I'm back with the followup of my humorous super hero story called "Worst Superhero Story Ever" At the end of the story I left the heroine Amelia with her newly handed symbol of office, namely the fabled baton and leotard of power. Oh, and a lot of loaded guns pointed at her. How the heck will she get out of this one?
“Oh my god! What is that on my lap?!”
As far as improvisations went, this one wasn’t half that bad. All the bad guys postponed their trip to Trigger Happy land to look at my lap, distracted by the white blot that was my leotard.
I used the moment to bolt to the right, both leotard and baton clasped in my hands. The goal was to reach the stacked crates and try to Houdini myself into the leotard, while handcuffed.
Gun shots mercilessly followed and I found myself dodging bullets. Among zigzagging and praying I didn’t get hit, I found myself performing cartwheels, front aerials, handsprings and roundoffs. Go team ‘Survive this Night Goddamnit’. Ra-Ra-Ra!
Surprisingly, I took cover without getting shot. Perhaps the first thing I’d write in this thing’s manual would be that the leotard gave the wearer super magic acrobatic acts without wearing it beforehand. No wonder that Robin, the Boy Wonder pranced around in tights.
Squatting with the leotard and the baton bundled in my hands I wondered how to get out of the cuffs. At this point I was numbed with the absurdity of this problem to worry how close to home the bullets hit. What I needed was a key. I didn’t see how else I could free my hands. I was no handy woman to work with tools and there were no tools in sight (well, other than the assholes with the guns that is).
Thinking it over and not finding a solution freaked me out a bit (a lot more than I’d admit it), but not as much as the baton growing smaller and lighter. Now, that pushed all the wrong buttons at the wrong time. The baton disappeared in the leotard and when I searched for it, I found a pair of keys for the handcuffs.
Deus Ex Machine to the rescue! No three words had made me happier in my life (other than the ‘Monthly Ex-Husband’s Allowance’ combo). I unlocked the cuffs and crouched around just as the goons grew the balls to follow me to the crates. There was something unsettling about this ‘in the nick of time’ business. I could’ve very well dined there and the only disturbance would have been the damage to my hearing.
The octogenarian planed on teaching me a lesson, so I wouldn’t die per se, but spending all my time in a gun fight didn’t rank at the top of my list for fun Sunday night outings.
I somehow moved to a different hideout position without getting shot. It seemed to me that I would do a lot of things in a somehow fashion, but I’d work it. I always did.
In all honesty, the leotard proved a lot more difficult to put on. I had to strip (the weather did not make this pleasurable), then the blasted thing caught on my…eh…muffin top (more hours in the gym, yey! Not.), then I came face to face with a shotgun barrel.
“Any last words, sweetheart?” The man holding the shotgun smiled, winked (in response I swallowed my bile or else he’d come face to face with projectile vomit) and prepared to kill me, though his motive still remained a mystery.
In the mean time I held the keys in my hand and was prepared for a second test run.
“Yeah, sure. Just one.”
I lifted the hand with the keys to his groin, which was really below his shotgun and in his blind spot. Really, because every gangster had to squint with one eye aligned with the barrel two feet from the target.
“Taser.” I yell and immediately feel how the keys grow into the familiar taser (every reputable businesswoman had one).
I shot. The wires darted. As they made contact with his crotch, I rolled out of the way (the leotard’s survival instinct, not mine) and the rest was a Home Alone action sequence. The shooter’s crotch was electrocuted. He fired at nothing and then curled up in pain.
With a single tug, I pulled the lifeless wires from him and ignoring my heavy accented muffin top I turned around towards the majority of bad guys, who just stood there (the power of the leotard). I might have been a sight. Sneakers, leotard… nothing else actually.
“You guys are the most inefficient henchmen in the world. I’d fire you if you worked for me.” I said in my most hardcore movie voice.
As they drew their guns, ready to take me out (personally, I’d lost confidence in them as enemies) I aimed the taser at the majority, hanging wires and all.
“Rocket launcher,” I said and sure enough, the taser elongated until one end rested on my shoulder and the loaded end faced the guys.
“You really want this to go down?” I asked. In my mind I tried to sound bad-ass, but then again I must have sounded constipated (that thing weighed a ton and I had no upper body strength at all).
The clatter of weapons on the floor answered my question as the tough guys made an exit, stage right, never to be seen again.
“Baton.” I commanded and huffed as the launcher shrank to the familiar baton.
God, what a Monday morning.
I placed a hand on my hip, thinking that this was the beginning of a super hero career that would totally damage my business life. Oh, and the muffin top reminded me about a renewed gym membership for I would have to avenge the streets with a leotard and a baton in my hand.
"With Leotard and Cheerleading Baton in Hand"
by Harry Markov
by Harry Markov
“Oh my god! What is that on my lap?!”
As far as improvisations went, this one wasn’t half that bad. All the bad guys postponed their trip to Trigger Happy land to look at my lap, distracted by the white blot that was my leotard.
I used the moment to bolt to the right, both leotard and baton clasped in my hands. The goal was to reach the stacked crates and try to Houdini myself into the leotard, while handcuffed.
Gun shots mercilessly followed and I found myself dodging bullets. Among zigzagging and praying I didn’t get hit, I found myself performing cartwheels, front aerials, handsprings and roundoffs. Go team ‘Survive this Night Goddamnit’. Ra-Ra-Ra!
Surprisingly, I took cover without getting shot. Perhaps the first thing I’d write in this thing’s manual would be that the leotard gave the wearer super magic acrobatic acts without wearing it beforehand. No wonder that Robin, the Boy Wonder pranced around in tights.
Squatting with the leotard and the baton bundled in my hands I wondered how to get out of the cuffs. At this point I was numbed with the absurdity of this problem to worry how close to home the bullets hit. What I needed was a key. I didn’t see how else I could free my hands. I was no handy woman to work with tools and there were no tools in sight (well, other than the assholes with the guns that is).
Thinking it over and not finding a solution freaked me out a bit (a lot more than I’d admit it), but not as much as the baton growing smaller and lighter. Now, that pushed all the wrong buttons at the wrong time. The baton disappeared in the leotard and when I searched for it, I found a pair of keys for the handcuffs.
Deus Ex Machine to the rescue! No three words had made me happier in my life (other than the ‘Monthly Ex-Husband’s Allowance’ combo). I unlocked the cuffs and crouched around just as the goons grew the balls to follow me to the crates. There was something unsettling about this ‘in the nick of time’ business. I could’ve very well dined there and the only disturbance would have been the damage to my hearing.
The octogenarian planed on teaching me a lesson, so I wouldn’t die per se, but spending all my time in a gun fight didn’t rank at the top of my list for fun Sunday night outings.
I somehow moved to a different hideout position without getting shot. It seemed to me that I would do a lot of things in a somehow fashion, but I’d work it. I always did.
In all honesty, the leotard proved a lot more difficult to put on. I had to strip (the weather did not make this pleasurable), then the blasted thing caught on my…eh…muffin top (more hours in the gym, yey! Not.), then I came face to face with a shotgun barrel.
“Any last words, sweetheart?” The man holding the shotgun smiled, winked (in response I swallowed my bile or else he’d come face to face with projectile vomit) and prepared to kill me, though his motive still remained a mystery.
In the mean time I held the keys in my hand and was prepared for a second test run.
“Yeah, sure. Just one.”
I lifted the hand with the keys to his groin, which was really below his shotgun and in his blind spot. Really, because every gangster had to squint with one eye aligned with the barrel two feet from the target.
“Taser.” I yell and immediately feel how the keys grow into the familiar taser (every reputable businesswoman had one).
I shot. The wires darted. As they made contact with his crotch, I rolled out of the way (the leotard’s survival instinct, not mine) and the rest was a Home Alone action sequence. The shooter’s crotch was electrocuted. He fired at nothing and then curled up in pain.
With a single tug, I pulled the lifeless wires from him and ignoring my heavy accented muffin top I turned around towards the majority of bad guys, who just stood there (the power of the leotard). I might have been a sight. Sneakers, leotard… nothing else actually.
“You guys are the most inefficient henchmen in the world. I’d fire you if you worked for me.” I said in my most hardcore movie voice.
As they drew their guns, ready to take me out (personally, I’d lost confidence in them as enemies) I aimed the taser at the majority, hanging wires and all.
“Rocket launcher,” I said and sure enough, the taser elongated until one end rested on my shoulder and the loaded end faced the guys.
“You really want this to go down?” I asked. In my mind I tried to sound bad-ass, but then again I must have sounded constipated (that thing weighed a ton and I had no upper body strength at all).
The clatter of weapons on the floor answered my question as the tough guys made an exit, stage right, never to be seen again.
“Baton.” I commanded and huffed as the launcher shrank to the familiar baton.
God, what a Monday morning.
I placed a hand on my hip, thinking that this was the beginning of a super hero career that would totally damage my business life. Oh, and the muffin top reminded me about a renewed gym membership for I would have to avenge the streets with a leotard and a baton in my hand.
7 comments:
LOL Deus Au Machina X infinity! This one was really playful. Sounds like a lot of fun to write too.
The best leotard/cheerleading baton story I've read all year. :)
I've never read a super hero story other than in comic form before. I thought this was lively and full of personality. Good fun too! :)
They are a lot of fun to write. Thanks to everybody who read and commented. :)
She gets divorced every month, or a single lout gets a monthly allowance? A superheroine with that many exes would be funny...
What a fun voice this superhero has Harry. Thanks for the laughs!
@John: Your idea is gold. :D Thank you. My phrasing was bad there, but it brought a fantastic new twist.
@Drama: Tune in next Friday. :) This is a regular now.
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