CC9: ‘Whingers Assemble’

 

Ironing Man sprayed a bit of steam on his shirt and set to on the creases thereupon.

 

The phone rang.

 

“Goddamn it!,” exclaimed he, then he carefully placed the iron in its safety cradle and picked up the receiver.

 

“We have a mission for you,” said the voice on the other end.

 

“I’m already on a mission.”

 

“Ironing?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“It’s a little more important.”

 

“What’s more important than ironing?”

 

“Saving the world.”

 

“Goddamn it!”

 

Ironing Man switched off the iron, then got changed into his Ironing Man suit.

 

…

 

It was, to say the least, a bit awkward being Big Daddy Long Legs. If it wasn’t for the children constantly trying to pull off his limbs, it was a total nightmare trying to get a seat on a bus... not to mention the perils of sofa buying! So when he did manage to get comfortable for five minutes, normally on the twelve foot trampoline in his back garden, it was a swear-inducing pain-in-the-thorax when the phone rang. Thankfully he had his servant and sidekick, Thrush Boy, to help with such things.

 

“Phone for you, sir,” said Thrush Boy.

 

“Just put it on the side there,” said Big Daddy Long Legs.

 

“Very good, sir.”

 

“And turn on the Bluetooth.”

 

“I might need to get Bluetooth Girl for that.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“No.”

 

“Press ‘Answer,’ Thrush Boy.”

 

Thrush Boy did so.

 

“Hello, who is this?”

 

“It’s Uncle Ben.”

 

“I don’t have an Uncle Ben.”

 

“Not your Uncle Ben, the Uncle Ben; leader of the special crime fighting squad, the Whingers.”

 

“Never heard of them.”

 

“That’s because we work in secret, vanquishing criminals and, by doing so, maintaining the safety and emotional health of humankind.”

 

“So you’re health and safety officers.”

 

“Um... kind of.”

 

“What do you want then?”

 

“To give you a mission.”

 

“I’m already on a mission.”

 

“By ‘mission,’ do you mean ‘trampoline’?”

 

“How do you know?!”

 

“Eyes and ears, Big Daddy Long Legs. Eyes and ears...”

 

...

 

“Like here’s your gnarly pussy cat, babe,” said Superdude to the surfer chick he had just accosted on the beach.

 

“That’s not my cat, man!,” complained said surfer chick.

 

“Like I’m sure this is your cat, pretty lady. She’s got, like, your eyes, man... Waitaminute...”

 

Surfer Chick’s red cat-like eyes glowed, her claws protracted and she took a swipe at Superdude.

 

“Woah, like chillax, babe!,” said Superdude. “I’ll just go and find the owner of this feline...”

 

“Too late!,” said Surfer Chick. “Now you must die...”

 

She picked up her surfboard and started swinging it around her head, with what Superdude presumed were violent intentions.

“Non-non-bogus, man,” said Superdude, as he tossed the kitty behind him (it landed on a little girl, who squealed in delight at the return of her ‘Fluffy’), then reluctantly prepared for a scrap.

 

It was then that the mobile phones of both Superdude and Surfer Chick rang.

 

“One minute,” they both said at the same time.

 

They then both answered their phones and, after the person on the other end had spoken, simultaneously said:

 

“I don’t have an Uncle Ben... Never heard of them... Health and safety?... I’m already on a mission... Oh alright then...”

 

They then both hung up and said:

 

“Gotta go.”

 

And they both went off in the same direction.

 

...

 

Uncle Ben looked at the pictures on the screens of the sorry collection of so-called superheroes he had started to round up, to boost the numbers of the Whingers.

 

He shook his head, gave it a scratch, tutted, then said, “Needs must,” and he picked up the phone to make another call.

 

“Uncle Ben!,” said Dobby the gremlin (who had miraculously escaped from the coleslaw beast, then been recruited into the Whingers, due to his coleslaw beast-escaping skills).

 

“What is it, Dobby? Can’t you see I’m on the phone?”

 

“Yes, but Uncle Ben!”

 

“Oh for...” - he put down the phone - “This better be good, Dobby.”

 

“There’s no milk in the fridge, Uncle Ben!”

 

“Get out of my sight.”

 

...

 

Ironing Man, Big Daddy Long Legs, Superdude and Surfer Chick, as well as a few other superheroes who have not yet been mentioned, congregated in the designated area. That being the Morrisons car park in Kidderminster.

 

“Irie,” said Captain Hot Sauce, by way of an attempted puncturing of the awkward silence that ensued.

 

Then...

 

“Failing to connect,” said Bluetooth Girl, randomly.

 

“When’s that goddamned Uncle Ben gonna arrive?,” said Ironing Man. “I’ve got a pile of shirts to get through.”

 

“Chill, dude,” said Superdude. “All will come to pass in, like, good time and such.”

 

“I’ll pass this freshly waxed surfboard over your head in a minute,” said Surfer Chick.

 

Then there was a lot of rumbling, some wind and it all went dark.

 

“Woah,” said Superdude, who was the first to look up and see the massive structure which was suddenly hovering over their heads.

 

“Di aliens a guh fi get us!,” said Captain Hot Sauce, to a few bemused looks from all around.

 

But it wasn’t ‘di aliens,’ it was...

 

“Uncle Ben?,” said Big Daddy Long Legs, in reference to the chap who was currently walking down the gangplank that had just emerged from under the structure, followed by a gaggle of giggling gremlins.

 

“Back in the ship,” said Uncle Ben to the gremlins. “Not you,” he said to Dobby.

 

“I’m just nipping in for some milk,” said Dobby, as he starting skipping off to the entrance to Morrisons.

 

“Stay,” said Uncle Ben.

 

“But...” said Dobby.

 

“I said stay!”

 

“Okay, Uncle Ben...”

 

“And don’t sulk.”

 

“I’m not sulking,” said Dobby, sulkily.

 

Uncle Ben then surveyed the assembled throng and said:

 

“We are gathered here today...”

 

(“Sum'ady getting married?,” said Captain Hot Sauce.

 

“Shut thy gob!,” said Yorkshire Man.)

 

“... in the presence of Morrisons” (continued Uncle Ben) “to join forces and vanquish the biggest threat to the health and safety of humankind the world has ever known.”

 

“Apart from Brexit,” said a passing politician. “Ow!”

 

“You had to go there,” said the passing politician’s wife, after she had clouted his ear’ole.

 

“I have a question,” said Spaghetti Sauce Lady.

 

“Okay,” said Uncle Ben, “but first I’d like to know why we have two sauce-related superheroes...?” - he directed the latter at Dobby.

 

“Um... coincidence?,” said Dobby.

 

“Nothing to do with your fetish for sauce?”

 

“Uh... nothing whatsoever, Uncle Ben.”

 

“I’ll talk to you about this later, Dobby.”

 

“Okay, Uncle Ben.”

 

“What’s your question, Spaghetti Sauce Lady?”

 

“When are we going to start whupping coleslaw butt?,” said Spaghetti Sauce Lady.

 

“Right now!,” said Uncle Ben.

 

And so they did.

 

[ get ready for coleslaw butt whupping time! ]