The Battalion Of Injured Reserve Heroes

Cro-Magnon Man looked upon his peers, 2,000 or so superheroes crammed into a make shift clubhouse, previously a cave. He squinted, which created a furrow across his abnormally large forehead. It was far from attractive. He saw a sea of multi-colored spandex, masks, metals and weaponry. He took a deep breath before calling order. He announced, “It is an honor to stand… before all of you. May you fill with pride… for you are committed… to preserving… the royal order of justice…let us recite our oath.” He bowed his head.


The Canadian Collective in the house… representing. Image Source

As one unified voice, the heroes solemnly swore, “If and when a hero goes down, we are prepared with complete heart and sound mind to replace said hero with 100% commitment. If necessary, with our lives. Gulp. Justice for all. Amen.”

Cro-Magnon Man proceeded. His audible sigh transformed to an apparent groan as he resumed, “When I call your name, please say here. Loudly and clearly. Rain Man.”
“Here, definitely, here.” Rain Man shuffled his feet never looking up.
“Here!! Here! Here. Here.” Her voice seemed to come from everywhere at once.
“The Hocker.”
He cleared his throat, spit up a hairy loogey, “Here.”
“The Bluffer.”
“Here, and I have five Aces!” He sounded suspiciously like SNL-Alum Jon Lovitz.
“Male Man.”
“Here!” He bellowed with a booming vibrato basso tone.
“Yellow Man.”
“Jah, man, here, yo, Cro.” He exhaled a thick puff of the serious ganja.
“Finger Guns.”
“Here.” She pointed her gun fingers and pantomimed shooting them.
“Man-O-Man and Boy-O-Boy.”
“Here.” They responded in eerie unison.
“Howard Hesseman.”
“Congress Woman.”
“It’s A Girl.”
“It’s A Boy.”
“Here.” It was suspicious that he was standing next to, more like leaning against Bahama Mama. They looked very happy.
“White Noise.”
She stood up. “Before I respond, I would like to address the Battalion. I am not a racist. White Noise is a thing! In no way-” She was interrupted by a half eaten Ding Dong® thrown at the back of her head by Black Power.

Five minutes later, and Cro-Magnon Man was already exasperated.
“Here!” A voice exclaimed from the middle of the room.
“Who said that?” Cro-Magnon Man stood up as straight as he could.
An unidentified hero with a mask over his or her face mumbled in a gender-ambiguous voice, “That was Delayed Response. You called his name a while back.”
“Duly noted. Looking Lass.”
“Here.” She was having second thoughts about being a hero.
“Is it Viral Lad or Viral Ad?”
“It’s Viral Lad, and here.”
“Karate Squid and the Kid.”
There was a brief moment of tension as they sang, “Here.” in utter dissonance. In short, trying too hard and dreadful, ergo awkward.
“Uptown Squirrel.” Cro-Magnon could not help but crack a smile.
“Here.” She half said and half gnawed.

For the first time, ever, Cro-Magnon Man felt empathy for the poor celebrity sucker assigned to emcee an award presentation for Kraft Food®. He shook his head slowly. 1,500 more agonizing names to go. Before the next adjourning, he will certainly look into a sign in sort of thing, like a guestbook.

“Aimee Man.” At this point, Cro-Magnon Man’s spoken doldrums turned into a mindless drone.


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