Two guys walk into a bar
One guy says to the other guy "Hey, I'm a demon."
You know, there would normally be a punch line that goes there, but in order for that to happen, I'd have to be joking. Caleb came into the shop today all freaked out. Apparently one of the fun parts of his new "consultant" job is that he found out that he's something like 1/64 demon.
He's all freaked out about it, naturally, but I'm not seeing the big deal. It's funny, though, he's the demon, and I'm the guy who lights stuff on fire with his mind.
And speaking of lighting things on fire, Captain Clean is back. For those that don't know him, which I assume is pretty much everyone outside of Market Street in Suicide Slum, Captain Clean is... well, he's a jackass, honestly. He's a nutjob with a fertilizer sprayer full of dish detergent, who runs around attacking people with it in an attempt to, I kid you not, "Clean up the streets of Metropolis."
I knocked him around a few weeks ago when I caught him hassling a couple of pot dealers. He had apparently just walked up, and started spraying them and a couple of their customers in the face. Mostly I stepped in to keep them from beating him to death with his own backpack full of Palmolive. Well, after boiling the contents of his pressure sprayer, and letting the resulting explosion knock him out, I draped him over the back of my bike and dropped him off at the Police station with a note letting them know what was up, and left. Apparently, though, he managed to get his hands on a reasonably competent public defender, and got himself out on bail.
Well, last night I was out on "patrol", which basically meant I was driving around on my cycle and looking for something that needed to be hit or lit on fire, and who do I see, but my old friend the Captain. Actually, what I saw first was a group of people that I later found out were loiterers who he mistook for prostitutes, running down the street screaming. Then I saw Captain Ass-hat, chasing them down the street and calling them harlots.
Yes, he actually used the word "harlot." I didn't think anyone actually talked like that.
Unfortunately, he picked up a few new tricks, most notably switching from dish detergent to a mixture of bleach and ammonia. The dumb bastard's lucky he didn't gas himself to death mixing the stuff, and even luckier that he added a pressure relief valve to his sprayer rig. Otherwise when I heated up the tank, his new weapon of choice wouldn't have blown out the tank like it did last time. It would have gone off like a bomb, except a bomb strapped to his back.
Anyway, he thought to protect his gear against my powers. Points for some slight intelligence. I say slight, though, because what he neglected to do was make his costume able to stand up to flames. While he was slapping at his shirt, trying to put out the flames, I clocked him in the face.
Hopefully this time, the DA, or ADA, or whoever pissed someone off and got assigned to the whackjob cases, will point out to the judge that he was attacking people with what amounted to home-made poison gas, and he'll actually stay where I put him.
You know, there would normally be a punch line that goes there, but in order for that to happen, I'd have to be joking. Caleb came into the shop today all freaked out. Apparently one of the fun parts of his new "consultant" job is that he found out that he's something like 1/64 demon.
He's all freaked out about it, naturally, but I'm not seeing the big deal. It's funny, though, he's the demon, and I'm the guy who lights stuff on fire with his mind.
And speaking of lighting things on fire, Captain Clean is back. For those that don't know him, which I assume is pretty much everyone outside of Market Street in Suicide Slum, Captain Clean is... well, he's a jackass, honestly. He's a nutjob with a fertilizer sprayer full of dish detergent, who runs around attacking people with it in an attempt to, I kid you not, "Clean up the streets of Metropolis."
I knocked him around a few weeks ago when I caught him hassling a couple of pot dealers. He had apparently just walked up, and started spraying them and a couple of their customers in the face. Mostly I stepped in to keep them from beating him to death with his own backpack full of Palmolive. Well, after boiling the contents of his pressure sprayer, and letting the resulting explosion knock him out, I draped him over the back of my bike and dropped him off at the Police station with a note letting them know what was up, and left. Apparently, though, he managed to get his hands on a reasonably competent public defender, and got himself out on bail.
Well, last night I was out on "patrol", which basically meant I was driving around on my cycle and looking for something that needed to be hit or lit on fire, and who do I see, but my old friend the Captain. Actually, what I saw first was a group of people that I later found out were loiterers who he mistook for prostitutes, running down the street screaming. Then I saw Captain Ass-hat, chasing them down the street and calling them harlots.
Yes, he actually used the word "harlot." I didn't think anyone actually talked like that.
Unfortunately, he picked up a few new tricks, most notably switching from dish detergent to a mixture of bleach and ammonia. The dumb bastard's lucky he didn't gas himself to death mixing the stuff, and even luckier that he added a pressure relief valve to his sprayer rig. Otherwise when I heated up the tank, his new weapon of choice wouldn't have blown out the tank like it did last time. It would have gone off like a bomb, except a bomb strapped to his back.
Anyway, he thought to protect his gear against my powers. Points for some slight intelligence. I say slight, though, because what he neglected to do was make his costume able to stand up to flames. While he was slapping at his shirt, trying to put out the flames, I clocked him in the face.
Hopefully this time, the DA, or ADA, or whoever pissed someone off and got assigned to the whackjob cases, will point out to the judge that he was attacking people with what amounted to home-made poison gas, and he'll actually stay where I put him.