Still on the Outs with Sandra

"Noah, I don't want to talk to you anymore!" she yelled through the phone.

"But we've been over this," I continued to plead with her, "I thought you were a man, baby."

She would have none of it. I don't understand. Plenty of men get to rough up their domestic partners from time to time. They don't get kicked out. No. A real wife realizes it's just his emotionally-stunted way of saying "I love you".

But Sandra Bennet--or Sandra Rosenhopper, as I'm afraid she's reverted back to using her maiden name--is being unreasonable.

"So, I got a little rough," I explained. "You used to like that."


"I've had enough, Noah."

I didn't know what to say.

She continued, "You just can't lie to your wife for 15 years, erase her memory, sit on her precious prize-winning Pomeranian, think she's a man, attack her and forget your anniversary because of the new Star Trek premiere. We're through."

"But, you're the love of my life, the special sauce in my Big Mac. I can't do this without you. I need you. You're everything a mysterious man in horn-rimmed glasses could want. You are my hero."

I waited for a response. Nothing. I then realized she had hung up. My words were wasted.

I guess this means I'm dating again....a fate worse than death.

Update 1

I know. I haven't been blogging. Well, you see the Internet went out at work. Then, shortly after that, work blew up.


"I can't blog anymore, Angela. My office looks like The Alamo."

"Sorry, Bennet. The days of Primatech are over," she replied. "Driver, stop here. I need socks."

So, being unemployed, I had no choice but to go job-hunting.

I decided I'd call up my old friend Michael Scott at Dunder-Mifflin.


Oddly enough, I was informed that Michael Scott left to start his own paper company. An interesting development. I quickly called him up at his new place of business. Surely he'd be needing a right hand man at the firm.

"How well can I catch cheese puffs in my mouth?" I repeated the question. Was this another one of Michael's silly jokes? I really didn't know how to respond. "Well, Michael, I don't eat cheese puffs. They're fattening."

"Sorry, Noah," he replied, "we've already got two employees, and that's all I can afford at the moment."

"Actually, you can't afford that," I heard a young boy say.

Michael shushed him and said, "Hey, but maybe in the future. We're sure to be a Titanic of industry soon."

And so, with my options exhausted, I turned to welfare. It was an odd feeling walking into the cold, dull government building. I looked at the long line of lifeless faces. After several hours, I made it up to the desk.

"Hi. I was recently laid off. I used to be a secret paper salesman."

"Hmmm..." the clerk said. "One moment." She clicked away at her computer for a few minutes, then said, "Yes, it looks like we've actually got an opening in a new secret government organization."

"Government?" I thought about how my skills would surely go to waste in such a menial position. But then I realized that with this economy, and the US on its way to socialism, a government job is the only secure thing right now. "Do we get Martin Luther King, Jr. Day off?"

"Yes."

"I'll take it!"

Time for Redemption

I've been....not so good for pretty much my entire life. Sure, when I was at my evilest, my primary motivation was the safety of my family, but it's time for a new era: an era of redemption.

Sylar is dead after all. Totally dead. Beyond coming-back-from-the-dead dead. And so, with him finally (and completely and thoroughly) out of the way, I can finally relax my evilness and live permanently on the good side of the line.

So, as I watched Sylar's body (his real, actual body) burn away to nothing more than an ashy, Sylary skeleton, I decided to make a list of all the bad things I've done so I can make up for them one by one.

My List

• #4. Broke Mohinder's Nose


• #12. Sat on Mr. Muggles


• #15. Manhandled Sandra when I thought she was Sylar


• #23. Tricked Hana into thinking she was working for the CIA


• #38. Caused the Travelocity Roaming Gnome to commit suicide


• #42. Didn't share my Twix with The Haitian


• #50. Killed Ivan.


• #64. Pointed out Angela to the security guard when she was shoplifting socks


• #67. Shot Elle in the butt


• #72. Neglected my blogging duties

I didn't post the entire list. Some things don't need to be public. Plus, I'm still adding more to it as I remember. If I wronged you, feel free to let me know and I'll add it to my list.

Aside from making up for the bad things I've done, I'll have to be less mysterious. Where there's a cloak, there's a dagger. So, no more calling me Mr. Bennet. Maybe having people call me by my first name, like normal people do, would make me less mysterious and more good. I should probably get contact lenses too, but I don't think I'm ready to go that far just yet.

I'm just trying to be a better person.



My name is Noah.

The Greatest Post in the World

The day's work began wearing on me. With Angela in a coma, many paper responsibilities fell to me. All the administrative work was much more stressful than simply shooting people. So, I as quitting time was approaching, I found myself very, very tired.

I trudged down a long and lonesome hall. All of a sudden, there shined a shiny demon in the middle of the hall. At first I thought I was hallucinating due to my exhaustion.

"You're not real," I said to the red creature from Hades. I grabbed a sheet of paper, crumpled it up and threw it at the beast. "See?" I said expecting the paper to pass through him. Instead, it bounced off his devilish chest and fell onto the floor.

"How dare you toss paper at me, mortal!" it cackled in a sinister voice.

I realized the demon was genuine and asked, "What do you want?"

"Your soul!" it replied and then burst out several vile guffaws.

"I don't have a soul," I replied. "Do I?"

His evil laughter stopped as he thought it over. Scratching his chin, he said, "Well, I never really thought about it."

"Okay," I replied. "It's almost quitting time. I still need to write a post on my web log, so if you don't mind..." I tried inching past the demon.

He pushed me against the wall with his demony claw and said, "A web log, huh?" His fiery eyes focused deep into my own and he said, "Write the best post in the world....or I'll eat your soul!"

I almost peed my pants! Not because I was scared, but probably because his paw was pressing right into my bladder. "Okay," I answered his challenge, "I just need to get to my computer."

He followed me to my office where I took a seat at my desk. I stretched out my arms, popped my fingers and shook out the tension from my shoulders, then placed my fingers on the home keys.

I began typing away the first thing that came to my head. It was as though God himself was inspiring my every keystroke. As the demon watched over my shoulder he began trembling in fear. He and I could both see what was happening before our very eyes. The blog post was coming together wonderfully, even perfectly. There could be no better words typed!

I wrote the best post in the world.

With a snort, he asked, "Be you an angel?"

"Nay!" I responded proudly putting my hands to my hips. "I am but a man in horn-rimmed glasses!"

Then, I proceeded to rock out on air guitar.

The beast was forced to let me go. He mentioned something about being bound by an honor code. In a puff of smoke, he disappeared.

Unfortunately, my Internet connection was down, so I wasn't able to save the best post in the world. I couldn't remember it either, but peculiarly it was nothing at all like this post. This post is just a tribute.

And once I get my Internet connection restored here at the office, I should resume regular posting.

Needing Something To Do

I was bored. Bored out of my mind.

There were no more leads. No more villain trail to follow.

Knox is still out there somewhere. I'm afraid I'll have to go find him next. I mean, not afraid, but you know.

If only there was some evil organization harboring all the villains, one location that I could raid. I could wipe 'em all out with a single assault.

But surely these villains aren't that stupid. They know how incredibly effective I am. Standing together in one place would only make my job so much easier.

And why would villains unite anyway? I think if Jurassic Park has taught us anything, it's that once you turn off the perimeter fences separating the villains from each other, they'll go on to devour themselves, lawyers and us.

I think if I had a special power, I'd want to be a T-Rex. Or maybe a triceratops/velociraptor hybrid.

So, yeah....did I mention I was bored? There's nothing to do but sit here and speculate. Where might the villains be? What might they be up to?

I'm sure most have fled to Mexico. As for their plans...perhaps they're going to start a mariachi band. I don't know! Villains are unpredictable.

That's why I liked hunting Heroes. You always know what they're going to do. Something noble, no doubt. "Freeze! Don't shoot!" you yell at a Hero, and sure enough, they drop their guns and apologize for making a scene.

Villains, though, they have no respect for morality, for shame or guilt or any other social inhibitors. They just live all Willie Nelson.

"Willy nilly," The Haitian corrected.

Fine. They live all willy nilly. How am I expected to fight willy nilly? I don't know, but I manage. Willie Nelson, willy nilly...it makes no difference...I'm baggin' and taggin' it because that's what I do.

When I have something to do, that is. Until then, I'm just bored.

Photo Caption Results

Well, the Photo Caption Contest was a complete success. We got a lot of great captions from all you Villains and Heroes out there.

Visit the Burnt Toast Diner



So, get on over to the cafe, order up some waffles and check out the winners.

Mission Seven: A Family Tale

From The Amazing Mutant Race 4....

"Greetings, Mr. Bennet and Mr. Summers," one of the so-called Tree People greeted us.

"Please," I responded humbly, "Call him Scott."

"I am Palín, no relation," he said, "of the Tree People."

I sensed a trap. "Funny," I said coolly. "You don't look like a tree."

"Well, we're not trees," Palín explained, "we're people of the trees."

"So, why don't you just go with that?"

"Tree People is more marketable," he replied. "So, ready for the games?" he asked putting an arm around Scott and leading us up the treetop pathway.

Scott sighed unenthusiastically.

"Aw, what's the matter there, tiger?" Palín said stopping. He grabbed Scott hard around his bicep and said, "Cheer up. You were made for these games."

I explained how Scott had been upset because he was looking forward to the other detour challenge. "I want to be mutated into looking good in sweaters," he had whined. "Winter's approaching."

Fortunately, I'm the brains of this team, so when it comes down to the decision making, I get final say. The other option was a joke. Evolution? My home school biology book says no. And besides, where would I come up with ideas for evolutionary advantages that would be original? I don't want people to think I'm just ripping off some silly comic book.

So, that's how I ended up locked in a kitchen ducking behind the counter with a pen and shield in hand as two velociraptors chugged some lager.


"I don't get the point of this game," I whispered to myself.

"You just have to stop them from drinking," a voice said, "and don't die."

"Wh-where are you? Who are you?"

"It's me, Palín," he answered. "We wired you with an audio transmitter. It makes it more entertaining for the audience if we can hear your screams." In the background I heard cheering.

I peeked back around at the velociraptors. They were still lapping up the lager. I stood up and said, "I'm going to need to see some ID." Then approached the beasts.

They watched as I walked toward them. I had my shield raised, ready to push off an attack. Once in range, I kicked the glass of lager across the kitchen.

"Did I win?" I asked as one of the raptors jumped on me, knocking me to the ground. His enormous weight held me down. I lifted the pen up as high as I could and poked at its ankle.

The other raptor seemed to watch gleefully, until it was suddenly struck by a tranquilizer dart and fell to the ground unconscious.

The raptor standing on me soon followed.

I rose to my feet and saw Palín with two bamboo-wielding Tree People. "Yeah, you won," he said. "Nice job."

Palín took me back to where Scott was waiting.

"The next game requires you to swing across to that tree over there," he pointed, "using only your tail. No hands. First one there wins."

"Okay," Scott said approaching the starting line.

"Wait," I stopped him. "He said using only your tail."

"I know," Scott replied. "I'm not deaf."

"But...you don't have a tail."

"What?" he asked shocked. "Of course I do!"

I was quite confused. "Why do you have a tail?" I asked.

"Why wouldn't I?" he shot back.

"Um, well, humans don't have tails," I explained confoundedly.

"They don't?" he asked, then proceeded to pat me on the behind. "You mean...you don't have one?"

"No," I answered, "I don't."

Scott pulled a tail from out of his pants and asked, "So why do I have one?"

"How should I know? Just swing to that tree over there and be quick about it!"

"Fine."


But quick he wasn't. "Nice job, sport," Palín said as Scott returned. "I think you may have set a record. A record for optic blasting the competition, that is. You took a long time, but you're the only one that finished the race. You win. One more game to go...."

"Wait," Scott said. "I need to call my father."

"Hello?" I heard his father answer over the speaker phone.

"Hey, Daddy. It's me, Scott."

"That's Major Daddy, boy."

"Sorry, Major Daddy...I was wondering, um...did you know I had a tail?"

"Of course," Major Summers replied, "Why do you think I threw you out of an airplane as a boy?"

"Because we were attacked," Scott said.

His father corrected him. "No, boy. I found out that your mother was having an affair with a Tree Person, Pal-something or other. Hence your tail. I'm a good guy, a strong man, but I mean, come on...you had a tail. And you weren't even mine. Anyone would have done the same in my position."

"But what about Alex? You threw him out too."

"Yeah," Scott's father explained, "he was just ugly."

Scott was speechless. He stood there not saying a word.

So, his father hung up.

"Nice job!" Palín said coming closer. "I just overheard your conversation, and you just won the third game: Discover a family secret."

As we headed back, I thought it seemed suspicious how we managed to win all our games. I was rescued from the raptors just in time. Scott somehow wasn't disqualified for optic blasting away the competition. And that last game...well, I don't even know if that was a real game.

But the important thing is, we won. And a suspicious win is still a win.