GET the COOKIE

[tree]

And since dreams may occasionally foretell the future, and YD already told everyone where
the cookie is, I go to her place where she offers to model her full-dress Scottish tartan
complete with sporran if I will be her dressing assistant. She needs a little help adjusting the
outfit.

Under the guise of assistance, I replace the cookie with a hockey puck.

Once the photo shoot is over, I leave, taking the cookie with me.
The cookie will be cosy and well guarded somewhere on the 50 acres
that comprise the yak farm near me.

 

[Yeshuasdaughter]

I open my eyes, in my bedroom, and realize as well, that it was all just a dream.

I roll over and feel something hard, yet itchy inside the shirt pocket of my pajamas. I reach inside and scoop out a hockey puck, covered in crumbs of The Cookie. The Cookie indeed, that you have stolen from me.

The room spins around me. My entire sense of reality is put to the test. I look out the window, and see enemy agents rappelling down ropes, searching every apartment for The Cookie.

I shake my head in disbelief "It's real. It's been real all along."

I need a disguise. Something that no one would expect.

I go into my walk-in closet and put on an ankle length Amish cape dress, apron, bonnet, and a pair of sensible hiking boots.

Stalking behind you, but also two steps ahead of your every move, I make my way into the Yak Patch.

Hiding amid the herd of yaks, I slip my hand out as you pass by, and pickpocket The Cookie from off of your person. Forgive me, as this is very un-Amish of me.

After you pass by, I retreat from the Yak Patch, Cookie safely in my apron pocket, and board a train, headed to Amish Country, Cookie in tow.

 

[Skittlebisquit]

While vigorously using a butter churn on a porch in Amish country, a stranger walks up to you wearing a dinosaur costume and playing a guitar. As you take cover behind the water trough, the stranger, who is me in disguise, grabs the cookie from it's display case and rides away on a stolen horse.

 

[negative-speedforce]

Horse thievery? Ha! Petty criminals are no match for a supervillain such as myself.

I call up my friends from the Legion of Doom, and my dear old pal Eobard Thawne, aka the Reverse-Flash, comes to my aid, in exchange for my help bothering his archenemy later. With his superspeed powers, he snatches the cookie before you can blink, and runs it back to me. We go off together to the 22nd century to plot the demise of our enemies, get a spa treatment, and gossip.

It's been a while, and even us supervillains need some r&r every once in a while.

 

[Yeshuasdaughter]

Ah, so you're in the holosuites above Quark's Bar on DS9, are you??

Season 4, episode one, I assume?

Two things I'm well acquainted with... The Cookie, and Trek.

I brought Arrow with me to the 22nd century. He was no help. He kept taking off his shirt and looking off sorrowfully into the distance. Unfortunately, such sorrow also ruined his Guyliner. So he went off to Garak's Tailor Shoppe for makeup tips. Some ally.

Speaking of alliances, if you are in Season four, episode one of Deep Space Nine, I know quite well that while you are enjoying spa time in the holosuites, the Klingons have broken the Khitomer Accords, declaring war on the Federation.

I am Amish, I do not align with any governmental entity. One other thing about Amish, they are very good at dog training.

We Amish are also very, very serious about our baked goods.

I gather up a pack of Klingons and give them Temptations Treats every time they successfully sniff out a cookie I have hidden, for training.

Once they graduate Amish dog training obedience school, I unleash Das Klingon Hunds toward this Bensil of a Boppli that dareth stealeth Mein Cookie.

Like bloodhunds on the hunt, they get on all fours and sniff and snuffle up and down the corridors of Deep Space Nine. They finally locate you in the Holosuites, working on your tan.

It was no great feat for my Klingon minions to bring me the bathrobe you left on the chair outside the holosuites. Where, located in the pocket, of course, is The Cookie. And for a few bars of Latinum, Quark didn't see anything. He has no idea where your bathrobe went.

Hey, this is a pretty cushy bathrobe. I hitch a ride on the next federation ship out of there, take a loop around the sun, as it is canon if anyone has seen Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (the one with the whales) that this is how time travel is accomplished in universe.

I am dropped off in my quaint Amish home town of Frigid Hellscape, Wisconsin, Cookie in hand, wearing a most fashionable bathrobe.

I return to the porch, wearing the warm bathrobe, cookie in bathrobe pocket. This futuristic bathrobe warms me against the Wisconsinite Mennonite Endless Winter. Where I go back to churning butter, vigorously, on the lookout for Dinosaurs or Speedster Metahumans. Or yaks.

 

[negative-speedforce]

They say a supervillain's biggest weakness is their own hubris. This is one time that was proven correct. Cursing dishonor upon you, your family, and your cow, I shake my fist at the sky in rage at the loss of my cookie.

I get Eobard to run me back to my time in exchange for me releasing live snakes into Barry Allen's house, then begin plotting my revenge.

You see, I graduated from The Institute of Mad Science and Sinister Schemes, with high honors, so evil science is no stranger to me. I return to my evil lab and begin plotting, while giggling maniacally and petting a hideously adorable hairless cat.

I break into a crypt to steal the abnormal brain of an evil hang-gliding instructor, then go back to my lab to enact my sinister scheme.

That's right, folks- Hang-gliding Frankenstein, Baby!

I strap myself into the hang-gliding harness with my Frankenstein, and we take to the skies, straight to Frozen Hellscape, Wisconsin.

We arrive just as the tornado sirens in town start going off. Just as you're running to the storm cellar, I order my unethical science experiment to fly down, and I snatch the cookie from the pocket of your cape dress, and fly off into the storm, cackling evilly, never to be seen again.

 

[Skittlebisquit]

What goes up must come down, and you and your hang gliding monster landed eventually, in a strange place in murrica just outside of a place called salt lake city. Thankfully I was in town at the time selling bicycles to missionaries and spotted the landing, which of course drew a bit of a crowd. It's not often that the undead and a super hero arrive in the middle of a free haircut promotion tent revival and bicycle raffle.

The locals in attendence were all a bit right of center, and not huge fans of undead monsters, Lyrica clad super villains, or hang gliders either. Just about the time that somebody was about to call the cops, I started yelling out bingo numbers in an attempt to confuse the crowd, who all smelled a little like soap, wore button up shirts and had name tags on.

Thankfully my tactic worked and in the ensuing melee I was able to creep a bit closer to the monster with the cookie. Knowing my lore as I do, I offered Frankie a corn dog in exchange for the cookie which they accepted with glee.

I slipped away from the ensuing chaos and boarded an old bus marked "further" and we drove off into the night, just me, some very old hippies, and the cookie.

 

[Yeshuasdaughter]

After the tornado, I came out of my storm shelter, hair disheveled under my capp. But at least I had a warm bathrobe on, with The Cookie in my pocket. I dry washed my hands with gleeful malice.

The thing is, gleeful malice, time travel, espionage, theft, and gloating, and gluttony over sweets are all very much against the Amish Ordnung. And thus a group of elders gathered on my porch and shunned me from their community.

It wasn't even ten minutes after a tornado, and they're pulling this. The nerve. I'm not even an actual Amish, and they're shunning me. I get no respect!

I was in the place the eye does not see. Nor the ear, hear.

Good thing I had a cookie, because stress sure makes me hungry.

Alas. It's not to be. For you see, that cookie happens to be The Cookie. An object I must defend at all costs.

I reach into the pocket of the bathrobe and discover that the cookie is gone!

I should have known something was up when I saw the giant green dude with the chick in the lycra unitard went hang gliding past me. I really should have known when I heard the woman yell "Yoinks!" and then laugh maniacly, while gliding off into the sunset.

Well, you get used to that kind of thing after all the Comic Cons I've attended. I figured it was just another charity floor show for the Amish. You know, Incredible Hulk and Natasha Romanoff. The Amish don't get out a lot, and thus, know very little of pop culture. So every now and again, Comic Con sends out hangglilding actors to show them a good time.

Trouble is, every time an Amish person sees the hang gliding superheroes, they get shunned for worldliness. It's a real problem.

Enough about that.

I am cookieless.

I go back into the Dadihus, and look around one last forlorn time, knowing I can never return to the Amish country that I have no roots in, but somehow feel quite attached to.

I change out of my cape dress and capp and into a pair of patched bell bottoms with a breezy cottage core blouse over it. I put on flip flops, and a wide brimmed sunhat, and walk out the front door.

Down the way I see some Mormons having a tent revival and bicycle auction. Oh no, not another religion to not convert to, but assimilate into nevertheless.

I see a hippie bus at the end of the block. I ask if I can bum a ride out of Frozen Hellscape, Wisconsin, back to my hometown of Tweakerland, Oregon. They all nod and croon out the word "Maaaaannnn". Which I assume means yes.

I climb in the back of the bus, and to my shock, I see you! My arch nemesis. I haven't laid eyes on you since the Legendary Scissors Stewart Debacle. I pull down the brim of my sunhat, and scoot in next to you. I wait until I know you are passed out along with all the other hippies, and I pickpocket the cookie.

I tap the driver on the shoulder, and tell him this is my stop. I climb out of the bus, and wish him the most magical of mystery tours, and skip down the road, cookie in hand, singing "Sweet Mystery of Life At Last I've Found You".

 

[negative-speedforce]

I'm in the castle of Count Dracula, watching Rupaul's VAMPIRE Drag Race (its a long story), when I realize that my cookie is missing.

After "spilling the tea, sis" to my undead companion, he agrees that I must take my cookie back. So, we back our bags and our glittery wigs and take off for San Francisco, California, where we will await the hippie bus- since all hippies go to San Francisco eventually, right?

When we reach San Francisco, it seems the individual with the cookie has lost it. In his half-awake stupor, he saw a lady sit next to him, and it's most likely she who has it now, and there's only one place she could be- Tweakerland.

This calls for an army.

Dracula- or, more accurately, Dragula and I sneak around San Francisco, creating a horde of flamboyant vampire drag queen thralls, and they all turn into an army of bats, carrying me North.

While you are sleeping, doors barred to keep the tweaker apocalypse out, I manage to break in the window, then invite my vampire comrades in, and before you know it, you've been wrapped up in a sack, leaving the cookie under your pillow. I snatch it, placing it under my pink glittery wig, then allow the bat armies to carry myself and my prisoner back to Transylvania.

I carry the cookie up to my room, where I place it behind a lazer-activated alarm and over a pit of very cranky moray eels, in the most so-called uncrackable safe on the market. You are left to your fate, among the vampire drag queens who not only want you to spill the tea... but also your blood.

 

[Yeshuasdaughter]

Yuck! Burlap! I didn't even know they made burlap sacks anymore. Scratching vigorously, I bemoan, "Of all the types of sacks in the world, she had to tie me up in a burlap sack!" I wriggle and fight to get out. "Hey lemme out of here!"

"Oooh snap! She's awake. You better shut your mouth if you know what's good for you!" I hear a drag queen vampire exclaim, in a Romanian accent, of course.

"Girl, you ain't goin' nowhere. You are 'bout to be tore up from the floor up!" Another bloodsucking diva exclaims, this time in a Northern California, Bay Area accent.

I pull out my pocket knife and slit the burlap sack down the side. I peer out. Down below me is a pit of moray eels. And surrounding that pit, an ornate lounge where Dragulas from all around the world are relaxing. Some are strutting their stuff.

Other vampire drag queens are pouring drinks. Thankfully from bottles, not from victims' throats.

I know I only have one chance for escape. And there's only one way to accomplish it.

I grab the rope, hard and swing my body over the lounge, landing on top of the bar in a squatting position. Everyone gasps. The room is silent. Over a dozen bloodsucking, genderbending creatures of the night are glaring at me. A couple are hissing.

I stand up. The room is still silent. I shake my hips and exclaim:

"How do you do I
See you've met my
Faithful handyman.
He's just a little brought down because
When you knocked
He thought you were the Candyman."

The drag queens begin cheering, as I start strutting up and down the bar, like a supermodel's catwalk, smashing goblets on the floor. I continue:

"Don't get strung out
By the way I look
Don't judge a book by it's cover!
I'm not much of a mom by the light of day,
But by night I'm one heck of a mother-r!"

Two of the drag queens shimmy and raise up their feather boas, exclaiming "Get it girl!" as I twirl and glare at the audience, dancing and crying out:

"I'm just a sweet transvestite
From transexual
Transylvania- A- HA!"

I jump down from the bar, interacting the the dancing audience, methodically dancing towards the pit of moray eels, where the cookie is suspended, next to the now empty burlap sack.

I snatch one of the drag queen's feather boas, causing an uproar of laughter and cheers and whip it toward the cookie, lassoing the cookie midair and bringing it into my hand before anyone notices.

I put the feather boa back around its owner, to more cheering and strut towards the castle portcullis, leaning on the lintel, and exclaim:

"Why don't you come up to the lab
And see what's on the slab
I see you shiver with antici------pation."

All the vampire drag queens are held transfixed.

Opening the castle gate, I cry,

"But maybe the rain!
Is, uh, really to blame."

Slipping halfway out the door I chuckle and then whisper

"So I'll remove the cause..
But not the symptom!"

I disappear into the night, to the sound of uproarious applause.

I always knew my time spent on the cast of the Rocky Horror Show back in the mid seventies would do me good.

Sure I played a good Magenta, but I had to fill in for Frankenfurter more than a few times, as he was a total priss. He would fake sciatica whenever he got stage fright.

Now here I am, on board a Princess Cruise in the Black Sea, heading toward the Adriatic, where I plan to kick back with the cookie in a beautiful whitewashed villa overlooking Athens, working on my tan, getting some much earned rest.

 

[negative-speedforce]

I should have known something was up when I heard a feminine, airy alto join the chorus of bouyant tenors in a chorus from Rocky Horror. However, I was too busy napping. Even supervillains need their beauty rest. You've taken everything from me- my audience, my villain swag, and now, my precious Cookie.

I enlist the help of the drag queens to help me put on a disguise. Fake mustache, grey wig, suit and top hat, monocle and cane- I am now a grumpy, very rich old man in his 70s. I wish all the vampires goodbye, telling them all to keep slaying and serving looks on a silver platter, then continue on. You couldn't have gotten far.

I drive in my hearse I borrowed from Dracula, following your trail, until I reach the docks, where I barely miss the cruise that you've gotten on. Drat. All that hard work with makeup and costumes, and it was all for nothing. I suppose it's time for some mad science.

I catch a plane back to my lab, where I start mixing together ingredients with names like "eye of newt" and "toe of frog", until I've created a potion- one that will surely give me what I want.

I use my hangliding Frankenstein from earlier to fly me out over the ocean, where I quickly down the potion and dive into the water. After a few brief moments of thrashing in the water, it takes effect- my legs turn into a tail, and I grow gills on the side of my neck. I am now a mermaid.

I hitch a ride on one of the ocean currents, launching myself straight towards the Mediterranean. In no time, I'm sitting on a rock in the Adriatic Sea, singing to myself and running a fork through my wavy locks.

Then, I see it. Your cruise ship, heading towards a small bay where it'll dock. Those plans, however, will soon be interrupted. Mwahahahahaha!

I lean on the rocks and start calling out with my Siren's Song, telling tales of warm macaroni and cheese and wool socks and cool fossils and such to lure the boat in. Sure enough, it changes course, heading straight for the rocks. I wait until it's just far enough that it can stop before crashing, before ceasing my singing.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I call, stopping the trance before the boat crashes into the rocks. It screeches to a halt. Trust me, I don't want anyone to die in my quest for the cookie. I'm a supervillain, not evil.

While the crew of the ship is trying to figure out how to get out of this maze of rocks I've gotten them stuck in, I throw a grappling hook and climb up the side of the ship with sheer upper body strength, since right now I'm, y'know. A mermaid.

There it is. Mine. My own, my precious Cookie, sitting in an elaborate crystal stand on the dresser of one of the bedrooms. I can hear splashing and laughing from the attached bathroom- foolish of you to leave the Cookie unattended, but lucky for me.

I slip in through the porthole, flop across the carpet, and snatch the Cookie, placing it into a waterproof plastic bag before diving back into the ocean, where I'll catch a current towards home, where my Frankenstein will wait with the antidote to this potion that'll turn me human again.