Sunday, December 17, 2006

This Will Be My Final Journal Entry

Yes, it's been a fun ride, but it's time for Ralph Dibny, the Greatest Detective And Superhero Of All Times, to finish his race to glory and take his place in the houses of the immortals!

By blowing his own head off!

Regular readers may be wondering what brought me, Ralph Dibny, The Man Who Dared, to this unfortunate pass. Why would the Most Illustrious Television Celebrity And Talking Head Of This Or Any Other Century decide to fire a rocket launcher into his magnificent face? Surely a man who subdued a Yeti with his fantastic fists could never take that step into the dark unknown, especially by means of an immense vat of acid? "Mr Dibny," I hear you cry, "You're so brilliant, perfect and special! How can you even dream of hurling yourself off the top of the Daily Planet building with lit fireworks strapped to your belly?"

Well, it's a long story. And it started just after I completed last week's entry, when Dr Willis called me up to tell me that he wasn't Supernova. The fool. Anyway, he seemed concerned that my manic-depressive cycles might be intensifying, which would mean that one moment I could be blubbing like a little goth child about how much it hurt when Sue used to stack the fridge in her special way, and the next minute I might be so convinced of my own supremacy that I would think nothing of leaping on top of a Yeti and wrestling it to the ground.

YOU'RE A FOOL, WILLIS! A FOOOOL! YOU SHOULD STICK TO WHAT YOU'RE BEST AT WHICH IS BEING SUPERNOVA!! YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS BECAUSE YOU'VE NEVER BEATEN UP A YETI AND LIVED TO TELL!! NOT LIKE RALPH DIBNY -- WRITE HIS NAME IN BLOOD -- THE MOST INCREDIBLE SUPERCREATURE EVER TO CONVERSE WITH THE VERY GODS THEMSELVES!!!

That's all I have to say on that subject.

He also said that he was sending me a voucher for a week's complete rest at a local spa. I told him I wouldn't pay a penny for his quackery, and he in turn - like the pious freak he is - said that it would be a gift to me. Since it was, after all, nearly Christmas.

Nearly Christmas!
And I'd bought nothing for any of my friends!

Which was fine by me because I have no friends. They're all scum. But I should at least buy something for myself, like perhaps a gold crown and a sceptre so everyone can see how wonderful I, Ralph Dibny, Yetislayer, truly am.

Which is how I found out I'd left my wallet in Nanda Parbat.

After all the trouble I had the last time I mislaid my wallet, I wasn't about to just give it up, and frankly I relished the chance to tell Richard Dragon exactly what I thought of him. Actually, since I plan to jump in front of a Japanese bullet train at the first rays of dawn, I should take that chance right now.

Richard Dragon, you suck.

Nanda Parbat sucks too. It sucks like the cold, empty vacuum of space, which is coincidentally where I might well end up firing myself out of a gigantic cannon. Would it kill those goddamned monks to put some signposts in? When you're halfway up a mountain with a floating helmet jabbering at you and you realise you're on Mountain 21 instead of Mountain 22, it makes you feel pret-ty foolish - foolish enough to sue the Nanda Parbat Tourist Board for everything it's worth! Don't think my imminent demise will save you from the wrath of Dibny, Tourist Board! I'm going to squeeze you dry, like an overripe fruit, from beyond the grave! I've made provisions in my will for a legion of attorneys to go after anyone who so much as coughed on me during my time on Earth! You're all going down, you shifty bastards! Do you hear me? Every last one of you!

The money raised will be used to construct a gigantic golden statue of me to rest on my grave. The statue will depict me wrestling a Yeti, with a specially carved inscription that will read "Ralph Dibny could wrestle a Yeti, and you couldn't, you pathetic worm." Thus, future generations will know that I was best. Don't thank me. It was the least I could do for you lesser beings.

Anyway. Dr Fate, like the lesser being he is, was starting to moan about how I'd led us halfway up the wrong mountain, which was my cue to make up something about how this was actually the mountain we wanted to go up all along, because of something Batman had said at a particularly dull wine and cheese party he'd thrown in 1993. And that's about when the Yeti attacked us.

The same Yeti whose ass I later kicked, fight fans.

I won't bore you with the full details of my amazing adventure, but suffice it to say that I had a fantastic time chatting to Rama Kushna, a God from beyond space, and to a Chinese superhero who could cure cancer by cracking his knuckles or something. Good thing there hasn't been anybody up on Nanda Parbat who needed some cancer curing recently, or he might not have been there to provide the vital distraction that allowed me, Ralph Dibny, The Man With The Power, to take down the Yeti menace and win an audience with Rama herself.

Yes! I, Ralph Dibny, have met God! And I've seen the incredible words that fly in the air below her wierd face. Words that presumably began the universe! Words which seem indecipherable to lesser intellects but to the initiated provide the secrets the unlock reality itself! And for just $500, payable to the Ralph Dibny Golden Statue Gravestone Fund, I can tell you what those words are. One of them is 'Hey'. The rest are merely a few benjamins away.

Anyway, it turns out that - to quote God directly, because I've met her - the end is already written and I wrote that very ending back in May, in the Ambassador Hotel at the end of the Crisis. And what did I do in that Hotel? I'll tell you.

I failed to blow my own head off.

It's pretty clear if you ask me - the best way to meet up with Sue again is to off myself, and that's what I'm going to do. But a gun is too mundane a means of execution for Ralph Dibny, Ultimate Messiah! No, I'm going to take a few days to think of something really special, like jewelled pirhanas or possibly hurling myself into the fiery heart of a nuclear reactor. Feel free to drop in some ideas of your own, but remember, they need to be pretty goddamn spectacular ways out of this vale of tears to be worthy of The Greatness That Is Dibny.

But suffice it to say that, according to my will, next week's entry will be written by Superman, or if we can't get him, Vartox, and will be called 'Ralph Dibny: Our Pathetic Lives Did Not Deserve To Be Brightened By The Eternal Flame Of His Radiance.'

See you on the other side, everybody!

Your Superior,
Ralph Dibny, Man Of Destiny

9 Comments:

Blogger Kon-El said...

Oh Great know ing my luck your gonna end up in my part of the After life , greeeeeeat!

5:28 PM  
Blogger Wonder Girl said...

I'm not sure I should do this, since the last thing you need is an ego boost. Well, unless you are in a suicidal mood, in which case you totally need one... but you might be in a megalomaniac mood, in which case you totally don't.

Well, read on if you feel like putting a gun into any of your orifices and pulling the trigger:

YOU WERE IN THE NEWSPAPER! Drunken Magic Show scares tourists.

I don't read the Daily Planet all that often, cause I am a Gotham Gazette Girl: that Clark Kent is an ass, and they don't carry Garfield in the comics section. But I bought this one cause they mention me, and they mention you! That's totally awesome... except for the inbred hick that thinks you are a creepy drunkard and possibly also a pederast, but other than that you were in the newspaper, man!

By the way, Kon, darling, about that part of Ralph ending up in your part of the After Life... Ha ha ha... yeah, cause you are so really, *wink* really, really, really death, and *wink*wink* NOT SUPERNOVA. Sure, sure... you "dead" people crack me up.

10:20 PM  
Blogger Ralph Dibny said...

In times to come, that article will be venerated as Holy Writ. In fact, since you've got experience with this sort of thing I hereby give you full permission to start The Cult Of Fantastic Ralph Dibny with all speed.

7:27 AM  
Blogger Green Arrow said...

Hey Ralph, you old dog! I just wanted to say I totally dug your erotic free-form poetry reading in Nanda Parbat this week. It was a beautiful, sensual tribute to your Sue-Lady and her commitment to free-love. It was actually really hot, man - a lot like your Sue-Lady.

I dug these lines the most:

'Her head on my chest in the morning, with my arm going numb under her...' Her what, man? You never finished your sentence, Ralph! Way to keep us dangling, you sly cat! You got a good sense of timing and pacing, Ralph. That's important in erotic poetry.

'The way she stacked the fridge...' Oh, pal o'mine, do I know what you mean! One time, when you were away trying to crack the case of the contumelious caddie, your Sue-Lady came round to my pad with a couple of brews, and we stacked the fridge all afternoon. The slanting late-summer sun lit the sweat on her lip like an iridescent peach, and she softly moaned, 'Coolgardie'. Then Dinah came home and we flattened boxes all through the night.

Oh yeah. Good times, Ralph, good times.

3:53 AM  
Blogger Ralph Dibny said...

I do indeed remember those good times, Ollie. What you may not know is that Sue had brought along a miniature camera in her handbag in the hope of secretly making some dirty tapes for us to watch later (we were going through a bit of a phase at the time).

Imagine our mutual disappointment when, instead of the wild night of cuckoldry we were hoping to capture on video, she ended up helping you stack your fridge, and then you, her and Dinah flattened some boxes to make some space in your garage.

6:31 AM  
Blogger SUPERNOVA!!!!! said...

I have some ideas for your death. I could send you to a different era, or to the creation of the universe. Or I could disintegrate you. I could make your mother kill you, or ghost pirates. Or torture you with special torturing devices every museum robot has for fun. Or send you a troop of Yetis so you can die like the "hero" you are.

I have more. I can send you the essay I wrote, "100001 ways to kill Dibny" for ideas.

10:12 PM  
Blogger Wonder Girl said...

Ralph, there is a problem with the cult thing.

I searched everywhere, but nobody carries Gingold flavored Kool Aid. I am afraid without it the whole cult would feel very fake.

I sent an e-mail to Kraftfoods asking them if they would consider making Gingold Kool Aid and send it to Opal City for religious purposes(Opal being our possible Holy Mecca, although we can also go with Central-Keystone) but a really ignorant person told me there is no such fruit known as Gingold, and that Opal City doesn't exist. I demanded to speak personally with the Kool Aid Man-thing, who I assume is some sort of flavor-elemental, but they told me he doesn't exist either.

I am afraid the cult thing is a no go until Kraftfoods respects my rights and freedom of religion.

1:38 PM  
Blogger Green Arrow said...

Can you make a copy of that tape for me, man?

I really need it. Thank you.

3:20 PM  
Blogger SUPERNOVA!!!!! said...

I killed the Kool Aid man. Long story short, he time traveled.

3:21 PM  

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