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The Continued Adventures of Superheroman & Sidekickboy – Chapter 1

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 08/24/2015

Superheroman

Chapter One – The Case of the Purloined Painting

“This city has a sickness. And I’m the cure.”

Orenthal James Coleman looks out over Iron City from his high-rise downtown off–

“Coleman, what the hell are you doing in my office?”

All Of Oil Olive Oil Inc. CEO Olive Oilberg stands in her doorway, scowling at her third-worst olive oil salesman.

“I, uh….how are you?”

“Get the hell outta here, Coleman.”

“Yes, boss.”

OJ Coleman slinks out of Mrs. Oilberg’s office as Det. Jessie Ventura enters.

Coleman tips an imaginary cap, “Madame Detective.”

Det. Ventura rolls her eyes and continues past as mailroom boy Donald Cherry rushes down the hall, grabbing Orenthal by the sleeve.

OJ points a thumb back at the detective shutting the CEO’s door, “What’s all that about, Lil Donnie?”

Donald keels over, panting. “That’s what I came to see you about. And please stop calling me Lil Donnie. I’m thirty.”

“Negatory, Lil Donnie. Now what’s the scuttlebutt?”

“Mrs. Oilberg’s priceless painting has been pilfered!”

“A putrid perp has plucked the Pablo Picasso?”

“Precisely, Porenthal. Er, Orenthal.”

“Gadzooks, Lil Donnie. The game is afoot.”


Orenthal & Donald scramble into the nearest bathroom and upon realizing the handicap stall is occupied, squeeze into a regular stall. Legs flying, elbows akimbo and a cry of “My eye!” send the other bathroom guest waddling hurriedly into the hall with his pants still around his ankles. Ski masks, capes and skin-tight lycra bodysuits are donned as Coleman & Cherry become……..Superheroman & Sidekickboy.


Superheroman steers his beat-up ’93 Jetta into the busy lunchtime Iron City traffic, struggling to see the road through his ski mask.

“Who do you think made off with the Picasso, Superheroman?”

“There’s only one supervillain in this town dastardly enough to purloin a priceless painting. Papa John Digiorno.”

“The head of the Digiorno crime family?”

“One and the same, my petite partner. We’ll head down to the Devil’s Circle red district, clobber a few henchmen, pinch the Picasso and get back to the office in time for me to start pushing New All Of Oil Olive Oil. Great new formula. Great new flavor.”

“Olive oil has a flavor?”

“The flavor of olives, Donnie my boy. Delicious olives.”

“I don’t think…”

“DOG IN THE ROAD!”

Superheroman’s Jetta careens through a dog park, narrowly avoiding several cowering canines and their owners.


Superheroman & Sidekickboy kick in the back door of the Devil’s Circle delicatessen where the Digiorno crime family meet.

Superheroman stands triumphantly before the mobsters, his cape billowing in a gust from the back alley. “Prepare to accept the thrusting fist of justice.”

One of the henchmen crinkles his nose. “The fuck?”

Sidekickboy recognizes the older gentleman sitting across from Papa John Digiorno’s desk and waves. “Hey, Senator Showalter. What are you doing here?”

The Senator, who recently kicked off his first Presidential campaign, turns to the mob boss. “John, we can’t be seen together like this.”

Papa John removes the fat stogie from his mouth, “Jesus Christ, these gabagools again. Get em outta here.”

“Not before we take back what you–“


When Superheroman comes to, he’s in the alley with his underwear over his head. “–what you stole, Digiorno.”

Sidekickboy leans up on his elbow, underwear over his head as well. “We’re outside now.”

“An astute observation, my faithful ally.”

The two downtrodden heroes trudge down a Devil’s Circle street.

Sidekickboy glumly kicks a can. “I don’t think we’ll ever get that painting back.”

“If you think about it Sidekickboy, art is all around us. Perhaps the real painting was in us all along.”

“What.”

A sickly loud crunching noise interrupts the two philosophers and Superheroman looks down to see his booted foot directly through a priceless Pablo Picasso leaning against a building next to  a sign reading “ART – $50”. Local small-time cat burglar and fence Ernie Cracklings looks up at the heroic pair, eyes bugging out and takes off sprinting down the street and around the corner.

Superheroman shakes his fist at the retreating reprobate. “I knew it was you all along, Cracklings!”


Back at the All Of Oil Olive Oil office, OJ Coleman bows his head and kicks the carpet sheepishly. “Boss, I’ve got some good news and I’ve got some bad news.”


Send all hate mail to ethanrbooker@gmail.com

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