Becky Harbine, Scott Harbine, Fred Stuben, and Chris Shymko were average college students. But after listening to a radioactive B-52's cassette, they gained powers heretofore unknown to them and became the Singin' Twins, the Six String Man, and Drummerboy-- the Little Champions!!

In today's episode, the Little Champions must defend Champiopolis from the evil grips of... the Critic! We begin deep in the suburban basement headquarters of the Little Champions.

Scott: Golly, Beck, these sure are fine cookies!

Becky: My secret is brown sugar.

Fred: Yeah, brown sugar and a bag of Pepperidge Farm Chesapeakes.

Becky: Fred!

Chris: Guys, quiet! Something's coming in over the secret emergency low-band radio!

Voice: Krzzzzt... ittle Champions.... Krzzzzkt... Please come in...

Little Champions: It's the Speaker of the House!

Speaker of the House: Yes, it's me. Little Champions, your country needs you more than ever! Champiopolis is under siege by the Critic!

Little Champions: The Critic?!!

Speaker of the House: Afraid so. He's already struck four coffeehouses, three radio stations, a few art galleries by the beach, and a Borders. His Cynic Ice Blasts and Jade Power Ring are destroying the city!

Scott: We'll be there, sir!

Becky: To the striped van!

ZOOM...

The Little Champions' maroon van pulls up in front of the Java Bongo, which is hosting an open mic night. The Critic floats above the building, blasting green rays from his Jade Power Ring.

Becky: Come on, guys! Let's set up!

Fred: This looks like a job for the Six String Man!

Scott: Don't get carried away, Fred. This takes all of us. Besides, you're low in the mix.

The Little Champions set up their gear in the street. The Critic takes notice and hovers unthreatened with a smug grin.

Becky: You may be able to crush those amateurs, but let's see how you do against us!

The Critic: Try your best, Singin' Twit!

The Little Champions break into "Spread Yourself Around." Surf-tinged guitar breaks into thin, discordant riffs. Drums tumble along while Six String Man spitfires semiautomatic notes. The Singin' Twins strain over the watery mix.

The Critic: Ha! You fools! You should have been wiser than to open your mouths. Dear, dear, I thought I'd defeated the B-52's years ago. Now you children mock me. I didn't think anyone could listen to Fred Schneider's blurts and find them a good idea. Yet you shout out "Take a trip across the nation!" like some scrap picked off the floor of the "Love Shack" editing sessions. And feeble vibrato female vocals warble along in similar, yet lesser, fashion to D.C. indie-pop bands such as Velocity Girl and Tsunami.

Becky: Make him stop!

Fred: Just... keep.... play... ing.

The Little Champions move into "Pillow Ass" and "Kenny Black Belt" as the Critic continues to snigger and rant.

The Critic: So, you want some more? Let's talk about your lyrics. What's the fascination with the ass? "Pillow Ass?" And yet another Fred Schneider-ish cry of "I'll kick your arse! I'll kick your arse! I'll kick your arse!" The verse delivery in "Pillow Ass" sounds snatched from the Dismemberment Plan, which is quite the trend du jour. Ah, cheap keyboards! It's hip because it's cheap!

Scott: Alright, now you're just being mean.

The Critic: But I'm a supervillian! Do you think that just because you mention "silver buttons," "drugstore," "oxygen masks," and "aspirin" you'll be "new-wave?" The lyrics and cold delivery make me cringe. Prepare to be demolished by my Diss Fist!

Voice: Hold it right there!

The Critic: Who dares?

Voice: It is I, the Silver Critic.

The Critic: Can't you just stay in your territory in Chapel Hill?

The Silver Critic: I'm here to stop you. I sort of like this stuff. Sure, everything produced by throats and lips practically ruins the music, but the rock foundation is pretty okay.

The Critic: Pretty okay?! Listen to yourself. Lyrics and vocals are at least half of rock music.

The Silver Critic: I don't see it that way. I can look past that.

The Critic: Look past it?! How can you look...

Scott: Drat, this is getting nowhere. They're turning on each other!

Fred: He liked my guitar at least, Mr. cheap-keyboard, Fred-Schneider boy.

Becky: Guys, focus!

The Silver Critic: ...I don't know, it sounds slightly angular or something. The treble-rich guitar and rolling rhythms are pretty neat.

The Critic: But is it anything that hasn't been done by bands from college towns in the earlier...

By this point, the Little Champions have stopped playing. The two Critics have lost interest in the band.

Becky: Hey, this is getting us nowhere. Let's go home.

Scott: Yeah, let's go have a show in our basement.

-Brent DiCrescenzo