by Doc Quantum
“Bizarro-Ambush Bug! Why you am pretending to be Satan Claus?”
The host of the Fly On Wall TV show looked up to find Bizarro No. 2 hovering in midair before him, small bits of concrete and plaster powder falling from his form. “What? Whaddaya want now?”
The normally eloquent Bizarro-Ambush Bug was not his usual self; his words were slurring terribly. The finely tailored tuxedo he wore over his green bodysuit was wrinkled and disheveled. His eyes were droopy, and his general body posture was that of a lush on a bender. Indeed, the bottle of Dack Janiels Whiskey he held in one hand explained a great deal.
Bizarro No. 2 frowned. “Why you am–?”
“I heard ya, I heard ya,” said Bizarro-Buggy, rubbing one eye with the palm of his hand. “Geez. Stop shoutin’, will ya? What’s all this about Satan Claus, anyway?”
“Someone am bringing joy and happiness to children all over Bizarro World,” said Bizarro No. 2, “on a day when only war on Htrae and bad will to all men should reign! It make me so happy, me want to smash in fake Satan’s face!”
Bizarro-Ambush Bug tried to focus on the Bizarro World’s worthless leader, but he couldn’t make sense of what he was talking about. “You mind repeating that?”
“You am sober as preacher on Sunday morning!” Bizarro No. 2 said accusingly as he grabbed the bottle of hooch from Bizarro-Buggy’s hand. “You drink too much to understand anything me say. Therefore me must drink even more, so you can understand my words!”
At that, Bizarro No. 2 tilted his head back and finished off the rest of the bottle.
“Aw, geez… I wasn’t done with that,” muttered Bizarro-Ambush Bug.
But it would take a lot more than one bottle of whiskey to make an imperfect clone of Superman intoxicated. Thus Bizarro No. 2 sped out of the studio and gathered up every bottle of booze from every nursery, preschool, and maternity center in the city and poured the contents of each into a bone-dry water tower. Picking up the leaky water tower, which like all water towers on the Bizarro World had never contained anything but stale air, Bizarro No. 2 guzzled back all the booze in the city.
By the time he was done, Bizarro No. 2 felt like a dam about to burst. Though his super-strong body was still able to compress all that liquid into his relatively small stomach, his normally thin gut was now extremely distended, ballooning outward to its limits. More importantly, his digestive system was working overtime to process all that alcohol, and he was finally starting to feel a bit tipsy.
Returning to the studio through a new hole in the ceiling this time, Bizarro No. 2 confronted Bizarro-Ambush Bug once more. “Me hope y’r unhappy. Look how sober me am now!”
“Listen, friend,” said Bizarro-Ambush Bug, suddenly sobering up due to fear as the extremely intoxicated Bizarro No. 2 lumbered toward him, his great strength threatening to accidentally turn him into a disgusting mess on the ground if he wasn’t careful. “I don’t know anything about this fellow impersonating Satan Claus! I’ve been far too busy making God-awful television and radio programs for you Bizarros to watch! But despite the fact that each idea is worse than the last, you simply cannot get enough! You bloody fools have driven me to drink, but can you blame me? You try being the only sane individual on a planet full of lunatics and imbeciles!”
Bizarro No. 2 frowned. Already his swollen belly was starting to shrink, the alcohol within him converting to energy and taking away his buzz. “Radio? You mean you am not only moron behind Fly On Wall TV show, but also Non-Stop Annoying Broadcast radio show?” he said, impressed.
Bizarro-Ambush Bug sighed and pulled a freshly pressed smoking jacket over his tuxedo. “I had to do something with the little fellow,” he explained. “You see, my good man, he simply would not stop talking. Day and night, night and day, on and on and on he went, talking without ever taking a breath, without ever pausing to let me get a word in edgewise. His endless rambling, saying countless words without ever saying one thing of substance, made everyone ill just by listening to it. I tried to have him put away, locked in a soundproof room where no one would have to hear his voice ever again.
“But you Bizarros hated his voice even more than I did. To you, his voice was worse than nails on a chalkboard. Naturally, by your twisted logic, that made him the most sought-after radio personality who had ever lived. Before he came along, all Bizarros ever wanted to listen to on the radio was static. And now there’s nothing else to listen to but his voice! He’s broadcast on every frequency, both AM and FM, in every region around the cube! You hated him so much that you couldn’t get enough of him!”
“What am name of Non-Stop Annoying Broadcast host, anyway?” said Bizarro No. 1.
“Don’t you know?” replied Bizarro-Buggy. “Can’t you recognize that tinny little voice of his? It’s Bizarro-Cheeks!” (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See Ambush Bug: Let the Buggy Bizarro, Chapter 2: All This and Bizarro Stew.]
“Bizarro-Cheeks?” said Bizarro No. 2, his face lighting up as a notion suddenly came to him. “The Toy Wonder?”
“Indeed,” said Bizarro-Ambush Bug, scooping up a glassful of water from the toilet and having a sip; it was time to sober up once more.
“Toy Wonder… Toy Wonder…” said Bizarro No. 2, frowning as he tried to figure out why that name had jumped out at him. Finally, it dawned on him. “Hmmm… Bizarro-Cheeks the Toy Wonder am toy, so maybe he am also Satan Claus impersonator who am committing great crime against Bizarro Code by giving toys to children at Christmas!”
“Could be,” said Bizarro-Ambush Bug as he swirled around fresh toilet water in his glass. “Is that all you needed to know? Can I help you with anything else?”
“No!” said Bizarro No. 2. “Where am nearest filthy sink? Me have to go potty!”
***
After doing his business in the now-overflowing filthy sink, Bizarro No. 2 set out toward the radio broadcasting tower where Bizarro-Cheeks the Toy Wonder resided. But on the way there, as he listened to a portable Runwoman with headphones borrowed from the TV studio, Bizarro No. 2 stopped in midair as he came to a grim realization.
“If Bizarro-Cheeks am host of Non-Stop Annoying Broadcast, then he can’t be Satan Claus impersonator!” said Bizarro No. 2. “Him have too much time on hand to both do radio show and visit children round world.”
The Moron of Steel had come up against too many dead ends, and he still had no clues as to the identity of the fake Satan Claus. “Hmm… me need help of world’s worst detective to solve this minor crime.”
It was only a matter of moments later when Bizarro No. 2 smashed through the glass ceiling of the Bizarro-Batcave, which was not a cave on the outskirts of Gotham City, as the Batcave was on Earth, but was instead a glass house built in the middle of Bizarro City’s Times Square that allowed anyone and everyone to closely observe the Bizarro-Batman’s every waking moment.
Bizarro-Batman ran out from under the rain of shattering glass caused by Bizarro No. 2’s untimely entrance before calmly returning to his laboratory desk and sitting on the glass-covered stool. Nearby, Bizarro-Alfred was carefully spraying a fine sheen of dust on a giant model $100,000 bill, the most worthless denomination of currency ever made.
“What bring you here, worst enemy?” asked Bizarro-Batman. “Me am in middle of solving biggest case ever — ‘The Case of Who Left Strand of Hair in Sandwich’.”
“Oh?” said Bizarro No. 2, always keenly interested in the detective work of a true moron, as evidenced by his sudden bout of intense, uncontrollable yawning.
“Me am finally narrowed case down to 5,324 possible suspects,” continued Bizarro-Batman, encouraged by Bizarro No. 2’s boredom. “Case am good as solved in one decade, maybe even two!”
“You am truly world’s worst detective,” said Bizarro No. 2, eliciting a smile from Bizarro-Batman for the welcome insult.
“Since case am so urgent, me have plenty of time to lounge about and count specks of sand in jar,” said Bizarro-Batman. “You am join me?”
“Me hate counting sand in jar more than anything,” said Bizarro No. 2, “so me want nothing more than to do that, but me must find out identity of fake Satan Claus who am spoiling Christmas by giving toys to despicable Bizarro children!”
Bizarro-Batman looked utterly shocked that such evil existed anywhere on Htrae; it reminded him why he wore his tattered cape and cowl with the broken, floppy bat-ears. “Me see… hmmm… You have any clue?”
“Yes,” said Bizarro No. 2, “no clues, but me know he am wear red Satan Claus outfit.”
The wheels in Bizarro-Batman’s mind began to turn — picture a creaky wheel in a small cage turned by an obese hamster on its last legs. “Red… red outfit… outfit cut in old-style… Satan is master of sin… red… old… sin… red-haired… ol’… sin…” He snapped his fingers. “Olsen! It am Bizarro-Jimmy Olsen who am Satan Claus!”
Bizarro No. 2 was confounded by Bizarro-Batman’s truly idiotic reasoning. “You am sure of this?”
“Me make deduction in difficult case based on no clues at all,” said Bizarro-Batman. “Therefore, me am sure first hunch must be right one! Now, why you not join me for dinner? Bizarro-Catwoman am singing Christmas carol at Bizarro-Penguin’s club, the Hot Tomato.”
“Does she have bad singing voice?” asked Bizarro No. 2 hopefully.
“You’ve never heard anything so repulsive!” replied Bizarro-Batman.
***
Soon enough, the Bizarro World’s Foulest were feasting on a huge helping of dry, unsalted crackers served with vinegar at the Hot Tomato.
“Me hope you dislike your dinner,” said Bizarro-Penguin, rubbing his hands intensely.
“Me am sure us will hate it,” replied Bizarro-Batman appreciatively.
Suddenly there was a loud roar of catcalls and booing as Bizarro-Catwoman walked on stage, then began to caterwaul.
“Satan baby, throw stinky polecat into a tree for me;
Been a horrible girl, Satan baby,
So dawdle up the plumbing tonight…”
Suddenly, the stage began to be pelted by several kinds of rotten fruit and vegetables, causing Bizarro-Catwoman to halt her song after just the first verse (and thus sparing your humble writer the task of coming up with Bizarro lyrics for the rest of the song).
“Booo-ooo-ooo!” yelled Bizarro-Batman, throwing an overripe tomato directly into Bizarro-Catwoman’s face. “Me hate her most of all,” he whispered to Bizarro No. 2. “That am big secret, so be sure to tell everybody.”
***
Much later, Bizarro No. 2 remembered that he was on a mission and made his way to the Daily Htrae building, where Bizarro-Jimmy Olsen was typing up the day’s biggest headline, which appeared to be his grocery list. The story about the Satan Claus impostor, which had dire implications upon Bizarro society and threatened the Bizarro Code itself, was buried in a two-line paragraph on page D17 between two ads, one for a gem-removal service and the other for a two-for-one punch in the face.
“Bizarro-Jimmy… what am you know about Satan Claus?” Bizarro No. 2 said, perched over the reporter’s desk.
Bizarro-Jimmy Olsen couldn’t make eye contact with his best enemy; in fact, he looked guilty as hell, like a dog who’d just torn up his master’s favorite collection of comic-books (Fido, how could you?) as he replied, “Uh… What you mean?”
“You know what me mean…” said Bizarro No. 2, causing Bizarro-Jimmy to slump in his seat and look even guiltier than before. This, of course, had the opposite effect on a Bizarro than it would on an Earthman, and Bizarro No. 2 decided that Bizarro-Jimmy must be too innocent to look so guilty. But before he could say his hellos and smash his way back out of the building, Bizarro-Jimmy spoke up.
“OK, OK, me might not know something!” the red-headed reporter said, throwing his hands up in triumphant defeat. “Last week me use duplicator ray to create bunch more best enemies to ignore, since you not hate me enough to waste my time. Me create whole Bizarro-Jimmy Olsen Hate Club and Bizarro-Newsboy Legion, too, when me remember about handsomest non-Bizarro of all, and me use Bizarro-Justice League computer and find way to duplicate him, too!”
“What happened, then?” said Bizarro No. 2.
“It am too horrible to speak about!” began Bizarro-Jimmy, bursting out in a fit of laughter to signify his distress. “Me am created Bizarro monster! Once me did it, me realize why other Bizarros never try duplicating him before! Them never dared! Me am just bursting to tell you about it! Me created Bizarro–”
“Hello! Hello! Hello!” interrupted Bizarro No. 2, fleeing the building with his hands firmly planted over his hears to prevent him from hearing anything. The information was so important to his investigation that he couldn’t be bothered to hear another word of it.
***
Night was beginning to set on this side of the Bizarro World when Bizarro No. 2 finally flew back home. Christmas was almost over, and he had failed; this was a cause for rejoicing on a day that should have been filled with nothing but misery.
That was when he spotted a shadowy figure crawling out through the chimney sticking out at a right angle from the side of his house. Bizarro No. 2’s eyes drooped in shock as he noticed the figure was wearing a dirty red and white fur coat and hat. It was the Satan Claus impostor himself!
Sure enough, as he glanced into his son’s room, where Bizarro-Junior No. 2 was sound asleep, a small pile of toys had been left there for him to find in the morning. That paragon of virtue! thought Bizarro No. 2. This am last straw! Me am going to get you, Good Satan!