Title: Not the Oxygen Man

Author: liz_Z

E-mail: liz_Z@secret-agent.com

Category: Humor, Poetry

Spoilers: Big ones for 'Pilot'; reference to 'Flash to Bang'

Disclaimer: I don't own Darien Fawkes, or anyone else from 'The Invisible Man'; I do, however, enjoy having the occasional joke at their expense (although they always pay me back by siccing the plot bunnies on me).

Author's notes: This fic is stupid. I knew that when I wrote it, and I have no qualms about informing you of this fact now. I wrote it while insanely bored. (Car trip. 'Nuff said.) Suffice it to say, I read too much Dr. Seuss as a child.

Anything done out of love is beyond good and evil

Or so Nietzsche claimed, the clever old weasel.

Sadly, I've discovered that though morals it fudges

This sentiment doesn't always fly with the judges.

But enough about that, this is the story

Of how I received the honor and glory

Of having a gland put into my brain

Which used to quite regularly drive me insane.

It all started one dark, starless night

When atop a small balcony I did alight.

My mask I did lift and my gear I did grab

For at cracking a safe I was taking a stab.

Getting into the house was as easy as pie

And locating the safe was so simple that I

Began to get cocky, felt too much at ease.

So far this robbery had seemed like a breeze!

The explosives were set, the timer was ticking

And into my ears my fingers were sticking

When suddenly I was shocked by a blinding flash --

Not the bomb, but the lights! I no longer felt brash.

Slowly into view an old man shuffled

And said in a voice somewhat shaky and muffled

That although he knew not my name or my plan

I surely was not the oxygen man!

The explosion rang out! It made my ears sore

And the old man cried out and fell down on the floor.

He showed every sign of a heart attack.

What luck, I thought, I'll just go out the back!

But upon the balcony my conscience did say

If I left the old man to die in that way

I'd forever regret leaving him there on the floor

When I knew full well that I could have done more.

So I went back inside the old man's boudoir

And began to administer CPR

In the hopes that the old man would soon start to breathe

And my conscience would shut up so I could leave.

All of my efforts to save the old fart

Were coming to naught. His heart would not start!

I was frantic by now, ready to pull out my hair.

"Come on old man, earn your freakin' Medicare!"

Oh, how wonderful a sound it did seem to my ears

When he started to breathe. I was nearly in tears.

I sagged on his chest and sighed in relief

But things were not over for this tired thief.

Two security guards slammed the door open wide

Drew their guns, and "Freeze!" in a warning tone cried.

And all I could think to say in reply

Was "Oh crap!" That's my saying. I say that. *deep sigh*

So there is the story, told to you in rhyme

Of how I was arrested and sentenced to time

A fate I escaped by the skin of my teeth

By making a deal that caused me much grief.

But that is a story for another day

And to Bobby Hobbes I would just like to say

You'll let me stick to prose from now on, my friend

Or you'll find yourself swimming with the fishes. The end!

Fine print: The author is not responsible for any insane fits of laughter, frustrated screams, or stress-related heart attacks caused by the reading of this fic. The author also requests that all throwing of rotten fruits and/or vegetables be directed at her Darien and Hobbes clones, since it was their stupid idea in the first place.