The Story : Back Cover
“TV is not real life—but it is for this guy. Danger Dan, fantasy action hero and purveyor of puns, punches and pudge, has been a Saturday Morning cartoon star for years. Now he lives in-character even when the cameras aren’t rolling. But when an old friend comes calling, it sparks an identity crisis that threatens to tear his show apart...”
The Story : Exert 1
“The blocky, pointed metal logo of “Danger Dan” flashed onto the screen. Then he rode his motorcycle through the letters after slashing them with his flaming chainsaw.
Dan, in a way that words alone couldn’t portray, was hefty. His open-faced leather vest may well have been a car bra at some point, albeit one with a collar. Except for his shiny bald head and surprisingly miniscule hands, the rest of him was filled like a brown Christmas stocking.
The rest of the crew's cameos followed: the streetwise tomboy, the socially-inept fantasy brainiac, the nimble martial artist, the older mentor and father-figure. A few seconds of time was dedicated to scenes of the villains and of the group fighting like a team. Then a flash of light cut to a shot of the main characters posing on top of the logo.
The episode opened where the last one had left off: a gigantic stone door rumbling shut. The rest of the team disappeared from sight on the other side. Everything went black. Dan was locked in.
“Always wondered how these ancient ruins all seem to have automatic doors,” he monologued. He started walking. Thanks to one lazy cartoonist, his glasses were all he, or anyone watching, could see in the darkness. “I mean, even the puny ones in mini malls have only been around a couple decades… how did these guys manage to make ‘em work with stone? Anyways…”
Dan nearly walked into a dot of off-white light hanging in midair. He stepped back. The dot hovered back towards him again. He dipped his head. The dot followed.
“Knowing my luck, this isn’t a firefly…” he said under his breath. Everywhere else, a few more dots flashed into existence, drawing hesitantly closer. He turned his gaze down and plucked two things out of his pockets.
His flaming chainsaw was lit. In the other hand was a thick cigar held in front of his lips. “I know these things aren’t good for me…” he said to the dot. The thin trickle of flame grew enough to illuminate the dungeon walls, and the angular, chitin-plated bodies of nine squirrpions, single eyes still glimmering in the light. The one in front of him opened its glistening, mucous-ridden mouth wide. Sideways.
Half-scorpion, half-squirrel. Dan hated them. Hate was a strong word, but then, Dan was a strong guy. He took a deep breath, flipped the cigar around and puffed out a plume of thick, gray smoke. With that in mind, he finished his thought: “...but they aren't gonna be any better for you.”
Dan, in a way that words alone couldn’t portray, was hefty. His open-faced leather vest may well have been a car bra at some point, albeit one with a collar. Except for his shiny bald head and surprisingly miniscule hands, the rest of him was filled like a brown Christmas stocking.
The rest of the crew's cameos followed: the streetwise tomboy, the socially-inept fantasy brainiac, the nimble martial artist, the older mentor and father-figure. A few seconds of time was dedicated to scenes of the villains and of the group fighting like a team. Then a flash of light cut to a shot of the main characters posing on top of the logo.
The episode opened where the last one had left off: a gigantic stone door rumbling shut. The rest of the team disappeared from sight on the other side. Everything went black. Dan was locked in.
“Always wondered how these ancient ruins all seem to have automatic doors,” he monologued. He started walking. Thanks to one lazy cartoonist, his glasses were all he, or anyone watching, could see in the darkness. “I mean, even the puny ones in mini malls have only been around a couple decades… how did these guys manage to make ‘em work with stone? Anyways…”
Dan nearly walked into a dot of off-white light hanging in midair. He stepped back. The dot hovered back towards him again. He dipped his head. The dot followed.
“Knowing my luck, this isn’t a firefly…” he said under his breath. Everywhere else, a few more dots flashed into existence, drawing hesitantly closer. He turned his gaze down and plucked two things out of his pockets.
His flaming chainsaw was lit. In the other hand was a thick cigar held in front of his lips. “I know these things aren’t good for me…” he said to the dot. The thin trickle of flame grew enough to illuminate the dungeon walls, and the angular, chitin-plated bodies of nine squirrpions, single eyes still glimmering in the light. The one in front of him opened its glistening, mucous-ridden mouth wide. Sideways.
Half-scorpion, half-squirrel. Dan hated them. Hate was a strong word, but then, Dan was a strong guy. He took a deep breath, flipped the cigar around and puffed out a plume of thick, gray smoke. With that in mind, he finished his thought: “...but they aren't gonna be any better for you.”