Jan the Intergalactic Aviator in Costumes and Shopping?

I steeled myself for what was about to happen. Through this door, a fate worse than getting blown up by space marauders, worse than being eaten by the tyranocons of Teneb XII, worse than Sunday dinner with Aunt Gladys awaited.

They were fashion consultants.

What am I even doing here? I thought to myself. I had my intergalactic freight and courier service to worry about. Things weren’t going so well there, no one was hiring right now and I lost a ton at my last job. Oh yeah, that’s why I’m here – the money.

I took a deep breath and stepped through the ominous portal and was immediately assaulted by a bright light and five nicely dressed men.


“Ooooh,” what happened to your hair?” asked one. “Do you condition with hydraulic fluid?”

“These boots are great,” said another. “Great if you’re spending the evening stomping on frogs out in the swamp.”

“And this outfit, ugh! It’s horrible,” said a third. “What do you call this?”

“It’s my flight suit,” I answered dryly. “It’s comfortable and functional.”

“Oh this will never do,” said the fourth while pulling at areas of the cargo pants. “Look, girl, with a bod like yours, you should never wear baggy.”

“This looks better,” said the fifth while pulling my flight suit tight from behind me. “Hey look, she has a nice figure!”

“You’ve got curves in all the right places, hon,” one said. “You should be proud to show it off.”

“Hey I am!” I protested. “It’s just when I’m flying my ship, I have to have something comfortable and functional.”

“If you say comfortable and functional one more time, honey, I’m going to stick your sock in your mouth. Ew, tube socks!”

“Well, I have to wear something under the boots!” I said.

“Don’t worry,” said one. “We’ll make you look so good that everyone’ll just want to eat you alive!”

“Everyone but us, ha ha!” laughed the third.

“You guys are too funny,” I mumbled sarcastically.

“Oh we know it!” cried one. “Now let’s get you into your outfit.”


After getting this stupid thing on, I made my way to the House Depot to get the materials needed to decorate my room.

“Excuse me, I’m decorating my room,” I asked one of the clerks on the floor. “I’m going to need some wood.”

“Oh, I’ve got some wood for you right here,” he leered back at me.

“What?”

“I’ve got the lumber and I’ll be laying it all night, if you know what I mean.”

“Ugh, pig!” I shouldered past him and made my way to the plumbing section. I found another man in the aisle. “I need to repair a sink and I need an elbow, some pipe, and some solder.”

“I’ve got some pipe for you,” the man said while squeezing his crotch. “It’s strong and you’ll love it, baby.”

“Give me a break,” I growled and shoved him out of my way. Is Superman hiring a bunch of perverts or something? Truth, justice, and the American way my ass.

Growling under my breath, I stomped over to the paint department. Behind the counter, a clerk asked me if I needed any help.

“I need a can of paint,” I said as I held up a swatch of a light purple. “I want it to be this color.”

“Oh, I’ve got a can of paint for you,” he said as he reached down under the counter. “Right here.”

“You stupid, perverted jerk!” I yelled. “Keep your stupid innuendos to yourself and keep your stupid libido in check. This is a fracking store, not some sort of sick sex farm!”

I stopped and looked around and everyone – everyone – was staring at me. The clerk sheepishly pulled a can of paint from behind the counter and held it up to me.

“Oh, uh thanks,” I muttered as I took the can. “Sorry.”

Stupid game show. Stupid Superman. Stupid dinosaur. Where am I going to get a dinosaur?