The storm outside the confines of this so-called prison was causing thunderous crashes and bangs, along with other strange, obscene noises; noises you don’t usually hear outside the secret hideout of a super villain. The clink of metal hitting metal. The whir of drills. Odd noises. Our hero awakens to find that he is strapped down, and cannot move. Groggy, he studies the leather straps confining his hands to see if there is any leeway. A bit. He looks around and sees the henchmen crowding around him, waiting for him to try and escape so they can beat him down once more. These henchmen are skinny, but when it’s twelve on one, their weight makes no difference. He looks to where his mid-section is being restrained and notices it is a little greasy. In a move that is very Houdiniesque he slips out of the chair, and with adrenaline pumping is ready for some action.
“Hey,” one of the henchmen says, shocked that their attempt to hold him down once again failed.
“Gettim.” another one says, distributing weapons to the others.
The twelve skinny thugs converge on him swinging their sad excuses for weapons. Their weapons bend and stretch with every blow to the hero. He slowly takes down a few with violent punches to the face. Butter and sweat splatter against the cardboard walls like an angry artist covering the canvas with anguish. He has been taking some major hits to vital parts of his body. He looks at his chest. The red stuff is coming out. They’ve penetrated his armour. To the ground he goes in a crumple of pain. He claws his way off of the floor where he was battered and face down. He looks at the remaining eight henchmen.
“What I need is a diversion,” he says to himself.
“Don’t worry Captain Stuffy-C! I’ll create a diversion,” a voice says from above him. Captain Stuffy-C looks up to see a bulbous little silhouette. It’s Wingy. Right on time. He looks back at the henchmen and watches as they get doused with a spicy red liquid. They all try and cover their eyes, but it’s too late, the liquid has rendered them temporarily blind.
“It burns!” they all yell running around erratically in a frenzy cursed with the panic of the unknown. Captain Stuffy-C, along with his bulbous little buddy, Wingy, assimilate the rest of the henchmen without breaking a sweat. After all, you cannot defend against what you cannot see.
A notorious sounding voice from behind the shadows says, “Damn you Captain Stuffy-C! You and your protein-filled partner have defeated my B-S henchmen! And when I say B-S I don’t mean Bull Shit, I mean Bread Stick!”
Spinning around Stuffy-C becomes aware to the fact that his arch enemy is there. “Well, Dr. No-Crust, your first mistake was ordering those henchmen extra cheesy. They were so overloaded with mozzarella that after a couple hits they couldn’t carry their own weight. You’ve gotta be in peak physical condition to carry the cheese, like I do,” the Captain says.
Wingy, in his stereotypical role of sidekick, adds his two cents. “Ya Dr. No-Crust. And what’s wrong with me being filled with protein?”
Dr. No-Crust slowly emerges from the shadows. His crust is black and almost non-existent, burnt with the mark of evil that has led his reign of terror in these parts for years. “Nothing, except that it will mean your death you blundering, bulb-headed, bumbling bitch,” the evil man retorts.
“Ooooh, alliteration. I never thought such an evil prick could use such poetic devices,” Captain Stuffy-C says.
“Only on certain occasions, where I will kill you. Muahahaha!” The maniacal look on No-Crust’s face becomes more demented with the idea that he himself will be responsible for death of Captain Stuffy-C.
“Wingy, get behind me. This could get ugly. Dr. No-Crust, when we were in the oven I thought you looked like a decent guy. But when that baker burned your crust off I knew you were gonna be a pain in the ass. I’m sorry about what happened to you when we were rising our crusts and you weren’t, but there is no way to change what is done. You are no longer as good as you once were. You are the anti-crust!” Wingy moves behind the brave hero.
Dr. No-Crust lunges at Stuffy-C with the thing that looks like a miniature table. You know, the thing that holds the middle of the box up, but no one knows the name of it. Stuffy-C evades that attack, pulls a piece of pepperoni from of his armour and in the style of a ninja star throws it at his enemy. The pepperoni piece hits him, like a door slamming, in the face, rendering him unconscious.
Is the battle over?
No.
Wingy runs up beside the evil Dr. No-Crust and nods to his mentor in a questioning fashion. The Captain nods back to his apprentice and Wingy starts kicking the crap out of the unconscious evil-doer. Wingy continues kicking him in the side for approximately two minutes and thirty eight seconds, until he gets tired.
The noises outside the building grow louder, when a voice is heard from above. “I’ll fuckin’ take the one with the burnt crust then, you picky asshole.” The roof of the building is opened up and light pours in, filling every crevice with fluorescent fake light from the office of the auto shop. Five fat, black, greasy fingers reach into the building, grab Dr. No-Crust, with the thumb landing right between his eyes crushing whatever part of his brain was still alive after the pepperoni hit him, and lifts him up and out. The roof closes.
Looking at each other triumphantly, Wingy asks, with the innocence of the young sidekick clearly showing in his voice, “Captain Stuffy-Crust, do you think that’s the last we will see of Dr. No-Crust?”
“Wingy, is it ever that way? Is it ever?” The heroes start walking to the far corner of the pizza box.
“I guess not Cap,” Wingy pipes up.
“It’s a rhetorical question you idiot.”
“Well, c’mon, what do you think I am? A genius? I’m a chicken wing for crust’s sake!”
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