Captain Midnight took the microphone and stood in a heroic pose, wearing a serious, concerned expression on his face. He began to speak as if he had been rehearsing for this moment for several years.
"Good citizens of Promethean City, good citizens of Thunder City, and, of course, citizens of Lightningburgh," he began, "we have reached a turning point in our history. For many years we have been besieged by numerous troubles, we have faced massive destruction and worked hard to rebuild, and we have met each and every challenge with the fortitude and hard work we are known for. Yet there sometimes comes a day, such as today, when greater challenges face us which require a greater response.
"We are that response. No longer will you be left to wonder how our fair cities will face that challenge. No longer must you fear and tremble over unexpected disasters. For we will meet those challenges. We will be there to prevent, or otherwise lessen the impact of, those disasters. All you need worry about from this moment on are the everyday problems of life."
"Like our food getting cold," mumbled Quinn Stevens as Captain Midnight continued to speak.
"Let him talk for as long as he likes," Hero whispered. "It'll give us a chance to eat. Maybe the reporters will get the message and give us a bit of time alone to talk after he's finished."
"Wishful thinking," said Quinn.
"Probably."
"Pardon me for interrupting your filet mignon," said Dr. Marvelo, "but have you chaps noticed something strange about our table's place-settings?"
They looked around at the other tables. Each had normal tableclothes, but the one at their table was pale yellow, and it suddenly began to hiccup like it was drunk (which it may well have been).
"Psst! Hey, guys... pass me some'a that spaghetti, huh?"
They looked at each other.
"Doug?" someone asked.
"Who else, ya nincompoops?" said Doug, in the shape of a tablecloth. "Just pass me some'a yer food and a bit o' booze while yer at it. I'm tryin' ta stay incognito, and yer about ta bust my cover, so shut yer traps! Fuck all!"
"Tally-ho!" said Doctor Marvelo. He began to do a jig on the table as he fought the urge to vomit a bit, and indeed he did just a bit, messing up his shirt a little.
And then everyone woke up. The end.
Or is it?
No.
The story continued from the point where Doug was revealed as the tablecloth, but everything else was the writer's booze-induced fantasy from the large amounts of alcohol he ingested before writing this post last night.
