To Prove His Spudly Worth

(by The Illustrious Crackpot, retold without permission from the focal character)

The Secret Coven of Couch Potatoes

in which Control Freak finds out that his situation is desperate

———————————————————————————————————

"AND STAY OUT!" Robin yelled, punting Control Freak out Titans Tower's door for the umpteenth time that day. The chubby, Jedi-attired supervillain sailed in a graceful arc out of the T-shaped skyscraper before landing painfully in a bush twenty feet away, wincing and groaning. Robin shook his fist, retreating back into the huge reflective building. "SHEESH!" he muttered, slamming the door forcefully.

Control Freak stood rather wobbily and dusted off his black Sith robe, removing a stick from his long, greasy orange hair. Turning back to Titans Tower, he shouted imperiously, "I'm not done with you yet, Robin! All of you Titans are going down!!!! I, CONTROL FREAK, SHALL DEFEAT YOU ALLLLLLL!!! I JUST...eh...feel like going home now!"

So saying, he shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged away.

Back in the somewhat new, ultra-secret Couch Potato Lair (underground in an undisclosed location, sorry to say), Control Freak bounced annoyedly into the Magical Red Couch Potato Beanbag. The entire Lair had a Couch Potato feel to it; the walls framing the room into a cozy sphere were the color of potatoes, the shelves housing Control Freak's massive collection of DVDs were the color of a potato painted orange, and basically all of the furniture was potato-shaped. Control Freak had been thinking of redecorating it, but, like dashing madly back into Titans Tower, it would have taken much too much effort.

Control Freak banged his fist on the arm of his beanbag chair. "I CAN'T STAND IT!!!!" he shouted, his face contorting into spasmodically extreme emotions. "THOSE DARN TITANS ALWAYS FOIL MY PLOTS TO GET RID OF THEM!! AND THEY WON'T EVEN GIVE ME THEIR AUTOGRAPHS!!! And because of them..." he finished somewhat pathetically, "I can't fulfill my lazy evil deeds quota for the Secret Coven of Couch Potatoes."

The Secret Coven of Couch Potatoes, to put it simply, is the laziest, most fan-based secret community of evildoers in existence. One day back in the seventies, the community of rabid TV watchers realized that some of their number were actually achieving vegetative status due to lack of activity. To prevent an overpopulation of people-turned-eggplants, the couch potatoes banded together to form the Coven in order to give themselves recreational activities—nothing too taxing, you realize, just enough to keep them from waking up and discovering that they were edible. So they started a massive international community of couch potatoes, unified in purpose to do dastardly things while also discussing the perks of inter-character relationships from various TV shows and movies. I'm afraid that I can't reveal anything more, except that one of the major unofficial meeting websites for these appalling characters has in its name the words "Fanfiction" and "Net", with a dot somewhere in between.

With a grunt, Control Freak heaved his massive bulk off the Magical Red Couch Potato Beanbag and plopped himself in the Awesome Super-Powered Couch Potato Swivel Chair, spinning around once before stopping in front of the Couch Potato Laptop of Doom—he'd had to downgrade from his giant, multiple-plasma-screened model when a bet concerning various Star Trek characters had left him temporarily out of funds. The seat and headrest of the chair and even the computer itself were, again, shaped like potatoes. (Control Freak was a bit self-conscious about having everything in his secret lair being the "Couch Potato Something-or-Other", but home endorsement had been the only way he'd met his quota the month before.) With a couple of clicks, Control Freak was on the Coven's homepage. Selecting "Member Profiles" in the extensively computer-coded drop-down menu, the wannabe supervillain looked up random comrades. There had to be someone else who hadn't fulfilled their quota of evil Couch Potato deeds...

Unfortunately, though, it didn't seem like it. Lenny Baxter had almost shrink-wrapped a couple of little-girl superheroes. "Weird Al" Yankovic had released the DVD collection of his old TV show. Even The Illustrious Crackpot had managed to mass-hypnotize hordes of people through subliminal messages in fanfictions!

As he had been checking the profile, a muted grunt (actually a sound clip of Chewbacca which Control Freak had programmed into his computer) alerted him to a Couch Potato Instant Evil Message (CPIEM). Control Freak clicked the "confirm" button, and the message appeared in a popup window in the left-hand corner of the screen.

The Illustrious Crackpot: whatr u up to CF, take ovr TT yet?

Control Freak thought over his response for a moment, then started to type. The text appeared beneath the first message.

Control Freak: yeah WAHAHA im talking 2 u from there now

Smirking, Control Freak leaned back in the Awesome Super-Powered Couch Potato Swivel Chair as he awaited a reply. In a moment the screen refreshed and Crackpot's rejoinder appeared.

The Illustrious Crackpot: geez CF i know ur not in the towr i bet u didnt even make quota ha ha they check tomorrow /\ roflol

It took a moment for the message to sink in, but as it did the supervillain's face burned with anger and embarrassment. He began to type furiously.

Control Freak: U DONT HAVE 2 RUB IT IN, I CONTRL U!!!!! I CONTRL U ALLLLLLLL!!! IM THE MOST COUCH-POTATOEY GUY ALIVE!

could u hlp plz?

The computer whirred, playing the song "White and Nerdy" as it processed. He waited a few painstaking moments for the message to be sent through the digital evil filters on the Couch Potato site and to the computer of The Illustrious Crackpot. Control Freak had a little hope, but then the reply popped up.

The Illustrious Crackpot: haha NO XP more rofl

As he was electronically laughed at, Control Freak closed the communications window with a murderous click and put The Illustrious Crackpot on his "Block" list. He threw himself backwards in the Swivel Chair, panting from the effort. Although he had tried to affect unconcern, he was sweating now. I've got to meet quota somehow!!!! he panicked, then a ray of hope arrived. "AHAHA! WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THIS BEFORE? They might not CHECK quota this month!!!!" He then became wrapped up in a monologue, launching out of his seat and striking a pose that would be called "impressive" were it being exhibited by someone at least fifty pounds lighter. "I CONTROL REALITY! YOU ARE ALL MY SLAVES! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA—"

His reverie was interrupted by a choppy digital sound clip of trumpets playing, and a cold feeling traveled up his spine and along his entire nervous system. Jumping back into the Awesome Super-Powered Couch Potato Swivel Chair, he hurriedly tried to click the button for "Log Out"—but the command was being temporarily blocked. A fresh wave of sweat soiled his custom-made Luke Skywalker suit as message boxes popped up all across the screen (thanks to some complex computer code installed on the website), all proclaiming the same thing.

The Ruler has logged on! The Supreme High Potentate has arrived! All bow to the great leader!

Animated confetti burst onscreen as the trumpet clip reached a crescendo, and Control Freak felt like screaming with fear. The head of the Coven had logged on and, as Crackpot had observed, he was completely screwed.

"M-m-maybe he just wants to see the new postings on the BBS," he tried weakly, unable to move. But he knew it wasn't so as the Couch Potato Ultimate Fear-Striking Webcam buzzed into life, its potato-colored light blinking. The monitor of the Couch Potato Laptop of Doom crackled and fizzed as a new window opened itself, filling the screen. For a moment all was black—but then the image of the Leader fizzled in. All the window could fit was the man's shoulders and up, as his massive bulk extended far offscreen, but as Control Freak sweated he could easily see the man's thick, ponytailed brown hair, his sickly yellow skin, and the unshaven face hidden behind a black mask. He spoke in a rotund, disapproving voice, which crackled slightly with static from the Couch Potato Speakers of Crud.

"Control Freak?" the Leader demanded impressively. A text version of the message appeared in the right-hand corner of the screen.

Comic Store Guy: Control Freak?

Control Freak was so nervous he almost forgot the traditional Coven Salute, making a "V" with all the fingers on his right hand and rattling off pleasantries in Klingon. Actually, he was so anxious that instead of saying the rough translation of "I bow before a greater being", he said "I milk herrings with cheesegraters". However, the Leader didn't seem to notice or, more likely, he didn't particularly care.

"Control Freak," he asked disapprovingly, "have you not fulfilled your quota for the Coven?" Again, the message was transcripted into the pop-up window.

"Um, heh heh..." Control Freak replied, glancing uneasily from side to side. "Well, that is, my great Leader, well, I was just—"

"NO EXCUSES!" the Leader shouted, his onscreen image flickering slightly as the webcam in his location apparently began to wobble. Reaching somewhere above the field of view, the Leader steadied it, and pointed an accusatory finger at the screen. "Control Freak, this will be the third time this year that you have failed in getting your quota! And as you very well SHOULD know, the Coven's laws demand that—"

He was cut short by the sound of a tinkling bell from somewhere on the Leader's end. The Leader looked up sharply in another direction and got up, yelling at someone outside the field of view. "YOU!! THIS IS NOT A LIBRARY! BUY THAT ISSUE OF RADIOACTIVE MAN OR BE FORCED TO WATCH CLIPS OF SPOCK IN A LEOTARD!"

Apparently the off-camera situation resolved itself, as the Leader sat back down in front of the webcam. "Worst customer ever," he muttered, then put on his booming voice again as he looked, or at least felt like he was looking, right at Control Freak. "Young ball of blubber!" he bellowed, and Control Freak saluted again. "Meet your quota by tomorrow or be kicked out of the Coven. And, as you know, we'd be forced to wipe your memories of anything connected with us and APPREHEND any DVDs, action figures or comic books that you own so that you NEVER spontaneously retrieve any memories of us at all. And plus, we could always use some more merchandise."

Control Freak nearly broke out in hives at the thought. "I'll m-m-make sure to get my quota, sir," he reassured the glowering Leader. A loophole was forming in his mind. Perhaps if I called it the Spud Cave and—

"Oh yes!" snapped the Leader, glaring at him. "And none of that 'redecoration' stuff again! I DEMAND TRUE COUCH POTATO EVIL!!"

The last vestiges of Control Freak's hope crumbled, and he slumped back in the chair. "I WILL DO IT, MY LEADER!" he proclaimed, though his tone was flat and he didn't sound very confident. "I'll take over Titans Tower and throw them out before tomorrow!"

The Leader made a noncommittal grumble and uttered closing remarks in Klingon before severing the connection. The screen flickered again, and soon the homepage of the Secret Coven of Couch Potatoes was back up. Still slightly in shock, Control Freak selected "Log Out" and put the Couch Potato Laptop of Doom to "Sleep".

He was so screwed.

Fear gnawing at the pit of his stomach, Control Freak entered the Couch Potato Kitchen of Happiness and ripped open several bags of Cheetos, devouring their contents more swiftly than was normally possible for a human being. His mind had totally shut down on any plans for fulfilling the quota, so he reentered the Couch Potato Den and turned to his favorite source of inspiration: the wall-to-wall Couch Potato Plasma Screen TV of Contentment (patent pending). Plopping his bulk back into the Magical Red Couch Potato Beanbag, Control Freak pulled out his normal remote, double-checking to make sure it was the right one; he had mixed up the regular one with his superpowered one before, and it had taken forever to convince the cable company not to revoke his subscription. With a click, channel 12 buzzed into view. The newscaster—a somewhat pretty woman with longish blonde hair—was in the middle of a sentence when Control Freak's superior reception picked up the signal.

"...worthless self-proclaimed supervillain 'Control Freak' was once again kicked out of Titans Tower today—I mean, get a clue, you couch potato! They didn't even bother throwing you in jail this time!"

"WORTHLESS TV NEWSWOMAN!!" Control Freak cried gratuitously, switching channels before the newscaster could show any video clips of the occurrence. He ended up with an image of a gray-brown cartoon wallaby in a Hawaiian T-shirt talking to a huge yellow cow in suspenders.

"I dunno, Hef," the wallaby was saying with an Australian accent. "Garbage day is a VERY dangerous day!"

"Oh, come ON, Rocko!" the cow insisted as Control Freak changed channels again. He hated animation. ...So it was just his luck that he ended up with a commercial for a DVD of another cartoon show.

On the screen, two small, anthropomorphic white cartoon mice scurried across a huge desk and unrolled a comparatively gigantic blueprint. One of the mice was very short with pink eyes, a huge head and a jagged tail. The other was taller and thinner, slightly gawky with two huge blue eyes, a bright red nose and two protrudant top teeth. A voice-over was talking enthusiastically as more clips of the two mice played.

"Add Pinky and the Brain Volume One to your DVD collection!" the voice was chattering. "They may be two tiny lab mice, but they've got big dreams!"

At this, the film clip switched to the two mice in a cage. The taller mouse was running in an exercise wheel while the other, shorter mouse stared out of the cage with his back to the camera. "Gee, Brain," inquired the exercising mouse in a wacky Cockneyed accent, "what do you want to do tonight?"

"The same thing we do EVERY night, Pinky," the other mouse replied in a deep, Orson Welles voice as he turned around. "TRY TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD!"

Control Freak watched open-mouthed as a clip began to play, where the Orson Welles mouse explained in detail how they were going to take over the world by controlling the power of a tornado using a specialized mechanical suit. As the scientific principles of the plan were described, Control Freak's piggy little eyes became progressively wider. This was no ordinary Saturday morning cartoon. That science was perfect. It checked out with the mechanics of electromagnetism and everything. These mice were geniuses.

And they were exactly what he needed to meet his quota.

Picking up the remote for the Amazing Recording Couch Potato VCR, Control Freak set it to record the rest of the commercial as he hurried off to the Secret Couch Potato Storage Bin. Rooting around in it, he found the Copyrighted Couch Potato Tool Kit, wherein he had the Super High-Tech Couch Potato Tools of Eternal Misery. Letting the TV play on in the other room, Control Freak pulled out his superpowered remote control. He had been thinking before, when he had last been thrown out of Titans Tower, how inconvenient it was that the things he could beam out of a TV show could only appear in the physical realm as broadcast signals. But if he could modify the remote correctly, he could beam out those two mice as flesh and blood versions of themselves. His nefarious plan made giggles run up and down his throat as he started to work on the modifications. These "Pinky and the Brain" had the smarts to help him destroy the Teen Titans and looked easy enough for him to control. They were mice, after all.

Warbling the approximate translation of "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" in Tolkein's Elvish, the king of the couch potatoes began to work.