We made pretty damn good time as we blasted down 75S at close to 340 kilometers per hour (that's really only like 35 miles per hour I think... The Doom-mobile that I borrowed was unfortunately only displaying the fascist metric system on its dashboard). Dr. Doom must have reported the car I was driving as stolen too, 'cause I kept getting pulled over by the wankiest of cops to ever crawl out of Hazzard county. I kept declaring "diplomatic immunity", but they all had to get real pushy and grabby, so I found myself wasting about five or six flesh-eating photon pumpkin bombs out of my inventory before I actually arrived in Sun City. Orlando's called "Sun City", right? Or is it now only referred to as "Fat Fuck Prefecture?" Either nic-name fits.

The first thing that I did when we all made it to the hotel in Orlando was to look up a few passages in the Bible. Doom's Bible. I just wanted to see for sure if some of the things I had done to my lord and master were in fact "sins against the state." The short answer is yes, they were. Every action that I (or anybody at all) had ever even thought of doing in Latveria was in fact a sin. Especially when they had anything to do with Super Heroes. Thinking about the Fantastic Four was a carnal sin. But just thinking about Sue Storm's ass was only a misdemeanor. Imitating the Silver Surfer was a deadly sin. While dressing up as the Scarlet Witch was a sin easily forgiven by two "Heil Doom"s and five Latverian pledges of allegiance.

Team Greenwood (on this trip consisting of: Mehve, The Diva, Psycho Weasel, Matt^2, and Stefanopolis) and I took over three rooms at a cheap-ass hotel smack dab in the middle of touristy Orlando. Dan Marino had a bar and grill nearby. That's all I needed.

We all began to relax, but then quickly unrelax when it was duly noted by Psycho Weasel that the Doom-mobile was still running despite the fact that nobody was in it. Was the Invisible Woman using her sexy power to waste my car's battery and petroleum reserves? Did she set up some kind of retarded invisible force field to block our entry to the vehicle in the hopes of making me even more insane than I was that time I sat in vanilla pudding for an entire afternoon?! Actually, it turned out that some jackhole (all of Greenwood pointed to me, but I blame a loveless God) just locked the doors before turning the darn vehicle off. We all joked about putting a banana in the tailpipe in order to shut the car down, just like Axel Foley in Beverly Hills Cop I and III. We laughed at that for a while until we realized that Kevin Smith had already made better jokes about bananas in tailpipes and Judge Reinhold in his Clerks TV show. Then we just felt stupid.

Anyway, that whole "locked outside the car" incident is why I always keep a spare tire-iron in my suitcase. I broke every window in, and then turned everything off and ripped out the stereo so that I could file an insurance claim that my car was burglarized and my $6,000 collection of Pavarotti CDs was stolen along with my Van Goghs in the trunk.

Early on in our trip, Team Greenwood and I began running into super heroes at every turn. At first it was kinda weird, ya know. I never quite know how to act around grown men in spandex who like to put me in full-nelsons and bear-holds with their ever-present "super bulges" always in some kind of contact with my body. I suppose that they were all out on a call-to-arms about the Doom-mobile in the area. They kept questioning me in particular because of my rugged ninja shirt. I found this rather odd at first, but later I found out the secret truth about ninja shirts and Von Doom's hideous past!... But that can wait. Right now I want to talk about Captain America (the fifth "hero" to question me that day). Honestly, I think he was on a Catholic priest-like kick. First there was that whole pubescent boy/man-in-training thing back in the 40s (Bucky, we shall never forget ye), and now he goes around feeling whatever tight ass he wants to claiming that it's his "right as the symbol of all things starry and stripey." That wouldn't really bother me so much by itself, but he just grabbed way too hard! I still have his handmarks on my rump! Not even Hitler or Stalin would hold on that tight.