The Babelers’ Super Hero Stories and Super Powers

With the world going to hell in a hand basket, I thought it only appropriate that The League of Ultra-Ordinary Gentlemen disclose its existence to the masses.  Without further ado, I give you The League of Ultra-Ordinary Gentlemen, and the tales that made them what they are today.

Andrew Blanco

Born and raised on the plains of Kenya, I am Mahamiha.

Until the age of eight I was raised by a pride of lions. The matriarchs of my pride would hunt me food, and then I would eat the raw flesh of many kinds of mammals. I grew strong and agile like my brethren. I learned to communicate with my lion family in a way no human ever has. They considered me a lion, and I considered myself a lion.

That is until the day I was found by a safari tour. I was abruptly taken away from my family of lions and sent to England where I was taught how to read and speak English. After spending a year in an orphanage, I was adopted by a mysterious old man named Oliver Kockhevy. In time I learned that Old Kocky was the last in the line of an ancient lineage of mages that dated back to the days of Stonehendge. In the privacy of his quarters he would often demonstrate his ability to speak to the dead. So great were his powers that one day he opened a portal into Purgatory that was too wide for him to close. The force of that rip in reality sucked me right into Purgatory.

Suddenly I was surrounded by the spirits of billions of dead animals. Lost and confused, I wandered until I began to hear a familiar language. A great lion spirit approached me and roared, “Thanks to the Catholic belief system, we animals have been cursed into the limbo of Purgatory. Although we have souls, the strength of Catholic belief has banished us to wander Purgatory until the end of days. But young Mahamiha, the end of days may never come, and so we animals may remain trapped in here for all eternity. You can help us by proving to the Pope that animals have souls. Please take this amulet and keep it safe. Whosoever wears this amulet will be able to speak to animals and understand all their diverse languages. Your mission is to get the pope to wear this amulet so that he can hear animals talk to him. If you find yourself in danger you can use the amulet to summon animals to battle for you. Birds will descend from the skies, sharks will eat your enemies, and dogs will piss on their owners new rugs. Their is no limit to your dominion over the animal world as long as you wear this amulet.”

So I returned from Purgatory with the ability to communicate with all animals. With amulet in hand I began my long journey to the Vatican. When I finally reached the Vatican I learned that access to the Pope was impossible unless I became a priest. Deciding that a lifetime of celibacy was not worth the souls of billions of animals in Purgatory, I turned away and vowed to instead use my amulet to help fight terrorism. It was only a matter of time until my animal friends found Osama bin Ladin hiding in a cave in the Rocky Mountains. Having captured the most wanted terrorist in history, I was thus granted a special meeting with the Pope. During that meeting I gave the pope the magical amulet as a gift. A week later the Pope amended the Catholic canon to change the old belief in the non-existence of animal souls. In that exact moment Purgatory was emptied of all its animal inhabitants. The pope gave me back the amulet and asked me to continue fighting crime until the end of days.

So ends the story of how Mahamiha used a magical amulet to speak to animals and to capture Osama bin Ladin and eventually to convince the pope to free all animals souls from Purgatory.

Jeff Ruemeli

It was a very exciting Thursday morning the day I met my destiny. What happened was a blur but I do remember some parts. As I walked down the street, coffee in hand, I saw a news paper that reminded me of a news story I had heard the night before. “Strange solar radiation headed towards Earth. Scientists are baffled by the concentrated matter and feel it will be deflected by the Earth’s magnetosphere.”  At least that’s what the reporter said. What happened next was quite unexpected indeed. The solar radiation split the clouds like a hot knife through butter. Although invisible, the radiation came screaming down and passed through my coffee cup giving it a kick of delicious. “Wow, this coffee just got slammin”, I said to myself, unaware of the change that had taken place. The more I drank the more I faded into the background. You see I was turning invisible. And now I was not for the rest of the world to see, but I would see them. It was sweet, and still is sweet. I know all secrets that are to remain hidden. You can’t hide something from someone you can’t see. Moowhahaha! My powers are best used while I gather intel for the revolution that will not be televised.

Jack Gamble

Well, I suppose I can’t have a super hero origin without incorporating my current means of gainful employment.  So, I will make this one minor ficticious overture to the huggers of the tree:

With the exception of already being completely awesome and strikingly handsome, mild-mannered Jack Gamble was just your ordinary guy.  That is, until the day he slipped off of the refueling bridge and took a nose dive into the exposed core of a nuclear reactor.  Inside the reactor, the already awesome Gamble received a modest dose of Gamma Radiation.  However, this seemingly minute dose of radiation was enough to tip the scales of awesomeness that were already near overload capacity.

This lackluster and unoriginal accident has caused Jack Gamble, your everyday conservative nuclear engineer and blogger, to become the hideous beast known as Inappropriate Political Conversation Man.

With his ruthless power of inappropriate workplace discussion and off the wall dinner table rhetoric, Inappropriate Political Conversation Man can appear out of nowhere.  Whether you find yourself at a urinal, in an elevator, or even on a night out with the in-laws you can never be safe from Inappropriate Political Conversation Man.  Liberals beware, moderates take cover, and conservatives be at the ready, for no mortal man can overcome his insatiable appetite for untimely debate of awkward topics at improper venues.  He will ruin holidays, anger coworkers, impervious to all weapons and able to cause awkward silences with a single comment.  People of Earth be warned:  nothing can stop Inappropriate Political Conversation Man.

Greg Rineberg

Well since you asked…my super hero skill is flying without limitations.  What I mean by this is that I can fly faster than the speed of light throughout the universe kicking alien ass as I travel from galaxy to galaxy.  I can even dive head first into black holes and ride the wave back in to the Milky Way.

One might ask, “How would I breathe where there is no oxygen?”
My response:  “I can do all of this traveling while holding my breath for approximately three hours and to put this in perspective I can travel from New Jersey to the Pluto in 45 minutes at my speed”.

The story of how I became Flyberg is fairly entertaining.  I was on top of the Harrah’s casino parking deck one night back a couple of years ago, when a ferocious storm broke out.  It was such a ferocious storm that I stood on top of a nearby pillar in the corner of the deck trying to get a better sight of it all.  When out of nowhere, lightening struck not more than a foot away from me.  In complete and utter Rinechops fashion, I freaked out and fell off the deck.  As  I was falling another lightening bolt came down with much haste and zapped me.  I was suspended in electrified air for awhile until I came crashing down and broke through the concrete.  Well without much ado, I got up, brushed myself off and flew out of my concrete hole.  Ever since then I have been flying around our world and other worlds protecting innocents and exploring much of the unknown.

Greg Molyneux

Middle Class Mediocrity – and it all began at age three. I was playing Dominoes on my back porch smoking cigarettes and drinking moonshine when the ever-honorable Greg-I-won’t-tell-no-one-your-Cullinane, decided it would be a good idea to shove me down the brick steps.  This triggered a chain of events that would signal a life of apathy, underachievement and sexless rock ‘n’ roll.  The unprovoked sucker shove landed me in the hospital with the first of what would be several concussions through the years.  It was during my overnight observation that I had a vision of what would have been had it not been for my concussed frontal lobe.  The aborted prophecy foretold of a life of great success and renown.  My contributions to the field of astrophysics would have made me a two time Noble Laureate – each coming after my Hall of Fame baseball career.  Global Warming would have been averted, male pattern baldness thwarted and premature ejaculation defeated.  Instead my mind was stunted, never overcoming a three year old’s maturation.  As such I have been left to a life of marinating in my own filth as a middle class zero; a corporate drone by day and desperate web designer by night.  The art of middle class mediocrity is a skill only acquired with time, procrastination, and an inability to follow through.  And I have Chief Wana-Rineberg to thank.  My superpowers have transformed me into the self proclaimed Hero of the Stupid.

Next up…

Molyneux