Truth. Justice. Minesweeper.

Tuesday, May 18, 2004

Cruickshank planked an envelope down on my desk today. "This mean anything to you?" he asked.

It was from the superhero registry website. "No way!" I said. "They actually sent something!"

"What is it?" he said.

"Some stuff I sent away for," I told him. "Hold on, I'll show you."

I cracked open the envelope. Son of a gun. These guys were . . . well, not legit exactly, but definitely for real on some level. It was all flyers and coupons and other cheeseball stuff like you get in the mail. I cued up the website for Cruickshank as I flipped through it:

- a flyer for a costume designer

- an application form for superhero health insurance. Yeah, good luck. I noticed how they didn't quote any rates on the form. Guess why?

- an application form for no-fault superhero insurance. As in, if I smash through your plate-glass window while saving the world from Flang, the Thing from Beyond, I don't have to pay for it. No rates here either

- a lot of ads and flyers for gyms and exercise equipment and, ahem, 'vitamin supplements'

- an extremely shady pamphlet claiming that its author has perfected a formula that can grant you superpowers for the low low price of 39.95, guarantee void in Tennessee

- subscription blow-in cards for Heroes Weekly and Super Secrets, a couple of superhero-focused gossip magazines. I've checked out both of them and they aren't worth the staples it takes to hold together the paper they're printed on

- a glossy little postcard-looking thing advertising a superhero porn website. Really.

"You signed up for this crap?" Cruickshank said.

"I was curious. Check it out." I passed him the pile of literature.

He shuffled through it, with some disdain, and his eyebrows shot up when he got to the porn flyer. "Don't let Greyghost see any of this," he advised.

"Way ahead of you," I told him. The Miscellaneous folder is getting pretty full, but there's still some room in it.
That was tuesday, and this is friday. Are you dead? Alive? Tell us more!
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