We’ve set another new low for non-submitters! Is it one, or is it zero? Let’s find out!11!1!!!

Dan Kautz, Spawn of Steinbeck

“There’s a message coming through, Boss,” called the jet pilot back through the corridor as the plane passed over another mile of uninterrupted ocean.

“We’ll take it back here,” the team leader, Hitman, answered.

The screen in the cabin flickered on. “Rifding Hokme here,” said the one-eyed, Swedish-born general with more than a passing resemblance to John Travolta. “We’re reading your transport approaching our island base in the South Pacific, Hitman.”

“That’s true, sir. We’re close to the fortress we were sent to assault. We anticipate landing there within two hours.”

“Detour to our base first, Hitman. We’ve got someone there you need to pick up. He’s called the Rhubarb Runner and he’ll round your team out to five for the assault on Doctor Frightwig’s fortress.”

Murmurs of surprise ran through the rest of the team. The Dread Pirate asked, “General, why do they call him that?”

“His arms…well, they aren’t really arms. He’s got two thick stalks of rhubarb instead. They’re effectively indestructible – they can regenerate. Kind of like you can do with your whole body, New Guy, but just his arm-stalks.”

New Guy cocked an eyebrow. “That’s kind of unimpressive, General. Where’s the Runner part come from? Is he really fast or something?”

“Not particularly. He just runs instead of walking everywhere.”

The giant Pun Man-Bowler asked, “But he must have a lot of stamina to run all the time, right?”

“No, he tires out pretty quickly.”

Hitman was incredulous. “Sir, I don’t think someone like that can do much to help us capture Doctor Frightwig. He’ll probably just get in the way.”

General Hokme’s tone was definitive. “This isn’t up for debate, Hitman. This is the research part of the Superhuman Weaponry Organization and Research Division. We want to see how this candidate performs in the field, and your team needs another member anyway. Pick him up and proceed to apprehend the villain Frightwig. Rifding Hokme out.”

As the screen went black, Hitman’s team sat silent for a minute. Finally Hitman sighed. “Well, let’s hope there’s something really special the General left out about this kid.”

Having fought through waves of the evil doctor’s henchmen to reach the interior of his fortress, Hitman’s team found themselves surrounded by hundreds more. Atop a parapet, the silver-haired Doctor Frightwig appeared and cackled. “You and your puny team can’t disrupt my plans for world domination, Hitman! Prepare to die!”

Behind the hulking figure of Pun Man-Bowler, the Rhubarb Runner jogged in place and waved his stalks in the air. “Hitman! Let me go after the Doctor. I can stop him!”

The Dread Pirate grunted as he sliced two henchmen apart with one of his swords. “Stop him with what, vegetable power? Overload him with fiber and give him unstoppable runs? You’re just in the way, kid!”

Hitman’s chest heaved as he looked up at Frightwig’s laughing figure and passed out orders. “Alright guys, we’ve got to get up there to the doctor. New Guy, you stay back here and watch the kid. Pun, you do your thing with me and the Pirate, and then follow us.”

Pun Man-Bowler picked up Hitman and the Pirate, rolled their bodies into balls, and sent them rolling along the ground, crashing through scores of henchmen. As they continued to fight, the Runner broke away from New Guy and charged the evil doctor, emitting a battle cry that sounded more like a hoarse squeal. Doctor Frightwig stopped cackling as he caught a scent on the air. “What is that glorious smell? Is it…RHUBARB? Is that man made of rhubarb? I must have it! Henchmen, grab him! To the kitchen! We’ve got a pie to make!”

As henchmen carried the Runner off to the kitchen, Hitman’s team found themselves facing much smaller numbers. Gaining the upper hand, they fought their way inside to the kitchen, where they knew time was running out to save their newest teammate.

Finally, the Dread Pirate chopped the head off the final henchman and the team entered the kitchen. They were shocked to see the doctor sprawled upon the floor, apparently dead, a half-eaten piece of rhubarb pie in his hand. The Runner sat on a table, his arm-stalks already starting to regenerate, but bleeding from several wounds in his chest and stomach.

“We knew he couldn’t resist rhubarb. That’s why they sent me – with poison injected in my stalks,” gasped the Runner, before he slumped over, dead. The team mourned their surprisingly heroic, victorious fallen comrade.

K: For those of you wondering where the hell all of these names come from, they’re nicknames of the dudes from the baseball blog where I essentially live. I thought this thing was going to be flush with in-jokes, but it’s not. It plays out like a real superhero issue, the Rhubarb Runner has a seemingly useless superpower, and best of all, he’s the hero in the end. 4

B: Kind of amusing, but this is basically just a lot of in-joke references here for the judges that just seem superfluous. Worse, I didn’t even find them all that topical. The rhubarb arms are funny, at least. 1

Peter Bruzek, Dark Stormy Knights

…Meanwhile, on the other side of town….

With Ironfist and The Human Torpedo chasing wild geese in the warehouse district, their arch-nemesis Riboflavin has broken into the vault of the Central Trust. Having incapacitated the guards and deactivated the security system, it seems nothing can stop the madman. The villain’s victory assured, he doesn’t even notice the man in tan spandex approaching the vault.

“Halt!”

“Ah! Holy cow, you scared me. What are you doing here? And what on earth are you wearing?”

“I’m here to stop you, evildoer, and the particulars of my super suit are none of your business!”

“Charming. Before I brutally murder you, what’s your name?”

“I am Tapioca!”

“Come again?”

“I am…”

“I heard you the first time. What would motivate you to come down here and get slaughtered? Do you even have a super power?”

“I can conjure pudding from thin air!”

…

“Did you hear what I said?”

“How much pudding?”

“About 4 or 5 servings”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all I’ll need”

“Enough of this, I’ve got to get moving so….glurk…gak”

“I didn’t say where I’d be conjuring the pudding, did I?”

Riboflavin’s response is drowned out as his lungs begin to fill with precisely 5 servings of chocolate pudding. His horrified expression is etched permanently onto his face, with a small brown river dribbling out of his nose. The grateful (if slightly disturbed) security guards ask Tapioca how they will contact him if they need him in the future.

“Wherever there is crime that can be stopped with 4 or 5 servings of pudding, that’s where I’ll be.”

K: This had me at “Riboflavin” and I giggled throughout. Another useless superpower comes through (sure, it was more of a “kryptonite” thing than a clever use of something stupid, but it’s all good). Just about every line of spoken dialogue was chuckle-worthy, but I have to single out the specificity of “4 or 5 servings” as my favorite. This gets four or five points. You know what? 5.

B: Is it supposed to be “man in tan spandex?” (ed: spooks fixed before posting) Either way, this made me laugh out loud. This entry is made by “4 or 5 servings.” If it’s just “4 servings” this is half as funny. 5

Dave Johnson, Dark Stormy Knights

“New letter from SIG,” Mindmelter called out, “but you ain’t gonna like it.”
The golden skinned white haired Sol kicked his feet up in Trinity’s lair. Wavve sat down next to Sol. “Whatchya got?” she asked.
“This letter says, ‘Superheroes Intelligence Guild is calling on the powers of Trinity once again to eliminate a new threat to all Superheroes good and bad in Manhattan. A man calling himself The Scientist is going around draining Superheroes of their powers. Using your tried and true method, capture him and bring him to SIG headquarters. The three of you are being pared with another superhero named Utensilor that ..’”
“Fuck that, we work alone. We don’t need help, send that shit back.” Sol spat out a vehement interruption.
“Hey, NOBODY refuses SIG or you’ll be the next target in one of these letters.” Mindmelter reminded Sol. “It says we’re meeting Utensilor in a safe house near Central Park. Let’s suit up and stake this out.” Mindmelter commanded.

A meek nonthreatening short man walked in wearing a dingy cape and a mask resembling a spork over his face. His uniform was covered in food stains down the front of his chest. The spork’s handle was a straight silver bar down his front ending in an unfortunate manner around his nether regions.
“Utensilor?”
“Yeah, you guys Trinity?” Utensilor stammered.
“That’s us, the best fuggin’ superhero squad out there.” Sol responded confidently. “So what the hell is your superpower?”
“I produce sporks.” Utensilor explained.
Utensilor now held two sporks. Dropping them, he held his hands palms down and sighed, “Whenever I say spork *clatter clatter* in each hand a spork *clatter clatter* appears.” Six sporks were now in disarray on the floor.
Sol burst into laughter. “WHAT? What good could that shit possible be? Are they sporks of death? Can you throw them to pin down enemies? Are they indestructible? Made out of some super metal?”
Utensilor hung his head and shook it sadly. “No, they are actually organic and can easily be recycled.”
“Why is your uniform so dirty?” Wavve asked.
“I pull long shifts at a spork factory. Unlike you guys, that’s about the most I can do with my power.” Utensilor responded with meager pride. Sol’s shit eating grin widened.
Mindmelter halted the conversation before it got ugly and laid out the plan, “Utensilor, you go out into the park and start handing out sporks. The Scientist will detect this and shortly approach you to drain you of your superpowers. When we see him, Sol will step out and blind him, Wavve will force slam him down and then when my skin touches his I can mindmelt him to a three year old mentality for a few hours. Enough time to get him to SIG.”

Utensilor approached another picnicker, “Spork?” He said holding out two new sporks. He’d been at it for an hour and it was starting to get dark.
Someone tapped him on the back. Turning he saw a man with shocks of crazy white hair, lab goggles and a long lab coat.
“You superheroes are an abomination!” The Scientist readied a device pointed at Utensilor in one hand but hesitated. “Say, what IS your superpower?”
“Sporks” Utensilor demonstrated.
The Scientist began to laugh but was interrupted by a voice behind him.
“Scientist!” Sol cried out, “Prepare to meet your match!”
Before turning around, The Scientist touched a button on his goggles turning them inky black and spun to point his device at Sol. Sol’s body irradiated a blinding white light that did nothing to The Scientist who was now draining Sol’s power.
“I’ll be right with you,” The Scientist said grabbing Utensilor by the throat while scanning for the other two. Holding his captor’s arm, Utensilor managed to form one word with his mouth causing The Scientist to instantly crumple in pain from two sporks displacing various muscles, blocking veins and intersecting bone marrow. Filled with a new sense of power, Utensilor towered over The Scientist. Reaching down he put his hand around The Scientist’s throat and forced through his clenched teeth with malice “SPORK!”

“Spork.” Utensilor sat in the spork factory filling slots on the line. He thought about how good it felt to kill The Scientist and whispered, “Knife.” But nothing happened. “Knife.” Again nothing but then he thought about Sol and rage filled him. “KNIFE!” Two razor sharp butcher knives appeared in his hands and a cruel confident smile overtook his lips.

K: There are some great laughs here that turn into a very solid supervillain origin story. This twist at the end was unexpected but didn’t feel a bit out of place. Fine storytelling here. 5

B: Wow, shockingly similar to the previous entry as far as matter of victory. This one isn’t as well written…until the final paragraph, which was an unexpected and delightful twist. 4

Tom Morgan, Dark Stormy Knights

Years of counseling and studying human greatness had taught Loki that being different could be seen as a good thing. But though he could pay lip service to that idea, in the corners of his soul that he never shared he simply felt odd, even diseased.

His name alone, which his mother, a mythology professor, had demanded he be given- against his father’s fevered objections- had led to months of counseling. Loki burned in the womb (was an only child because of it) and his mother would not be moved on this- he would be named after the Norse god of Fire. That his mother had chosen to make it impossible for him to survive something as simple as roll call without hearing giggles was something Loki hadn’t been able to forgive yet, and doubted he ever could.

Today, as he sat in the plane and waited for take-off, he allowed himself a moment of joy. Loki longed to feel optimistic that this was going to be his moment, but he had felt that way before, and that feeling’s high had always been followed by a devastating low. Still, though, this really felt right; the feeling that his odd “gift” may serve humanity, and soon, was building in him and soon would be impossible to contain.

Loki had only recently learned how to control his “oven”, as he called his condition on good days (“hell” the rest of the time), enough to fly; until a month ago his heat would’ve been too intense to sit so closely to so many people for anything more than a few minutes. Last month, after a rather intense round of taunting, his co-workers had locked him in the walk-in freezer, to “cool him off.” Loki had known, of course, that he wouldn’t cool off, would instead thaw the freezer. For the first time in his life he had willed himself to cool his oven; so desperate was he to avoid the scene that a thawed freezer would have caused, he cooled down and allowed his teasers the satisfaction of bullying. In the days since he spent most waking moments learning to harness what he was now allowing himself to believe may soon be considered a gift.

Staying cool still took a lot of mental effort, though, and Loki was not pleased that the man to his left was a chatter.

“You headed to Chicago or Points East, as they say?” he asked almost as he sat down.

“New York,” Loki responded quietly, in a voice he hoped would discourage further questioning.

“Ah, yes. New York, New York. The City So Nice They Named it Twice!”

“Mmm.”

“Business or pleasure?”

This caused him to think a bit. He felt himself warming. “Both, I guess.” I hope.

“Gotcha. Hey, I just read that David Blaine is doing something out there! God I love that guy! Yeah, he’s in Central Park, frozen inside a block of ice! Ha ha ha ha. Amazing! You gonna go see him while you’re out in the ol’ Big Apple?”

This answer came without thought, “Actually, yes. Seeing him is the very reason for my trip.”

K: Loki is actually a regular enemy of Thor in Marvel comics, but this is clearly a different take on Loki, so that didn’t bother me. What bothered me, however, is that this superpower seems pretty damned useful. Kind of a shame, since I do like the writing style throughout. 2

B: This is written really well, and referring to his power as “the oven” on good days is really funny. This was one of the better developed characters this week. However, the David Blaine joke at the end seems tacked on, a bit out of nowhere. 3

Shawn Ashley, Spawn of Steinbeck

When I was a little girl, I didn’t really notice that I was different. I felt like every other little girl,
playing in the snow, sledding, doing everything that a young girl does growing up in a ski town. It wasn’t until I was in my teens that I realized that I had a gift.
I think my parents figured it out way before I did. I mean, they were owners of a ski lodge.
My “gift” obviously came in handy. And I think they didn’t want to say it out loud, in case they might jinx it. But it was there.
I was special.
The first time I noticed anything was when I was in high school. I had just come inside my
parent’s house from a ski run with my very first boyfriend, Clayton, and we were freezing. It was
abnormally cold out that evening, not ideal for skiing as the snow would eventually freeze a layer of ice on top.
We threw down our gloves, hats and scarves. He rushed over to the fireplace to try and warm himself and I headed for the kitchen. “What do you want, Clay?” I hollered as I went.
“Anything warm!” He yelled back.
After a fruitless search, I realized that we had nothing but coffee. I sighed. I didn’t drink coffee back then, but it was the only thing left in the kitchen that was warm. And I just couldn’t get down with the whole “drinking hot water” thing. I felt like I was drinking urine. And not even my own.
“Coffee it is, “I sighed, and turned to find the filters. All of a sudden, I heard the coffee pot start and hot, fresh coffee started to drip from the machine into its pot below.
“What the hell…?” I inspected the machine. I saw that there was a timer on it, yet no way to tell if someone had set it already. “Weird.”
When the coffee was done, I brought two cups into the living room. “You will NOT believe what just happened to me,” I said to Clay, sitting next to him on the couch. As I told him the story, I saw his eyes go to disbelief. He thought I was crazy.
We were still in the living room when my parents made it home. “Mom!” I yelled. She came into the room.
“Well, hello, Clayton. How are you? Staying warm?” She smiled.
“Mom, did you set the coffee pot on a timer?” I asked.
“No, of course not. You know we don’t drink coffee this late at night. Why?” She asked. And then she stopped. She looked at me with this knowing look. And then left the room.
From then on, I realized that whenever I thought about having coffee, it mysteriously started to brew in whatever coffee pot was around me. And it was always the best tasting coffee. I started drinking it regularly, but only if I “made” it.
My parents and I never discussed it. They just were happy that there was always freshly brewed coffee in the mornings.
I told myself that everybody has something that they’re good at, or is unique to them. Some of my friends can raise eyebrows, are double-jointed, or can roll their tongues. Mine happens to be that I can brew coffee with my mind. I was proud of it, yet I never told anyone of my magic power.
The only person I ever tried to tell was Clay and that eventually was the end of us. I think deep-down he thought I was just plain crazy, even after I had tried to show him. But he never believed. Some people never believe. And it’s sad.
Now, I currently work at the White House and I am the most beloved person on staff. It’s true. I started as an intern under President George W. Bush and now I am a full-fledged consultant under President Obama. I’m usually one of the first people to arrive in the mornings, “make coffee” and bring the President his very first cup. Oh, sure, I do a lot of other important things around there…but this is why they keep me. I’m sure of it. But if they want to give me over $100,000 a year to make coffee, I’ll take it. I feel loved.
I am special.

K: Cute. I don’t know where it goes from here, but it’s cute. I would love to have this superpower, for what it’s worth, but it’s still pretty useless. Anyway, if this one suffers, it might be just because of some of the others being so tight. 3

B: This is so damn goofy, all why sounding serious and innocent that it made me smile several times. The urine joke then seems a bit out of place, but that’s just minor. Well done. 4

Brooks Maki, Spawn of Steinbeck

The video display sprang to life in the KZZZ news room. Lester cued up the most recent footage from Stephanie, the newest journalist on staff. The story started with her standing in front of a trailer that appeared to be parked somewhere in the middle of the woods.

“My attempt to interview the reclusive Mr. Smith went about as I had expected.”
(footage of the door being slammed in Stephanie’s face)
“But my intuition told me that there was a story here and so I pressed onward, attempting to shout my questions through an unlocked window on the other side of the trailer that I managed to work open.
(footage of a window being slammed closed in Stephanie’s face)

Stephanie continued to document her dogged attempts to interview the subject, but Lester’s mind had already wandered. He couldn’t use this. If this was the kind of crap that they were teaching in journalism schools these days, he was going to have to get out there himself and show … Wait. He stopped the tape and rewound a couple of seconds. Stephanie’s makeshift contraption consisting of a remote control car, and a camcorder, slipped into his house through a ventilation shaft had managed to catch a glimpse of Mr. Smith’s face. With the screen frozen on that oddly familiar visage, Lester moved to the archive room, he knew which tapes he was searching for and soon he had a pile of them carried back to his workstation. He worked his way through each tape methodically, comparing the subjects of countless old human-interest pieces that were never aired with the footage of Mr. Smith.

They were all the same person. How could that be? This guy was uninteresting (although clearly very concerned with his privacy), and none of these pieces had anything remarkable about them. What was this power he had over investigative reporters?

Lester thought about calling in the Z-team and making this their next project. But, who could be better suited to do this than a journalistic veteran like himself? These were his reporters that were falling victim to this man’s strange power over them. It should be his story to break. He grabbed his notebook and a jacket off the back of his chair, and bolted out of the room.

K: I read this one a few times to get the full effect. I’m definitely interested in seeing more, although I worry that the superpower is too useful. It feels more like a film than anything. I don’t know how to score this one. So many good things, so much more I’d like to know about it. 3, I guess, but I’ll be second-guessing myself.

B: Dang, this is surreal. Only one of you knows my girlfriend, who is a journalist, is named Stefanie. I am guessing this wasn’t written by that person, which means whoever wrote this has a creepy superpower. 4

Sam Landman, Battleship Shapiro

LURKER’S JOURNAL ENTRY
7/7/1985
Sonicus had holed up in one of the Parobeck Warehouses off the pier.
Normally, that wouldn’t have been that big of a deal, but on this particular
night, he had Mayor Kirby with him. This was finally my chance to fuck this
nutcase up but good. Sonicus, that is. Not the Mayor. Unfortunately, this
would prove to be the first time I’d ever get my ass handed to me. Literally.

LURKER – Let him go, Sonicus, and I might just go easy on you.

SONICUS – So, you brought your Committee out here for little, old me, Lurker?
Gotta say, I’m flattered.

LURKER – Nope. Just me. See, I told the rest of the Freedom Committee to
take the night off. No sense wasting time on some jack-off who’s high-pitched
screaming can be beaten down by a good set of earplugs. Now, hand him over,
Sonicus!

SONICUS – You need to update your villain database, Lurker. I’m not Sonicus
anymore.

LURKER – Yeah, I noticed you’re not wearing the toga anymore. Good choice, I
say. You never really had the legs to pull it off.

SONICUS – That’s not the only difference. I’ve been honing my powers.

LURKER – Ooooooo! So scared. Come on, dickless. Let’s get this over with.

SONICUS – You see, I’m dabbling in lower frequencies now.

And that’s when it happened. He opened his stupid mouth like he always
did, but instead of emitting a bone-shattering squeal, all I heard was a
dull roar – barely audible. By the time I’d reached for my shock batons
to take this asshat down, it was too late. I could feel the rumbling getting
stronger and stronger, a low ebb that shuddered me to the core. Starting
in my legs, then moving up into my stomach. And before I knew what
had hit me, my bowels released. That’s right. I had shit myself. The crap
sloshed down my tights and into my boots so quick that I never had a
chance to hold it all in. I just stood there, unable to move – partly out of
embarrassment, partly because I didn’t want to experience the sensation
of feces squishing between my toes. Ugh. But I had to do something.

SONICUS – Like I said, I’m no longer Sonicus. From now on, you can call me
Barium Enemy.

LURKER – You cocksock! I’ll . . . Oh, Christ. I’ll be back!

MAYOR KIRBY – Where are you going? You’re just going to leave me here with
this maniac?

LURKER – Mayor, you gotta give me a pass on this one, okay? Just take my
word for it! I’m sorry, I . . . ugh. I’ll send somebody to take him down. I promise.

I gathered up the strength to shuffle away. Barium Enemy had the
upper hand and he knew it. I could hear him laughing as far away as the
dumpster I tossed my tights and boots in, nearly a block away.

I called up the rest of the Committee on the horn. Told them not to eat
anything before they went to rescue the Mayor. Or at least be equipped
with plenty of adult diapers.

This is probably my last entry. I think I’m hanging up the uniform for good.
Or throwing it away at least. No amount of dry cleaning is getting this stuff
out.

K: I can’t believe I didn’t see exactly where this was going. Another solid laugher all the way through. SO glad we ran this challenge. 5

B: This is well written, but I just don’t like scatological humor regardless of the context. Sorry. 3

Matt Novak, Spawn of Steinbeck

Welcome, gentle reader, to this month’s tale of BEACH E. KEEN, a teenager, who, in simpler times, hides behind her alter ego Bekka Sandal. But Bekka is no ordinary girl, for she is descended from the Goddess Venus and imbued by the heavens with the AWESOME POWER OF SANDCASTLE! Assisted by her talking rabbit, Beach Bunny, she fights tirelessly to protect the residents of Ocean City from any villain who might threaten their groovy way of life. Will Beachy save the day again? Will it rain on the big volleyball game? Will Tommy Hanson invite her to the bonfire? Find out in this month’s tale: Suddenly Sandcastle!

Our story opens to a sunny beachscape, families picnicking, children frolicking in the water. Bekka Sandal lays down a blanket, setting Beach Bunny down next to her.
“Hey Bekka!”
It’s Tommy Hanson!
“You sure bring that rabbit everywhere, don’t you Bekka?”
“I sure do, Tommy! She’s the peachiest!”
“That’s great!” Tommy pauses. “See you at the bonfire?”
“Sure will Tommy! Peachy!”
Tommy smiles. “Keen! See you there!”

As Tommy walks away we see a commotion in the distance. Bikes, skateboards, even a unicycle, seem to be hurtling themselves mysteriously towards the citizens on the boardwalk. People run everywhere, fleeing the rider-less vehicles. In the middle of the commotion is a masked man directing the wheeled onslaught, sending the toys careening, but without ever touching them. He’s controlling them with his mind!
“Uh-oh Bunny, looks like it’s Mindrider!”
“Who’s that?”
“I dealt with him once before. But that was a long time ago.” (Ed. Note: Issue #12)
“He sounds like trouble Beachy!”
“He sure is Bunny! He can control any non-motorized vehicle with his mind for 5 seconds! The good news is, after that the vehicle comes to a complete stop and he has to wait another 5 seconds before resuming control. Hopefully we can use that time to our advantage!”
With that, Bekka Sandal transforms herself into BEACH E. KEEN! Seeing Beachy the crowds cheer! “Yay Beachy!” You’re the keenest!”

Beachy quickly arrives at the scene. “What’s the matter Mindrider,” she lampoons, “Didn’t Mom want to take you for a ride around the block?”
“I’ll teach you a riding lesson Beachy! Here, try some ‘training wheels’! Bwahahaha!”
With that, several bikes start rolling towards her! But Beachy is nobody’s fool! She has kept her distance; there’s no way the bikes will reach her in five seconds. Sensing an opening, she prepares to form tiny sandcastles in the gaps of the chains, clogging them up good!
But wait! Suddenly she is knocked to the sand by a bike. It seems they’ve reached her after all!
“Surprised, Beachy? For your information, I’m twenty percent stronger than before! I can now control my vehicles for a full 6 seconds! You will cower before my might! Bwahahaha!”
Now, as loyal readers know, Beachy might be down, but she’s never out! While Mindrider laughs maniacally, our opportunistic heroine jams the bikes with her mini-castles, and then runs towards the surf.
“Betcha can’t get me here Mindrider!”
“We’ll see about that Beachy!”
“Look out Beachy!” warns Bunny.
Beachy turns, just in time to see a canoe skimming across the water towards her.
“Silly Mindrider! Don’t you know every good sandcastle has a moat?” With that, our heroine gives her trademark wink and commands the sand to form a giant moat. The canoe falls into the moat, completely disabled!
“No! NoNoNoNo!” howls Mindrider, running onto the beach.
Always the quick thinker, Beachy takes this chance to form a giant sandcastle around the distracted villain.
“These walls are several feet thick, Mindrider. You’ll never get out of there!” Beachy brushes the sand from her hands. “Saving the day… it’s just like riding a bike!”

As our heroine helps clean the beach we see inside the castle, where Mindrider is putting into motion (Ed note: “literally!”) a plan for escape. High above, a hang glider begins a sharp descent, dropping, dropping, gliding, then dropping again, until it collides with the sandcastle prison.
Her sharp rabbit ears hearing the sound of a sandcastle crumbling, Bunny turns around. “Oh no! Look!”
Beachy turns to see Mindrider coasting away on the hang-glider!
“These walls may have been thick, but you forgot the ceiling! Bwahaha!”
“He’s getting away!” exclaims Bunny. “Son of a beach!”
“Close, Bunny. He’s actually my brother. But don’t worry; I know where he lives.”

Next Month: The dramatic conclusion to our storyline in Sibling Rivalry! Tune in!

K: The intentionally annoying style here never would have worked without the hilarious abundance of exclamation points and hideous, overused “beach” puns. This would be the most irritating comic in history but it’s so committed and true to itself that it’s great for this challenge. Oh: big ups for the editor’s notes. 4

B: This is so corny and so cute. I actually would want to read the sequel for some reason. My favorite part: “I’m twenty percent stronger!” 5

Drew Geraets, Spawn of Steinbeck

Sleet pelts the tin roof of a shack just outside of Kadoka, South Dakota. Inside, Jeb has fallen asleep again, a half-eaten carton of frozen yogurt rests on his protruding belly, bobbing up and down like a lost raft at sea.

His black and white TV is on, but the reception is fuzzy. The soft mumble of a news reporter and a dying fire sooths him deeper into sleep. It’s a comfortable existence and numbs his past life almost out of existence.

No one visits him. He’s known as a shut-in by the people who live in town – not rude, just quiet and private.

Bang, bang, bang. Someone aggressively pounds on Jeb’s wooden door. Startled, the frozen yogurt spills on the floor and Jeb curses loudly.

“Who is it?” Jeb yells grufly and walks to the door.

“Jeb! Open up,” the man yells.

Jeb opens the door and a bearded man who looks vaguely familiar is standing there, wet and out of breath.

“Jeb, it’s me…Ryan,” he gasps. “We need you Jeb. There’s trouble in Utah.”

“There’s always trouble in Utah,” Jeb replies, turning around and walking back toward his fire. He finally places Ryan – a choir mate from his high school days.

Jeb detested Salt Lake City. Washington was a far superior capital, in his opinion. The change was one of the reasons Jeb moved out to the Black Hills- away from the corruption, politics and power struggles.

Ryan steps inside, shutting the door.

“Jeb, we need to leave now,” he pleads. “There’s a plane waiting for us in Rapid City. You’re the only one who can help.”

“I’ve given that life up,” Jeb says. “I’ve only hurt people in the past and I just don’t want to do that anymore.”

“If you don’t come, more people than you could ever imagine are going to be hurt. You can’t deny your gift.”

Jeb turns and looks out the window.

“That scalding chamomile changed me,” he says. “I don’t know if I can do that anymore.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you this,” Ryan says, “but Mary’s there. She asked me if I was coming for you.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“I said I wasn’t coming back without you.”

Jeb shakes his head and rubs his neck.

“Alright,” he says. “Let me find my robe.”

A few hours later Ryan and Jeb land in Salt Lake City. A black car is waiting to take them to the venue. They get in the car, greeted by a man in dark spectacles and a white bow tie.

“Is it true what they say?” he asks. “That you can self-harmonize?”

Jeb nods, but doesn’t respond otherwise.

“Have you seen the music?” the man asks, extending a binder of sheet music.

“I don’t need to see that,” Jeb says flatly, lighting a cigarette, “I can sight read.”

A few minutes later, their car arrives outside the Salt Lake Tabernacle.

The Mormon Tabernacle Choir had been in control of the country for 12 years, having never lost a matchup. The heft of their 360-member choir had overpowered hundreds of challengers. The result was always the same: unforgiving domination. Most people had simply given up hope.

But not Mary. She spots Jeb as he climbs out of the car, runs up and kisses him on the cheek.

“You came!” she shrieks. “It’s really you and you came!”

She pauses and looks concernedly up at Jeb.

“What about your throat?” she asks. “Are you better?”

“Guess we’ll find out,” Jeb says, taking one last drag. “I gotta go babe.”

He flicks his cigarette and steps on stage. The return of democracy depended on him.

K: This was so dry and dreary in tone that I knew it was either going to be depressing or gut-busting. Although it isn’t the week’s best entry overall, it does have the week’s best reveal of a stupid superpower. 4

B: Huh. Very original concept, here. One awkward grammatical error in the beginning, as it appeared the yogurt itself was startled. Otherwise, fairly well written. 4

Tanya Laumann, Dark Stormy Knights

I walked into the meeting confidently, I was looking forward to the crew meeting this weeks featured Super Sensory candidate. Our group gathered once a week to discuss various social and personal issues and support each other as we puzzled through our almost worthless existence. We all had come into our talents in different ways, like how I came upon my talent by a fluke food poisoning incident, and my friend Emmanuel inherited his almost ability to raise or lower the temperature by 3.2 degrees Fahrenheit from his mother (a full fledged Super-Hottie) who can actually throw fire. Emmanuel’s 3.2 degrees had come under a lot of scrutiny in his family and they would often ask what the point of his power was at all? Last week Right Foot Rajah shared her devastating story of only being able to drive with her left foot as her right was literally heavy as lead. Rajah may have a lead foot but look past that and let me tell you how great her right thigh looks in a tight skirt! You see the league cares! And that is why we meet, to help each other through this judgmental world, to rise above (but not literally above it, cause none of us can fly and if we did we couldn’t be in this group) our tormentors and perhaps do some good in the world.
My own special talent was sniffing out a meal; I can smell whatever you last ate. It does come in handy when…when I want to…well really it never comes in handy. It really can be quite disturbing and I often wonder how much more pleasant my life would be without it. But it is the skill I have and so I go with it.
I had been plagued by my club, the League of Super Senses (we named ourselves back at the first meeting in 2003) to find an individual that really rounded out our sensory persona. This week’s guest and (keep your fingers crossed) potential new member, was someone I found by happenstance. I almost missed him walking through the mall. This guy’s gift is almost invisibility! Really when you squint you can see him quite clearly, but who really walks around squinting all the time? Semi-invisibility was just the kind of skill our group could really run with you know.
The meeting started and Hugh L. Ikeme immediately went into the minutes from the last gathering and fielded questions about this year’s annual picnic. Hugh was originally chosen as the chair of our meeting for his special skill to hear potential conflict in our voices and can therefore try to divert our attention to resolve these issues. The problem with him is we rarely get anything done. All that conflict resolution before you even get to the conflict definitely stops us short of coming up with the best solution. But since the very act of thinking about Hugh not doing a good job as chairman was immediately diverted into happier thoughts, we rarely tried to complain.
Hugh finally gave me the nod and I introduced our guest speaker and potential final member of the gang, Kevin Ose. Sure enough without squinting he still looked all blurry! I could barely contain my enthusiasm as Kevin began explaining how a bad accident at the ophthalmologist caused his condition. He was a young boy with bad sight. His mother insisted that he get glasses, but Kevin didn’t want to be teased like the other guys at school for having “four eyes.” After some emotional and tear-filled arguments his mothers demanding won out and little Kevin was sitting in the doctors chair identifying distorted letters on the white screen. The problem came after the eye tech tried putting dilation drops in his pale blue eyes. Kevin explained that a rage filled fit took over him and he knocked down the technician accidentally ingesting the bottle of mydriatic medication. The change happened slowly and as time passed on he finally realized that when he concentrated he could make himself sort of, well blurry. Because he was only semi-but-not-at-all-really-invisible he felt alone and useless with his special gift. As he was finishing up with his testimonial I could see my fellow comrades nodding with approval.
Yes! This was the guy we had been looking for. A huge smile was painted on my face, this was so exciting! After years of searching our team was finally complete.

K: I do like the idea of an entire team of misfit heroes – hell, I LOVE it – but I wish this had been an active scene rather than a passive one. Meeting our new member during a seemingly lost battle would have been much more satisfying. 2

B: This one is a little too cute at times and it meanders a lot. I do like all of the useless superpowers, but the last one especially is over explained and has no punchline. 2

Dean Carlson, Spawn of Steinbeck

The Human Plunger to Retire

Stan, The Human Plunger, Krovosky announced his retirement, putting an end to nearly 50 years of “The Plunger’s” uncanny ability to unplug any drain without the use of a snake or caustic chemicals. Krovosky’s retirement has already caused homeowners and commercial businesses to wonder how they will unplug their seemingly unopenable drains and pipes. Krovosky intends to move to a trailer park in Coral Gables, Florida, a place he’s vacationed for years. “I just want to take it easy and maybe help out at the local church or perhaps the school, you know if some kid stuffs too much toilet paper and glue down a toilet.”

Krovosky burst upon the local plumbing scene in the mid-1960’s when, working as a janitor at the State University, he experienced a chemical accident that altered his right arm. Krovosky was using Drano on a stopped-up laboratory sink and unbeknownst to the 19 year-old part-time student, the sink contained a chemical soup of radioactive isotopes. The combination of Drano and isotopes interacted in a bizarre manner, grafting a now radioactive rubber plunger to Krovosky’s right arm. Doctors at the time were unable to remove the plunger without jeopardizing Krovosky’s life, so it remained. Shortly after returning home from the hospital, Krovosky learned of his new found powers.

On Christmas Day 1965, Krovosky was recuperating at his parent’s house wondering what he was going to do with his life. Krovosky’s younger sister was helping with the Christmas meal and had poured a whole cup of cooking lard down the sink and didn’t flush it out with water. In addition, scraps of ham, potato skins, and molasses were sent down the sink. After dinner, while the women were washing dishes, the sink backed up and nothing could unclog it. Being Christmas Day, no plumber was willing to come out to assist. That’s when Krovosky’s younger sister suggest that Stan give it a try. With one simple plunge of Krovosky’s right arm, the sink was unclogged and it drained like it was brand new.

Word of Krovosky’s ability spread fast and soon neighbors and friends were asking Krovosky to unplug their sinks and bathtubs. Landlords around the State University were especially heavy users of Krovosky’s skills as they needed to clean up after their renters. However Krovosky was just a local plumbing hero until he saved a little girls life and became known worldwide as “The Human Plunger.”

While swimming at the City pool Labor Day weekend 1967, 8-year old Laura Schmidt got her foot wedged into a suction tube, slowly pulling her under water. Pool officials tried to empty the pool, but leaves and debris had settled into the grate and the pool was draining too slowly to save Schmidt’s life. Krovosky happened to be at the pool, saw what was happening, dove in and plunged the entire pool in a matter of seconds, sparing the 8 year-old girl.

The Human Plunger became a household name in the late 1960’s and 70’s as Krovosky’s services were in demand far and wide and Krovosky became a rich man. No drain was too tough and Krovosky was willing to sell his services to anyone who would pay, including dictators and drug dealers. College pranksters would also try to test his abilities by pouring cement down drains and then asking Krovosky to clear them out, which he would, to the astonishment of all. G. Gordon Liddy was so impressed with the Human Plunger that he called his group that broke into the Watergate complex “The Plumbers” as an homage to Krovosky. Krovosky wasn’t seen much in the late 1980’s and word was that he was working undercover for the Reagan-Bush Administrations in the Middle East.

The 1990’s and 2000’s were easy days for Krovosky as he would only take high paying, high profile jobs and gave up the household and small commercial clog market, although occasionally one would still see his van near the rental units at the State University. An ill-fated attempt to franchise the Human Plunger brand was shuttered in 1995 after health and OSHA officials would not allow Krovosky to graft radioactive plungers onto the arms of willing plumbers. Reached on his way to Coral Gables, Krovosky remarked, “I’ve had it pretty dang good. Saw the world, helped a bunch of people, put a couple of kids through college. Not bad for a guy who stuck his arm into a messy sink.”

K: There’s a somewhat interesting character here, but couldn’t get into the style of the entry. It’s a quick summary of his career, which is ill-fitting for this particular challenge. 2

B: I don’t know what to say about this one. It’s verbose to a fault and reads like an obituary. There’s no comedy, no drama. The OSHA comment is probably the best part. 2

Ryan Sorrell, Dark Stormy Knights

A sedan rolled to a stop in front of the residence hall and Alex’s mom said, “Now you try to have some fun, dear. This is a great opportunity to socialize.” She looks over her shoulder and adds, “You look after him, Liv and make sure he stays out of trouble.” Without a response, Alex’s girlfriend swings the door open and changes songs on her iPhone in one fluid motion.

***************

The RA fidgeted anxiously at the door until he saw them casually walking up the sidewalk toward him. “General A. Pathy, what took so darn long,” said the RA curtly, “I called your mom an hour ago and this party is extremely out of hand!” Alex shrugged his shoulders and immediately the R.A. relaxed a little. “Well, get in there and put an end to this I guess. Captain Oblivi S., you…” he started before realizing she had already walked right past him and into the raucous residence hall.

Once inside, Liv meandered to a stool, unaware of several guys ogling her. A drink was handed to her, which she guzzled without taking her eyes of her phone. Meanwhile, Alex plopped onto a couch, letting out a huge yawn which instantly quieted the room. “Who let General A. Pathy in here?” one partygoer asked. “Well, I’m gonna split. I don’t feel like doing anything anymore,” voiced another. The room emptied quickly.

“Thank you General,” the R.A. said while offering his hand. Alex stood up, shrugged, and headed for the door leaving the R.A. staring blankly across the room. Liv was quite dazed and in no condition to follow. Just as Alex reached the curb, a white van came to a screeching halt in front of him. Two men lept out, covered him with a duffle bag and threw him in the van before speeding off.

*****************

“You are in a dimly lit chamber, sitting at a table. A laptop is open on the table, but its screen is dark. You don’t remember how you got here, but you notice the throbbing pain in your head. As you attempt to touch it you also notice you are securely bound to the chair with rope. Your mouth seems to be duct taped shut as well,” a voice states from somewhere to the north.

“You are unnaturally subdued, but a hard man to subdue at the same time, General A. Pathy,” the voice continues, “but you will interfere with my plans no longer. Who am I? I imagine you couldn’t care less, but I will tell you anyway. I am Dr. Xyzzy. I once commanded great audiences with challenging, well thought out adventures. You , much like your predecessor Major Lee Thargy, have affected the gaming population for far too long. Games used to require imagination and some problem solving from the user. But no! Now they’re all content to just pop balloons, tend to a farm and wet themselves so they don’t have to miss their avatar actually using a toilet in some online pseudo world. “

“An imposing figure emerges from the shadows,” a spectacled man announced as he approached the table. “I need time to carry out my plan to bring text adventures back to its rightful place at the forefront of gaming and I can’t have you influencing the masses with your powers. While you may break free of these bonds, I have something you that will keep you here and command even your attention indefinitely.” Dr. Xyzzy pressed a button bringing the laptop to life, revealing an endless loop of Faces of Death and Fail videos. “That’s right, meet your match…morbid curiosity!”

Just then, a glowing light came into sight from a passageway to the left. “Captain Oblivi S.? How did you get through my twisty maze of passageways? Let me guess, some GPS app. Where’s the challenge in that?”

Liv ploded on, eyes locked on her screen until she bumped violently against the table, sending the laptop crashing to the floor. “Hey, there you are Alex. This GPS app tracked your phone no prob.” Liv said while untying the ropes and ripping off the duct tape, “Let’s get out of here. My phone says there’s an exit to the west-northwest.”

Alex stood, gave an enormous shrug and said, “Whatever.”

“Nooooo,” Dr. Xyzzy moaned quietly with a feeling of disinterest quickly falling over him, “maybe I’ll go write a Facebook app or…take a nap.”

With the world safe again, Liv and Alex…meh, whatever.

K: I really dig the dopey golden-agey character names here. The story progression seems realistic given the characters. Wow, reading a character like General A. Pathy on a regular basis would have the same effect on the readers, eh? There are some weird tense changes near the beginning, which hurts this a bit. 3

B: Wow, someone is either playing to my love for text adventures or got lucky. On one hand, there are some really solid jokes here. The GPS system for the maze of twisty little passages (from Zork) is brilliant. Also, talking about room exits using directions is always hilarious. However, the superhero names are too goofy and the characters aren’t developed as well as I’d like. The last line, at least, is hilarious. 4

—————————————————————

Did you notice someone was missing? I’ll bet you did.

Hi, stupid.

So…my grandma is sick and was admitted to the hospital. I’m on my way to visit her in lame Sioux Falls. Although this will most certainly spell the end of Super Ben, I will not be able to submit this week.

Please put an asterisk next to my name, however, to note the fact that I easily would have won the whole thing if not for this.

Love always,
Benjamin Sterling Thietje

BATTLESHIP SHAPIRO: 4/1 = 4
Spawn of Steinbeck: 3.5/2/4/2.5/3.5/4.5 = 20/6 = 3.33
Dark Stormy Knights: 5/4.5/2/2.5/3.5/-1 = 16.5/6 = 2.75

Knights, get your foregone conclusions into me by Tuesday at 2pm Central and we’ll get this thing moving along to what looks like the real portion of the game.

Cheers, Survivors. Good week.