Crisis On Infinite Message Boards 6 6

[Wertham-migration]

Girl scout deleted by Wertham

 

 

Wetham deleted by architecht.

 

 

HATERS deleted by Wertham

[greggy]

Girl scout deleted by Wertham

 

 

Wetham deleted by architecht.

 

 

HATERS deleted by Wertham

Wertham deleted by shotgun blast!

[Ares]

Girl scout deleted by Wertham

 

 

Wetham deleted by architecht.

 

 

HATERS deleted by Wertham

Wertham deleted by shotgun blast!

greggy given big reward

[Joanna]

BTW...where's my review?

 

On it's way to Canada.

[PovertyRow]

BTW...where's my review?

 

On it's way to Canada.

 

I am humbled. So humbled.

[Joanna]

What the heck is going on in this story, anyway? I shouldn't have left it for so long. I can't remember anything.

 

Anyway, update coming as soon as I figure out what's going on.

 

-- Joanna

[Ares]

What the heck is going on in this story, anyway? I shouldn't have left it for so long. I can't remember anything.

 

Anyway, update coming as soon as I figure out what's going on.

 

-- Joanna

I thought I was to be revealed soon as the mastermind behind the entire plot

[Joanna]

I thought I was to be revealed soon as the mastermind behind the entire plot

 

Yeah, um, that plotline got sidetracked.

 

 

I figured out where I was and will be posting momentarily. My apologies for the long delay.

 

-- Joanna

[Ares]

I thought I was to be revealed soon as the mastermind behind the entire plot

 

Yeah, um, that plotline got sidetracked.

 

 

I figured out where I was and will be posting momentarily. My apologies for the long delay.

 

-- Joanna

 

Ow well I tried

[ArAich]

What the heck is going on in this story, anyway? I shouldn't have left it for so long. I can't remember anything.

 

Anyway, update coming as soon as I figure out what's going on.

 

-- Joanna

 

I believe Re-Run was about to get TiVo installed in his belly-button....

[Joanna]

Issue 12, Part 1E: Dressing For Success

 

 

The stranger is played by Drummy.

 

Issue 12, Part 1E: Dressing For Success

 

"Psst -- let's go," whispers the invisible Where'd He Go.

 

Flame War and Brick put down their imaginary knives, admiring their imaginary whittling. Flame war had made a small statuette of a naked woman and Brick had made a tub of Parkay.

 

The 3 men, looking more like 2 men because WHG is still invisible, slip behind the general store into an empty alley. WHG becomes visible, showing off a huge haul of western wear.

 

"Wow! Cool!" says Flame War, grabbing a pearl-buttoned, purple shirt.

 

"Whadja get me?" asks Brick, eagerly.

 

WHG drops the clothes on a nearby crate, looks through the bundle and pulls out a pair of extremely large, dark blue underwear. "The only thing in your size. Sorry."

 

Brick is about to explode when he stops to think. "I guess it's normal for superheroes to wear underwear on the outside. Just don't tell the other guys. Mylite gets grief for wearing short shorts -- imagine what me and my Calvins would start!"

 

Flame War finishes dressing. He looks like a fake cowboy in a Hollywood movie.

 

"You are now officially gay," says Brick, laughing at his Dude-wear.

 

"Shut up, underoo! I look fantastic. School marms are going to be lined up at my feet."

 

Meanwhile, WHG turns invisible and gets dressed. He is too modest to change in front of the others. No one cares.

 

"How do I look?" WHG asks, becoming visible again. He is dressed in Levis, a homespun, nut brown shirt with a leather vest, chaps, and spurs, with a Colt 45 holstered at his waist. His white cowboy hat is tilted ever so slightly at a rakish angle.

 

"Pretty ordinary."

 

"That was my plan. I like blending in. Not getting noticed."

 

"Being invisible?"

 

"Yeah... kinda."

 

"Whooda thunk it." Flame War twirls his sidearm, fumbles the gun into his holster, then tips his black hat with one finger. "Ma'am. I hear you've got trouble on this yar ranch. Name's Flame. I'm here to help."

 

"Name's Flame. I'm here to date your sons," mimics Brick, laughing.

 

Flame War shoots him several times, but it only makes Brick laugh harder.

 

"Quit wasting ammunition!" says WHG.

 

"Sorry. He ticks me off, that's all. He's just jealous because I'm ruggedly handsome, and ooze charm."

 

"You're oozing, all right, but it's not--"

 

"What's going on back here?" asks a voice from the head of the alley. "I heard shots." He is silhouetted by the harsh western sun, which makes a halo around his shadowed head. He's big -- around 6'4" and 250 pounds of solid muscle. He walks slowly forward with the gait of a man who's spent most of his life in the saddle. His spurs make a scraping jingle as he walks. It's an ominous sound, and the 3 friends pause, unsure what to say. Flame War clears his throat.

 

"Target practice," says Flame War, holstering his pistol and adjusting his hat. "You got a problem with that?" The last word comes out a wee bit too squeaky for his taste.

 

"Yeah I got a problem with that." The stranger is now standing right in front of the men and they get their first good look at him. He has the weathered face of the Marlboro Man. A black mustache frames his harsh mouth, downturned in disapproval. A square jaw and piercing blue eyes complete the picture. This is a cowboy. An authentic cowboy. The genuine article. The real McCoy. But on which side of the law does he reside? The guys look for a badge, but his chest is free of adornment.

 

"We're... um... sorry..." mumbles Flame War.

 

The stranger's right hand hovers near his holstered gun. With the left, he removes the matchstick he had been chewing on. "We got laws in Tombstone. You don't shoot unless your target is breathing. Ya got it?"

 

"Uh huh."

 

"And who might you be?" asks Brick. Even though he is invulnerable, this stranger still has the ability to frighten him, and he doesn't like it.

 

"You ain't from these parts," the stranger says, eyeing Brick from top to bottom. "We never had no spongy bod square pants types 'round here before."

 

"I'm not spongy. They call me The Brick."

 

The stranger pauses, a small smile pushing at his mustache. "You ain't seen my mug before. That's good. Too many people think they know all about me."

 

WHG sees an opportunity to slip behind Flame War and as soon as he is blocked from the stranger's view, he disappears.

 

"Where'd he go?" asks the stranger.

 

"You know my name?" says WHG, startled into talking while invisible.

 

"Who said that?"

 

"He's on first," says Brick, smiling in spite of himself.

 

"What are you talking about? Are you making fun of me?" asks the stranger, his hand twitching nearer to his gun.

 

"Utshay, upay," murmurs Flame War to Brick.

 

"You Mexican or something?" asks the stranger.

 

"No, my apologies. I'm Flame War. You've met The Brick. And our suddenly absent friend is WHG, short for 'Where'd He Go'. You can see why we found your question amusing." Flame War was aware of vast amounts of sweat rolling down his back, under his arms, and from the brim of his hat. His smile widened to compensate.

 

"Kid Twister, hired gun."

 

"Kid Twister -- nice to meet you," says Brick, holding out his hand. "So, what brings you to these parts? Or are you a local?"

 

"The Earps sent for me. Clantons are causing trouble and he wanted back-up."

 

"Wyatt Earp?"

 

"The Clantons?"

 

"Tombstone?"

 

"Oh geez."

 

 

 

[BronzeBruce13]

I'm impressed that you can turn out a quality installment that fast... 30 minutes tops... not bad Joanna

[PovertyRow]

"Oh geez"

[Joanna]

I'm impressed that you can turn out a quality installment that fast... 30 minutes tops... not bad Joanna

 

Actually, I had a phone call in the middle of it so it was a lot less. It really just takes the amount of time it takes to type. I don't write very "consciously". I just type and let the story tell itself. All I knew before starting was that Drummy's character needed to be introduced.

 

But this is how I've always written. I've found that if I think too much, or let my head get in the way, I don't write well. That's why I don't use outlines, or have much 'thunk up' in advance. I like to be surprised by what happens.

 

-- Joanna

[greggy]

Who are these people and where's Mylite?

[Joanna]

Who are these people and where's Mylite?

 

Read the story and you'll be able to figure out who they are. Mylite? I don't recall. When his storyline comes back, I'll figure it out.

 

-- Joanna

[PovertyRow]

Mylite? I don't recall. When his storyline comes back, I'll figure it out.

 

Geez! You're giving away the best writer tricks!!!!!!!!!!!!

[BronzeBruce13]

Codger-Man. Codger-Man.

Does whatever a codger can!

Is he strong? Listen bud.

He's got Geritol-powered blood.

Look out! Here comes the Codger-Man!

 

In the still of night, at the scene of a crime

He finally shows up to draw the chalk outline...

 

Codger-Man. Codger-Man.

Does whatever a codger can!

Is he tough? Listen chum...

he can bite even with his gums.

Look out! Here comes the Codger-Man!

 

 

[Joanna]

Mylite? I don't recall. When his storyline comes back, I'll figure it out.

 

Geez! You're giving away the best writer tricks!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

I know. I gave away a whole bunch in the argument with JC, since I admitted I think of the players as characters and not as whoever they're based on. And now I've admitted I don't know what I'm doing.

 

I'll go hang my head in shame. Recover. Then watch Friday Night Fights. It's what most women would do.

 

-- Joanna

[Joanna]

Issue 12, Part 1F: The Results of a Hissy Fit

 

Appearing in this issue:

 

Lord Rawl (Lord Rahl)

The corpse of Dr. Gloom (Joe Collector)

A disembodied voice

A mysterious woman

Prof. Nefarious (Bronty)

Assoc. Prof. Heinous (AlexH)

 

 

 

 

 

Issue 12, Part 1F: The Results of a Hissy Fit

 

Lord Rawl looks at the corpse of Dr. Gloom. "That does not bode well for this visit." Briefly, he considers leaving the mysterious boarding house with the eerie, disembodied voice, the corpse of a seemingly healthy man, and the fire that radiates no heat whatsoever. Then he pictures the beautiful woman who met him at the door, and decides to stay. "It would be rude to leave without spank-- er thanking her."

 

"Who are you talking to?" asks the disembodied voice.

 

"No one. Just thinking out loud."

 

"Oh. Okay." The voice goes silent.

 

Just then, the woman comes in carrying a shot of Scotch. "What happened to your friend?" she asks, her sultry voice caressing each word.

 

Rawl notices she only brought one drink, despite the fact that she had no way of knowing Gloom had died. He decides it's coincidence. "He was not really a friend, more of a colleague. We're super-villains. Well, he was a super-villain, that is, until his sudden demise. Now he is, at best, compost."

 

The woman shoves Gloom out of the chair and takes the seat. "There's a graveyard out back. We can bury him in the middle of the night. As is custom around here," she adds hastily.

 

Rawl nods his head, poking the body with the toe of his wingtip. "He loved to speak of his hyper-intelligence. I guess he wasn't as proud of his hyper-tension."

 

"So you've decided to tell yourself it was a heart attack? Very good, I'll go with that, too."

 

Rawl takes a sip of his drink, the grandfather clock ticking a rhythmic pattern into his thoughts. "A lovely clock. 19th century?"

 

"Yes, Pickford of Liverpool, 1840. Too bad it doesn't work."

 

"But... I hear it ticking."

 

"I don't hear anything."

 

"It's quite loud, actually."

 

"Ticking? Really?"

 

"The pendulum is moving, and it displays the correct time."

 

"Even a broken clock is correct twice a day."

 

"But the excessively loud ticking -- you truly don't hear it?"

 

"I hear the crackle of the fire, the soft hum of the refrigerator, and the honeyed timbre of your voice, but ticking? No. No ticking. Would you like a tour of the house?"

 

Rawl feels that standing would be inappropriate at that moment, due to the effect her beauty and the compliment she'd just paid him are having on his... biology. He holds up his half-empty glass. "If it is all right with you, I'd like to finish this first."

 

"All right. Lots of people have difficulty drinking and walking at the same time, I've noticed. Well, mostly men. Come to think of it, it's always men. I give them a drink, chat a bit, and they never take me up on the tour until quite some time has passed."

 

"Have there been a lot of men?"

 

"This is a boarding house. I get all kinds here. And I'm pleased to say I've serviced them all."

 

Rawl crosses his legs. "You don't say."

 

"A room and 3 meals a day, $5.00. It's a fair price."

 

"Yes, yes, the rooms. $5.00 seems more than fair. In fact, it's downright inexpensive."

 

"I'm glad you think so. So many come in here expecting me to give it away. I always tell them, 'It's not 1949 anymore. Times change, things go up."

 

"Yes, things do go up," he says, shifting his leg to mask more of his body. The ticking of the clock seems to grow louder. He knows he has to change the subject and desperately searches his mind for an innocuous topic. "So... that disembodied voice in your house. Had that long?"

 

Just then, there is a knock at the door.

 

"Excuse me," she says. Gliding gracefully across the room, she opens the door. Two men stand in the doorway, soaked to the skin from the violent, slashing storm that rages outside.

 

"Have you any rooms for two travelers on this beastly night?" one of the men asks.

 

"Of course, come in. Have a seat. Allow me to take your coats and hats." They hand her their overcoats and hats. She leaves the room to put them away.

 

"A fire! Just what the doctor ordered," says the taller of the two. He sees Rawl and extends his hand. "Duckworth P. Bronty, Canadian super-villain. Though you may know me by my nom de villainy, 'Professor Nefarious'. And this is my associate, Alexander Hattaboy."

 

"Canadian super-villain-in-training, known to the world as 'Associate Professor Heinous,'" Alex adds. "But you may call me Heiny. Everyone does."

 

"I am Lord Rawl, ruler of the 17th dimension, master of the xathosphere. I'm pleased to meet you both."

 

The two newcomers shove Gloom's corpse into a corner, then grab the small divan his body had been blocking. "Is he one of yours?" Nefarious asks, pointing to the carcass.

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"Victims. The object of your villainy."

 

"Oh! Oh, no. That's Dr. Gloom, former Canadian super-villain. I'm not sure what caused his unfortunate demise, so I'm pretending it was a heart attack."

 

"We'll pretend so, too!" says Heiny.

 

"Go! Go from this place! Go while you still live! Or beware the consequences!" says the disembodied voice.

 

"Here, now, what's this?" asks Nefarious.

 

"It's a disembodied voice," says Rawl. "Apparently, it greets all the visitors with the same message."

 

"What a friendly idea," says Heiny. "I suppose it's because that stunningly beautiful woman who greeted us takes quite some time to hang up a couple of pieces of outerwear."

 

"I must install one in my lair," says Nefarious.

 

"Oh, do, Professor. You have so many wonderfully inventive touches, that would be icing on the cake."

 

"Consider it done, Heiny."

 

"I'm flattered," says the disembodied voice.

 

"My pleasure."

 

The voice giggles.

 

"I do believe you've charmed her," says Heiny. "He has such a way with the ladies," he adds with a wink to Rawl.

 

Rawl is suddenly less happy to see the two men. "Is that so?"

 

"Perhaps I should go see what's happened to our hostess?" says Nefarious.

 

"No!" shouts Rawl, shooting to his feet. "I mean, I'll do it. You two have just arrived. Relax... attempt to warm yourselves by the fire. I'll get her. We're well acquainted, and I know my way around," he lies.

 

"As you wish."

 

Rawl quickly leaves the room through the door where the woman had disappeared with the coats. He finds himself in a hallway with three doors, two of which are open. One is a bathroom, the other appears to be the master bedroom. Both are empty. The third door is shut. Slowly seeping from the narrow space at the bottom is a thick, crimson pool of blood.

 

To be continued...