PopRelics

Thundercats: The Movie, soon to be a major motion picture by Warner Brothers, slated for a Summer 2010 release. All Star Cast includes Brad Pitt, Morgan Freeman, Scarlett Johansson, and Paul Giamatti.

Story Pitch

Several months after the trial, the remaining Thundercats had settled in to their new lives. After turning state's evidence against Mumm-Ra (Freeman), Lion-O (Pitt) and Cheetara (Johansson) relocated to Nebraska, under the federal witness protection program. Their modest farm was nothing like the vast lands they ruled on New Thundera, but they enjoyed tending crops and livestock, and had even started their own organic label.

Panthro joined them on the farm, and shared the fields under a rental agreement with Lion-O. Panthro was required to give up most of his crop yeild to Lion-O, but compared to his years of unpaid, high risk indentured servitude, he still felt better off. Tygra, still not over Cheetara, requested location reassignment, and moved to New Mexico to sell real estate.

Snarf (Giamatti) was given a small trailer in the woods, but he was soon arrested by an ATF-DEA joint taskforce, for operating a small marijuana business. Cheetara and Lion-O, aware of his long history of drug abuse, refused to intervene. The twins, WilyKit and WilyKat, couldn't handle the quiet life, and opted out of the protection program altogether. They met some circus performers and began performing Cirque du Soleil shows in Vegas.

Peace would be short lived. Mumm-Ra had once again risen, this time from a medium-security work farm in North Carolina, and vowed vengeance on the Thundercats. Lion-O would have to find the Sword Of Omens, surrendered under the terms of his plea agreement, and bring the Thundercats together as a team once again.

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Republican Foreign Policy Handbook
Chapter 6: Explaining Iran With Smurfs and Cylons

In figure one, we see a classic Battlestar Galactica cylon. It represents the classic leadership of Iran, combining the clerical leadership governed by Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, and the political power base, led by President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. It is an artificial construct built on a false premise of freedom and democracy, and as such is slow witted and near impossible to reason with.

The smurfs represent the Iranian people, shown here attacking the cylon. When the smurfs believe that they live in a representative democracy, and it is then shown to be false, they do not take it well. They will climb around and dance and make all sorts of noises. Unfortunately the cylons have been allowed to control them for so long, that they are much more powerful than the smurfs. While it is inspirational to see the smurfs organized, and with one voice denouncing the brutal dictatorship that they now realize they live under, it is also ultimately futile. The cylons are much more powerful, and have blasters and laser cannons.

Next in Chapter 7: Explaining Human Relationships With Thundercats


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Framed for a crime they did not commit, the G&D-Team has been forced underground. John's the leader, he makes the plans. The other John is also the leader, and frankly I'm a bit hazy on the power sharing.

Laura's the muscle. She will fuck your shit up. With a smile. Michelle's black ops, highly skilled and deadly with a dart gun. Also the team accupuncturist. Paul's the location scout. He also knows a great deal on a sunny 3bed 2bath with territorial views. Sean pours the Jäger.

Shalynn is underwater explosives. They have never once needed to blow something up underwater. But she's ready. Jason's the other muscle. He will also fuck your shit up, but he'll tell you a funny joke about jesus afterwards. Sean pours the Jäger.

Zach's the supplier. If there's anything the team needs; guns, vehicles, anti ballistic missile defense systems, Zach can get it. As long as there's a woman involved, that is. Zach's a man whore. It's actually his codename. And his license plate. Roger's the wheelman. If it rolls, floats or flies, he can drive it. Jeff's the other wheelman. When they need a Sentra.

If you're in trouble, and you can find them, and it's after last call, The G&D-Team can help.

Sean pours the Jäger.


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Walter Spender was too young to enlist in the war, his only glimpses from the newsreels they showed at the orphanage. Too young for the war, too old to adopt, Walter lived in limbo. Until the day HE came. Captain Patriot plucked him from the orphanage, trained him, and became his best pal. Walter wasn't the first, but he knew how to fight, and he knew what's right. He was the new Wonder Lad!

For the first few years, it was the time of his life. Walter and the Captain fought the good fight, and defended the country from all comers. Criminals and traitors, deviants and spies, they showed them all what for. But once the 1950s started, Wonder Lad noticed a change. Captain Patriot began to focus on the commies, ignoring serious bad guys for a shot at them pinkos. Except sometimes it was just people reading books in some rich guy's house. No drugs, no guns, just people drinking hi-balls and talking. The Captain would put them all in the hospital, sometimes even worse.

Walter quit being Wonder Lad soon after that. He just didn't see what good it was for. A few years after, he read that the Captain got himself shot in the face by a pimp over a disagreement about a fee. A tough end for a tough guy.

It was still the time of his life.


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The air was so clear, they could see the distant schools of hammerheads near the horizon. The walk to work was pleasant, with no incidents. Some tiger sharks breached the cage last week near downtown, but folks made it to the emergency cages in plenty of time. The Mayor had already made a tv spot with the footage, touting his emergency cage initiative, justifying the higher taxes. Some things, it seemed, would never change.

San Jose, just south of San Francisco, attempted to erect a safety cage over 25 miles of freeway. Their community, designed for driving, was just too spread out for people to expect to walk everywhere. But soon after the grand opening, disaster. The cars, the sudden mass of noise and exhaust and movement, attracted the sharks from everywhere. Thousands and thousands of them, so many that the sky went dark. They converged on the roads, ripping and tearing at the cages with a ferocity not seen since they first took to the air. The feeding frenzy took many lives. The people responsible found themselves locked inside cages of their own.

All plans for resurrecting mass transit were abandoned.


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Earlier "chapters": One, Two, and Three.

Let me tell you something about my legacy. The fact of the matter is, torture works. We used it, and we're proud of it. The fact of the matter is without torture, we would never have been able to manufacture the evidence we needed to invade Iraq. Could not have done it. So that's a huge success. Tortured the fuck out of that guy.

I know, Iraq a success? Well look, absolutely. Have you seen Haliburton's earnings reports for the last eight years? While everyone else's stocks were tanking, mine were going through the roof. I'd call that an unqualified success, from my perspective. And that's all thanks to torture.

You know, I'll tell you something. I took the first couple of fellas, the ones we renditioned to that shithole in Poland, and I made a hat from their butt skin. No shit, a full on ten gallon hat. The fact of the matter is, torture is the best thing that ever happened to me. Can't get enough of it, and I love talking about it.

Hey, we aren't on the air yet, are we?

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Cthulhu was from the other place, the dark place. It was the demon that demons feared, a god before gods were. A pulpy, tentacled grotesque, it devoured worlds and realities with a malignant hunger. Cthulhu was beyond scale and measures, willing to take any shape, inhabit any flesh vessel to feed. When it found such an opening, a tiny fissure between realities, it surged through with terrible, maddening speed.

And then promptly fell over.

Cthulhu was confused by this new reality. The world was blinding white, and quite cold. The creature it inhabited was barely capable of balanced locomotion, and with sad, useless wings even more rudimentary that its own once were. As Cthulhu struggled to right itself, it saw thousands of similar creatures approach. When the first one arrived, it peered at Cthulhu quizically, then dropped a fish at Cthulu's feet. And then another of the creatures waddled up, and dropped a fish as well. And then another.

Cthulhu realized, to its horror, that these creatures felt not fear, not dread, but pity. It bellowed with an ageless rage, and thrashed about in mortified disbelief, until it fell over once again. wheezing into the cold ground, Cthulhu peered up at this world's protectors, with futility and resignation, and accepted its fate for now.

And the fish were quite good.


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Most of the crew had stopped carrying firearms. Even Nadif, who once wouldn't leave his hut without a rocket launcher, went empty handed. The pigs were more than enough. Ghedi remembered when they would play long cat and mouse games with the ships, circling around, fighting their hoses and bottles, more circling. Now they have pigs. Just the sight of them sent most crews running deep into their ships, locked away. Sometimes Ghedi never saw them, even after they had their ransom and had gone away.

The sickness washed across Ghedi's village some months ago. Those with television ran through the village in terror, screaming about death from Mexico, death from pigs. But when Ghedi fell ill, he did not die. He coughed and wheezed and ached, but after some days felt better. No one in his village died, except one with the television, who threw herself from a cliff in panic. They still said she died of the flu.

Korfa, the leader of their crew, first had the idea. If the west was so afraid of this sickness, perhaps they could use it against them. Ghedi looked up to Korfa, and tried to learn everything about pirating from him. At the first ship of the day, it was Ghedi who stood. He raised his sister's piglet high into the air, yelled "Flu!" and then rubbed the pig over his face and chest. The ship burst into panic, the westerners crying and running and hiding. Korfa laughed his deep laugh, slapped Ghedi hard on the back, and told his crew to follow, they had work to do.

Ghedi scratched his sister's piglet under the chin, and smiled.

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Nothing made the M-Prev 5000 quite so angry as drowning. It could handle the electrocution, the insect swarms, the poison beet gas, even the steak knife pit. But when Professor Gee sent it into the deep oily water below the lab, M-Prev blew its last fuse. "Bleep!" it sounded in protest.

"You knew this was the gig when you signed up," the professor chided, having none of it. "You help me around the lab, and I make the deluxe death ray that destroys everyone and everything that's ever annoyed us. That was the deal. So what's your problem?"

"Bloop," M-Prev responded, increasing its volume level by forty five percent. The professor threw the great transformer switches, clearly annoyed. "Look, it's a lab," Gee started. "Not just a lab, an EVIL lab. You had to know I would have some dangerous stuff laying around. I put "high pain threshold" right in the ad, remember?"

M-Prev raised its volume percentage once again. "Bleep," it said, quite loudly now. "Alright," Prof Gee relented, just wanting to get back to his death ray, which seldom complained. "Okay, alright. From now on, I will refrain from subjecting you to unnecessary harm." But then the professor remembered something and added, "Right after you crawl inside the death ray and tie off that radiation leak. I asked you to do that this morning, so that doesn't count."

The M-Prev sighed. "You're a blooping bleep, you know that?"

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MSNBC: Hey, how's your swine flu coverage going?

CNN: Oh man, it's grueling. Trying to fill 24 hours of airtime with a story about basically a fever and a cough, I mean you know. It's tough. If our viewers aren't panicked, we lose them to Law&Order reruns within minutes. So we've had to get pretty drastic, taking everything out of context, forcing the experts to talk "worst case scenario", all that kind of stuff.

MSNBC: Yeah I hear you. I love how you guys keep using pictures of Mexicans in face masks with your local stories. Totally makes it seem like where you're actually talking about, California or Nebraska or wherever, that everyone was wearing masks there.

CNN: I know! Turns out we get a 10% retention bump whenever we show them before a commercial. But you guys totally topped us. I saw that bumper yesterday, where you told people swine flu would make their eyes bleed, unless they stay for the break to find out how to stop it!

MSNBC: Well, we didn't say swine flu made eyes bleed, we just had pictures of pigs and some guy with bleeding eyes. Not our fault if our viewers jumped to conclusions. heh.

CNN: Right, of course. But the best bit was when you came back on-air, and the "prevention" was "don't poke your eyes with sharp objects." I was rolling on the floor. roll-ing.

MSNBC: Yeah that was fun. But you know, I heard if we ever have a real health crisis we'd be fucked. Our entire food service industry, basically, isn't allowed to take sick time if they're sick. I mean, think about that. All this talk about closing a single school, have they even thought about how many people cycle through a McDonald's in an average day?

CNN: Wow. That's kind of a.. wow. That could be a really big deal. Man, you should do a story on that.

MSNBC: Can't. We're holding onto it for fall sweeps.

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The radio crackled. "She's on your six! Squad leader, your six!" But the lead aircraft's radio was out. The sky tiger came from out of the sun. Another swat from those massive paws and they were done for. The captain called to the rest of the squadron. "Ok boys, this is it. We can't let that furball take out the Jenny! Her payload is more important than all of us! Form on me and give it hell, boys!"

The squadron swirled in a mad aerial dance, in a desperate effort to protect the lead plane, but it was futile. The massive tiger surged forward, clawing and biting through the sky in every direction. One after another the fighter wing fell, until only the B-17 remained. The tiger reared and prepared to pounce her death pounce, when suddenly something wet struck her nose.

The tiger woke, and yawned lazily as a summer shower rolled through the field.

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Reporter: We're speaking today with Brian Brown, Executive Director of
The National Organization for Marriage, or NOM. NOM? NOM, yes I guess that's correct. Mr Brown, tell me about your new movement, "2 Million For Marriage".

NOM: Oh, well we have a catchy short version, it's just "2M4M", and-

Reporter: 2M4M? Seriously?

NOM: Uh, yes, 2M4M. 2 Million 4 Marriage, 2M4M. it's a way for us to get the word out, and have millions of people who support marriage-

Reporter: You mean straight marriage?

NOM: -uh, we just call it "marriage", or "traditional marriage" since as far as we're concerned, there's only one kind.

Reporter: And you think gay marriage supporters are also against straight marriage? They can't be for both?

NOM: Absolutely not. Because what they are advocating would destroy traditional marriage completely.

Reporter: Destroy how?

NOM: It will open the door to condoning all other deviant behavior. They'll have to allow bigamy, for one thing. If it's all about "equal rights" then why shouldn't one man and five wives have the "equal" right to marry? And animals too, of course. Man and animals will be able to get married. Eventually this will lead to the end of procreation, the true purpose of marriage, which will destroy humanity and-

Reporter: Sorry, I have to stop you there. The "true purpose of marriage" is for procreation? Then why aren't you opposed to couples who get married yet don't have kids? Or elderly couples? Or couples who adopt? Why is it ok for them to marry, if your main concern is procreation?

NOM: I'll get back to you on that.

Reporter: Ok, so that's all the time we have. Again, the movement is called "2 Million For Marriage", or "2M4M" for short. Which as most people know, is shorthand for "Gay Male Threeway". Thank you Mr Brown for your time today.

NOM: Thank y- wait what?

No one is sure when it started, just that the escape goats were always there.

It's 2009, and an Australian cattle dog is washing ashore on an almost deserted island.

It's 2025, and they're evacuating the oxygen from the capsule, while it breaks up around them.

The island goats knew the dog couldn't survive on its own, raised on kibble and couches. So they sent the littlest ones to go feed it. At first the dog only wanted to play with them, and wasn't yet hungry. So they played. It took almost a week, before the starving dog finally gave in, and began eating her playmates. Finally, the goats thought.

The astronaut knew he was in trouble when the klaxon sounded, and the goats deployed. They quickly got the fires under control, helped get his helmet on, and attempted to correct the decaying orbit. Thrusters were sluggish, even after they chewed through the trim cables. They had no choice but to abandon ship, for the cold vacuum of space. Their blood would boil within seconds, but the astronaut would survive.

It's 1967, and a Russian submarine is going down in the Bering Sea, sinking to a hull-crushing two miles below the surface.

And the escape goats are there.

Creationism Convention, Creationism Museum, USA, Cafeteria, Noon.

Steve: Hey good job with the Noah's Ark thing, that was great. that sixteen foot scale model is amazing. It really proves how the dinosaurs would have easily fit and thrived on board.

Lee: Thanks! Yeah, the kids really love it. It's a wonderful educational tool for us, and helps us dispell all of those silly myths about how it was "impossible". Drives me crazy, all the misinformation out there. Hey that reminds me, how's your thing going? The Pteronodon Project?

Steve: Yeah no, it's the "Pterosaur Project", and it's going great, really good. We've got most of our funding lined up, and we've started collecting supplies already. We're looking at early August for the expedition launch.

Lee: Wow, I didn't know you were so far along, that's wonderful. That is going to be so amazing, when you find living pterosaurs, and bring them back. It's going to make those wacko evolutionists finally sit down and shut up.

Steve: Well we certainly hope so. There have been so many eyewitness accounts of them flying around, it drives me crazy that it's just constantly ignored. I mean, the same goes for velociraptors and apatosaurs, they're all over the place.

Lee: Sure, yeah I know. So why aren't you going after one of them? Why the flying ones?

Steve: Logistics, mostly. Apatosaurs are like the size of a bus, you know? Even if we could haul one to shore, trying to get it back to the states would be really difficult. And the raptors, well they kind of eat people. So pterosaurs are just the best option for our budget and time. Plus we can bring back eggs and start our own aviary here. Man I can't wait.

Lee: For sure, for sure. Well I have to go back and give another talk on dinosaur riding. But it's great seeing you. Hang in there man, us sane ones have to stick together.

Steve: I hear you.

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Special thanks to the Texas Board of Education for the inspiration.

Crowd was amazing. Thousands of happy people oozing altruism, all stuffed into the Columbia Tower atrium. Nevertheless, reminders of the dead were on every tshirt, every wristband, every face. It was fun, but not too much fun, y'know? Before I knew it, we were off. 69 floors, over 1300 steps, straight up.

I started well, and lucked into a woman in her late 60s ahead of me, who made an excellent pace car. Slow and steady, we'd hit the 20th floor hardly before I'd looked up. But then she waved off another couple of floors to rest, and I never saw her again. A father and his two young daughters kept passing me, only to have me pass them again when they had to rest. I tried to explain the whole tortoise/hare thing to them, but they kept running out of earshot. I'm pretty sure they were at home having lunch by the time I was done.

But I was done eventually, about 25 minutes even. 73rd floor, sweeping view, yay, great, elevator please. Once out on the street, I took a moment to look up, straining to see the steep tower I had just climbed. A lot of loss in there. I hope this made some of them feel better for a while. I hope it actually does some good for someone, somehow. After that, I went to the library, where I had parked my car six floors below.

For some reason, I took the stairs.


Thanks to those who donated to this cause on my behalf, or just to watch me torture myself. Now that I've been so tortured, I'd like to remind everyone that you can still make a donation up until April 10th. Cheers!

The Rainbow Vomiting Pandas Of Interestingness were starving. It was time to eat.

Ling Ling grazed on her usual fare, flowers and sunsets. She found some kittens at sunset that tasted like lemons and butterflies.

Hsing Hsing started on her latest interest, winter wonderlands and airplanes floating on the Hudson. But it would soon be St Patrick's Day, and Hsing Hsing was already tasting the emerald tang of shamrocks and green beer.

Wang Wang explored Eastern Europe, and settled this day on Poland. The churches and streets were very filling. A river of light for desert.

Finally, they were fed, stuffed and ready to burst. The three as one escaped to the sky, able to hold it all in no longer.

And like the day before and the day next, they burst.

The Rainbow Vomiting Pandas Of Interestingness were starving. It was time to eat.

She wanted to know more about his family. He told her about Uncle Frank, and his garbage hoarding. The bible thumpers up in Washington state. Not enough, she said, everyone has those. Give me something real, she told him.

Ok, he thought. Time for the big guns. So he talked about his Grandma. He told her that Grandma was a seamstress. She worked in Hollywood in the 40s, made costumes for everyone. Her favorite job was making all of Natalie Wood's dresses for 'Miracle on 34th Street.' But she did something else. Something much more important. Grandma made the costumes for Captain Honor.

The Captain Honor. Scourge of the underworld. Hero of the oppressed. Still active, even in his eighties. One of the last real honest to gosh super heroes.

Wow, she said. Your grandmother made Natalie Wood's dresses?

What happens to Batman when he's old, Brian asked. His father thought for a moment, and answered, "He's still Batman, but old. He still protects Gotham City, still beats the bad guys. He's Batman."

But what happens when he dies, Brian asked. His father thought for a moment, a longer moment, and answered, "Then his family carries on. They know what he wanted, the things he wanted for them. Robin, Batgirl, Alfred, everyone. They do what she- what he would have wanted them to do. Just be the best at what they do."

Do you miss Mommy, Brian asked. His father thought for a moment, a very long moment, and answered, "Every day."

So a combination of exercise incentive and wishing to destroy Leukemia, has me climbing the stairs of the tallest skyscraper west of the Mississippi, almost 70 floors, with only the proportionate strength and speed of a flabby 38 year old, to raise money for Leukemia and Lymphoma research. If you'd like to help me earn my thighs of steel, feel free to pass this artwork around (it's under a Creative Commons license) or Digg it on Flickr, or make a donation.

Thanks!

From:
Bruce Chartwood
NEdesign Concepts

To:
Arnie Stronghold
FoxNews Marketing

Subj: Obama Campaign

Here's the latest iteration on the Obama poster campaign [see attached]. I think we're getting close. From the notes of our last meeting, you can see I've made the horns bigger, and added the worm-succubi coming out of his hands. I know we discussed having Obama feeding on a screaming infant, but I had to leave that out. We received an email from your legal dept (you should have been cc'd) explaining that child eating would be a problem for standards and practices. If you want to go over that with them, fine, but as it stands I had to go with no mutilations, and no blood. I know that was one of the original design requirements, but I really feel the final artwork still conveys the fair and balanced view of President Obama that you're looking for. Sometimes subtle is better.

Let me know how you would like to proceed.

Sincerely,
Bruce
Sr. Artist

George was just sitting down to some tv when Laura came in. Crap, he thought, hiding his beer. "Did you look for a job today?" Laura asked, eying his beer. Bush rolled his eyes. Here we go, he thought. "Sure did darlin', but darn it, Foot Locker and Pizza Hut weren't hiring," he said, chuckling a little at the end.

Laura rolled her eyes. "Have you talked to Condi honey? I heard she got that tanker named after her again."

"If you're asking if I called her, yep I sure did. But ever since she started at Exxon, I haven't heard a peep back."

Laura pressed, "Oh well I'm sure she's busy. What about Dick, honey? He's settled back in at Halliburton by now. Have you talked to him?"

"Yeah, couple of weeks ago," George answered, clearly annoyed. "He just gave me some high falutin' CEO talk about how his company is worth like a gazillion times more than when he left, so he's crazy busy. But he's all worried if the Obama goes and turns off the wars they'll have to downsize. So he can't hire anyone new until that shakes out. Look darlin', I've talked to all of 'em. Dick, Condi, Rummie, Brownie, Gonzalez, Hankie, Ashcroft, Ridge, Stinky Pete, and Cherty. Hell I even talked to that asshole Bolton, but no joy. I mean, it's a recession darlin'. You can't blame me for the recession."

Laura decided to let that one go. "Well then I have great news, George. Footlocker called back for an interview."

"You're going."

Secret Service Agent Archibald Tennessee knocked, then entered the Oval Office. President Obama greeted him warmly, "Archie," he said. "Come in. How'd it go?"

"You were right sir," Agent Tennessee said. "He got out again."

President Obama looked embarrassed. "Aw, sorry man. Where'd you find him this time?"

Agent Tennessee tried not to make eye contact. "Well sir, there was a considerable trail. He left a huge pile in the Palistinian Ambassador's office. He also dumped on the Commerce Secretary, and he somehow got into the secure situation room and dropped a steaming load in the Joint Chief's strategic meeting on Afghanistan and Iraq. It was literally steaming, sir. Then he wandered into the hall where Treasury Secretary Hank Paulson and Bernanke were discussing the wall street bailout, and he dropped a big doo right at their feet." Agent Tennessee paused, then decided to finish. "He also found his way all the way down to your old Illinois Senate office. Huge pile left down there. Cleanup may take months."

The President let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry about that, Archie. Clearly the girls need to work on his training."

"No problem, sir," Agent Tennessee said, almost apologetically. "May I ask sir, have they chosen a name for him yet?"

"They're narrowing it down," President Obama said, smiling to himself. "It's between 'Hope', 'Promise', and 'Mr. StinkyPants'.

We never get snow like this, ever. Ten days of sub-freezing temperatures, combined with half a dozen storm systems rolling in one after the other, was just unprecedented. Like not in a hundred years unprecedented. Between our steep hills and narrow streets, it was a winter wonderland of cabin fever and cars and buses and people sliding every which way. Seattle shut down because it just couldn't function iced over for so long. It was frustrating and miserable for a lot of people.

But it snowed on Christmas. As far as presents go, that one's pretty hard to top.

That's about it for 2008. I can't say it was easy, but it was rich and complicated and very, very interesting.

So I just want to take this Santa-speedo opportunity to thank everyone for your interest and energy and inspiration. I don't know what's coming next, but I'll definitely be sharing.

There's a dark side, to all that snow. Someone, or some thing, doesn't like snowmen. Doesn't like them at all.

Ana held her mother's hand. She hadn't let go since they got to the hospital. "Is daddy going to be ok," she asked. Loraine lied, told her he would be fine. "Why is daddy sick," Ana asked, squeezing Loraine's hand tighter. Loraine thought about how to answer. "Well honey," she started. "Your daddy has self esteem issues."

"What's selfa steam," Ana asked. "It's how you feel about yourself," her mother explained. "How much you like yourself. You like yourself, don't you honey?" Ana krinkled her nose, thought about that for a second. Then she said "I think so." Loraine squeezed her hand back, then said "Well, your daddy doesn't like himself very much. So when other people tell him what to do, he does it. Because he wants to make them happy. So they'll like him." Ana krinkled her nose again. "Is that why he ate my toys," she asked, a little confused. "Pretty much," Loraine answered. "His friends dared him to, and he thought they wouldn't like him if he didn't. So he did. He didn't think about you, or me, or even himself. Just what they thought of him." Loraine sighed, suddenly frustrated about so many things.

Is this why you deeforced him," Ana asked.

"Pretty Much," her Mom said.

She always saw butterflies.

Everything else about that night, she remembers right. The burnt tacos smothered in sour cream, the cold drizzle outside. There was a dog barking, she remembered that. And hockey on the tv, and her homework on the times tables. A hundred small things that she could recall clearly, except what really happened to him. That was always butterflies. Her therapist told her it might always be like that, for as long as she lived. It didn't matter if years later, she knew what really happened. What mattered is what her brain told her to see when she was a child. It was scary, and loud, and something that her mind knew might break her if allowed inside.

It confused her. How could she see, how could she remember now, an impossible thing? Butterflies bursting from him in a hundred directions and a thousand colors. She knew his head wasn't filled with butterflies, yet she could see it, could remember it plain as day. Plain as burnt tacos.

Frustrated, she went over it again, worked it around in her head trying to see it right. The tacos, the rain, and homework. The dog barking, and the gun in her hand, and how it jerked when she pulled the trigger. The hockey on tv.

And then butterflies.

Green Lantern and Green Arrow looked at each other. They couldn't believe it. "How.. how is that possible?" Hal exclaimed. "Bullshit," Ollie spat. "I call bullshit. There's no way." Vixen walked in, and asked what was going on. "Hawkman is having some fun with Ollie and Hal. They didn't know about President Luthor," Diana told her.

"It's the truth, guys. Lex Luthor was elected President. In a landslide," Hawkman continued. He was having too much fun, watching Super-Liberal Green Arrow squirm. "But.. but," Ollie sputtered, clearly about to pop. "It's LUTHOR. We are talking about the same Lex Luthor, right? Super-villain? Tried to kill Superman oh I dunno, a couple thousand times? He's about the most evil man on the planet, and you're telling me that people voted for him?! That is totally impossible."

"Says the two guys who were dead at the time," Diana retorted.

"Hey, don't take my word for it, ask Black Lightning," Hawkman offered. "He was Luthor's Secretary of Education."

"Don't drag me into this," Lightning said from across the room, not even looking up from Monitor Duty.

"Ok, now I just know you're fucking with us," Ollie said. Hall looked over at Lightning and asked, "Is that true, Jefferson?"

Lightning sighed, and looked away from the monitors. "Yep. All true. And before you get your green panties in a twist, Ollie, take a look around the room. Me and Vixen here, we're the sum-total of African-American Justice League members right now. You know when we were finally asked to join? Last year. So yeah, I took the job. Who else was going to look out for disadvantaged kids; you? Luthor? Please."

"So what happened," Hal asked, trying to diffuse the tension.

"The usual," Batman growled, making everyone jump. No one saw him come in. "He started several wars he thought he could control but couldn't, turned the U.S. government into the most secretive organization in U.S. history, abused his authority, approved and conducted torture, destroyed the economy, and gutted the budget." Batman paused, took a sip of his cocoa. "And then of course, he tried to kill Superman with a secret cache of kryptonite. You know, the usual super-villain stuff."

There was silence for a moment. Then the room erupted into laughter.

Hector sometimes hated his job. The hospital did bad things to his head, he thought. Wednesday nights were the worst. Hector had rotation on the nutjob ward. They were always puking or shitting themselves or spraying noseblood on the walls. It sucked being a janitor on Wednesday nights. He had barely clocked in before the floor supervisor sent him to Room 617. Hector cursed silently. That was Henry's room. Everyone knew Henry.

The hospital was state run, which meant it had no money. It was dirty and lazy and no one gave a shit. They'd scrimp on meds sometimes, or just run out for days at a time. Hector knew. If there was a clean-up in Room 617, that meant Henry didn't get his meds. By the time he wheeled his cart down there, Henry was already restrained and sedated, his hands bundled in thick bandages. The doc on call looked like he could give two shits, even with all the blood smeared on his coat. Henry had pried off all of his finger and toenails again. Hector was relieved. Knowing Henry, this could have been a lot worse.

He had to pick up the nails by hand, some hospital rule about solid waste or some shit. Hector snapped on a new set of rubber gloves and got down on his knees. After collecting most of them, Hector scrunched down to get the last few from under the bunk. He froze. Shifting his weight a little to let the light from the hall in, he could swear he saw something glint in the light.

It was a thumbnail. Confused, Hector held it up to the light. The top of the nail looked normal, flat and dull. Turning it over, Hector saw it again, a glint of something shiny. Deep in the blood and gristle was.. something. He pulled out the small magnifier he kept on his keychain, and looked as closely as he could.

Gears. Hector could see layers of tiny gears. He nudged the top one, and was astonished to see it rotate, and set the others in motion. Hector frantically picked up one of the other nails, only to see the same thing. He peered at the big toenail, and found what looked like tiny gold wires with the gears. He looked at Henry, asleep and strapped down to the bed. Hector snapped off his blue rubber gloves, and looked at his fingernails as closely as he could. The hospital did bad things to his head, he knew. But still he thought of the pliers sitting on his cart, and wondered.

November 4, 2008. Presidential Campaign Candidate Reactions.

McCain: My friends, I want to thank you for your support. As much as me winning would have been a good thing for our country, I have to tell you folks, I'm exhausted. I mean seriously, this has plum wore me out. I need a serious vacation. So yeah, sorry my friends, I wish it could have worked out for you, but honestly, I just want to go to bed. Goodnight.

Palin: My fellow Americans of this country I'm so proud of, I would ask you to be strong. We knew this would be an uphill battle to roll down, but it isn't over yet. The Democrats did very well tonight, with their eloquence and their over-educations. But it isn't over. As you all well know, we'll have our turn tomorrow. I urge all Republicans to vote on Wednesday, as it is you all well know as I do the Republican Day Of Voting. Our founding fathers and their constitutions gave us this opportunity, and I hope and I pray and I believe that we will rally tomorrow and bring in the votes for me. I mean for John McCain. You betcha.

Biden: Wooo!! Woohooo!!!!! Yeah baby!!! FUCK YEAH!!!!!

Obama: Thank you everyone. This is truly a great an historic day for all of us. Not just for me, but for the record-breaking turnout of this election. Looking out across this crowd, I cannot even count the variety of nationalities and races I see before me. Truly amazing. and I promise, I will not let you down. My job is to make America cool again. I will make us a model of inclusiveness, not just from within, but also without. And in spite of my opponent, an honest-to-god war hero, in spite of John joking that I was already "measuring the drapes", I assure you I was not. There will be no curtains in an Obama administration. No hiding, no subterfuge, no secrecy. I will admit however, I did spend some time measuring the East Lawn for my basketball court.

And I promise all of you, there will be pickup games. Good night and God Bless America.