Dateless Claire Bear

Well, good news! My future death looks to be prevented. So I won't be needing my coffin:



That's a good thing. Death would end a very important part of my life, and it seems costly. I don't die though; I'm Mr. Benn..uh..Butler. Cunning. Ingenious. Handsome. Paperific! Death would have to be a finely-tuned killing machine to take me down...like a ninja or something. A Mexican ninja. Now, that would be a challenge.



But I could take him! I once killed an invisible man, ya know...well, so the story goes.

So, I'm not at all worried about this so-called prophecy. I may not have a super power, but I'm a Hero, like those mythological kinds...like Oedipus or something...and Heroes don't die. They can't die.

My fool-proof anti-prophecy life-plan is to hyphenate like a radical wheat monkey and not let Claire date. I've succeeded in both! Why can't Claire date? I'm sure you pervs are crushed, and quite frankly you're the main reason. (Yes, you!) But the not main reason, and probably more main in actuality, is that the killer was kissing her in the painting:



Now, I've long been against public displays of affection. The only thing worse than seeing a couple making out is being shot in the eye by them. Luckily, if Claire has no boyfriend, then this mysterious Claire-kisser can't harm me or my glasses. I'm safe!

Artistic Fright

I don't like heroin addicts, never have. They paint too much. Other than being superfluous, art is highly unnecessary.

Before his death, Isaac "I'm High, Dawg" Mendez, painted several so-called masterpieces. The problem with his art is its unrealistic style. I mean, if I wanted to see comic-life drawings, I'd read the funny pages. But the other problem is the paintings are prophetic.

If Oedipus has taught us anything it is to be careful with the relationship between you and your mother. That's why I didn't get too close to mine; in fact it took me years to discover she had died. Oedipus also teaches us that you can't stop prophecy. I know. I've tried. Homecoming taught me a vicious lesson in prophecy and in pointless teenage culture. Fortunately the prophecy was misread.

This new painting can't be misread. Horn-rimmed glasses aren't like cheerleader outfits. This look of mine is one in a million. I'm not just any blonde bimbo, like my little Claire Bear and Jackie. Unfortunately my good looks prove that this prophecy is my death, or at least the loss of my left eye, which happens to be my favorite. (Stupid right eye!)

This is a prophecy I have to stop! But my extensive knowledge of mythology and literature make it obvious what will happen. My efforts to stop the prophecy will lead into its realization.

My first thought when I saw this painting was, "Oh, no! That's the shirt I'm wearing right now!" I wanted to rip it off and burn it, but I realized that by doing so, I would be trying to stop the prophecy, and it would come true. The minute I would have clenched the fabric to start tearing it off of me, I'd be shot. So I kept my shirt on.

Mohinder, however, was less calm.

"This recent artistic revelation has me feeling rather uneasy, a tad bit precarious."

"This changes nothing," I said.

"You have on more than one occasion implied that my own safety, my very well-being, perhaps even my life, was proportionately linked to your own perpetual animation."

"You'll be fine, Doctor." I tried to calm him. "We stick with the plan."

"I fear your approaching demise has itself limited my own existence."

"Well, yeah...there is that."

"In circumstances such as these, when my liveliness is in jeopardy, being threatened by the turmoil of social evolution, one can only incur an instinctual necessitation to protect Mohinder."

"It's prophecy, Suresh. You're Hindu or something, right? You of all people should know that when Jesus says something's gonna happen, that's how it'll be. You can't stop the Buddha from falling out of the Bodhi Tree."

"It is not the prophecy with which I have this cause for concern. Your death has been a fantasy of mine many times in the past. However, now it would have a rather unpleasant side effect, that being my own death. Something must be done to ensure my safety after your inescapable end."

"Alrighty, Mohinder. I'll get back to you on that." I hung up the phone.

Haitian Games

The Haitian came bearing good news and bacon bits. He managed to obtain a bootlegged copy of Halo 3 while vacationing, or whatever he was doing, in Haiti.

"To the Bat Cave!" I shouted. The two of us ran to the Copy Kingdom back room where we had a TV and Xbox 360.

The Haitian was disappointed. "This is no Bat Cave."

I had to do some quick alterations to the Xbox to get around the licensing check some evil company man must have installed. After that, it was smooth sailing.

"You're going down!" I said to The Haitian.

"We are playing Cooperative Mode."

"I'm still going to win."

Then the manager walked in. "Butler! This is a violation of several store policies. First, no playing video games unless on break. Second, no friends in the back, especially..." he glanced at The Haitian, "...Black ones. We don't want to be robbed!"

The Haitian threw bacon bits in his face. "I am not Black. I am Haitian."

"Hollow him out!" I said. It felt so good giving that order again.

The Haitian took care of my boss and we started playing the game again, in peace. I blasted away alien scum all over the place! Aliens stand no chance against my robotic-like gaming capabilities. This is almost just like what I used to do as a living. They should have named it "Halo 3: Paper salesman of the Year".

Unfortunately, aliens have tanks! Dastardly evil tanks. I've been blown up more times than Mohinder's last girlfriend. (What I mean is she was a suicide bomber, not what you're thinking.) It looks like we'll be on this level a while. I've tried shooting the tank, grenading the tank, jumping on the tank...nothing worked. The Haitian even tried suppressing its ability, but it was no use!

I probably won't blog for a while as The Haitian and I have a very important mission: Destroy that tank!

(Strategy Suggestions are appreciated, but don't get snobby.)

The Fate of Douglas the Guppy

Well, my last post I told you about the fish I once had and my efforts to find him after he was lost. I suppose I should finish up that tale.

You see, posting his picture on the back of a milk carton was a good start. I knew that would get the word out, and someone would respond if they had seen them. I mean, people in my household were always drinking milk. The late Mama Bennet was a big fan of cats, and growing up, I had quite a few. Cats need a steady flow of milk.

Speaking of pets, I have to say that they are all overrated. My mom had cats, and look how she turned out. Dead! And my wife has a dog and she's slightly retarded. Then there's Lyle. Since he has no super power like my Claire Bear does, he's pretty much a pet. And he's worthlesser than Muggles!

But perhaps my loathing of pets began with Douglas the Guppy. Though I did not loath him, in fact I adored that guppy, his fate tore my little, innocent heart to pieces. I picked up the milk carton and was about to put it back in the refrigerator when I saw this:


Oh, Douglas! Why did you have to leave me? There isn't a day goes by that I am not reminded of him and his guppy-like ways: swimming around, being underwater, acting all fishy. He was a good fish.

After the loss of Douglas, I filled my life with a new pet. A pet that would never die, for it was already a dead tree. And there was an endless supply of it. Yes, Paper! If you must have a pet, I suggest you go with paper.

I Had a Fish Once

I was watching TV. It's something I do when I'm not busy weaving a web of deceit. A fish came on the screen. The fish swam onto the screen full of excitement. He dashed up and down, doing somersaults and drinking a martini while floating on its back. Needless to say, this was no ordinary fish! Aside from the fact it was animated, I noticed something peculiar about it, something...unnatural.

The fish had a hand shaped fin! Yes, that's right. It's fin had finger-like appendages at the end, even a thumb!

An eerie feeling poured into my soul. This fish is becoming human, I thought. It was like that taxi driver said, "All creatures are inherently destined, preordained by the gods themselves, to venture forth through evolutionary progression in search for the ultimate, and most beneficial, chromosomal tools of survival." I fell asleep after that first sentence. But I remember his words resonating inside my mind as I dreamed of origami swans electing me the King of Paper Land. Mohinder woke me up, "Mr. Bennet. We have at long last arrived at your dwelling. The fee for my transporation service totals to twelve dollars and eleven cents."

I was annoyed to awake realizing my dream to be so distant from the reality I found stepping outside his cab. I handed the professor a ten dollar bill. "Keep the change," I said.

He began talking, no doubt another philosophical rant, as I went inside my home, never thinking about those words we used to put me to sleep...until now.

Mohinder's words were not the only memories reawakened by this deformed cartoon fish. It brought back painful memories of my childhood friend and loyal companion, Douglas the Guppy.

One day, I came home to find Douglas the Guppy missing from his bowl. "Dougie!" I called out. There was no reply. Where could he have gone?

I checked the garage, thinking maybe he took the car out for a spin. But the Nissan was there, untouched. I looked all over my room for him, thinking he may have gotten lost in the clutter. But there was no fish to be found anywhere!

So, it became time to raise the alert level. I headed to the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator. I pulled out the milk carton and quickly filed a missing persons report on its backside:


Even to this day, I don't know what has become of poor Douglas. Perhaps one day I'll be reunited with him. Perhaps he now has opposable thumbs. Let's just hope he's not forced into doing animated TV ads to get by.

Whoomp, There He Is

Recent events can best be summed up by an exert from a poem I first heard back during my company days:

Tag Team back again check it top
Wreck it - let's begin
Party people let me hear some noise
DC's in the house jump jump and rejoice
There's a party over here
a party over there
Wave your hands in the air
Shake the derriere

Whoomp, there he is! The Haitian is finally back in my possession, an occasion truly deserving of ample derriere-shaking. Now the party can begin. Together we'll cause so much short-term memory loss it'll make Animal House's toga party look like a meeting of a quilt club. No party is complete without wide-reaching memory gaps. I rate all my parties based no the crazy stuff I can't remember doing, and let me tell you, soon, Primatech is going to have a killer party!

Of course we couldn't go right into bagging and tagging like the good ol' days. There was so much catching up to do.

"So, what have you been up to, my friend?" I asked him.

"..." he stared at me blankly.

"Oh, don't give me that again! I know you can talk."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," he said. "I have just been working in the shipping business until I got deathly ill."

"Well, I see you still have a flair for dressing exquisitely."

"Thank you. I see you still have a flair for boring paper stuff."

"It is my passion. So did you catch Saturday Night Live over the weekend?"

"No. In Haiti, I do not have cable. I was too ill to watch it anyway, though they say laughter is the best medicine."

"SNL wouldn't have helped, then. It's for the best you missed it."

Then a customer walked into Copy Kingdom looking as though he just escaped prison. "Yo, man!" he hollered at me, "I needs me some invitations for my girl's birthday party."

I called for Mike to help him out, but the guy noticed The Haitian and said, "Hey, man! When did you get out?"

"..."

"Sorry," I said to the man, "he doesn't speak."

"Aw, no way! They do that to you in the joint?"

"..."

"Oh, yeah, you don't talk, huh?" The man looked at me, "They do that to him in the joint?"

"He's never been in prison," I answered.

"Right, man. Whatever." Across the store I noticed a uniformed police officer watching the man carefully. The man noticed him too. "Hey, man, I gots to run. Nice seeing you D.L." and the man left the store.

The Haitian looked annoyed. "Why do people always think I'm D.L.?" he asked.

"It's probably the eyes," I answered, trying to avoid awkward racial tension. I added, "I think he's dead, though."

"Is he?"

"I think so. I could care less, but I guess you know that about me."

He laughed. "Yeah, you never were one to care about the well-being of others."

The conversation continued on for what seemed like hours. The Haitian had done so much in four months, he even had a Brazilian wax. Aside from having to put up with constant boasting about his totally hairless body, having The Haitian back has been great. I can't wait to start up our devious ways again. Hmm...Who can we hollow out first?

Makin' Copies

Ah, Copy Kingdom. It isn't much, but it pays the bills (which mostly consists of beauty products for Mr. Muggles).

I've been at this job for a while now and despite the mundanity, it is rather enjoyable. I made a pinky promise with my boss, or I guess I nearly broke his pinky, and so now he doesn't bother me. Which is good because there's a lot of work to be done!

My name may be Mr. Butler now, but I'm still the man in the horn-rimmed glasses; and that means I can't be a total bore and work a pointless 8 to 5 job like you probably are. I need action. I need mystery. I need secrets. And I could use a Haitian (Has anyone seen him?).

My good friend, and by good friend I mean person I decided not to bag and tag, and I have a plan. I did most of the thinking. Between the two of us, most people would think he'd be the brains, but his philosophical fiddle-farting gets us nowhere. I am a born leader. And thanks to me, Mohinder and I will soon bring down the company!

Step one is to infiltrate Primatech. I used Mohinder as bait. I'm actually getting really good at using people. Soon Mohinder will be deep inside the organization.

Step two takes advantage of my new job. Since I enjoy a nice lack of supervision now, I have a lot of free time on my hands. And this time is spent plotting! Here's my plotter:


Step three takes advantage of my plotting. I take the poster that I printed out and copy it. I do one copy every two hours and thirteen minutes, so I don't attract attention. Soon I'll have a ton of copies and I'll mail them to Suresh disguised as research materials. He'll take these posters and plaster them all around his place of employment. The posters will have a drastic effect on the company men and women. Their morale will plummet. They'll lose the very will to live. And the company will crumble!

If you happen to be an employee of the company, or know someone who is, and would like to help out, you can. Just print out the poster below and post it everywhere people tend to look, like the backs of bathroom stall doors or Peter's hair. You can even post them where people don't look, like the CBS Evening News or on your local marching band.

Here's the poster: