Mrs Galactus & Mrs Darkseid Down at the Shops.

Mrs G: Hello Mrs D.

Mrs D: Hello Mrs G. What've you been up to?

Mrs G: Been down the Repair Shop again - getting this sodding thing fixed.

Mrs D: Oohhh, what is it?

Mrs G: The Ultimate Nullifier, bleeding broke again, isn't it. Heaven knows why he wants it, can't ever use it. Don't even know why he bloody made it.

Mrs D: I know, defies logic. Making a thing that'd blow everything up. Madness, sheer madness!

Mrs G: What've you been up to?

Mrs D: Getting the old man's tea in. He's such a fussy eater. And always in the middle of the night. Never at a regular hour. I said, "Uxassy, why can't we eat at 7 like everyone else". But does he listen? "BE QUIET, YOU FEEBLE-MINDED WOMAN!!!!" he says. Has to eat in the middle of the sodding night.....and me with my migranes.



Mrs G: Oooohhhh, aren't they any better?

Mrs D: How can they be? - all those sodding pits, boiling away, day noon and night. Does my nut in!

Mrs G: I know, it's aweful....aweful. (Pause) I hear that Phoenix woman is dead again.

Mrs D: It won't last, you know. She won't stay in that grave. She's always coming back, like a bleeding Jack-in-the-Box!

Mrs G: I feel sorry for her husband - what a bleeding ping-pong. Married. Widowed. Married. Widowed. What a carry-on!

Mrs D: Don't feel too sorry - (whisper) I hear something 'cold' is keeping his bed warm.

Mrs G: What? He's sleeping with Bobby Drake? That's disgusting!

Mrs D: No, you great none-ovulating galactic hussy! He's sleeping with Emma Frost.

Mrs G: Uhhh, that cold-hearted witch. Poor man - she can't be much fun in bed! 'Do This. Do That. Stop. Do It Again.'

Mrs D: Never you mind, at least you've still got your old man.

Mrs G: And what good does it do me? Completely bloody useless!! My mother said, 'Don't marry a Force of Nature', but did I listen? Did I? Did I?

Mrs D: Did you?

Mrs G: Course I bleeding didn't! Like an idiot I married him.

Mrs D: Mine's no better. Always it's power, power and more sodding power! Never has enough. Want's to run the bleeding Universe, him what can't even put his dirty socks away. And the Anti-Life Equation - what's the point of it? I ask you 'what's the bleeding point of it'??? And you should see the state of the bed-sheets in the morning, bloody grit eveywhere! It's like sleeping with a cement-mixer.

Mrs G: New Gods? Hah! Same old bloody habits. I had a disaster with my Unstable Molecules bed-sheets. Did a hot wash on them and they came out as a sentient blob. Wanted to take over the Universe.

Mrs D: Don't they always! (Sigh) I wish, for once, they'd just go down the pub for a pint!

Mrs G: Had to ask the old man to put it down. Wouldn't stop talking about it all night - a right bleeding misery guts he was.

Mrs D: And what's my old man going to do when he's in charge? Statues! Great bleeding statues of himself, everywhere! I can't stand it, I just can't stand it. All those sodding pictures of him around the house, makes me want to vomit!!

Mrs G: Yes - he's not the most pleasent looking man.

Mrs D: Ohhhh! Don't start me on that! At least your's got skin-color - mine's a bleeding stone-face.

Mrs G: Hmmmm, - he does look like a garden patio. I always thought he'd look nicer with a hat.

Mrs D: A Hat, Mrs G? A Hat? More like a coal sack! Always marching around issueing orders and making demands, and me with my asthma.

Mrs G: Ohhh, isn't it any better?

Mrs D: How could it be? Living in the Pits of Apokolips! I said, why don't we get some smokeless fuel - but would he listen, would he heck! "BE QUIET, YOU FEEBLE-MINDED WOMAN!!!!". And always talking in great bloody capitals and sodding exclamation marks - does my bleeding head in, I tell you.

Mrs G: Mines not much better. Fifteen billion years of wearing purple - I ask you. Is that normal?

Mrs D: Normal? Normal? They don't know the meaning of the word.

Mrs G: Got him a nice black thing, one-piece, made him look ever so slim. But would he wear it? Would he heck! Said it clashed with that thing Eternity wears. Clash? Clash? I ask you - eating great bloody sodding planets and he's worried about color-clashing. What a bleeding pillock!

Mrs D: Oh, I know what you mean. Always something up with them, just won't take it easy. Has to be some grand scheme or ultimate plan. And those sodding teen tits, always running around making a mess. Why aren't they at home playing video games or having under-age sex? They give me a right pain in the arse.

Mrs G: I blame the parents.

Mrs D: Ooooohhhhh, I know what you mean. Going around in great sodding capes. Talking in hyperbole, posing dramatically...

Mrs G: Ohh, the posing!! All that sodding posing, doesn't it give you a tit-ache?

Mrs D: Well, I can't hang around here. Got to get back and see what great bleeding Masterplan has failed now.

Mrs G: Like bleeding kids. Just don't sodding learn do they?

Mrs D: No, never do. Anyway I've got to be off - Bye Mrs G.

Mrs G: Bye Mrs. D.