The Adventures of The Bogus Byrd Man and Sick Boy

[Matt Murdock]

​

"Take off that damned mask, Sick Boy!" Byrd Man said, patrolling the city as usual.

"What's that, Byrd Man?" His young ward asked, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, a crimson, horned mask hiding his identity. "I can't seem to hear you over your vow for lent."

"Just you wait, Sick Boy. Wait until I'm free of this pesky religious burden."

"You're right, Byrd Man. I should stop being a jerk because I believe that a giant, all-powerful bearded man in the sky will be mad at me if I don't keep a promise I made to him."

"You know Chuck Norris too?" Byrd Man asked, landing skillfully next to his crime-fighting partner, keeping pace with him easily.

"Oh, ha-ha." Sick Boy said, obviously defeated. He quietly changed the subject as he ran along with his mentor. "Why is my name Sick Boy, anyway? I mean... I have powers... sorta. I'm agile and strong. How does that make me a 'Sick Boy?'"

The rooftop ended abruptly ahead of the team. Byrd Man spread his arms, extending his armored wings and effortlessly rose into the sky, as Sick Boy sprinted off of the rooftop, fearlessly diving for the street.

"Well, my young and dimwitted friend," Byrd Man replied as he flapped his wings mightly and only managed to fly across the small gap in between buildings. "I chose that name because of your ability to develop terminal illness and be healed of said illness within weeks."

Byrd Man flaps his wings once more and lands on a chimney.

"Oh, and I also found those Playgirls under you mattress."

As Byrd Man watched his partner's acrobatics, Sick Boy wrapped his bare hands around a flag pole jutting out of the steel frame of the skyscraper he had leaped from. He spun on the pole, gaining moment, and threw himself into the air, barely managing to land on a window washing station on a nearby building.

"First of all," Sick Boy said, sprinting along the window washing platform and leaping onto a fire escape. "the magazine is called "Jugs" and it's a tasteful, erotic publication that is the cornerstone of the drugstore pornographic market."

"And secondly," He said, as he pulled himself to the rooftop with Byrd Man, "why were you in my part of the apartment at all?"

"I uh, I needed to borrow some of your condoms...I had a hot date with this superhero. Calls herself Supergirl. We were having a good time, things got hot and heavy and then I reached down a found out her secret identity...." The Byrd Man swallowed hard and looked at his ward. "His name is Green Lantern. He likes to dress up like Supergirl."

Sick Boy stopped dead in his tracks.

"A DUDE?! You had a date... a 'hot and heavy' date... with a DUDE?!" He clutched his side as he fell to his knees laughing. "Consider us even for when I invited that Blacklight guy from the east side to our weekly poker game."

The Byrd Man broods and looks at his young partner. "Yes, that bastard is still calling and knocking on the door. I can't get him to leave us alone!"

"I know... He sent me a box in the mail... I'm scared to open it."

Suddenly, a scream echoes through the night and the two heroes look at each other. "Sounds like a woman in trouble. I might be able to get some if we save her! Let's go!"

With business as usual dragging on, Sick Boy kept pace easily with his winged partner, his Daredevil mask reflecting the lights from nearby apartments.

"You're only interested in getting some if the woman actually has a wiener!"

"And clear skin. I can't stand to see a he/she with a pimple." Byrd Man leaps, and by some sheer luck, manages to glide through the air and in front of a junkie mugging a young woman.

"Step down, punk." He growls with his body in a defensive stance.

Leaping silently from the rooftop, Sick Boy lands on the pavement behind the criminal.

"Don't make him hurt you." He says, pointing to Byrd. "I heard he's rough in the sack."

The snicker on his face is unmistakable as his fist meets the thug's jawline.

The grunt stumbles into a brick wall, slamming face first into the surface, knocking two of his teeth to the ground.

Byrd Man plants his hand on the man's jacket and carelessly heaves him to the floor.

As he rolled onto his back, his face bruised and cut, the thug drew a gun and pointed it at Byrd Man's chest.

In his signature sarcastic snarl, Sick Boy's eyes darted to the Bird in Blue.

"This could be serious, Byrd." The young ward whispered. "Like... AIDS serious."

The Bogus Byrd Man chuckled. "Was that a reference to anyone we know?"

"I'm sure it was, but we can't waste our witty one-liners on this cheap thug."

"You're wiser than you look, my young apprentice."

The man on the ground arched an eyebrow as he watched the pair engage in witty banter.

"Almost forgot about him." Byrd Man said, delivering a taloned kick to the man's groin.

Sick Boy grimaced as the man vomited and clutched his nether regions.

"Thank you boys so much." The elderly woman they had saved said.

Byrd Man began to levitate in the air, spreading his wings.

"All in a day's work, ma'am." "One more jerk taken to the cleaners, courtesy of The Bogus Byrd Man..."

Sick Boy hopped forward in front of the woman.

"And his young ward, Justice!"

A swift slap on the back of his head signaled to Sick Boy that this wasn't the right thing to say.

"His young ward, who?"

"Sick Boy..." The boy muttered.

"Louder."

"Sick Boy."

"Like you mean it!"

"His young ward, Sick Boy!"

With that, the two were once more on the rooftops, hurtling themselves through the night's sky.

"Seriously, S.B. Justice? Justice? Is that how you've been raised?"

"Better than touching Green Lantern's wang."

There was an awkward silence between them.

"You'd touch Daredevil's wang if you got the chance..."

Byrd Man landed on a rooftop, leaning over the edge slightly and tapped a button on his armored forearm. A roar rang through the night and, from the clouds, a falcon-shaped jet ripped into the skyline, a trail of flame behind it.

"Quickly, young ward! To the ByrdPlane." He said, suddenly taking a serious tone.

The plane leveled off in front of the building and Byrd Man took the front seat. Taking his seat in the rear, Sick Boy muttered to himself.

"At least I'm not a total rip-off on Daredevil." He grumbled. "You're a xerox of Harvey Bird Man."

"We don't say his name around here..." The man said, angrily. "And, if you mention him again, I'll accidentally eject you from the back of this plane."

The ByrdPlane eased its way into the sky, narrowly missing radio antennas and water towers. The elder of the pair held a radio in his hand and tapped the button on the side twice.

"Niner, niner, Charlie omega victor." He said, disconnecting the radio.

"What're you even saying?"

"I dunno. I just say random numbers, names, and Greek letters into the radio."

The jet surged forward, eventually landing on the rooftop of a massive skyscraper.

"Quickly, young ward! To the ByrdCage!"

The two hopped out of the plane, running along the rooftop at an unnecessarily dramatic and fast pace.

"Why're we running?" Sick Boy asked, almost out of breath.

"You never know when criminals will strike, my friend! That is the first rule of crime-fighting!"

The door into the building flew open as the team made their way down a set of stairs, heading straight for their massive, multi-room penthouse.

"HBO gets nasty in twenty minutes, doesn't it?" Sick Boy asked, the realization dawning on him.

"Absolutely. I must prepare my lair."

They barged into their apartment, Byrd Man stopping dramatically and glancing left and right.

"Ever vigilant!" He yelled at nobody, before sprinting to his room and slamming the door.

Sick Boy stood quietly before taking off his Daredevil mask and casting it lazily into a chair.

"He gets nutty when it's porn time..." whispered the hero.

He took care of all of the basic things that the apartment needed, as he heard "Foxy Lady" by Jimi Hendrix blasting from Byrd Man's room.

He quietly made his way to the front door, locked it, and quietly ran his hand across the lettering on the glass window, heading to bed.

The Offices of The Bogus Byrd Man and Sick Boy
Professional Lawyers, Heroes, Dick-heads, and Sexual Deviants
Walk-ins Welcome!
​

 

[Gallagher]

Hahaha, great stuff guys

 

[Blacklight]

This thread is win.

 

[Matt Murdock]

Thanks, dogs. Word.

 

[Catman_prb]

Nice.

 

[Matt Murdock]

Glad you approve, Catman.

 

[Matt Murdock]

It was 1:26 in the morning.

Two men, each in their pajamas were sitting at a table.

The events leading up to this moment were horrifying, unspeakable, even.

Sadly, though, the occurrences that took place had to be discussed by the two men at their dinner table.

No lights were on, but the moon shone through the skylights and illuminated the room with ease.

One man, younger than the other, held his head in his hands, as he slouched over the table, rocking back and forth slighty,

​

"How could you do this?" He asked quietly, on the verge of tears.

"Well, Sick Boy... When a man is lonely, and hasn't 'gotten any' in a very long time, he has to resort to other measures. So, he turns the lights down low, puts on some smooth Jazz or Soul music and just --"

"No, no, you idiot. I mean... how. What... how could you... How do you mentally get yourself to that point?"

Byrd Man stared at the lad for a moment.

"Er... I've been doing it for a long time now... so I don't really need any mental preparation."

Sick Boy stood up from the table and put his hands behind his head.

"Well, we need a system, a tie on the door, a deadbolt, something to let me know when you're..." His voice trailed off.

"Or, you could knock."

"If you weren't moaning, cursing, and making your bed creak, I would've!" Sick Boy shouted angrily.

"I really don't see what the big deal is."

"Oh? You don't?" Sick Boy said, placing an indignant hand on his hip. "You don't see the big deal in me going to town on yourself like Master Bruce goes to town on his Christian Bale puppet?"

"Not especially, Sick Boy. The human body is a beautiful thing... as is coitus."

Before he could make an argumentative, well-thought out, and incredibly sarcastic response, Sick Boy's eyes narrowed, and he stared at his mentor.

"What?" Byrd Man said after a long pause.

"Three weeks ago, I opened my high school year book and found that the pages for the senior swim and volleyball teams had been very precisely cut out."

"Oh..." Byrd Man muttered. "About that."

Sick Boy arched an eyebrow, demanding an explanation.

"I may have been scanning your yearbook one day and accidentally cut out the pictures of all of the barely legal girls in Speedos with big racks and mistakenly put them in a smut-portfolio under my bed."

Sick Boy stormed into his bedroom, with Byrd Man in toe.

"Wait! Sick Boy! Stop! It's not that bad."

After ten minutes of Byrd Man knocking hopelessly on Sick Boy's door, he turned around quietly, only to see the figure of a young woman perched in the doorway. Byrd Man motioned for her to enter, his eyes still fixated on his crime-fighting partner's doorway.

"Right this way, ma'am." Byrd Man led her to their office, plushly decorated with vibrant furniture from the nearest Ikea store. He leaned down, tapped a button on his huge, wood desk and an intercom popped up from the wooden frame. "Sick Boy, we have a client."

He sat down in his chair across from the young woman, her makeup staining her face evidently after a recent bout of crying.

Sick Boy, with his Daredevil mask concealing his face, entered the room quietly and took his seat in the rear corner of the room.

"Ah, Sick Boy, how nice of you to join us."

"It's nice to be here, Chronic *********or." Sick Boy said in a vapidly sarcastic tone, the woman's eyes opening wide.

"I thought Byrd Man worked here." She said, clueless to the manner in which Sick Boy had greeted his teacher and, apparently, the massive, steel, blue wings on Byrd Man's arms.

"He does... I do." Byrd Man said, placing a hand on his chest. "Do you think you could give my colleague and I a moment in privacy?"

She nodded and stood up slowly, glaring at Sick Boy, who snarled at her as the door slammed.

"Who the Hell do you think you are?"

Sick Boy glared at the man behind the desk.

"Your superhero name is Byrd Man. Mine is Justice. Yet, for some reason, you call me Sick Boy." He leaned back quietly, placing in his hands in his lap. "Since we started working together, I've been trying to think of a nickname for you that works. I finally found one."

"So there's no way you'll go back to calling me Byrd Man?"

"No bargaining."

"Well, then I'll make you this offer. Either go back to calling me Byrd Man, or pack your s**t and leave."

Sick Boy stared at Byrd Man for a moment.

"Er..." His eyes darted about the room.

"Done." Sick Boy said after a moment of indecisiveness.

Byrd Man tapped a button on his desk and the door slid into the ceiling, allowing the woman to enter once more.

"Sorry about that, miss. Now, how can we be of service?"

The woman didn't hesitate in her response.

"I want you to catch my father's killer." She said, simply.

Byrd Man, enraptured by the woman's cleavage snapped out of a trance a few seconds after she finished.

"I'm, um, sorry for your loss..." He said. "What happened?"

"He was murdered."

Byrd Man rolled his eyes, the woman was obviously as stupid as his ward was sarcastic.

"I gathered that when you told us you were hiring us to find his killer. My question is more directly related to the manner of his death."

"Oh. Why didn't you just say so?"

Ignoring the burning passion to insult the woman, Byrd Man stared at her.

"Look. It's two in the morning and I don't even know your name yet. Say what you need to or get out."

"O...kay." She said. After a pause, she continued. "He was in a diner. When the police called to tell me what happened, they said I needed to identify the body. When I saw him..."

She sniffed back a few tears.

"He was covered in scratches... all over his face and body. There was so much blood... and so many scratches."

A folder emerged from her purse and she slid it across the desk.

"This is all the information I could find. I hope it helps. I'm willing to pay you however much you need."

"Well, Ms." Said Byrd Man, still processing the details of his job, "I'll look over the file, and I'll see what I can do."

She nodded quietly.

"Thank you."

"Goodnight." Byrd Man said, airing on the side of bluntness.

She exited the penthouse through via the elevator, and Byrd Man and Sick Boy were left alone once more.

"What do you think?"

"I'm not sure. The guy sounds ferocious. Lemme see the file."

Having yet to glance at the folder, Byrd Man tossed it carelessly across the room.

"Says here that he's about 6'1" and, get this, bears a strange resemblance to Johnny Depp."

Byrd Man snickered.

"Burst into a restaurant screaming bloody Mary, and just killed half the people in the place."

"What'd he take?"

"Nothing at all. Just killed some folks."

"I see." Byrd Man said, rising to his feet. He eased his way to a bookcase and removed a pipe from a shelf. Puffing on the unlit pipe, he turned to look at his ward. "Sounds to me like we're dealing with a psychopath."

"Sound reasoning, Sherlock."

"Does he have any powers?"

Sick Boy flipped through the papers within the file.

"Nope... Apparently, he just yells incoherent sentences."

"I see..." Said the Winged Wonder.

After a moment of deep thought, he faced his companion.

"I say we take the case. Find the guy, slam our fists into his jaw a few times, smile for the cameras and get our cash. And, just to top it off, I nail the dead guy's daughter."

"Sounds good, thought that last part is in bad taste."

"Why? She's not my daughter."

Sick Boy held his face in his hand as he made his way to his bedroom.

A slamming door signaled that Byrd Man, too, was in his bedroom.

As Sick Boy slipped under the covers of his bed, the door to his room flew open.

"Where is it?!" Byrd Man cried, his silhouette filling the door frame.

"Where's what?"

"The thing under my bed!"

"Oh. Your skin bin... I threw that out the window."

"What?" asked Byrd in shock. "Why?!"

"It solves two problems." Sick Boy said. "The first being that I'll never have to see you fap ever again. The second is that now your room doesn't smell like old fish."

Byrd Man took a moment to process this, and quietly nodded his head in agreement.

The next morning, Byrd Man was steadily making his way through the folder the woman provided him with when Sick Boy quietly made his way into their lair, pulling on his Daredevil mask.

"Any new developments?" He asked, stretching.

"None." Byrd said, quietly closing the folder. "We're heading to see the chief, I called him before you woke up. Quickly! To the ByrdPoles!"

The ByrdPoles were a series of massive fire poles lining the exterior of the building, known to the folks around the city as the ByrdCage. They curved at their tops, high above the roof of the penthouse, gracefully descended over the side of the building, passed by the windows of the penthouse, and stopped in what was nothing more than a parking lot for all of Byrd Man and Sick Boy's vehicular toys, known as the ByrdCave.

The pair leaped onto the poles, slid down the exterior of the building, and came to a stop on the cold floor of the parking lot.

Byrd Man removed the newest key from his utility belt and clicked the top button twice. An engine roared to life and, from the bowels of the massive room, two lights turned on. The ByrdPlane rocketed to the forefront of the transports, and came to a halt inches from Byrd Man's hand.

"Let's go, young ward!" Byrd Man cried, as he threw himself into the jet.

The engines sprung to life, and the plane made it's way across the cityscape.

The plane came to a stop on a building next to the police station.

Both Byrd Man and Sick Boy made their way to the adjacent roof, on which the chief of police was waiting.

"You're late." The chief growled, as he lit a cigarette.

Ever the cliché, the chief turned around slowly, revealing a scar over his left eye. His brown, leather overcoat moved with the breeze, his badge hanging quietly and inconspicuously from the outer pocket of the jacket. His gun was holstered quietly, in the same holster on his side that was the standard for all of the movie-style cops.

"Sorry, Master Bruce."

"Why do they call him 'Master?'" Sick Boy whispered.

"I have no f**cking clue... Just go with it." Byrd Man replied

"Your phone call indicated that you have a matter you need to discuss with me."

Byrd Man nodded and handed the folder to Master Bruce.

"What do you make of this?"

Pouring over the massive amount of information in a few, short minutes, Master Bruce looked up, the front of his cigarette burning brightly in the midday sun.

"We've heard of this guy." He said, his voice overly hoarse. "He kills people for no reason. He strikes at the high points of the locale's business, thus raising his kill count. "

For no reason at all, the cop's eyes narrowed.

"The police have called him..." The officer drew in a deep breath through his cigarette. "The KillJoy."

"Why all the drama?" Sick Boy asked, after a few awkward moments. Byrd Man, winced as the words slipped from his compatriot's mouth, as Master Bruce's gaze pierced the boy's soul.

"Drama is what I do, you sniffling little runt. I tell parents that their children have died over a bag of pot, I tell children that daddy won't be home for the holidays because Jose the arms dealer decided to go on a cop-killing spree."

Inches away from Sick Boy's face, Master Bruce continued.

"Drama is in every part of my life. I can't walk down the street without looking over my shoulder. It's only through the knowledge that there are people out there who have done this before me, and there are those that will do this after me, that I can sleep at night. I'm like --"

"Here we go..." Byrd Man whispered, interrupting Master Bruce.

After a stern glare at the Blue Bird, Bruce continued.

"I'm like the goddamned Batman. Endlessly pursuing those who poison my beloved city with their criminal ways. I'm dramatic because drama is all I know."

With that, he looked back at Byrd Man.

"All we've been able to dig up about this guy is that he's got two dogtags around his neck and his real name is Logan Howlett... though we assume that's an alias. Our analysts have projected that he'll be hitting the local toy store next, hoping to get a headline or two."

Byrd Man nodded as he took the folder and got back into the jet.

"Thanks for the help. Let's go, Sickster."

As the plane rose in the air, Master Bruce stood stoically on the rooftop, the plane's engines kicking up dirt and grit that swirled around him. His coat flapped violently in the wind, yet Master Bruce didn't move, he only stared at the plane as it rocketed into the horizon.
​

 

[Blacklight]

In terms of comedy, slightly less funny than the first one, but it was great, Matt. Keep up the good work.

 

[Matt Murdock]

 

[Blacklight]

t:

Spoiler

ULTIMATE MARVEL POST!!!!!

Spoiler

Please?

Spoiler

Pretty please? x2

Spoiler

For a cookie?

 

[Matt Murdock]

I think I'll get there in the morning, BL. Think of it this way: I haven't even been able to muster up a DD post for that game. If I can get the chapter of Byrd Man and Sick Boy I'm working on right now done in a timely fashion, an Ultimate Marvel post will be the first thing I do afterwards. If I don't finish this chapter tonight, I'll write my Ultimate Marvel post first thing tomorrow before even finishing the chapter.


Then again, this chapter is already halfway done, because I sort of forgot about the character limit, so things are shaping up well.

 

[Blacklight]

I think I'll get there in the morning, BL. Think of it this way: I haven't even been able to muster up a DD post for that game. If I can get the chapter of Byrd Man and Sick Boy I'm working on right now done in a timely fashion, an Ultimate Marvel post will be the first thing I do afterwards. If I don't finish this chapter tonight, I'll write my Ultimate Marvel post first thing tomorrow before even finishing the chapter.


Then again, this chapter is already halfway done, because I sort of forgot about the character limit, so things are shaping up well.

Sweet. I hope that you find a muse for your DD again, so that I can see what happens next. Darkdevil is one of the cooler MC2 characters next to Spider-Girl, J2, and Mainframe, and how you ultimized him by making him Daredevil's new transformation is awesome.

 

[Matt Murdock]

Christ, I'm tired. I'll post the next chapter tomorrow after I write the ultimate marvel post.

 

[Gallagher]

Hehehe, Including OCH was a nice touch t:

You should pretty much give everyone in the RPG community a cameo.

Hell Blacklight got one

Keep up the good work.

 

[Blacklight]

Hehehe, Including OCH was a nice touch t:

You should pretty much give everyone in the RPG community a cameo.

Hell Blacklight got one

Keep up the good work.

I think that was the plan....

 

[Gallagher]

I think that was the plan....

Quiet Fogel

Dammit MM, now you've got me sayin it!

 

[Blacklight]

Quiet Fogel

Dammit MM, now you've got me sayin it!

Boy don't get me started! It's too late at night over here!

 

[Gallagher]

Boy don't get me started! It's too late at night over here!

[wolvie] Did he just call me 'Boy'? [/wolvie]

 

[Byrd Man]

I'm getting damn tired of being the butt of these jokes. Maybe Byrd can be the straight man next chaper.

 

[Matt Murdock]

​

The plane flew blazingly fast over buildings and through the concrete jungle of the city. Byrd Man brought the jet to a stop on a rooftop roughly five blocks away from the toy store.

He hopped out of the plane, Sick Boy right behind him.

"I don't want to make this psycho aware of our presence. We're heading the rest of the way on foot."

"You mean by air, right?" Sick Boy asked.

"Whatever, Sicky. Whatever."

With a tap of the remote on his belt, the jet turned invisible, and the pair started making their way across rooftops.

As they approached the toy store, a child's cry echoed through the day and Byrd Man launched himself forward, ahead of Sick Boy.

"Don't wait up!" Sick Boy said, as he sprinted across the roofs, leaping over alleys, and diving over fire escapes.

When Byrd Man reached the shop, he was almost too late. Somehow, a car had been smashed through the storefront and children were pouring out of the back exit into a side alley. There, a man in jeans and a wife beater was waiting for them. Byrd Man casually landed behind him, without making a sound.

"You know," Said Byrd Man, scaring the man, "They say that a child's laughter can prove that God exists... yet, somehow, I don't think you're looking for religion."

Now able to better examine the man in front of him, Byrd Man saw that he was muscular, roughly five and a half feet tall, with poorly gelled hair. On the backs of each his hands, there were three plastic knives, crudely taped between his knuckles.

"Wow, things... things just aren't going your way, are they pal?"

The man roared angrily and threw his hands backwards behind him.

"SNIKT!" He said, glaring at Byrd Man.

"Snikt?" Byrd Man asked, confused. "Is that even a word?"

The two paced around each other, one circling the other.

"Did you mean to say something else? I'm not sure I get what you're trying to tell me."

From seemingly out of nowhere, Sick Boy leaped off of a rooftop and jammed his boot into the back of the fighter's spine, sending him to his knees with a roar.

"Nice of you to show up."

"Gee, sorry my wings haven't grown yet!" Sick Boy said with a sneer.

The two ignored the man between them for a moment, as he groggily pulled himself to his feet.

"Listen to me.......bubs." Howlett said, brandishing the knifes taped to his hand. "I sugest taht you guys take off. Yer barkin' up the wrong tree."

"What are you even supposed to be?" Sick Boy said, spinning a billy club on his finger.

Still ignoring the thug, Byrd Man glared at Sick Boy.

"Billy clubs? Billy clubs, Sick Boy? God, you've just got Ben Affleck's wang so far up your back end you can't see straight."

Sick Boy lowered his guard.

"Daredevil is an iconic character who represents justice, dammit!"

The pair stared at each other.

"At least it isn't Green Lantern's wang!"

A fist slammed into the side of Sick Boy's head and he slammed into the pavement.

"JESUS H. TITTYFU**ING CHRIST!" Byrd Man roared as Sick Boy rocketed into the sidewalk.

Sick Boy rolled onto his back, only to see Logan Howlett looming over him.

"What the s**t was that?" He asked angrily.

"I told you queers not to mess with me....... Now yer gonna need to pay, bubs!"

"You think you can take us both on?"

Howlett held his knifes in front of his face.

"Damn rite I do.... spineless cowards!"

Sick Boy stared at the freak of nature in awe.

"I left this town for a while..... but now Im back... I used to own this toy store...... I started it..... and it's mine!""

Howlett spun and caught Byrd Man's cheek with one of the plastic knives.

"Ow... dammit! That sorta hurt." He said, tapping the wound. "Am I bleeding? Am I?"

He glanced at his fingers, dry.

"No. I'm not. But still, ow."

Howlett nodded.

"Yeah....bub...told you you didnt want ta mess whit me."

"Oh, I get it now." Sick Boy said, a tone of understanding in his voice, "You're supposed to be Wolverine, like from the comics."

"Supposed tah be....." Logan Howlett roared, "Suposed ta be?!"

He wrapped a hand around Byrd Man's throat.

"I AM WOLVERINE!"

He heaved back, and jammed his 'claws' into Byrd Man's armored chest.

SNAP!SNAP!SNAP!

All three snapped in half, unceremoniously falling to the floor.

"S**t..." He muttered, as a pair of fists slammed into his jaw.
​

 

[Gallagher]

TEOL

If I had any defining qualities I'd demand to be made into a villain

 

[Catman_prb]

I second this. Nice work guys

 

[Harlekin]

Un-hilarious.

 

[Matt Murdock]

I second this. Nice work guys

Why's that plural?

 

[Matt Murdock]

IN THE COMIC BOOK FANFICTION WORLD,
THERE ARE TWO SEPARATE, YET EQUALLY IMPORTANT GROUPS.
THE ROLE-PLAYING GAMES, WHICH FOLLOW DRAMATIC, EPIC, AND SERIOUS STORIES.
AND THE PARODIES THAT MAKE JOKES ABOUT *********ION AND BREASTS.

THIS IS THE LATTER.

DUM DUM

"We got a secretary?" Sick Boy asked as he entered the office portion of the Byrd Cage on a brisk May morning.

A Rolling Stone magazine was under his arm, and he poured himself a glass of orange juice, looking to his mentor, who was reading personal ads in the newspaper.

Assuming that his fellow hero was either too engulfed in his paper to hear his question, or too indifferent to care, Sick Boy sat down at the table across from Byrd Man.

"Personal ads?" He asked, arching an eyebrow from across the breakfast nook. "What're you looking for in the personal ads?"

Byrd Man sighed heavily and slammed his Sharpie on the table.
"Sick Boy, there are many things you need to learn. How to clean up your part of the apartment is one, why you should always knock my door is another. But, the most important thing to learn, is that chicks who post in the personal ads --"

"Are looking for companionship?"

"No. They --"

"Have deep emotional scars that you want to heal?"

As he spouted these meaningful sentences and blurbs about compassion and love, Sick Boy never even dared to think of whether or not Byrd Man was emotionally capable of understanding them.

In short, he was not.

"Would you listen?" Byrd Man, by now, was already aggravated. "Three words, S.B.: 'these chicks put out.'"

"That's... four words." Sick Boy said, finishing his orange juice.

"F**k you and the horse you rode in on!" Byrd Man quipped.

"W...what?"

Byrd Man chuckled, folding the newspaper up once more.

"I'm sorry. It's become something of a habit at this point. You and your horse can stay and remain un-f**ked."

Sick Boy was terrible confused, as he glanced throughout the lair looking for any type of equine, and, yet, his search yielded nothing. And, still, his question about their secretary had been unanswered.

In an instant, an idea was in his head.

"Quickly, Byrd Man!" He said, more vigilantly than he was used to. "There's evil afoot!"

His steps were gawky, and his running labored, but, soon enough, the pair were outside of the door that read

The Offices of The Bogus Byrd Man and Sick Boy
Professional Lawyers, Heroes, Dick-heads, and Sexual Deviants
Walk-ins Welcome!

And, like that, the pair were staring at a small African-American fellow, rather unimpressive in stature sitting behind a desk situated next to the door.

"I sense that there's something wrong here!" Sick Boy said, thrusting a bony finger into the young man's face.

"Who, this? This is just our new legal secretary."

At last, Sick Boy was making progress. Once more, he asked his original question.

"We got a secretary?"

"Well, he's sitting here right now, isn't he?"

"Why do we need one?"

"Our business is booming after the takedown of the Killjoy, and we need to keep our papers and books straight."

"Which one was he again?"

"The Wolve-Wannabe."

"Oh, right. Him."

It seemed to make enough sense, having someone around who could handle clients and checks when Byrd Man and Sick Boy were indisposed.

"How long have we had him?
​

"Just about four weeks now."

"Is he good? I haven't even noticed him fluttering about."

"Well, he sort of disregards the filing system we've had in place, and he's sort of in-your-face about the whole aceray hingtay.."

"The...the what?"

"Pig Latin. Learn it. Love it." Byrd Man said, returning to the office.

A few moments passed, as Sick Boy stood in the hall, stroking his chin.

"OH!" He said, with a light clicking on in his mind. "Race thing."

"You get today's gold star." Byrd Man said, thrusting an object into Sick Boy's hand.

Sick Boy looked at it for a few minutes.

"This isn't a gold star..." He said, somewhat disappointed. "This is the TIVO remote."

"Prop comedy is another thing you need to learn about."

"So... I don't get a gold star?"

"No."

"Oh."

An awkward silenced passed between the two. Sick Boy scrambled for a topic of conversation.

"Did we ever get paid for catching the Killjoy?"

"Probably not."

"Did you bother calling the girl who hired us?"

"No. She was probably sexually abused by her father, though. So I figured that the bastard got what he deserved from the Killjoy, we take him out, make the world a better place, and I can make it home in time to see Band of Brothers on TV."

Sick Boy felt his jaw go slack. His eyes narrowed, and he was confused once more.
"Why did your mind go straight to abuse?"

"I had a funny uncle."

Sick Boy's eyes widened and he was utterly speechless.

"Y..you were abused?" He sputtered.

"What? No. Christ, no. I had a funny uncle. Told the best stories. Always filthy and inappropriate."

"Oh. Well, Byrd Man. We need to get paid to do something. I have a sensation that our electric bill might not get paid this month."

"We could always go on TV."

This was an idea that Sick Boy had never even considered. Getting their name out there to the press, having millions of people watching them from home. They'd be stars.

"The talk show circuit?"

"Why not?"

"Because it's corny, outdated, and rapidly being surpassed by the internet media."

Byrd Man pondered for a few moments, launching himself into a chair.

"Well...yeah. But, we'd also make bank."

Sick Boy snickered.

"Bank?"

"It's a term they use in one of the rap cd's you keep under your bed."

He laughed.

"Found this, too."

Byrd Man tossed Sick Boy a cd case that was strewn on the table.

KAPLAH
A Guide to Conversational Klingon

"T...this isn't mine." Sick Boy stammered. "I'm holding it for a friend."

"No, you're holding the weed in the top drawer of your bureau for a friend. Face it, S.B. you're an all-out nerd."

Sick Boy didn't bother responding. What was he to say, anyway?

"Just... call our agent please. Get us on some TV shows."
​