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Tuesday 200 - #69

Mild mannered Miles McMeekly stood in line at Whole Paycheck Foods, patiently waiting to purchase his overpriced organics. Ahead of him, a Botoxed Barbie seemed oddly overstrung for a mother who brandished a “Peaceful Pilates” yoga mat across her back, like a Samurai sword of serenity. Her daughter, a fidgety midgety duplicate of herself, was displaying displeasure, recently disallowed to devour a dollop of fair-trade, ethical chocolate.

“Ellie, I swear, one more peep and I’m going to explode,” Barbie barked.

In a flash invisible to mortal eyes, Miles McMeekly magically mutated into his canard-quashing alter-ego — Viscount Verity, the Veracity Vigilante.

Verity yanked the pixie's pigtail like a panicky skydiver pulling his spare chute’s ripcord once the first had failed. Ellie screamed louder than the aforementioned fainthearted free-faller.

“Take heed, Madame,” Verity boomed over the six-year-old’s squeals, while handing her a two-pound bag of M&Ms. “Your progeny peeped and yet there you stand, decidedly unexploded. Ipso facto you are deemed an indubitable liar!” With a slash of his scepter, he lashed an ‘L’ into her leotard.

“Anon, I must bid you adieu. A clerk in cheese proclaims she can’t cook to save her life. We’ll see about that.”

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