THE WONDROUS FABU-FRIENDZ:
THE MEDIA MUNCHKIN
STRIKES BACK
Recap: After a crazed rendition of the Bard's most stirring speech, the Fabu-Friendz are ready to go head to head with Leo DiCaprio, Dark Lord of the Media Force and general weenie. Can they rescue poor Rakoon Torche in time? And what of Mr. Roboto and his ticking nuclear timebomb? And why the hell has it taken so long to get this far, anyway?
CHAPTER TWENTY: LCM TO THE RESCUE (GO, LCM, GO!!!)
"Well, isn't this special," The Centre of the Known Universe remarked, knocking back a healthy gulp of his smart cocktail. Next to him, a Marcel sat in the navigator seat of the Silver Cloud, while Mumsey slept off her regular Thursday night binge in the back. "The next time I let those toadstools at the Hall of Fabulousness talk me into something like this, sweetiedarling, have me hauled off to Betty Ford for my own sake," he said, tapping an ash from a glamorous Du Maurier onto the upholstery. "At least they agreed to call me Fab Force One -- there's something about it that just sings to my supermodel soul."
The Silver Cloud was currently hovering south of Fabulanna facing the combined might of Leonardo DiCaprio, now the giggling master of the awesome Media Force. The Centre of the Known Universe, according to the Bombastic Techniion and Red Jet, was to sit there and do absolutely nothing until a couple of TIE fighters (borrowed from Lucasfilms as part of DiCaprio's contract) came to investigate. "At which time, I'm supposed to take off like a stripe-assed baboon, whatever one of those are." TCotKU sighed. "Too bad the Dream Princess isn't here -- I'm sure she has one in her menagerie. Or boudoir, possibly -- you known what inbred royalty is like."
The Marcel nodded, miming a horse in the middle of coital relations with a Russian czarina.
"Exactly, sweetie. I mean, I'm her best and youngest friend, and even I'm shocked at how she hides her licentious behavior behind that born-again virgin facade, not that it fools anyone for an instant since we all know she's having a sluttish affair with that divine Andy Garcia behind Alec Baldwin's back--"
The radar started beeping. The Marcel studied the screen, then held up three fingers.
"Oh, is this charades? Ooh, I love games!" TCotKU giggled, clapping his hands and spilling his smart cocktail over everything. "But aren't you supposed to start off with a category, sweetie? I mean, unless your talking about the usual population in Unca Robbie's bed--"
The Marcel shook his head violently, miming an divebombing bowtie. "What, we're being attacked by C. Everett Coop?" TCotKU said fuzzily. "Mr. Dressup? Opus the penguin?"
Finally, the frustrated mime settled for miming the attacking bowtie slapping across the slightly tipsy supermodel's head. "Well, if you're going to be like that, I simply won't play," TCotKU said huffily, folding his arms across the cocktail stain on his chest.
The mime sighed and reached over the supermodel ("Rude!") to engage the engines. TCotKU was about to engage in a genteel tonguelashing and a spot of corporal punishment when he noticed three TIE fighters approaching, spearheading the main formation of Imperial death machines. "Oh, THAT'S what you meant!" he cried, jamming a 5" platform on the gas.
The Silver Cloud did a 180° and sped off, much like a stripe-assed baboon. Not surprisingly, the TIE fighters followed.
"Hot damn -- they took the bait," Techniion said. The leader of the WF-F was back at the Hall of Fabulousness, poised in front of the Screens O' Danger(TM) which now formed the nerve center of the Fabu-Friendz strike force. He gave a thumbs up to Mr. Roboto, who was busy dusting TCotKU's chaise lounge, then turned back the the controls and pressed a button. "All right, Fab Force Two, you're on."
The
Fearless Ms. Empresse grinned ferally and boosted her Jet Chariot to
Insanely Fast Speed.
After shimmering like a Prada lamé gown as the Feynman/Hawking reactors kicked in, the Jet Chariot began to pop in and out of local time-space, always at a different spot but always somewhere in the TIE fighter formation. The TIE pilots started veering away from formation in an attempt to avoid the elegant craft's sudden reappearance. A few ships tried targeting the Jet Chariot, but wound up hitting their own team with friendly laser fire when the Jet Chariot disappeared.
"Welcome to a negative market share, Panty Boys!" FME shouted, dodging another energy blast. She crowed even louder when she saw the Bolte Shuttle swoop into view, plowing directly into a TIE fighter and blowing it to bits. "Yo, Bolte! Where are you?"
"Right behind ya, baby!" Inside the Bolte Shuttle, the Intangible Mademoiselle Bolte grinned inside her heavy-duty Swedish safety cage. Her beloved Shuttle may have been a glorified flying minivan, but it was a glorified flying minivan with a deflector shield made by Volvo. She targeted another TIE fighter and slammed the stick forward, ramming another TIE fighter. "That's for making children french-kiss Jar-Jar Bink's candy tongue!"
"And this is for making Ewan MacGregor wear clothes, damn you!" Doktor Lad yelled, at the controls of the Beautiful Hour Krystal's Sub-Glider. "Hit 'em, darlin'!"
Hour Krystal took a deep breath, then screamed into a tightly fitted mouthpiece with an embedded superdense microphone. A braid of colored wires connected the microphone to an aimable horn transmitter outside the ship -- her superpowered scream traveled down the wires, out the transmitted, and slammed two TIE fighters into each other. As the ships exploded, she pulled off her mouthpiece and turned to look at her pilot and snugglebunny. "Ewan MacGregor?"
"Well, I AM bisexual," Doktor Lad said, shrugging.
"True. Okay, then -- can I watch?"
The superhero rolled his eyes. "Shoot the bad guys down first, dear."
"This may actually work, after all," Techniion muttered to himself. "Okay, Fab Force Three, make it snappy -- we've got about a half hour on Mr. Roboto before he goes boom!"
"Right." The Warped Ghoste Prince took a dramatic pose at the controls of the TelePortal(tm), the blonde Dutchman Jan at his side. "Gentlemen, start your engines."
The Glitter Queen and Sir Ian, now dressed in a Keep jumpsuit and a rather dashing cape, stared at the interdimensional portal. "Do you seriously expect us to use that piece of crap?" the superhero demanded.
Ghoste Prince looked offended. "You want to get on DiCaprio's ship, right?"
"Well, yeah, but I also want to get there in one piece without being duplicated, cyborgized, or spliced with a Marcel."
The Vanir sighed. "Look, we fixed all those problems, all right? The TelePortal(tm) is now practically foolproof -- it would take 1.1 gigawatts of energy striking at just the right time to screw anything up, and we've installed the latest lighting rods all along the watchtowers."
The glittering superhero gave him one last doubting glance, then cursed under his breath as he leaped through the portal, disappearing into the swirling special effect. "Fine. Now you, Sir Ian," Ghoste Prince said.
"Here we go." The British actor stepped up to the threshold, then jumped.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to anyone in the Keep, a stratospheric anomaly had formed high above the floating fortress. A mass of cold air streaming off the topmost reaches of the Rose Chateau had tangled with a mass of warm air generated by the DiCaprio armada, and the two air masses were trading ions like anything. Suddenly, a threshold was reached, and a gigantic thread of static electricity was formed. Following natural law and the prompting of the author, it zoomed downward, searching for an earthing point.
The TelePortal(tm) room suddenly filled with the smell of ozone, as a bolt of lightning slammed into the spire capping the room, neatly sidestepping all of the lightning rods. Every control in the room flickered insanely as special Explosive Panels exploded for maximum dramatic effect. Jan, in a fit of misguided but enthusiastic devotion, threw his mortal but intensely hunky body over Ghoste Prince and pushed the Vanir down behind a protective bank of controls.
The TelePortal(tm) emitted an ear-shattering squeal, then went dark, followed by the rest of the controls. Coughing, the technicians poked up from their own ducking points, trying to peer through the smoke.
"Um, Jan?"
"Ja. myheer?"
"I mean, that's really nice, and I appreciate it, but put it away -- we have work to do"
"Oh. Ja, myheer."
Freed from the protective embrace of the Dutchman, Ghost Prince staggered to his feet, staring at the entrance to the TelePortal(tm) and what lay over it. "Oh, roger me with an adze -- I'm never going to live this one down," he muttered. "And how the hell did it do THAT to him?"
Suddenly, a crackling noise came over the PA system. "Keep, this is Fab Force Three. We made it -- I repeat, we made it," said the voice of the Glitter Queen.
Ghoste Prince leaped for the intercom system. "FF3, please repeat -- you made it? Both of you?" he demanded.
"Yeah. Looks like that crazy contraption of your worked for once. We'll report after we turn DiCaprio into a grease spot. FF3 out."
The Vanir clicked off the intercom, still staring at the figure slumped at the TelePortal(tm). And then, another, more interesting idea occurred to him, one that could kill two birds with the single proverbial stone. "Jan," he ordered, "get Dr. Julienn up here with a med team, and get _him_ to sickbay."
"Ja, myheer."
It was dark. And cramped. And unpleasantly stinky. And worst of all, the whiny voice of DiCaprio was coming from directly overhead.
"So, where are we?" Sir Ian asked pleasantly.
"Well, Ghoste Prince was supposed to put us in the main hangar of the Dork Star, so in a general sense that's where we are. As for a more specific sense. . ." A pause, while Glitter Queen thought. "Um. . .I think. . ."
"Yes?"
"I think. . .we're inside the daïs under DiCaprio's throne."
"Oh. I assume that's bad?"
"Well, it depends on your point of view. On the bad side, I think I know why this place smells like Rush Limbaugh's chair after a marathon beanfest. On the good side--"
A burst of electricity arced upwards, and they heard DiCaprio scream. "Ah -- that feels so much better," GQ said, smiling beautifically.
He then reached out and funneled his electrical powers into the surrounding material. The daïs exploded outwards, revealing the forms of the Electrifying Glitter Queen and Sir Ian. "Nice shot," the actor said, brushing splinters and dust from his sleeve as he stood up and surveyed where they were. "Unfortunately, you did it while he was reviewing the guard."
"Oops," the superhero said, blinking at the massed lines of Leonites and stormtroopers. They stared back for what seemed like an eternity, then charged.
"STOP!" DiCaprio screamed.
The masses stumbled to a halt, a few unfortunates at the front getting feet planted in their sensitive areas.
The Dark Lord of the Media picked himself up off the floor, rubbing his ass. "They're mine! All of you, piss off and watch the battle," he snarled.
The stormtroopers muttered, but the zombie fans of Leo obeyed unthinkingly. As they streamed off towards the big, open end of the hangar, they revealed a chubby figure sitting on a velvet cushion. A shimmering force field had been erected around him, separating him from any human contact. GQ's heart leapt, then dropped as low as Harvey Fierstein's singing register when he saw the glazed look in his lover's eyes, not to mention the additional poundage around his middle. "Koonie!" he cried in agony, then turned on DiCaprio. "You utter bitch!"
"Yeah,
yeah, I've heard it all before," the Dark Lord said, smirking. "But
both you and those pathetic Luke Skywalker wannabes out there are too
late -- I already have the Pepto-Bismol Chateau targeted and locked
in my Really Really Big Death Ray(TM). And no, I'm not going to tell
you where it is or show you the controls, thank you very much -- I've
seen all the James Bond movies, too. In ten minutes, this baby is going
to blow it, Fabulanna, and any trace of the Wondrous Fabu-Friendz out
of existence forever."
GQ's hands itched to get around the little actor's throat. "Big talk from such a little boy." he snarled.
"Is that the best you can come up with?" DiCaprio said incredulously. "Jesus, you deserve to be wiped out with comebacks like that." For the first time, he noticed GQ's compantion. "So who's the old coot? He looks kinda familiar."
Sir
Ian smiled grimly. "Yes, I get that a lot," he said politely as he swept
his cape over one shoulder. The massive gold ring on his right hand
seemed to glow with its own light as he raised it towards the smirking
DiCaprio. "And you know what?"
A bolt of energy leapt out of the Ring of RADA, flinging itself at DiCaprio and knocking him back on his scrawny ass.
"It's really starting to piss me off," the actor concluded.
The Dark Lord scrambled back to his feet again. "That was a VERY BIG MISTAKE!" he screamed, slamming his hands together. A stream of energy poured out of them, taking on the familiar shape of a lightsabre.
Holm laughed. "Oh, please, dear boy -- a few weeks of fencing practice for MAN IN THE IRON MASK doesn't stand up to the RADA course," he called, forming his own lightsabre from the concentrated power of the thespianic ring. And raised it as DiCaprio lunged at him, parrying the stroke neatly. "Just as I thought -- all flash and no substance. Admit it, GILBERT GRAPE was a fluke!"
"It was not!" DiCaprio shouted, hacking overhand at Holm's sabre. "You try acting retarded for seven weeks and see how you like it! And who the hell are you to talk -- what have you done since CHARIOTS OF FIRE?"
"I made Bruce Willis look good, for starters," Holm riposted, slashing up and over. DiCaprio parried the thrust, returning it with a twist. "All you had to do was look cute and snog Kate Winslet."
"What about David Thewlis? And I had to act like I enjoyed it! At least I get a response out of people -- they forget your name as soon as they leave the theater!"
"It's called being an actor and submerging into a part," Holm gritted, lunging forward and feinting.
With a grunt, DiCaprio parried again. "It's called being totally forgettable! How many times do people confuse you with Derek Jacobi?"
Holm's eyes went wide as the barb hit its mark. "That only happened once, you little mullet!"
"AHA! Ken cast you in anything recently?" DiCaprio taunted. "I hear he works with Derek all the time!"
As the actors dueled, Glitter Queen sidled around to the force field surrounding the Groovilicious Rakoon Torche. "Don't worry, sweetie," he promised. "Your snugglebunny is here to rescue you."
Rakoon Torche blinked sleepily at him. "Oh, hi, honey," he said, wiping at the ring of chocolate around his lips. "You know, all this stuff is nice, but I have such a taste for something. I just can't remember what it is. . ."
Glitter Queen eyed the top of the force field. Let's hope you were too stupid to put a lid on this thing, DiCraprio, he thought as he reached into a special pocket of his costume and brought out a featureless brown bag. It went up and over the side of the field, then dropped straight into Rakoon's lap.
The bemused superhero picked it up, and grinned. "My superGoobers! Wow! Thanks, hon!" he said, ripping open the bag and pouring the specially charged candy into his mouth. The effect was immediate -- the power of the superGoobers smashed through DiCaprio's ChocoQuell, restoring Rakoon's mental abilities (what there were) to their former strength.
He struggled to his feet, grunting a bit with the effort. "Oh, wow! I can't believe I ate the whole thing," he groaned. "I'm gonna have to live in the gym after this." He paused, looking oddly introspective for a moment, then opened his mouth and let rip with an astoundingly superGoober-charged belch. The sonic wave smashed into the force field, disrupting it and blowing up the generator.
"Ooh -- good one!" GQ said, coming in for a fast kiss and grope. As soon as they broke for air, he added, "Actually -- do you think you could do that again, hon?"
"Well, sure," Rakoon said sultrily, leaning forward.
GQ put a hand over his lips. "No, not that -- although it's great and I intend to give all of your bits a nice workout later on," he cooed. "I meant the belch. Can you do that again?"
Rakoon just smiled.
At the other end of the hangar, a crowd of Leonites and bored stormtroopers were gathered around the ege of a huge balcony-like structure, watching the Fabu-Friends in their aerial combat with the TIE fighters. Suddenly--
*BRAAAAAAP*
A clot of screaming women rocked forward from the force of the blast, then tumbled over the balcony edge to splash harmlessly in the sea below.
*BRAAAAAP* BRAAAAAP*
"It's working!" GQ crowed, watching as his beloved's gastrointestinal eructations blew more and more DiCaprio henchbeings off the Dork Star. "Keep it up, babe!"
Meanwhile, the actors were still slugging it out with lightsabres and venomous critiques of each other's performances. In the middle of deconstructing Holm's work in MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTTS, DiCaprio looked around. "What the hell is that -- NOOOOOO!" he screamed, seeing Rakoon standing free of the ChocoQuell spell. Worse yet, none of his stormtroopers or Leonites were left on the hangar floor.
Grinning evilly, GQ raised one hand and gave him the finger. "Not that I'd ever indulge you, sweetiedarling," he added.
DiCaprio raised his arms and screamed again in pure rage. A blackness, thick and nasty as that goop from the X-Files, poured from him, and the very air seemed to shimmer, turning into a torrent of images from the popular media -- sitcom stars, Monica Lewinski, the OJ trial, Lorena Bobbit, Pee-Wee Herman, Britney Spears, combatants from Jerry Springer, disco dancers, the Lambada, every boygroup formed in the 1990's, all swirling around, around, reaching for the arching vault of the hangar ceiling, threatening to encompass them all and suck them down into an endless hell of banality and white trash values, of the vary nadir of fabulousness--
"Gotcha," Sir Ian whispered, as he leaned forward and slid his lightsabre into DiCaprio's gut.
The huge, gross bubble of media ruptured into a million pieces, each shard fleeing into the shadows of the hangar, never to be found. DiCaprio himself flew into the air like a big rubber balloon, screaming and expelling gas at a rate that made Rakoon Torche look like a piker, and blew straight out the hangar and up into the sky, whirling off into the stratosphere. His abandoned Darth Vader helmet spun on the floor, finally coming to a pathetic halt.
"And that takes care of that," Holm said with satisfaction, giving his cape a little flick. "I don't know about you two gentlemen, but I could use a very large bitter right about now."
Before the Fabu-Friendz could reply, their communicator crackled. "Guys, we're getting close with Mr. Roboto going big bada boom -- could I have the code now, please?" they heard the Bombastic Techniion plead.
"We got a big bada boom on this end, too, BT," Glitter Queen said, turned back to Rakoon Torche. "Hon, I need the code for Mr. Roboto's onboard reactor. Like, now."
"The code?" Rakoon Torche's handsome if somewhat empty face contracted in thought. "Oh, jeez. . .um. . .it's right on the tip of my tongue, babe."
"Uh, he just started counting down numbers, and they're not high ones," the increasingly panicky voice of the Bombastic Techniion yelped.
"Hon?" GQ said tensely.
"Oooh, er, um. . ."
"He says the first part is, 'Oh come all ye faithful!'" Techniion screamed.
A dim light went on it the hunky superhero's eyes. "Oh, yeah, of course. 'All over the stable!'" he said triumpantly.
Silence. Then: "'Oh come all ye faithful, all over the STABLE'? That's your code?" Techniion squeaked. "Oh. . .I'll be damned, it is. I'm shutting down Mr. Roboto now -- you can fix him when you get back."
"Yeah, but first we have to stop this big mother from blowing up Fabulanna," GQ said, feeling a mite desperate.
Holm stared behind him. "From your lips to God's ears," he said mysteriously.
GQ and Rakoon Torch spun around to see the nose of the Silver Cloud poke into the hangar. Behind the windshield, TCotKU could just be seen waving an empty smart cocktail glass at them, a Marcel bouncing up and down at his side. There was a crackling sound as the supermodel accidentially activated the Silver Cloud's PA system, then: "Ooh -- maybe that's the button that opens the hatch. No -- maybe that one. No--"
GQ felt a sudden premonition run up his spine. "LCM! Stop pressing buttons!" he shouted.
"No -- oh, how amusing, that's where she keeps her Godiva stash -- maybe this one--"
With an explosive hiss, two Madonna Missiles poked out of the fuselage, primed for firing.
"LCM! STOP HITTING THE DAMNED BUTTONS!" GQ screamed.
"No -- ooh, wait, what does this pretty blinking red one do?"
Glitter Queen closed his eyes, grabbed Rakoon Torche and Sir Ian under each arm, and launched himself into the air towards the hangar opening. He felt a rush of hot air stream past him in the opposite direction, and kicked up his speed a notch. Which was a good thing, as the Madonna Missiles fired across the empty hangar and slammed into the opposite wall, which just happened to contain very delicate, important (and as it turned out, explosive) Dork Star circuitry.
Inside the Silver Cloud, TCotKU touched his mouth. "I think I made an oopsie," he said in a small voice. The Marcel gaped at him in disbelief. At that point, Mumsey leaned over the back of the seat and forcefully vomited onto the shift, slamming the Silver Cloud into reverse and pushing down on LCM's leg to hit the gas, popping the vehicle out of the hangar like a gerbil from Richard Gere's derriere.
The impacted circuitry exploded, which in turn set off a chain reaction of explosions throughout DiCaprio's ship. With a final WHOMP worthy of ILM's best SFX men, the ship blew up in a magnificent display of pyrotechnics, raining down into the sea (and onto the hapless Leonites) below. By an outrageous display of good luck, nobody was killed or actively injured by the falling debris, and they all got to re-enact their favorite scene from TITANIC with a happy ending for once, which was nice.
Gliding through the ball of expanding plasma that had been the Dork Star, LCM twinkled an absolutely fabulous smile at Marcel and Mumsey as he thumbed the mike. "I think that counts as a hit, don't you, sweetiedarlings?" he trilled. "NNDTMNODYK! I'll meet you all in the Boom-Boom Room for a celebratory toast -- and sweeties, the drinks are on me!"
The radio crackled back. "Oh, Gods -- isn't that the first sign of the Apocalypse?" the Ghoste Prince muttered.
LCM sniffed. "I heard that, you Norse ninny!"
So DiCaprio has been defeated, and the Groovilicious Rakoon Torche has finally been rescued from his slimy clutches. But wait, there's more! Stick around for the heartwarming wrap-up in the Epilogue of THE WONDROUS FABU-FRIENDZ: THE MEDIA MUNCHKIN STRIKES BACK
