbles' burst against them, one by one."

CRISPY: " 'As the Terror Bubbles contact those hardened warriors,' agent Jack Desmond marvels; '... they're tossing away their weapons... and huddling together like a pack of terrified cowards!' "

HY: " 'No person is without fear!' a congenial Fox explains. 'The chemicals in the bubbles affect the brain, so the instinct of caution is magnified into cowardice!' "

CRISPY: "The heroes' heady rush of giddy exultation is a short-lived one, however; as the remaining D.E.M.O.N.oids unceremoniously gas Fox; Web; Captain Flag; and Desmond all into twitching unconsciousness."

HY: "The feeble foursome are all bundled up in nice, shiny metal mesh netting, then; and are promptly carted off, via D.E.M.O.N. rocket ship, to Parts Unknown."

CRISPY: " ' [...] the onlookers notified the F.B.I.,' the very next caption exposits; '... who alerted A.U.N.T.I.E. ... who wised up the Mighty Crusaders'; who all pile into their super-swanky'C''-Craft, in turn, and Hi-Yo Silver themselves after the whole sorry shebang: cretin and criminal, alike."

HY: " 'About the Ultra-Men being goof-ups,' a sniggering Shield observes, en route. 'Remember: I said it first!' "

CRISPY: "... and this was the considered and stated opinion of a leading expert in the field of Applied Goof-Uppery, to boot."

HY: " 'The kidnap-rocket is dead ahead, Rainbow Lid!' the hotly pursuing hottie, Fly Girl, points out to the hued-helmeted Comet."

CRISPY: " 'Let's go get it, Cutie-Pie!' the moustachioed mook shoots back."

HY (whimpering with purest, unadulterated need): "Ohhhhhhh, Fly Girl... sweet and virginal chosen one..." [Starts...rubbing himself, surreptitiously. Sort of.] "I shall bear your children, O Perfect, Full-

Figured One -- !"

CRISPY (staring at Hy; incredulous): "Please, please remind me to get you a stuffed animal."

HY (shuddering his way, glassy-eyed, into some vague semblance of normalcy): "The Crusaders all end up getting themselves similarly zapped and snatched; and everydamnbody ends up hanging around -- paralyzed and fuming -- atop the floating mountain peak city-slash-headquarters of the much-discussed 'Nameless One.' "

CRISPY: "That would be the hamhock-hindered bowling league reject pictured above, sporting the big metal chapeau that looks like a Lego."

HY: " 'The super-powered ones among you,' Orca the Mighty belches, contentedly; "... lost your powers because every molecule of matter in [...] this headquarters is inimical to, and cancels out, super-powers!' "

CRISPY: "... which -- translated into human speech -- reads as: 'You Have No Super-Powers Here Because You Have No Super-Powers Here.' Essentially."

HY: " 'I have a particularly unpleasant finish in store for you,' the porcine planner continues, picking an entire roast chicken out from between his yellowing teeth. 'But first, look at yon monitor, and observe a typical D.E.M.O.N. terror mission, such as you can no longer squelch!"

CRISPY: " 'My agents are destroying humanitarian award trophies!' the fattie felon cackles, hooking a meaty thumb towards the aforementioned video screen. 'Next, they'll slay the awards' recipients!' "

HY (getting caught up in the excitement off it all, now): "Migawd! This looks like a job for The Kids Fro --!"

CRISPY (quickly): "JEEZUS H. CHRIST! Who let all of those vicious, android-eating RACCOONS into the studio -- ?!?"

HY (bolting from the studio; shrilling his frenzied, artifical little lungs out): "AAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE -- !!"

CRISPY (facing the audience; levelly): "A man can only be reasonably expected to take so much, after all."

CRISPY (continuing, solo): "Unbeknownst to all involved up to this point in the narrative, however: the Mighty Crusaders' main super-villainous nemesis -- the only-slightly-less-revoltingly-rotund-than-The-Nameless-

One super-schemer known as The Spider -- has been ogling all of the foregoing with a none-too-terribly-pleased eye, via his own super-duper video screen.

" 'Bah!' he bahs. 'The Nameless One intends to destroy the Crusaders before I can! How infuriating!'

"He's not the only career recidivist experiencing an embarrassing bout of caperus interruptus, in the meantime; as the dispatched D.E.M.O.N. dummies find themselves confronted by yet another umpteenth-rate hero of the Archie Comics Group's long-ago adventure heyday.

" 'Grenades... become transformed into grenade-boomerangs,' a ghostly figure solemnly intones; '... and return to the jackals who hurled you!' "

" 'It's Mr. Justice,' one of the spandexed stinkers kvetches; '... the spook who combats evil with hocus pocus!'

" 'Stick around, crumbs, for the fireworks!' a second costumed mesomorph -- one Steel Sterling, by name -- chortles, zipping in through an open window and conking a few nefarious heads together.

" 'You crazy hero, you!' another D.E.M.O.N. agent scolds. 'Those grenade-boomerangs will kill us all!' Except the daintily powder blue one who's already Driving While Dead, that is. One supposes.

"Suddenly, however: unspeakably lame and awful Archie Comics heroes -- much in the fashion of other devastating natural disasters, throughout history -- always occurring in threes...

" '...the Jaguar, Master of the Animal Kingdom, arcs in!' It says, here.

"God help us all."

CRISPY (continuing): " 'Ha, Ha!' a policeman chuckles, good-naturedly, once the dust has settled and arrests have been handed out, all around. 'Nice work, Crusaders!'

" 'Correction, officer!' the Ghostly Goodnik genially scolds. 'The name of this team is... THE TERRIFIC THREE!' And it stands as mute testament to the sheer, unimaginable power of the creature known as 'Mr. Justice' that no one there assembled, in said banquet hall, bursts out into peals of shrill, disbelieving laughter at said portentious pronouncement, I dare say.

" 'Excuse me, now!' the heroic haunt concludes, courteously. 'I psychically sense the Mighty Crusaders and the Ultra-Men are trapped by The Nameless One!'

" 'Mr. Justice may not win any beauty prizes,' a grinning Steel Sterling amiably observes, as he and the Jaguar flit skywards in the Deceased Defender's wake; '... but I'd rather have him for a teammate than a whole army of fighting commandos!'

" 'Our spook-pal can sense what you're thinking,' the Jaguar scolds him; '... and if you believe it's fun to be a ghostly outsider... try it yourself!' "

HY (calling, from OFF-PANEL): "Crispy? I'm really feeling way better, now..."

CRISPY (rolling his eyes; sighing heavily): "No more Kids From FAME, then...?"

HY (scoffing good-naturedly, from OFF-PANEL): "Ah-hahahaha! Of course not, you big silly, you!"

CRISPY (shaking his head, with obvious reluctance; knowing in his gut that he's going to regret the holy hell out of this): "All right, then. Bring it, Count Whackula. Surprise me."

[HY re-enters, from Stage Left. He is tarted up in a crude, home-

stitched mock-up of Fly Girl's costume; complete with lop-sided "falsies" and an appreciably askew blonde wig. He settles primly into his assigned seat; crossing his legs demurely at the heels. Crispy stares at him, wordless and unblinking.]

HY (explaining): "It just makes me feel... y'know... safer, is all." [Crispy continues to goggle, silently.] "... an'... an'... an', like, more... secure. An'... " [gestures helplessly, by way of inarticulate summation.] "... an'... stuff, there."

CRISPY (enunciating with exaggerated care): "I pray nightly for Frederick Wertham to track you to your foul, subterranean lair. With napalm. AND a chain saw."

[Hy's lower lip starts quivering, tremulously. Crispy turns towards the audience, once more.]

CRISPY: "The Terrific Three quickly locate the Nameless One's not-so-

hidden hideout; muscle their way into same; and promptly encounter approximately umpty-gazillion Seriously Aggressive D.E.M.O.N. henchpoofs. Give or take."

CRISPY: " 'Am unable to command these men,' a panicky Jaguar bleats, as he (and the others) are summarily surrounded; '... who, after all, are a form of animal life... not to resist! My mighty-power doesn't work!' "

HY (brushing away the single, fat tear coursing its way down his hastily-rouged cheek): "You... you despise me, don't you? You've always despised me. Just admit it."

CRISPY (agreeably): "I despise you. I've always despised you." [continuing]: "The Ectoplasmic Envoy, however -- being singularly unaffected, re: the Nameless One's whole 'You-Have-No-Powers-Here' dealie -- sets off after the fleeing uberugly; cornering him, at length, miniaturized and cowering within a glass carafe."

HY: " 'It won't work, pally!' a sneering and cocksure Mr. Justice boasts. 'Reducing myself to itsy-bitsy size is a minor feat for a spectral being like myself! Here I come... ready or NOT!' "

CRISPY: " 'I've been had!' the lifeless lawman stammers, however, a nano-moment later. 'This is just a tiny dummy figure off the Nameless One!' "

HY: "Thus helpless and secured within the spirit-restraining decanter, then; a horrified Mr. Justice can only stare, impotently, as a gleeful and gloating Nameless One turns his heretofore unmentioned 'Evolution Ray' upon the remainder of the still-paralyzed heroes."

CRISPY: " 'Soon, you'll be mindless troglodytes!' the brontosaurian baddie cackles, mirthlessly.

HY: "... when: right about then -- "

CRISPY: "... the Kingpin's Other Ugly Kid Brother comes a-crashin' through the far wall, in his souped-up Cholesterol Craft (tm)!"

CRISPY: " 'I don't want to harm you, Nameless One,' the roly-poly Spider informs his criminal co-equal; lunging at him (somewhat incongruously) with a hand cannon the size of a freakin' spray paint gun -- "

HY (shaking his head; adamant): "No."

CRISPY (testily): " 'No' what, you transvestite twit -- ?"

HY (earnestly): "He has a name, actually. It's -- "

CRISPY (holding up a palm, in warning): "Wait. Wait."

[Bending over while still remaining seated, Crispy reaches underneath his seat and extracts a good-sized paper bag. He places the bag -- which plainly contains something, slightly larger than (say) a human head -- and fixes the puzzled Hy with a bland, unreadable stare.]

CRISPY (perfectly tabula rasa): "Oooooooooookay. Do it. Twisted freak bastard."

HY (swallowing hard; but soldiering resolutely forward, nonetheless): "Well, I... I was... I was only gonna say that -- "

CRISPY (waggling his fingers in a "hurry-up-quick" gesture): "Coooooooommmmmme on, then. You wanna. You know you wanna."

HY (meekly): "... that the Nameless One's name is actually 'the Nameless One, see... 'cause everybody calls him that, alla the time... and so -- "

[In one smooth motion, Crispy removes the oversized papier mache raccoon's head from its protective bag; places it over his own cranium; and levels a quavering, accusatory finger towards the open-mouthed automaton.]

CRISPY (voice booming hollowly, from within the cavernous depths of the raccoon's head): "Luuuuuuuuuuuuuke... IIIIIIIIIIII aaaammmmmm your fatherrrrrrrrrrr, Luuuuuuuuuuuuuke -- !"

[A manifestly terrified Hy emits a single, high-pitched squeak of all-

consuming mortal dread; audiblysoils himself; and promptly faints dead away.]

[Crispy removes the raccoon's head; returns the fetish to its assigned place beneath his chair; and turns to face the audience, once more.]

CRISPY (matter-of-factly): "Actually, I was hoping for a massive coronary seizure." [returning to the narrative, once more]: "... and, so -- whilst rumbling and tumbling and plain, old-fashioned bear wrasslin' with one another, over the question of Which Over-Stuffed Overmind Gets To Snuff the Mostest Super-Heroes Firstest: the Nameless One and the Spider jointly manage to accidentally knock over the frammistat keeping Crusaders, Ultras and Terrifics frozen in place; initiating a wild, swinging free-for-all!

"... and, scant seconds after that: an errant ray-pistol shot rudely shatters the glassware prison containing a still-P.O.'d Mr. Justice --

"... and, THEN: all freaking holy heck breaks loose!"

CRISPY (continuing): "Magicking the Nameless One's malevolent Mile High Club into non-existence, then: the Hacked-Off Haunt floats nearby, impassively, as heroes; villains; and D.E.M.O.N. shocktroopers alike demonstrate just what it is, precisely, which invariably occurs at thirty- two feet per second per second.

" 'We're dropping t-to our DEATH!' the Nameless One rapidly intuits; the gale force winds of descent whipping the fleshy folds of his cheeks and making a loud wub-wub-wub-WUBBing sound, in the process.

" 'Friends as well as foes!' a wide-eyed Fox wails, in caterwauled agreement. 'Has the Royal Wraith flipped his spectral wig -- ?!?'

"Welllllllllllllll: no."

CRISPY (continuing): "It turns out that wacky ol' Mr. Justice was just funnin' a little, y'see; and -- with another ghostly bit of hocus pocus, or three -- the bad guys all end up suitably ensconced in the appropriate pokeys; and the good guys all end up safe and sound on terra firma, smiling and waving and pledging Friendship Eternal with one another, and suchlike.

"Makes me wanna puke my non-existent guts out, f'chrissakes."

[His handsome artificial features darkening, then -- an embittered scowl speaking volumes, re: the depths of his pent-up rage and jealousy -- the android known as "Crispy" leans forward in his seat, and growls with a soft and terrible insistence.]

CRISPY (gritting it out): "... I mean: every single fanboy generation of writers and editors 'twixt then and NOW has bent its non-corporeal corpus double over backwards, in attempt after doomed attempt to haul these freakin' goobers and gobblers out of their own richly merited anonymity; and, meanwhile -- MEANWHILE! -- good, decent DELL COMICS super-heroes such as Dracula, and The Fab Four, get passed freaking over,time and again... and AGAIN... and AGA -- "

HY (loudly; from OFF-STAGE): "OooooKAY! HIT IT, people -- !"

[There's a sudden, blaring, syncopated thunderclap of cheesy, '80s-

style disco music; and dozens upon dozens of goofily-grinning teenagers in leg warmers and tights come frugging and shrugging their way energetically onto the stage; with a still-transvestially tarted Hy bumping and grinding enthusiastically, in their midst.]

KIDS (in noisy, choraled unison): "FAME!

I'm gonna live forEVERRRRRR!

Baby, remember my NAME!

FAME -- !"

HY (shouting over the din; gleeful): "Lookit, Crispy! I'm a for-real 'Fly Girl,' now! Wheeeeeeeeee -- !"

[Crispy stares blankly at the nightmarish tableau before him, for a palsied and wholly uncomprehending moment. Then: turning towards the audience one final time, and donning the raccoon's head once more]:

CRISPY (shrugging, helplessly): "Oh, bloody hell, then."

[The bald-pated automaton leaps to his feet; watusis his way smoothly into the crush of the milling, be-bopping throng; and commences to Shaking His Artifical Groove Thang. With a vengeance.]

CRISPY (bellowing to make himself heard, over the monotonous, mind-
deadening groove): "... and, hey! We'll be seeing you all right here -- on this very stage, in fact -- next time out, in the fifth exciting installment of THE FIRST ANNUAL UNCA CHEEKS FOUR-COLOR FEEB-OFF -- !"

HY (calling out): "G'night, everybody -- !"

CRISPY (ditto): "... and God bless!"

[ ... annnnnnnd --

[ ... FADE OUT]

The First Annual UNCA CHEEKS FOUR-COLOR FEEB-OFF (PAGE ONE)

The First Annual UNCA CHEEKS FOUR-COLOR FEEB-OFF (PAGE TWO)

The First Annual UNCA CHEEKS FOUR-COLOR FEEB-OFF (PAGE THREE)

The First Annual UNCA CHEEKS FOUR-COLOR FEEB-OFF (PAGE FIVE)

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