Zippy... a product of processed wood,
Zippy... a doer of greater good.
Brought forth from the shade of night,
He stood tall, a penguin of might.

Sing, my electrons, of the anger of the people of our lands.  The story of the might of paper and pulp in the face of the great evil, as it shall be told here, is what led to the unification of men.  For when the future so bleak as in this moment of shade, the certainty of the Battle of Good and Ungood is all glorious to behold.

Zippy's gaze was set.  A line of flesh, a wall of meat, stood between him and his destiny.  The henchmen of Socka-Doom, raised from the womb to be as they had become, fell one-by-one.  Zippy's Paper Machete sliced through the ranks, leaving heads without bodies in its wake.  The army was shredded, decimated, and blood poured into the earthen soils like a reddened milk soaking into dry cereal.

When Harry the Henchman stepped to the front, wrought with steel and will to fight.  His time had come and now was his turn to fall, and for he knew this well.  He pushed to the front of the rank and steadied himself and called out to his adversary, the Warrior of Good.  Zippy thrust his Machete from the shoulder, as a flying toothpick of deadly precision that pierced through the abdomen of Harry.  But no did he fall there, as yet it was his plan to stand ground in the sea of his own blood and parry Zippy's lightning charge.  In carelessness Zippy plunged inward, and thus Harry's parry was true.  A stripe of ink, permanent and black, now shown for all to see. Thus the Henchmen of Socka-Doom had reason to cheer on in battle, for Harry's Sharpie had left its mark.

And on in hope they did fight, until the very last of the Henchmen, Gregorathan of Socka-Doom son of Goosher, had fallen to the way.  A grandiose mound of corpse lay behind Zippy, of Origami, and his paper was soaked red to the core.  Day had given way to the stars and the night, and before Zippy stood the one Man who spurned his very existence.  Between Good and Ungood, a battle raged, a struggle beyond that of Neo and Smith, that even the Gods of men envied.  But a single day could not contain the whole of the battle.  Night passed into day, and day passed yet again into night.  Strike for blow, good and ungood, paper and flesh.  Great Googily Moogily!

In the twilight of that final night, the two great rivals stood at odds.  Attacks of energy and will had struck for naught, missing the fleshen and wooden targets by only coin's shaving.  Brute force struggle came to a stop, sweat pouring from the brow of the Ungood, glue and staples nursing the battle tears of the Good.  A standoff as such none had ever seen had come to be, with fists gripped like mortar and stone, rage flaming in the brittle night.

Dr. Seal fell to the floor, as the thunderous crash of a fallen bear echoed across the lot, and he lie there amidst the flowers of springtime with an uplifting feeling.  Yes, Dr. Seal foundered in his own fate, he realized his folly.  He saw a light shine in his eyes, through his eyes, like that of a thousand desktop monitors.  "I see it," he gasped. "Such hope and yet such dismay.  I sought the world to be devoured by vultures.  I found comfort in the lies of men, of myself."

"A fool's heart and soul you have," answered the one of Origami.  "My rage consumes me so, that I care not to hear your words or see you through.  The sight of your stale corpse will be like sweet cream butter on my mashed potatoes.  Only a mound of dirt will separate you from my grasp."

But the children ushered a stop in Dr. Seal's favor and they called to the wiseman for such.  "Calm your rage, Good Zippy of Origami," spoke the wiseman, a cell tower beacon standing before the children with words spreading across the land. "Shudder the fire that vents forth, for you have done well beyond the deeds of moral men.  Leave now this sodden corpse to speak before his final descent into the Undershire."

Dr. Seal's eyes, glazed over with photoshop's opaque blackness layer, looked off into the space that only he could see. "My grievances are yours to comfort, dear children.  Seek now the strength to right the ship, to bring forth the harvest of betterment.  Seek your true inner self and..." Seal paused as the last wind crept slowly into his chest.  "And see now your own selves for what you are... what you should be... and not... what people want you to be."

"Woh," uttered a child, the profoundness striking him about the face like a wet trout; the sore red mark of revelation now littered across his cheek.

Thus, then, did they celebrate the funeral of Dr. Seal the Ungood, doer of evil.

THE END.

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