by Libbylawrence, Brian K. Asbury and Comickook
A strange figure was talking to himself as he made his way to a ranch in the farmlands outside Midvale. He was the studious type, with a wrinkled suit and horn-rimmed glasses. He clucked to himself in apparent disapproval as he walked to the building.
“I thought I’d never get here,” he said. “Those bothersome speed traps and local tolls really steam me! It’s exactly that kind of needless red tape that drove me to — dare I say it? — a life of crime!”
He stopped muttering as he was approached by two decidedly strange ranch hands. The first one was tall and muscular and wrapped from head to foot in yellowed bandages. He wore a straw hat and overalls over the gaping burial wrappings.
“Who dares disturb the rest of Ra Ka Cheops Karis?” he said slowly.
He was rudely elbowed in the side by his companion. The other ranch hand was a pretty woman with curly red hair and elegant makeup. She wore a plaid shirt and jeans like any typical ranch hand, except for the small detail that every inch of her outfit was studded with gleaming rhinestones, or perhaps even genuine diamonelle from the Home Shopping Channel Spring Showcase Bonanza.
She smiled and said, “Welcome, neighbor. Are you working hard, or hardly working?”
The man in glasses turned bright red and shouted, “Hardly working? Now see here, Miss. I’ll have you know that I worked ceaselessly at the DMV for fifteen years. I never took a holiday, and I even ate lunch in the parking lot. Why, how dare you ask me if I am working?!”
The mummy said, “Greetings. I mean… Howdy! We meant no harm, accursed infidel… that is to say, pardner!”
“Indeed, sir, we mean to do nothing more than to welcome you. You are expected. You are Pell Grant, the Bureauc-Rat?” (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See “The Flash Meets the Bureauc-Rat”]
He nodded and said, “And you are?”
She bowed slightly and said, “Jet-Set Jessie, formerly of Park Avenue, currently enjoying a bucolic life in the country.” (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See “Batgirl in A Matter of Good Taste”]
The mummy said, “And I am Cheops-Bob! I am a simple man of the soil. I like Hank Williams Jr. and NASCAR. I love Tanya Tucker — may her eternal beauty light the Stygian regions of beyond!” (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See “Batman and the Mummy”]
“I assume you have taken on this rural manner to deceive the authorities. You know, the whole NASA program is nothing more than a plot to keep tabs on all of us. They are watching from countless spy satellites above!” the Bureauc-Rat said as he shook his fist in the air.
They approached the barn, where a group of costumed individuals waited. Three of the women wore feathered purple and pink leotards and headdresses, while another beauty was a blonde in a floor-length mink coat and heels.
“The Magpies and Sable Lady!” said Jet-Set Jessie as she brought the newcomer into the barn. (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See “Batgirl in Fruit Pies for Magpies” and “Batman and Sable Lady”]
“Charmed, I’m sure!” said a gum-chewing Magpie.
“Upside down, girl you’re turning me!” shouted a man who wore a green suit and headphones as he stood with his feet on the roof and gazed downward.
“My word! How does he hang upside-down like that?” asked the Bureauc-Rat.
Sable Lady smiled in a sultry manner and said, “Topsy-Turvy Man was bitten by a radioactive yoga master. He likes to stand on his head.” (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See “Batman in The Whole World’s Upside Down”]
She pointed upward to where a sexy woman in a brief white costume perched on the loft. “That’s Pigeon Woman,” said Sable Lady. “She just ate, so I wouldn’t stand beneath her if I was you, darling!”
“It’s Pigeon Person!” she insisted. (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See “Batman and Robin in Birds of a Feather”]
Another feathered woman in brown perched in another corner of the barn. “That’s Golden Raven,” whispered Jet-Set Jessie. (*) “She and Pigeon Person don’t get along. It seems Raven ran away with Pigeon’s man. She ruined the woman’s marriage!”
[(*) Editor’s note: See “Hawkman in She’s No Angel”]
“Marriage — bah! Licenses, blood tests, alimony!” shrieked an agitated Bureauc-Rat.
“She’s a nest-wrecker!” continued Jessie.
A fierce man in a blue coat with a patch over one eye jumped forward and waved a sword at them.
“Arrrh! Avast, ye swabbies — where’s the bean dip?” asked the Corsair of Crime. (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See “Batman and the Corsair of Crime”]
“We’re out of bean dip?!” said Cheops-Bob. “Who dared to eat the last of my bean dip? Who took it? I want my dip! No one may touch the party snacks of Ra without being cursed for all eternity!” Jessie slapped him, and he shook his head and then said, “I mean, y’all settle down now. I’ll whip up some more grub!”
The Corsair put his sword in his teeth and shook hands with Bureauc-Rat. “Pleased to meet ya! My name is Shaun. Folks call me the Corsair of Crime!”
Before he could reply, Bureauc-Rat spotted a gigantic foot clad in a high heel that towered above the first floor of the huge barn.
“Well, well, well… hello, handsome!” said a voice from high above.
He looked up to see a gorgeous blonde in a tight red evening gown. She stood around sixty feet high.
“My word!” he gulped.
“I’m Cooky La Moo, the Broadway diva!” purred the giant woman. (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See “Wonder Woman in Cooky La Moo on Broadway”]
Jessie said, “Poor Cooky can’t adjust to life as a massive gigantic freak, but she’s got a good heart!”
A portly man with a goatee who wore a brown suit and cape clapped his hands together and said, “Welcome. I am the Chocolate Baron. (*) I have brought you all here, because we have all been defeated by members of the Super Friends as well as by our perfectly normal cravings for the delicious taste of chocolate and cream-filled goodness!” Indeed, the Baron had indulged his cravings for chocolate cupcakes quite a bit since Wonder Woman had captured him using them as bait, and he had the extra pounds to show it.
[(*) Editor’s note: See “Wonder Woman and the Baron”]
Jessie shook her head, and he stopped his feverish speech. “That is, I mean, before we completed our twelve-step programs and aversion therapy in prison, we could not resist dessert cakes and fruit pies, and that passion brought us down. Now freed of the wholesome love for yellow sponge cake, we may triumph in our criminal schemes, and together as the Hostess… I mean to say…the Host of Badness, we will achieve victory over the heroes!”
The criminals cheered as the Chocolate Baron licked his lips and smiled in appreciation.
Unknown and unsuspected by the assembled Host of Badness, they were not alone in the barn. Small black eyes were surveying their every move from a crack in the wall at ground level.
Holy salad! thought the newcomer as he withdrew back into the open air. That’s some collection of villainy!
He moved slowly away from the barn and toward some outlying bushes where he knew he could change unseen by hostile eyes. From time to time (I did say slowly), guards moved to and fro around the building, but none paid any attention to his innocuous form, believing him perhaps to be an associate of one of the Host (or, perhaps, some creature sacred to Cheops-Bob — it didn’t pay to mess with a mummy, even one wearing Cuban heels and an I visited Graceland and all I got was this lousy button button).
As he wended his slow way to concealment, he pondered what he had just witnessed. “This is a formidable collection of evil-doers,” he muttered to himself. “Even with my powers, I’d be hard-pressed to win out against all of them at once. I need help.”
He mulled over in his mind the various remarkable beings whom he had encountered at various times in his heroic career… the brilliant but eccentric Dr. Rocket… the eccentric and — er — even more eccentric Super-Hip… the enigmatic Moolah the Mystic, perhaps, or his cousin Hamid the Hypnotist…?
None of these, however, had the sheer power to take on the Host. What he needed was to recruit help from people who had taken on and defeated these villains before, albeit individually. That meant he had to find the Super Friends themselves.
His mind made up, he finally reached the cover of the bushes, where he whipped off his glasses and tucked them inside his plastron, withdrawing in their place a red cape with a yellow shield emblazoned proudly with the letter T.
Thus transformed, he leaped into the sky with a cry of, “Up, up, and away! This is a job for… Super-Turtle!”
Meanwhile, in another part of the country, a somewhat husky man of medium height was waiting behind his desk in his comfortable-looking chair. Garbed in a medium-brown suit with a white dress shirt and black tie, the man commented, “I need somebody to investigate both this Legion of Funk and the possibility of another villain group coming together. Where is Agent Triple-Zero?”
Just then, a small buzz-saw tip was seen penetrating the ceiling and cutting open a small hole, which two figures leaped through. A squirrel with light brown fur, garbed in a white trenchcoat and a medium purple fedora done up in a manner that allowed it to double as a mask, gave a salute and spoke. “Agent Triple-Zero, Secret Squirrel, reporting for duty, Double-Q.”
The second figure, a short but chubby mole with dark brown fur who was garbed in a bright red fez and blue coat, commented in a voice remarkably similar to that of Peter Lorre, “Likewise, Morocco Mole.”
Double-Q seated the duo and began. “We have reason to believe that this country, and possibly even the world, may be facing a potential double threat that needs some definite investigation. According to our sources, several potential dangerous solo villains who once worked solo may be taking a cue from the Legion of Doom and pooling their abilities.” He then handed Secret and Morocco the files on all these villains. “All we know about them is that they each share a weakness for a certain brand of cream-filled cupcakes.
“At the same time, our sources have reason to suspect that the Legion of Doom may have developed some form of rhythm-based mind-control and are now the Legion of Funk,” Double-Q continued after Secret Squirrel and Morocco Mole had a chance to read through the files.
“We’ll do what we can, sir, but isn’t the Legion of Doom a Super Friends menace?” Secret Squirrel inquired.
“That’s just it. Somehow we suspect that even the Super Friends will be hard-pressed against both threats, so I’m assigning my best operative to the case; that’s you, of course, Triple-Zero,” Double-Q answered. “Obviously, even with your track record, this will be your toughest mission yet, so I will allow you to call in any help you feel you need.”
“Very well, Double-Q,” Secret Squirrel said as he and Morocco Mole saluted their boss and left the office.
“Gee, Secret, who do we get the kind of help we’ll need against both the Legion of Doom and all those other villains?” Morocco Mole asked.
“I’m already on it, old friend,” Secret Squirrel said as he activated the multi-summons emergency beeper in his wristwatch.
“Hello. Buzz Conroy here. What’s the trouble?” a pre-teen boy said, answering the beeper.
“Buzz, it’s Secret. I’m already transmitting all the information you need to know, including where to meet Morocco, myself, and the others. Suffice to say, we’ll have to bring the big guns in on this caper. Which is why we’re putting out the call to you and the others.”
“Gotcha, S.S.,” Buzz said as he dashed toward a lone button on the far end wall of his inside-mountain home and opened a portion of the wall to reveal a thirty-foot amalgam of machine parts and reanimated body tissue.
“What seems to be the problem, Buzz?” asked the mighty Frankenstein Jr.
“This is the big one, Franky. The Legion of Doom plus a veritable army of other villains who also might be pooling their talents,” Buzz Conroy answered.
“Then I say it’s villain-hunting season,” Frankenstein Jr. said as he slammed his massive fists together, creating gigantic sparks.
At the same time, three guys dressed up like particularly weird extraterrestrials were all practicing their guitars when a beeping sound from the guitars put an end to their practice. “Yes? What seems to be the problem?” one of the men asked.
“Ahhh, Impossibles. This is going to be so big, we have to call in the most powerful allies we can dig up,” Secret Squirrel answered. “Your boss, Big D, will give you all the important details we know thus far; I’ve already sent them to his computer. He should be calling you himself in a matter of seconds.” And he signed off.
Without wasting a second, the trio of musicians transformed into their super-heroic identities of Coil Man, Multi Man, and Fluid Man.
“Rally-ho-ho,” the super-powered trio said as Big D appeared on the small monitor of one of their guitars.
In a lonely looking home in the deep woods, a red-headed husky female of medium height came to her beeping crystal ball. She was garbed in a black cape and matching hat, as well as nondescript medium-blue clothes.
“Hello, Winsome Witch speaking,” the female said as she saw the information being sent over to her crystal ball.
“Hello, Winsome,” Secret Squirrel’s voice said over the crystal ball. “As you can see from the information I sent you, we are facing some definite trouble, and I have a feeling that your magic will be a real asset in this case.”
“Here, broom!” Winsome called as she prepared to answer this call to arms.
A half-inch-tall insect garbed in an orange sweater with a proud purple letter A emblazoned in the middle as well as a white helmet also received Secret’s summons via his computer.
“Up and atom, Atom Ant,” the insect cried out as he flew out of his ant hill.
Finally, in a luxurious penthouse high atop Big City, a tall, well-muscled man in a dark blue bodysuit that had a bright red F infringed in the chest area along with a dark blue cape made up in a bird-wing style, a dark blue hood with medium yellow falcon-beak head flaps, and bright yellow falcon-talon designed boots dashed to a big screen that opened up in the middle of a wall.
Beside him was a large gray dog in a bright green cape with matching mask, boots, and chest insignia, the last having a bright yellow D infringed on it.
The image of a distinguished-looking man flashed onto the screen and explained the information he received from Secret Squirrel. After receiving the message, the dog drained the pool on the patio and pressed another button, which caused an ultra-high-tech-looking vehicle to emerge from the pool.
As the man and dog got into the vehicle, the duo said, “Blue Falcon… and Dog Wonder… away!” And Dynomutt, Dog Wonder, and his master blasted off into the skies.