“Hard Knocks”

See that guy right there? The big dude with the beady eyes and ill kept goatee grown to cover a less than strong chin? That’s Simon Maddicks, aka Killer Shrike. Right now he’s putting to use training paid for by Uncle Sam to creep through the jungle undergrowth. As silent as a Quaker’s hiccup he stalked towards his target, a crude tent made of stitched together dinosaur skins. Simon peeled aside the tent flap cautiously, as even though it was well past midnight in the Land that Common Sense Forgot, there were those still awake.

See that guy right there? The gentleman with the coif that looks as if it had been detonated rather than styled? That’s Al B Harper. Right now he’s hunched over his bamboo and coconut work station, filling up banana leaf after banana leaf with ciphering in hopes he can calculate the correct formula that will get him, Shrike, and every other character caught in this round robin home.

Why then, is the self-proclaimed Butcher Bird stalking him? Why is he behind Harper, raising a makeshift blackjack, aiming for where the skull that protects the arch-scientist’s prodigious brain meets his spine?

*KONK!!*

Harper tumbled forward from the blow, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head. Simon borrowed the quill pen Al was writing with and passed it under his victim’s nose. When the feather curved to demonstrate that he was still breathing Maddicks gave a satisfied grunt and turned to go.

“Just what the h*** is going on here?!”

See that gal right there? The studious blonde with the centerfold measurements? That’s Muffy Framlicker. Right now she’s using that figure to block Killer Shrike’s egress, and don’t think he hasn’t noticed.

“Nice loincloth,” he commented dryly.

Quickly covering up with her lab coat, the woman growled, “My other clothes were ruined when the witch doctors summoned those Tar Elementals to attack our camp.”

“Uh huh. So you forwent the one size fits all SPUD jumpsuits in favor of the outfit Raquel Welch made famous in 10,000 Years BC,” Simon replied, eviscerating Muffy’s justification for her evening dress, “What’s MENSA going to say?”

“Whatever it is, you won’t be able to understand it. And don’t change the subject! I saw you try and kill Al!”

The Avian Assassin’s face darkened, “Believe me, lady, if I wanted the brainiac dead, he’d be dead. I just turned his lights out is all.”

“And why would you do that?!” Muffy pushed past the thug and hovered over Harper’s prone form. Cradling his lolling head in her arms she demanded, “Al, speak to me!”

“Well, I can see you two want to be alone, so I’ll be moseying along then,” Simon jerked his thumb towards the opening.

“You walk out of here and I’ll scream so loud every Legionnaire within a hundred realities will come running,” the scientist warned him, “And right now that’s plenty!”

“I bet. Like weeds those f****** are,” he growled to himself.

“Shrike! Is it done?” a loud voice from outside the tent startled those conscious within.

Hear that gal right there? The grime-coated spitfire wearing mechanics coveralls and nothing else (the Parodyverse truly is a man’s shared continuity sometimes, isn’t it?)? That’s Amy Aston. Right now she’s poking her head in the tent to survey the damage, and she’s not happy, “Oh, way to be stealthy, you big orangutan.”

“Hey, how was I supposed to know Framlicker would be itchin’ to hook up with Harper for a late night booty call when I drew up this plan?” Simon protested.

Muffy rose wrathfully, letting Al’s head go to bounce off the table once again, “How dare-? I am not-! You both-! Arrgh!!”

“I may need to whack her too,” Shrike noted.

“Nah,” Amy disagreed, “She’s evil enough already.”

Muffy halted her tantrum and stared at the two incredulously, “Is that what this is about? You thought hitting Al on the head would turn him evil again?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Maybe. Probably not. But if it didn’t work it would guarantee you guys would fire Sasquatch here, so for me it was win-win.”

“This, this is ridiculous! You can’t adjust a person’s base morality just by hitting him in the head!”

“Try telling that to my old man,” Simon grumbled to his feet, “Oh, sorry, we’re trying to keep this light. Look, Harper would be a billion times cooler boss if he were evil.”

Amy was forced to agree, “Conquering the world is a better gig than schlepping packages all over Creation.”

“Exactly. He could build stuff that’s useful, like purple haired fembots with great cans and loose morals instead of purple haired fembots with great cans without loose morals.”

“That might be useful for you,” Amy rolled her eyes.

“And you gotta figure he’ll ship those d*** kids of his off to boot camp to keep them out of my, er, his hair,” Shrike seemed more excited about this possibility than the wanton woman androids.

“It’s what finally sold me on the project,” the young mechanic said, “Well, that and the song,”

“Song?” Muffy grew more bewildered.

“Yeah. Its like the Super Villain Theme, which sounds q****, but you can tell he’s really into it. It’s almost touching. Sing us a few bars, Shrike.”

“No.”

“Aw, come on. It’s the only worthwhile thing that’s come out of your mouth since I’ve known you.”

Killer Shrike gave the barest hint of a blush, reluctantly cleared his throat, and, mumbled:


” When the Devil is too busy
And Death's a bit too much
They call on me by name you see,
For my special touch.
To the Gentlemen I'm Miss Fortune
To the Ladies I'm Sir Prize
But call me by any name
Any way it's all the same

I'm the fly in your soup
I'm the pebble in your shoe
I'm the pea beneath your bed
I'm a bump on-“


“My head!” Al B. Harper’s voice was muffled by the fact his face was still planted facedown on his desk. Slowly, painfully, he raised it and looked around blearily, “Oohhh! What happened?”

“Maddicks sucker-punched you for no good reason,” Amy tattled before the big man could object, “How’re you feeling, boss? Evil?”

The arch scientist rubbed the back of his head and gave the soon to be jobless Killer Shrike a stern look, “Let’s just say I’m not in the best of moods.”

The End