Greenwood (on this trip consisting of: Mehve, The Diva, Psycho
Weasel, Matt^2, and Stefanopolis) and I took over three rooms
at a cheap-ass hotel smack dab in the middle of touristy Orlando.
Dan Marino had a bar and grill nearby. That's all I needed.
We all began to relax, but then quickly unrelax when it was
duly noted by Psycho Weasel that the Doom-mobile was still running
despite the fact that nobody was in it. Was the Invisible Woman
using her sexy power to waste my car's battery and petroleum
reserves? Did she set up some kind of retarded invisible force
field to block our entry to the vehicle in the hopes of making
me even more insane than I was that time I sat in vanilla pudding
for an entire afternoon?! Actually, it turned out that some jackhole
(all of Greenwood pointed to me, but I blame a loveless God)
just locked the doors before turning the darn vehicle off. We
all joked about putting a banana in the tailpipe in order to
shut the car down, just like Axel Foley in Beverly Hills Cop
I and III. We laughed at that for a while until we
realized that Kevin Smith had already made better jokes about
bananas in tailpipes and Judge Reinhold in his Clerks
TV show. Then we just felt stupid.
Anyway, that whole "locked outside the car" incident
is why I always keep a spare tire-iron in my suitcase. I broke
every window in, and then turned everything off and ripped out
the stereo so that I could file an insurance claim that my car
was burglarized and my $6,000 collection of Pavarotti CDs was
stolen along with my Van Goghs in the trunk.
Early on in our trip,
Team Greenwood and I began running into super heroes at every
turn. At first it was kinda weird, ya know. I never quite know
how to act around grown men in spandex who like to put me in
full-nelsons and bear-holds with their ever-present "super
bulges" always in some kind of contact with my body.
I suppose that
they were all out on a call-to-arms about the Doom-mobile in
the area. They kept questioning me in particular because of my
rugged ninja shirt. I found this rather odd at first, but later
I found out the secret truth about ninja shirts and Von Doom's
hideous past!... But that can wait. Right now I want to talk
about Captain America (the fifth "hero" to question
me that day). Honestly, I think he was on a Catholic priest-like
kick. First there was that whole pubescent boy/man-in-training
thing back in the 40s (Bucky, we shall never forget ye), and
now he goes around feeling whatever tight ass he wants to claiming
that it's his "right as the symbol of all things starry
and stripey." That wouldn't really bother me so much by
itself, but he just grabbed way too hard! I still have
his handmarks on my rump! Not even Hitler or Stalin would hold
on that tight.