My Cardboard Balcony

Viper Victor by Belinda Roddie Viper Victor was equipped with super techni-hyped up gadgets, each designed to make his recent villain status somewhat decent. At his side was Rob, his geeky henchman who failed hard at sneaky, stealthy, crafty, cunning, sly, and all the things between. He'd try to make an advanced souped up mobile that would polish Viper's toenails. Blueprints fleshed in binder paper, so he lived, the gizmo-maker. But Viper Victor would not cower to the heroes by the hour: Metal Mouth did not scare him, nor Ultra Bad Boy impaired him, or he'd simply be a brand new sissy in the motley evil posse. True, he was no Whedon offspring, or a tune that Moffat would sing, but Viper Victor was quick and able, cruel and stable, slick and awesome. Now, Rob, put this on the fridge with colored magnet stars!

Back and forth, the leather ball spun. Flipped and double-chopped the air. Pancake whirling, frisbee glory. And the pitcher struck him out. I watched feverishly, eating pizza topped with pepperoni, sausage, and sweet green pepper. Spice laden on my tongue as the orange and black blurred on the bleachers. Red countering us full blazen, biting their tongues as the bats split in wooden splintered halves and we ran in one. By one. By one.