Hour Of Triumph (10-27-2011)

“At last, the resurrection is upon us! When…what is that?”

The ship groaned into view, the huge elevator lifting the tons of carefully crafted steel from its hiding place beneath the rubber nipple factory. A twelve storey face glared back at them, googly eyes shaking back and forth as the toothbrush moustache twitched under its titanium nose.

Dr. Buddy Arachnid marched forward, his spider-like legs carrying his human upper-body toward the bottom of the ship. “He is magnificent, is he not? A perfect duplication.”

The general shuddered, his cotton candy mask tossing off fragments of blue and pink fluff. He slammed his prosthetic jujube hand against the side of the ship, creating a dull clang while setting the hand to wobbling. “I demanded a clone of our fallen leader and a massive machine of destruction! Not both at once!”

Dr. Arachnid crossed his arms, his legs plinking across the floor as he moved toward the general. His eyes glowed with contained menace behind his dual monocles. “A waste of precious funds. In manpower alone, do you know how many hours have to go into a doomsday weapon? The wages and overtime would be through the roof! Adding a cloning project would have put us too far over budget.”

“Our victory has no price!”

“Yes, it does. We can only get so many credit cards under assumed ethnic names before we’re caught and fined!” Dr. Arachnid looked him right in the eye. “I won’t be fined again. I’ll die first.”

The general reached out for the doctor, grasping his neck with his cybernetic licorice hand, the red candy cutting off his air. “You brought me back from the cusp of death using cutting edge science and the contents of a poorly guarded candy store, and that is the only reason you’ve survived until now.”

He hurled the scientist to the floor, pulling his wooden gun from his hip. Dr. Arachnid rubbed his neck as he rose to his feet, not even looking at the gun. “That doesn’t fire bullets. You know we didn’t have any money left for real firearms.”

The general’s scowl was reflected off the polished wood grain of the fake gun. “Or paint. Yes, I remember that. Even so, I won’t let your sensible complaints dull the coming moment of our triumph!”

The standoff continue for minutes, dragging on as each man waited for the other to break. Finally, the general threw the gun at Dr. Arachnid’s head, leaving a nasty bruise and a bit of a bump.

“Arachnids have eight legs. You’re the worst scientist ever.”

Dr. Arachnid looked down at his six metal legs, then charged at him. “You promised you’d never bring that up again! You promised!”

The general pulled his rubber knife from its sheath in one smooth motion, sliding toward the doctor in a flurry of fallen gummy worms and hot lips. Dr. Arachnid stumbled over a large switch at the base of the rocket as he moved forward, ignoring the sound that filled the room as the face on the rocket began to sing from a list of oldies songs whose copyrights had expired.

The general stopped in mid-step, his attention drawn to the ship. “Oldies! He sings oldies!”

“They were free! How can you expect me to make a singing space shuttle with the budget you gave me! We don’t have the funds that the enemy have for their singing doomsday weapon projects!”

“I was told he would sing chart-topping hits of today! You have failed me on every level, doctor!”

The doctor shook his head, laughing. “This is not a comic book, general! I am not some super villain with no funds who somehow manages to maintain a selection of robots and explosives. Do you know how much money would go into something like a glue gun or telescoping stilts?”

“Again you taunt me with the glue gun! Can you imagine our leader, glorious and resplendent with a glue gun at his hip? Not some singing doomsday device that is filled with forgotten elevator music!”

The general hurled his knife, which caught on one of Dr. Arachnid’s cheaply made legs and slowed him down for a bit. The doctor fought to pull the toy weapon away, but was too slow, the full weight of the general’s candy corn-filled frame crashing into him and knocking him to the floor. His gumball eyes were inches away from the doctor’s when they focused on the sprig of celery in his hand.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Dr. Arachnid grinned, gripping the stalk tight. “Wouldn’t I?”