Power Squad!

It was the wee hours of the morning, around 3AM to be specific. Stronghold was still wide awake and waiting on the repeat of a basketball game. He downed his eleventh can of beer and then violently crushed it against his forehead, letting it fall to the floor with the rest of the crumpled pile. For some reason that was probably scuffle related, the light bulbs in Stronghold’s roof were either broken or flickering like a faulty neon sign above a Peepshow entrance. The primary source of light in the room was coming from the television, and one would have to squint a little, but it wouldn't be difficult for them to see that Stronghold was living in filth. He couldn't have cared less. The carpet had crusty stains from various foods and snackage, and was littered with corpses of cans and a colourful array of bottles. Generations of rats and cockroaches had made Stronghold's living room their playground.
"C'mon! Start the game already!" he yelled at the T.V, "I'm running out of beer here!"
The commentary from the sports programme yelled back at him, rambling on about some new sports sensation and stats that even most sports enthusiasts wouldn't care to remember. There are few people in the world with more enthusiasm and energy in their speech than sports analysts and professional wrestlers. Their energetic rants rose above the eerie near-morning sounds that came in from the living room window. Somewhere in the room, deep within a pile of dirty laundry; a cell phone rang. Stronghold muted the sound from the T.V and cocked his ears to listen.
"Oh shit! My chicken is gonna burn!" he panicked, referring to the sound of the chicken popping and sizzling in the microwave in his kitchen. He clearly had not heard his phone ringing.
On his way back from the kitchen, Stronghold stumbled over his pile of clothes as he greedily munched his chicken. His phone lay on the floor and he noticed its display had lit up.
"Oh snap, this thing was ringing?! Must have been on vibrate!" The display read, '5 missed calls from Cap'.
"Boy, is he going to be mad" said Stronghold as he clutched the cell phone between his shoulder and his ear.
"Hey Cap’, sorry 'bout that. Couldn't hear--"

"STRONGHOLD! I've been trying to reach you! Why did you not pick up!?" blared the voice on the other end.
"Well, I'd left my--"
"No excuses, Stronghold! We have a duty to the people! Keep your phone on you at all times!"
"StupidCaptainHighAndMightyThinksWeAllHaveTheTimeTo--"
"What was that? Speak up, I can't hear you!"
"I said, I'll remember that next time, Captain!" replied Stronghold.
"Good! Now, we have a situation! There's a family held hostage in your sector, very close to your residence actually! I need you to restore order there, FAST!" said the voice.
"Aw man! Can't Nightfire or Sonic handle it? I'm 'bout to catch last night's game and I'd missed it coz I was on another mission."
"STRONGHOLD!! WHAT KIND OF A SUPERHER--" Stronghold had to hold the phone away from his ear to prevent himself from going deaf. The voice went on about duty, honour and their immeasurable rewards; about how those were his own trophies and they were worth more than any sports cup or ring.
"Yes Captain. Alright Captain....I hear you....Yes. Alright Captain Justice, I will go over there and stop those bastards."

The basketball game was just beginning when Stronghold switched off his T.V set. He grumbled to himself as he put on his boots and grabbed a black t-shirt to wear. Uniforms and costumes never sat well with Stronghold. He always wondered how his team mates could wear spandex, tight leather or underwear over their pants. The rest of The Power Squad donned their uniforms with pride. He however hated the garb. ‘Uniforms are for cops, the military and prostitutes. I’m not wearing that mess.’
Stronghold generally did not have a problem with authority, but Captain Justice usually got on his nerves with all his righteousness and holier-than-thou attitude. 'I mean let the cops handle a couple of situations!' He thought to himself. 'At the end of the day, we usually save the world or whatever! Damn Cap always breathing down my neck!' He started to jog to the address Captain Justice had sent him to and before long he was gasping for air like he would never breathe again. Stronghold looked like a cross between a bodybuilder and a sumo wrestler; part muscle and part fat but all strength. He hated jogging. He could bench-press two buses, but he hated jogging. He could even put his fist through thick concrete or titanium walls, but he HATED jogging. Or any form of running for that matter, but Captain Justice had always advised him to jog every morning that he was not on duty. Not to mention that Cap would be angry with him if he did not hurry to answer that distress call.

The hostages and their home weren't exactly located near Stronghold’s; Captain Justice had a tendency to make hills out of mountains (and vice versa). Stronghold bent over, clamped his hands above his knees and breathed heavily. A woman suddenly ran past him, throwing her spaghetti-like arms in the air and screaming for help. Not far behind were two rugged hoodlums chasing after her. She turned into an alley and the two were still at her heels like rabid Doberman Pinschers.
"Typical, civilian behaviour! They always turn into alleys when they're in trouble!" said Stronghold as he walked toward their direction. Just as he got to the entrance of the alley, the two perpetrators bolted out.
"Please," the woman said, "they have my purse!"
Stronghold looked ahead and saw that the two goons were gaining distance.
"Aaaaah, I don't have time for this," he sighed. And with that he raised his huge fist and brought it down with a thundering that would make Zeus himself flinch. The seismic slam rippled into cracks that shook the ground beneath the thieves’ feet and had them on their backs. Stronghold grabbed the lady's purse and slapped up the goons, sending them off running. He then walked back to the woman and returned her purse adding, "Please don't let the police know about this, I don't think our insurance can cover anymore damage to the city."
Before the woman could reply, a heavily customised vehicle zoomed past them like a mechanical spectre. Its engine was virtually quiet, only a faint whistling followed a fading trail of light.
"Aww man, not HIM!" Exclaimed Stronghold.

When Stronghold got to the address, the souped up vehicle was parked awkwardly inside the large living room window. It looked like it had crashed in at high speed and was now see-sawing on the ledge. The car looked something like a throw away Batmobile and was laden with as many sponsorship stickers and logos as a NASCAR vehicle, some of which had been badly scratched by the crash through the house. The lawn outside had muddy tire tracks forming a stretched 'S' leading to the window. A few policemen were scattered outside, and some would leave and enter the house in more of an effort to kill time than to do any real police work.
Stronghold walked up to an officer and panted, "Offi--Officer, what’s the situation here?"
"Jeez Stronghold, you missed it! Turbo came in and smashed into the window with his Turbo-mobile and jumped those scum bags before they could say 'Gee willikers!' It was amazing!" said the officer with the enthusiasm of a giddy school girl.
"Oh, Turborrific! Cap’ is goin’ to have my head for this!"
Stronghold entered the front door of the house and what he saw disgusted him. Turbo had tied up the hostage takers hog-style and had his personal photographer taking pictures of him striking different poses. The family of three that had been held hostage were almost literally kissing Turbo's feet. The couple was thanking him for saving their lives and their child was trying to sneak into the impromptu photo shoot. Before Stronghold could walk up to them, a small T.V crew rushed in through the entrance like a tiny tornado and gathered around Turbo.
"Mr. Turbo, I'm Mandy Mwape from Muvee T.V news! Could you please tell us what happened here?" A lady reporter said thrusting a microphone into the Superhero's face.
Turbo grabbed the microphone from her and placed one foot on the chest of one of the hogtied criminals.
"Well Jenny, I received a distress call from my penthouse headquarters and I had to rush here as quickly as I could!" he blurted with feigned finesse. "These FINE people had to be saved from the terror brought on by these VILE monsters!" he said clenching his fist and shaking it for emphasis. Stronghold was sick to his stomach.
Turbo was the poster child for superheroism. He had sold out to all sorts of corporations and gained sponsorships and endorsements from wherever he could. Like his car, his uniforms all had emblems and logos of different commercial organisations. He wore them according to his mood or which corporation had paid him the most at that particular time. An energy drink company today, a sports utility tomorrow, an I.T start-up the next month....he had no dignity. But who needed dignity when you had millions of dollars in endorsements? Turbo sickened Stronghold, but Stronghold secretly envied him. He wondered why The Power Squad didn't charge fees for their services.
'I mean after all, we are more capable than this buffoon,' He said to himself.
"...So I had to use my ultra thinking powers and the element of surprise to get the jump on these thugs!"
Mandy the reporter's eyes lit up, "You have ultra thinking powers?"
"Why yes," replied Turbo with a wink, "Along with many other ULTRA abilities!"
"If your thinking is so 'ultra', why do you drive a car when you can fly?" interrupted Stronghold.
"I beg your pardon?" replied Turbo.
"You heard me."
"Hah! Don't hate the player Strongy, hate the game. It’s not my fault you Powerpuff Girls can't afford a sweet ride."
"What did you call us?"
"POWER-PUFF-GIR---"
Before Turbo could finish his sentence, Stronghold had rammed into him with a huge shoulder and sent them crashing into a table. The Muvee T.V News crew scrambled for safety but the cameraman couldn't scramble too far because he had to film all of it. It’s a shame no one ever remembered fellows like him when they got hurt in the line of duty.
As he sat up on the floor, Turbo grabbed a wooden dining chair with one hand and violently smashed it on Stronghold's head. Splinters from the broken chair flew in all directions spraying jagged toothpicks everywhere. An ordinary man would have fallen, but Stronghold stood firmly and threw down a succession of crushing blows into Turbo's chest and stomach. The punches to Turbo’s chest thumped like a deep drumming. The man and his wife gasped when Turbo then hurled Stronghold out of the broken window with his feet, sending him crashing through his car. Everyone in the room rushed outside as Turbo flew out of the window and landed a right hook into Stronghold's hardened jaw. The two metahuman's engaged in a vicious brawl exchanging several blows. The policemen and a few people that had heard the commotion in the small suburb gathered around the two to watch the slugfest. An officer was about to start taking bets on who would win the fight, when Captain Justice flew onto the scene.
"STRONGHOLD! What is the meaning of this?!" he exclaimed as he descended down from the air.
"I'm sorry Cap, but I couldn't take this sell-out’s insults to the squad any longer," Stronghold said wiping blood from his lower lip with his wrist.
"But I've told you time and again Stronghold. Power Squad Members do not belittle themselves by getting into petty squabbles!"
"I see you called in Blossom to come and help you, huh Buttercup?" said Turbo, "Well C'mon, I'll take you both on!"
Captain Justice had to struggle a little to hold back Stronghold as he tried to lunge at Turbo. All he wanted to do was wring the sell-out’s neck. Turbo's photographer, who also doubled as his personal assistant trotted awkwardly up to Turbo and whispered in his ear.
"Oh, ok," said Turbo to his assistant. "And how much are we charging them?"
The assistant whispered some more.
“Good! Okay, apparently I can't spank you Power dweebs! I might lose lucrative endorsements" said Turbo. "Maybe some other time!"
He turned and walked to the hostage couple.
"So the rate for hostage rescues is fifty per rescued person....umm, I'll send you a quotation for the damage to my car. You can get my account details from Skippy here."
"Yes, yes. We will do that. Thank you so much mister Turbo!" said the man, “We will forever be in your debt!”
"And you," Turbo said pointing at the camera man, "we need to edit that footage and make me look good! Come!”
"The nerve of this guy!" exclaimed Stronghold, "Even charging them for the damage HE caused!"
"Come now, Stronghold," said Captain Justice as he patted Stronghold’s back, "ours is not to concern ourselves with the dealings of mister Turbo, but to protect the good people of this city from evil doers. Let us go, I will buy you a few beers."
"Can we walk? ‘Coz I hate it when you carry me."
"Hehe! Sure, old friend!" chuckled Captain Justice.
"And Cap’? Did you record last night's ball game by any chance? I missed the repeat as well."
"Ha-ha, Stronghold, you know I haven't paid my subscription in months!" replied Captain Justice.
"Yeah, I know. Was hoping maybe you had..."

                                                                        ****

This brilliant art is by my buddy Jarell Thompson

FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER: @Benny_blow

CHECK OUT JARELL'S BLOG: The Horror of horrors

'Fan Art' from my friend Buba

Bubile, a good friend of mine sent this to me earlier today. We had talked about fan art some time ago and she said she would do something for my blog one day.
I've only known her a couple months, but Buba is one of those people I feel like I've known for years! She's always got my back, gives some great feedback on my writing and is always dropping knowledge or showing me the coolest things. It's only right that I give her a spot on her favourite blog on the interwebs (and if it's not your fav, I'm kicking you into next week Tuesday Buba!).
This picture is a mashup of Radu from Nosferatu Diaries, Death from Read The Fine Print, and some chicken shawarmas from The Curious Case of The Chicken Shawarma. Here's what Buba said about it:
"Radu finally found his passion in the culinary world of shawarmas. His number one client being The Grim Reaper, who always dines at Radu's on his vacations. Just before old Grim can dig into his chicken shawarma (hold the pickles), he senses in his bleached bones that Bwalya, his not-so-voluntary stand-in, has mucked up a reap..."

Revolutionary Couch Warmers

“The Revolution will not be televised”- Gil Scott-Heron

I spent a small chunk of my Sunday listening to Pharoahe Monch’s ‘W.A.R (We Are Renegades)’ album. It invoked feelings of rebellion and revolution. It made me want to get up, whip up Molotov cocktails and throw up my ‘Black Power’ fist! I exaggerate a little (maybe a lot), but it did invoke some kind of revolutionary feelings within me. But that’s the sad thing; it only invoked feelings, and not action. There is no civil war or need for a violent uprising in our not-so-great nation, but there is a need for fundamental rethinking. The problem is, I do not try to inspire my fellow man to be conscious; because like most ‘intellectuals’, I’d rather make social commentary from the safety of the couch at home.

They say ignorance is bliss. It’s a shame how people are so comfortable in their lack of knowledge...wallowing in their own ignorance like pigs in their own filth, oblivious to the fact that they are to be slaughtered. No one is getting slaughtered in my part of the world (at least not yet. The apocalypse isn’t due for another eleventy million years), but in a metaphorical sense they are. People are getting short changed all the time, robbed in broad daylight, simply because they lack knowledge. You hear drunk people yell, ‘I know my rights!’, when they get arrested for something. Half the time this isn’t true. The papers or news have constant reports on the constitutional review process, and very few people take an interest in these affairs. I too am guilty of this crime. And as a result, laws that aren’t even tailored to the people’s needs are passed. Religion is a touchy subject and people follow interpretations of the bible so blindly. Religious leaders are capitalising on people’s ignorance and giving them false hope. Religion does provide answers, but not all of them. People need to be critical in what they accept as truth.

The media is not helping matters either. The songs that get radio spins or constant airplay are usually the most stupid. Songs so simple their catchy tunes forcibly become tenants in our poor minds. I’m not against feel good songs or party tracks (well, not entirely), but dammit, put some effort in your song writing! I‘m not asking for master pieces or complex fibonacci sequences, I’m only asking for a little substance. Because sometimes all these songs do is influence even more nonsense on social media. Hashtag this and hashtag that! Rihanna and Chris brown do not necessarily have an obligation to be role models, but they sure as hell are worsening the situation. The youngin’s don’t realise that these tunes and videos are manufactured to keep them thinking that bands WILL make her dance! Instagram, Facebook and Twitter have people acting like they have no dignity. We all love boobs and half naked pics, but what do those pictures say about you and your self worth?

The machine is so well oiled with the blood, sweat and tears of the blue (AND white) collar workers. We are told from when we are snot nosed naive children that we need to go to school, earn our papers and maintain the cycle. I’m all for education and I weep for those that aren’t able to gain a proper one; but the curriculum doesn’t have to make us such sheep. We aren’t told that we can gain so much more from school than just high school certificates, diplomas and degrees. School is supposed to open our minds to particular ways of thinking; to be even more curious and seek more knowledge. Surely there is more to life than a role in an accounting department, a beamer and a plot in an emerging suburb. Of course the answer to the question, ‘What is life?’ can’t be taught in the curriculum, but there are probably ways school could help point the young whippersnappers in the right direction!

Now, I have a blog on the interwebs and I could use this as a mouth piece to educate the masses. I could use it to spread knowledge and mould the malleable youth’s minds. For with great power comes great responsibility, right? Unfortunately ladies and germs, I do not have all the answers. I (probably like you) am waiting on someone else to do something. I guess in a way, I do my part. I write short fiction and possibly help people learn new words. But I am not doing much if what I write does not invoke certain feelings; if what I write doesn’t get people to think a certain way and make changes to our ailing society. ‘The revolution will not be televised’ simply means whatever fundamental change is needed in the world begins with us, it begins with our own thinking. We need to dig deep within ourselves and seek change for the good of us all. It will not be shown on MTV OR the BBC. But I’ll still be on this couch flicking the channels, waiting...

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