I am...the sound of one hand giving the single-digit salute. I am...the last snarky man. I am...the Heckler. I am also...running very quickly.

“Help! Helphelphelp!” The Heckler screamed, running in circles, hands in the air, fingers flapping. “Oh won’t somebody help me, puh-leeeeze?”

“This is-” the weirdly armored alien criminal said, watching his opponent make another lap. “Look, stop running!”

“Fine.” The Heckler skidded to a stop. “Really, though, what were you expecting when you floated down in your spiky-armor-o’-death and leveled a parking lot? Which was-might I add-already level...”

“I’m challenging you for the survival of your species!” Galactic Overlord #359 barked through his skull-faced, blood-clot colored helmet with optional barb-wire dreadlocks. He gestured with his glowing ax for emphasis. He was big, broad and heavily armed. By contrast the Heckler was short, skinny and wearing spandex.

“Really? Or is this just a big old classic cry for attention?” the yellow and white garbed vigilante said, tapping his cheek with a finger. He swung his arms wide. “Do you need a hug? Would you like me to feel your pain?”

“No!”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“Honestly?”

“YES!”

“Ah well. I tried.” The Heckler shrugged, turned around and began to walk away. Galactic Overlord # 359 blinked in shock.

“Hey! You can’t just-”

“Sorry. Our session is over. Make an appointment with my secretary on the way out and I’ll see you next week.” The Heckler said, not turning around. Galactic Overlord # 359 watched him go.

“What secretary?” he called out plaintively.

FEELING THE PAIN

By Josh Reynolds

“Whatta maroon.” The Heckler grunted as he walked on, hands in his pockets. “Every week it’s the same thing, they show up, attack the abandoned quarry and proclaim themselves president-well the Electoral College will have something to say about that!” The Heckler whirled, shaking a fist in the direction of the puzzled alien.

“Who you shaking your fist at?” a little boy, face covered in shiny nose-jelly asked, sniffing for emphasis. The Heckler patted his tow-head, then wiggled his hand to extricate it from the snot congealing there.

"Nobody important Sniffles."

"Name is Billy-"

"Of course it is Sniffles." The Heckler said, one arm behind his back, other extended, finger up-thrust in rhetoric-delivery mode. "That, boy-sidekick-"

"Mom says I can't be a sides-kicked."

"-was an illegal alien of the wrong sort-"

"Mom says aliens take our jobs and wimmins."

“-whom I have seen off with both cunning and perseverance-”

“Mom says you’re a que-”

“No thanks needed boy-sidekick!” The Heckler said desperately. “Off you go!” He turned the boy around and kicked him gently, propelling him down the street. He watched the boy toddle off.

“Geeeez.” He looked down at his costume. “It has got to be the costume. Yellow gets no respect. None at all. Maybe black?” he continued, talking to himself. He grabbed a passerby, yanking on the man‘s tie. “You sir, yellow or black?”

“Uh-”

“Never mind. Obviously I’ve caught you on a bad day.” He released the tie and sighed. The man stumbled back and fell into a woman who whirled, slamming her purse into a biker’s head, causing him to stagger back and fall, dragging the dress off of an off-duty fashion model who screamed and ran, treading on the tail of an alley cat , who leapt into the air yowling and ran out in front of a dog on a leash, who dragged its owner into traffic, which caused the cars to squeal to a stop, which led to a seven car pile-up.

The Heckler, lost in color-angst, didn’t notice.

“Why anthropomorphic personification of man’s concept of reality, why?” the Heckler looked up at the sky. Above, a woman emptied her wastebasket. The Heckler pulled the banana peel off of his mask and flung it over his shoulder. “Perfect.”

Splat.

The Heckler blinked. Turned. Looked up.

“We’re not done yet.” Galactic Overlord #359 said, wiping the banana off of his helmet. He raised his plutonium ax and brought it down with the speed of a comet. The Heckler, with the speed of a man in yellow tights and no self-respect, jumped aside. He grabbed and swung around a lamppost, his feet connecting with the back of Galactic Overlord #359 and bounced backwards.

“Ow. Ow. Ow.” The Heckler rolled to his feet and shook his head. “That was unexpected.”

“Omni-armor. Deflects everything.” The alien warrior grunted, whirling and charging towards the hometown hero. Beneath his mask, the Heckler’s eyes widened.

“Everything?” he asked, leaping up as the axe smashed into the spot where he’d been standing.

“Everything.” Galactic Overlord #359 said.

“Even emotional abuse?”

“What?”

“Do you eat a lot?” the Heckler asked, avoiding another blow. “Sorry. Never mind.”

“What are you-”

“I only ask because your armor looks a bit...tight, y’understand.”

“I’m not fat!” Galactic Overlord #359 roared, cutting a car in half. The Heckler kicked him in the head and hopped away, holding his foot.

“Yeah. Ow. Ow. Right. Of course. Just saying.”

"Well stop it! And STAND STILL!"

"Nope. Not gonna do that, fatty!" The Heckler ducked under a wild swipe and lunged forward, tackling the alien warrior around the waist. He launched a devastating flurry of punches that did absolutely nothing. "Can't-get-through-the-FLAB!"

"Omni-armor!"

"Sure. Whatever." The Heckler said. Galactic Overlord #359 bellowed and grabbed the hero around the throat and hoisted him into the air.

"I'm not fat!"

"Fatty-fat-fat-FAT!" The Heckler gurgled. The alien shook him like a chubby terrier shaking a rat. "St-i-i-i-ll f-fat!"

"AUGH!" The warrior hurled the Heckler away. He hit the hood of a car and slid off, groaning.

“Bad tempered too.”

“I’m perfectly pleasant!” Galactic Overlord #359 snarled, shaking his glowing, crackling ax at the sprawled form of the hero. “Everyone says so!”

“Who’s everyone? Your mother?”

“My mother was a saint!”

“A fat saint.”

“REEARGH!” The ax thudded into the street, rupturing a gas main. The Heckler was sent sprawling by the explosion. Cars were knocked over, windows blew out and water from broken pipes arced into the air. The Heckler shook his head and staggered up, staring at the newly made crater.

“Whooo. Temper-temper, Fatty Arbuckle.”

“Not. Fat.” An armored hand shot out the smoke filled crater and steel fingers wrapped around the Heckler’s ankle.

“Eep.” The Heckler replied. As the alien warrior rose out of the smoke, he hauled the Heckler into the air by his ankle.

“I am not fat. I am husky. And I am going to conquer your world.”

“Fine! Fine! You do that.” The Heckler said, crossing his arms. “One thing though...”

“What?” Galactic Despot #359 began. “I-”

“Just admit it and I’ll let you have the city.”

“Admit-”

“C’mon, you’re an emotionally healthy guy, right? Just admit it. Momma’s boy.”

“You-”

“Chubby-cubby.”

“Stop it.”

“You might kill me, but you’ll still be fat.”

“No-”

“And ugly.”

“I-”

“You’re fat and ugly and nobody loves you.”

“You can’t-this-” Galactic Overlord #359 released the Heckler, letting him fall to the street. “This isn’t fair.”

“Life’s not fair, is it Fatty?” the Heckler said, popping to his feet and brushing himself off.

“S-stop calling me-”

“No.”

“I can make-” the alien raised his ax. The Heckler shrugged.

“No. You can kill me Fatty, but not stop me. You’re a chudsy-udsy.”

“I have a cosmic-”

“Belt? I believe it. Only way to keep that gut from popping your pants.” The Heckler leaned forward, hands behind his back. “I think you hit me in the eye with a button by the way. I’m suing for damages.”

“My mother loves me.” The ax fell with a clang, dropping from limp fingers. The Heckler cocked his head.

“She certainly loves to feed you.”

“I don’t have to take this. I’m-I’m-I’m going home.”

“Right. Sure. Must be lunch time.” The Heckler shook his wrist near his head. “My watch has stopped. Is it fat o’clock yet?”

“Shut up.” Galactic Overlord # 359 sobbed as he stomped back towards his war-ship, hovering over the parking lot he’d made into a more level version of itself. “I’m never coming back either!”

“Good! Your weight is throwing off the rotation of the planet!” The Heckler called after him.

Ten minutes later the ship took off, disappearing from Earth’s atmosphere. The Heckler watched it and sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck and turned away.

“Man. Third time this week. I gotta get some new material. And a new costume. Blue maybe? Anybody got an opinion?” He looked around at the few remaining, cowering citizens. Those who hadn’t fled when the fight had started. “Anybody?” No reply was forthcoming.

“Geez. Tough room.”