Author notes

Happy Birthday Hogan 2016

Roar Comics

on April 30, 2018

It was gonna be a good birthday.
L.P. Hogan, Reality Border Patrol Magistrate for the nexus world of Reality #37's Earth was prepared. He knew what was coming.
The trio of bastard trickster demigods known as the "Misfits of Mischief" had illegally entered his reality every year since 2013.
The first two times were accidental, apparently, but, in 2015, they purposely snuck into his section of infinity.
Of course, it was to wish him a happy birthday, but it was still illegal.
Knowing that another visit was coming, Hogan was prepared.
He'd called in a favor from his old friend, Wheels Ironkeel, who manufactured a perfect technomagical trap for the demigod delinquents: A nice, shiny statuette of a fertility goddess of prodigious curves and buxom bosom carrying in one hand a diminutive basket of sweets. The sweets were, of course, real. chocolates of both milk and dark variety, filled with fancy liqueurs. The goddess herself adorned with ornate jewels in place of her eyes and, oddly, her nipples, and a small diamond crown around her head. In her other hand, a small pot, inexplicably warm with a small amount of boiling oils that wafted through the locker room of the Interdimensional Border Patrol Headquarters with a thick scent of musk and lilacs that oozed a romantic sexuality.
A trickster trap if ever there was one.
With their penchant for sweets, booze and sex, (and, occasionally, shiny things) Quinn Anansi, Bjorn Loki and Monroe Coyote would never be able to resist investigating upon their arrival. It took no time at all. One of the many in a long row of bright red gym lockers began to shake and rattle, and out, in a shaft of psychedelic tie-dye lights, rolled three young men, each in oversized black suits and silk ties. They tumbled out of the locker like circus clowns from an undersized car and rolled into the center of the changing room. Hogan sat in his office watching the surveillance footage. A broad smile crossed his face as he observed the young men bandy and banter about. He couldn't hear them, but, he surmised that they were yammering on, spouting horrible puns and innuendoes in rapid succession. Quinn was the first to observe the little womanly statuette in the middle of the room. Bjorn sniffed at the musky, flowery air and began to float toward the small prop in a cartoony fashion, his toes barely scraping the floor, tiny hearts actually visible as they fluttered from his head and shoulders, leaving a trail before fading back into the oblivion from which they manifested. Monroe Coyote's nose wrinkled as he, too, sniffed the air. It was the alcohol-filled chocolates which drew his olfactory attention.
As the trio munched, they faces smeared with gooey chocolate ichor like oversized toddlers, L.P. Hogan pressed the large red button on the remote control device, he fingered anxiously as the demigods finished their sweets. Once pressed, the remote activated the statuette, which was actually a very small robot. She put down her basket. She put down her small oil pot. She began to shimmy and shake in a surprisingly fluid and suggestive manner. She removed the small loincloth that adorned her mid-section. Her small, metallic face winked and blew a kiss at her observers, whose rapt attention she'd garnered. The boys leaned in very, very close, in order to get a better look at the tiny dancer. She leaned forward at the waist. The freaky foursome were all practically face to face. That was when she opened her tiny golden lips wide. VERY wide. Her jaw dropped low enough to have been 3 feet, were she a normal sized being. By the time they saw it, it was too late.
Inside the mouth of the gyrating doll was the Crystal of Yx.
The Crystal, an ancient, mystical gem that has the power to entrap magical beings within it. Legend has it that the crystal, or, rather the various versions of it in various realities all come from one, original, planet-sized gem, which, itself may be the wellspring of all magic in the multiverse. This Crystal of Yx was rather small. Just about the size of an egg. As soon as its light shone out of the mouth of the small doll, the trio were sucked into it like the last 2 inches of the last strand of spaghetti on a hungry man's plate.
It wouldn't hold them long, but it would hold them long enough.

Hogan called in a few supernatural specialists from among his agents to handle the Misfits once they emerged from the crystal.
Agents Monica Villareal, Melissa Hellrune and Danielle Dark received the boys as they emerged from the crystal. This time, they were actually processed as travellers between realms, and also 'booked' as tresspassers: Their fingerprints taken, their retinas scanned and sample of their DNA catalogued.
Hogan himself administered their mugshots, with a bit of help from his daughter, the transreality travelling adventurer, Scale.
The trio were their usual annoying selves. They joked and punned and made faces behind Hogan's back. They flirted mercilessly with Scale, who remembered them from the previous 2 years' of her dad's birthdays. They were cute, but relentless. She was NOT in the mood for their shenannigans. No less than twice during their bookings, Scale was seconds away from donning her special armor and trying her best to obliterate the loony lotharios, but her father and a few of the other agents restrained her successfully.
They were arraigned in Interdimensional Court by Judge Rockhound. Seeing as this transgression was only their second OFFICIAL offense, she decided to go easy on them.
The judge peered questioningly at the three, who had decided to represent themselves in her courtroom, thus, proving the old adage about fools.
Judge Rockhound sentenced them to 3 nights in jail and 3 days of community service sweeping up King Minos's labyrinth in the kingdom of Knossos.

The boys served their time in a "cell" that looked suspiciously like Barbara Eden's bottle from "I Dream of Jeannie". It was, in fact, a REAL genie bottle, which, I guess was the ideal thing to hold such creatures as they.
Having met King Minos and knowing that the Minotaur has eaten just about everyone who's ever gotten lost in there, Hogan was satisfied that this would keep those 3 from ever coming back.
Oh, he had no doubt that they would survive the ordeal intact. They'd more than likely ANNOY the Minotaur into crawling into a hole and hiding, but he wouldn't be able to kill them. 3 days of shovelling man-sized-bull poop might teach them a lesson.
As they toiled in the high walled mega-maze in their orange suits, with oversized clothespins clipped to their noses, which, Hogan mused, they'd conjured up themselves to be funny, The Magistrate sat in his office and laughed.
It had been a good birthday, indeed.