I will tell you one story of El Generalissimo Ernesto R. “Mad Dog” Saumarez, Uniter of the Americas and Guardian of the Red Shield.
In his youth, El Heneral Saumarez lived, for a time, in Sanyo Presents Rocas de Santo Domingo. This small village in the heart of the Southern Americas was well-regarded for its cuisine and the pleasant, husky voices of all its residents, particularly the infants. . . but it was also a cursed hamlet. For underneath the town, in the depths of the Lithium Mines, there was trouble—in their hunger for lithium, the Chileans dug too greedily, and too deep. You know what they awoke in the darkness underneath the Cordillera de Mahuidanchi, for it is common knowledge now. At the time, though, not even Saumarez knew. But once a week, in the darkest part of the Sea-Goose Week, a million giant bats would shoot out of elevator shafts across the tiny village, chew off the nipples of anyone they could find, take a quick break, and then die.
El Heneral Saumarez, Protector of the United Seas, was not a fan of the Underdark Bats and their nipple-hungry ways. He called upon his assistant, a young Wibbles Hugo, to help him outfit an Under-Ground Expedition, the aim of which would be to find the home of the bats and destroy it. Working late into the night, the team of man and Super-Man created an early prototype of the device which Wind-Tamer Saumarez would use to conquer The Salvadors twenty years later—the Mole-Tank! This contraption was a tank with the world’s largest drill bit on its backside; where tank barrel and machine guns and steel treads could not forge a path, the tank could merely drive in reverse, and burrow through matter organic or in-. A fantastic sort of device.
The pair clambered into the beastly vehicle, and El Heneral Saumarez set a course for the Lithium Mines. “Let us descend!” he said, and descend they did; several weeks of drilling passed slowly until suddenly, the Mole-Tank broke through into a giant cavern. As its sodium superlamps clicked on, Saumarez and Hugo could see more and more eggs—a million eggs, each filled with a fetal giant nipple-fevered bat! At the center, a slugulous mother bat lay, producing even more eggs as she sat. “Sir, so many of them! So, so many!” Hugo cried, “Not enough bullets! “I am Saumarez,” El Heneral Vanadioso replied. He opened the main gun’s loading hatch removed the armor-piercing rocket shell’s warhead, and put in its place a single hair, plucked from his own head. Re-chambering the round, he swung the main gun around and fired at the center of the mother bat. The shell lodged itself in her chitinous plating, and grew white-hot—and all of a sudden, a million Saumarez-hairs burst from the shell, each of them spearing one bat-egg! The last, original hair sprung out last, growing and wrapping itself around the neck of the mother bat.
Generalissimo Saumarez saw her writhe, and reversed the tank into her chest, the giant mole-blade spraying bat goo everywhere. “Sir, her death already comes. . . your hair is magical, let us not waste the mole-blade’s power,” Hugo said. “I am Saumarez,” replied Saumarez, as bat purée sloshed over the tank’s uncompromising body. The two returned to the surface, and the residents of Sanyo Presents Rocas de Santo Domingo immediately crowned Saumarez their king. “I was already your king,” said Saumarez, “but I will bless you all nevertheless, at a later date.”
Hail Saumarez! May his chronicles never end!
As the world’s first unelected body created to prevent our knees falling off and being eaten by robot dogs which they also created, the Koninklijke Commissie voor Sprodj Reclamation holds a special place in the hearts of all hideous/attractive people. “Please hold our hands,” they will say! Their hands are weird and diseased.
It is because they have too much of the internal sprodj workery. And that is why the Commissie was brought into being. These people must be located, and then we must attach gigantic hoses to them in order to remove the sprodj. Or add sprodj. Changing sprodj levels is next to godliness, and cures certain diseases, like incurable tooth, lesbianism, and literacy.
Founded in 1891, during the reign of Queen Wilhelmina, the Commissie was originally conceived as an elaborate scheme to get its members into movies, which had reached the Netherlands two years earlier disguised as as microscopes. Marikje Lürssen-SuperKrupp was gazing wistfully through one of these fake microscopes, which was actually a movie she was not invited to participate in the creation of, when she saw a minute flickr of incandescent mega-particle—the sprodj! She immediately learned all of its properties by writing a Wikipedia article on it, contacted the Queen, and founded the KCvSR to regulate this new resource.
That is but the first part of the tale. The first couple of years of the Commissie were difficult, as nobody had yet invented hoses giant enough, or sprodj pumps with enough gusto, or Belgians (to practice on). Throughout the last years of the 19th Century, the organization struggled to regulate sprodj levels throughout the Netherlands, and was unable to establish any foreign offices. These were the dark years. Horse-operated Sprodj Pumps, unpadded handcuffs for the operations, hoses made out of smaller hoses which had been stretched. Sprodj levels went unregulated. But fortune favors the Commissie, and upon her death in 1901, Queen Victoria had bequeathed her entire fortune to the KCvSR, such that they might alter sprodj levels across the land. This unimaginable windfall allowed the organization to increase their size by 7.8 orders of magnitude. But the next decade was to be more trying than the last. . .
We will all, at one time, attempt to be Dr. Gregory’s wingman as he approaches HRH Dingbat Yamada. The importance of this event is apparent and amazing; Dr. Gregory will find love. But Dr. Gregory is a winged beast, and has two wings already. He is the scion of Tourniquet, Ostrich of the Nine Winds, and his ninth wife Amandine, which means that he does not typically need wing-assistance.
HRH Dingbat Yamada is a different story, however. She has no wings, because she is one of the famed Mole-esses of Crete. So, it’s possible that Dr. Gregory will need two wing-men. He may woo HRH Dingbat Yamada by giving her his wings, and that’s where the two new ones would come in. Of course, HRH Dingbat Yamada is also Japanese, so he may not need wing-corporals, as she may be wooed by a Louis Vuitton bag. But, it is possible that Dr. Gregory does not know this, so there’d be an opening for a wingman who might enlighten him. We have thus established that Dr. Gregory needs zero, one, or two wing-men.
If he were to be told that HRH Dingbat Yamada would like a handbag and give her his wings, he would have used a total of three wing-men, which is even more promising for you assembled teeming weirdos. A fourth might be able to insinuate himself upon their pairing by offering his services as a shoe-shine boy. This is, however, a risky proposition because Dr. Gregory does not wear shoes, and HRH Dingbat Yamada wears a single iron boot which she guards with her life; the fourth prospective winged man would need to establish a pre-existing friendship, guardianship, and power of attorney-ship with her before Dr. Gregory would even consider taking him on.
Numbers of wing-men above four are precipitously unlikely; wing-gifts, Vuitton-informing, and shoe-shining are the three most likely pursuits for young lovers in this ninth century of ours, so there just isn’t that much room. Perhaps, perhaps Dr. Gregory could employ a fifth as a hat, or a stole… it is unclear, but unlikely.
Glory to he who aileron-assistancy seeks!
Cooking is easy. Cut two potatoes into eighths, fry in lots of olive oil until they’re gold-brown, add lemon and pepper seasoning. And have some crackle-sausage and a frozen Frappuccino as well. Cooking is easy!