This is the first story I ever wrote about the SWAT Kats that didn’t directly belong in my story sequence, the first and second episodes of which were lost when my father repossessed the computer they were saved on. <Sigh.> While I rewrite those, I figure you might as well get acquainted with my work (an assisstant archive host with no stories just wouldn’t be right). Please, when you read this, turn your head away from the keyboard. It wouldn’t do to clog the keys with vomit. How would you voice a protest?!
Be sure when you write to include specific reasons for hating this story, or if by some freak chance you liked it, tell me why you did. Thanks!
My next story is due in about a month, when I finish it. Until then,
Your friend and sometimes editor,
By Barbara Mooney
Originally written July ’97 for my Sis, Liz
(I was 15 at the time, so it ain’t Shakespeare, m’kay?)
Something new had arrived in MegaKat City. It was called “Horny Harry’s Computer Dating Service.” Its slogan was “If we can’t help you, guess you’re screwed for life.” They were hoping for a lot of business from single guys and girls, who were found in abundance in the city’s crime-ridden streets. So far, they had many, many names in the databank. Business was booming.
“C’mon, Chance. Get off your tail and help me fix this car,” urged Jake.
“Nope. I don’t have the drive, the ambition, or the energy,” his buddy responded.
“At least get off the couch. I think you’ve permanently dented the cushions,” Jake huffed.
Chance jumped up and looked.
“No, I haven’t,” he said.
“At least you got up. What’s the matter now, anyway?” Jake asked.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Chance sighed.
“Is this about Callie?” Jake asked.
“How’d you know?” said Chance, surprised.
“Easy. You haven’t been eating – that indicates something really traumatic,” Jake responded.
“You’re not funny,” Chance said dryly.
“I don’t mean to be. So, Callie’s got you down? Give it up, Chance, it can’t happen,” Jake said.
“That’s what’s so upsetting. She’s all I think about lately. And you know I can’t tell her the truth – it drives me crazy!” Chance growled.
He punctuated his statement by smashing the TV set.
“Oh, wonderful,” sighed Jake.
Jake reached for the broom to sweep up the broken glass and knocked a can of oil over with his tail.
“Crud! Better get some newspaper to blot this crud up,” he grumbled.
He grabbed some newspaper and bent down, when an ad caught his eye. It read:
Horny Harry’s Computer Dating Service
“If We Can’t Help You, Guess You’re Screwed For Life.”
Your First Match is Free With This Ad
We’ll Set You Up With Your Soulmate
Come See Us!
Located at the corner of 134th and Mane
An idea struck Jake like a bolt of lightning. (In fact, one had before.)
“Hey, Chance, I’ve got an idea that just might be the solution to all your problems,” he said.
Meanwhile, some other kats were discovering the benefits of the computer dating service. Commander Feral even tried it – except his blind date threatened to sue. Callie heard all their wonderful success stories.
“I’m awfully bored – and not to mention lonely. I love the SWAT Kats, but I can’t spend all my time dreaming – what the heck. I’ll give it a shot,” she decided.
And so, both signed up.
Chance chewed his claws. He was so nervous – he wondered what his blind date would be like. Jake had said that the best way to forget Callie would be to find someone else. He hoped so – just the thought of Callie drove him mad. He hoped his blind date would look like Callie. He gnawed his claws more.
He was sitting in Chez Chat, all dressed up and alone at a table for two. His blind date would be there at any moment. He scanned the menu. Suddenly, his date appeared.
“Hello, GORGEOUS. I must admit, I was skeptical of that dating service at first but *kat-oh-kat*, are you *hot stuff*,” said an obese she-kat with a voice like a calving guernsey.
“Uh… hello….. um…. hi….” he mumbled.
He was terrified. The whole evening she drooled over him as he tried to get away. She ordered a big plate of spaghetti. Her table manners were worse than her taste in fashion (K-Mart couture) – she slurped up a noodle and it spattered tomato sauce on Chance’s shirt (dry-clean only).
“Look what you did!” he exclaimed. “I’m sorry, but I have to break off this date. And no, I won’t call you; but I will spare you the dry-cleaning bill. Good night.”
“Does this mean you’re breaking up with me?” she called after him.
Callie waited for her date at Ricardo’s Ristaurante. She liked Ricardo’s. They served delicious little pizza things as hors d’ouvres and best of all, dinner came with a fat-free dessert *gratis*. She only hoped that her date was nice – then *he* showed up.
He looked to be about 200 years old, and hobbled in on a walker. Attached to the walker was an IV bag, and from that a tube ran into his arm. He looked like he was ready to croak at any second.
“Well, what in tarnation is this? You look to be the purtiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, ‘ceptin’ that I got glaucoma – hee hee hee. Wait’ll I tell the boys at the home ’bout you – that is, if you’re good, knows what I’m sayin’? Speak up there, missy, you’re quieter than a titmouse – speakin’ of which, that’s a healthy rack you got yourself there. Why, back in my day…….” he said, and in midsentence fell asleep.
Callie hated to waste an evening at Ricardo’s, but she didn’t want to stick around with this old relic.
“Check, please!” she called out, and left.
Old Drey Whiskers chuckled when he saw Chance come in the door to his dry-cleaning place. Chance had no shirt on, he was carrying it in his paw.
“What’s so funny?” Chance asked.
“Nothing,” replied Drey. “You just remind me of myself.”
“How so?” asked Chance.
“That’s the way I always looked after a date,” he laughed.
“Very funny. This was a disaster,” Chance sighed.
“I could tell that from your shirt. Let me clean it up for you, ol’ Drey can lick any stain that comes his way,” said Drey.
“Fine. How much?” asked Chance.
“$4.95 for this silk baby. Oh, and young kat? Don’t give up on blind dates. They’re the craziest things that can happen to a hep kat like you – get my drift?” advised Drey slyly.
Chance smiled in spite of himself.
“Yeah. I get it,” he said, and left.
The next morning, Callie slumped into work. Mayor Manx, for once, looked up at her to say hello.
“Good mor-nang, Call-lay, how was yaur blind date?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t know. I bailed,” she said.
“That’s naut nice, Call-lay. Next time, you shauld have more faun,” he said.
“There won’t be a next time,” she said.
“Whay naut? It can’t kill yau,” said the Mayor.
‘A lot of other things can – I’ll give it another shot,’ she thought.
“All right, then, I will try it again,” she said aloud.
And so, she called up Horny Harry’s and scheduled another date.
Jake promised Chance that this time, it would be better. He said he’d bribed the guy to provide an attractive girl for him. This didn’t make Chance feel any better as he sat in the restaurant booth waiting. This time would be different, even if the girl was tail-ugly. He wore a cheaper shirt.
His date wobbled in on six inch stiletto heels. She wore a black leather bustier and a spandex mini so small it looked like a belt. Her hair was frosted blond and permed up poofy and she wore makeup applied with a trowel. She was a hooker.
“Hey there, hot stuff – how’s about blowing this joint and heading on back to my place for a little round of *rough-and-tumble?*” she asked in a sultry voice.
Chance felt himself flush a deep shade of red. This hooker was pretty ugly, but well-endowed.
‘She’d probably bill me in the morning,’ he thought.
Aloud, he said, “Sorry – I really must be going.”
He got up and ran away.
Callie once again sat in Ricardo’s, waiting for her date’s arrival. She was getting impatient. Finally (if one can use the word), he arrived.
“Greetings, my dear, I am Rupert, a vacuum-cleaner salesman from our own lovely MegaKat City. I take it you are my blind date, and also the lovely deputy mayor?” he gushed.
Callie decided to humor him for a little while, at least to get dinner at her favorite restaurant. He went on about his vacuum-cleaner sales and his customers, and constantly complimented Callie on her appearance, etc. She was turned off by his snooty voice, however, and eagerly anticipated the end of the evening. He tried to get her to come in to his apartment with him, but she managed to escape with her wits – and without divulging her phone number.
To hell with him.
“Third time’s the charm,” insisted Jake. “You’re sure to meet up with the girl of your dreams this time.”
“No way. I’m not doing that again,” said Chance.
“Come on. It can’t kill you,” Jake said.
“It can’t. But those she-kats I got stuck with could,” Chance replied.
“Be reasonable. Look, you’ve got the three-try special, and you have another date coming anyway. And the best way to not think about Callie is to examine other beauties. After all, Romeo wouldn’t have found Juliet if he’d kept after Rosaline,” Jake said.
“Romeo *died*,” Chance pointed out.
“You won’t, I promise. Just go on the date, I swear it won’t be so bad,” Jake said. “You and me, we’re like Mercutio and Romeo. Just go on the date, Romeo – ‘you will find thy swan a crow,’ as Mercutio said,” prodded Jake.
“Mercutio died, too,” said Chance.
“You’re impossible,” said Jake.
“Do I look like I care?” asked Chance.
“Just go to the restaurant at seven tonight. You’ll be fine,” said Jake.
“Maybe. And that’s only to shut you up, *Mercutio,*” huffed Chance.
“Good enough for me, *Romeo,*” Jake countered.
Chance hit him. Jake hit back. Soon they were fighting tooth and claw.
“Thard tayme’s the charm, Call-lay,” said the mayor. “You did get the three- tray spe-see-all, so just gau to-naight and have fan.”
Callie hated to argue with her boss. It often meant that he’d stick her with extra paperwork afterwards and plus, he usually won because he pulled rank. And, it really isn’t fair to have such an uneven duel of the minds (he wouldn’t have a weapon).
“Okay. One last time. But it’s not very much fun,” she said.
“I’m glad,” said the mayor.
Like I said.
Chance and Jake fought for fifteen minutes. Chance won. At seven, he was sitting on the couch drinking a milk.
“No blind dates for me, just a milk as you can see, and watching our new tee-ee-vee,” he sang.
“So you’re just going to stand that girl up? You should’ve cancelled the date with the service, Chance. Now you realize you’re just selfish and mean,” said Jake.
“Silence, footstool,” said Chance.
He had beaten Jake badly. Chance relaxed. Things were going great. He could now daydream in peace, without Jake’s constant blathering about his fantasies being “unhealthy.” According to Jake, so was milk. How could *milk* be unhealthy?
“No blind dates for me….” he sang.
Callie sat there in Chez Chat. She hated Chez Chat, but that was where the dating service sent her to meet her date. She’d been waiting for an hour now, and there was no sign of him anywhere.
‘Have I been stood up by a blind date?’ she wondered.
Still no sign as the clock ticked off the minutes. Callie was getting restless. She would probably get another match free, but what was the use? This sucked. She looked around the room, and then out the window. A storm was brewing – no, it couldn’t be.
‘The PastMaster – he’s coming! I’d better alert the SWAT Kats,’ she thought as the infamous supervillain made his appearance.
“Chance – are you thinking about Callie?” asked Jake.
“Yup,” said Chance.
“Well, stop it. And I don’t know how to put this but STOP MUMBLING! I really don’t want to hear all the gory details,” said Jake.
“Silence, footstool,” said Chance.
At that moment, Callie’s call came in.
“SWAT Kats! The PastMaster is back with a vengeance. You’ve got to stop him!” she said.
“Right away, Miss Briggs,” said Chance/T-Bone.
They took off in the TurboKat after the troll-sized villain.
Callie hated the PastMaster more than almost any other supervillain. She despised him. She loathed him. She simply did not tolerate him. He was a jerk.
And now, here he was, after her again. It was getting kind of monotonous, really. He had a new trick up his sleeve this time, however. He had with him the evil Scepter of Queen Serpentinia, which turned into a snake that wrapped itself around its victims and could not be removed except by magic. And he was just about to send it after Callie when the SWAT Kats arrived on the scene and grabbed him with a mini grappling cable.
“Curses!” he exclaimed. “But I’m an evil kat – I’ll send this scepter for this flying contraption! Hear my words!
“Forces of darkness
Great Queen Serpentinia
Ensnare this, my captive
With the power that’s in ya!!!!!!!”
The Scepter thrashed about and then flew upwards, wrapping itself around the TurboKat. It did nothing to inhibit T-Bone’s flying, but now they were trapped inside. T-Bone landed the jet on the PastMaster for good measure, but what could they do to get out?
Razor tried zapping the Scepter/Snake, frying it, toasting it, burning it, slicing it, dicing it, you name it, he tried it.
“It’s no use, T-Bone. We’re stuck in here, unless the PastMaster lets us out. And there’s not much chance of that happening,” Razor sighed.
“Didn’t you make a new missile this morning that might serve the purpose?” asked T-Bone.
“Maybe,” said Razor. “I did just invent this new de-magicator missile that might do the trick, but it has a few bugs in it.”
“Well, it looks like we have a few eternities to figure it out, so whenever you want to get started, let me know.”
“Very funny, T-Bone. I’m trying to lock on to it now with my aft launchers.”
“I hope this works, or we may never get it off.”
“You can’t get it off – that takes magic!” the PastMaster crowed.
“We’ll see about that,” said Razor. “De-magicator missile… DEPLOY!”
A piece of garlic flew out of the launcher.
“Oh no! I used the de-vampire missile by mistake!”
“Look on the bright side – at least there won’t be any nosferatu hanging around for a while.”
Razor grunted. “Can’t you try something? You know, like expose it to a lot of G’s… or do some wacko maneuver that will make me pass out but will knock it off?”
“Negative. Try the de-magicator missile again.”
“No use. That thing’s getting tighter! I can’t even open the ports!”
“At least this takes care of my romance problems,” he said.
Razor thought a minute. “Wait a second!” he announced, at length.
“Oh, no you don’t,” said the PastMaster, who had up until that point been blasting at the punitive advances of the Enforcer lines. “I know what you’re up to! You’re looking at my unguarded portal, aren’t you? Going to go back and ask Queen Callista, well, you won’t be doing that!”
He sealed off the portal and sent out a blast of temporal energy at Feral’s chopper, blasting it backwards.
“Great – *now* where are we gonna find someone with magic powers?” grumbled T-Bone.
Callie ran up to the TurboKat.
“PastMaster, you creep, let them go!” she snapped.
“Are you willing to take their place?” he asked.
“If you let them go,” she said.
“If you take their place,” he said.
They continued arguing like that. Razor continued trying to figure out how to get the Scepter/Snake off. The crowd continued to gape. And T-Bone continued to stew.
“Why can’t it be so simple as for me to reach up, grab the snake, and say:
“Forces of darkness
Great Queen Serpentinia
Ensnare this, my captive
With the power that’s in ya!!!?” he said, doing as he spoke.
Amazingly, the snake uncoiled and then lashed out to wrap itself around the PastMaster.
“I don’t know how you did it, but I hate you,” the PastMaster said.
The Enforcers moved in to apprehend the little villain, trapped within his own devices and having sealed off his only method of exit. Feral climbed out of his chopper, but exuding less authority than usual for some reason. His subordinates were staring at him.
“What?” he asked, looking at them coldly, then straightened up and cracked his back. He turned to Felina, next to him and with the same look on her face. He shuddered briefly. “I feel as though I’ve aged ten years,” he confided as they approached the location of the tethered troll.
“Uncle…” she began, her expression deepening, “…you did…”
“How did you do it, T-Bone?” asked Callie after Feral had left.
“He’s just talented,” supplied Razor. “So how come you’re here, Miss Briggs?”
“Blind date. But I think I’ve been stood up,” she said.
Razor’s eyes went wide, but he said nothing.
“You shouldn’t go on blind dates. They’re no fun. What you really need is Mr. Right to come by,” purred T-Bone. “Besides, no kat in his right mind would stand *you* up.”
Razor supressed a chuckle.
“Well, if you find him, tell him that,” Callie said.
The SWAT Kats flew off. Razor burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” asked T-Bone.
“I won’t say, because I’ve got one-up on you,” laughed Razor.
T-Bone didn’t understand. He just flew the jet.
Horny Harry’s Computer Dating Service closed its doors a week later after half its clients sued. Chance never went on another blind date again. Callie didn’t, either. Both just went back to imagining things. Jake never stopped laughing at Chance’s folly, and the PastMaster never ever came up with a scheme the SWAT Kats couldn’t foil. And that’s the end of the tale, in all its hackeneyed glory.
Author’s Note: Drey Whiskers is a creation of mine. He debuts in the first tale of the sequence, but that’s not done yet. Basically he’s a plot device… I don’t really want to alter the SK universe with all sorts of characters, but if I don’t include them, then I’d have to use the ones from the show, and that would REALLY mess things up. ~B
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Disclaimer: SWAT Kats: The Radical Squadron is copyright to Hanna-Barbera Cartoons Inc. All Rights Reserved. © 1995. All other characters and material within this page are the property of their respective creators.