|raisedbymoogles (raisedbymoogles) wrote,|
@ 2012-09-02 21:53:00
The dream I woke up giggling from.
I was Spider-man, and as the dream opened I was falling off a building and my webshooters weren't working. (So apparently I like the "he created his own webshooters" thing more than "wrist spinnerettes." Go figure.) I was rescued via a flying tackle from Wonder Woman, who then turned around and tossed me right back up onto the ledge I'd fallen from to deal with the Bad Guy. Wondy did not subsequently stick around and help, for some reason, I guess she had other bad guys to deal with. I then found myself leaping around desperately trying to avoid getting run over by what looked like a radioactive zombie skeleton in a souped-up motorized wheelchair, zipping around cackling maniacally. Without webbing I couldn't gum up his wheels or anything, and what else was I gonna do, punch a guy in a wheelchair? Anyway, Radioactive Wheelchair Zombie* zipped from the balcony into the building proper, crowing about having triggered his bomb, so I bailed out and leaped from the ledge into the water below. Because apparently water is immune to shockwaves from explosions, because SCIENCE. So anyway, Spidey saved the day due to annoying the bad guy so much that he blew himself up. Yay!
Cut to what I think was the Avenger's tower. I/Spidey was standing around with some other heroes, and a Hot Female Federal Marshal was grilling me about what had happened and basically accusing me of some nebulous Wrongdoing connected to my recent escapades. Because apparently J.J. Jameson was in the bathroom. As for what happened next... well, I think I can tell it better in fic form:
"Don't get too comfortable." The Marshal narrowed her eyes at me, hands on her hips. "The investigators still haven't determined the source of that explosion. When they do-"
All right, look. In hindsight, what happened next was not the most mature thing I could have done. But it'd been a long and very stressful day, I was bruised and exhausted and frankly the I Hate Spidey Squad, of which the good Marshal was clearly vice president (president and lead trumpet player, J. Jonah Jameson) had been riding my Spandex-clad ass harder than usual for the past several weeks. Like my webshooters, my Tolerance For This Bullpuckey was tapped right out. Tapped. Right. Out.
I plead temporary insanity, Your Honor.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." I waved my hands. The Marshal, clearly not used to being interrupted, opened her mouth to cut me down again, but as is my talent I got there first. "Did I miss something? More importantly, did you miss something? All right, since regular-person words clearly do not get through to you, I am going to present my rebuttal in musical form. Ahem."
And, to the tune of "Barbara Ann" by the Beach Boys: "Bomb bomb bomb, bomb bomb bo-bomb. Bomb bomb bomb, bomb bomb bo-bomb. Bomb bomb bomb, bomb bomb bo-bomb-bomb-bo-o-omb!" I wailed in a nasal falsetto. "He had a bo-o-omb! The reason we were there, the madman in the wheelchair had a bomb bomb bomb, bomb-bomb-bo-bomb! Hey!"
My improvised He Had A Bomb Dance was taking me backwards across the floor (a strategic decision - the slowly changing color in that woman's face was setting off my spider-sense something fierce), and at "Hey!" I flopped backwards into the - so very comfortable, and isn't it amazing how you never realize quite how tired you are until you sit down? - couch, grinning crazily behind my mask up at the dangerous duo of Jubilee and Laura Kinney. Jubilee was cracking up shamelessly; Laura's poker face, as usual, was flawless, but she rose to the occasion pretty well.
"Apparently," she told me seriously, "you and musicals don't mix."
I made a show of slumping my shoulders. "Aww. Guess I have to stay in the superhero business."
And thereabouts was where I woke up, laughing my fool head off. (And yes, I kind of do ship Jubes and Laura as BFFs, thanks Scans_Daily.)
*...is the name of my next band.