Revenge Of The Washed Up Athlete

Infamous Ex-Football Player To Be Released, Already Making Plans For Post Jail Life

Reno, NV (AP) O.J. Simpson, the former football player turned two bit actor turned occasional TV pitchman turned suspect in the overblown “trial of the century” in regards to the 1994 murder of his former wife Nicole Brown and her friend Ron Goldman, is back in the news. A parole hearing in recent days has secured his release from a Nevada jail in October, a hearing that was noted for the soft ball questions and fawning attitude of the hearing members towards the infamous convict.

Simpson, who has been doing time for armed robbery at the Lovelock Correctional  Center after a debacle at a hotel casino, has been described as the first reality star, for the way his murder trial captivated the country each day- even if, as a washed up athlete and not very good actor, he didn’t merit the attention. He’s been lauded by some, treated as a pariah by others, and even while avoiding conviction the first time around, didn’t heed enough of a lesson to avoid trouble the second time around, and so wound up in prison for a bumbling attempt to recover his own items.

Now he is soon to be released from prison, a seventy year old shadow of what he used to be, still deflecting responsibility, claiming during the hearing that he’s led a “conflict free life.” The board granted him his freedom as of October in a session highly criticised by some for the lack of hard questions and indulging of the convict. Simpson has spent his time in prison mostly staying out of trouble, aside from a couple of death threats to an unnamed reporter, managing a softball team behind bars, and avoiding anger management courses.

“Damn right I’m ready to get outta here,” Simpson told this reporter by phone from Lovelock. “You got any ****ing idea how ****ing boring jail is? Because I’ll tell you, mother****er, it’s really ****ing boring. No HBO, no access from entertainment show reporters, no strippers, no booze... it’s like they’re trying to keep you in here without letting you have any ****ing fun!”

Asked what his plans were once he gets out of prison, Simpson paused. “Well, first I gotta get back to Florida, because God knows I’m safe there from those money grubbing ****ers who want to take away my money. Yeah, I’m talking about those ****ers who won that civil suit against me. Civil ****ing suit, my ****ing ass! Then it’s what is the Juice gonna do with his time? That’s the big question that every ****ing ****er out there wants to ****ing know.”

As to the answer? “Well, I thought about getting the **** back into football. Who wouldn’t want the Juice back on the team? Even if I am seventy? I could coach a team! Turns out every single team in the ****ing NFL told me to go **** myself.” This reporter wondered if Simpson was aware of how much he tended to swear. “So then I thought, why not make The Naked Gun 4? Sure, Leslie Nielsen is dead, but you could always have Nordberg as the lead! I mean, what Hollywood starlet wouldn’t jump at the chance to play opposite me? Turns out the ****ing studio told me to go **** myself when I called with the suggestion. Buncha ****ing ingrates. Don’t think I won’t forget being rejected like that when I get out, because I never forget, mother****er!”

Another pause by the one-time star turned notorious convict. “Y’know, here’s what it comes down to. I always said I’d go after the real killer. Which I intend to get to. Right after I find out who really did that armed robbery thing, because let’s face it, priorities, am I right? Which is why I’m announcing today, right here, mother****er, that when I get out, I’m opening up a private investigation firm with my buddy. My pal. You can trust the PI firm of Simpson & Kaelin with your case.”

Kaelin, in this case, is Kato Kaelin, the professional moocher and even more obscure reality show figure who was a hanger on and witness at the 1995 murder trial. The failed actor, reality show participant, and radio personality has been scratching out a living for the last ten years traveling to conventions and charging people twenty bucks to hit him in the face. “It turns out a lot of people don’t like me,” Kaelin told this reporter, still looking like the couch surfing dazed, baffled, and perpetually rumpled surfer dude, only twenty years older, that he was during the trial. Though these days, his face looks quite battered.  “Not enough to make me rich, but enough to pay the bills. On the other hand, did you know bruises don’t really heal when you’re being repeatedly hit again in the face two days after the last time?” 

Another hanger-on at the trial, often present in court, was the former wife of one of Simpson’s lawyers. Infamous in her own right, Kris Jenner, the reality show matriarch who’s made a career out of being famous for being famous with her brood of half-wit children, spent a considerable amount of time in court watching the 1995 trial. Her offspring of Kardashian and Jenner narcissists, have spent the last few years getting attention for the sake of getting attention, while avoiding doing anything of particular merit. Kris was smiling in that plastic surgery has limited my ability to smile kind of way when this reporter found her. “O.J.’s getting out of jail! Finally! What a travesty of injustice that he was ever locked up! Think of how I can fit this into the next season of Keeping Up With The Kardashians if I persuade him to move in! Think of the opportunity! Hell, just getting to **** him again will be a lot of fun! Wait, did I say that out loud?”

Back to the man of the hour, who doesn’t seem to understand that a newly paroled convict might get a problem acquiring a private investigator license. “**** that! I can get whatever the **** I want! Nobody says no to the Juice, mother****er! ‘Cause when I get out, I’m gonna get me a license. Then I’m gonna get me a ****ing gun! Then I’m gonna find that ****ing reporter ****er out there who ****ing told people I was gonna ****ing kill him, and then I’m gonna ****ing settle the ****ing score with him, mother****er!”

The call was cut short. This reporter sighed and hung up, wondering how long it would take before the disgraced has-been inevitably finds himself back in trouble with the law. Perhaps within two months. 

The Extra Short Orange Running Mate

Washed Up Reality Television Star Expresses Ambitions While Being Oblivious To Reality

New York (AP) With the Democratic National Convention getting started this week, and Hillary Clinton often going on and on about what she calls “her precious”, all eyes are on Philadelphia, where the party will be giving the former Secretary of State what she has always wanted- the nomination for the presidency and her ticket to power. There has been much speculation as to who Clinton would be designating as her Vice President. Some more cynical observers have noted that the Vice President would be far more important than usual given the inevitable impeachment of President Clinton (the Second).

Numerous Democrats have been jockeying for the position, while party operatives have been trying to push other names. Elizabeth Warren has been set aside, given concerns by the candidate that she would be constantly upstaged by “someone more likable than me.” Bernie Sanders, who gave Hillary a run for her money throughout the campaign before finally throwing in the towel, has been set aside as a possible contender, given the fact that the two dislike each other. Ultimately the task- and perhaps the future presidency- was given to Senator Tim Kaine of Virginia.

It wasn’t just Democrats trying to get the job. Last week, in the midst of the Republican convention, members of the press were summoned to a press conference in New York by an enigmatic invitation alluding to the Democratic Vice Presidency. Gathered together in a hall at the Javits Center, reporters speculated as to who might be trying to make their own bid at the proverbial second chair. Might Joe Biden be making a second go at the job? Or even odder, did Bill Clinton himself want the job? 

Finally a spokesperson came out on stage, calling for the attention of the assembled media.  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming,” the woman said as she stepped up to the podium. “Without further ado, well, here she is. She really needs no introduction, because everyone knows her and loves her.”

The spokesperson stepped aside. Music started to blare- some sort of house music or hip hop; this reporter really can’t tell the difference. And out onto the stage walked a short woman with big hair and orange tanned skin. Reporters gasped, rolled their eyes, and found themselves wondering how a washed up reality show star from Jersey Shore could have managed to assemble them all together under false pretenses.

She was Nicole Polizzi, otherwise known to the world as Snooki.

Waving to the crowd, totally oblivious to the eye rolling, sighs of dismay, and shaking of heads, Snooki strode up to the podium, only to find that she couldn’t see over the top. “Damn it!” she blurted out, reaching up and managing to grab the mike. “Who the **** didn’t put a step stool here like I asked?”

Snooki came out from behind the podium, glared at her spokesperson, who stood at least a foot taller than her, and then faced the media, pasting on her vacant grin with the dimwitted expression in her eyes. “Hey there!” she called out, waving again. “Thanks for coming!”

“Are you just wasting our time?” one reporter inquired of her.

Snooki looked confused. “Why do people keep asking me that?”

“Because it’s a pretty reasonable assumption,” this reporter said.

“Look, no, no ****ing way,” she assured the reporters. “Am I the sort of person who’d waste your time? No, of course not. I mean, what am I, a Kardashian?” This reporter rolled his eyes, wondering what would be more tedious and annoying, sitting through this or sitting through a drunken ramble by one of the Kardashians. “By the way, are we broadcasting live?”

“No, we’re not,” one of the television reporters replied for all of her colleagues, looking at her watch, no doubt wondering, as this reporter was, how long she might have to put up with this sort of nonsense from a washed up MTV star.

“Well you’ll wish you were,” Snooki promised. “Because I’m here to announce my candidacy for the Vice President of the United States, on the Democratic ticket with my BFF Hillary.”

Reporters stifled laughter. One asked, “BFF? Have you ever actually met her?”

Snooki shrugged. “No, but what the **** difference does that make anyway?”

This reporter spoke up. “First of all, under the rules, a Presidential candidate and their team select a Vice Presidential candidate. A person doesn’t just come out of nowhere and say they’re going to name drop themselves as a Vice Presidential candidate. Second, you’re not known for politics. You’re known for a multitude of bad reality shows on a network that used to run music videos, for getting drunk and in trouble, and, to put it mildly, for being an idiot.”

“Hey, guido, don’t you call me names,” Snooki replied.

“Guido?” this reporter challenged the idiot.

“That’s what I call everybody. Guido, wop, douchebag, whatever slang term comes to mind,” Snooki explained. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that I can bring the young beach going Jersey vote to Hillary for the big win in November. All she has to do is say pretty please, Snooki, and promise to let me be president one day out of every week. ‘Cause I’d like to send the Navy SEALS to bust up the Situation’s ass.” She was grinning with maniacal glee, in a way that suggested she wasn’t quite playing with a full deck.

“You can’t be serious,” another reporter objected.

“Of course I am,” Snooki declared. “And you know what else I can do as Vice President. Say Hillary needs Bill outta her hair? I can keep the First Dude distracted. Pretty much the same way Monica kept him distracted. I really am the perfect choice for the job. I’ve got attitude, street smarts, a great rep with all the hip people, and I’ve got orange skin. I can be the anti-Trump. Anyway, that’s my announcement. Hillary, have your people call my people, and we’ll do lunch!”

She left the stage, and reporters found themselves snickering, sighing, shaking their heads, and wondering if they’d woken up in some pocket universe where reality had gone haywire. Of course, with the other party fielding a candidate who’d spent his own years in reality television, the world had already gone haywire long before now.

The last word goes to an unnamed member of the Clinton campaign, a distinguished older fellow using the codename El Cigaro. He laughed off the offer by Snooki. “You know, as much as I’d enjoy being distracted... I mean, as much as Bill would enjoy being distracted by Snooki in that fashion, her bein’ the Vice Presidential candidate? It just isn’t gonna happen. Hillary, or the ol’ ball and chain as I like to call her, shook her head, said something like, Hell no, and then started muttering, my precious, my precious, it’s mine, they stoles it froms us. You know, between you and me and Monica, she might be gettin’ a little bit obsessive about the whole thing. Don’t tell her I said that, okay? She’s got me by the short hairs.”

Stopping The End Of The World, Canadian Style

With that Independence Day sequel turning up in theatres soon, I got to thinking of how, in all these end of the world disaster films, with perhaps the exception of The Day After Tomorrow, there's never really a mention of what might be going on in Canada. This is my response, set a couple of centuries and a half down the line.

Alien Invaders Wreck Havoc On Planet Before Being Throttled By Red Serged Hellion

February 5^th, 2267 (CP). The world is struggling to put itself back together after an invasion of alien beings across the globe destroyed cities and landmarks, laid waste to entire nations, and wiped out millions of lives. In what has been designated the biggest cataclysm to ever come across the planet since the Trump Temper Tantrum of November 9^th, 2016, scores of cities were destroyed by the space faring Tawrae race of reptilian extra terrestrials, bent on destruction just for the sake of destruction.

“My great-great-great-great grandfather Giorgio told you people it was aliens,” Dimitri Tsoukalos told reporters after the great cataclysm had been turned back. Referring to an early twenty first century ancestor who appeared on programs on ancient aliens and who had strange hair, the young Tsoukalos was busy trying to figure out where his Athens area home had gone to after the Tawrae had wrecked havoc in Greece.

The British Royal Family, who took refuge in Scotland at Balmoral while London was being demolished, are reportedly all accounted for. Queen Kylie III has issued a statement, declaring that “the people of Great Britain will carry on, will always rise up, and will never miss afternoon tea again. Now where are my corgis? I didn’t leave them at the Palace, did I?”

The French military, which in the last century had risen up to new heights of might (a curious thing, given their historical track record until ninety years ago of regular surrenders and half hearted fights in warfare), were decimated during the alien invasion. The Tawrae made a special point of demolishing Paris and the city of New Marseilles, leaving the Eiffel Tower upside down and piercing through the Louvre. “We have lost so much of our precious art,” Louvre director Gustav LeFou told reporters, weeping. “Even the Mona Lisa, our precious lady, she is shredded beyond repair. I know, millions of lives lost should matter more, but I can’t muster myself to feel that way right now. I just feel like getting myself good and drunk, but even my favourite restaurant got wiped out of existence.”

In Russia, Tsar Vladimir the 19^th, clone of the first Tsar of the modern era dynasty, Vladimir Putin, was killed after the Tawrae attacked Moscow, destroying the full reserve of Putin clones. “Our beloved tyrant is gone,” Russian prime minister Tatiana Orlov told reporters, weeping before the wreckage of what had once the Kremlin. “All we have known for two and a half centuries has been the benevolent iron fist of the Putins. How can we carry on without him? Well, I don’t know about you, but I think vodka is in order right about now. Unfortunately we lost all the vodka in stock too, and it may take weeks to replenish the supplies."

The attacks ranged across the world, decimating large countries and small. China saw the destruction of the Forbidden City and the Great Wall (not to mention millions of lives). Cape Town in South Africa was smashed and shattered. Australia saw massive carnage in its major cities, and officials there fear there might be serious consequences. With gangs of marauding anarchic bikers already taking to the roads, the nation is developing what some are calling Mad Max syndrome. Speaking on condition of anonymity, an aide to the Prime Minister admitted, “We can’t even blame this one on the dingos.”

In America, still holding onto military power centuries after its founding, former president Josiah Bush shook his head while at the family ranch in Texas. “You know, I knew them there alien critters musta been comin’, and if I’d been re-elected, we wouldn’t have seen San Francisco and Los Diego slide into the sea. We wouldn’t have seen all that destruction wipe out New York City 2.0, just like they always showed in the old time movies. I mean, did you see how the Statue of Liberty ended up falling to earth in Ohio? We wouldn’t have seen New Miami flattened like a pancake. The Bushes always knew how to get things done, yes sir. Mission Accomplished, like old Dubya used to say. But no, you people all had to vote for that Federalist Isolationist Party brat. Don’t y’all go on sayin’ I didn’t tell you so.”

The President herself, Kiara Kardashian, was evacuated from Washington shortly before its destruction with her cabinet, having to leave behind the cryogenically preserved remains of her ancestor Khloe, and was deeply unhappy. “What happens when we finally find a cure for the terminal narcissism disease?” she was heard to ask, seemingly ignoring the reality that millions of her citizens were dead, the country was shattered, its largest cities blasted into oblivion, and its survivors were looking for answers. “Granny Khloe’s going to be pissed, people, pissed!”

Queen Sarah VII, the self titled Empress of the 500 acre Duchy Of Wasilla, a walled off independent enclave in the heart of the state of Alaska, issued a statement. “Those aliens, by golly, they didn’t even try comin’ out this way, you betcha. They know we got ourselves lots of guns and phasers and gosh golly thermal grenades, and we ain’t afraid to use ‘em, you betcha. Like the first Queen Sarah said, I can see Russia from my house!”

And yet humanity has survived. The alien invasion has been halted and defeated. Not by a rag tag army of misfits, as might have been the case in old disaster films of the 20^th and 21^st centuries. But by one person. As it turns out, the one person the world needed to get the job done.

After laying waste to much of the world, the Tawrae turned their attention north of the American border, to Canada. Scientists and military officers had been perplexed as to why the country had been spared up to that point. Dr. Millicent Stanhope, a physicist with North America Space Command, told reporters, “The working theory we had was that the enemy perceived the country as far too cold for their liking. I mean, they left Alaska alone too, so our military bases up there were unaffected. A bit of a shame they didn’t at least blast that irritating Duchy Of Wasilla. Wait, did I say that out loud?”

Some of the fleet attacked Toronto, interrupting a rally by fans of the Toronto Maple Leafs, who had been desperately deluding themselves into the hope that this year would be the year their team won the Stanley Cup, despite not having had won it for three hundred years now. Most of the alien fleet landed in southern Alberta- a curious break with their procedures up to that point- their ships had laid waste to regions from altitude.

Thousands of heavily armed reptilian shock troopers poured out and took up position. So did their Grand Emperor, Tavx Mrothmar, eight feet of pure ugly, drool, and crankiness. Waiting there was a lone figure in red serge. It was a Mountie, and she looked annoyed.  It was the legendary Inspector Wynonna Ulrich, one in a long line of cranky Mounties, going back to the beginnings of the police force in the 19^th century with Zane Ulrich and including the esteemed but cranky Lars Ulrich. All of them cops, all of them thoroughly dangerous, all of them seriously grouchy.

“I’m Wynonna Ulrich. Lay down your arms and surrender,” Ulrich told the aliens, witnessed at a distance by onlookers, too scared out of their minds to run from the sight of alien ships, and too baffled by the one woman standing up to them.

The Tawrae laughed and laughed. Ulrich shrugged. “Last chance, you ugly mother****ers.”

Grand Emperor Mrothmar stepped forward, staring at her. “Wynonna Ulrich? Don’t you play keyboards for that Poptallica band?”

Ulrich sneered. “I am not that Wynonna Ulrich.”

What followed, according to witnesses, was a brawl her distant ancestor Lars would have been proud of. The Inspector smashed through the lines of Tawrae shock troopers, carving a path of destruction and broken bones, kicking alien butt and leaving them crying. In the end, with the fleet ships blown to oblivion from within, and the broken bodies and agonized moans of Tawrae troopers all around her, she had Mrothmar by the throat, most of the bones of his body broken. “I don’t suppose it’s too late to ask for your holo-autograph, is it?” Mrothmar managed to ask.

Ulrich finished him with one last punch, dropping the deceased emperor’s remains before her. Canadian police and military have taken the surviving aliens, heavily wounded and perhaps a mere twentieth of the force that landed, into custody pending decisions on what to do about them. The remainder of the fleet fled at top speed, leaving behind pleas of clemency in holo-messages, apologizing for “that whole destroying most of your planet thing, and by the way, please don’t send that angry woman after us, we’re really, really, really sorry.”

As for Ulrich herself? She returned to her home, for a change in uniforms and a shower, what with all the orange blood she ended up getting on her during the epic brawl. Then she came back to her detachment, where the press was waiting.  She wasn’t in much of a mood to talk to reporters, particularly after one entertainment reporter spoke up. “Skip Jones, New Hollywood Tonight. Wynonna, what will the rest of Poptallica think of you moonlighting as an alien killer?”

Ulrich’s eyes narrowed. “You have five seconds to run.”

Jones looked confused. “Run? Run where? For what?”

Ulrich sighed. “To hell with the five seconds.” She closed the distance, and only in that last moment did Jones seem to understand he was in danger.  He turned and started running, the Inspector close on his heels. At last word, Jones had fallen- or been thrown- into Tombstone Canyon. He won’t be missed. 

Downfall Of A Mad Scientist

Some links before getting started. Norma is doing an interview with me which can be found at Blogger and Wordpress. Parsnip had some photos. And Eve continues to do the A-Z challenge.

Now then, earlier this month I posted a blog about a certain mad scientist. This, therefore, is the follow up.

Mad Scientist Super Villain Foiled By Cranky Lawman; Vows That He Will Have His Revenge

Calgary (CP). After days of posturing and making multiple threats, mad scientist Magnus Von Malice was taken into custody and charged with multiple criminal charges. The super villain, who claimed responsibility for the recent re-emergence of numerous dead Z-list celebrities, and threatened to unleash a plague of them upon the earth if his demands were not met, was in a foul mood while appearing in court and being told he had no prospects of making bail.

“You can’t do this to me!” he bellowed at a judge in a court in Calgary, Canada, while being restrained by court guards and security personnel. “I’ll get you for this! Nobody does this to Magnus Von Malice and lives to see next year!”

Von Malice, graduate of the Zeppelin Von Blood Academy For Ethically Challenged Scholars, had created technology allowing him to pierce the time stream and remove several dead celebrities from the moment before their deaths, creating a temporal paradox in which one version of them died and the other was left to live. He also enlisted a horde of living Z-list celebrities willing to do his bidding. “He told us he could make sure we’d stay famous,” former Beverly Hills 90210 star Luke Perry explained to reporters. “How could we not sign up with him? I mean, seriously, I’ve got guys who want to break my knees if I don’t pay them six figures by the end of the month... which reminds me, does anyone have a couple hundred grand they can lend me?”

David Hasselhoff, the Kardashian-Jenner sisters, Ian Ziering, Tara Reid, Justin Bieber, Miley Cyrus, and others have been among the previously believed dead celebrities to have returned from the dead in recent days. Aside from Ziering and Reid, the others met a bad end at the teeth of the most dangerous being in the entire galaxy.

Von Malice’s evil plan terrified the world. Leaders around the planet speculated on the potential plague a horde of Z-list celebrities could cause across the world. Entertainment journalists gushed about the prospect of 24 hours a day coverage of Real Housewives Of Beverly Hills taking over the International Criminal Court. The people of Denmark worried that they would be reduced to serving as life sized chess pieces for Von Malice and his right hand man Igor. And Russian President Vladimir Putin, who has been busy making trouble in the Ukraine ever since losing face and bawling like a baby when his attempt to take over the world failed miserably at the closing ceremonies of the Sochi Olympics, offered to arm wrestle Von Malice if the rest of the world handed over all security and banking codes to his safekeeping.

The rest of the world, meanwhile, gave Putin the finger and, and requested real help: the man who reduced Putin to tears at that aforementioned Olympics. RCMP Inspector Lars Ulrich, the legendary Mountie, world’s most dangerous man, and thoroughly cranky lawman, was enlisted in the effort to hunt down Von Malice. The Canadian government grudgingly allowed his participation. “Admittedly, the Prime Minister hates the Inspector,” a spokesperson for the Canadian Department of Justice told reporters on the condition of keeping their name off the record. “On the one hand, the Inspector once kicked his ass when he became a hundred foot giant on a rampage. On the other hand, deep down, the Prime Minister really is a gutless coward who doesn’t like being reminded that he’s a gutless coward, and courage by others reminds him of that. Inspector Ulrich having had saved the world on multiple occasions certainly reminds him of how much of a snivelling cretin he really is. Did I mention we really want to see this government turfed out in the next election?”

It was confirmed afterwards that the entire operation was kept secret until it was all over. Reports that the Inspector was busy hunting down a former Entertainment Tonight correspondent through Alberta and Saskatchewan were circulated to explain his absence during the operation. “I was happy to help by lying low and keeping out of sight, pretending to be hunted by a relentless Mountie,” Chip Braun told reporters at his Seattle radio station, where he co-hosts Chip And Zonker In The Morning with Zach “Zonker” Kazlowski. “I mean, I learned my lesson the first time when I mistook him for that Metallica drummer. The Inspector beating the living daylights out of me seemed to have knocked some sense into me. I quit the Hollywood star circuit, got into the radio business, and I’m up every day at the crack of dawn making jokes about vomit and teasing the traffic guy every five minutes. If you ask me, it’s a step up.”

Ulrich moved swiftly with the assistance of law enforcement agencies worldwide. Within two days, Ulrich tracked the mad scientist, who had set up his operations in a former Reform Party campaign compound in British Columbia. Preston Manning, the mentor of Prime Minister Harper and leader of the Reform Party that later ended up hijacking the Conservatives in Canada, denied any connection to the super villain. “Look, you can’t go around making unfounded accusations about the party we rednecks founded back in the day,” Manning insisted to reporters.  “Just because Magnus was one of our biggest contributors and helped draft policy doesn’t mean... wait, did I say that out loud?”

The RCMP issued a statement about what transpired next. The Inspector went in with backup, but not in the form of other Mounties. His backup was a small dog, later confirmed to be Fluffy, Destroyer of Worlds, the same dog who mauled, annihilated, and destroyed two sets of Z-list celebrities in the Celebrity Hunt reality shows. “Fluffy didn’t like that Von Malice cheated him out of a few well earned maulings by messing around with the time stream,” spokesperson Constable Alison Churchill told reporters. “So he had a score to settle. And frankly, Fluffy and Lars understand each other. Kindred spirits, as Lucy Maud Montgomery would say. They’re both cranky.”

Ulrich and Fluffy infiltrated Von Malice’s secret headquarters by kicking the doors in. While Fluffy contented himself with destroying Von Malice’s time machine, Ulrich spent his time beating the mad scientist into a bloody pulp. Churchill confirmed that Von Malice was dragged out by the foot by Ulrich, while Fluffy barked at him in a vicious fury. Von Malice was protesting repeatedly about the Inspector having the audacity to hit a man with glasses, and swearing revenge. “Inspector Ulrich told him in some colourful language, well... to shut up. That’s as much as I can say without setting off swear word bleeping,” Churchill explained.

In the aftermath, the machinery that allowed Von Malice to access time is beyond repair. Von Malice faces numerous charges, which he refuses to acknowledge, telling the judge in open court, “this isn’t the last you’ve heard of Magnus Heinrich Von Malice! I’ll be revenged!” And the Inspector has returned to life as usual in his detachment in the Alberta foothills. Fluffy, Destroyer of Worlds, has moved on to Skull Island, where he is busy making King Kong cry.

One problem lingers. The destruction of the device did not send the previously dead Z-list celebrities back into the timestream.  They walk around again, alive and well, demanding attention, seeking to ink deals with reality shows. They speak of making sequels to cheesy films for cheesy networks. Ian Ziering and Tara Reid are busy making another Sharknado film. Ziering managed to get a role for his former castmate Luke Perry. “I’ve gotta tell you, I’m glad I got this part,” Perry told reporters after learning the news. “The bookies aren’t going to break my legs now.”

Kim, Kourtney, Khloe, Kendall, and Kylie- the horde of talentless twits making up the Kardashian-Jenner sisters, are already planning a new season of reality shows and turning up on thousands of tabloid covers for the next three years. They say they are pleased that Von Malice didn’t resurrect their mother or Kim’s late husband Kanye, who died last year when he was hit by a meteorite. “To be honest,” Kim told reporters while shopping at Saks. “Our mother was an insufferable self absorbed buffoon. And to be even more brutally honest, I was bored out of my mind being married to that egotistical ass. I mean, there’s only room in this world for one inflated ego, and that’s me. By the way, don’t quote me on that, I’m still trying to secure every single cent I can get out of his estate.”

Von Malice stews in a jail cell tonight, still nursing his wounds after being beaten up by the world’s most dangerous man. No doubt he dreams of revenge. No doubt he already has a plan of escape. And no doubt the world’s most dangerous man will be there to kick his ass yet again.

Just don’t ask the Inspector if he’s taking time off from Metallica.

Never Trust A Mad Scientist

Some links before getting started today. Norma wrote about Wrestlemania at her blog. Krisztina had Easter dessert ideas. Parsnip had her Monday feature.

Now then, for something entirely different....

Mad Scientist Unleashes Plague On Earth, Basks In Insanity

New York (AP). As if current threats like the machinations of Russian President Vladimir Putin, terrorist groups such as ISIS and Boka Harem, and jaywalking senior citizens in Boise weren’t enough, the world has one more vile threat facing it this day.

The mystery began with the recent reappearances of Z-list celebrities believed to have died, coming out in public. David Hasselhoff, who was presumed dead while participating in the follow-up to Celebrity Hunt, mauled at the teeth of the ferocious Fluffy Destroyer of Worlds, was seen in San Diego throwing up cheeseburgers on the beach and slurring his words. Kim, Khloe, and Kourtney Kardashian, the trio of sisters known for participating in endless narcissistic sideshows, also presumed dead in the original Celebrity Hunt, crashed a party in Beverly Hills, announcing a new season of Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

Their half sisters Kendall and Kylie Jenner, presumed dead in the Celebrity Hunt follow-up, were seen stealing the spotlight at the brand new People Magazine Awards show, drinking Scotch and doing wardrobe malfunction photo shoots. And Ian Ziering and Tara Reid, slaughtered by Killer Rabbits while doing a Sharknado publicity tour in Scotland, were seen at the announcement for the next Sharknado, smiling in the same blithering stupid way as always. None of the particular celebrities offered any explanation for why they were alive; this was particularly troublesome given that Ziering and Reid’s deaths were graphically witnessed by reporters, and particularly gruesome.

An explanation was forthcoming. Magnus Von Malice, the super-villain and deranged scientist who has picked up some of the slack after the demise of Muppet super-villain Mr. Johnson and the arrests of the Dark Cabal of entertainment reporters who tried to take over the world, showed his hand. Von Malice issued a cryptic statement sent to the media taking responsibility for the returns of the dead celebrities, with questions about the appalling lack of ethics in an insane super-villain coming up afterwards.

“People of the world! I am Doctor Magnus Von Malice!” he bellowed in a dramatic voice, laughing in a suitably maniacal way. Not much about where he was could be made out from the video footage. He looked dishevelled and deranged, as if he wasn’t playing with a full deck of cards. His long black hair, streaked with silver, was askew, as if he’d been in a wind tunnel. “You might be wondering why certain dead celebrities have risen up from the grave. You might ask yourselves why David Hasselhoff lives again, despite meeting a grisly end thanks to the most dangerous being in the solar system.”

He smiled in a malevolent way. “Well, I will tell you how it has happened. I am the reason they have returned from the grave! I, the most malevolent scientist to ever graduate from the Zeppelin Von Blood Academy For Ethically Challenged Scholars. Only a genius of my level could master the technology and devise the method to bring them back!” The statement went on for forty five minutes of personal self-congratulations and otherwise boasting of his vast intelligence before he got to the heart of the matter.

“I have spent years building my organization, lending assistance to my fellow megalomaniacs when needed, building connections, experimenting in things that would cross the ethical lines for any scientist who never attained the heights I have attained. One of my many devious schemes led me to this point,” he explained, laughing yet again in that unsettling maniacal way of his. “I was able to breach time itself. I was able to reach into time and pluck people from the moment just before their deaths. It split them off from themselves, leaving one to die as they were meant to, the other saved from the time stream. And so I have brought back David Hasselhoff, the Kardashian-Jenner sisters, Ian Ziering, and Tara Reid from the grisly deaths they suffered. And they are just the beginning. My technology will allow me to do the same with many more dead celebrities, and make use of them for my own ends.”

He sneered as if inviting anyone to challenge him, then shrugged. “There is, admittedly, something of a catch-22. I can only retrieve z-list dolts for my work. There’ll be no Humphrey Bogarts or Cary Grants or Katherine Hepburns coming back from the dead. Of course, that has an advantage in and of itself. You see, z-list celebrities annoy everyone. They’ll never go away. And I’ll make it permanent. A world of Kardashians and Hasselhoffs and Real Housewives of Los Angeles occupying every bit of attention and airwave and bandwith that they can, all the world over. Imagine such a plague of celebrity mediocrity, a legion of halfwit vaguely famous buffoons, all at my command!” Von Malice laughed again, leaving one with the impression that he’d lost most of his marbles.

“Here are my demands,” he continued. “In one week, I will have nine hundred billion dollars wired to specific accounts yet to be disclosed. With those funds will come an iron clad pledge that my acts will never be used against me. I will also be given control of the entire nation of, let’s see... what do I want today? Oh, yes! Denmark! All of Denmark will be handed over to me to use as I like. The Danes will act as my personal servants and playthings, and they should get used to being used as life sized chess pieces, because my right hand man Igor and I like playing chess.”

Von Malice nodded decisively. “If you do not do this, I will continue the process of bringing back pointless Z-list celebrities from the dead and inflicting them on the world at large. You will beg for mercy. And there will be none. They will march all over the world, being their vapid, vacant selves, and you will cry out in despair. And at your worst moment, when all seems hopeless, I will unleash the most annoying celebrity to ever walk the earth, either on this side or the other side of the grave.”

He smiled. “Yes, I will unleash Pauly Shore.”

The statement came to an end with Von Malice’s laughter. The screen faded to black. The United Nations went into emergency discussions to deal with the crisis.  The comedian Carrot Top issued a statement of his own, demanding to be included in the plague of celebrities.

World governments are busy devising responses to the crisis. Law enforcement agencies are hunting for answers on Von Malice, whose background is surprisingly scarce. Fears have been heightened across the globe. A plague of z-list celebrities marching across the entire world is not a welcome idea.

Many people wonder if anyone can thwart the unthinkable from happening.