The Dark Balloon

§

IntricacyMan and the monoamine oxidase inhibitor!

Dark Bob walked up to our hero, who struggled in heroic captivity. He smiled and stroked an ebony finger down the slender cheek of IntricacyMan.

“Do you know what the most degrading thing you can do to someone is?” he whispered.

“Give him a federal holiday?”

“No! No! What—You know I want Dark Bob Week to replace Black History Month.” Dark Bob seethed and decided to do this another day.

As the cell door began to close, IntricacyMan muttered—not quiet enough—”That would only work if they could make a Prozac parade float.”

Dark Bob closed the door, sprayed tanning lotion on his weird finger, leaned against it, and cried.

§

IntricacyMan and the spooky jazz lounge!

And now, yet more provocative adventures of IntricacyMan!

IntricacyMan found himself in the center dark room that smelled circular. The lights flickered on, revealing pods surrounding them.

“Who are you?” said IntricacyMan, sound muffled by the banana he was eating.

“He doesn’t know who we are, Clarence,” snidely said someone.

“How particularly rude of us,” said another.

“WE are the Custodians—”

“So I can throw this banana peel on the floor, right?” said IntricacyMan.

“—”

The Custodians frantically whispered.

“Custodians, not Janitor,” irritatedly said someone.

“I also have some trash that I need to pick up.” IntricacyMan threw his banana peel into one of the dark corners of the room and made a beeline for the nearest comfy sofa.

“That’s our comfy sofa,” urgently whispered one of the voices.

“What trash is he talking about? He doesn’t even live here,” said another.

A silence.

“Look, we are the Custodians of The Margaret Thatcher Evil.” The booming voice from before now seemed tired and older than before.

“I’m going on a two-week vacation after this,” it muttered.

“Not very good custodians. There’s banana peel over there and a soda can here. Someone could step on it,” said IntricacyMan.

Another silence.

“What soda can?”

IntricacyMan threw a soda can after the banana peel.

“WHERE ARE YOU GETTING THESE THINGS?”

IntricacyMan shrugged, threw a gum wrapper on the floor, and left out the back door.

Another silence.

“Did you forget to lock the back door, Clarence?”

“I—I might have.”

§

IntricacyMan and the steamy laundry!

And now, yet more adventures of IntricacyMan!

“Who won the Math Nobel Prize in 1782?” “Whence Canada?” “Live or let die?”

All these questions, and more, can be answered by IntricacyMan: Liver of life! Lungs of Sebastian iron! Arms of nanotubes!

Today, IntricacyMan confronts e-vil in the laundromat.

IntricacyMan whistled as he walked into the laundromat only to be suddenly confronted by e-vil!

“Hello, IntricacyMan,” an e-vil voice said, coming from an e-vil body stepping out of the appropriately symbolic shadows.

Oh no, it is Dark Bob, nemesis of IntricacyMan!

“Hello, Black Bob,” said IntricacyMan, levelly. IntricacyMan says things levelly as not to let loose his white-hot anger.

“It’s—it’s Dark—gah! You have bested me once again, IntricacyMan.”

“It’s what I do,” shrugged IntricacyMan.

“Anyway, so good of you to join us. It seems like you have a dilemma here.” Black Bob gestured toward the sign posting the prices of the laundromat.

IntricacyMan shifted his gaze from Black Bob to the sign. The regular prices were slashed. In their place, scrawly red paint announced $100 and $200 prices for washing and drying. Standing next to it was a washerwoman with her hands and legs tied together.

IntricacyMan let out a gasp.

“You see, you can either shell out for the laundromat prices or—”

“pay Gloria here to do it for me, at much lower prices but simultaneously supporting her destructive cocaine habit that’s breaking her family apart,” said Intricacy Man, finishing the thought.

“—pay—gah! I could’ve said that better. You always do this. You always have to be the last one to have a—”

“thought,” said Intricacy. IntricacyMan, that is.

“I hate you, IntricacyMan! I hate you so!” screamed Black Bob.

He cleared his throat. “So what’ll it be, IntricacyDoofus?”

IntricacyMan thought about this. “Can’t I just heal her addiction?”

“Wait, that’s not one of your superpowers,” said Black Bob, flipping through his notes.

“Yes it is. It’s in my authorized autobiography.” IntricacyMan pulled out a hefty three-volume tome, pages gilded with gold and bound in leather.

“You know I can’t afford that. I have your Wikipedia page here, and it doesn’t mention ‘healing addictions’ at all.”

“Perhaps you should look closer, Dark Boob.”

“Shut up, shut up, I’ve got this,” said Dark Boob as he flipped through the pages.

IntricacyMan tiptoed closer and closer until, all of a sudden, he slammed Dark Boob’s nose in the book!

SLAM!

“Mmph!” exclaimed Dark Boob as he bled all over the laundromat in excruciating pain.

Quickly, IntricacyMan sprang toward Gloria, searching her yearning body.

SEARCH!

He pulled out a plastic baggie of cocaine. “I’ll save this for later!”

KA-POW!

“Aren’t you going to heal me,” said Gloria?

“Who do you think I am? Jesus?”

RETORT!

And so IntricacyMan took to the skies, resolving to never volunteer and do laundry for the local orphanage again. There were better ways to serve out the community service, he thought.

“Niy’ll nyet nyou nyext tine, Nintracy Nan!” said Dark Boob.

Stay tuned next week for more exciting adventures of IntricacyMan!

§

If there are love handles, there must also be burn handles!

If you remember from Dark Balloon past, you’ll recall the bold adventures of IntricacyMan!

“Where are my keys?” “Have you seen Billy?” “What’s up with Marsha’s hair?”

All these questions, and more, can be answered by IntricacyMan! Defender of good! Fighter of e-vil! Interior designer!

Today, IntricacyMan pays a visit to the cafeteria!

IntricacyMan walked into the cafeteria, bringing The Nitpicker with him.

“I’m really hungry, you know? It’s weird; I’ve been getting a lot of that lately. I think it might have to do with old age,” IntricacyMan said to The Nitpicker.

“Mm.”

IntricacyMan turned around around. “You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

“Sure, sure, you were talking about liver spots or something.”

“Christ—and for frigging sake will you stop doing that to your nose? It’s like you’re The Nosepicker or something.”

“There’s no need to mention my brother,” The Nitpicker said, sadly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“You know he has mental problems,” The Nitpicker muttered.

All of a sudden, someone started choking!

“Look, look!” The Nitpicker poked IntricacyMan.

“Stop that! Stop that!”

“That woman’s choking! Do something!”

“Well, first of all, she could just be having a heart attack. The gestures she’s making, it’s kind of ambiguous,” said IntricacyMan.

“Hey, do you want to be The Nitpicker? Is that it?”

“OK, OK, hold your horses. I’m just doing your job since you seem to suck so badly at it.”

“You know I just went through a divorce!” The Nitpicker shouted, grabbing the attention of the entire cafeteria. The people who rushed to help the choking grandma stopped and inched closer, expecting drama. The lunch ladies stopped ladling. The grandma even gurgled a little bit quieter.

“Technically, it was an annulment,” IntricacyMan pointed out.

“There! You’re doing it again! Stop it! I’m The Nitpicker!”

“Look, can we just stop arguing?”

“This isn’t an argument! It’s more like I’m screaming at a stupid monkey!”

“So you would say it’s more like a brawl?” said IntricacyMan.

The Nitpicker gave a frustrated shout and left the cafeteria. IntricacyMan sighed and looked at the wide-eyed, frozen lunch lady in front of him. Her name was Marge.

“Look—” IntricacyMan bent down to read the name tag, “—Jeff, it’s nothing. I’ll just get him a card or something.”

Marge stared.

“Could I have the chili?”

Marge kept staring.

“Christ—” IntricacyMan shot his heat beams at Marge, giving her third-degree burns.

“The quality of service these days,” he muttered as he too left the cafeteria, hoping to catch up to The Nitpicker before the screams, the choking, the gurgles, and the bustle of the cafeteria got to him.

§

Doesn’t fly with the disabled guy.

“I don’t understand.” “What shall I do?” “Who will help me?”

These questions and more are answered by IntricacyMan! Today, IntricacyMan pays a visit to Dark Bob.

“Dark Bob is in distress. Quick! To the IntricUV!”

IntricacyMan bursts through Dark Bob’s door.

“Hey, that’s my door! I paid a—Gah! Once again, you have bested me, IntricacyMan!” said Dark Bob.

“I came as soon as I heard,” said IntricacyMan, sitting down the chair and unwittingly scuffing Dark Bob’s table.

Dark Bob twitched and then smiled evilly. In a paper-thin voice, he asked, “What do you know about the intricacies of … pain?”

But IntricacyMan was not listening because he was reading. Reading … the newspaper.

“Have you seen this?” he said, munching on a doughnut, “This Russian ballet troupe is very good.”

Dark Bob waves impatiently. “Yes, yes, now what can you tell me about … pa—”

“No, I mean it. This troupe is very good. Did you know that ballet is a highly exalted art in Russia?”

“—in.”

“It’s true. It’s immensely fascinating. Some of these people have practiced since age 5. Can you believe that? Imagine. Doing ballet for over half your life.” IntricacyMan finished his donut.

“Well, that does it for me. See you around,” he said, walking out the back door, tracking mud all over Dark Bob’s lair, which was also his house.

Stay tuned next week for more adventures of IntricacyMan!