At Long Last: Dr. Mantodea!

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Because of the nature of the Wand of Wonder, new entries are often buried within hours of being posted. While we encourage everyone to contribute, sometimes people miss stuff simply because they don’t feel like scrolling for long periods of time.

Over the past few weeks, I have done a small series of profiles on some of the WoW’s most famous members. Because the last such profile is being posted tonight, I have made a handy-dandy quicklink index to all the other posts. Therefore, if you missed any or just want to re-read and possibly comment on previous posts, you can do so easily.

Here are the links:

Meet Your Figureheads: Prelude

Meet Your Figureheads: Malach the Merciless

Meet Your Figureheads: Dr. Robert J. Murk

Meet Your Figureheads: The Angry Veteran

And now, after much procrastination, the final entry in our series:

Meet Your Figureheads: Dr. Mantodea

The scene: A run-down shack in the middle of a junkyard. Old tires, fish skeletons, rusted bicycles and ruined furniture are strewn everywhere. In front of the shack is an ancient, flickering black-and-white television set, before which sits an engrossed Dr. Mantodea (DM). The Angry Piper (AP) approaches, carrying a soft leather briefcase.

DM: (singing) Nah Nah Naaaaah, Gonna have a good time…

AP: Jesus. I thought I’d never find you in all this shit.

DM: Hey hey hey there, Fat Albert! What’s shaking, tubby? You know, besides your fat gut?

AP: Right. I’m here for the WoW interview.

DM: That’s today? Fuck! I was hoping you’d be dead by now.

AP: No luck.

DM: Pull up that old sofa from the crackhouse. Don’t mind the needles. A little Hepatitis C never hurt anyone.

AP: I’m not sitting on that thing!

DM: Fine. Stand. This won’t take long anyway. I’ve read your other “hilarious” posts on the WoW, and I’m not expecting much. In case you can’t figure it out, “hilarious” is in air-quotes; I just can’t make that gesture anymore (holds up his mantis claws) without your primitive brain considering it an attack.

AP: Yikes. Those must be tough to get used to.

DM: Well, juggling is out of the question, I can no longer go to my sewing circle, and jerking off is a painful exercise in futility.

AP: …right. So, Dr. Mantodea—

DM: Call me Snake.

AP: …okay,”Snake”…I took the liberty of doing some research before the interview.

DM: Whatcha got so far, fats?

AP: (opens notebook and begins to read) (ahem) “Dr. Mantodea’s childhood as an ignorant hayseed may come as a surprise to many, but in truth he grew from humble beginnings into the Misfit of Science he is today. His real name is unimportant, but for the purpose of this biography he will be called Tom. Tom spent most of his childhood on a farm. When he wasn’t lying about with a straw in his mouth, he spent his time whitewashing fences, mucking stalls, tending the still and taking trips downriver on a raft with racially diverse companions. Tom would have likely been told to mind the young ’uns, if there were any young ‘uns to mind; but Tom was the youngest, the product of his parents’ vigorous coupling after a shared jug of moonshine—“

DM: Cut to the chase, lardbelly.

AP: (skipping ahead) Fine. “Then came the day that would forever alter Tom’s life. Some may call it Fate or Destiny, as it unquestionably set in motion a chain of events that would forever put the world as we know it in mortal peril; threatened by an evil so grand it can only be—“

DM: Just skip to the end. You’re killing me.

AP: Fine! (skipping ahead) “Tom decided to invest himself with the proportionate strength, speed and good looks of the common mantis. Sadly, he failed at two out of three of these goals.” That’s it.

DM: …

AP: Well?

DM: That’s it? That’s the best you can do?

AP: I was looking for constructive feedback.

DM: Here’s some feedback: it sucks. And so do you. You’re ugly, and your nose is full of snots. You look like the last steaming dump I took. Christ, you’re an asshat, Piper. How anyone as goddamn stupid as you hasn’t fallen prey to Natural Selection is beyond my capacity to understand; and that’s saying a lot, because I understand a lot. I’m wicked smart, you know.

AP: Hey! I’m pretty smart myself.

DM: Not as smart as me, Babar. I’m so smart I have brains in my shit.

AP: No doubt from all the heads you eat. (flipping pages) Isn’t it true your last girlfriend took out a restraining order on you for trying to chew her head off after a…hmm..let’s see… “a particularly uninspiring and somewhat disappointing round of love-making” ? Her words, not mine.

DM: At least I had a girlfriend and I don’t spend my nights whacking off to a “Barbarian Queen II” DVD.

Enter a middle-aged African-American man, wearing a T-shirt, work pants with suspenders and work boots. He carries a bucket and paintbrush dripping with Royal Blue paint.

Man: Well now. It seems that the Doc and the Piper are getting downright nasty. Let’s hope they sort it out real soon.

AP: What the?!…is that Bill Cosby?

DM: Ignore him. He’ll go away.

Man exits.

AP: OK…switching gears…is it true you practice Mantis Kung-fu?

DM: Seems appropriate, given what I have to work with. But I have other defenses.

AP: Like?

DM: Ever been eyed hungrily by an insect? It’s unnerving.

AP: I don’t know…maybe…like mosquitoes and such. Not that I would notice.

DM: Well, consider yourself eyed. (stares at AP)

AP: …

AP: …okay, that’s enough. You’re creeping me out.

DM continues to stare.

AP: Knock it off!

DM: Heh heh heh. Never know when I’m gonna pounce, eh?

AP: Fine. Say hello to my little friend. (removes a can of Raid form his briefcase) I had a feeling I might need this. I’ll just put it here. Next to me.

DM: Whatever. I’m done talking to you, anyway, you fat-assed cretin. American Idol is coming on. Fuck off.

AP: Whatever. How do I get out of here?

DM: Hmm. One of those two paths leads to the exit…the other one leads to the radioactive sludge pool brimming with giant mutated carnivorous rats. I forget which is which. Have fun finding out for yourself.