Mission Six

Mr. Bennet shows off his comedic side....

"No, don't worry. You won't have to perform. You can be the director."

"Oh, good," I replied.

Moments later, I found myself sitting in the middle of the stage with that synthetic liar on my leg.

"Boo!" Some punk yelled out. "No more ventriloquist acts!"

I agreed with him, except for the boo part. My idea was to do an origami opera. But Lin claims to have stage experience, so Henchman and I had to do whatever she wanted.

"Hello," I said nervously. The spotlight was magnified through my glasses, nearly blinding me. "I'm....uh..."

"Ugly?" The synthetic pseudo-dummy asked.

"Mr. Bennet, but you can call me Noah." I finished.

"Noah? Where's your giraffes?"

"They," crap...I forgot my line. "..did something,"

The audience broke out in insane laughter.

"So," Dum-Lin said, "You know what's worse than finding a worm in your apple?"

"Finding...half," Half what? A shoe? A dime! Wait, no."...a worm in it?"

"The Holocaust." The audience laughed and moaned and she continued, "You ever wonder why celebrity sex photos weren't a problem in Ben Franklin's days?" I was impressed by her dummy skills.

"Hmmm..." I feigned bewilderment. "Why is that?"

"The men finished before the cameras could!"

All of a sudden, I was nearly impaled in the leg by something. What the heck is that? Some object was digging into my thigh. I tried shifting positions.

"Guess what?"

Ouch! I tried moving Lin to my other leg, but couldn't lift her. "Uh, what?" I said, trying to stay committed to the act.

"Kittens don't make good volleyballs."

The microphone transmitter! Gah! I kicked my knee up in an attempt to bounce her massive synthoid body over a bit, but instead she fell off onto the stage with a loud thud.

The act was clearly ruined! But I had a back up plan. I ran off stage and into my dressing room, which was more a cubicle in the alley than it was a room. There on the vanity was my trusty comedy notebook. I picked it up and looked at the first page.

Fountains of the Abyss

It was a cold night.

No! It was my novel, not my comedy. Where was my comedy notebook?

I looked everywhere. I looked in the trash, under lighting technicians, over tall stuff. I even checked the Denny's down the road. Nothing, but I did order a Grand Slam!

I ran back to the theatre and looked harder than ever. But then I felt my Grand Slam rounding third base. Immediately I made my way into the restroom.

A knock at the door came. It was Henchman. "Hey, we're about to go on."

"Just a minute!" I hollered back. And there it was! Sitting atop the toilet paper holder was my notebook. I opened it. My brilliantly written comedy insult bit of the other team was there, begging to go on stage. But unfortunately, my digestive system had other plans.

Eventually, I made it out of the restroom alive and ran to the stage. The audience was applauding loudly and Lin, Henchman and some retard were walking off stage. I ran up and said, "And now, a little bit about the opposing team..."

Before I could begin, Lin ran up and grabbed me. "No stand-up!" she said and drug me off stage.

"Jon hates stand-up," Henchman said.

Crap! I almost secured our victory with my act. Here's what I didn't get to perform because of my teammates and Denny's:

Pokemybootie

What do Jedi, politicians and paraplegics have in common? Apparently, bad breath.

I used to think the only good politician was a dead one, until I met Nathan Petrelli. First I thought he was a Democrat because of all the sex. Then it seemed like he was selfish enough to be a Republican. But now that he's dead, I realize he's actually Green Party, since he'll never win the White House. He's self-absorbed and incompetent enough to run a school for mutants.

And if there's one thing creepier than the smiling ghost of a dead politician, it's Jedi paparazzi. Why doesn't Kriss have a real job? I mean, she's a friggin' Jedi. Surely that has to stand for something on a resume. "Sure we're an order devoted to protecting the Republic and upholding the highest of virtues....but I'd rather just take pictures." She's clearly lost focus of what it means to be a Jedi. Maybe her aim is just so terrible, she needs a wide lens to hit anything. And guys, don't waste your time. She's a cat person. She can develop film, but not relationships.

Speaking of relationships, do you ever wish your mutant child could have a father figure in his life? How about a creepy, older gent confined to a wheelchair? There's nothing like hands-on learning.

Learning's a good thing after all. Sure, there's the drawbacks of mutant pedophilia. But knowledge can be a wondrous thing. Something so-called Jedi Knight Godfrey Zebulon will never have. There's more wisdom to be found in used toilet paper than in his sorry excuse for a brain. And I've seen better lightsaber form from a mayonnaise jar. Instead of a padawan, he was a padded one. He had to wear full body padding just to keep the other younglings from killing him in battle. I guess when your Mommy and Daddy are royalty, skill isn't a prerequisite to knighthood.

It's gold, baby!