0 comments/ 3038 views/ 0 favorites Mr. Music Please By: ReverendAnimal I wasn't there myself, but the story was all over town... About the time that the plane crashed into Empress Chili and the Ninja Twins went on their killing spree at the Lucky Star, Mommyrot who had been playing at the Plexiglass Onion mysteriously lapsed into My Name is Bocephus by Hank Williams Jr., which in turn lured Santa Claus and countless other innocent victims to a horrible death from a Nuclear Wastoid in a Garfield-covered package. Fortunately, the day was saved and everyone was brought back to life, thanks to Squasha and the miracle of coffee nips (a small piece of coffee flavoured candy... only five cents, but highly addictive). (Something for which I was personally grateful, because not only do I like the band Mommyrot, but one of my best friends, Cat, was among the dead.) No one thought much of it after the culprit, Frank from Empress Chili, was mailed to the police. But several weeks later I went to the Plexiglass Onion to see Rednecks In Pain perform. The lead singer, Cat, as I mentioned before (in an innocent looking aside), is one of my best friends and I really dig their music, so I rarely miss a show. Zero Power was opening for them, and my ability to dig their music was pretty much on par with my ability to dig RIP's music, and I'm friendly with them too, so I was quite happy with the double-bill. There wasn't much else to do on that Friday evening, and I'd gotten quite bored with throwing darts at my Jerry Falwell poster, so I arrived several hours early. I wasn't the only one with nothing to do but turn up several hours early to a punk-rock show at the Plexiglass Onion, and the front lot was occupied by some of the locals. "Animal!" yelled several armadillos who'd decided to move up from Texas after a brief visit several weeks earlier, despite some of the anti-armadillo sentiment displayed by some of the restaurateurs in the area. The overall sentiment of the punk scene here was pretty armadillo-positive, and they'd made lots of friends in a short time. Besides, Texan restaurateurs are a far cry worse than Tennessean ones, when it comes to mammals with armor plating. I greeted them each in turn with heartfelt hugs, as well as some young punks, weasels and penguins who were doing handsprings and cartwheels up and down the sidewalk. "Nice tail," said one of the weasels, referring to the long fluffy squirrel tail that I'd sprouted when I put my hat on a short time ago. "Thanks," I answered. "He's always had a nice tail," said Angela, one of the punk-rock girls sitting on the sidewalk. "Thanks to you too," I grinned at her, and she came over and hugged me. I swear if I were six years younger, she'd be my girlfriend. Or more likely, I'd be too shy to talk to her. Anyway, she was really cool, and a good friend. "Do you know if Cat has arrived?" "I don't know. I haven't been inside yet." I was about to go in and see for myself, when the door opened, and Quicksilver flew over my head and landed in a heap. Quicksilver was the leader the SilverHawks: a group of space-traveling dimwits (of a partly metal and partly real genetic makeup) from the Limbo galaxy, who decided that Nashville would benefit from their presence somehow. I would agree except that Nashville already had enough drunken moronic Menudo fans who verbally abused homosexuals, racial minorities, punk rockers and armadillos. The rest of the lunkheads, SteelWill, SteelHart, Bluegrass and the Copper Kid, ran out after their leader. They helped him to his feet, dusted him off and checked him for bruises. I could see that they'd all been drinking heavily (so what's new?), as they all staggered and slurred their speech. And you have to be pretty drunk to stagger your speech! "Ooooo-Wheeeee!" yelled Bluegrass, angrily. "We shud charggupr weppins, an' takeis place out!" "No Bluegrass," said Quicksilver, "nowisnotthtime!" "Thcoachsright," said SteelWill. "Thisis onythe furssth qrtr. Will messemup good affer hafftime." "Lesgohomm. Ineeda geddisbraoff," slurred SteelHart, even as she removed her brassiere under her metal top and tossed it with a clank on to the sidewalk. "Hey! Waddreyoulookinat, Hippie!?" shouted the muscle-bound jock-boy oaf known as SteelWill. He had a dangerous belligerence in his eye, which made my tail twitch nervously. His other eye just sort of drooped and watered, and didn't make my tail do much of anything in particular. "Youwanna fuckmy sisser ersumpin'?" "No," I said foolishly. "I thinkiessayin' yer sissers not goodenuffferim," suggested the Copper Kid, from his position behind SteelWill. "My sissers not goodenuff foryaden?" asked SteelWill. "Izzatwhutyersayin'?!" Shit! He was getting angrier. How do you answer a belligerent drunk when he asks you something like that? "That's not what I meant!" "Heee duzwannafukker!" said the Copper Kid. "OH! ShoyouDO wannafukker!" SteelWill moved towards me, with clenched fists, while the Copper Kid egged him on. Dammit. He was determined to fight me, no matter what I said. What now? Before he could throw the first punch, SteelHart got between us and poked my chest with her metal-tipped finger, almost hard enough to separate my ribs. "Yoooo leevimalone! Iwooddenfuckyou iffyouwere myonybrudder!" she said to me with venom in her voice. "C'mon guys! Lessgota myplace anhavvadrink!" "Hail yeah!" said Bluegrass. "An we'll smassese yahoos lader!" "They'llbesorry they evvermesstwitme!" slurred Quicksilver. And then they flew off into the distance singing, "Wingsufsivver, nersufsteeel...Parlymeddal, parlyreeel...Soaring threwwahighway uvvahevvinsineirfight--SivverHiccupawksa rainbow innanight!" "Damn, Animal," said Ben, one of the armadillos, "are you alright? Yer shakin' like a leaf." "I'm fine. Just a little adrenaline surge." "You coulda taken them," said a weasel named Wally, who was perched on my left shoulder. "I've seen you use that Kung-Fu of yours. Besides, we would've gotten yer back!" "Yeah!" said several others. I appreciated that, and I told them so. Whether or not I could have taken them wasn't all that certain, but it was quite beside the point. I don't like violence, especially when the reason for it is so fucking stupid, like looking at the wrong drunken incestuous partly metal, partly brainless jackass at the wrong time. I also don't like that a big part of me really wanted to smash their fucking faces in! To help me calm down, a couple of the armadillos offered to walk with me to the nearest McDonald's to get a bite to eat. It seemed like a good idea, and Ronald McDonald was unlikely to be there himself. If he was, we agreed we wouldn't stay. Violence would almost certainly break out in that event. When Ben Armadillo, Samantha Armadillo and I returned to the Plexiglass Onion, the SilverHawks were all but forgotten and the show had begun. We could hear Bill's voice belting out a crowd favorite, Gobots From Hell, from outside. I could have gotten us to McDonald's and back a lot quicker if I'd flown us, and we might not have missed the beginning of the show. But the walk did me a world of good. I opened the door to let my friends in ahead of me, and I was nearly knocked over by someone coming out. "Oops, sorry," I said to the muscular man with the bastard sword on his back. I recognized him as He-Man. Well, I almost mistook him for Rick Devious, a local newscaster, but that was because he didn't have his usual pageboy haircut. He'd apparently become tired of it. And I don't blame him -- I always thought it looked rather ridiculous. This, however, wasn't much of an improvement. He-Man glared at me with bloodshot eyes, and I could see that he had been drinking almost as heavily as the SilverHawks. "Sorry my ass!" he squeaked. "I'll bet you don't like my haircut either! Get out of my way!" With that, he shoved me aside and I skidded 50 feet across the parking lot, landing in front of Toys, Toys, Toys!, a local store which sells stationery. And toys. Ben and Samantha helped me to my feet. "Jesus Fuck!" I exclaimed angrily, the adrenaline pumping through my limbs again. "This is not my day. Did that fuck-wit, He-Man leave?" "Yes," answered Samantha. "Let's go inside." At the time, it seemed like a good idea. After all, that's why we were there -- to go inside and see the show. But as I opened the door, Bill finished singing Gobots From Hell, and started singing Dancing on the Ceiling by Lionel Richie! The effect was as horrible as one would expect. Everyone in the club began screaming as their ears were assaulted by the noise, and the floor beneath us began to quake. The weasels and penguins in the room began bouncing off the walls screaming, "PING!" with each bounce, and soon it sounded like some sort of macabre pinball machine. My skull felt like it was being sucked down my neck, and the room started spinning. Or maybe I was spinning. In any event, the punks and armadillos and the staff at the Plexiglass Onion were all spinning. They spun faster and faster, and most became violently ill. The pain and the dizziness and the pinball noises showed no signs of letting up until one of the armadillos accidentally plowed into John Truvalue's drum set. Like a bowling ball thrown for a perfect strike, the armadillo sent the drums flying into the air, knocking every band-member on his ass, and it was finally over. Cat came in from back stage, and helped the members of Zero Power and the hapless armadillo up. He looked a bit woozy himself, but having been in another room, I guess he didn't get the full brunt of the song. "Are you guys okay?" he asked them, concerned as everyone else was. "Yeah," answered Bill. "I don't know what came over me!" The show would have to be rescheduled, announced the new owner of the club (a handsome gentleman with a Russian surname, and no Russian accent, who carried a katana) as the equipment had been damaged. Most everyone in the place was still feeling too sick to stick around for a show anyway, so there wasn't much complaint. The makeup show was scheduled for the following week. Again, because I had nothing better to do, I arrived several hours early. Sitting at a stage-side table, I occupied my time by smashing Bon Jovi tapes with a hammer, and I noticed with satisfaction that Squasha Semprini noticed my activity with satisfaction. Squasha and I weren't actually acquainted then but I'd seen her play with Jailbait Babywashers and Social Rectangle, and I've always admired her from afar. I considered introducing myself, offering her a hammer and inviting her to help me in my endeavor, but she looked pretty weary and battered (she was wearing a number of Speed Buggy® Band-Aids™), and I didn't want to disturb her. Sad, too. I wanted to comfort her, but I didn't know how she'd react to some strange giant Hippie hugging the stuffing out of her, so I left her to her own devices. Soon the new bartender, a friendly chap with a mustache the size of a small sheepdog or a very large tribble, brought her a cup of tea. She looked somewhat comforted, and that was good. Soon they were in deep conversation about the workings of the solar system or something. My attention was drawn away from Squasha by the conversation I overheard from a table nearby. It was a typical "meat is murder" argument being conducted by a coyote and a sheep. "I can't believe you ordered that!" "Oh, come on, we've been through this before. I like meat. If you don't want to see me eat my lamb-chop, take yer broccoli casserole (with cheese!) to another fucking table!" "One of God's creatures died so that you could eat that lamb-chop!" "Boo-hoo! I have to live, don't I?" "You can live on vegetables, y'know." "Yeah, and I can be undernourished and anemic, like you. We need meat." "Not me." "Aren't you at least a little bit tempted to eat meat every once in awhile?" "Well..." "Oh come on... here, try one bite." I hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help glancing over to see if the offer would be taken. Sure enough, the coyote took a bite of the morsel. He seemed to enjoy it, despite his protests to the contrary. The sheep looked as skeptical as I felt. He-Man came in a bit later sporting a sort of Princess Leia meets Blondie Bumstead coiffure. The newscaster look hadn't worked for him apparently, but I failed to see why he'd think this was an improvement either. He hadn't been drinking yet, as far as I could tell, but I didn't want a repeat of the previous week. So I ignored him, went back to smashing Bon Jovi tapes (I still had a few crates to go) and hoped he would go away. I had been smashing the tapes, and watching the wide-screen television (there was some story on the news about a missing rabbit) for quite some time and all seemed well, but then a really sick thing happened. Out of the PA system came a rancid noise. It was I Saw Him Standing There, rendered horrible by teen super-sensation Tiffany! Several things started to happen at once. The penguins spilled their Matilda Bay wine coolers and I grabbed my head to stop it from exploding. Screaming, "IN OMNEM TERRAM EXIVIT SONUS EORUM, ET IN FINES ORBIS TERRAE VERBA EORUM; HODIE ADVEHO TUBRI COITUS!" (Which translates roughly as "THE CORDS OF THE GRAVE COILED AROUND ME; THE SNARES OF DEATH CONFRONTED ME; NOW PASS THE FUCKING YAMS!" Don't ask me where I learned that bit of Latin) I jumped onto the stage and started shuffling around on my buttocks as every coffee nip in my pockets caught fire. Squasha swooned and fainted, disappearing in a puff of lavender smoke (with a little orange mixed in) before she hit the floor. Sabrina, the club's sexy new entertainment coordinator, cut the tape out and offered a sincere apology, but the damage had already been done and everyone (yet again) was too ill to stick around for a show. About a month later, I actually got to meet Squasha. "It's amazing what people will go through for a coffee nip," she said. We were in a particularly long line in Mosko's, waiting for our chance to purchase a nip. I turned to face her, and I was very happy to note that the events at the Plexiglass Onion hadn't done any permanent damage to her. As I said, I've seen her perform and I've always admired her from afar, but this was the first time I'd ever gotten the chance to admire her from anear. (Hey, if "afar" is a word, I think "anear" should be, too.) She was gorgeous. No, 'gorgeous' wasn't right. She didn't look like a Vogue model or any such horror as that. She was cute. No ... that wasn't quite right either. She didn't look like a Care Bear or a Smurf or any such horror as that. She looked GROOVY. She was wearing a black leather jacket (with quite a number of pockets), white ruffled shirt and a black mini-skirt. Her face was open and bright, with a cute little nose, big doe-eyes and her bleached white hair surrounded her delicate features like a halo. I was in lust. I smiled in agreement with her observation. She was obviously a coffee nip addict. "You're obviously a coffee nip addict," I said. She smiled in return. "Yes." "I'm Animal," I said, extending my hand in greeting, "groovy to meet you." "I'm Squasha Semprini." "Formerly of Social Rectangle. I know; I've seen you perform. I'm a fan. I was sorry to see you guys split up. Any plans to start another band?" "No," she answered, "but I auditioned for Wet Wax Factory, and I'll be doing my first show with them soon." "Excellent!" We made small talk while we waited in line and about an hour later we left with about 5,000 coffee nips between us. We continued talking as we headed for the Exit/Exit. I usually don't like to go there because the management doesn't allow slam dancing, and they sometimes hired idiot high school jocks to enforce the rule (not that they were actually able to stop anyone from slamming), but Iron Twinkie was playing that night. Squasha looks no younger than 18, but no older than 17, so the orangutan at the door carded her. She cooperatively handed the door-ape her driver's license. This did nothing to clear up the confusion so he let her in to save trouble. Inside, a herd of buffalos sat at the bar ordering martinis by the bucket, while He-Man strutted around showing off his new curly-perm (still not much of an improvement). Several possums danced the Wattusi while the opening band, Barefoot and Pregnant played. Twinkie was great, and I was enjoying my conversation with Squasha. Aside from being very attractive (which is hardly a requirement for my friendship), she was intelligent (which is a requirement for my friendship) and had a great sense of humor (ditto). We also had quite a bit in common, from our taste in music (60's, 70's and 80's counterculture stuff, as well as jazz, blues and big band stuff from any decade) and books (we'd both tackled the Wild Card anthology series recently, and I decided to take up the Destroyer novels on her recommendation), to our taste in Freedom, Liberty and Individuality. Everything was going well. Then disaster struck. Just when Iron Twinkie was preparing to sing their hit song I've Got a Headache This Big, and a Dick to Match, the guitarist broke a string. When he replaced it the audience wished he hadn't, because out of the speakers came an awful sound. It was Bon Jovi's You Give Love a Bad Name! I awoke to find that the room had been turned upside down. At least I thought it had. I picked up my black top hat and put it on. That was when I realized I was on the ceiling, because that was when I fell off of it. If not for my ability to fly my headache would have been that much worse. A couple of paramedics were loading some pigs onto stretchers; their hooves were very badly blistered. He-Man was nowhere to be seen. I helped Squasha out of a huge hole in the floor and flew her home to her Panda-built University dorm room (she was not a student there, luckily; just a resident). She was in no condition to teleport. Heck, she was barely conscious enough to give me directions to her flat. "You're in no condition to fly home Animal," she said after thanking me for getting her home safely, "why don't you stay here tonight?" With that she drew herself up to me and planted a kiss on my lips that nearly burned my socks off. Our tongues met and we started to undress each other slowly. Slowly, because we paused to kiss and caress every tantalizing bit of flesh revealed. Then we made mad, passionate love until dawn. Okay, okay, so I lied. But that was a damn sight more interesting than what really happened. We slept. The next morning I found Squasha in the kitchen (actually a converted dorm room adjoining the one she slept in, with a door cut in between them), cooking breakfast. "Good morning, Animal," greeted Squasha. "How'd you sleep?" "Good morning yerself," I greeted in return. "I slept well thank you. You have what is arguably the most comfortable sofa on the planet." "I'm glad you liked it. You hungry?" "Yes," I answered, because I was. "What's cookin'?" "Kroger pizza." "Pepperoni?" "Sausage." "Good. I hate pepperoni." She threw sausage at me. Actually, I love pepperoni. I think I told her that so that she'd throw sausage at me. I'm silly that way. "So, just what happened at the Exit/Exit last night?" I asked between bites. "I think I sort of passed out." She winced and then shuddered. "Oh, it was horrible... people eating their shoes, water-buffalos bellowing in rage and oh-! Three sows, who should have been sleeping in front of Sam Poopie's Record store... if only they had stayed there! They barged in and began tap dancing. That wouldn't have been so bad in itself, but... did you see their hooves?" I nodded solemnly. "The people who weren't eating their shoes," she continued, "were banging their heads on the walls. I barely noticed you lying down on the ceiling for a nap, before I climbed under the table and tried to claw my way out through the floor." Mr. Music Please "This kind of thing seems to be happening a lot recently," I said, "now that I think on it." "Yeah, and I thought it was only at the Onion," she said. "Just a couple of days ago Pooter's band, Crying Day, was in the middle of their set at Elliston Trapezoid, when the guitarist, Greg started playing and singing Bang Your Head by Quiet Riot. A couple of people in the crowd spontaneously combusted, and most of the armadillos had seizures." I paused. "Think it's anything to worry about?" "I don't know. Last night was pretty horrible." We ate in silence. "Oh, look at the time!" she said looking at the time. "Late for work?" "No, Wet Wax Factory is practicing at the Plexiglass Onion this morning. Crap, I'm going to be late even if I teleport. And teleporting on a full stomach is not the most pleasant of things." "No problem," I said, and I picked her up and flew her to the Plexiglass Onion. The rest of the band was already there and starting to get impatient. They understood when Squasha told them what had happened the night before. She invited me to stay, but I had promised Cat that I would help RIP set up for their afternoon show at the Canary. The Canary used to be a big warehouse for trade in canaries and canary-related paraphernalia, but was now a music venue. "See you around Squash." "'Bye Animal." She hugged me and I left. "Hey, it's Animal!" yelled Sean as I flew into the room. Sean is the guitarist for RIP. Seated around him was Donnie the bassist, John the drummer and Cat. "Greetings everyone!" I called from above. April, Donnie's girlfriend, walked in as I landed next to Cat. I tipped my hat to her and my skin turned blue. I wasn't worried; that kind of thing is rarely permanent. "Hi Animal," she said as she hugged me. We all started moving the equipment in. It was a particularly hot day for mid-November and at one point I removed my hat in order to wipe some sweat from my forehead. When I replaced the hat I was looking at five perfect replicas of me. And they were looking at me. I shrugged and they shrugged with me. The six of me continued with the task at hand and we were done long before we expected to be. The show went great. He-Man wasn't there, the SilverHawks failed to show up and no evil sounds came from the speakers. Tony the Tiger sat at a table in his cyclops shades with Hulk Hogan (Tony, Cat informed me, had taken over as Mr. Hogan's manager recently), and they seemed to be enjoying themselves. I had a blast! Three of me stayed in the slamming pit, while the other three rested and socialized. It was really cool, because I experienced that show from six different perspectives at once. I went over and gave Squasha a friendly hug when she came in. "How was practice?" I asked her. "Great. I've been learning all their old songs, and working on a few new ones. I think I'm ready to perform with them." I went out to slam dance, as I came over to sit with Squasha. She looked confused. "Oh, sorry. I forgot to warn you about that." "What...?" "It's my hat. Every time I put it on it does something weird. Like when it transported me from Woodstock in 1969 to Nashville in 1984. A few hours ago I had blue skin." She nodded. After the show, I ... or I should say we (there was still six of me) ... walked with Squasha for a couple of blocks. I was really enjoying her company. We had become friends in a very short period and I had to let my lust give way to camaraderie. It wasn't easy, but I managed to force my lust into the background. Even now, I need to beat it back with a stick once in awhile. It had cooled considerably since setting up for the show, so I wrapped my scarf around my neck. As I did so, Squasha turned to say something to me, but before she could speak we heard the sounds of a stampede. There was a herd of rogue bull elephants charging down 8th Avenue and they were headed right for us! Squasha teleported to a rooftop with a puff of green smoke (with little yellow polka-dots), while I (all six of me) jumped into my hat. I peeked out over the brim and watched the panicky pachyderms turn a corner. As I climbed out of my top hat, I noticed that my duplicates were gone. "Wonder what set them off," wondered Squasha, when she returned from the roof in a chartreuse puff of smoke (with a little mauve mixed in). "Don't know," I said picking up my hat. "Probably something minor. You know how these elephants get." "Yeah." "Anyway," I dusted off my hat, "what were you going to say before we were so rudely interrupted?" "What? Oh!" I put my hat back on as she spoke. "I was just going to say that I'm glad I met you. You're a really ... nice ... person." She was giving me a very odd look. "Thank you. I feel the same way about you," I said. "What's wrong?" "There's a Roadrunner cartoon playing on your shades." "Oh, that's the work of my hat again." "Ah." A walrus stopped and bummed a quarter. She gave him one. "That is a very strange hat." "I've gotten used to it." We walked on and talked some more, getting to know each other better. I liked this person. We were both getting kind of sleepy, so we decided it was time to part company. I hugged her and she kissed me on the cheek. Before she teleported away she said, "Wet Wax Factory is having a show at the Plexiglass Onion soon. I'm putting you on the guest list, so you'd better show up." "I wouldn't miss it for the world," I said sincerely. She smiled and teleported home with a puff of blue smoke (with a little orange mixed in). I watched Roadrunner before I went to sleep that night. I couldn't get sound on my shades, but I coped. Nothing much of interest happened before the night of the Wet Wax Factory show. Well, my roommate, a bespectacled wolverine by the unlikely name of Newton, found out that he'd inherited a fortune in Rice Krispie Treats from his Auntie Willamina, but that has little to do with the rest of this story. On the way to the Plexiglass Onion, I spotted Cat's car. I swooped down and flew beside the driver's window. "Hey, Cat!" I said. "You goin' to the Wet Wax Factory show?" He jumped but kept control of the car. "Yeah, man. Hop in." I flew around to the passenger side and climbed in the window to the back seat. Normally I would have taken the front seat, but it was currently occupied by a mutual friend of ours named Eddie, the Screamer. "Hey!" I kissed the top of his head. "Ed's gone skin again!" He does that once in awhile. He wrinkled his newly shaved head at me. "Feel it, man. It feels like a raisin, doesn't it?" I started to answer, but Eddie was screaming out the window. Three telephone poles went down and the kids walking down the sidewalk were plastered against the walls of the nearby buildings. Eddie's screams, whether he had hair or not, were the greatest! The place was packed when we got there. A cheerful warthog sat at the bar showing the bartender pictures of his grandpiglets, while a pair of geese played chess in the corner and a group of weasels and a duck with a Mohawk snickered at He-Man's dreadlocks. Normally dreadlocks look pretty cool, but somehow they didn't look quite right on He-Man. Oh, great! He-Man was there! Well, I wasn't going to let him spoil my evening. 'At least,' I told myself, 'the SilverHawks aren't here!' We managed to find a table close to the stage where we could enjoy the show. There wouldn't be any slamming tonight. Wet Wax Factory is an alternative, rather than a hardcore punk band. He-Man was sitting at a nearby table, desperately trying to comb out his dreadlocks as the show began. Apparently everyone else shared my opinion of them. And that was the really sad part. If I thought that it would sink in, I'd suggest to He-Man that he get a hairstyle that he liked and screw what other people thought about it. I shook my head and turned my attention to the stage. Squasha looked great as always, and the band was in top form. They got an enthusiastic reaction after every song. Everything was going great. That is... until it happened. About halfway through their set, they prepared to do one of their new songs. But then a strange look came over Squasha's face. In fact, a strange look came over the face of each of the band members. I can't describe the look. It was just ... strange. Squasha played a few random notes on her guitar and then ... I hate repeating this part; it was so horrible. Then they started playing a song by Debbie Gibson! "Shake you're love..." was coming out of Squasha's mouth. That was all I could bear to listen to. I tried to make my way over to the stage to save Squasha. She couldn't be doing this on purpose! She had to be under some kind of spell! But my way was blocked by a large group of people, possums and orange pigeons who were writhing on the dance floor. They were in pain; I could see it in their eyes. I tried to fly to the stage, but to no avail. I felt woozy and my legs started to feel heavy. I was paralyzed! The room started to spin and I noticed a man in a duck suit dancing about as if his underwear had crawled up the space between his buttocks. It was utter chaos! Just when everything seemed hopeless, Eddie let out the loudest scream I'd ever heard from him. Then there was silence. I looked up in time to see Squasha fall. I rushed the stage. The band looked worried, as did the audience. "She'll be okay," I announced. "I just need to get her home." I picked her up and turned to Eddie. "That scream of yours may just have saved all of our asses!" "Shucks, 'tain't no big thang," he said, blushing from the top of his smooth head to the bottom of his neck. "Eddie, you're a hero." The crowd started cheering, and chanting Eddie's name over and over again as I flew out the door with Squasha's unconscious form in my arms. "I won't be able to teleport for a few days," she said, after I asked her how she was feeling, "but other than that I'm perfectly fine." I must have looked skeptical, because then she said, "Really Animal, I'll be okay. You go home and get some sleep. I'll call you if I need you." "Okay," I said hesitantly, "but I'll come by and check on you every so often, just the same." "You do that," she smiled. I gave her a gentle farewell hug and flew out the window. We were having a snack at Newton's Rice Krispie Treat Emporium (recently opened where Empress Chili used to be), talking about nothing in particular when Eddie said, "Hey Animal, didn't you say that you saw He-Man combing out his dread-locks at last night's show?" "Yeah, why?" I asked curiously. "Because," started Cat, "he was nowhere to be seen after you and Squasha left." "Hmmm," I hmmmed, "he seems to be around whenever these disasters strike." "Yeah," said Cat, "he was there when Mommyrot inadvertently lured Santa Claus to the Plexiglass Onion so Frank's Nuclear Wastoid could kill him." "And," said Eddie, "y'know he was at Crying Day's last show, when those people exploded." "What about the SilverHawks?" I asked. "What about them?" counter-asked Cat. "They were at the Plexiglass Onion when Bill accidentally sang that Lionel Richie song. And they've threatened to tear the place down." "Well, they were also at the Crying Day show," said Eddie, "but they weren't at last night's show." "Or at the Plexiglass Onion, when Tiffany's carnage happened," said Cat. "I suppose they might have caused the troubles from outside, but I don't know. But I do know that He-Man was at those shows." "I'd better tell Squasha about this." I threw down 50¢ for the Rice Krispie treats I'd eaten, and put on my hat. Before I could get up, I was sitting across from Squasha at her kitchen table. "I didn't know you could teleport," she said after jumping a few feet in the air. "I can't," I said. "But you just -- " "It's my hat again." She nodded. "What can I do for you?" "Think about this: He-Man, it seems, is at every show where there is a musical calamity, while the shows he stays away from go smoothly." "You think he's somehow responsible?" "It's a distinct possibility. And each time, it gets worse. There's no telling what would have happened last night if Eddie hadn't been there." Squasha shuddered. "What are you going to do?" "I'm going to get more evidence." "Be careful Animal." "Don't worry about me, Babe," I said, "you just get better." "I have to. You're going to need my help." "May I have your attention, please?" I was addressing the local ClownWatch skateboarding penguin gang, Cat and Eddie. The penguins sat down. Eddie put aside his Turtle™ brand head wax. Cat was already listening. "Thank you," I said as the room quieted down. A penguin coughed. The sound echoed on the walls of the Emporium basement. Newton was upstairs waiting on customers; Cat would fill him in later. "I know that most of you are dedicated to the cause of protecting the neighborhood from giant rampaging clowns, but we need your help with something just as important." I paused. "If there is anyone here who is not willing to work hard and long hours toward this goal, then now is the time to leave." The penguins leaned forward. Eddie polished his head but was no less attentive. Cat nodded for me to continue. No one made a move to leave. I knew I could count on this group. "It seems that He-Man is trying to destroy our scene with bad music. We need some hard evidence, and I'm counting on each one of you to help find it." I studied the faces of the grim penguins. Eddie continued to polish his head. This group would not fail me. "This is what I want you to do..." For the next week, skateboarding penguins could be seen removing old flyers, advertising previous shows in the area, from telephone poles. Cat and Newton helped in this endeavor. Eddie's job was to go to all subsequent shows and prevent any catastrophes with his incredible screams. We talked to the members of some of the bands and they agreed to put Eddie on their guest lists whenever possible. Squasha said she had quite a bit of money put aside and would foot the bill for the rest. Squasha and I sorted and filed the various flyers as Martin, the leader of the ClownWatch gang, brought them in. When we had plenty of flyers, and Squasha was well enough to teleport, we prepared to do the main portion of the investigation. "Let's make sure we know what we're doing," said Squasha. "Right on. Each of us takes half of these flyers and asks around about the shows." "We find out how each show went." "If it went well, we don't care." "If it went bad, we press further." "Then we find out if He-Man was there." "And if he stuck around to take any of the damage," Squasha put in. "Good thinkin'," I said. "We should ask about the SilverHawks, too. Everyone is pretty sure that they weren't at a lot of these shows, but they do have a beef with the good people at the Plexiglass Onion. Maybe they have similar grudges with other club-owners." "Yes, I agree. Oh, before we part company, I have something for you." I handed her a medallion that I'd gotten from my hat. "Hold on to this. If you need me, or if I need you, that medal will act as a homing device. If you need me, just whisper my name, and teleport. It'll take you right to me." "And what if you need me?" "It'll glow bright puce." "And I just whisper your name and teleport?" "Right on." A thought occurred to me. "Squasha, can you teleport with someone else? We might need to get around together faster than I can fly us." "Ooo, good question," she said, "I've never tried, so I don't know." "No better time to find out than now." "What if something goes wrong?" "I'll count on my hat to protect us. It's one Hell of a powerful hat." "Okay... So, where to? The Onion?" I nodded. She took me by the hand and everything went dark. The trip seemed to last for hours, but I didn't get worried or even impatient. The ride felt nice. When we arrived at the Plexiglass Onion in a cloud of blue smoke (with a little grey mixed in), I was aware of no passage of time. I looked at Squasha and noted how good she looked in my patch-covered jacket, maroon scarf and round Lennon-style shades. "Oops," she said, looking at me strangely. I looked down at the skirt I was wearing. "Hey! Don't ever do that again! I'm a boy!" She smiled and took my hand again. An instant later, we were standing two feet closer to the stage, back in our respective garb and waving away twin clouds of yellow smoke (with a little purple mixed in). Miraculously, my hat stayed on my head both times that we teleported. "Well we know it's safe anyway," laughed Squasha. "If a little naughty," I grinned. My investigation went well. Most people that I questioned were cooperative, and the ones who noticed He-Man's presence ("Which wasn't very difficult," said one hippo in drag, "with him showing off his bowl cut and all."), all said that he was gone before disaster struck. When I went to see Squasha at her place, she had similar stories to report. "The SilverHawks seem to have solid alibis, but every time there was a disaster, He-Man was present," she said. "Except for the time that Captain Super Duper Magnificent Man blew up the bar in Daddy Smurphy's Deli at the Fatal PBS show. But that had nothing to do with the music: he was just having fun." "Hmmm," I hmmmed, "I wonder if Eddie found out anything. Where's yer phone?" "I don't have one. Sorry." "S'okay. I can get one from my hat." I reached into it, and pulled out a Batman telephone. "I'd like to charge this to my home phone, Operator. That's 382-4583. The name is Bon Jovi. Jon Bon Jovi. Thank you." Okay, it was a local call, but it still gave me satisfaction to make Jon Bon Jovi pay for it. It was sort of a game we played together. I annoyed him by charging all of my phone calls to him, and he annoyed me by producing crappy bubblegum pop music. The phone rang twice before Eddie picked it up. "Hey, Bo." "Hey, Eddie. Animal. Did you find out anything?" "Yeah man, and my throat is sore from all the screaming I had to do." "Lemme guess. Every time you had to scream, He-Man was there. Right?" "No, one time I had to scream to get some guys out of the little boys' room. I had to pinch a loaf real bad!" "Thanks for sharing. Other than that?" "Yeah man. I started to watch He-Man real close, and guess what man! I timed it, and He-Man left exactly thirty-seven seconds before the mess happened. Every time!" I turned to Squasha. "I think we have the evidence we need. Eddie, can you get the gang together and meet at my place at five? We need to make final plans." "Sure man. This probably doesn't matter, but every time I saw He-Man he had a different haircut." "Hmmm," I hmmmed. He did seem to be changing his hair an awful lot recently. Cat didn't mention anything about He-Man's hair when he told me about the Mommyrot show, but there was a lot going on, and it was around the same time that He-Man had made a personal appearance at the Municipal Auditorium with a retro-seventies shag haircut. I'd seen the television ads for it, but I wasn't sure how it all fit. "I don't know. I'll see you at five, Ed." "Okay, Bo." Squasha took us to my apartment in two short hops (she 'ported twice so that we'd have our own clothes on when we got there. It saved quite a lot of embarrassment). We arrived long before five o'clock, and the only people there were Cat and Newton. The news was on, and the story had to do with the Cavity Creeps attacking Toothopolis again. Luckily, this time the Crest and Aim teams were working together to fight off the invasion. We ordered some pizza (with extra cheese!) while we waited, and hoped that the Ninja Twins didn't intercept it. We'd make sure to save some for Eddie and the penguins. Mr. Music Please "Are you suggesting a raid on Eternia?" asked an incredulous Martin. "Yes," I answered. "Aw, cool!" "It's not going to be all fun and games, Martin. It's going to be difficult just to beat He-Man, and I'm sure his friends will help him fight. We'll be up against incredible odds. I'd rather we talk him into giving himself up, but we have to prepare for the worst." Newton spoke up for the first time that evening. "Might I suggest that we find someone who can take care of He-Man by him or herself, while the rest of us run interference?" "Great idea! Any suggestions as to who we can get?" "How about Captain Super Duper Magnificent Man?" offered Martin. "Good. Anyone know how to get in touch with him?" No one did. "How about D'rundarr, from the Hammer team?" suggested Squasha. "I've gotten to know them pretty well, since Nick bought the Plexiglass Onion." Bill Nefarious, one of the ClownWatch penguins raised a flipper-wing, "Ken Mustache told me that Hammer had to leave in a hurry for a mission in the Sudan. They don't expect to be back until next Tuesday." "Yow! That's too long to wait. There are a lot of shows booked between now and then." "Hey!" exclaimed Cat suddenly, "We can get Hulk Hogan!" "You know how to contact him?" "Yeah, Tony the Tiger is trying to help me break into the wrestling biz. I've got his personal phone number." "Groovy!" I exclaimed, handing Cat the Batphone™. "Call him, man!" When Cat got off the phone, he looked hopeful. "Tony says that we can use his boy tomorrow morning, as long as we give him a vitamin-packed breakfast!" "Okay, let's whip up a plan..." Squasha had no problem getting the two of us to Eternia. After all, it's only a mile or two south of Antioch, and her limit, she told me, is just over 500 miles (though it does tax her to 'port near that limit). Our first stop was Castle Numbskull. We had to incapacitate the Sorceress so she couldn't warn He-Man of our coming. Squasha knocked on the front door. A slender, attractive lady opened the door. She was covered in feathers. "Welcome to Castle Numbskull, good people. Come in and rest. I am the Sorceress." "Nice to meet you," I said, trying not to feel guilty. She was showing kindness and hospitality, and we were about to screw her over. "I'm Animal, this is Squasha and behind you is Günter." She turned to look. "There is no one behind me." While her back was turned, Squasha and I each poured two boxes of salt on her butt. "Hey!" "See you around, chick," I said as we left her cursing our names behind us. We didn't leave her totally defenseless, though. We planted booby-traps (which Squasha designed) to keep Skeletor out. I've heard he has plans of turning this place into a 70's style Disco. Our next stop was the unnamed castle where Prince Adam lives. For some reason, He-Man thinks he has a secret identity. The only thing secret about He-Man is the location of his sword when he's not using it. Anyhow, we went to the castle and stood outside. We didn't want to be forced to fight indoors. "Yo! He-Man!" I yelled. There was no answer. "Hel-llo-ooooo! Heeee-Maaaaaaan!" He peeked out of an open window. He'd had his hair dyed black, and it was slicked back in a kind of a Ronald Reagan/Big Boyish style. "He-Man's not here." What a jerk. Aside from the fact that he has a darker tan and different clothes, 'He-Man' looks no different than 'Prince Adam'. "Oh, sorry He-Man, I thought you were. Well since you're not in, can we have a word with you?" He looked confused. "If you want to talk to He-Man, I can call him for you." "No, no," I said quickly, "we can do our business with you." "This," whispered Squasha, "might be easier than we thought." He-Man, I mean Prince Adam, ducked back inside. "BY THE POWER OF NUMBSKULL," we heard him yell, "I HAVE THE POWER!" "No such luck," I whispered. "Dammit!" whispered Squasha fiercely. "I'm not sure I can go through with this. I don't like violence." "Same here, Hon. Hopefully, it won't come to that." "I hope yer right." "Me too. But if it does, no one will blame you if you teleport away." She sighed. "No. I won't abandon my friends to that muscle-head." As if summoned by Squasha's words, He-Man walked outside. "What can I do for you?" he asked in a high-pitched voice. He cleared his throat. "What can I do for you?" "You can come along quietly and save everyone a lot of hassle," suggested Squasha, helpfully. "What?" I resisted the urge to repeat Squasha word for word. Instead I said, "We have reason to believe that you are responsible for some unspeakable things up at Elliston." "So come with us, please," said Squasha. "We need to ask you some questions. Please." "Never!" shouted He-Man in a voice like thunder. Squeaky thunder, anyway. He cleared his throat again. "Never! You want to take me to Skeletor! I won't let you! I'll fight before I come with you!" "Dammit. I was afraid you'd say that," I said. I took off my hat and dumped out the large group of penguins I'd been carrying in there. Next came Eddie, Newton and Cat. Lastly: Hulk Hogan. The Hulkster glared at He-Man. He-Man gulped. "TO ARMS!!!" he yelled, and from out of the castle came all of He-Man's allies, led by Man-At-Arms, Teela and Ram-Man. Everyone started moving into battle positions. Battle Cat jumped out, and Squasha threw the catnip bomb she'd made (she was quite resourceful). He leapt on it and it exploded, covering him with catnip. His eyes glazed over, his tongue lolled out and he lay down for a nap. That took care of Battle Cat for at least an hour. I put my top hat back on and hoped for good results. "Far out!" I said, as I realized what my hat had done for me. I now had... what can I call it? All-around sight, I guess. It wasn't 'sight' per se, but I was aware of everything that was going on around me simultaneously. Not only could I not be taken by surprise, but I could 'watch' the whole battle while I was fighting. Hulk and He-Man battled it out, while the penguins attacked the others with their skateboards. Newton made short work of anyone who came within claw's reach, as Cat shot weapons out of our opponents' hands with his Dukes of Hazzard laser pistol. And Eddie used his screams to good effect. Everything was going as planned. Squasha teleported behind people and clouted them on the heads with a stale loaf of bread. They were dropping like flies. Meanwhile, I flew around messing up the airborne vehicles that many of the guards were using. While I caused a sky-cycle to land on Ram-Man (thus taking two out at once), Cat destroyed the weapons of Man-At-Arms, making him totally defenseless (or would that be 'offenseless'?), allowing Martin to take him out with his board. Newton shredded Mekaneck's bionic neck (he has a goddam bionic neck, for fuck's sake!), causing his head to slump to one side, and Mekaneck ran inside as fast as he could. And Eddie screamed at Roboto, slamming him into the castle wall, while Squasha knocked Man-E-Faces out with three strong hits from her bread. I steered some more flying vehicles into the ground, once in awhile shouting "Behind you, (insert name here)!" to warn my comrades of any sneak attacks. At one point, Orco floated up behind me and attempted to blast me with a lightning bolt spell. He waved his hands and muttered a few arcane words, and a mighty bolt of lightning arced from his fingertips. Fortunately for me, my hat is more than a match for most magical spells. Not all of them, mind you. There are sorcerers powerful enough to get through my hat's defenses, I'm sure. Orco, however, was not one of them. The bolt of lightning came within inches of striking me, making my hair stand on end, but at the last possible moment it looped around back towards the spell-caster. He dropped like a rock, or more accurately, like a little tiny wizard who'd just been blasted with lightning. He was pretty well done, but I was sure he'd be okay if someone rubbed a little Bactine™ on him. Teela managed to make her way over to Squasha, and she looked mad! Teela feinted with the vibro-blade she was wielding and did a one-eighty as she saw the telltale smoke of Squasha's teleport. I worried for one moment that Teela had second-guessed Squasha and my new friend would be finished. But Squasha did not materialize where Teela expected her to. CRACK! That was the sound of Squasha's bread breaking over Teela's head. "Squasha," I yelled, "you're beautiful!" Clever minx; she'd teleported backward about an inch! While all of this was happening, the Hulkster was having a rough time with his opponent. "You can never beat me!" yelled He-Man. "I'm the most powerful man in the Universe!" "Well, I'm the Hulkster brother, and all the little Hulkamaniacs out there can tell you brother, the prayers and the steroids, I mean vitamins, and the 24-inch pythons will win out in the end brother!" The battling behemoths raged on all the while that they fought. He-Man swung his sword at Hulk, but the Hulkster moved to the side and hammered his fist down on He-Man's head. "Ahhh!" he yelled as he fell to the ground. Hulk pinned him to the dirt, but he was too strong and soon He-Man was on his feet again. I wanted to send one of the flyers to land on He-Man, but I feared for Mr. Hogan's safety. The Hulkster managed to get his opponent's sword-arm locked in a vice-like grip. They struggled and pounded on each other for quite some time. It looked as if the Hulk was getting the upper hand. He'd managed to disarm He-Man, and was forcing him to his knees. But then he started to go pale. He began to falter. Then he turned green. I knew he shouldn't have eaten all of those Frosted Flakes just before this fight! He-Man slammed the Hulkster to the ground, and started bashing his face in. Oh it looked hopeless, and no one was close enough to help! Just when I thought all was lost, I got an idea. It was a gamble but I had to hope that He-Man would fall for it. "He-Man!" I yelled, trying my best to imitate Man-At-Arms. "Use your sword to finish him off, and then come and help me!" He stopped beating on the Hulkster long enough to grab up his sword. It was working so far. Hulk got a chance to rest for a couple of seconds. Here was where the gambling started. "Don't forget to turn into He-Man!" I yelled in a better than average Man-At-Arms voice. He-Man blinked. He looked confused. He blinked again and raised his sword. He lowered it and blinked again. Then he raised his sword and lowered it five or six more times, blinking like a string of Christmas lights. It looked as if he was going to fall for it. He opened his mouth to speak. "BY THE POWER OF --" He stopped. Oh no! He was catching on! "Wait just a minute here. I already am He-Man!" He started advancing on Hulk Hogan. I was worried; I couldn't possibly get to him in time to do anything, even if I wasn't busy favoring Stratos with a Kung-Fu kick to the head ("Keeeeeya!" I said). Squasha could, but even if her weapon wasn't broken, I doubt that a loaf of bread would do much good against He-Man. But all was not lost! The Hulkster started to rise! He stood up and made a kind of fishy-face. At first I thought he was still in great pain, but he started wagging his finger at He-Man, in a sort of an "It's not nice to kill the Hulkster with a sword, little boy!" kind of way. I had bought him enough time to get his second wind! Mr. Hogan wasted not a moment. He let out an ear-splitting battle cry (almost as loud as one of Eddie's screams) and leapt at the advancing swordsman! With fists flying, Hulk Hogan again disarmed He-Man and started bodyslamming the self-proclaimed Master of the Universe. He-Man was taken totally by surprise by the Hulkster's relentless assault, and there was naught he could do. When Hulk did his patented flying leg drop (patent pending), He-Man could not even struggle. He submitted and agreed to go along with us willingly. Upon seeing the defeated He-Man, his comrades, their morale severely damaged, retreated into the castle. Everyone boarded my hat and we went back to Castle Numbskull to make sure The Sorceress was again salt free (she made no attempt to attack us when we informed her that we had He-Man captive) and dismantle Squasha's booby-traps. Then we left Eternia. "Still he denies everything!" I said, frustrated. We were interrogating He-Man at the Plexiglass Onion. The penguins had all gone home, Newton went back to the Emporium and Cat gave Hulk Hogan a ride to Badtits Hospital for some bandaging. "It's as if he doesn't know a thing!" "Maybe he doesn't," suggested Squasha. "I doubt that even He-Man could stand up to D'rundarr's interrogation." D'rundarr (the very scantily dressed, very large, and very fortunately on our side Neanderthal, who worked as chief of security for the Plexiglass Onion, and who looked awfully familiar to me for some reason) was indeed handling the ugly business of questioning the prisoner (the Hammer team having gotten back from the Sudan days early). "If he knew anything, he'd have told us by now." "Hmmm," I hmmmed, for the fourth time this adventure, "Perhaps we're missing something." I went back inside and asked D'rundarr if I could take over. He nodded dumbly and left. Tears were streaming down He-Man's cheeks as I approached him. "I'll tell you anything you want to know! Just don't let that barbarian tickle me anymore!!!" I felt pity for the poor clod, but I couldn't let it show. "Answer my questions truthfully, or D'rundarr will show no mercy when I let him back in here." "Okay, okay!" "Did you have anything to do with the musical calamities at any of the clubs in the last few weeks?" "NO! No, I swear it!" "Do you know who did?" "No!" He was a broken man. He couldn't be lying. Heck, he'd even revealed his "secret" identity under D'rundarr's urging! All my instincts about human nature told me that he was telling the truth. But the evidence... "What were you doing at the shows, and why did you leave just before the disaster every time?!" "Just like I told the guy with the axe... I was showing off my new haircuts. I only want people to like me. I thought that if I got a super cool hairstyle, that they would. When they didn't like my hair, I couldn't take it, so I left. That first time, at the Plexiglass Onion, I had also forgotten to wear pants, so I had to run away! I swear by Castle Numbskull that I don't know about the bad music!" He started sobbing. I was sure that He-Man was guilty, but we couldn't do anything about it unless we had something solid that would hold up in court. And that meant a confession. Then I remembered something Eddie had said on the phone. I compared the memory to what He-Man had just confessed, and something clicked. "I have just one more question for you, He-Man." "Yes?" "Who does your hair?" We stood outside the door of a small hair salon called Super Cool Hairstyles. "Why are we here?" asked Squasha. "Because, Dear Lady, He-Man is innocent; a pawn. The guilty party is in there." "How do you know?" "Eddie told me on my Batphone™, that He-Man had a new haircut for every show he was at. He-Man confirmed this. And this is where He-Man gets his hair done." "Ah!" she said. "What do we do?" "We go in and get a confession. Turn on the tape recorder, Squasha." We stepped in. "Welcome, good people. I see you are in need of a Super Cool Hairstyle. My name is Vital Sassoon, and I will personally see to it that you get a haircut that will make you popular with everyone. If it doesn't, just come back and I'll give you another one, free of charge. Because you see, if you don't look cool, I look like an ass." He paused. "Ramón," he called in to the next room, "remind me to fire my advertising agency!" "Is that the same deal you gave He-Man?" I asked. "Oh, He-Man sent you, did he? He is one of my best customers." "Yeah, he sent us. He sent us to put you out of business, man!" "Why, what ever do you mean, sir?" "He-Man told us everything." "What?" "He told us how you forced him to cause musical disaster at every show he went to." "Impossible! He couldn't have remembered. Oops." "A-ha!" Squasha yelled. It made Vital jump. "So you admit that you were the cause of the bad music!" "I admitted no such thing." A handsome man with olive-skin came in from the back room to see what the fuss was about. I assumed this was the one Vital had called Ramón. "You might as well 'fess up," I said. "Okay, yes I did it! I did it! And do you want to know why? Well, I'll tell you why! I never wanted to be a hairdresser, but my father wouldn't let me be what I wanted to be, I wanted to be a musical director, or Dictator of the World, but father said I couldn't and that hairdressing was good enough for him and his father, and his father's father, and his father's father's father, and his father's father's father's father, and his father's father's father's father's mother, and it should be good enough for me, so I went on to become a hairdresser, and I was the best in the business, and I got rich off of my hair-care products, but I was still discontent, I still wanted to become a musical director, or Dictator of the World, then one day, while I was having dinner at Empress Chili, and talking to Frank about how to lure Santa Claus into the Plexiglass Onion, so that he could be killed by a Nuclear Wastoid, I thought up a plan that would not only help Frank kill Santa Claus for money, but help me obtain my own goals!" He took a long, deep breath. "He-Man walked in complaining that no one liked his page-boy haircut, so I fixed it for him, but I also used him to put my plan into action, I planted a musical time bomb on him and had it set for thirty-seven seconds, he would go to shows, activate the bomb, and then leave, and the bomb would go off, and (except for the first bomb, which would lure people from the four corners of the Universe, and everywhere else, thus bringing Santa in to accept his package with the Nuclear Wastoid in it) evil music would cause untold destruction, hahahaha, and when it looked as if the world would collapse, I would offer to stop the evil in exchange for total rule over every nation in the world, and then I, and only I, could decide what music could be heard in any venue!" We waited for him to take another breath. It looked as if he might hyperventilate from confessing too rapidly. "Well it won't work now, because He-Man isn't coming back for anymore haircuts!" I informed him. "That makes no difference. I have other agents as well!" "It doesn't matter," said Squasha, "because we're taking you to jail with this full confession on tape." "Hahaha!" he laughed. It occurred to me that villains tended to be jolly folk. "Do you think I would have told you anything if I thought you could get away with the information? Well, no I wouldn't! So there! Ramón!" he paused dramatically. "Kill them!" Ramón looked at Vital, then at us, then back at Vital. "What?" "Kill them!" "Are you kidding me?" "No, I'm not kidding! Do I look like I'm kidding?!" He didn't look like he was kidding. "Kill them, NOW!" "And if I don't kill them?" "If you do not kill them, I will fire you!" "Well, I guess I have no choice," he said, "than to look for another job." "I guess that's it then, Vital," I said. "Why don't you come along peacefully?" "I'm not through yet!" he yelled, and grabbed a pair of hypno-glasses (the same kind that Frank used on that girl named after a sports car who floated of into space, never to be seen again) from a countertop. I now understood why He-Man didn't know what was going on. "You are under my power," he said, staring into my eyes. "You will destroy the tape, and start coming to me every day for a new hairstyle."