Blue Light Productions presents

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|ANNU|  |  |~~~~~ |  ___  | |  |    | |  | |  /\  ~|  \  \ /  /    |   |
|AL#1|  |  |      |  | |  | |  |\   | |  | |  ~~  /    \  ~  /     |   |
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                A       N       N       U       A       L
        [Cover has Fan.boy sitting at a Christmas table, being menaced 
				by the food.]
"Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the Feast of Barry..."
                        -one of the unknown Christmas carols.
Fan.Boy staggered out of the cafeteria, leaving behind the boiusterois 
noises of the partying LNH. Christmas Eve was a perfect excuse to let 
your hair down and do some serious drinking. He should have just refused 
Frat Boy, when Frat Boy asked him to try out a new recepie. Fan.Boy 
wasn't sure what was in, but it was probably illegal in most states.
        Pleasently sloshed (ie. almost horizontal) Fan.Boy made his way 
to the lifts and got inside on only the third try. He slumped against 
the back wall, eeling queasy as the Kirby inproved lift rocketed up to 
the forth floor.
        He had been quiet suprised by the turnout. Even the Dvandom 
Stranger had been there. But, as he put it: "While once I may have 
nibbled on hors'doerves and made small talk, now I cannot, for I am 
a...oh, hell, pass the nachos."
        Fan.Boy had nearly reached his room before his stomach decided 
to empty itself, and was forced to leave an unpleasent suprise waiting 
in a nearby potplant. He fell into his room and collapsed on his bed, 
the room spinning gently around his head.
        A low moaning reached his ears, but Fan.Boy thought that it was 
coming from him. It wasn't until he turned his head and saw the ghost 
walking through the walk that he realised that he might have had just a 
wee bit too much drink.
        "Gaa," Fan.Boy said. "G noo blurgh gib gree." Fan.Boy wasn't 
actually sure what it was he had intended to say, but he was pretty sure 
that that wasn't anything close.
        The ghost extended a transparent arm. "You shall have three 
visitors tonight. Your life is wrong and therefore forfeit. You have 
this night only to change your ways. Should you not, your very existence 
shall be erased from this reality."
        Charles Dickens, eat yer heart out, thought Fan.Boy. "Glu bar 
fleese glosts?" he asked.
        "Who are these ghost?" repeated the ghost, providing a convient 
translation for those without alcohol for a bloodstream. "Well you may 
ask (not that you asked it very well). These are the ghosts of Christmas 
Pudding!" it wailed.
        Fan.Boy gasped. His brain instantly sobered, but unfortunately 
the rest of his body didn't follow and he was unable to jump up in 
shock. "The ghost of Christmas Pudding!" he repaeted for added 
emphasis. "Oh no, not a ghost of the savage portion of the international 
christmas pudding that escaped from its pudding pit and was viciously 
defeated by the Society of Wireless Heroes?!?!"
        The ghost thought about this. "What?" it finally asked.
        "Umm, don't worry. I think the author must have been read 
_Dvandom Force #39-41_ too many times."
        [Rubbish. You can never read about the Society of Wireless 
Heroes too many times - The "This plug for rent" Writer.]
        "Never mind these irrelevant Goon Show-type references. Your 
life hangs by a fine thread. You shall see the error of your ways and 
will repent your wicked life."
        "Hang on," complained Fan.Boy, still unable to get up from his 
bed. "I haven't been mean and nasty to people. I haven't hoarded my 
money, or what I have of it. I haven't even fired my servant recently, 
althought the fact of me not actually having a servant should be taken 
into account."
        "That is your error," the ghost said. "You have been nice, 
pleasent, warm and fuzzy." The ghost shuddered at the thought.
        "Er, Fuzzy is Fuzzy, but we'd better not go into that or 
Writer's Block Woman might get upset and want to go shopping with me 
again or something." This time Fan.Boy shuddered at the thought.
        "Quiet!" roared the ghost. "Know that you are living your life 
wrong. You should be surly, mean. You should agonise over decisions that 
you make, and try to see what else you could have done. You should carry 
large guns and have muscles the size of Net.York."
        "What?" said Fan.Boy distastefully. "Angst?"
        "I think you got the wrong series, mate. Try _Limp-Asparagus 
Lad_. I think he's suffering badly right now."
        "I am not here for angst, I am here to turn you to angst. Or 
rather, the ghosts of Christmas Pudding shall do that. Enough. I shall 
waste no more time here. My breathe shall be used on those more worthy, 
not that I can actually breathe or anything. I'm only dead after all. 
Skulking through corridors, frightening people, warning them of danger 
ahead. I really should get a better career agent. People might start 
mistaking me for a Stranger..." Muttering to itself, the ghost slowly 
left the way it came, fading through the too solid wall.
        "Well," said Fan.Boy to himself. "Looks like I'll be having an 
adventure tonight. Should probably get myself some caffine to wake up 
pro-" The alcohol in his body took advantage of Fan.Boy's wandering mind 
to leap up and hammer Fan.Boy into unconsciousness.
"Wake up. Waaaaake uuuuuuup," a voice whined in Fan.Boy's ear, to the 
accompainment of a hand shaking him. His befuddled brain kicked into 
action, and reminded him of recent events.
        "I juggled goldfish?" he asked the world incredously. His brain 
kicked him and told him of even more recent events.
        "The ghosts! The ghosts!" Fan.Boy yelled, jerking upright.
        "About time," said a petulant voice, and Fan.Boy turned to see a 
little girl munching some snack or another. It was quite hard to tell 
what the snack was, but it certainly seemed Christmassy. The girl 
herself looked eleven, her brown hair falling lightly to her shoulders. 
She wore a pink dress with white trimmings, tied to her waist with a red 
ribbon, which matched the one in her hair.
        "And who are you, little girl?" Fan.Boy asked pleasently, 
looking around to try to see where the ghosts would jump out at him from.
        "You wouldn't call me little if I was bigger." Fan.Boy was 
unable to fault this logic, but wasn't really concentrating on the 
conversation anyway. "I'm the ghost of Christmas Repast, and I'm here to 
show you what should have happened long ago."
        "That's nice," said Fan.Boy absently. "Now run along and play 
while Uncle Barry keeps an eye out for ghosts."
        The girl spun around on one foot and slammed the other into 
Fan.Boy's stomach. "I'm the ghost you're looking for." Fan.Boy gasped. 
"I'm here to take you back to the time you arrived here." Fan.Boy 
wheezed. "I'm going to show you what should have happened." Fan.Boy 
tried to suck air in. "Are you ready to leave?" Fan.Boy rolled around on 
the floor and generally did impressions of a fish out of water.
        "Oh, come on," complained the girl, hauling Fan.Boy up by his 
hair. "Let's go already." She started skipping out of the room, still 
holdig onto Fan.Boy's hair.
        "Ow. Ow. Ow. OW!" Ripping his hair out in the process, Fan.Boy 
extracted his head from the girl's grip. "Stop that!"
        "Come one then, Mister Slow-poke!"
        Fan.Boy stood up, burshed himself off indignantly, straightened 
his glasses, and then deigned to step out the door.
        He fell twelve meters onto the Peril Room floor.
        Fan.Boy remained face-planted for a few moments, waiting for the 
pain to roll over him.
        He heard giggling. "Oh, you do look silly. Get up, get up, get 
        Slowly, Fan.Boy did that. He prodded himself gently, trying to 
find out which bones had been snapped into millions of pieces, but found 
none. "How..?"
        "When you're with me you can't be hurt. It wouldn't do for you 
to die while I'm trying to teach you something," Repast explained.
        "Where are we?" Fan.Boy asked, right before he recognised the 
place. Hmm, didn't look like this last time he saw it. Shouldn't it be 
covered with jungle or something? Come to think of it, what the hell was 
he doing here getting drunk when he was stuck in an arc in his own 
title? Oh well, it wasn't up to him to work that one out.
        "We're in the Peril Room, about ten months ago. Do you remember 
what happened then?"
        Ten months. Geez, a lot had happened in ten months. For example, 
he had arrived here... about ten months ago.
        "I'm going to arrive soon, aren't I?"
        Repast pointed up to the Peril Room window. In it could be seen 
the figures of Contraption Man, Squeaky Clean, Cheesecake-Eater Lad and 
Bad-Timing Boy. They were looking through the window with fear, but 
Fan.Boy didn't know why.
        Then he turned around and was face to warp with an orange swirly 
thing. He backed away as he saw a small figure in the middle of the 
swirly thing, getting larger and larger as it got closer and closer.
        As he watched, smaller figures seemed to shoot off of him, and 
then disappear, but it was hard to tell if that's what was really 
happening, or just his eyes playing tircks while trying to make sense of 
the space distortion.
        Fan.Boy felt an eriee sense of deja vu as he watched his own 
body tumble out of the warp and collapse onto the floor.
        "Now," said Repast, wiggling her fingers, "let's see what 
happens when we add that missing dose of angst."
        Fan.Boy watched as a low moaning emanated from his past body. 
"I'm lost, lost and alone. So lost. So alone," Barry said.
        "Geez, get this guy some happy pills," commented Fan.Boy.
        "This is how is was meant to be," said Repast.
        Barry stumbled to his knees. "Oh woe is me. Oh, blighted fool 
that this poor soul is. Oh wearyness and dispair. Oh..."
        "Enough already," said Fan.Boy. "It was just a reality shift. 
How much angst can one person get from that?"
        "Oh woe. Oh horror. Oh terror..."
        "Quite a lot, appearently," said Fan.Boy.
        "And now you will be properly introduced to your companions," 
said Repast.
        "Huh?" Fan.Boy looked up to the the Peril Room monitoring room 
empty. He heard the Peril Room door opening, and turned to see the 
watchers enter.
        Cheesecake-Eater Lad was talking into a com.thingee. "Could 
Doctor Stomper please report to the Peril Room?"
        "Hi guys," said Fan.Boy. "Hey, listen. This really wierd girl 
here just brought me back to this time. Pay absolutely no attention to 
anything this guy says." He pointed to Barry, who had looked up to see 
Contraption Man looming over him. "She's doing something to him. This is 
nothing like how I really am."
        He would have continued, but Repast kicked him in the shins 
before head- butting him. "I thought you knew the rules," she said 
haughtily. "We are here as observers only. They can't hear youuuu," she 
        "If you weren't a girl..." Fan.Boy muttered.
        "What was that?" she asked sharply.
        "Nothing you wouldn't hit me for," Fan,.Boy said.
        "He looks like $%^& to me," said Bad-Timing Boy.
        "I'm lost!" Barry wailed. "All alone in this warped reailty. How 
can I bear to be away from others like me?"
        The LNHers all looked at each other.
        "I don't want him."
        "Don't look at me."
        "I can't stand angst."
        "I got a note from my Doctor protecting me from things like this."
        "Shunned and spurnned even by those I turn to for help. How can 
I go on? What hope is there for me in this barren and lightless land?" 
Barry continued. "Should I snuff myself out? Better to end it now and to 
endure this prolonged agony of nothingness."
        "That's got my vote."
        "Fine by me."
        "Repast?" asked Fan.Boy. "Aren't I supposed to enter the LNH?"
        "Of course," Repast confirmed.
        "They aren't exactly warming to me like this," Fan.Boy siud, 
pointing to his own quivering form. "This is the LNH. Sillyness and 
absurdity. And those are just some of the words the Ultimate Ninja has 
used. How is angst supposed to get me into their membership?"
        Repast considered the figure on the floor, and the others 
surrounding it, all trying to work out a way to help Barry kill 
himself. "Perhaps this should have been thought out more," she admitted.
        Fan.Boy crossed his arms in a superior way. "Glad you finally 
agree with me. Can we finish this now?"
        Doctor Stomper entered. "Get back. My sensors were going off in 
the medical bay about this guy. Some outside force is inflicting angst 
on him. Help me get him unconscious before he's seriously damaged."
        "Too late," said Bad-Timing Boy.
        Contraption Man and Cheesecake-Eater Lad held Barry down (not 
that he needed dissuading from the bliss of sleep) while Doctor Stomper 
administered a hypo- spray. After a brief hiss, Barry's unconscious form 
thudded onto the Peril Room floor.
        Contraption Man, Bad-Timing Boy, Squeaky Clean and 
Cheesecake-Eater Lad each took a limb, and Doctor Stomper led they way 
out of the room.
        Fan.Boy turned away from them as they left. "Happy now?"
        Repast chewed her lip, but didn't say anything.
        "Can you take me back to my room now, please?"
        "I'll have to report this in," Repast finally said.
        "Fine, fine. Just get on with it."
        Repast flashed Fan.Boy a look of anger. "Oh, shut up!"
        She took a flying kick at him and connected solidly with his head.
        Blackness welled up faster than the floor.
Barry awoke woozily, his eyes coming to focus on the features he would 
soon know as Doctor Stomper. He heard another voice speak while he tried 
to work out why his head kept falling off.
        "Will he be all right?"
        "The outside influence has stopped, although I'm not sure why," 
the doctor reported. "With that gone, he should soon be acting normally."
        "Whu.. where am I?" Barry asked.
        Doctor Stomper turned abruptly at the sound of his patient's 
voice. "You're at the Legion of Net.Heroes. As far as we can ascertain, 
you were brought here across a rip in space/time/reailty. Seems to 
happen a lot these days."
        Barry's face filled with wonder. "The LNH? Really? Wow! Who are 
you people?"
        Doctor Stomper looked a bit taken back by Barry's enthusiasm, 
but he recovered and made introductions. "My name is Doctor Stomper. 
This is Contraption Man. He is Cheesecake-Eater Lad-"
        "Cheesecake-Eater Lad? Cool," Barry said. "Can I have a 
        "Wow," said Squeaky Clean to Cheesecake-Eater Lad. "You have a 
        "Just what we need," muttered Bad-Timing Boy. "A fanboy."
        "Hey, I like that," said Barry. He took a deep breathe. "I AM 
Fan.Boy returned to consciousness lying on something soft. He carfeully 
opened one eye and looked around, waiting for something to hit him.
        Pillow. Blanket. Sheets. All blue with the LNH logo plastered 
all over them. Hmm. He was back on his bed.
        He rose, slowly, and held his head. It alternated between 
imitations of a jackhammer and a balloon. He crept into the bathroom, 
removed his glasses, then splashed water all over his face.
        It helped. Not a lot, but it helped.
        Fan.Boy blinked, letting the last drips fall from his eyelashes 
into the sink. He stared at himself in the mirror, a vaguely 
recognisable blur.
        "And he lived happily ever after," he murmurred to himself. He 
thought back over the events he had just been a part of, then he tried 
to remember what had really happened.
        Damn! He couldn't. All he could remember was suffering some kind 
of angst attack, and then coming to in the medical bay.
        Thinking quickly, he flung his mind back over alt.comics.lnh, 
and accessed _Fan.Boy #1_. He read the scene where he arrived carefully. 
It looked... different now. Familiar, but wrong. Damn.
        He picked his glasses back up and put them on. He took one last 
look in the mirror and half jumped out of his skin as he saw someone 
else in the reflection standing behind him.
        He swiftly turned and looked at the tall, lanky man. His nose 
seemed to extend a foot from his face, and his eyes jumped about from 
place to place. His lips twitched, going from a smile to a frown to 
something in between.
        His clothes were the kind you find in the rag bag, a dusty red 
checked jacket over a previously white shirt. Straight brown pants hid 
thin legs, and his old shoes looked ready to either fall apart or leave 
his undersized feet.
        He held the cooked leg of some bird or another in one hand, and 
took little nibbles from it every now and then.
        "Hell-" the man said, stopping his own speech abruptly.
        "Hello," returned Fan.Boy, casting his eyes around for something 
to use to defend himself against this crazy person. "Where did you come 
        "I. All. Here." The man's hand flew away from his body, 
supposedly indicating the bathroom that the man here was, but the man 
caught control of it and brought it back to himself before he could 
fully gesture anything.
        "Christmas. Pheasant."
        Fan.Boy gulped. He was really drawing in the loonies tonight. 
"Now, look," he started placatingly. "I've already been through this 
with the ghost of Christmas Repast, and it didn't really work out. She's 
already stuffed my life up once, and I don't need anyone else messing 
with it. Just leave me alone."
        The man's eyes lit up, and made full contact with Fan.Boy's for 
the first time. "Angst."
        What? Oh hells. He was being depressive, wasn't he? With the 
recent visit to Net.Zealand, and now these ghosts messing around with 
him, it was hard to keep his usual cheerful (although some said idiotic) 
        Right. If they really want angst, here goes.
        Fan.Boy leapt forward and grabbe the man's lapels. "How about I 
rip your flaming nuts off and force feed them to you through your 
nostils? Get the smeg out of here before I do something that will ban 
this issue."
        Pheasant's head didn't so much as nod as jiggle. Fan.Boy feared 
for a moment that it was going to fall off and roll about on the floor, 
jiggling all the while.
        "Like. Good."
        About... turn!
        "Wow," gushed Fan.Boy. "This is really cool. I'm being visited 
by all these really cool ghosts. Never thought I'd be in a take off of 
_A Chrsitmas Carol_. Can I've your autograph? The guys'll never believe 
this. Retcon Lad will be so jealous."
        The man fought Fan.Boy off, his arms flying about without any 
real sense of purpose. "Bad. Bad. Badbadbadbadbad."
        Fan.Boy grinned. "That's neat. Do it again."
        "Enough." The man's arms actually contacted with Fan.Boy's head, 
and he tripped up and was sent hurtling along the floor straight into 
the bathroom wall. He rebounded and staggered round, trying to catch his 
        When he finally had done, Fan.Boy found himself no longer in his 
bathroom, but down a mine shaft.
        He had hardly a chance to work out where he was when he heard a 
group of people coming from the entrance. He looked surprised when he 
saw a horde of green kiwis followed by some LNHers he knew quite well: 
Mouse, Bladed Lad, Retcon Lad and, of course ,himself.
        "Hey, this happened just a few hours ago," the ghostly Fan.Boy 
        "Know," said Pheasant, his eyes darting over the rocks around 
them. "Bad."
        Fan.Boy snorted. "Hardly. As I remember, we defeated the 
        "Defeat?" Pheasant looked in Fan.Boy's general direction. "Watch."
        Fan.Boy lent back against the side of the mine shaft, rather 
surprised when it actually held his weight.
        One of the kiwis, Harris, Fan.Boy remembered, held up a wing. 
"/It's just up ahead,/" he said to the rest of the team.
        "Okay," said Bladed Lad. "Reconnaissance team?" He looked to the 
kiwis for volunteers.
        "What's the plan?" asked Mouse.
        The Fan.Boy that the others could hear shrugged. "We go in, look 
around, see if there's any villains about, and get captured. Usual 
cliched plot line."
        "Hey," said Retcon Lad. "That's my writer you're talking about."
        "He's the one making you angsty, remember?" Fan.Boy said, a 
twinkle in his eye.
        "You're right," Retcon Lad agreed. "Let's shoot him."
        "Enough, guys," Mouse interrupted. "Can we just get on with 
this? I didn't exactly picture my Christmas being stuck down a mine 
shaft while snow fell on Net.Zealand."
        Bladed Lad squared his shoulders. "Right. The five of us shall 
scout ahead, the rest of you wait here to come to our rescue when we 
get caught."
        "Five?" said Fan.Boy.
        Bladed Lad pointed to Harris. "You're with us."
        "/Of course, Oh mighty lord and master,/" said Harris. "/Your 
word is my command./"
        Bladed Lad ignored the sarcasm and led the way ahead.
        Fan.Boy and Pheasant tagged along with the party, Fan.Boy 
mouthing the words as various witticisms were traded.
        The party grew silent as they neared the lair of whoever was 
inside. Retcon Lad had barely poked his head around the entrance when 
they all heard something behind them.
        Fan.Boy looked on as they all turned and looked through him at 
the walruses that had come around behind them.
        "Come in, little ones," a voice from inside the cavern. "I have 
been waiting for you. Your unpleasant body heat betrayed your presence."
        Mouse eyed the walruses warily, looking for a way past them. 
"Care to talk about cabbages and kings?" she asked hopefully. The 
walruses bared their teeth, and barked, causing the party to jump back.
        "I think we better go inside," said Retcon Lad, leading the way.
        Inside, they were face to face with a tall, thin man with cold 
green eyes. "You have dared to come to challenge me," the man said. "ME! 
Coldheart, the greatest wizard you will ever see."
        "Really?" said Fan.Boy. "The greatest? Can I have your autograph?"
        "I really don't think this is the time to get chummy," warned 
        "Hey," said Fan.Boy. "If this guy turns out to be a really big 
villain, think how valuable his signature would be."
        "YOU DARE TO TRIFLE WITH ME?" Coldheart roared. "You shall not 
have breath enough in your body to dare utter meaningless inanities ever 
        "I don't know about you," Bladed Lad whispered to Retcon Lad. 
"But this guy really needs to cut down on his caffeine intake."
        "/You mean you humans aren't all crazed psychopaths under a 
veneer of stupidity?/" asked Harris.
        The Fan.Boy with Pheasant cast his eyes upwards. Pheasant caught 
        "Doing?" he asked.
        Fan.Boy pointed to somewhere on the ceiling above where 
Coldheart was standing. "About there, I think it was."
        Pheasant's eyes roved the roof, which was easy for him, and he 
noticed a few cracks creeping in.
        "..and all the heat and passion shall be sucked out," Coldheart 
was expositing.
        "You'll never get away with it," said Mouse.
        Bladed Lad winced. "Did you really have to say that?"
        Mouse nodded. "Unfortunately. Someone had to."
        "And why not?" asked Coldheart condensendingly.
        Fan.Boy posed. "Because we're the net.heroes, and we always 
win." He beamed.
        Coldheart looked at the rest of them. "Does he always do that?"
        The others nodded. "Unfortunately," they chorused.
        "Hmp," Coldheart hmped. "Prove it."
        "All right," said Fan.Boy. "I call upon the power of Binky to 
collapse this roof on your head, in the name of HEROES!"
        [The roof caved in, followed by a wash of green as the kiwis who 
following their natural instinct, perched on top of the building, and 
fell with the roof.]
        Fan.Boy smirked at Pheasant. "Weirdness Girl taught me that 
        They all looked aghast at the result. "How did you do that?" 
asked Bladed Lad.
        "I have my ways."
        Retcon Lad was checking on the rubble of ice. The kiwis were all 
right, but he found something unpleasant when he revealed Coldheart's 
        "Hey, guys," said Retcon Lad. "He's dead."
        "Oh great," said Mouse. "I can't you guys anywhere without 
something angsty happening. Thanks. You've just ruined Christmas."
        "Yeah, well, we did what had to be done," said Fan.Boy to 
Pheasant, as he watched himself help to clear up some of the mess.
        "Angst. More," said Pheasant. "Better. Watch."
        He waved his hands, and the scene before Fan.Boy's eyes suddenly 
blurred into backwardness. The roof reformed, the talking flowed 
in reverse, then the gang retreated out through the tunnel.
        When the scene resumed normal speed, they were back in the 
corridor of the mine shaft.
        The party was following Harris, and paused when he stuck up a 
wing. "/It's just up ahead,/" he told them.
        "Okay. Reconnaissance team?" Bladed Lad said, asking for 
volunteers among the birds.
        "Ready?" asked Pheasant.
        "What's the plan?" Mouse asked.
        "Now," said Pheasant.
	"FAN.DOOM SMASH!!!" snarled Fan.Boy unexpectedly.
	[Everybody stared at him, stunned. Even Fan.Boy. Out of chracter, 
yes, but one thing was really silly.
	"Fan.Doom?" asked Fan.Boy, incrediously.
	"You," said Pheasant, shrugging. "Choice."]
	"What are you talking about..." began Mouse, only to be cut off by 
a growl from him that was truly chilling in its bestiality.
	"Fan.Doom smash villain!!!" he reiterated, lumbering ahead.
	["Hulk," said Pheasant. "Good."
	Fan.Boy rolled his eyes in disgust.]
	When the others had come too again, Fan.Doom had moved forward
towards where Harris had indicated the core of the anomaly was. Retcon Lad
rushed after him.
	"Fan.Boy..." began to soothe Retcon Lad.
	"Fan.Doom!!!" countered Fan.Doom (nee Fan.Boy) aggressively.
	["Isn't this getting ever so slightly overkill?" asked Fan.Boy.
	"Possibly," said Pheasant. He waved a hand. "Less."]
	"No, no. You're not Fan.Doom. You're Fan.Boy," said Retcon Lad
earnestly.  "You're not a bloodthirsty and homicidal anti-hero. You're a
Legionnaire. You're supposed to represent all that's good in humanity. 
You stand for hope for a better tomo... urk!" 
	Fan.Doom had grabbed Retcon Lad by the throat, causing the
latter's eyes to bug out. "Fan.Doom not be confused by babbling of puny
	" but... you always liked my babbling before... " protested Retcon
Lad with laboured breaths. 
        "Hit him hard," Mouse yelled to the others. The kiwis and Bladed 
Lad rushed at Fan.Doom, nasty sharp natural weaponry bristling. The 
kiwis pecked and Bladed Lad sliced.
        And none of it seemed to do the slightest bit of damage.
        Fan.Boy grinned. "Heh, at least I don't go the way of Retcon Lad."
        "Like?" asked Pheasant.
        "No, no, no," Fan.Boy said hurriedly.
        Fan.Doom grabbed a random kiwi, and held him by the throat much 
like Retcon Lad. "Fan.Doom not impressed by puny kiwis. Fan.Doom is 
strongest and most violent and can talk about self in third person. If 
puny kiwis not like, then Fan.Doom will squish puny kiwis like bugs."
        Fan.Boy looked on as his normal weakling self was totally 
unphased by the brutality of the kiwis attacks.
        "Puny villain, Fan.Doom is coming for you," Fan.Doom snarled and 
lumbered further into the lair.
        "Hey, what happened?" asked Fan.Boy.
        Pheasant pointed.
        "Oh yeah," Fan.Boy said, seeing Mouse. "She would be able to 
affect me now, wouldn't she?"
        "Urk," managed Retcon Lad, massaging his throat. "So, now what?"
        "We follow him," Bladed Lad said decisively.
        Retcon Lad nodded, and followed, along with Fan.Boy and Pheasant.
        When they caught the rampaging Fan.Doom, he was facing off 
against the sinister Coldheart.
        "Now puny villain," announced Fan.Doom. "Fan.Doom smash."
        Coldheart was unimpressed. He waved a finger dismissively. 
"Hardly." On the floor about him, pale coloured walruses in white 
waistcoats and wearing fur trimmed cap with little tinkling bells on the 
ends grinned unpleasantly.
        Fan.Doom snarled and strode forward, fists clenched and muscled 
knotted. His opponent looked disdainful and launched some sort of fancy 
special effect at him. A swirl of greeny-orangy-purple light accreted 
about Fan.Doom's head, causing him to go " eep " before his eyes rolled 
up into his head and he fell to the floor unconscious.
        "Great," said Fan.Boy. "I've become a pudding."
        "And now for his little friends," the villain commented to the 
walruses. Outside, the other Legionnaires all went " eep " too. The 
walruses sniggered.
        "We get captured?" Fan.Boy said. "The great all angsty Fan.Doom 
gets captured. Oh yeah. Big help."
        "Issue," said Pheasant. "Read."
        "Say what?"
        Fan.Boy finally garnered what Pheasant wanted, and checked out 
alt.comics.lnh. He accessed _Antipodean Antics #2_ and read the scene he 
just witnessed. Then he read the rest of the issue.
        "Hey," he said. "Coldheart doesn't die. And we still win."
        "Correct," Pheasant nodded, but with his normal twitching it was 
hard to tell for sure. "Better."
        Fan.Boy had to admit this one. "Yeah. Looks that way."
        "Think," advised Pheasant. "Ponder."
        Fan.Boy was thinking. This was a better way of doing things. 
Unfortunately, as he was occupied thinking, he didn't see the elbow that 
connected with the back of his head.
        A bright light flashed in his head, wiping out all consciousness.
When he finally woke up again, Fan.Boy waited for the thudding to stop. 
He idly wondered if this was going to be a running gag for the issue or 
        It finally occured to him that the reason his head was pounding 
was because he was continually knocking it into his pillow. He stopped 
and tried to think of some reason why he may have started doing that.
        No reason came to him other than the sheer hopelessness of his 
own situation.
        Damn. There was that angst again.
        Fan.Boy pondered the possibilty of Retcon Lad retconning this 
issue into non- existance, but decided that Joe had his own problems, 
and didn't need extra worries about affecting the nature of reality by 
erasing an LNH issue.
        Trying to find some way of drawing himself out of selfpity, he 
looked over to his shelf containing his meager collection of comics. 
When you can read any LNH issue ever written with your own powers, you 
don't tend to keep hardcopies around. Also, DC and Marvel comics just 
didn't appeal to him. (Although his rec.arts.comics.dc.universe and 
rec.arts.comics.marvel.universe counterparts would disagree.)
        As he crossed to the shelf, he gave a look of amusement at the 
17 foot tall doll of Easily-Discovered Man. No-one was quite sure how he 
managed to get it into his room, and how he managed to stand it upright. 
Given that the room was eight feet high, and that the doll wasn't bent 
in any way, something had to be going wrong with reailty. Then again, 
these were the same people who wondered how Demon Boy fit his video 
collection in.
        Fan.Boy took down a copy of _Bloodkitty #1_, the one issue of 
the sereis he had managed to find so far. It was personally autographed 
by Panta. He flicked through the pages, marvelling at just how distorted 
Patna could look and yet still be beautiful.
        He was lost in admiration when a hand came down on his shoulder, 
and for the next few momnets Fan.Boy was clinically dead as his heart 
stopped beating.
        "Don't do that!" he yelled as he turned to see his latest 
visitor. This time it was a giggling old man. His hair was short and 
white, but there was a lot of it. His face looked made up of wrinkles, 
but his eyes looked made of diamonds. The clothes were well worn, but 
they were worn well with pride. His shoes were scuffed, but actually 
stayed on his feat.
        He was chewing on something brown with odd bits in it.
        "Greetings, me boyo," he said pleasently. "I'm the ghost of 
Christmas Fruitcake."
        The light finally dawned on Fan.Boy. "Oh, I get it. Repast, 
Pheasant, Fruitcake all make up the ghosts of Christmas Pudding. It's a 
running Christmas food gag thing. Hehe," he laughed weakly. "Can I go 
        "No," said Fruitcake, just as pleasently as before. "I'm here to 
show ye that you're future is much better through a nice healthy dose of 
angst. Hold on tight, me boyo, we're off for a wild ride."
        "Hang on a minute," said Fan.Boy. "What sort of Irish accent is 
        "Don't ask me, me boyo. I'm not the one writing it."
        Fan.Boy didn't have a chance to say anything else as he was 
pulled striagth upwards and through the roof of the LNHQ. He had a brief 
glimpse of green feathers before he was whisked away over the countryside.
        Fruitcake was holding onto Fan.Boy's cape, so Fan.Boy could do 
little more than dangle helplessly, and make vague gagging noises as the 
top of his outfit tried to strangle him.
        "Where are we going?" he managed to gasp out.
        "To the place of your battle, me boyo," Fruitcake said.
        "Battle? What battle?"
        "The one you have in three years from now."
        Fan.Boy didn't need to think to long about this. "Wont me 
knowing about it affect the outcome?"
        "That's what I'm here for. To show you that the outcome can only 
be changed if you change your attiitude."
        Fan.Boy was going to say something else, but when Fruitcake 
dived groundwards, he didn't have time to do more than gurgle. He 
quickly grabbed his glasses to stop them rom falling off as the wind 
increased rapidly around him.
        The final choking came when Fruitcake stopped, and the rapid 
reverse of Fan.Boy's velocity nearly strangled him.
        He lay on the ground dry retching for a while before he managed 
to find the awesome strength it took to rise onto all fours. He broguth 
his head up to see a battle being played out in front of him, and one of 
the competitors was an exact copy of him.
        Not an exact copy. This Fan.Boy was three years older, and had 
the scruffy look of an unshaved chin that looks rediculous until it 
becomes a full beard. But, the clothes were the same. The glasses looked 
the same too.
        One thing that suprised Fan.Boy was the fact that his future 
counterpart was using a gun. It looked like a chunky BIGGUN(tm), but 
something in the way the older man was weilding it suggested that it's 
purpose was not as deadly as the outward appearence would have you think.
        Fan.Boy finally got around to looking at the antagonist. She was 
no-one he recognised, although it was obvious that he soon would. She 
stood 5' 10" and was very well built. This was easy to tell as she wore 
little more than a few pieces of red leather on her body.
        While Fan.Boy was drooling over the woman's appearence, his 
future self was firing his gun. A thin beam of light shot out, and 
rapidly grew into an image of Fan.Boy, complete with autograph book. The 
future self fired several times, and the battle ground became littered 
with Fan.Boy images, all asking for her photgraph, or sighing with 
pleasure, or both.
        "Hah!" the woman called. "Do you really think the Red Leather 
would be fooled by your Industrial Light and Magic Army? Think again, 
pink boy!"
        The Red Leather pulled a out long whip (and , although he looked 
really hard, Fan.Boy couldn't see where from), and lashed nearby images 
with the tip. They gave an "Oo!" of pleasent pain before disappearing.
        "Geez," Fan.Boy commented to himself. "This is sick."
        His future self was not dwadling over decisions of how to fight. 
He had already left the scene, and Fan.Boy looked around in vain for him.
        "Hey, Red Leather," Fan.Boy heard, and saw his counterpart come 
out from behind a building behind the woman. He was holding something 
up. "Care to try this on?"
        The Red Leather disdianfully finished off the last of the fake 
Fan.Boys before deigning to turn around. When she saw what he held, she 
started drooling herself.
        Fan.Boy moved in to get a better look. His other self was 
holding something that looked like the dogs had been at it. As he got 
closer, he finally cottoned on to what it was supposed to be.
        It was an all over body suit, with horizontal lines removed to 
excite onlookers with a show of flesh. But the main thing about it was, 
it was made entirely from leather. Admittedly, it was black and not red, 
but the effect on the Red Leather wasn't dampened.
        "Oh," she gushed. "I must have it! Give it to me."
        "No," replied the future Fan.Boy, taking a step backwards.
        The Red Leather moved towards him, swaying her hips gently. 
"Come one, big boy. You give that to me, and then maybe we could play 
some games together. Would you like that?" she asked softly, seductively.
        The older Fan.Boy took a few more steps back. He waved the 
outfit enticingly. "Come on, pussycat. Come here," he said.
        Fan.Boy looked on disbelievingly. "I really get like this?" he 
        "Well," replied Fruitcake. "With a nice healthy dose of angst in 
ye, ye'll never have to worry about this sort of thing, me boyo."
        "Hey, I like it. I like it," Fan.Boy quickly assured.
        The two combatents had retreated to some distance away, and 
Fan.Boy and Fruitcake jogged to catch up. They turned a corner after the 
Red Leather, and what they saw nearly popped Fan.Boy's eyes out of his 
skull. Fruitcake seemed merely amused.
        The Red Leather was leaning on the outift, rubbing her head up 
and down it, while Fan.Boy held it against his chest. Every now and then 
the Red Leather's tounge would like the costume, and slip between the 
slits to play with Fan.Boy's body through the spandex.
        "Come on, baby," the future Fan.Boy whispered. "Why don't you 
show me some of that good lovin'?"
        The Red Leather purred throatily, and they moved out of sight, 
the Red Leather putting the outfit around her neck like a scarf.
        Fan.Boy faced Fruitcake. "Oh, come on. I would never act like 
        Fruitcake shrugged. "You're older now, me boyo. Your hormons are 
rushing through your system. A pretty lass like might just be able to 
reel you in."
        Fan.Boy shook his head, but said nothing more.
        Fruitcake lead the way back they came. "Come on, let's see it 
        "I don't think I could stomach it," said Fan.Boy.
        "Don't worry, me boyo," said Fruitcake, with a twinkle in his 
eye. "They'll be a few wee changes to ye, that you just might prefer."
        They turned the corner and Fan.Boy saw himself cross the 
battlefield again, heading towards the haugty Red Leather. Something was 
different this time. Something in the other's manner sent a shiver down 
Fan.Boy's spine.
        Perhaps it was the serious look on the counterpart's face. Or 
maybe the fact that the gun no longer looked like a fun hologram 
projector, and instead projected something far more deadly. Or maybe it 
was the simple fact that Fan.Boy knew that this was going to be a more 
angst Fan.Boy.
        "Okay, baby," said the angst Fan.Boy in a deep, rough vocie. 
"This time it's just you and me. No outsiders. No innocents."
        "There are no such things as innocents in this town," Red 
Leather replied. "Everyone is guilty, even if they don't know it yet."
        "I'm here to collect your guilt. Why don't you just give up now. 
It'll be easier for both of us, and less painful for you."
        Fan.Boy shook his ehad wearily. "Got any spagetti?" he asked.
        "Ock, laddie. Shuttup, why don't ye?" Fruitcake replied.
        Fan.Boy looked at him strangely. "Is it just me, or has your 
accent gone from approximate Irish to stupid Scottish?"
        "When we get to Ja.mecha, mon, den you can worry," said Fruitcake.
        Fan.Boy blinked a few times, then turned back to the fight.
        "Well, sister. What's is gonna be? I haven't got all day," said 
the older Fan.Boy.
        "What do you want to try? A macho face off? Do you really think 
you could get the better of me?" the Red Leather said, standing akimbo.
        "I can always get the better of you." Fan.Boy parted his stance, 
readying himself.
        The Red Leather slowly drew out her whip (although Fan.Boy still 
couldn't tell where from). "You've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do 
I feel lucky?' Well, do ya, punk?"
        "Hey," the future Fan.Boy complained. "That's my line."
        Fan.Boy winced at the cliche.
        "Go for your gun," said Red Leather.
        "Go ahead. Make my day," replied Fan.Boy, wanting to get some 
good lines in.
        "Don't mind if I do," Red Leather replied, flicking out with her 
whip, and catching hold of Fan.Boy's gun. With a trumphal grin, she 
flicked her wrist and sent the gun sailing towards her. She caught it 
and turned it on Fan.Boy. "Now it up and beg."
        The Fan.Boy of the future raised hs hands in a gesture of 
peace. "Now, look here, little lady. Perhaps we can talk about it."
        Red Leather shook her head. "I wanna see you dance."
        With that, she started firing the gun towards her adversary's 
feet. He jumped around trying to avoid the exploding landscape, much to 
the Red Leather's amusement.
        Fan.Boy watched with incredulity. "Should've taken lessons from 
Amazing Dodge Woman."
        Red Leather laughed at she fired, not caring if the bullets ran 
out or anything. She got lazy in her arm movements, and, in a terrible 
instant, shot Fan.Boy through the gut.
        He stopped dancing immediately, and droppped to the ground. 
Blood bubbled out of his mouth, not to mention his stomach.
        Watching, Fan.Boy's mouth dropped open, agast. This was supposed 
to convince him to go angst? He rushed to side duoble's side. The Red 
Leather joined him  moments later.
        "Oh, @#$%," the shot man said. "This is how I met my end. Not in 
glory, but at the hands of a mere woman."
        "I'm sorry," the woman sobbed. "I didn't think... hey, watch 
that `mere woman' remark."
        "You didn't think what?" the man asked, irritated. "That it was 
loaded? That it would go off?"
        "Oh, shut up already," Red Leather said, disgusted but the 
chovanisium. She brought up the gun to the man's temple.
        "Hey, hey, hey, hold on here," said Fan.Boy. "That's me you're 
shooting. Just calm down and think about things for a moment, eh? No 
need to off half-cocked."
        "Go ahead," said the man toughly. "You aren't woman enough to 
kill me cleanly. Just a wussy babe in leather." He spat blood. "Can't 
even shoot properly."
        "Oh yeah. I'll show you."
        Fan.Boy turned away quickly as the Red Leather pulled the 
trigger. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the landscape gain a new, 
red, covering.
        He stood up and return to where Fruitcake was standing.. "And 
this is the way to go, is it? Not survive, albiet rather distastefully, 
but to have my brains splattered across the gound?"
        "Ock laddie. But what a wey t'gae," Fruitcake replied. "That's a 
great death, that is."
        Fan.Boy thought of something. "Hang on. I won't die though. I'll 
just return to the Peril Room."
        "Nae. Not anemore."
        "Other thing, she wasn't stunned. He, I swore, and she wasn't 
stunned. What do you mean, not anymore'?"
        "That's enough for now, laddie. Bedebyes until you change your 
        Fan.Boy looked up in confusion to see a very wrinkled fist 
smashing into his face. He was sure his nose was crushed, but he was too 
unconscious to tell.
The sun woke Fan.Boy, which was quite unusual given that his room faced 
west. He opened his eyes, but immediately shut them again as the early 
morning sun dazzled him. Gods, they've got to move that building opposte 
the HQ. The sun reflecting off it was just too much.
        He got off his bed, by stint of rising onto one elbow, then 
slipping sideways onto the floor. As he thumped down, a hammer ran 
through his head. What the hell had he drunk?
        The memory of the ghosts slammed back into him. He'd have to 
tell Frat Boy about them. That drink was really something if he had 
dreams like that.
        He pulled hmself across the carpet by his hands, heading for the 
bathroom, when a leg came into vision. It was quite a strange leg. This 
much was obvious as Fan.Boy's head was half inside it when it came to 
his notice.
        He lay there, thinking about nothing in gerenal, and waited for 
something to happen. Eventually, the ghost was forced to bend down so 
Fan.Boy could see him.
        "Guten Abend," it said.
        Fan.Boy managed to find enough energy to raise his hand at the 
wrist and wave.
        Satisfied that this was good enough, the ghost straightened 
itself. "I have come to hear your judgement,." it boomed. "Know now that 
your future lies heavily on you. This shall be a deciding point in 
history. Have you realised your errors and come to your senses?"
        The ghost looked down to see Fan.Boy curled into a feotel 
poaition. Gradually, he uncurled. "Are you always going to shout?" he 
        "Er, yes," said the ghost in normal voice. "It's a part of the 
        "Sod off and get a better job then," said Fan.Boy.
        "I do realise that you are feeling somewhat tender right now," 
said the ghost, understadningly. "But I really must have your answer. I 
do have other matters to attend to. In fact, other LNHers are also 
having their lives reassessed by this same procedure."
        "What, thumping them until they give in?"
        The ghost shrugged. "We tailor each correction on an individual 
basis. We feel it's more personable."
        "So, what are my choices again?"
        "You shall either," the ghost shouted, but on seeing Fan.Boy 
wince, it lowered its voice. "You can either continue on your wicked 
ways, and face everlasting moral decay and eventualy decrepititude."
        A pause. "Or?" Fan.Boy prompted.
        "Or, you can give into your true destiny and assume the mantle 
of angst on your shoulders and forever more consider your every decision 
with agonising scrutiny and second guess yourself in every year to come."
        Another pause. "Sod that."
Catalyst Lass was walking innocently down the corridor, wondering what 
the strange smell was, when one of the doors opened and Fan.Boy stepped 
        "Hello world!" he shouted, causing Cat to jump in fright.
        She watched carefully as Fan.Boy's face crumpled, and he 
grasbbed his head.
        "Remind me not to do that again," he said in a much quieter voice.
        "What happened to you?" Cat asked, helping him over to a wall.
        "I just had a visitation but the Ghosts of Christmas Pudding, 
who tried to convince me to become one with the angst."
        Cat's face twisted at the distasteful prospect. "What did you 
        "I told them to stick it where the turkey can't see."
        Cat smiled, but a worry remained. "Won't you be forever damned, 
or something?"
        "Yep," said Fan.Boy. "But they forgave me when I asked for their 
        They luaghed together (quietly) as Cat helped Fan.Boy to the 
medbay for some aspirin.
        "A Chrsitmas Dinner."
        by Jamas Enright
All characters are mine expect for those that belong to other people.

The "Fan.Doom" scene was written by Saxon Brenton and cannabalised by me. 
(Which you all recognise having read _Antipodean Anticsd_, haven't you?)

The Dvandom Stranger's line was written by Dvandom in a context totally
unrelated to this issue, but I though I'd stick it in anyway. Merry
Chrismas, Dave! 
And Merry Christmas to everyone else!
Back to the Index.