I’m not working today.
I slap a Post-It note on my door that says “On Conference Call,” lock that bastard, then bust out the laptop for a marathon session of Freedom Force vs The Third Reich. Because really, fuck work. How hard would you work if you thought your bosses were a bunch of supervillains? Well, maybe if they were the Darth Vader type who strangles their underlings you would work pretty hard, but mine aren’t. So its video games for me!
I surface occasionally to make coffee runs down to the Starbucks in our building’s lobby and to give Chad “action items” to work on. Somebody has to look busy around here, and it might as well be him. I know, I’m a dick.
Margo flags me down in the main hallway on the Ninth Floor, the one with the alien plants. She’s wearing a flared ivory skirt and a pink blouse with cute pumps today – again, I’m not gay.
“Have you, uh, heard anything from your friend?” she says, looking around furtively.
Ted Bradbury – one of the VPs who run the QuantumWorks project – passes us in the hallway. He nods to us. Ted hates me, and I think he knows I’m the Velvet Marauder. Whatever.
I watch Ted pass and then I pull Margo into my office. “Yeah, he left me a voice mail,” I say quietly. “He hasn’t made contact with you yet?”
“Umm, no. How would he do that, exactly?”
“I don’t know, I’m new at all this stuff,” I say. “He’ll be in touch.”
“Okay. Okay, thanks.” She seems a little nervous.
During my dinner with Margo last week I volunteered the services of The Velvet Marauder to help crack the mystery surrounding the executive supervillains in our company, but now I’m wondering if that was a good call. I told her that VM saved my life once from Exploder and that he gave me a way of contacting him in case of emergencies. But what am I going to do? As the Marauder, I mean? Now that I’m committed, I actually have to do something about this whole QuantumWorks mess. I just thought it would be kind of fun introducing Margo to my alter-ego, but now that means I have to take on a conspiracy of white-collar-super-bad-guys. I’m more of a night stalker type hero, you know? Rescuing people from muggers? I don’t think I’m cut out for this intrigue shit.
I go back to my game and don’t think about it.
13 comments:
You sure do fall hard for the women. I think most guys in your position (good looks, good job, relatively solid accessibility to relationships, superpowers) would worry less about women over all. Maybe you'd be happier in a steady relationship.
Probably poking my nose in where it's not needed. Still enjoying the blog, BTW.
Ah, Freedom Force vs The Third Reich. Love that game. In real life I fight most of my battles on a more mystic plane but there's just something about kicking a Nazi in the head.
Next time Adolph Jr. sends some flying saucers up from his Antarctic base I'll drop you a line and you can join in on the Nazi-stomping fun.
Zoot
Thanks Zoot! I've never fought real Nazis before - I think every superhero should do that at least once. And Joel, yes, I do fall for the chicks hard. You should see Margo, though, man. Then you'd understand.
I hear ya, Marauder.
I think the last Giant Nazi Robot was defeated in 1978. There aren't any Nazi supersoldiers left to come out of suspended animation. The last one was Herr Nastyman in 1985. Fighting neo-Nazis just isn't the same, is it?
Though I will say, on their best days the Shadow Empire does a creditable impression of a fascist war machine. You have any outposts in Evergreen City?
Last year I busted up one of their operations in Washington. Giant ray cannon, army of robots, the works. Felt like 1944. Best part? The local head man was actually German. Sweet.
You haven't lived until you've heard an enraged German scientist yell "Kill the freedom-loving schwein!" as death rays sizzle around you.
For extra retro fun, I broke out the Fisticuffer's WW2 battle cry: "You know my name, now MEET MY FISTS!" Dumb, but hey.
That reminds me. Anybody remember the battle cry of the Ocelot, that guy who worked out of Boulder in the mid-Fifties? It's been on the tip of my tongue for days, and it's driving me nuts. Any help would be appreciated.
At first I thought it was "Beware my CLAWS OF JUSTICE!!," but I think that was the Bobcat guy from Alabama (he didn't last long--highway accident).
I think it's actually some sort of pun about Colorado, but I can't remember.
You stopped getting the giant robots in the late 70's because that's when the last of the first generation of Nazi scientists died. Without the tech support from Neu Thule down in Antarctica the local branches couldn't keep them running.
Nazis may be scum-suckers, but you have to give the originals points for style.
The new generation down south are all grim'n'gritty with their biological weapons and bad haircuts. They've acutally disavowed Shadow Empire as being more interested in the trappings than in actually killing us non-Aryans. Could they be bigger asshats?
Zoot
Don't get me started on the Shadow Empire. A Ratzi is a Ratzi, no matter what their uniforms look like.
Man, The Fisticuffer was cool, wasn't he? I hated that poser that took his place though, remember him? The right-wing guy? It's like, dude, everybody knows you're not The Real Fisticuffer, give it a rest. Plus, his taglines were stupid: "I'm going to punch your BRAIN!" Lame.
Sorry I haven't posted in a while, I've actually been busy at work for once. I suck.
You know, everyone thought that the second Fisticuffer was a government project, but if you talked to the guy it turned out he was just a fanboy. He grew up idolizing the Fisticuffer so when he got super-powers he just took "What would Fisticuffer do?" to the next level. (Yeah, he got it all wrong, but I never said he was particularly bright.) The wierd thing is, he could fly. You never saw him fly because the Fisticuffer couldn't; flying would be out of character. Some people.
Zoot
I've wandered onto your blog via Justin's Evil Petting Zoo. What a treat!
You're delusional, but I feel like I'm laughing with you, rather than at you. Your posts are like Harry Potter through a Steven Colbert filter. Perfect for us jaded, world-weary grown ups.
I'm hooked.
what's all this nonsense, Cindy ?
perhaps you are contacting us through some kind of a parallel world communication hyper messenger, but I assure you the Velvet Marauder is real (I have him on tape) and kicks all kinds of ass and all that. We are fortunate to have him fight the good fight & to do so in such a kick-ass, cool manner.
Well, duh. Of course I'm contacting you through a kind of parallel world communication hyper messenger.
Cool! Such a device actually exists and it works! However; one has to admit that the Japanese did give it a really bizarre name (don't they always!) - a brilliant invention nonetheless.
Thanks Cindy, whatever dimension you're in!
Post a Comment