THE WONDROUS FABU-FRIENDZ:
THE MEDIA MUNCHKIN
STRIKES BACK

It is summertime on the island of Fabulanna, and the Wondrous Fabu-Friendz are recovering from an internecine war caused by the evil KopyKatte and his astoundingly stupid henchman Chickpea.

In particular, romance is blossoming for the fabulous superheroes -- The Virtuous Doktor Lad and the Beautiful Hour Krystal have been seen in numerous espresso bars lingering over tall skinny nonfat mochas, the Bombastic Techniion has finally been reunited with the Handsome Red Jet, and the Fearless Ms. Empresse has racked up five counts of public indecency with her toyboy MMMMMMMMMarcello.

Most importantly, Fabulanna's Cutest Superhero Couple -- the Groovilicious Rakoon Torche and the Electrifying Glitter Queen -- are groping their way back to intimacy (in more ways than one) after their inadvertant split caused by KopyKatte's stategic display of Russell Crowe's ass (itself a spectacular split, but we won't go into that here. Oh, you know what I mean -- get your mind out of the gutter already, sweeties, there's not enough room for LCM as it is).

But the Fabu-Friendz will not be allowed a quiet summer to rest and rebuild their relationships. Even now, a new threat is looming in an elegant office somewhere in Hollywood. . .

The slight figure leaned back in the sumptuous leather office chair and steepled fingertips together, staring up at a glowing wall of media technology. Hi-rez monitor screens, exquisitely tooled German speakers, DVD players, VCRs, equalizers and other equipment that would make a tech hobbyist wet his pants in ecstasy were set into a wall of burnished oak paneling that cost almost as much as the equipment. It was the type of set-up that Rupert Murdoch wished he could afford, a nerve center for monitoring every kind of media transmission on Earth.

At the moment, the sound equipment was muted, but each screen was tuned to a different cable, satellite and terrestrial channel, showing everything that was currently being broadcast around the globe. The figure touched controls on a panel set into the chair, idly flipping through an Indian musical, a QVC show hawking the Shatner Turbo2000 hair replacement system ("Weaves for the 21st Century"), and a medical program on penis enlargements.

Unconsciously crossing his legs in sympathy, the figure concentrated on the bigger picture. Screw Springsteen, he mused. Give me 1000 channels, even if there's nothing on, and I'll have the world in the hip pocket of my Gap khakis. There was so much power here. It was just waiting for someone to reach out and take it.

"Soon," he murmured. "Soon, all my plans will fall into place."

A shape cowering next to the chair rustled. "So you say. However, plans made today have an unexpected way of going completely astray tomorrow," it muttered.

Without looking away from the monitor wall, the figure reached out and made an odd pinching motion in the air. The shape started gurgling and wheezing, clutching at its throat. After a moment the figure relented, and the shape fell to the floor.

"I fucking hate interior rhyme schemes," he said patiently.

"S-sorry, master!" the shape gasped. "I j-just m-meant--"

"I know what you meant, you pathetic excuse for a minion." The figure settled back in his chair, toying with the taser. "No matter how good a plan is, there's always someone out there who wants to take a dump on it. And we both know who's just stuffed full of shit right now, don't we?"

"Fred Phelps?"

The figure blinked. "Mmm, you've got a point there. But I was thinking about. . .the Wondrous Fabu-Friendz."

The minion gasped again, this time on cue. "You don't mean--"

"I do mean," the figure growled, hitting a control. The monitor wall went black for a second, then lit up again as a single display featuring a familiar gold colophon. The colophon disappeared, replaced by Wolf Blitzer in khakis and the words "Fabulanna Island, somewhere in the Atlantic" in the corner of the screen. "Those caped, superpowered, goody-two-slingbacks have been getting up my nose long enough. KopyKatte had the right idea, but he just couldn't carry though, damn his evil mutated soul." The figure sat back in the chair, the very image of lounging evil. "So it's up to the pros to strike back."

The minion considered this. "Er, Master, I know it's not really my place to say anything about this," it admitted, "but are you sure you're not just doing this because--"

"Silence!"

"It's just that I know how you felt about him, and when he disappeared after that accident in the lab--"

"I said SILENCE!"

"But--"

The chokehold went into effect again.

As the minion writhed, the figure clicked MUTE OFF and settled back to watch the opening moves of his master plan.