Totally Whimsical

Being a small-town superhero sucks.

I haven't posted in a long time, Puncherfans. This is because there has been no crime whatsoever that has deserved my attention in the past FOREVER.

One day, out of costume, I stopped a fight between a bunch of fifth graders. Two big bullies with cigarettes picking on some dumb looking kid. I pulled up in my car, pulled the cigarettes out of the bullies' mouths and flicked them into the dirt and told them to beat it. The kid I saved ran away in the confusion.

Some people have got no damn gratitude.

In fact, no crimes have gone on AT ALL, but finally something I think might be worthwhile happened the other night.

I was on patrol, sitting on top of the bank building that got robbed in my last update. I was eating some peanut butter cheese crackers I'd stolen from my father's house and listening to the police scanner when I heard this... wail.

"....aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAA"

What the hell is that?

I stood up and started looking around. It was hard to get a fix on where it was coming from.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"

Jesus Christ! How annoying!

Maybe it's coming from behi--

"AAAAAAAAAAAAGGAA--"

And right then, as I turned around to see what was behind me, Professor Whimsy, caught in a strong breeze, slammed into me at top speed. He bounced off of me and floated away like a soap bubble before landing daintily on the cement roof of the bank building.

I, on the other hand, was staggering backwards, taken by surprise. My heels backed out over th edge of the bank building and suddenly, all the weight in my body was pushed into the balls of my feet, my toes, and then I fell six stories to the parking lot below, leaving a good crack in the concrete.

"You ASS HOLE!" I yelled once I got my breath back. With one good leap I was back up on top of the bank building.

"Oh dear me!" Whimsy said. He was wearing one of those stupid velvet suits he always wore. His top hat was on sideways and he was stuffing long, puffy curls of his hair back into it. Think Willy Wonka with a black Jew-fro and little Ben Franklin glasses. "How rude, yes, quite, how INCONSIDERATE of me!"

"I've got half a mind to give you a black eye, you son of a bitch. What's the big idea?"

"Sir Punchernaut, I can't apologize enough!" He finished stuffing his hair back into his top hat and then pulled the hat off again, giving a low bow. "Gracious me, but you know how it is! Traveling on the wind and all that!" He stood up and looked me in the eye.

The next thing I knew, he was holding his jaw, a thin line of blood trickling down his chin.

Oh, right.

One of Whimsy's powers is making you relive your fondest childhood memory any time you lock eyes with him.

I must have relived one of my first fights.

This happened last time I met him, too.

"I didn't mean to do that," I told him, rubbing my knuckles. "Even though you did deserve it."

I do have to admit, though, I did feel pretty good.

"Oh, Punchernaut! It's been too long." He pulled his hat back on and then picked a tooth up off the ground. "Only one knocked out this time, I see! Well!" He flipped it off his thumb and caught it right in the gap where I knocked it out. I swear to God, his tooth sighed with relief as it sunk back down into his gums. "That's how it goes."

"You all right?"

"I always am, Chassit." He smiled at me, and sure enough, the blood on his teeth was gone and the tooth I knocked out was safely back in place.

God this guy creeps me out.

I never told him my real name, either, and this is the first time he's ever called me by it.

But, as with the last time I ran into Whimsy, I decided to just let it go.

Asking Whimsy questions was just asking for trouble.

If you ask me, he just likes the sound of his own voice too much.

"Last time we met, Chassit, you weren't wearing that dreadful thing on your face." He pointed to my eyepatch. "They say eyes are windows to the soul. Have troublesome boys been hurling rocks through the windows of your condemned soul?"

"No, last time I had my bionic eye in, I was in street clothes, and you almost blew my cover, Whimsy."

"Oh right! Again, I can't apologize enough, of course!"

"It's fine. Look, I've got other things I need to be doing," which was a lie. "What do you want?"

"Want? I want nothing, Sir Punchernaut, Sir Chassit of Iceland. I go where the wind deems my presence necessary. You know how I operate more well that most, I suspect. I've come here with some warning for you."

"A warning?"

"Yes, or advice, or some such. Divination has never been my strong suit, I'm afraid. Of all the things a Professor is good at, he must have at least one at which he fails. Where did I put that note? I wrote it down so I wouldn't forget, and of course, I forgot where I've put it." He was digging through his pockets, his walking stick tucked under one arm.

That's when I noticed the wind picking up.

"Whimsy, you better hurry."

"Oh dear, you're right!" Panic was creeping into his voice. More frantically than ever, he was digging through his pockets, throwing things out. A deck of cards, a brown frog, a box of Mike & Ikes, a copy of the Necronomicon.

"Come on, Hurry!" Somehow, Whimsy has a way of imposing his feelings on those around him. I was starting to panic, too, even though 30 seconds ago I couldn't give a damn about this warning he had for me.

Suddenly, with a flourish, he produced a sheet of paper, yellowed and ancient. "Aha!" he said, "Here!"

I took it from him. It was a recipe for a truth potion.

"What am I going to do with this?"

No sooner had the words left my mouth than his feet left the ground. He was being pushed along by the wind, waving his walking stick in the air above him "ON THE BACK, PUNCHERNAUT! ON THE BACK!"

I flipped the paper over, but was interrupted by Whimsy's frantic screams as the wind carried him off.

"BE WARY, PUNCHERNAUT! AND REMEMBER! BREATHE THROUGH YOUR NEEEEEeecck...."

And that's just when he was out of earshot and out of sight.

I flipped the paper over.

"PUNCHERNAUT BEWARE THE DOGS OF WAR! Or more accurately, the Dog of War. He will come upon you from above, threatening to steal our freedom to be."

And below that, in smaller letters:

"Who could have thought a SHARK could defeat an EAGLE."

And in even smaller letters below that:

"Or was it BEAGLE?"

I should have known.

Gibberish.

And "Breathe with your neck"?

Give me a break.

I go back to my crackers and the police scanner.

It's been a long month.