Poetry? Pfft.

Recently, my arch-nemesis challenged me to . . wait, that's not right. Not my arch-nemesis. Bitter rival? No. . . colleague? No. Shadowy quasi-government operative? Yes. Mr. Bennet. Creepy, four-eyed, hidden agenda agent man himself. He challenged me to some poetry thing or other involving my recent Google search terms. Well, I don't write poetry and, as a mutant rights activists, I don't patronize fascist organizations. Also, as I noticed Bennet hasn't posted anything himself in three years, I was going to ignore him. However I realized there is something I want to say and really, there's no harm in putting into loose verse.

Strip Mall
As a renowned diversity lecturer
I've traveled all around the US.
Everywhere I go, this what I see:
Walmart and McDonalds.
Everything is the same everywhere.
Walmart sells the same things,
McDonalds sells the same food.
America is now just one big strip mall.
It doesn't matter where you are,
Everything's the same.
The only interesting people left are the Amish,
Which is rather ironic
As they are famous for being plain

My Susan Glenn

Who is Susan Glenn? I don't know but she represents the girl that you never made a move on, or so I'm told. Here's a link that might be relevant - http://mysusanglenn.com/theres-a-word-for-her-shes-a-susan-glenn

So do I have a Susan Glenn, you ask, probably because you're too nosy to mind your own business? Yes, of course I do. More than one actually. My first was my ninth grade math teacher. Here's a picture I kept in my locker -

In fact, here's a closer up shot of my favorite part of that picture, an image burned forever into my memory.

My psionic powers had just come to fruition at that point in my life. Oh the mighty debates that raged in my adolescent brain. Should I use my mental powers to make her have wild, meaningless sex with me or use them to make her fall hopeless in love with me? By the time I finally settled on the wild sex, she was transferred out of the school, only to be replaced with this lady . .

Alas a misspent youth.

Oobie Doobie Kenoobie

So I was scanning the internet today, just checking to make sure there wasn't any mutant crises anywhere requiring the aid of my personal army team of superheroes, when I came across a story about Obiwan Kenobi getting arrested in California for a hit and run. Here's the link, just to confirm my assertions, in case there are any lawyers reading.

In the article, it says that Cale Feit had his name legally changed to Obiwan Kenobi, presumably because he's a weirdo without any real career aspirations. My questions is this: if he already had the last name Feit, why not just change his first name to Boba? It seems like a much more natural fit since an accident of birth already put him much closer to a cooler Star Wars character.

Re-boots

If movie franchises can be re-booted, why not blogs?

For today's post I'd like to tell you about an online game that has completely taken over my life - Evony. One day I was innocently minding my own business, stopping by one of my regular entertainment news websites, when I saw an ad in a side column. The ad was impossible not to notice because of the ample amount of cleavage spilling out of the beautiful woman's loose, open top. My curiosity having been sparked, I clicked on the link, hoping perhaps to see more of the comely lass.

Here's the picture to show you what I mean. See if you can resist clicking on it.

The ad was for Evony, an online real time medieval strategy came where players build their cities and armies, earning prestige and gaining in rank. Though there was no more of the buxom lady in the ad to be seen, I decided to give the game a try and I am glad I did.

I have always been a big fan of strategy games. I love the Civilization series. Evony is like that, crossed with Simcity, Rome and other city building games. While the graphics aren't as cutting edge as the latest PC releases, Evony has the distinct advantage of being free.

The game concept is fairly straight forward - you amass resources with which you can build buildings and armies. You can also research technologies in the academy. Developments you make in the sciences at one academy are shared by all your cities, provided that city contains an academy of the appropriate level. You can attain medals, along with additional resources, by conquering nearby valleys or NPC cities scattered about. The medals allow your player to advance and build more cities. You can also join alliances and go to war with other players. By attacking other players, you can not only prestige and resources, but also honor. Provided you win, that is. ;-)

Evony is highly addictive. I play in the morning before I go to work and the evenings when I get home. I play all weekend. Since the game world is in real time, events continue even while you aren't logged on. Your armies, structures and defenses will continue to build. Your armies, if you've sent them out, will continue to march. Other players can attack you.

While I'm playing, I chat with my alliance mates about effective strategies for finding more medals and building city defenses. If you don't have the patience to farm for medals and resources, you can purchase for money items from Evony that will let you move up more quickly through the game. Special offers are regular posted to increase the value of any money that a player decides to invest in the game.

Evony has been a lot of fun to play. I just started my fourth city. With each city I get more efficient in terms of what structures I need to prioritize. In addition to the chat window where you can talk with your alliance mates, there is an e-mail system to communicate with neighbors who may not be in your alliance. Anyone can start an alliance in Evony and there are a lot to chose from. I recommend joining one that has members nearby to your city so that you can support each other, either with troops or gifts or resources, in times of war.

Evony is a great game and I highly recommend you try it out. If you do and want any tips, I'm on server 25, my lord name is Validus and I'm part of the Shannara alliance.

“You wanted to see me, Professor?”

“Yes, Scott. Thank you for coming. Have a seat.”

“Uh, if this is about that giant ball of gold painted silly string in the pool, I can explain.”

“I seriously doubt that you can, Scott, but that’s not why I asked to see you.”

“Oh. Is it about Jean then?”

“Jean? She’s dead. Isn’t she?”

“I thought she was alive.”

“I forget actually. It’s very hard to keep track of her coming and goings.”

“So then . . what did you want to see my about, Professor?”

“In order to boast the public relations quotient for the X-Men, I’ve signed you up for a new reality show. It’s about henchmen apparently.”

“Henchmen? B-but Professor . . I’m team leader! I’m the alpha male! I’m not a . . a . . henchman.”

“. . . Scott, I want you to look at this as an opportunity for growth. To be a good leader, you have to be a good follower. I want you to go on that show and I want you to make me proud. That means no running around naked in the desert this time, alright?”

“Okay, Professor. If you say so. So who's running this game show?”

"The Henchman."

"The Henchman?? B-b-but he's a super-villain!"

"Suck it up, Scott. Here's the address - http://worldstoughesthenchmen.blogspot.com/

Yesterday morning I was moping in my private study, or rather I was engaged in deep contemplation of the travails of my life recently . . no . . reflective . . yes, I was being reflective about the turns, or perhaps events that fate put into my path . . or . . let's just say I was half through a bottle of fine Cognac when there was a rather insistent knock on my door.

My telepathic powers aren't at their sharpest after a few shots of Cognac so I wasn't able to clearly tell who it was. With a reluctant assenting grunt, I signaled whoever to enter. Jon, the Intergalactic Gladiator burst in.

I like Jon so I tempered my hostile reaction to having my tranquility disturbed by merely scowling disapprovingly.

"Do you have a moment, Professor?" he asked.

"What is it?" I answered.

"I want to talk to you about my campaign."

"Campaign?" I asked, slightly confused.

"For President? You're my campaign manager!"

"Oh . . oh right. Sure. Campaign manager. Yes, well, what do you want to talk about?"

"Have you seen the latest poll numbers?" he asked with unmistakable dismay. "It's not looking too good and I wanted to see if you had any ideas?"

"Well I'm not just going to take over everyone's mind on election day and make them vote for you, if that's what your implying," I told him in no uncertain terms.

"Of course not," he replied defensively.

"I mean it's one thing to influence the occasional lady at a bar but I'm pretty sure fixing an election that way would be unethical."

"That's not what I'm asking!" Jon insisted. "Look, I had an idea. Dr. Zaius and his running mate Germaine Gregarious are having a costume party tonight. I figure we can go and -"

"Dr. Zaius?" I interrupted. "That monkey from Planet of the Apes?"

"Yes," Jon replied, with more than a hint of perturbance. "He's also in the election. He's the front runner."

"For President? A monkey? Are you sure?"

Jon let a long sigh. "Just trust me," he finally answered. "I want us to go to this costume party. There will be a lot of Zaius's people there. We might be able to get some dirt on him for an October surprise. The word is he can't hold his liquor. We might just be able to get some interesting YouTube video of him."

"Why would he be having a costume party?" I asked.

Jon stared at me for a long time. "It's Halloween."

"Oh."

"Didn't you notice all your students running around all dressed up today?"

"They always wear costumes here."

"Joker costumes? I counted like 10 of them."

"I figured Rogue was teaching some kind of cosmology class. Just between you and me, she uses so much make-up you'd think she was a French harlot."

"Whatever. I brought you a costume. Put it on and let's go."

" . . . fine."

The Amazing Mutant Race is off to an incredible start! So far the contestants have raced from New York to Canada and then the North Pole, fighting savage monsters and exposing themselves to possibly fatal radiation along the way.

What perils will face the contestants in next week's challenge? Who will be eliminated? Who will win . . the Amazing Mutant Race?

Tune in to find out - http://amazingmutantrace4.blogspot.com/

Okay, fine. So what? I can walk. There, I said it. Big deal. What a scandal! A man who once could not walk now can. Who cares if I still use a wheelchair from time to time? I find it comforting. Plus it has a drink holder, which is very convenient. And my surface to air missiles. Those can come in handy, let me tell you.

And just maybe it engenders sympathy from the pretty young ladies that I meet from time to time. Is that such a crime? Wouldn't it be a lot worse if I used my telepathic powers to control their minds and make them do whatever I wanted? Isn't, therefore, it so much better that I occasionally use my wheelchair? And if it's so much better, how can it be wrong?

Sigh.

The press didn't buy that argument. I'm on the cover of NewsTime this week with the label "Faker" plastered all over my face. Fortunately I have come up with solution. One that should make Wolverine very happy.

I am starting another Amazing Mutant Race! This is sure to distract those vermin in the media from their constant howling about this overblown non-story. The linkis here for any one interested in competing - http://amazingmutantrace4.blogspot.com/ Just leave me a message if you'd like an invitation.

I wonder if they would believe I had a miracle cure. Perhaps I should give Jimmy Swaggert a call.

"Ahem. Thank you all . . excuse me please . . thank you. Yes, thank you all for coming to my . . just give me a minute . . I want to thank . . please save any questions for the end. Now then, thank you for . . please, just put your hands down until I'm done. I will take questions after my announcement.

"I first wanted to thank you for coming to my press conference. I just want to announce to everyone that I have returned from my previous scheduled appearance on Last Gladiator Standing 3. Planet Hacknor was indeed lovely at this time of year and even though I didn't win, it was certainly both fun and an honor to compete with such fine sports-persons.

"I also wanted to make it perfectly clear that Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator is still strongly opposed to Dr. Zaius's No Child's Behind Left policy. It is just wrong and, quite frankly as an educator myself I can say this, just gross.

"Now then, are there any questions? My that is a lot of hands. Well, let's start with you Loyd."

"Yes Professor Xavier. How do you think revelations that you have been faking your crippling injury and subsequent need for a wheelchair will effect Jon's campaign for the presidency?"

"Wha-?? B-but I'm not faking . . that is . . I really was crippled. This wheelchair is, well, it's my chair and . . and . ."

"Professor! Clive Teasdale of the Times. How do you respond to the recently leaked video tape being widely circulated on the Interweb of you admitting to only using the chair to pick up loose women?"

"I . . I never said that. It doesn't even make any sense. If the women are loose, why would I need a gimmick?"

"Professor! Brock Johnson of News 12. Isn't pretending to be handicapped the absolute lowest, most vile kind of prevarication a person can commit?"

"B-but I . . I . . I . ."

"That's it! No more questions!"

"But Cyclops wait! Come back! The people have a right to now! Cyclops! Cyclops!"

"You will be dead in minutes without the life giving nutrient fluids back in your jar!" gloated Nemonok.

Just as I thought I would have to give up control of his ship and return my disembodied brain to the prison that was a glass jar, a giant Shi-Ar battle cruiser appeared off our starboard side. A moment later, Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator, Captain Koma, Wolverine, and an assortment of various current and former X-Men, followed by my lumbering robotically controlled brainless body, materialized on the deck of Nemonok's ship.

"You're dead meat, spud," growled Wolverine, his metal claws unsheathing as he rushed towards Nemonok.

"Allow me," said Koma with a smirk. He fired a ray at Nemonok's rain containment unit and I could sense the immediate transformation as the villain drifted off to la la land. With a grunt of disappointment, Wolverine retracted his claws.

Triumphantly, and with a bit of awe at the oddness of the situation, Jon lifted my brain from the neural interface control panel of the ship and started to carry me towards my zombie-like body. Unfortunately, despite countless hours developing hand-eye coordination playing computer games, Jon lost his grip and my helpless brain went sailing through the air.

The X-Men, that highly trained group of super-heroes that I personally molded into my own mutant army, stood by in stunned motionlessness, watching as my brain flew in a long 10 foot arc across the deck before splattering in a Rorschach like ink spot of disgusting formless goo on the cold metal floor.

All around me slipped into darkness, only to be slowly replaced by a bright light. As it faded, I realized I was standing, back in my body, on a small colorless beach. Lapping at the shore below a dull grey-reddish sky stretched an endless black ocean. Turning, I saw a high jagged rock face stretching down the beach as far as the eye could see. The only interruption in the flat rock wall was a tall ornate metal gate. Above, in twisted rot iron was spelled out the words - Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter.

Oh, come on! I've been sent to Hell?? How could this possibly be? What about all the times I saved the damn planet? Doesn't that count for anything? And all those persecuted mutants I've rescued, isn't that enough to save my soul?

As if in answer, the metal gates creaked open invitingly. I looked up at the bleak sky.

"Is this because of the time I telepathically influenced that cute little cocktail waitress into sleeping with me?" I asked. I heard a rumbling thunder in the far distance that sounded vaguely like laughter.

Oh well, at least Hell is a gated community. With a sigh, I started to walk forward through the yawning entrance. Everything around me started to warble. Disoriented, I froze as the landscape shimmered and melted into a shapeless void. Slowly reality reformed.

I was back on the deck of Nemonok's ship, still a brain. Jon was lifting me out of the neural interface control panel. Just as he took his first step towards my zombie-like body, Koma shouted out - "Stop!!"

Jon jolted to a halt, my brain sloshing precariously in the pan in his hands. "What the hell is it?" he barked angrily at Koma. "Are you trying to make me drop the Professor?!"

Koma released the giant red button he had just pressed. "Ha! Just the opposite, actually. It's a good thing Nemonok has an Omega 13 installed."

"What's an Omega 13?" Jon asked.

"It's a device that sends everything back 13 seconds," Koma explained.

"13 seconds? That's not much."

"It's enough to redeem a single mistake," answered Koma with a smirk. "Such as splattering Xavier's brains all over the deck. Now let's go."

Koma fiddled with something on his belt and all of us teleported back to the Shi-Ar ship. Lillandra rushed over to me and lovingly stroked my brain. She then ordered me and my body to be taken to the infirmary where, thanks to advance Shi-Ar science, I was restored.

"Xavier, my ship has been seriously damaged by that raging sociopath, Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator. Unfortunately for you, this means I must use your disembodied brain for spare parts. Your grey matter will have to replace the logic board that drives the ship. As I said, this is unfortunate for you because it means your consciousness will be destroyed."

This was Nemonok talking. He is definitely one of the most evil beings I have ever met. He has stolen my brain and kidnapped me. We are now stranded somewhere on the outer rim of our solar system.

"Nothing personal, you understand," Nemonok continued. "I rather enjoyed our little road trip. Ah well. Goodbye."

Telekenetically, I'm assuming, Nemonok flipped switches and a mechanical arm emerged from the control panel and grasped onto the top of the jar my brain was encased in. It removed the lid to the jar. Tossing it aside, the arm then reached into the bottle, it's long metal fingers stretching around my brain.

They say there are no nerve endings in the brain. They also say that you shouldn't drink and drive or hit on your hot female employees. They say a lot of stupid things.

I could feel the cold metal arms lifting my brain out of the jar. It swung me around and moved me towards the computer bank in the control board. A panel slid open and the arm lowered me inside. I could feel wires and pads press against my grey matter, attaching themselves to me. It was rather icky.

"Goodbye, Xavier," Nemonok said with an unmistakably gloating tone. "I wish you well on your journey to the after life."

I waited, expecting to feel my life force slip away as my consciousness dissolved into the ethereal nothingness.

It didn't happen. I felt just fine, for a disembodied head, anyway. I could also feel the entire ship around me, connected to me. All the controls and circuits and functions, all awaiting my instruction. Nemonok began to flip various switches, obviously trying to pilot the ship somewhere. I disconnected his controls.

"What is this?" he spat. Figuratively, of course. "Why isn't this damn thing working?!" He began to cause the switches to flip back and forth furiously. "It's that damn Xavier's weak brain! And here I had thought he was actually an intellect somewhat near to my own capacity. Blast it!"

"No need to call me names, Nemo," I thought at him. "My brain is working just fine and I am in harmony with the ship. Just relax."

Nemonok made the oddest sound I had ever heard. It sounded vaguely like he was gargling while ordering pizza. He then tried to direct the mechanical arm to remove me from the logic control module. I disabled that too.

"Fine!' he shouted. "But you have won nothing! This ship is still disabled and not going anywhere. Without your precious life-giving fluids in your brain jar, you will be a dead husk in minutes! Your only choice is to return to the jar and then I will once again be in total control!"

Suddenly the ship started shuddering. On the viewer, a giant green ship appeared. It was a Shi'Ar battle cruiser.

Here I am, a brain floating in a jar. My brainless body has been animated by a super-villain. Now everyone knows my secret, that I can really walk and have just been using this wheelchair thing to get some easy sympathy from the ladies. And to top it all off, I just get hit be a Meme. From a killer robot that wants to destroy humanity, no less.

Fine. It's a Meme. Code of honor and all that. What are you going to do?

It's from Sky. Go wish her a happy a birthday or she'll probably terminate you.


The Blog-anniversary Me MeThe rules:

Must post the rule.
Must link back to the person who's blog-birthday it is.
Must post comment when you are done.

What to do:

Fill out the following:
01] I am just a little be frightened of Sky.
02]Sky is one hot piece of hardware.
03] If I were in a room with Sky, I would probably make a play.
04] I think Sky should give the human race a second chance.
05] Sky needs move on from Tony Stark. He's not a very good example of human virtue.
06] I want to try out page 203 of the Karma Sutra with Sky.
07] Someday Sky will need new batteries.
08] Sky reminds me of Miss January 2003.
09] Without Sky the world would be a less interesting place.
10] My memories of Sky are tinged with impending doom.
11] Sky can be anything she wants to be. Literally.
12] The worst thing about Sky is her genocidal tendencies.
13] The best thing about Sky is the face that she is clothing optional.
14] I am prepared to open a joint bank account with Sky.
15] One thing I would like to know about Sky is her phone number.
16] Sky should go and commit genocide on cockroaches. Now those things are a plight.
17] Sky wants me. I'm just sure of it.
18) What I like best about Sky's blog is the pictures.
19) What I dislike about Sky's blog is the allusions to her getting it on with Stark. He's probably so infected with STDs at this point there's something that could even effect a robot.
20) My favorite post from Sky is the one where she and Seven of Nine have a slumber party.

As you might imagine, it was rather disconcerting to find that I had been reduced to merely a brain by the evil Dr. Nemonok. Of course my brain is my most important feature, but knew that before long I'd start to miss my other great features. Particularly my penis. Yes, I'd have to get my body back.

Fortunately my psionic abilities seemed to be undisturbed. Concentrating, I sent my astral projection out into the ether. Within minutes I was back at the school. I was mildly distressed to find that my body was not in the study where I left it. Doing a quick sweep through the school I found myself down in the med lab.

Captain Koma of all people was doing something near my head. Storm and a female robot stood nearby. Wolverine sat on a stool with an ice pack on his crotch for some reason. His cold stare was boring into the back of Koma's head like he was trying to vaporize it by the force of his will. Cyclops was standing off to the side.

"Scott," I thought to him.

"Huh?" he said outloud, his head whipping around frantically.

"Scott, it's me Professor Xavier."

"Professor?!" he shouted.

"Shut up, you idiot!" Storm yelled. "He can't hear you. He has no brain!"

Scott looked very confused.

"I am with you Scott," I told him. "You don't have to speak."

"Are . . are you a ghost?" he asked.

"Of course not! I'm not dead."

"But then how can I hear you?"

"I'm a telepath! I'm talking to you with my mind."

"Talking with your mind?"

"You are my first student! You've been with me for years! I'm a telepath! I communicate by thoughts! I can read your mind and put my words into your mind. You know this!"

"Wait a minute . . you can read my mind?"

Did Nemonok steal Cyclops' mind, too? "You can't possibly be this dense," I said. "Of course I can read your mind."

"Then, uh, you know about that thing with the donkey?"

Sigh. After a long pause, I resumed, "This isn't the time to discuss your deviant proclivities. What I need is for you to gather the X-Men and have them bring my body to my location. You will need Beast, Jean and Forge in order to-"

"I did!" Koma suddenly shouted.

Everyone turned their attention to my body. Slowly . . stiffly . . it rose off the table.

Henchman.

During the drive back to my school I couldn't help but mull over in my mind what a thorn Henchman was in my life. His most grievous act against me to date was without a doubt his stealing of my girlfriend while I was off world with Jon, the Intergalactic Gladiator saving the universe for Queen Galacta. If he wasn't such a pitiful AIM-reject, I'd almost be tempted to think he was trying to be my arch-nemesis.

Wolverine pulled our van into the parking garage at the school and I left instructions that I was not to be disturbed. Once in my quarters, I set to the task of finding Henchman. Since he's just a stooge, I knew he must be in the employ of someone else. Obviously he wouldn't have set out to sabotage Jon's presidential campaign on his own. The first order of business though was locating him.

A knock at my door interrupted my thoughts. Before I could answer, my door flew open and in rushed two pre-pubescent males. One had flaming hair and the other was green.

"Professor X!" the flaming hair child yelled. "Wally hacked into my MySpace page and changed my picture to a donkey face!"

"But I was just trying to let everyone know the truth," the blue skinned boy protested. "You're a jackass!"

"Stop!" I bellowed. The two froze in their spots. I stared at them incredulously. Why on earth would they plague me with their petty problems? Did they really think I card? Don't they know I just started this school for the tax breaks? Do they really believe all that nonsense about brotherhood with the humans?

"Get the hell out of my office!" I yelled. The boys ran.

My mind was too frenetic to concentrate on the search for Henchman. I rolled over to my liquor cabinet to poor myself a warm, soothing glass of cognac. When I opened the door, I was horrified to see the cabinet was empty. There was a single playing card. A joker.

"Gambit!" That Cajun bastard.

Fuming, I headed downstairs to the liquor supply room. As I was passing the front door, Wolverine called out to me.

"Hey Chuck, there's some head case and a hot broad to see you," he shouted. "Says they're with the national brain institute or something."

A was about to tell him to blow them off. The last thing I wanted to deal with was some pain in the ass solicitors, when I changed my mind. Perhaps harassing door to door salesmen would be just what the doctor ordered. I could make them prance around like chickens or have them bark like dogs.

I went to the door and gasped. Standing there . . floating rather, was a disembodied brain in a jar. There was indeed a cute woman next to him, but she was rather hard to properly appreciate with that brain bobbing next to her.

Before I could recover from my surprise, the woman touched something to my head and I was unconscious. When my awareness returned, I was rather dismayed that I too was just a brain floating in jar.

As Zartan and his Dreadnoks lay scattered about the pavement, groaning in pain, I rolled closer to Mystique. Wolverine kept popping his claws in and out.

"Tell me, Mystique, who hired you to set up Jon, the Intergalactic Gladiator?" I asked her.

"Suck my balls!" she screamed at me.

I must say, I was a little taken aback by her vulgarity. "First of all, Mystique, that kind of imagery and language is completely inappropriate here in a public setting where children might happen by. This isn't a Max comic, you know. Second, in case you haven't noticed, I don't think you have the right equipment to allow for that kind of activity."

With a sharp laugh that sounded more like a snarl, Mystique's body transformed into . . Fabio.

"I'm still not quite convinced that would satisfy the anatomically necessities to permit your directive," I told her. "I mean he is a male model."

Fabio scowled and slowly changed back to Mystique. "Get bent, Xavier. I'm not telling you anything!"

I couldn't help the smirk that crossed my lips. Rolling close to her, I reached behind her ear and pulled off the psi-blocker. Inspecting it, I saw that it had Magneto's mark on it. I crushed it between my fingers. The look of panic on her face gave me a warm, tingling feeling inside.

Telepathically I reached into her mind. She tried desperately to surpress the indetity of the person who hired her. What she didn't realize, and to be fair, most people don't, is that such action merely draws attention to what a person wants hidden. It makes mind reading much easier.

"Henchman hired you?" I said in surprise. "Of Local 432? The one who's always trying to negotiate for dental coverage? The one who stole Magdelina from me? Hmm, that could explain things. Maybe it's time to pay the Beekeeper a little visit."

"Say goodbye, Xavier!" snarled Mystique. "Shoot him on three!" she barked to Zartan and his Dreadnoks. "One . . two . . "

"Wait a moment, Mystique," I interrupted. "Don't I get a last request?"

She stared at me hard and then let a long sigh. "What is it you want?" she finally asked.

"I'd like to say goodbye to my X-Men. I could just make a quick . ."

"No!" she shouted. "One . . two . ."

"Wait!" I yelped. "I . . I'd like to say goodbye to my step-brother, Juggernaut. We have a lot of unresolved issues and . ."

"Forget it, Xavier! One . . two . ."

"No! Mystique . . there's something I never told you!"

"Stop wasting my time."

"But it's really important!" I pleaded.

"Fine. What?"

"I . . I'm your father."

"What? No you're not. My father was Vlad Darkholme."

"Oh, right. Sorry. I was thinking of someone else."

"Damn you, Xavier! Now you die. Everyone shoot him! One, two, thr-"

*SNNIKKTT!!*

A sharp metal on metal sound split the night. A sound like blades being unsheathed. A sound I knew well.

In a blur of blue and yellow, Wolverine's claws crashed through the Dreadnok's weapons. Before they knew what had hit them, their instruments of death lay shattered on the ground, cleaved by adamantium blades. Zartan, seeing Wolverine as the bigger threat, fired his gun at him. Logan ducked the first two shots and leaped at his prey. A third shot blasted through his shoulder but Wolverine ignored it. He smashed hard into Zartan, sending him flying unconscious into a brick wall.

"Oh, that's just great!" Mystique spat. "I'm finally about to kill an X-Man and you have to show up."

She threw her gun down in disgust and surrendered without a fight. Obviously she had been through this too many times to bother wasting her time in battle. I rolled up to her, a big grin on my face.

"You see I was just stalling you until the reinforcements I had telepathically summoned could arrive," I gloated.

"Good for you," Mystique replied, with undisguised loathing.

"Now then, why don't you tell me who hired you to discredit Jon, the Intergalactic Gladiator?"

Mystique and her partner, Zartan, along with his crew, the Drednoks, had me surrounded, their weapons pointed right at me. Unfortunately the psi-blockers they each wore prevented me from using my powers to attack them.

"Time to die Xavier!" she shouted.

"Wait!" I screamed. "Xavier? I'm not Xavier! I'm just an actor! My name is Patrick Stewart! I'm just researching a part!"

"Bull crap!" snarled Zartan.

"It's true! I am Patrick Stewart! Wait, watch this. 'Number One . . make it so.' See?"

"What the hell is that suppose to be?" asked Mystique.

"That's me as Captain Picard. You know, from Star Trek? It's my other big sci-fi acting role."

"Well I seen that show, mate," said the Drednok named Ripper. "An' you don't sound like 'im at all."

"Well I, er, that is they, um, mix my voice in the studio so it, um, sounds different. Yes, that's what it is."

"Okay, mate," said Torch. "So what was the name ah your character in Life Force?"

"Life Force?" I asked.

"Yeah, you know. The one with that hot naked alien vampire chick walkin' around."

"Oh, of course. Yes. Um, my name was, er, John Smith?"

The Drednoks looked at each and shrugged.

"Well I don't actually remember your name," said Torch, "but I doubt that was it."

Zartan snapped his fingers. "What Duke did you play in Excalibur??" he practically shouted.

"Er . . Cornwall?" I answered.

"Wrong!" he roared. "It was Leondegrance! Ha!"

"Oh, uh, that's what I meant. It's been awhile."

"If you are Stewart," started Mystique with an evil smirk, "then get up out of that chair and walk over to me."

"Um . . I'd like to but, um, well . . both my feet seem to have fallen asleep. Occupational hazard."

"Hey Charles!" Buzzer shouted from behind me.

"What?" I asked turning around. The whole group began laughing.

"Damn!"

"Alright everyone," Mystique announced, "fire on three! One . . . two . . ."

While Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator and Agent Hanson were hot on the trail of the nefarious person behind his recent slanderous media scandal, I decided to follow my own lead. I knew Mystique hadn't told me all she knew. She's very sneaky that way.

When I went back to her store front business, I found it closed down and deserted. A dead end wasn't going to deter me though. I contacted Jean Grey, who fortunately had been recently resurrected again, and had her use Cerebro to pinpoint Mystique's location. Turns out she was still in Washington, but now at a seedy bar in the low rent district.

I hurried over to the bar. Scanning it telepathically, I found Mystique inside. She still had her psi-blocker on. I was barely able to pick up any of her thoughts. From what I did gather, she was trying to set up another politican by posing as pretty blond. Zartan was standing by, ready to catch pictures of the two canoodling in the corner.

No time for disguies. I rolled in. Mystique was at a back table. Sitting with her was . . Dick Cheneny? How pathetic. He was moving in for a kiss. Apparently Mystique was going to black mail him for access to the White House. I couldn't allow that. I reached into his mind and made him think he was about to experience explosive diarrhea. Just as their lips were about to touch, Chene's face went green. He bolted up from the table and, shoving an old lady out of the way, rushed into the bathroom.

"Damn!" shouted Zartan, sitting nearby at the bar. Mystique just shrugged at him. Then she noticed me.

In one fluid motion she pulled a gun out of nowhere. A moment later, a pistol appeared in Zartan's hand, too. I threw my chair in reverse and crashed out through the doors of the pub onto the street. I started quickly down the block but three large, scruffily dressed men jumped out of van and blocked me off. They all had odd weapons in their hands. A chainsaw, a blow torch and some kind of giant pliers. In an instant, Zartan and Mystique were behind me. All had psi-blockers and all of their weapons were pointed at me.

"Time to die, Xavier!" Mystique shouted.

Suddenly my X-Communicator started to beep.

"Just a moment," I said. Checking the caller-Id, I saw it was Jon. He was sending me a meme. Oh, good timing, Jon.

"Sorry," I told the collected bad guys. "It's a meme. This will just take a moment." They all groaned and complained but lowered their weapons. Everyone respects the meme.


I quickly looked over the intructions:

List seven random things about yourself that people may not know.Link the person who sent this to you, and leave a comment on their blog so that their readers can visit yours.Post the rules on your blog.Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, linking their blog. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.


1. I'm an only child.

2. I'm an Aquarius.

3. I like racquet sports.

4. I subscribe to Newsweek, Entertainment Weekly and Vanity Fair.

5. I'm a terrible singer, but I love it doing.

6. The nerves in my knees are hyper-sensitive.

7. Frozen Fudge Sticks are probably my favorite desert.



Exciting, no? Now the tags - Vegeta, Black Widow, Henchman, Nepharia, Mr. Bennet, and Koma is going to have to do it twice when he gets back.

When I looked back up, Mystique was giving me a very impatient stare.

"Are you done yet?" she asked with barely concealed irritation.

"If I say yes, can we call it a draw and all go home?" I asked.

"No," she answered with cold steel in her voice. She raised her gun to my head.

"That giant clock has to be what Zartan was talking about," Jon, the Intergalactic Gladiator told me. "I'm going to go check it out. I'll let you know if I find anything. Jon out."

Jon snapped off his wristcom and rushed over to the tall building. I decided to follow his progress telepathically. I don't know why he insists on using the wrist communcators. Gives him a sense of comfort, I guess.

Jon took the elevator to the top floor of the building. He then broke heroically into the access panel leading to the clock workings. I watched through his eyes as he moved towards the gears, seeking out any clues as to who was behind this plot against him.

Suddenly out of the shadows three figures leapt up at Jon. A fist smashed into his face, knocking him back. I tried to scan his assailments' minds but they also had psi-blockers on. Damn that Magneto! He must be making a fortune marketing those things.

Two of the goons stood back and laughed while one of them charged at Jon, throwing punch after punch. As he wailed on him, I tried to break through the psionic dampener, to no avail. Zartan had set a trap and Jon walked right into it.

"Jon, are you alright? I heard some kind of loud explosion."

"Oh great, now I'm hearing voices."

"Well . . yes . . you are. This is Charles Xavier and I'm communicating to you telepathically. Excuse my sarcastic voice."

"Is this a real person I'm talking to or am I just hallucinating?"

"What on Earth are you talking about? Of course I'm real. We're on a mission together!"

"But I thought telepathy was just a scam. A cheap parlor trick."

"Jon, what game are you playing at?"

"Jon? Is that my name?"

"Wha- hang on a second. Let me scan your brain . . . hmmm . . . oh . . . this isn't good at all. Apparently you are suffering from amnesia. Let me just probe your thoughts . . ah. Zartan shot you. And he told you he had planted a booby-trap in my wheelchair that would zap me with 10,000 volts of electricity. That explains the angry message I just got on my cell phone from Disabled Services of Westchester. I had donated the booby-trapped chair to them a couple of days ago. You see I never use the same chair for more than a week. Wouldn't be fitting for a man in my position."

"This is fascinating but could we get back to me?"

"Your name is Jon and you are an Intergalactic Gladiator."