Being married to the Man of Steel brought with it many things, possibly the least expected were the in-laws in Kansas. Lois had flown out to visit the Kent's at the request of Martha who sensed the strain between Lois and Clark. Martha always knew, the woman could pass it off as a metahuman talent if she wanted to
( ... )
The bikes the aliens are flying might remind Lois of Lobo's space-bike, but where Lobo rides a muscle-bike, these aliens seem to be flying the equivalent of crotch-rockets.
Very well-armed crotch-rockets.
They swoop down towards the road, firing bolts of energy at the road in front of a 18-wheeler, its trailer loaded down with corn. The truck slams on its brakes, trying to avoid the sudden crater in the ground before them.
"YARRRR!" one of the aliens cries out. "Avast, ye maties!"
"Yarr, I be spottin' 'em, Cappin'!" comes the thickly accented response.
A red and yellow crow's nest rises slowly above Chicago, a Jack Sparrow-esque Plaz leaning out into the hissing wind with a very, very, very extendable telescopee, "I be quarellin' with a bunch a yeller-bellied, green-everywhere-elsied knaves on me starboard bow! Yarr! Avast! Scurvy! Walk the plank ye dirty seadogs!"
Having already exhausted his pirate repertoire in the opening gambit, he sets about transforming into a galleon slowly sinking in a red and yellow sea.
As each of the Biker Pirates from Mars or the Pirate Mice on Bikes or the Mice Bikers Are Pirates or whatever the hell they were called swoops in to take a potshot at the HMS Buttcheeks, great, spindly arms fire from the starboard cannons, grab the aforementioned bikers, and dunk them into the gloopy plastic sea
( ... )
She's swooping in on one of the landing party, aiming for one that looks in charge. She manages to grab one before he or his cohorts know what hit him and take off into the sky.
He can answer, or find himself stuck on top of the nearest windmill with no visible means of getting down. His choice.
Ralph loves strange holidays, go figure. When the call goes out, he's in the process of helping Allanah get her pirate outfit together to attend a couple of the local festivals - he's had his own outfit together for years. "Talkin' like pirates? Well, that be festive. On me way." he responds into the communicator, as he tries to figure out what to do with Allanah in the midst of a space pirate invasion.
As he arrives, he sees the mothership hovering over a cornfield as bikes swarm towards it, carrying truck-trailers, and more bikes swarm out, in search of more booty.
Ralph looks at his daughter, then sighs, fishes into his wallet and hands her ten dollars. "Get yourself a Happy Meal and go to the playland. Daddy has work to do." he instructs her, hoping she can manage. "And stay out of trouble." he adds, before stretching her towards the nearest McDonalds.
Then he launches himself into action, a giant purple fist extending towards one of the bikes. "Avast ye scurvy swabs."
The bike is knocked back, though the pirate stays on it. "Arrr! A stretching matie! Who might you be?" He begins firing a barrage of energy bolts at the stretching purple man.
Above the stalks of corn, a sign reading "Hero of the Beach" bobbed its way toward a detatchment of the pirates.
Beneath those words and beneath also the corn as high as an elephant's eye stood the Man of Muscle Mystery, looking up at the raiding party before nodding curtly to himself, taking one hand in the other and flexing his bodymind, a wave of force emanating outward to shove one of the bikes off-course.
"That's quite enough, gentlemen!" proclaimed Flex with a smile, "Why don't you fellows go back home? I'm afraid there's just no call for this sort of behaviour."
Ralph eyes the man below, raising a brow... about two feet up. "Kids, be ye tired of bein' a 98 pound weakling?" He flexes his arm, and the bicep droops like something out a Bugs Bunny commercial. "In just two hours of deck swabbin', cannonball polishin', mizzenmast hoistin' workouts a day, ye too could look like this." He blows into his thumb like inflating an inner tube, his arm inflating into a cartoonishly massive look of muscles.... and then takes a swing, arm extending to punch a pirate off his bike with the now extended overmuscled arm.
"Can't say I know of him, but I like the cut of his jib."
"Ha-HA!" proclaims Flex, pointing at the ductile detective, "Good to see I'm not alone against these would-be invaders."
He wondered if any of them had gotten any of his invitations.
"Good one... erm..." For a moment he felt rather bad that he didn't know either of their names. "Good one, chum!" he finally said and, not one to be outdone, flexed his quiticeps and bent one of the pirate's bikes in the middle. "Gamble a stamp!" he proclaimed with a grin as he brought his fists together, shoulders rippling bizarrely, "And I'll make you a man!"
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Very well-armed crotch-rockets.
They swoop down towards the road, firing bolts of energy at the road in front of a 18-wheeler, its trailer loaded down with corn. The truck slams on its brakes, trying to avoid the sudden crater in the ground before them.
"YARRRR!" one of the aliens cries out. "Avast, ye maties!"
Reply
Reply
A red and yellow crow's nest rises slowly above Chicago, a Jack Sparrow-esque Plaz leaning out into the hissing wind with a very, very, very extendable telescopee, "I be quarellin' with a bunch a yeller-bellied, green-everywhere-elsied knaves on me starboard bow! Yarr! Avast! Scurvy! Walk the plank ye dirty seadogs!"
Having already exhausted his pirate repertoire in the opening gambit, he sets about transforming into a galleon slowly sinking in a red and yellow sea.
As each of the Biker Pirates from Mars or the Pirate Mice on Bikes or the Mice Bikers Are Pirates or whatever the hell they were called swoops in to take a potshot at the HMS Buttcheeks, great, spindly arms fire from the starboard cannons, grab the aforementioned bikers, and dunk them into the gloopy plastic sea ( ... )
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She's swooping in on one of the landing party, aiming for one that looks in charge. She manages to grab one before he or his cohorts know what hit him and take off into the sky.
He can answer, or find himself stuck on top of the nearest windmill with no visible means of getting down. His choice.
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Another pirate takes off after Starfire, blasting at her with energy bolts as he goes.
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"Talkin' like pirates? Well, that be festive. On me way." he responds into the communicator, as he tries to figure out what to do with Allanah in the midst of a space pirate invasion.
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Then he launches himself into action, a giant purple fist extending towards one of the bikes. "Avast ye scurvy swabs."
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Beneath those words and beneath also the corn as high as an elephant's eye stood the Man of Muscle Mystery, looking up at the raiding party before nodding curtly to himself, taking one hand in the other and flexing his bodymind, a wave of force emanating outward to shove one of the bikes off-course.
"That's quite enough, gentlemen!" proclaimed Flex with a smile, "Why don't you fellows go back home? I'm afraid there's just no call for this sort of behaviour."
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"...friend of yours?" Hal asks Ralph.
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He flexes his arm, and the bicep droops like something out a Bugs Bunny commercial.
"In just two hours of deck swabbin', cannonball polishin', mizzenmast hoistin' workouts a day, ye too could look like this."
He blows into his thumb like inflating an inner tube, his arm inflating into a cartoonishly massive look of muscles.... and then takes a swing, arm extending to punch a pirate off his bike with the now extended overmuscled arm.
"Can't say I know of him, but I like the cut of his jib."
Reply
He wondered if any of them had gotten any of his invitations.
"Good one... erm..." For a moment he felt rather bad that he didn't know either of their names. "Good one, chum!" he finally said and, not one to be outdone, flexed his quiticeps and bent one of the pirate's bikes in the middle. "Gamble a stamp!" he proclaimed with a grin as he brought his fists together, shoulders rippling bizarrely, "And I'll make you a man!"
Reply
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