Disclaimer: I own nothing. All Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters and American Comics Group characters are the property of their original owners.
There were times when Spike seriously considered the vegetarian option.
Like right now, for instance. He was lurking tonight in a city park at some boring Connecticut suburban neighborhood, with his tummy hungrily rumbling at a famished intensity that demanded it be filled immediately with fresh, warm blood. Ordinarily, Spike had no problem whatsoever with this...except at present, the only prey waddling into sight was an obese meal on swollen legs which would’ve easily won top prize at any demon gathering for sheer unappetizing awfulness.
From his concealed position behind a thick bush, Spike peered through the foliage in growing revulsion at what was coming nearer down the sidewalk. It was a little boy--
On second thought, the vampire inwardly corrected himself, that young pudge there could be described as a boy, but he bloody well wasn’t ‘little’. From tiny feet to a globular head resting upon negligible shoulders without the benefit of any neck in between, this supremely fat kid’s oval torso dressed in a white long-sleeved shirt buttoned up to the tight collar, tie, extra-size belt, blue pants and good shoes perfectly resembled a short but enormous egg set onto its base.
Just as horrible in Spike’s opinion was the face of a child who definitely should’ve been drowned at birth. From a block away, the undead Englishman wincingly regarded a flabby countenance set in utter impassivity even while sucking with unvarying monotony onto some sort of sweet attached to the end of a small stick tightly gripped in one hand. Holding the dwindling lollipop deep inside his mouth, the boy dully stared ahead with half-lidded eyes through a pair of black glasses possessing circular rims while he steadily toddled onwards under the streetlamps lining the sidewalk. This nighttime illumination cast actual gleams onto the slicked-down hair cut in an absurd style of a bowl placed upside-down on the lad’s head and any locks extending past the bowl’s rim swiftly trimmed away.
All in all, Spike decided a nice salad with balsamic vinaigrette dressing was looking better and better.
From this vampire’s starving stomach, an actual dangerous growl escaped, reminding Spike he had no choice. Like it or not, a former human born in London just over a century ago was now a supernatural creature of darkness who regularly consumed the lifeblood of his victims. Even when in a minute hence, this meant Spike was probably going to have to sink his fangs through several inches of pure fat to get to a chubby lad’s jugular vein. If he could even find
that specific blood vessel in a non-existent neck, mind you.
*Right, no rest for the wicked,* resignedly thought Spike. *Clout him when he comes by, drag him back in here, and then get on with it. What’s the odds he’ll be topped up with so much sugar that I’m going to risk serious cavities just for biting him?*
Soon after, as the dumpy boy went past a certain bush, a clenched fist moving with incredible speed shot out from the interior of that shrub. With immense force, Spike’s blow smashed into the side of this youngster’s head.
In turn, that victim simply kept on walking, without showing the slightest effect from or even responding to the vampire’s deadliest punch. A few steps further on, though, a fractional tilting of his head in thought was made by the unruffled boy. As a result, what next came was the removal of the lollipop for an absent-minded, terse utterance by him of, “Mosquito...?”
Back in his bush, Spike was going “Nnnnnngggggggg!!!!” while vibrating in place during his lengthy whimper of anguish. He was also staring in absolute horror at his still-extended arm. More particularly, at the end of this limb which now possessed a lump of mushy flesh that just several moments ago been an intact right hand now consisting of all twenty-seven bones in there reduced to a bunch of devastated splinters.
The next couple of minutes had Spike occupied in trying to walk it off while simultaneously preventing himself from screaming out loud in his absolute agony. Eventually, the vampire’s supernatural healing fixed up his hand somewhat close to normal, at which point Spike dashed off to terminally deal with the little shite who’d just humiliated him.
That same overweight, underage person had by then reached the far end of the block occupied by the local park. Turning his head to check for cross traffic, the corpulent boy incuriously watched a strange man burst out from the bushes lining the sidewalk to his right. This unfamiliar person then ran up to the youngster again single-mindedly sucking on his lollipop, and stopped in front of somebody known to his family and neighbors as Herbie Popnecker.
Not that a furious Spike cared the least bit about the absurd name of his soon-to-be-slaughtered victim. Instead, he pointed a finger quivering in pure ire at that ill-fated lad and Spike snarled down into an expressionless countenance, “I don’t know how the hell you shrugged off my best wallop, but I’m still going to tear your-- Quit slurping on your damn sweet when I’m threatening you!
Unhurriedly removing that mentioned confection from his mouth, Herbie held it up by the spherical candy’s slim stick while asking in a vacuous monotone: “This one?”
“YES!” bellowed Spike.
Herbie slowly shook his head. “Cinnamon flavor. Rare. Hard to get. Go away, or I bop you with this here lollipop.”
Spike was actually taken aback for a moment by that calm response to his intimidating presence, until the vampire’s already fragile grip on his seething temper promptly disintegrated. Letting out a roar of full-blown rage, Spike savagely swung a hand at the boy’s fingers still holding the lollipop. After he knocked that piece of candy to the ground, Spike was going to murder this pint-sized freak as painfully as possible--
Ten seconds later, Herbie tossed over a shoulder with outright ease the broken body of his attacker, of which the child had been viciously hammering upon the ground with his left hand gripping the ankle of this defeated foe. It took an appreciable while before the soft thud!
sound of the sniveling mugger’s landing came from much deeper inside the park. Once that was done, an untouched Herbie wholly dismissed from his mind the latest encounter with a particularly inept adversary. For all the ‘little fat nothing’ (as he was always grouchily referred to by his unsuspecting father) cared, this most recent opponent could just crawl away on his own to find medical help.
Replacing the cinnamon lollipop back into his mouth, Herbie let an atypical flash of genuine pleasure cross his normally deadpan face. Happily sucking on his delicious treat, the most formidable boy on earth then took a step off the sidewalk curb out into the road.
Continuing to walk in mid-air a few inches above the street asphalt, young Mr. Popnecker nonchalantly resumed his interrupted journey tonight to his home.
Author’s Note: It’s true. Every…single…word. Herbie, who was written and drawn from 1958 to 1967 for American Comics Group by Richard E. Hughes and Ogden Whitney, has got to be among the most surrealistic characters in the funny books. See the below link:
Besides the invulnerability, super-strength, and limited power of flight, there’s also the hypnotic eyes, ability to talk with animals, and traveling through time...
Oh, and a secret identity as the costumed hero known to his adoring public by the intrepid name of the Fat Fury. One look at Herbie’s outfit, and you’ll never think the same way ever again about a toilet plunger.