Tales of the Parodyverse

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CrazySugarFreakBoy!
Thu Apr 21, 2005 at 09:04:24 pm EDT
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CrazySugarFreakBoy! in “House of Impossibilitium,” Part 3
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Dreamcatcher Kokopelli Foxglove had at least an hour or so left before he was expected to show up at the get-together in Ethan Warren’s apartment, so he ducked into the nearest neighborhood cyber-café to do one final check of his Internet message boards and e-mail.
Unfortunately for him, Gwendolyn “Wendy” Leslie was already parked at one of the terminals, playing hooky from her weekend detention at Hestia House to download music, movies, TV shows, comic books and porn from the Web, using her fake ID for access.
Wendy had become a bit of a pet project for Isabel “Izzy” Shapiro, much to the chagrin of Izzy’s boyfriend, who always felt anxious around the teenaged goth-punk girl with the cherry red hair, grape purple lipstick, bubble gum pink cheeks and vibrantly violet eyes.
Izzy sympathized with Wendy’s abusive upbringing and dysfunctional homelife, so despite Wendy’s tendency to flirt overtly with Dream, Izzy still invited Wendy to work shifts at the homeless shelter with her, and even included the younger girl in her own social outings.
Izzy was secure enough in her romantic relationship with Dream to be amused by Wendy’s adolescent affection for her boyfriend, but Dream was considerably less comfortable with the prospect of an angst-prone underage girl nursing such an uninhibited crush on him.
So, Dream sought to avoid Wendy’s semi-serious sexual propositions via the simple expedient of avoiding Wendy herself, which he hoped to be able to do even as he logged on to the only available browser, less than a dozen feet away from her computer, since she appeared to be fairly engrossed in an online archive of the infamous Playgirl photo spread of Peter Steele, the well-endowed frontman for the death metal band Type O Negative.
Dream checked the luminous blue dial face of his Swatch watch, then opened his inbox.

From: “Ioldabaoth Winkelweald” < iw@totp.bzl >
To: “Dreamcatcher Kokopelli Foxglove” < dkfoxglove@pantheon.odyssey.ord >
Subject: Retcons of superhero stories

Given the average number of comics-and-cartoon-centric message boards that Dream posted on each day, there was nothing unusual about him receiving such unsolicited correspondence, especially considering the fact that he included his e-mail address in almost all of his posts.

I have often wondered what it must feel like for someone to figure out that he or she is living in a retroactively revised reality.

Dream smiled slowly as he scooted forward in his chair to squint at the text. This seemed as though it might prove to be a bit more thought provoking than the typical debate about the relative merits of John Byrne versus Brian Michael Bendis on mainstream Marvel titles.

What must those first moments of realization feel like? Do you experience a strange sense of instinctive unease, around seemingly random people and places that your memories tell you that you have no reason to recognize?

Dream gradually leaned back from the screen, peering sidelong at the words. These speculative statements were starting to feel like a prologue to something more than a mere academic discussion or hypothetical exercise.

It is rather imperative that the sleeper not only awaken, Paul-Muad’Dib, but also that he remember all that he has witnessed, because I need to know exactly who and what it was that you saw on the other side of the screen.

Dream blinked as a blinding split-second flash of total recall flooded his senses, before he shook his head to clear it of the headache that had suddenly overwhelmed him, in the wake of his temporary instant of transcendent insight.

Check your watch. You don’t want to be late.

Dream glanced reflexively at the fluorescent orange and neon green smiley symbol dial face of his Swatch watch, then did a quick double take.
“Synchronize Swatches!” a familiar female voice chirped, as a slender forearm shoved the cherry red and grape purple smiley symbol dial face of a similarly styled Swatch watch in front of Dream’s line of sight. “Guess we wound up playing the Wonder Twins today.”
“Hey, Wendy,” Dream sighed wearily, as he closed his account, swiveled his chair away from the counter and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Why do you look like you’ve been chugging MadDog 20/20 straight up since last night?” Wendy inquired, her pixie features creased with a frown that hinted at genuine concern.
“I’m honestly not sure,” Dream conceded unsteadily, as he struggled to sift through the shifting sands of his own mind. “I mean, I’ve been feeling pretty fucked up in general lately, so it’s kind of hard to gauge, you know?”
“Yeah, well, anyway,” Wendy segued briskly, since her attention deficit hyperactivity disorder was even more pronounced than Dream’s, “I talked to Izzy and she said I could come to your Dungeons & Dragons thing tonight. I would walk there myself, but I’ve been informed there are uncouth ruffians who emerge to roam the city streets as the evening approaches, seeking out helpless young women upon whose dewy flower petals of virtue they can prey rapaciously.”
Dream smirked and chuckled in spite of himself. “Only if you promise you’ll quit with the Harlequin novel dialogue.”
Wendy beamed proudly. “Pretty good, huh? ‘Dewy flower petals of virtue’ is my favorite phrase now.”
Dream rolled his eyes. “I just can’t believe you managed to use the word ‘rapaciously’ in conversation.”




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