If I were to enter a room and start talking about a cheerleader super heroine who uses her wits and myriad gadgets to fight crime and super villains while balancing her school work, intolerable relatives, and the occasional boyfriend trouble; the people in the room would probably ask me to stop interrupting dinner and get out of their house.  After I found a soap box to stand on to start shouting, you might start making assumptions about my sanity.  Never mind that those assumptions might be spot on.

Given an appropriate venue, like the Internet, perhaps, I might find the six people who aren’t picturing which buxom actress they’d like to see portray the heroine, and begin to form something resembling a point.

Now, because you’re holding this book, you’d, naturally, assume the cheerleader-themed super heroine I’m talking about is Myndi.  And, you’d be right.

Gadgets Make the Girl,” (the Myndi story in this book) was only the introduction to the Pompon Protector.  Myndi was going to get her own book.  The first issue was written, and story arcs for the first two years planned.  Myndi was destined to become a cultural icon, overshadowing all cheerleader-themed super heroines who came before and after her–well, except for Bobbi Sox, the Cheer Squad Champion of Cepheus Omicron Six.  Bobbi’s first issue will debut in 2097 on a planet whose inhabitants will be the first people to invent the comic book before the wheel.

With such a mandate, you might wonder what happened to Myndi.  You might not.  You might be still thinking about who’s going to be the model for the photo covers.

Let me address, if I may, the events which transpired to prevent “Myndi vs. Bobbi Sox: Pompon Punch-out (Tasseled Armageddon)” from becoming the most anticipated crossover of the twenty second century.

The mouse.

I’ve had my ass kicked before, but never so thoroughly.

Yes, mine is a cautionary tale of why you must never, ever, fight the mouse.  You might see some similarities between Myndi and another character, one who doesn’t have an “M” on her cheerleading uniform even though her school name demands one.  It doesn’t matter that we predated her by over a year, for, you will see, the order of things isn’t always quite what it seems.  As best I can piece together with what is left of my shattered mind, the mouse travels forward in time every few years to check out what the new hot titles will be.  Then, he returns to the present to develop his cultural icons, and quash those who would have been successful otherwise.  The movie pamphlets I found in a crashed Doggen escape pod clearly demonstrated that Myndi was the next big thing, and thus attracted the attention of the mouse.

Time travel is an imprecise art.  The mouse missed his target date on the return trip.  This allowed Myndi to exist at all.  So vast are the legions of mouspartans, however, that missing by a few years didn’t matter.  They dropped two nuclear weapons on North Dakota; one to obliterate the press where Myndi issue sixteen was printed; and the other on a mime college.  The Air Force was so distracted by the destruction of the mime school that they didn’t notice a mark six “Skynet II” A.I. being installed at the Cheyenne Mountain Complex.  This, of course, is what prompted me to, mistakenly, take action.

I managed to steal an unguarded timecicle, and travel forward to avoid the A.I.’s first strike assault.  Firmly in the future, I helped the last mammal resistance genetically re-engineer animals into super soldiers.  With an army of altered dogs, cats, and llamas, we reclaimed most of the planet from the horrors that had dominated it.  It was only after we had won that I learned that I had actually survived the first strike and had been inventing time travel to prevent the war from occurring at all.

Learning the truth about the mouse from myself, we traveled back in time to prevent the nuclear detonations.  We succeeded, of course.  But only after I learned that I was my own evil twin, and had murdered myself to prevent me from traveling forward in time to warn one of me not to upgrade the mice.  I moved to stop my own treachery, by preventing my rise to interplanetary prominence.  You see, without vast fortunes to invest in fringe science, I would not be able clone an evil copy of myself to create the mouse in the first place.

The mouspartans plans were foiled, but only at the cost of the tremendous success that Myndi was to become.  Which was their plan all along.

The mouse, it turns out, wasn’t so much interested in making a cheerleader superhero, as getting revenge for some guy I stabbed with a jelly filled cruller 200 years ago.

Of course, in this whole, epic tale, you probably only care about one thing:

According to the pamphlets heralding the DVD release, my wife, Anne Hathaway, won the Oscar for Best Actress in a Leading Role for “Myndi: The Movie.”  It seems, before the time war, she was quite the martial artist.