Faster than a speeding syringe. More power than a Loco Parapalegic. Able to lick large stamps with a single drool... ITS HEPMAN!!! (Ta-Da!)

Last time we left Hepman, he was about to commit suicide because of burnt toast. But then...the phone rang (knock knock). Hepman threw down his shotgun and crawled into action. On the other end of the line was his dreaded arch rival...Schering Man!! Festering Farts, Hepman! Schering Man laughed coyly, "We know you have been skipping shots, Hepman. We are comin to get YOU!" But Hepman was not afraid. No fear could ruffle the Hepman. After all, He was married! So Hepman mumbled in his toughest voice "Hepman isnt here."

So as bravely as he could, Hepman ran away. He went to see Dr. Idiot....for a script! Ah ha! The ingenius of it all! But Dr. Idiot refused his request, on the basis that he didnt look sick.

Determined, Hepman decided to take way to much Tylenol and go to bed. Ha! Schering Man would never find him here! But alas, Schering Man is also on the HEPV-L list. He found Hepman shivering in his bed. The end was near.

"We have brought you your shot, Hepman, Ha ha ha ha ha!" raved Schering Man anally. "No, not that!" cried Hepman Man bravely.

But Schering Man was unaware of the tricks up Hepman's sleave. Hepman spews, "I have a secret weapon, Schering Man. Its RibaviraMan!" "Oh, but you are pathetic" regurged Schering Man "Schering has bought OUT RibavironMan!!! You must use them together! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!" "Shit" puked Hepman.

So Hepman toiled endlessly through the tortures of Schering Man. He maintained the treatments as long as he could afford cable. Then, one day, in a galaxy far away, Hepman died of a Tylenol overdose. And Schering Man retired a rich man, but he also went to hell.

Morale:

If I had morales, I wouldnt write this garbage!

REEZER

Yes, it is a sorrowful time for our daunted super zero. HepMan has been vacillating aimlessly since REEZER left the HEPV-L list. Seems the REEZ has had improved health and this revelation has left old Hepsley extremely jealous. Heppy has been through 64 EnterFearOn courses, leaving him hapless and penis-less. His liver must look like a cow pie by now. He wanders the streets at night, like some misbegotten sewer rat looking for dead, decomposed niblets of decaying flesh. This sad state has affected REEZER also, forcing him to write very disgusting metaphors. This is a very sorted business.

One late night, as HepMan was making his rounds, trading sexual favors for beer money as usual, our Fearful Paladin had decided to end it all. This was an unwonted thought for Hepsley, as this was the third time this week he had envisaged his own demise and join the ranks of the ex-hero. Frustrated, thwarted, baffled and out of adjectives, he pondered the ultimate end.

;"Should I join the Peace Corp and die saving the under privileged? Should I go out saving a small child from a raging inferno? Shall I take a bullet for a high ranking and corrupt politician?" he mulled. "Oh piss on it, I’ll just run in front of a truck." So the Hepster walked down Interstate 666, cursing himself for being a coward. Not for killing himself, but for hiding in the closet while watching "Gremlins".

Suddenly, a bright light struck him with lighting intensity, causing him to grab his testicles (a reflex action). Then he heard a thunderous crash and explosion. He fell to his knees and gallantly prayed for mercy. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed some type of wreckage spewing flames into the air. He began to regress to his childhood, recalled the way his mother used to beat him to sleep. Realizing he just had a psychotic break, he composed himself by sucking his thumb. His intellect began to initiate an incredible and really stupid explanation. A UFO has just descended and imposed him with powers of extra-sensory perception!

Far from reality, HepMan’s summation of these events was way off. A truck almost smashed him and swerved into a tree and exploded. Oblivious to the facts and completely convinced of his new found super awareness, HepMan proceeds to carry out his new distorted destiny; to keep the HepMan saga’s plots from going thin. And to, of course, travel to the horizon’s end to help the mortal race with his ESP.

His first encounter was with his old super hero friend, WhineMan. "Hey, Whiney. What’s up?" HepMan blurted.

"Well, the EnterFearOn has caused weakness in my legs, a boil on my butt, my tongue to split and I have a third testicle now." WhineMan complained.

"That’s great, Whine old boy." Heppy splurted, "I have acquired ESP from an alien craft!"

"That’s nothing" WhineMan sprayed, "My ozone therapy created a new bladder that holds fermented gas."

HepMan frowned. "Man, you had better be careful, WhineMan. I am afraid you are not going to live very long!"

"I know. I know! I have crotch rot in my throat, webbed feet, an ingrown anus, my cable TV went out, and…"

HepMan then pulled a Uzi automatic rifle and filled WhineMan with enough holes to make a human chandelier. He paused to feel a microsecond of pity for the now silent human bitching machine, and then commended himself for an accurate prediction.

It seems this soothsayer work has a negative side. Oh well, a bad day.

The next day, our super hero turned prophet decided to celebrate by having a few kegs of beer at his favorite lounge, The Suicidal Hepatic. He entered the establishment and greeted his bartender friend, John Bile. After he shared the news of his ESP with John, he ordered his first keg and quickly consumed the contents. Feeling a bit hungry, he then ordered the special of the day, Chicken Fried Orange-Pineapple Garbage Disposal Surprise. HepMan voraciously gulped the swill, and started on another keg, feeling a bit clairvoyant. The chap next to him, RedneckMan, was staring at our Fantastic Friend with a silly smirk on his rather large face.

"John Bile informs me you can predict the future." smirked RedneckMan. HepMan began to sway and his eyes were rolling about his head. "Well" blared the man, "Are you going to answer me, you pitiful little turd!"

"I predict you are soon going to be wearing an extremely colorful shirt." bloated HepMan.

"Piss off, jerk!" shouted RedneckMan. HepMan turned towards him and began to emit strange, guttural sounds. He opened his mouth and spewed a fantastic stream of projectile vomit, which covered the man’s white shirt with the half-digested contents of Heppy’s rather disgusting lunch. Another prediction comes true.

A fight then ensued. While HepMan was being beat beyond recognition, he realized he had no aptitude for fist cuffs. Torrents of blood erupted, while HepMan wished he had learned to fight by watching Jerry Springer, as Mr. RedneckMan had done.

During the six months of traction, HepMan’s hospital stay had encouraged him to take up faith healing. Upon his release, he mounted a street corner and began blabbering his alien religious nonsense. He was fluent as a preacher, probably from watching Tammy Faye. Soon, a rather attractive young lady approached him and complained of a sore throat. HepMan began bantering in tongues, as drool and snot flew at random. His Linda Blair act was to no avail, so he suggested to the young lady a more natural, homeopathic approach.

"I know a technique known as the natural throat massage." HepMan gyrated. "Let me demonstrate." As HepMan unzipped his fly, the young lady commented, "I predict in three seconds you will be on your knees begging for mercy."

"Alright!" Heppy sounded exuberantly. "That a girl!"

The angry woman flung her foot into HepMan’s crotch hard enough to render him permanently sterile. HepMan fell to his knees, and his best Michael Jackson voice whispered, "Mercy." Months later, the young lass was given the Nobel Peace Prize for protecting the human race from further contamination.

HepMan, feeling daunted and generally pissed, had come to the conclusion that the general public did not appreciate his talents. He decided to proceed to the science community directly. So he got out of bed, removed the ice pack, and phoned the renowned scientist, Professor National Enquirer, a paranormal expert. Prof. Enquirer told him to come right on down to the Institute for Paranormal Fictitious Super Heroes With HCV. HepMan limped to the bus stop.

Our Fearful Friend patiently picked his nose in the waiting room. He noticed a collection of books on the wall, which were all curiously very thin. He began to read the titles;

"Famous Jewish Sports Heroes", "Honesty in the Clinton Administration", "Low Fat Recipes That Taste Great" and "Hepatitis Patients Who Don’t Complain."

HepMan sat back down and chose a short leaflet to read called, "A Study of REEZER’S Sex Life." Quickly he started to nod asleep.

The receptionist, PaidTooMuchWoman, awakened HepMan, and he entered the Professor’s study.

"What is this nonsense that you acquired paranormal powers from an alien?" snorted Dr. Enquirer.

"It’s true!" sneered HepMan

"You are afflicted with what is known in the science community as being full of shit." accused Dr. Enquirer.

"Is that so." slimed HepMan, "I predict your knee was soon be paralyzed with pain"

Then HepMan kicked the professor’s knee. The professor fell to the floor. I guess watching Jerry Springer DID help!

"Now I predict your will have a similar pain on your chin." guffawed HepMan.

Suddenly two security guards burst into the room, grabbing HepMan and throwing him from a second story window. He landed in the street and was run over by a truck.

HepMan eyes slowly cracked open. He was disoriented and not sure where he was. He felt he might be in another hospital. He noticed a figure coming towards him that might be a woman.

"Oh no!" HepMan cried out bravely, "It cant be! NOOOOOO!"

Nurse Ratchet smiled wryly, "Time for your enema, Heppy old boy."

After math we generally had recess.

Hepman stared at the glowing florescent light above, pondering how a super hero could land in such a place. He had that old feeling of being daunted, mostly because Reezer must use the word daunted in every episode.

A little dome shaped bell sounded.

"Time for Crafts" an exuberantly excited female voice shrilled. Her pleasantness was enough to make a goat sick. So the usual crowd of half-coping neurotics slowly gathered around the small round tables of ward 3 south.

"Today we are making leather wallets" TherapyLady sung. "Isn't that grand!"

Then a young man, FoulMouth Man, suffering from Tourette's Syndrome, began his usual barrage of incessant profanities.

"Who cares you oxen-faced douche-bag? I want to make snot sculpting, you ferret-faced, fart sniffing, bitch of a bag eyed barfing slime sucker!"

"Now FoulMouth Man, we have spoken before about the unpleasant way you express yourself." TherapyLady patiently whined.

"Who cares, you butthole? You suck as a person, you fat-assed, navel eating whore from Chicago."

"But I am from Detroit."

"What difference does that make, you daughter of a biscuit eater? I expel rectal gas in your general direction, I..."

So another day began for HepMan, locked inside ward 3 south at the State Hospital for the Heroically Insane. br> TherapyLady emptied her wares onto the table as two grown women regressed to toddler-hood.

"Mine, mine, mime"
"Gimme, gimme, gimme"

Meanwhile the token schizophrenic of the day was babbling to himself as he paced enough to wear a path into the tile.
"I like toilets" spewed SniffingMan
"Can I call my Stockbroker" demanded HomelessMan
"Everyone settle down now." smiled TherapyLady. "Let's direct our undivided attention to our leatherwork."
"Twat scratching Kumquat"
"Mine, mine, mine.."
"Gimme, gimme, gimme.."
"Eat me bitch"
"I really must call my stockbroker"
"Panties, soiled panties, ah yes"

Hepman had already sewed his ears shut with a leather flap glued to his tongue. Suddenly two giant men in white uniforms snatched our fearful Paladin up, quickly strapped him into restraints, beat him a bit, then in injected him with rather humongous does of Haladol and Thorazine.
Minutes later Hepman, restrained to the waist, was doing the old 'Thorazine Shuffle' while the soundtrack to Splashdance sprayed through the Muzak speakers above.

The next morning Hepman, composed now, received his morning treatments for HCV related depression. This consisted of a short beating followed by a rugged and manly sexual molestation, then a special holiday electric shock.

"Remember Hepman, said PsychologistMan magnanimously, "The light at the end of the tunnel is really an oncoming train."

Then, when Hepman could not take it anymore, the phone rang at he Nurse's station. 'Ding dong'

"Hepman" snorted Nurse S&M-Woman, "It's for you."
"Hello" squeaked our SuperHero.
"Hepman, I am the PR representative for the Oprah Show,"
"Yes?"
"...and it is our understanding that you suffer from disease on the verge of epidemic, and you spend all your selfless time being a heroic leader in this most just cause."
"Yes, Yes!" Hepman vomited eagerly.
"Well, we would like you to be on the Oprah Show"
"Really?" cried Hepman
"Hell no, you dick head! Ha ha ha! You mucous-faced hockwad!"

"What?" Hepman peered around the corner to observe FoulMouthMan on the public phone, laughing violently enough to rupture a spleen. A fight broke loose. Security guards, restraints, more Thorazine. Must I go on?

When HepMan finally escaped the hospital, that tormenting joke had evolved into a very creative and idiotic idea. He would badger the TV talk shows until the world knew of HepMan's plight. Not only that his penis was in the Witness Protection Program, but that he was a superhero, lobbying for very sick and infectious people. No, not the Republican Party, but those with Hepatitis.

Time was kind to HepMan because while he waited for his TV shows to reply, he learned to masturbate in rhythm. Of course he had purchased 'Dr. Joyce Brother's Home Masturbation Kit' complete with a pornographic video of HepDoggy, a metronome and a perverse recording of "Beat it".

The doorbell rang, surprisingly making no sound. HepMan cautiously opened the door. There stood two young men, casually dressed.

"We are from the Jerry Springer Show, Mr. HepMan," one man sizzled. We have come to escort you to the show. Congratulations."

Hepman beamed as he hopped into the black Lexus. On the way to the taping of the show, the two men suddenly broke into argument seemingly out of nowhere. They yelled, pushed, threatened and cursed, complete with blanked out audio spots during offensive words. The car spun around, hit an embankment, then rolled 17 times. HepMan, after swallowing the air bag, was thrown clear, landing at the base of the stairs at the studio.

"Welcome, Mr. HepFag, we have been waiting for you"
"That's HepMan you stupid git." Hepman dusted himself off and glared at the doorman. DoorMan wore a Kelvar vest and smiled. HepMan was unimpressed as he walked through the door, letting loose the gas from the air bag. The doorman turned green from the stench, which was reminiscent of a Municipal Correctional Facility. His Kelvar vest exploded as the poor chap went unconscious.

HepMan was dumbfounded at the back stage environment, or rather, arena. Two transvestites were comparing genital piercing, while to the left, a 300 pound divorcee with aids practiced karate. An old man with leprosy was making out with his acrobatic son, as women Suma wrestlers argued over expresso flavorings. HepMan was forcibly grabbed by the arm and led across the decadent room by a man in a referee outfit, complete with whistle.

"Make-up." the referee bellowed and two women dragged him into a 8'x 6' room with a large mirror. The women went to work on our Faithless Hero while HepMan read their credentials from plagues on the wall. One read "Institute of Hairdressing for the Terminally hip". Hepman sighed.

The women pushed him out the door crying, "Now to see the Boss". Wow, thought Heppy.

Hepman was shoved through a doorway. There were several men in three- piece suits sitting at computer terminals. They looked and smelled like lawyers. One terminal had a recent listing of Nielson Ratings. In the center of the room was a man draped in a gold and white bathrobe. His left-hand tucked neatly into a side pocket. The initials 'JS' on his chest. He had glasses on that were similar to a pair Elton John wore in earlier days. The man was throwing expensive darts at a large poster of Jenny Jones.

"Sit down, you twit."
Jerry Springer actually spoke to me, thought HepMan

"Now you know what is expected of you, I hope you realize our ratings are down." Springer surged
"Well, I ..."
"Shut up! if you screw this up HepHead, I will buy the block you live on. I will explode a small nuclear device in your living room. Then I will strap you to a chair, slit your throat and throw you into the pit, in front of you whole family. He he he"
"Mr. Springer, it's pronounced "HepMan."
"Get this asshole out of here" Springer screamed. His henchmen sprang to attention. Hepman was gagged and stuffed into a janitorial closet until his appearance on the show.

ShowTime! Hepman was jerked out of the closet and led on stage. The show had already begun, so during the break, bodies were carried off and blood was mopped up

"Now a man with a peculiar problem. Meet HepMan!" The crowed cheered, eagerly awaiting the "Feeding the Christians to the Lions" segment. Hepman limped on-stage and sat down opposite a large woman with furious eyes. HepMan looked away while Springer began his charades.

"This woman says HepMan ignited firecrackers in her anus"
"What?" questioned Hepman.
"Well Hepman, What do you have to say?"
"I did not! I am infected with Hepatitis C, an incurable and life threatening..."

Suddenly two large men with no necks grabbed HepMan and hurled him mid stage. The men held him firmly as the angry woman pulled down his pants, then his Star Wars underwear. She rolled up her sleeves grimly.

"No one cares about that Naomi Judd crap anymore " she gurgled.
"Well, Hepman, the crowd seems to think you might appreciate the same treatment as your outraged girlfriend." Springer grimaced.
"NO!"

The Star spangled Banner sounded as a multitude of multi-colored fireworks blew out of HepMan's anus. Holy Hemorrhoids! As the crowd's jeering subsided, smoke bellowed from every orifice of our super hero's body.

"Well, isn't that special!" touted Springer "Now can you recall a determined little lady in your past with healing power? Well, she's here! Ready to ease your pain?"

Enter Nurse Ratchet, stage left.

"NO! Ahhhhh!"

[The editors would like to apologize for ending another episode with a surprise entrance of Nurse Ratchett. In comedy this tactic is referred to as a "Call Back" and it is being worn out in the HepMan Saga]

AFTERMATH
Will the mental hospital find Hepman?
Will SniffingMan return HepMan's dirty Star Wars underwear?
Will the Suma wrestlers open their own lesbian coffee shop?
Will Jerry Springer buy his own island?
Will HepMan receive his rectum transplant?
Will the donor be an asshole?