August 27, 2008

It's a Bird...It's a Plane...It's...

Super Missionary!!!

Mega propz to Shanna for seeing through my secret identity...

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December 6, 2005

This is a Test

This is only a test. If this had been a real emergency, who knows what would have happened. We are testing the links and various font types. Thanks for your comprehension.

There are two types of people. Those who divide people into two types, and those who don't.

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November 26, 2004

Missionary Man Unveiled

For those of you who have been breathlessly following the Missionary Man feature on this site, and who have been wondering what he will look like when he gets all his equipment and goes out into the world to fight the realms of darkness...the wait is over.

Below, courtesy of the hero machine, is Missionary Man in all his glory.

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November 22, 2004

Missionary Man: The Mission

Last week, mild-mannered missionary Leonard Wilson pushed the button on the mysterious watch, and his life was forever changed. We find him now on his motorcycle, riding to the place to which he had been directed by the guy in the watch.

Gradually the tiled-roof houses of Ciudad Capital came into view. The capital city of the island “republic” was not very impressive, although it was somewhat popular with the tourists. As Leonard weaved his way through traffic to the center of the town, he saw something that put ice in his veins.

For three years now he had labored tirelessly at the Iglesia Bautista de Ciudad Capital. The congregation was running around a hundred now, and they had just completed a building, of which his people were very proud. Now, as he rode past where the building should be, he saw that all that remained of it was a smoldering ruin. A couple of police officers were there, taking notes.

He was temped to stop and inquire about what happened, but thought better of it. His mind racing, he gunned his motorcycle toward the airport.

The airport was on the far end of town. Arriving there, he found Avenida de la Revolucion and took a left as he had been instructed. Sure enough, a couple of kilometers into the jungle was a little hut on the right. He turned his motorcycle and drove right through the opening that served as a door. Then he stopped. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, he had a sinking sensation.

“What in the world...??” Leonard suddenly realized that he was being lowered, motorcycle and all, into the ground, like he was on an elevator. The elevator continued to descend until he could no longer see the opening in the hut—in fact—he could no longer make out the hut. Everything was pitch black, and the only sensation the missionary had was that he was still descending.

After what seemed like several minutes, the elevator came to a stop, and at the same time, a very disoriented Leonard was flooded with light. He squinted, trying to make out his surroundings. Finally, he was able to make out a form moving toward him. It was the man he had seen in the face of the watch.

“Greetings, Mr. Wilson, and welcome to the field laboratory of World Missionary Defense. I am the director. Codename The Backpacker.”

“Where did you come up with that codename?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll have to tell you sometime. Right now, we have things to do. I need to show you your equipment.” The Backpacker started to turn away.

“It just seems” continued Leonard “that if your codename is ‘The Backpacker’, you should have a backpack or something.”

The Backpacker sighed. “Just follow me.”

Seeing that he was not going to get an answer to the whole backpack issue, Leonard followed the man down a long, cement hallway, illuminated by fluorescent lighting. He pushed his motorcycle with him. Presently, they entered a large room that appeared to be a laboratory of some sort. The walls were lined with all kinds of computers and communication devices. The tables on the center were filled with gadgets and tubes that you would associate with a laboratory.

The Backpacker turned around and looked at Leonard. “Are you ready for your first mission?”

“I guess so. After all, I am a missionary.” The feeble attempt at humor fell flat. “What I would really like to know is what happened to my church.”

The Backpacker ran his hand through where his hair might once have been. “Listen, Leonard, there are forces at work that you have not begun to imagine. For two years we have been tracking the activities of a group known as CBS.”

“Central Broadcasting Service?”

“No, Christ-less Bankrolling Society—although there may be a connection. After all, how did someone with Dan Rather’s face ever make it onto TV. Kind of makes you wonder. But I digress. We suspect the Christ-less Bankrolling Society of funding several anti-missionary movements in the recent years. They obviously stand to lose if the cause of Christ advances.”

“How exactly do they stand to lose?” wondered Leonard.

“OK, you’re going to have to pay more attention here. Their name is the ‘Christ-less Bankrolling Society. You do the math. Anyway, these are the guys who were behind Basil’s untimely demise.”

“Did they destroy my church building as well.”

“Uh oh” said The Backpacker, in a not very reassuring way. “This is not good.”

“Why? What?” The missionary was officially confused, and not a little disconcerted.

“I did not know about your church. This means they have connected us to you, and are sending you a warning.”

“Well, it’s not working” Said Leonard, surprising himself with the words coming out of his mouth. “These guys messed with the wrong missionary. What do I do now?”

“Glad to see you are fully on board. Obviously our first task is to get CBS off this island. Then, we will fight them on a worldwide scale. If you are in, we will get you your equipment.”

“Oh I’m in” said Leonard, still thinking about the pile of rubble that had been his church. “Let’s get going.”

Next week: Equipment

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November 16, 2004

The Adventures of Missionary Man: Pushing the Button

Last week, Leonard Wilson, mild-mannered missionary to the Republica de las Bananas, was visited by a mysterious Englishman--representing an organization called World Missionary Defense--who offered him a job as a sort of missionary super-hero. Then the Englishman was blown up in his hellicopter. We left our hero as he was pushing the button on the strange watch given him by the now-departed Basil.

The LCD screen popped to life. The letters WMD appeared, then faded away to reveal an apparently balding man with thick glasses, who was staring at Leonard as intently, as one stares at a computer screen.
“This is command post beta. Am I speaking with Mr. Wilson?” Leonard looked for a microphone somewhere on the watch, then gave up and just spoke at the face.
“This is…uh…Leonard Wilson…and…uh…I thought you might want to know…uh…that the guy who gave me this watch just got blown up in his helicopter.”
There was a slight pause. The man speaking from command post beta looked around, and then directed his attention back to Leonard. “We were afraid of that,” he said tersely. “Mr. Wilson, you must listen to me very carefully. You may be in grave danger. It is important that you get to us immediately so we can continue. Is your motorcycle nearby?”
“Yes, it…hey, how did you know I had a motorcycle?”
“No time for that now,” was the reply. “You need to get a suitcase, get on your motorcycle, and head for Cuidad Capital. When you get there, make like you are going to the airport. It needs to look like you are getting out of town. Just before you get to the airport, there is a little road called Avenida de la Revolucion. Take a left down that road. There is nothing on that road, except jungle. About half a kilometer, on the right, you will see a little grass hut. Just drive into the hut, motorcycle and all.”
“Then what?”
“We will take it from there. Just get there in one piece. Over and out.”
Well that was comforting, Leonard thought. Stopping briefly to put the watch on, he grabbed a suitcase, filled it with some random clothes, then ran out back to where his motorcycle was waiting. Quickly he strapped the suitcase on the back, hopped on, kicked the engine to life, and turned down the road in the direction of Ciudad Capital.
...................................................................

“It looks like you were right, senor. Our missionary friend just left in the direction of Ciudad Capital, with a suitcase on the back of his motorcycle. It would appear that we have—how you say—killed two stones with one bird.” The shadowy figure hoisted his weapon and disappeared into the jungle.

Next week: The Assignment

Posted by Andrew at 7:59 PM
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