It was a regular Saturday night in downtown Whitechapel. The bars and pubs were packed with revellers, letting their hair down after a long week on government hand-outs.
High in his eyrie above The Marquis of Granby public house in Whitechapel High Street, the drink-addled, crime-busting superhero, Stuporman, was staggering over to the fridge to get another can of Skol Special Strength.
Suddenly, the shrill scream of a woman rent the night air, followed by a yell of alarm: “Oh blimey! It’s Chunder Woman, and she’s been drinking!”
Hearing the name of his arch nemesis, The Lush of Steel, felt every muscle in his body tense. He knew that there was no time to lose.
Racing to his Drinking Den of Solitude in the basement, the drink-ravaged stumblebum hurriedly downed eight cans of Blackout super-strength cider in readiness for the desperate clash of the alcohol-fuelled titans that he knew was about to come.
Staggering into the street and collapsing in a doorway, he heard the familiar, guttural shriek of his arch-foe throwing down a garbled challenge: “Are yoush starin’ at my pint? I’ll tek the fuckin’ lot of yersh! Yer me besht mate you are! Gissa fag!… G’wan gissa fag!… Yer fuckin’ bashta yersh!”
Raising himself unsteadily to his feet, Stuporman picked up an empty Guinness bottle from the gutter and hurled it at his foe, striking her a glancing blow on the temple.
The booze-addled harridan let out an ear-splitting bellow of pain before crashing face-first to the pavement.
Realising his work was still not over, Stuporman reeled across to the stricken body of his adversary and began rifling through her pockets, searching for the prize that he hoped would be there.
He was in luck. Belching with triumph, the super alkie pulled out a bunch of crisp, new five pound notes.
It was Chunder Woman’s Child Benefit and Incapacity Allowance payment, and, apart from a few pounds spent earlier on strong grog, it was almost intact.
Realising that every second was now of the essence and that valuable drinking time was ebbing away, Stuporman crashed through the doors of the of The Blind Beggar and flung himself at the bar.
“Ten pints of London Pride barman” he barked. “And keep ’em coming until I’ve collapsed in the bog and shit me pants”
NEXT WEEK: The Lush of Steel finds himself locked in a grim life or death struggle with the arch-alcoholic fiend, Liver Disease Man, as they battle over a part-time job emptying the slop trays in The Lord Rodney’s Head on Saturday afternoons.
Super words by Danny Soz
Tea, gin and sympathy by Sensational Sofia Dee
Ultra Super Duper graphic by Jif out of Procrastinator’s Day Off