Sequels Need Good Villains

I just watched Iron Man 2. Without giving anything away, I can tell you that I’m glad I walked in without any expectations. It was a fun roller coaster at times and a painful uphill hike at other times. But that’s just my opinion.

This movie got me thinking though. It’s rare that a sequel is as good, or better, than the first. It’s not impossible, but it sure seems rare.

So what makes a great sequel? What key elements make it more roller coaster and less uphill hike?

Ah! The appearance of a memorable villain. A real badass that rolls the story into such a katamari of devilish deeds that you are leaping out of your seat for that final climatic confrontation. That, in my humble opinion, is one of the key elements of a great sequel. That, and a rock-solid script with good hero evolution, of course. But the villain is what I remember most from great sequels.

Let’s look at some great sequels from the past to see if this theory works.

The Empire Strikes Back

How can any villain compare to the malevolent Darth Vader? The way he plotted against the heroes and seemingly won by the end of this movie makes him one true bad ass. Also, Boba Fett deserves an honorable mention, despite having little screen time.

Star Trek II

Kaaaaaahn! Majestic kudos to Ricardo Montalban for portraying this swashbuckling revenge-minded villain. The ensuing duel of wits between Captain Kirk and Kahn was one damn awesome ride.

Superman II

Phantom Zone baddies General Zod, Ursa & Non made Superman’s strength a non-advantage, forcing him to outthink them instead. Such clever twists always delight more than brute strength.

Aliens

Both the alien queen and all of her babies stole the show here. More of a shoot-em-up than the first movie, this sequel had both horrific suspense and kick-ass guns. Always a good formula.

The Road Warrior

This sequel to Mad Max featured hockey mask-wearing, Jason-wannabe, “warrior of the wasteland, ayatollah of rock-and-rollah” Lord Humungus as the leader of a post-apocalyptic gang of motorcycle thugs. Need I say more?

Terminator 2

I don’t know about you, but if I had a walking, talking, liquid-metal morphing machine after me, I’d poop my pants, curl up in a ball, and cry. That is, until Arnold Schwarzenegger arrived to save my ass.

The Dark Knight

Holy badass bad guys, Batman. The late Heath Ledger did a phenomenal job playing one messed-up psycho. Before seeing the movie, I couldn’t see him as The Joker. After seeing the movie, I can’t see anyone but him in this role.

Godfather II

Okay, this kind of breaks my theory. It’s not really about a memorable villain as it’s about the parallel rises of Michael Coreleone and his father, Vito Coreleone. But the montage of mob hits & assassinations by the Coreleone family against their enemies was pretty bad ass.

Iron Man 2 had a lot of promise in Ivan Vanko. Unfortunately, despite casting Mickey Rourke, Vanko’s character didn’t have enough of that villainous charisma, that cinematic wickedness.

To Rourke’s credit, he tried to make the character less one-dimensional by crafting a softer side to Vanko, which I thought was an admirable touch. Sadly, it wasn’t enough.

I hope the sequel to X-Men Origins: Wolverine will feature a badass villain worthy of this list. Rumor has it the movie will be set in Japan. Within the Wolverine universe are quite a few baddies from which they could choose. Here’s to hoping they choose well and create a sequel worthy of the greats.

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Leslie Magic

“Hey stupidhead, that’s my cup of latte!” Leslie shouts.

The guy looks down at the latte, snorts, and takes a gulp. “I don’t see your name on it,” he huffs. Fuming, Leslie starts to wave her hands through the air.

“Fine. Want to mess with me? You’re going to regret it.”

The guy smirks and takes another gulp. Cafe patrons go “oooooo” and take two steps back from the counter. A barista makes a tiny yelp and dives behind the cash register.

A delicate shimmer appears above her hands. The air crystalizes and sparks dance around her fingers. A low hum starts to drum our ears.

The guy blinks and stops drinking. The latte starts to quiver in his hand. He takes a step back.

“Oh man, that guy is totally dead,” someone in the crowd whispers.

Leslie’s hands glow. The shimmer intensifies. Sparks begin whirling around in some kind of cosmic pattern.

“Wha-wha-what are you doing?” whimpers the guy. He drops the latte all over his khakis. Brown on brown, how pretty.

A shape emerges from Leslie’s hands. It’s long and pointy.

“Magic Missile!” Leslie chants. The missile leaps from her hands and strikes the guy squarely in the chest, causing 1d4+10 of damage. His body flies across the room and crashes into the wall. Sparks and flames lick his flesh. Shrieking in agony, he collapses to the ground. His tattered clothes trickle with smoke.

“What did I tell you, huh? What did I tell you, stupidhead?” Leslie jeers. “Mess with me, and you’ll regret it.”

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Guy Romance

I love a good action flick. Mindless, heart-pounding, knife-wielding, gun-totting, ass-kicking, chunk-full-of-cliches, action movie.

The hero walks into a room with a hundred bad guys. The odds are against him. They all have swords and rifles and rocket launchers. He has a pencil sharpener. And yet, he still manages to kick all of their asses.

God I love that.

Laugh if you want. There’s something about honor and sacrifice and going after the bad guys to rescue your kidnapped lady love that is—well, not to be sissy about it, but well—romantic.

Now why is that? So I wrote some lines of code today, or filed an important memo, or made some great sales. But did I save anyone’s life? Did I prove to myself and my loved ones how strong I am by kicking some bad guy’s ass?

Policemen, firefighters, and doctors, they get to do that. That’s why those professions are so cool. That’s why there are so many TV shows and movies about them. They’re doing what most men wish they could do.

So why don’t we? Because some of us weren’t given the talents to be good policemen, firefighters, or doctors. Because some of us chose an office job so we could provide a different kind of sustenance for our families. And deep inside, perhaps that makes us feel like we’ve wimped out in some way.

Have we? Nah. We really haven’t, if you think about it. Any given society needs all kinds of roles. There can be only so many policemen, firefighters, and doctors (although arguably, there are still too few of them).

Our societies have created very desirable roles as white-collared working professionals. Financial success and stability has replaced bloodlust. In many ways, that’s a good thing. I don’t think anyone really wants to return to a past where we had to carry around a sword and protect ourselves from barbarian hordes.

At least, not overtly. But subconsciously, perhaps there’s a part of the male brain that misses that kind of heroism. The primeval need for kicking ass.

That reminds me: True Romance is about to start on TV now. Time for me to shut the lights, lounge on the couch, and watch some good ass-kicking.

Do you like ass-kicking heroism?

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The Transformers

I had my own universe once. A universe where all of my toys existed together and battled one another. Autobots and G.I. Joe troops defended against Decepticons, Cobra, Battle Beasts, M.U.S.C.L.E.s, and Darth Vader & the Empire’s troops.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a lot of Japanese toys; otherwise I would’ve mixed Robotech and Gundam in there too. I did have Voltron though. Go Voltron!

(Warning: High Geek Content Ahead.)

(As if you didn’t already guess that.)

Amongst all the toys, the Transformers were my favorite. They are totally awesome. I can’t stop thinking about the Transformers. These guys are cool; and by cool, I mean totally sweet.

In my universe, the Transformers were the most powerful beings. G.I. Joe and Star Wars troops both used them as vehicles and as Weapons of Mass Destruction. Battle Beasts and M.U.S.C.L.E.s sort of were auxiliary beings, useful for when I wanted to add extra complexity to a battle. I had Gobots too, but just considered them wimpier Transformers.

I created elaborate storylines in my universe. My stories were limited by the toys I had, though in my mind, I had more than enough to create some great stories. Some were tiny incidents, others were epic battles. As in real life, the war between good and evil can ebb and tide. Sometimes the villains would win, sometimes the heroes would win. And if a toy was accidentally broken or lost, it was presumed to have died in battle.

(This story will bore anyone who’s not a Transformers fan. So if you’re not one of us, that means you have a life. Congratulations. That also means you can skip today’s ramble and tune back in next week.)

In one of the more epic storylines, Bumblebee and Gears discover the remains of some mysterious robots while on a scouting mission. They are partly buried in the ground. Unbeknownst to them, Shrapnel and Kickback followed them in their insect forms. Being more powerful, they attack and capture the Autobot scouting party easily.

They call Megatron, who sends Shockwave, Soundwave, Dirge and Blitzwing to secure the site and excavate the robots. Shockwave senses great power in these robots, though he can’t identify their origins. All he knows is they aren’t from Cybertron.

Nearby, Perceptor and the Protectobots are working with G.I. Joe scientists on new energy sources. Suddenly, Perceptor receives a weak distress call from Bumblebee. It ends before he can get a fix on his location. They immediately begin retracing Bumblebee and Gears’ scouting path.

Meanwhile, in Deception headquarters, the Predacons are torturing Grimlock, Slag, and Swoop for information. The Dinobots were captured in a previous battle. For kicks, Megatron throws Grimlock into an arena and has Predaking duel with him. In his weakened state, Grimlock is beaten badly.

Over at the Autobot headquarters, Optimus Prime is busy planning a rescue mission for the Dinobots. He asks Silverbolt and Scattershot to lead their troops (the Aerialbots and Technobots, respectively) in scouting missions over the Decepticon’s last known coordinates.

Then a message from Perceptor changes their plans. Since they knew where Bumblebee and Gears have been, finding them is more likely than finding the Dinobots. So Optimus makes a tough call to temporarily delay the Dinobot rescue mission and rescue Bumblebee and Gears. The Aerialbots and Technobots immediately fly out.

Hot Rod disagrees with this decision vehemently. Grimlock saved him in a previous battle, so he’s hot to find them. Optimus tells him to calm down and tries to reassure him that they will continue their rescue mission as soon as they get Bumblebee and Gears. Hot Rod angrily storms away.

Shockwave has been able to unearth three of the five mysterious robots. They are robot lions: blue, yellow, and green. As they begin to dig out a forth robot, Perceptor and the Protectobots arrive. The Autobots and Decepticons do battle, both sides taking measures not to damage the mysterious lions.

The robot lions are, of course, the lions of Voltron. Making up universes is fun!

The Autobots are at a disadvantage because Perceptor isn’t a warrior. So the Protectobots merge into Defensor, which tips the battle in their favor. Shockwave, being the wily evil mastermind that he is, orders the Decepticons to focus their attack on Perceptor. Though they resist at first, they ultimately obey. Defensor shifts his strategy to protect Perceptor. The Decepticons take this opportunity to grab the three robot lions and flee.

Defensor separates. While First Aid and Groove attend to Perceptor, the others go searching for Bumblebee and Gears. They find them unconscious and tied up in a cave, but otherwise okay.

While fleeing across the sky, the Decepticons spot the Aerialbots and Technobots off in a distance. A long-range air battle ensues. Blitzwing accidentally drop the green lion into the forest. They escape with the other two, however.

The Technobots dive into the forest to try to find the green lion. They come across a woodland kingdom occupied by Battle Beasts. The Battle Beast lion commander recognizes the robot lion, but doesn’t remember from where. Although his army is basically on the side of good, they are not familiar with the Autobots and guard their hidden kingdom fiercely. So they hide the green lion and begin firing on the Technobots.

Unaccustomed to guerilla warfare, the Technobots are repelled. They realize they could raze the forest and destroy these beings to find the green lion, but don’t want to take life unnecessarily. Scattershot decides they’ll return later and try to negotiate with these beings.

As they leave, the Protectobots tell them that they’re on their way back home with Perceptor, Bumblebee, and Gears. The new orders for the Aerialbots and Technobots are to protect the remaining two lions and excavate them. For Nosecone, who’s a drill vehicle, this is easy work.

Then my Mom calls me and my brother down for dinner, leading to an intermission.

“Let’s all go to the lobby, let’s all go to the lobby, let’s all go to the lobby, and buy ourselves a snack!”

Back at Decepticon headquarters, Soundwave begins repairing the blue and yellow robot lions. Shockwave asks for Megatron’s permission to make an Earth-to-Cybertron network connection so he can tap into their homeworld’s datacenters and research the robot lions’ origins.

This is a risky move; such a signal can be picked up by the Autobots and give away their location. Megatron denies the request and tells Shockwave that they’ll just interrogate the lions “the Decepticon Way” once they’re activated. He’s furious that Blitzwing dropped a lion and Shockwave left two other lions; he threatens to “interrogate” them both too.

Just as Megatron orders a large invasion force to get the other lions, Starscream suggests that they send Laserbeak and the Insecticons instead. They can spy and follow the Autobots back to their base. An outright battle would lead to too many casualties right now, on both sides. With this tactic, they’d be able to discover the Autobot base.

The Autobots also have better mechanics and would be able to repair the lions faster than they can too. This plan would let the Autobots do most of the work, Starscream explains.

Megatron surprisingly applauds Starscream for his uncanny idea. After he leaves, Starscream goes over to Shockwave and tells him that he would have let Shockwave contact Cybertron if he was in charge. Shockwave silently nods.

Meanwhile, in Autobot headquarters, First Aid is furiously repairing Perceptor, Bumblebee, and Gears. Optimus asks the Technobots to combine into Computron and investigate the robot lions before bringing them back to base. While he’s curious about the lions, Optimus wants to ensure that they’re not a Decepticon trap.

Optimus leads a team of Autobots, made up of Sideswipe, Smokescreen and Brawn, over to the lions. He appoints Rodimus Prime (who, in my universe, coexists with Optimus Prime and Hot Rod, since I have all those toys) in charge of the base while he’s gone. He also asks the Protectobots to join them once First Aid is done with his repairs.

Back at the two remaining lions, Laserbeak flies near the Autobots and drops off the Insecticons. He’s unable to fly closer because the Autobots have developed radars able to detect Laserbeak. They aren’t sophisticated enough to detect the Insecticons, however. Only Perceptor can do that, and now he’s out of commission.

The Insecticons hop over and watch as Optimus arrives with more Autobots. After a conversation with Computron, Optimus and his team take off into the woods. Kickback decides to follow them while Shrapnel watches the excavation.

Optimus heads over to the woodland kingdom. He transforms and approaches the gates with his palms upwards, showing he’s not armed. The Battle Beast lion commander cautiously comes out. The two begin to talk. Though it’s rough at first, they come to an understanding and realize they’re both on the side of good.

The Battle Beast lion commander doesn’t agree to give up the green lion, however. He’s been able to remember what the lions are. They could be very dangerous if they’re in the hands of more robots, he believes.

The commander tells Optimus that once he’s able to activate the black lion, then he’ll consider releasing the green lion. Optimus agrees and the Autobots leave the kingdom. Kickback is sitting on Smokescreen’s rear fender and has heard everything.

Meanwhile, the Autobots have unearthed the black and red lions. Since they have no way of connecting to Cybertron’s network, like the Decepticons can, Computron tries to discern the origin of the lions from what he’s able to see. While he does this, the Aerialbots cautiously patrol the skies for the Decepticons.

Optimus silently wonders why no Decepticons have attacked. He begins to realize they’re in a trap. Without the other Autobots (or the clandestine Insecticons) listening, Optimus radios First Aid to repair Perceptor first. Shrapnel and Kickback are hiding on Computron, trying to eavesdrop on his findings.

Back at Autobot headquarters, Hot Rod gets anxious about finding the Dinobots. He coerces Blurr into leaving the base on their own scouting mission. During a previous encounter, he remembers spotting seaweed on some of the Decepticons and smelling seawater. From this, he believes they are hiding underwater somewhere.

Camshaft sees them go and warns he’ll alert Rodimus. Hot Rod asks for at least two hours and Camshaft agrees. This leaves the base with a minimal defense force, which includes a bunch of wimpy Gobot Guardians.

No offense to any Gobot fans out there.

At Decepticon headquarters, they’re having no luck repairing the lions. Soundwave isn’t a medic and his tinkering seems to hurt more than it helps. Megatron slaps Soundwave and tells him not to mess up like that again. After he walks away, Starscream predictably drops by and tells Soundwave that he would never have slapped him.

Megatron returns to the arena to watch Predaking duel Slag. The other Decepticons are all watching too. Starscream convinces Shockwave to make the Earth-to-Cybetron network connection, so they can help their colleague Soundwave before Megatron goes on another rampage. Shockwave agrees.

The Earth-to-Cybertron signal is caught at Autobot base. Unfortunately, the remaining Autobots are gathered around First Aid just as he’s reviving Perceptor. They miss the signal.

By a twist of luck, Hot Rod and Blurr do catch the signal. It is coming from the ocean, confirming Hot Rod’s suspicions. And it happens to be close to their current location. Blurr wants to alert the rest of the Autobots, but Hot Rod blazes off towards the Decepticons, eager to find the Dinobots.

Then my Mom tells me and my brother to get ready for bed because it’s a school night. We reluctantly put away our toys and promise to continue the saga tomorrow.

(But for you, dear reader, if you want to read more, let me know. I’m guessing stories like this bore most people, so I probably won’t continue the story. Unless there’s a lot of demand, perhaps. And if there is, hey Mr. Bay, want me to pen Transformers II?)

. . .

Did you every have epic battles with your Transformers?

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The Rat-Cockroach War

This is what happens when the lights go out. The rats mobilize and the cockroaches arm themselves. It’s an all-out war unseen by human eyes. We wouldn’t want to see it either; it would be too horrible to comprehend.

Neither side knows exactly how it started. Legend has it: the two sides existed peacefully for millennia, when suddenly the warlike rat chieftain Lord Whiskillas began demanding tributes from the nearby cockroach village of Under the Fridge.

The Under the Fridgian cockroaches refused, and Whiskillas sent an army to decimate the innocent village. At least, that’s how the cockroaches tell it.

The truth is probably closer to a struggle over territory. Under the Fridge is a land rich with food and resources. There’s always an errant marshmallow or scattering of bread crumbs there. Whoever controls Under the Fridge controls the entire planet Kitchen.

Lord Whiskillas’ grandson Whiskillas the Third is now the rat chieftain. And unfortunately for the cockroaches, he’s every bit as warlike and blood-hungry as his grandfather.

However, the rats never counted on the enormous numbers of the cockroaches. Small as they may be, they have the advantage of speed and hard shiny shells that go crunch when you step on them. Ew.

The cockroach leader is King Uncrunchable, because he’s survived multiple attempts on his life. Some say he has feline blood, because he has more lives than a cat.

King Uncrunchable is an unscrupulous leader who favors guerilla warfare over conventional means. He’d just as easily throw dust mites into your face as he would sacrifice one of his 100 brothers if he knew it would get him ahead.

In the rat camp, there are whispers of a rumor that it was King Uncrunchable’s lineage that triggered the war. Somehow, this old king, whose name has been forgotten in the many generations of cockroaches, staged the sack of Under the Fridge.

Why? Because he believed that the growing number of cockroaches would mean an enormous army that even the rats wouldn’t be able to defeat. And he wanted the entire Kitchen for his race.

Whatever the reason, there are those that oppose the war on both sides. Leader of this opposition is Prince Ratmo, the son of Whiskillas the Third. He describes himself as a lover, not a fighter. And he doesn’t understand why they all just can’t get along.

There’s another reason why he’s opposed to this war. It’s love. Forbidden love.

For Prince Ratmo, son of Lord Whiskillas the Third, chieftain of the rats, is in love with Princess Julroach, daughter of King Uncrunchable, leader of the cockroaches.

They met one dark night in the plains of the Kitchen floor. Out in the open. Prince Ratmo was leading a squad to explore the Kitchen floor when he encountered fair Princess Julroach and 50 of her sisters.

The girls were frolicking in a sticky and delicious puddle of orange juice. They were caught totally unaware.

Before Ratmo could even give the order, his men attacked. They slaughtered her 50 sisters when Ratmo interceded. It was love at first sight. Ratmo’s beady little eyes looked lovingly into Julroach’s shiny compound eyeballs. And a strange feeling overtook Ratmo.

Just as Ratmo’s squad began to tear off Julroach’s limbs, he jumped into the fray and clawed them all to death. It was over before he realized what he had done. He had killed his own men.

But that didn’t matter. He held Julroach in his tiny little paws and cradled her broken wings. She looked back up at him and smiled. “Thank you,” she whispered. “My hero.”

Ratmo took her back to his hole and fabricated a story about a marauding army of cockroaches. His father was absolutely livid and ordered a mass-scale attack on the cockroach village of In the Sink.

The rats slaughtered the village while Ratmo remained behind to nurse Princess Julroach back to health. When she was finally able to crawl on all sixes again, he embraced her and said, “I’m never going to let anything happen to you ever again.”

Then she kissed him. And beyond what any encyclopedia could ever explain, they had funky rat/cockroach sex.

Back at the cockroach camp, King Uncrunchable was equally outraged. The rats had just decimated one of his villages and killed 51 of his daughters, including his favorite, Princess Julroach. He had had enough. It was time to end this now and forever.

The entire cockroach army gathered at the edge of the Kitchen floor. They armed themselves to the antennae. Toothpick spears, dust mite bombs, the works.

A rat scouting party caught a glimmer from the Kitchen floor as an errant cockroach walked through a beam of moonlight. Something was up. His whiskers could feel it. So he alerted Lord Whiskillas the Third.

Lord Whiskillas climbed up to the top of the fridge and his tiny rat heart skipped a beat. For below him was what appeared to be the entire cockroach army marching across the Kitchen floor. Their numbers were triple the size of the rat army. And they were coming, fast.

He sounded the alarm. Rats everywhere mobilized and scurried out to the Kitchen floor. They were bigger than the cockroaches. Lord Whiskillas hoped their size would give them the advantage.

“These cockroaches want a fight?” he shouted to his rat army. “We’ll give them a fight! Rat ho!”

The two armies raced towards each other in desperate bloodlust. The death toll was going to be high tonight, and both sides knew it. This was all or nothing. And just as they were about to engage…

…the kitchen light turned on.

“Holy shit!”

Mr. Henderson looked down at the floor. Cockroaches and rats were everywhere. He grabbed a broom and started whacking them. They scampered back to their crevices and holes.

“Holy shit! Martha! Get down here! Get me that can of Raid!”

And thus, the great Rat-Cockroach War was postphoned. For now. For now…

What do you think rats and cockroaches do when the lights go off?

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Woofer

Woofer, the 170 pound Irish Wolfhound, backed his new owners to the couch and to their amazement, began speaking.

“Listen folks, this is how it’s going to be…”

But wait, let me back up a bit.

Martin Schwartz is a mild-mannered, friendly, and somewhat passive tax accountant. Some would call him a push-over, although Martin preferred to think of himself as accommodating.

Marietta Schwartz is a nervous, petite, yet outspoken force-to-be-reckoned-with. Some considered her the one who wore the pants in the family, and Marietta would have surely agreed.

They adopted Woofer from the local animal shelter after reading about a break-in two towns away. “We are not going to be victims,” Marietta had declared. “This world is too dangerous to live without protection.”

“But princess,” Martin replied. He always called her princess. “Wouldn’t a gun be dangerous to have around the house?”

“A gun? Who said anything about a gun?!” she hollered. “I’m talking about a dog!”

“But princess, a dog could be a lot of trouble. We’d have to feed it, walk it, take care of it…”

“We. Are. Getting. A. Dog.” And thus the Schwartz household adopted Woofer, a 170 pound Irish Wolfhound who sniffed at Martin’s fingers amiably, yet barked up a fearsom storm at the other dogs in the shelter.

So this new predicament was quite unexpected. And rather frightening to Martin, who had one hand gripped onto his wife’s arm.

“…I’m going to provide you with all the safety and protection you’d expect out of an Irish Wolfhound. In return for this, I have several ground rules which, under no circumstances, can ever be broken.” He gave Martin a stern glance. “Ever.” Martin whimpered.

“Rule Number One: You tell no one about what I can do. No one.”

Martin and Marietta nodded in unison.

“Rule Number Two: You give me warm moist food. Not that dried rock-hard crap. Food from cans with rich, creamy gravy.”

Martin nodded. Marietta wrinkled her brow.

“Rule Number Three…”

“Now just one minute,” Marietta started.

“Princess honey!” Martin screeched through his clenched teeth. “I don’t think we should interrupt him!”

“Quiet you!” She turned back to Woofer. “Canned dog food is expensive. We can’t just go buying loads of that stuff. How are we going to pay for all that?”

“That’s your problem!” barked Woofer. He climbed onto Marietta’s lap. “I see the house you live in. I can smell the detergents you use, the soaps you buy. You can afford luxuries for yourself, so you can surely afford some premium dog food.”

Marietta huffed. Martin shoved her. “Princess honey, I’m sure we can afford it!”

Woofer glowered for a few moments. Marietta could smell his hot, wet breath. It smelled raw and ravenous, with a touch of the blood and flesh of small animals.

“Rule Number Three,” Woofer continued. “I get my own room. No metal cage or pile of blankets in the kitchen. I want a whole room for myself.”

“That’s simply unreasonable!” Marietta argued.

“Princess honey!”

“Quiet you! Now where are we going to get an extra room from? We don’t have any more bedrooms in this place. This isn’t a mansion you know!”

Woofer bared his teeth and growled. Martin whimpered and held his hands in front of his face. Marietta straightened and sat up in her seat.

“You clear out one of your spare rooms,” Woofer snarled. “This house has more rooms than the two of you need. Just pile the rest of your stuff into another room.”

Marietta stared deep into Woofer’s eyes. “We. Do. Not. Have. Any. More. Room.” Martin could have sworn she was baring her teeth too.

The two faced off for what seemed to be, in Martin’s humble estimation, an utter eternity. Finally, Marietta spoke up: “There’s the garage. You can sleep in the garage.”

“No garage!”

“There’s more than plenty of room in there. It’s larger than any spare rooms we have.” They continued to face off with eyes locked and teeth bared. Martin gulped.

CRASH! The sudden sound of glass breaking startled them out of their stand-off. Woofer leapt off Marietta and sniffed the air. Martin held onto his wife. Marietta turned to the sound. “It came from the kitchen,” she hissed. Her eyes widened. “Robbers!”

Woofer started growling. He lowered his head and readied himself.

Two men in ski masks burst into the living room. They had guns in their hands. “Don’t move!” they shouted.

“They got a dog!” Just as he turned his gun to Woofer, the Irish Wolfhound bounded into the air. His jaw gripped onto the gun. With his hind leg, he kicked the robber in the face. Then he pushed off the robber with both feet and yanked the gun away from him.

Martin and Marietta sat frozen on the couch, wide-eyed. The other robber stood equally still with equal astonishment. Then he turned his gun onto Woofer.

With a single smooth motion, Woofer tossed the gun from his mouth, grabbed it with his front paw, and aimed it at the robber. Then he pulled the trigger. The bullet blasted the gun out of the robber’s hand.

Unarmed, the two robbers scrambled like cartoon characters into the kitchen. Their legs spun like wheels as they raced out of the house.

Woofer dropped the gun and regarded it with disdain. “Huh. A 9mm Compact Hi-Point. Amateurs.”

Martin scratched his head. Marietta stood up and turned to her husband. “Martin, get your pillow and an extra blanket.”

“Wha-wha-wha for?” Martin stammered.

“You’ll be sleeping in the garage from now on.”

“ME?!”

“Yes.” She turned to Woofer. “Woofer, you can take Martin’s place in the bedroom. And Martin will buy some premium dog food first thing tomorrow morning.”

And with that declaration, she marched upstairs. Woofer snorted and trotted after her.

Martin leaned back into the couch, scratched his head, and said to himself: “I knew we shouldn’t have gotten a dog.”

What would you do with a talking dog?

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The Gremlins in the Shark-Cage World of Slime

Almost everyone on the planet was dead. Civilization as we know it was reduced to a cross between the Wild West and Mad Max: nearly deserted towns littered the dusty earth with the remnants of buildings and machines.

I walked into town and peered at the buildings around me. Most were nothing more than wooden shacks clinging onto their last nails. A few people wandered to and fro. None gave me much regard. They seemed occupied with either sorrow or apathy. It was a sad, sad sight.

My feet kicked up clouds of dirt. The others avoided walking on the earth directly. I was suddenly aware that I was vulnerable and hurried to a wooden porch.

Below this layer of earth was another world. If you were able to take a cross-section of the earth, you would see a layer of what appeared to be shark cages right below the surface. At the top of the cages was the ground on which I stood. For some reason, the dirt didn’t sink into the cages. That was simply how the physics of this world worked.

Below the shark cages was an ocean of green slime. Within the cages existed gremlins with incredible strength and an insatiable appetite for human flesh.

When they were hungry, these gremlins would open the top of a cage, reach up through the earth, and drag a human down. Then they would open the bottom of the cage and drown the human in the slime. Once drowned, the gremlins would feast.

No one ever survived a gremlin attack. Their strength far surpassed any person. Once they had you, you were dead.

To avoid this fate, you simply had to avoid direct contact with the earth. Paved roads didn’t exist in this world, but buildings with cement foundations were safe. And with that realization, I entered into the nearest building.

Something within me knew there were more survivors out there that needed help. They didn’t have the luxury of being in a town like this and were susceptible to gremlin attacks. So I began to rally every person I saw.

“We can help these people!” I cried. “If you’re willing to help me make a difference, meet me in the old school building in two hours.”

I ran from building to building with this cry for help. Most shook their heads and turned away. A few apprehensively agreed.

Two hours later, I had four others with me: Genghis, Sandy, Todd, and Matt. We agreed on a plan to find a car and drive out beyond town. If we found any survivors, we’d take them back with us.

We found a car in a nearby garage. It was an old convertible. I jumped into the driver’s seat and Genghis sat shotgun. The rest piled into the back.

I drove out of town and followed an old dirt trail. A short, steep hill ran alongside to our left. Fields of grass ran to our right. We drove for several hours but weren’t able to find any other towns or survivors. The entire landscape seemed devoid of human life.

Sometime later, we found a large iron gate within the wall-like hill. The road forked and a branch turned into the gate. Beyond this gate, we saw the remains of a vehicle junkyard. Some of the cars had fallen into the shark cage world and parts of the vehicles stuck brazenly out from the earth.

“Do you want to try looking in here?” I asked. The others shrugged and nodded. Cautiously, we pushed open the iron gate with the car and entered.

We all kept our eyes on alert, looking for any signs of life. But we saw nothing except the rotting carcasses of old, rusted vehicles.

As I was driving, Sandy, Todd, and Matt began laughing and playing around in the backseat. What started off as innocent joking became rambunctious and dangerous when they all stood up and sat on the body of the car.

“Stay in your seats!” I shouted. “You’ll fall off if you sit up there.”

As if it was on cue, Matt suddenly fell off. I didn’t immediately notice and kept driving as he dropped onto the earth. Some feet away, I finally noticed and stopped the car.

“Matt, get back in here!” I screamed. “Don’t stay on the earth for too long!”

Again, as if on a second cue, we all saw a gremlin slowly crawl out of the ground and onto our world. The gremlin was several feet away from Matt and hadn’t noticed him yet. However, it was only a matter of seconds before he’d see Matt and alert the other gremlins below.

Matt got up slowly and shook his head. He was disoriented from the fall. I quickly turned the car around and raced back for him.

Unfortunately, I was too late.

As my car pulled up next to Matt, he disappeared below the earth. Tiny green arms dragged him down. The earth remained open and we could see the cages and slime below. Matt’s face was twisted in terror at what was about to happen to him.

I leapt out of the car and stared down the hole. I knew I was no match for the gremlins, so there wasn’t much I could do. They pushed Matt into the slime and began to drown him. His screams became bubbles in the slime.

“I should get back in the car,” I told myself. The gremlins hadn’t yet put their hands on me, so I still had a chance.

But something within me wouldn’t give up. I was suddenly filled with resolve. “I can’t let Matt die,” I declared. “I’ve got to be stronger than these gremlins.”

And just like that, I had the strength.

I jumped into the cage world. The gremlins immediately grabbed me. I tore them off like toys and flung them away. Then I grabbed Matt and pulled him out. He coughed out slime and was still alive.

Off in a distance, more gremlins scrambled towards us. I threw Matt back onto the surface. Then I climbed up after him. At that moment, dozens of gremlin arms grabbed me and pulled me back.

I summoned more strength and smacked them aside. Again I climbed, kicking gremlins along the way. Wave after wave of gremlins rushed me. I kicked them all back. I had one hand on the surface when a sudden ear-piercing, electronic ring deafened me.

And just like that, I woke up.

I blinked a few times and looked at the clock. It was time to get up and go to work. I shook my head, hit the Snooze, and tried to return to my dream. But alas, that Wild West/Mad Max/gremlins & slime in cages world was gone now. I couldn’t bring it back and find out if I got away from the gremlins.

Maybe someday, I’ll find myself back in that world. And maybe someday, I’ll be able to find more survivors. And maybe Genghis, Sandy, Todd, and Matt, who are all coworkers of mine in real life, will stay in the damn car next time.

What was your last dream about?

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The Storyteller

I want to be a grandfather who tells stories to his grandkids one day. Fantastic stories. Stories about how I fought off legions of rogue ninjas who swarmed the family mansion with just a rusty butter knife.

Or maybe something less violent. Like, hmm. Like how there was a roaring inferno in a school and I rushed in to save a group of trapped quadriplegic kindergarteners on the fifth floor.

Okay, I admit it: I have Hero syndrome. So maybe I should make the stories slightly more believable. Something my grandkids would believe I really did.

Then again, is fighting off killer ninjas and rescuing kindergarteners really that unbelievable?

Okay, dumb question.

The point is: I like weaving together and telling stories. Sometimes these stories are part fantasy and part reality. Taking a little creative license always helps to spice up a story. My life isn’t as exciting as a rock climber or international super agent, so I kind of have to.

They say that being able to look at an everyday situation and reframe it into a story is a bit of an art. It takes an observant eye and always-on memory.

For me, I have a fundamental belief that life is all a matter of perspective. We all look at life through different lenses. If your lens is blue, life for you is blue. If your lens is full of joy and energy, life for you is mostly full of joy and energy.

One of the lenses I often like to use is the Storyteller Lens. Every experience I go through has the ability to turn into a full-fledged story. Every experience, however, is not story-worthy. This lens allows me to discern which experiences will make a good story, and which won’t.

Or, at least, that’s what I hope it can do. My lens isn’t always accurate. And that’s what these Rambles are for. They’re storytelling practice. Within this large pile of coals, hopefully I’ll create a few gems that I’ll carry with me forever.

Which means that maybe I should write more stories about killer ninjas and raging infernos. Otherwise, all I’ll have for my grandkids are a bunch of stories about growing old and planning scavenger hunts.

What kind of grandparent do you want to be?

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The Suave Pool Hustler

Dave fancies himself a pool hustler. To his credit, he is a pretty good one. I rarely see anyone beat him. And if someone does, usually it’s because he let the person win for some reason.

Let me tell you a story about Dave the Pool Hustler.

The setting is a dimly-lit, smoky pool hall in New York in the mid 1990′s. I’m playing pool with him and two other high school buddies. We’re all drinking beers and watching Dave kick our collective asses.

A few tables over, two girls rack up and begin a game. One of them, a hot blonde, catches Dave’s eye. He watches her in his peripheral as he sinks four balls into the pockets.

The girls are tipsy and giggly. They seem new to the game and hit the balls around randomly. Judging from their martinis, they appear more eager to drink than to play pool.

The hot blonde is wearing a black halter top that hands perilously low every time she shoots. Her skin-tight, low-rise jeans also provide a tantalizing glimpse of her black thong (which, as we all can see, matches her black bra).

The hot blonde notices Dave. She pauses and smiles at him. Dave grins and finishes our game without breaking a sweat. I groan, grab my beer, and take a big gulp as Dave wanders over to the girls.

“Can I interest you ladies in some pool lessons?” Dave asks.

“What? You think we can’t play pool?” giggles the hot blonde. She flicks her hair back. “We can play fine!”

“Oh yea? How about a game then?”

The hot blonde looks at her friend, who nods at her. “Okay, sure.” She licks her lips and racks up the balls.

All of us guys eagerly shuffle over to watch. Dave eyes her coyly and explains the basic rules of eight-ball. As he finishes, he asks her if she wants to break.

“No way. I’m horrible at breaking the balls.” Another hair flick. “They never go anywhere. You break them.”

Dave leans down and breaks, sending two balls into pockets.

“Ohmigosh, are you some kind of pool hustler?” she asks.

“What, me? Nah, that was just luck.” Dave feigns a poor shot. “See? Your turn.”

The hot blonde leans over the table. All the guys shuffle to the opposite side to watch her intently. If she knows that about every guy in the pool hall is staring down her shirt, then she hides it well. She takes her shot and misses completely.

“Ohmigosh, this game is so hard!” She turns to him. Dave glides next to her.

“It’s not so hard. Here, watch me.” He explains his finger positions and how he lines up his shot. She watches him with a grin. Dave knocks one more ball in before missing intently. “Okay, now you try it.”

The hot blonde bends over the table. Dave, being the gentleman that he is, comes up behind her and puts his hands on hers. “Here, like this.”

She peers up at him and he smiles. “You trying to cop a feel so soon? We’ve just met each other.” Dave’s face flares in red and he backs away apologetically. She giggles and hits the ball. It goes in.

“Wooo! That was fun!” she shouts and touches Dave’s chest. Her next shot bounces no where near a pocket. She looks up from the table and gives Dave a coy smile. “No advice this time? You too busy looking down my shirt to watch my balls, huh?”

Dave blinks, not quite ready for such a line. “Uh, no, I think you’re handling those balls just fine.” He pauses. “In fact, I think you got quite a way with balls.” She giggles again and brushes by his shoulder while the rest of us groan.

As the game continues, Dave makes his best attempts at touching her or watching her bend down, while she flirts back and eats up the attention. The last few shots of the game drag on. Dave keeps one of his balls on the table and lets her win.

“I won! I won!” she cheers with her friend. They jump up and down. The guys watch eagerly. “So what do I win?” she asks with a smile. Dave looks at her drink and orders her another martini.

“How about another game?” he asks.

“Sure! But you’d better not lose again, ‘cuz you’re going to get me drunk!”

“Make you drunk?” Dave winks at us. “Me? Never! Here, have another drink!”

The rest of us return to our table while Dave continues to play with the hot blonde. Her friend walks off to join some friends at another table. We occasionally steal glances at the hot blonde and her matching black undies.

After a few games, I stumble over to Dave’s game. I see a pile of twenties on the table. “Playing for money now?” I ask.

Dave grins. “Yea, she asked for it.”

“I’m going to beat you!” she shouts, nearly knocking over her martini. She gasps, grabs her martini, and pulls it away the table.

Dave winks at me. “I’ll take it easy on her. It’s her number I’m after, not her money.”

I laugh. “Good luck man. I don’t mean on the game, I mean on getting her number.” He smirks and returns to the table. Since I lost the last game and have some time to kill, I decide to watch Dave (well, really the hot blonde) play for a while.

At the first game I witness, Dave beats her by one ball. “No way! That was a close game! Let’s play again!” she sputters. She puts down a twenty. Dave orders her another martini as she racks up the balls.

After the next game, the hot blonde wins by one ball. Dave shakes his head. “Gee, I guess I’m losing it now.” She sticks her tongue at him and chalks up her stick. We both stare intently at the way she rubs the stick. He puts down a twenty.

After the next game, the hot blonde wins by two balls. Dave turns down an offer for another beer. “Done drinking for the night?” I ask. He nods silently, puts down another twenty, and racks up the balls.

After the next game, the hot blonde wins by three balls. “Woo hoo! I can’t believe I won again!” She jumps up and down. Dave wipes some sweat off his brow and is noticeably quieter now. I ask him if he’s okay and he just nods. He puts down another twenty.

The next game starts off real close. I see the competitive side of Dave coming out. He’s playing for real now. The veins in his neck are throbbing. And what’s worse, she’s still flirting with him and giggling and bending down generously over the table. The hot blonde wins by four balls. He puts down another twenty.

By this time, all of our friends and her friends have gathered around to watch. The hot blonde and Dave are both quiet now. A tall stack of twenties are perched precariously on the table. She seems a lot less inebriated now and the stress in Dave’s veins must have pushed the alcohol out of his system too.

While the rest of us stare at the hot blonde, Dave’s eyes are focused only on the pool table. She breaks the balls wonderfully and keeps a commanding presence on the table. Our mouths drop when we watch her pull off an amazing display of English: the cue ball strikes her remaining solid into a pocket, then rolls backwards and knocks the eight ball into a pocket.

“Hey Dave, I think that’s enough for tonight,” one of our friends tells him. He shakes his head and continues racks up the balls again after throwing down another twenty.

By the end of the night, the hot blonde is $320 richer. She waves the money around and giggles. Dave silently congratulates her.

We slowly walk our defeated friend out of the pool hall, too stunned to offer any condolences. As we get to our cars, the hot blonde and her friends drive by.

“Hey, thanks for those pool lessons! They really helped!” she shouts out the car window. Then they drive away.

Have you ever been hustled?

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Bang! On The Forehead

It was the waterfall of blood that shocked me the most. But before I get ahead of myself, let me tell you why I hit him on the forehead.

My parents had never had a vacation without my brother and me until that week. Being the archetypical Chinese parents, our family vacations were to Adventure Land (a lame rip-off of Six Flags Great Adventure), Hershey Park (a lame rip-off of Disney World), and, um, that’s about it. It was just those two.

One day, a family friend gave my parents the bright idea to go to Hawaii. She said she’d watch over my brother and me; we could stay over her house and play with her two boys. One, Johnny, was a year older than I. The other, David, was a year younger than my brother. It would be fun, she said. You both deserve a vacation, she said.

My parents eagerly embraced the plan. Within days, they packed up bags for themselves and bags for us. It’ll be like a slumber party, they told us, only more fun! My brother and I were scared. It was the first time our parents had ever left us alone for a whole week. We didn’t know what to make of it. A week at that age seemed like a year.

They dropped us off, kissed us on the cheeks, and drove off in a puff of smoke. They really needed a vacation.

We were still in elementary school at that time. Since they were in a different school zone, Johnny and David went to a different school. The family friend had to drive us to our school every morning and pick us up every afternoon.

At night, we played with Johnny and David. Mostly David, because Johnny was older than us, and consequently too cool for us. David excitedly shared his all of his toys, so we engaged whole new worlds of playing; it was enthralling.

Slowly, my brother and I got over our initial fears and began enjoying ourselves. We each had brought over our favorite Transformers. Together, with David’s Robotech robots, we held interstellar galactic battles like never before. The family friend didn’t yell at us to be quiet like our parents did, so we climbed all over the furniture with reckless abandon.

When the weekend approached, we were both happy to be returning home and sad to be leaving this second home. That Saturday, one day before our parents were to return, Johnny decided to invite my brother and me to play with his older friends.

They took out some water guns and made the teams. My brother and I were on one team. All of the older boys, which numbered three, were on the other team. David didn’t play for some reason, though I don’t remember if it was because his brother didn’t want him to play, or if he didn’t want to play.

A glorious water gun fight ensued. My brother and I ran around in circles, helpless to the onslaught of the older boys. We ran into bushes, hid behind trees, jumped over fences, all the while getting a large dose of water on our backs and butts.

At one point, the boys wouldn’t stop shooting my brother and me long after we ran out of water and gave up. We threw our guns on the ground and screamed that we didn’t want to play anymore. This wasn’t as fun as Transformer and Robotech battles; this was a slaughter.

The older boys laughed at us. My brother and I stood before them, sulking and shivering and soaking wet. Johnny walked up to me with his gun aimed at my head. I told him we didn’t want to play anymore. He answered me by filling my mouth full of water.

Then something snapped. Or more appropriately, I picked up a large branch of wood, swung it at Johnny, and snapped it in half on his forehead.

He staggered backwards with his eyes wide open. He dropped his gun and his mouth dropped open. A waterfall of blood rained down from his forehead. His eyes popped open as wide as his mouth.

He stood there for what seemed to be my entire childhood. I can still see his wide eyes staring up at the blood. They were as big as plates.

The next scenes happened in a blur. He rushed into the house with his friends right behind him. I looked at my brother and he shrugged. The family friend took us all to a nearby hospital. My brother and I sat in the car as Johnny’s mother led him to the emergency room. We waited for what seemed to be another childhood. I ran over countless scenarios of punishment that I was going to receive from my parents. Or maybe even from the family friend. Or both.

Our parents returned the next day looking tanned and cheerful. The family friend greeted them enthusiastically and asked them how it was. As the adults talked in the living room, my brother and I retreated to the car and waited in there for them. I looked at my Transformers like it was the last time I was never going to see them again.

Johnny had received a bunch of stitches on his forehead but didn’t have any permanent damage. He had to wear a large bandage on his head for several weeks. My mother told me this after I told her what I did.

She was shocked. The family friend had told her that Johnny had an accident and fell. She didn’t tell her that I hit him. In fact, she told my mother that my brother and I were a delight to have.

I wasn’t sure how to take that, but guilt wracked me for weeks after that incident. My parents took it well; the adults had collectively agreed that it was just boys being boys and didn’t say anymore about it. None of the countless scenarios of punishment came to be. My parents were so relaxed after their Hawaii vacation that they just wanted to sit around and drink pineapple & coconut juice.

Dreams of Johnny’s wide eyes and the waterfall of blood haunted me for weeks. In time, they went away and were replaced by the usual fears of being picked on at school and homework to do.

Our families never did anything together again. My brother and I never saw Johnny and David again, nor David’s cool Robotech toys.

Perhaps there’s a lesson to be learned here. Perhaps it’s: violence doesn’t solve anything. Perhaps it’s: vacations should be taken periodically. Or perhaps it’s: if you do something wrong, you won’t get in trouble for it if your parents are away on a much-needed vacation.

Have you ever done anything wrong while your parents were on vacation?

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