THE WONDROUS FABU-FRIENDZ:
THE MEDIA MUNCHKIN
STRIKES BACK
Recap: When we last left our wondrous superheroes, they were about to launch a woefully undergunned attack on Leonardo DiCaprio and his flagship the Dork Star, in a desperate attempt to rescue the Groovilicious Rakoon Torche before he ate himself into Big and Tall shops, as well as save the world from the dark side of the Media Force. The WF-F's main weapon -- a short, British actor respected throughout the acting community and known to the public as "that guy who was in ALIEN, right?"
CHAPTER NINETEEN: THE THIN FABULOUS LINE
Mademoiselle Bolte followed the directions sent from the WF-F's HQ, to a spot two miles off Fabulanna's Point Spandex. "I'll be damned," she said, peering out the windshield. "He got it up!"
"Well, Viagra is a wonderful thing -- oh," the Fearless Ms. Empresse said. Ahead of them, like a mirrorball in a giant's disco, hung the Floating Keep, airborne once more. "Well, that's somewhat reassuring, at least."
Sir Ian leaned across the seat, staring out at the Ghoste Prince's lair. "Good Lord -- and I thought Terry Gilliam was a bit OTT," he said.
As the Bolte Shuttle landed, disgorging the trio through Keep's massive blast doors, they soon realized that they had walked into a scene of barely-controlled chaos. While Keep techs, toyboys and assorted minions scurried back and forth, Techniion was busy consulting with Ghoste Prince, and Glitter Queen was stomping around the room setting off bursts of light everywhere. Over in one corner, Hour Krystal, Red Jet and Doktor Lad were poring over a new terrain map of the battered Fabulanna.
"My God," Holm said, coming to a standstill and staring at LCM, who was sprawled over a chaise lounge with an empty bottle of Stoli in one hand and a glamorous DuMaurier smouldering in the other. "I didn't know Dennis Rodman was a superhero!"
"Shhh," FME warned. "LCM and Dennis haven't gotten along ever since Dennis stole LCM's idea to get married to himself. Of course, LCM retaliated by fixing him up with Madonna, and their relationship has just been spiraling downwards in fits of vitriol ever since."
"Not to mention the mail bombs," Bolte sighed. "One of them blew my "Best of Aran Knitting Patterns" monthly all to hell -- now I'll never know how to knit the Vomiting Mayo Man Knot."
They brought the actor over to Techniion and introduced him. Keeping his eyebrows firmly under control, Holm outlined what he needed from the Fabu-Friends for his upcoming one-on-one with DiCaprio.
"You need to get within spitting distance of DiCraprio in order to fight him?" Techniion said. Even he was pleased with the crisp Shatnerianism of his tone as he stared down at the actor, arms crossed. "You realize that might be a wee bit difficult, yes?"
"Well, you *are* the superheroes here," Holm drawled. "I assume one of you can drop me off or beam me up or whatever you do to his location. By the way, where is that?"
"About
fifty miles south of us," Ghost Prince said. "There's a squadron of
TIE fighters escorting a large, spherical ship our way." He tapped a
button out of sight, and the hologram reformed into a shot off Fabulanna's
southern coast. TIE fighters were arrayed like mutant May flies around
a swollen black ball.
"Well, isn't that charming," Glitter Queen said, glaring at the image and flexing his fingers. Liquid lightning dripped from them, hissing as it hit the marble floor. "The Dork Star is on its way, I see."
"Ahem. GQ?" Ghoste Prince leaned over and looked pointedly at the pitted floor.
"Sorry," GQ muttered, unrepentant. "Just let me head over there and pop that little pustule out of the sky."
The Vanir shook his head. "Not a good idea. The Keep's WF-F radar indicates that Rakoon Torche is on board. You might want to hold off blowing it all to hell until you get him off first. As for your question, Mr. Holm," he turned towards the actor, "I think I know the perfect way to get you on board the Dork Star--"
"Which is all very well and good," Techniion harrumphed, stalking to the center of the room, where the holographic projection equipment gave him a natural podium. Jumping onto a convenient step, he struck a Shatneresque pose. "But before that happens, there's something I need to say to all of you--"
"Oh, Ghu -- I've got a bad feeling about this," FME muttered.
The leader of the WF-Fs considered the room archly, then took a deep breath. "My fellow Fabulannians--"
Groans exploded from every corner of the room, and LCM flung his empty Stoli bottle at the stung Techniion, who was forced to duck or take an imprint on his forehead. The Manual of Superhero League Leadership never mentioned anything like this, he thought. "Dammit, I'm trying to be leaderlike and supportive here," he screamed.
Slowly, the assembled superheroes settled down, with loud, exaggerated snores coming from the chaise lounge.
"Thank you," Techniion said huffily, glaring at TCotKU. "Now, if I can finish? My fellow Fabulannians, we're about to go off into battle with one evil, sneaky little bastard who would like nothing better than to see all of us trapped in endless reruns of 'The Partridge Family.' And, well, I just wanted to tell you that any of you who survive this battle and come home safely can stand a little straighter when this, this Day of DiCaprio is mentioned.
"I'm serious. Those of you who make it through today and continue on into your old age -- which will be in five years or less, considering the mass consumption of alcohol, recreational drugs and deviant sex of everyone in this room -- will be able to turn to the other barflies on the anniversary and say, 'Ya know what? We kicked Leo DiCaprio's ass on this day.' And although your fellow guttermates will stare blearily into their own glasses and ignore you, or possibly vomit on you, hey, you can always pull up your sleeves and show them the scars. Which will definitely make them vomit, but I digress.
"And then you can say, 'Yeah, I got these kicking that little pustule in the goolies.' Ronald Reagan and LCM may forget everything else, but you'll remember in full Technicolor glory the cool shit you pulled on the Day of DiCaprio. Then our names, familiar as a Barry Manilow jingle, will be mentioned -- the Electrifying Glitter Queen, the Warped Ghoste Prince, the Handsome Red Jet, the Virtuous Doktor Lad and the Beautiful Hour Krystal, the Intangible Mademoiselle Bolte and even LCM, the Centre of the Known Universe -- be in flowing glasses of Bolli freshly rememb'red."
--"Where's that background music coming from?" FME whispered to Bolte, who shrugged.--
"And the story of how we kicked DiCaprio's ass will be passed down by fashion designers and professional alcoholics everywhere," Techniion continued, his handsome face sheened with a thin film of sweat, "and this day will never go by from now until the day Cliff Richard finally comes out, but we in it shall be remembered -- we few, we happy few, we band of brothers--" He glanced around at the smouldering forms of femininity, and harrumphed. "--and sisters, too. Oh, hell, we siblings. Because, yeah, any of you who goes into battle today with me is my sibling -- although don't expect me to share my animal crackers or give you the window seat, okay?
"But even if you're as depraved as LCM with a crate of Bolli and a key to the Chippendales' dressing room, today will make you -- dare I say it -- absolutely fabulous. And supermodels and other faux-fabulous people, swilling Stoli and snorting crack in some fashionable nightclub on Sunset, will feel like suburban white trash K-Mart shoppers because they weren't here. They'll hold their fabulousness pretty cheaply, I can tell you, when any of us start talking about our fight on the Day of DiCaprio!" he concluded in ringing tones. "Now, let's get out there and kick some weenie ass!"
There was a pregnant moment of silence. Then, much to Techniion's relief, the superheroes started cheering. Grabbing LCM and his chaise lounge, they stormed out of the room in a group towards the hangars, leaving a bemused Sir Ian standing next to Ghoste Prince and Glitter Queen.
"It loses a bit in the translation, doesn't it?" the actor commented. "And I don't think that Ken would approve. But all in all, not bad. Now, how are you going to get me over to the little dipshit?"
Someone really needs to take Techniion's tape of HENRY V away from him, but it seems to have done the trick. The Fabu-Friends are tanned, rested and ready to face the disgusting might of DiCaprio and his Media Force. Who will win? Does anybody care anymore? Well, I do, dammit, so the REAL climax (I mean it this time, honest) awaits in Chapter Twenty of of THE WONDROUS FABU-FRIENDZ: THE MEDIA MUNCHKIN STRIKES BACK!
