Our superhero was in a pickle. Really! It was a pickle with a V-8 engine and a five-speed transmission. Zero to sixty in 59 seconds. Okay, maybe it wasn’t a very fast pickle, which is why the bad guys were getting away.
And laughing while they did.
Our superhero put his head out the window and yelled for his sidekick.
Suddenly the ground shook.
Windows rattled. And there she was, running alongside the pickle. “You rang, boss?” she said.
“No, Thunder Thighs. I yelled. Now help me catch these bad guys.”
She did. Thunderman and his assistant Thunder Thighs caught the bad guys, just in time for commercials.
Melvin Beederman had been watching The Adventures of Thunderman with his pet rat Hugo while eating his normal breakfast of pretzels and root beer. Now he turned off the TV and stretched.
“Luckily he had Thunder Thighs to help,” Melvin said to Hugo. “Thunderman needs to get a new pickle, don’t you think?”
“Squeak,” said the rat.
This either meant “I’d recommend a Harley-Davidson” or “Are you going to eat that last pretzel?” Melvin was never sure what Hugo was saying. Back at the Superhero Academy he had been fluent in gerbil, but rat language was not the same thing. For example, they said “warthog” differently, and that was only the beginning.
It was a fine day for saving the world, Melvin thought as he looked out over the city of Los Angeles. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, even Hugo was humming as he started playing his mini guitar.
Melvin tied his cape around his neck and looked at himself in the—
Sirens! He could hear them blaring with his extra-sensitive hearing. Trouble was brewing! He could feel it.
Melvin launched himself. “Up, up, and away!”
Crash! He hit the ground.
He got up and tried again. “Up, up, and away!”
Splat!
“Up, up, and away!”
Thud!
Kabonk!
On the fifth try he was up and flying. This was how it went for Melvin Beederman. He never got off the ground on the first try. But no matter. He was up and flying, streaking toward downtown. Bad guys, beware! Melvin Beederman was on the job. And he wasn’t driving a pickle.