The family had no idea that little Luigi would grow up to be. A small man, no one expected him to decide on such an unusual profession.
No one knows how he made his way to Mexico, but it might astonish wrestling fans to learn that Italian businessmen were the earliest promoters of Lucha Libre. In the 1920s, Luigi was one of the earliest and most successful luchadores in Mexico.
Decades after his death, his grandson revealed the secret of Luigi’s wrestling success:
“Grandpa was a horrible bigot. Pequeño Cerdo hated big men. He had an inferiority complex. Since luchadores are usually giants, Grandpa Luigi was in a horrific rage in the ring nearly all the time.”
“That first match he ever lost, in 1935? A crooked promoter changed the wrestling card at the last moment, and Pequeño Cerdo lost his fury strength when he faced Abejorro, the midget wrestler.”
“The team employed the use of nightshade to get the information they wanted from their captive. Are you sure you want this is in your report, sergeant?”
“Poisoning a prisoner is generally considered a huge no-no.”
“Sir, have you met Roma Tedesco?”
“That new sergeant on the front desk? I have.”
“She’s an Italian knockout, looks a lot like Sophia Loren. We brought in Vinnie Fin on a weapons possession charge, but he doesn’t speak much English. Sergeant Tedesco volunteered to help translate the Italian. By the end of the shift, Vinnie was confessing.”
“What does that have to do with your report?”
“Well, Vinnie kept staring at Tedesco and muttering ‘Bella Donna,’ over and over. Then he started signing confessions.
“Word got around at the station, naturally. When the guys asked Tedesco what exactly ‘Bella Donna’ meant in English, and she just laughed and replied ‘nightshade’.”
Dr. Thompkins waved goodbye to Billy at the lab door, and typed the four-digit access code into the Time Machine hatch. It was time to inspect the Pueblo cave walls for changes.
The petroglyphs told the story of an unusual event, in the American southwest of the remote past! Thompkins was excited. He may have finally discovered the earliest cavern artist, when the petroglyphs had first appeared, years earlier than previously believed!
Tap. Tap. Chink.
Camera in hand, Thompkins crept toward the tiny sound. The flash froze the alpha petroglyph artist swinging a hammer at his screwdriver: His son, Billy.
Baron Von Sankt Troffembach invaded with a force of three thousand Mecha. The scouts encountered no resistance at all, and the giant Titan robots and their support mechs gathered in one massive, terrifying force at the Grey Forest in preparation to rolling into Kapfenberg.
The desperate Mayor summoned the Witch Queen, Marta Esmeralda, for aid.
At sunrise, a fog of greenish-blue arose from the ancient swamp and the invading force began corroding, quickly enough to be visible. Marta’s version of WMD was a cloud of 2,2-pyridinium dipyridyldisulfide chlorochromate, a corrosive agent which violently attacked and dissolved the giant mecha completely.
You can see all that’s left. The toxic blue fog cloud that never retreats and the rusty water marking the graves of hundreds of members of the invading force.
The war was over, but dispersion, stray winds and groundwater seepage returned Kapfenberg to the Bronze Age.
“Pizza anyone?” The crowd answered with an enthusiastic roar, and I ducked a tankard as it flew past my ear.
My name is Collen, and I schlep pies for Cosmic Stan’s Any Time Any Place Pizza and Catering. (Here, have a menu.)
We mean what it says. With Cosmic Stan’s, you’re guaranteed fresh, hot pizzas delivered anywhere in space-time, for any size party. Causation and Entropy are optional; if we don’t deliver half an hour before you place the order, your pizza is free.
This party is a big one. Open field, hundreds of big dudes (hairy biker types) already partying, busty waitresses deftly dodging ass-pinches and delivering frothy mugs for the boys.
The invoice calls for six thousand pies. (I’ll be duplicated pretty heavily to cover that many.)
Some event called “Ragnarok.” There are special order notes: “Ask for Wotan,” “Beware of Dog,” and “Leave early.”
A body suddenly crashed through a plate glass window at the Brigadier’s house. It made a hungry lunge for Captain Cooper, but its feet were tangled in the window curtains and it slammed to the floor, hungry teeth snapping and arms reaching. Captain Cooper quickly dispatched the zombie with a ceremonial saber thrust through the brain.
“Well that was too bloody close,” the cool Brigadier remarked, pouring a fresh cup of tea for the Captain.
“I’ll say.” Cooper wiped the zombie’s brains on the ruined curtains. “Where do you suppose it came from? This installation is supposed to be biter-free.”
Right on cue, a U.S. Army Apache helicopter hovered into view. It swerved dangerously with over a dozen biters clinging to its wheels and weapon pylons. The pilot’s terrified eyes met Cooper’s for just a moment, before it slid out of view sharply to the right in uncontrolled descent.