Blogger's Archives

February 2007

Tuesday 6 February 2007 16:06 GMT

Since my Christmas fun, I’ve been keeping a low-profile.

Mostly, I’ve stayed at home. In fact, I’ve hardly been out at all. Unless you count a dozen little trips to the solar system as “going out”. Besides, they were low-profile excursions. (Other than that time I got carried away near Uranus… But that seems to have passed unseen. I mean, I don’t think anyone’s even noticed that moon isn’t there any more…)

Apart from that one tiny indiscretion I’ve been a model citizen. OK, so I did also carve a hundred-mile-high portrait of my perfect, gorgeous face on the surface of Pluto using my heat-vision lasers but I’m sure no-one will object to that: no telescope on Earth is powerful enough to see it, Pluto’s not even considered a proper planet anymore and besides, my face is so beautiful, it deserves to be carved into every celestial body in the universe.

Back on Earth, I’ve only gone for a few, quick strolls around the block. And a couple of trans-continental flights. Again, these were hardly high-profile.

Yes, I did nearly down a passenger jet with my supersonic wake, but the pilot recovered in time and I was going too fast to be spotted. Oh, and there was also that incident with the two young men in the hot-air balloon. Perhaps I shouldn’t have unleashed my superbreath on their flimsy transport, but at least they got to break the speed record for balloon travel (about ten times over).

Shame about that mountain they slammed into, but I’m sure no-one was watching. Anyway, they were only men...

Wednesday 7 February 2007 22:28 GMT

As an untouchable, devastatingly beautiful superhuman goddess, even I like to browse the shops from time to time.

Of course, I don't browse like mere 'ordinaries' do. I prefer to examine the shops from a station more suited to my supremacy. Normally that means hovering in the sky about half-a-mile above the roof of a store and checking out the goods with my X-ray vision.

I tend to do this at night, so as not to attract too much attention. Naturally, even in the dark, hundreds of yards distant, I can see what's in the shop in far clearer detail than someone like you could in broad daylight from six inches away. Also, my ability to function at what can only be described as super speeds allows me to examine hundreds of thousands of items every second...

Anyway, last night I was "browsing" through a department store when I scanned over a display of women's gloves. As I looked through the various different styles and colours on offer, one particular pure-white silk pair gave me an idea.

Now, I could have simply dived head-first through the concrete roof of the building, letting my invulnerable skull smash a hole through stone and steel only for my chest to enlarge that hole a split-second later, my body carving through floor after floor like an indestructible missile. Then I could have grabbed the gloves and created a second set of holes with my perfect body on the way out.

But that's not what I did. Instead I waited patiently for the shop to open in the morning. Then, completely nude (because I could and because, hey, it's fun), I ran in at superspeed, deliberately brushing a couple of sales assistants with the sides of my bust as I blurred past (I just love seeing the way even such minimal contact with my gorgeous, big, sexy breasts can send a grown man flying.)

I grabbed the gloves and ran towards the exit before anyone had any clue what was happening. I couldn't resist pausing momentarily about two feet from a security guard. Judging by the shock on his face, I must have appeared to have suddenly materialised right in front of him. I winked and, before he could even start to recover from his shock, blew him a tiny pouty kiss that lifted him off his feet and threw him backwards about ten yards before he crashed down onto his rear and slid twice as far again on the polished floor.

After that, I sprinted into the street, safe in the knowledge that the only person who saw me was too stunned to remember what I look like.

Two minutes later, I was at home, putting on the gloves, pulling the sleeves up to just below my elbows.

I'll tell you what they're for in my next post.

Thursday 8 February 2007 17:49 GMT

So, I was going to tell you about those new gloves of mine…

It’s a common misconception amongst lesser beings (i.e. everyone other than me) that merely because I am stronger than the human mind can imagine, utterly invulnerable to any known force in the universe, beautiful beyond compare (and so on), there cannot be any feat that is not easy for me to accomplish.

This isn’t entirely true. For example, finding a way to set myself entertaining challenges on a day-to-day basis is anything but easy for me.

Of course, the only “thing” in existence that can offer me a proper challenge is… well, me. There’s no weapon that can really harm me, no weight that can really test me. So, sometimes I create little games for myself, just to keep things interesting.

That’s where the gloves come in. I’m wearing them right now. They’re very, very white. So much so that any dust or dirt or grease or moisture or just about anything they come into contact with shows up clearly. I had to clean and polish my keyboard before I started typing so as not to mark the fingertips.

The game is this: I’m going to set myself a series of tasks, all of which I’m going to try and carry out whilst wearing my gloves. The only rule is that the gloves have to remain spotlessly clean throughout. In other words, I can’t let them touch any dust (or sweat or blood…)

It just so happens that this morning, I overheard one of my neighbours bragging about the car his boss had leant him for the week. (No, I wasn’t eavesdropping. I couldn’t help overhearing the loud-mouthed prick with my superhearing: he was only three hundred yards and a handful of brick walls away from me.) The pathetic creature kept droning on about how great the car is and how much his boss must trust him to lend it to him.

Anyway, the first “challenge” I’ve set for myself is to drop that car in a volcano somewhere on the other side of the globe. Whilst wearing my new gloves. Without getting them dirty.

I’ll let you know how I do in my next post.

Tuesday 13 February 2007 16:17 GMT

The challenge I’d set myself was to transport a car from outside a house on my street to the interior of an active volcano. Without getting any marks on my gloves.

Flying out of the roof of my place, it was less than a second before my superhuman eyes spotted the vehicle in question. A brand new, limited-edition, shiny contraption. The sort of machine that men drool over because of its “powerful” engine. How pathetic must they be! I mean, there’s more strength in my little finger than any man-made car…

Using the night as cover (there was no-one close enough to see me anyway) I swooped down from the sky, descending almost as fast as a comet, yet coming to a perfect halt on my feet in the space of several inches by decelerating sharper than your minds can comprehend. My gloved hands found a comfortable station on my shapely hips as I looked down on the car.

The first problem was picking it up. Not, obviously because of the weight. I could hoist two fully-loaded double-decker car transporters into the air with a single hand and not feel any strain. That’s not a mere hypothetical boast. I actually did it not that long ago.

Anyway, the difficulty was that the underside of a car is invariably dirty and even so much as lightly stroking the bottom of the vehicle would have left black grease marks on my pristine gloves. So, I had to find another way of raising the car.

Fortunately, I was only wearing gloves on my hands. I wasn’t wearing anything at all on my feet. (I tend not to bother, seeing as my pretty, feminine toes are many tens of thousands of times more durable than any steel-capped, rubber-soled boot.) When I casually swung my leg towards the underside of the car, the delicate-looking bridge of my bare left foot smacked the chassis with a mighty “Clang!”.

I hardly felt the impact, but the car certainly did. The power of that effortless kick was enough to lift the whole machine from the tarmac, hurling it high up into the air. The vehicle continued to rise long after my petite foot had returned to the ground, its easy (but spectacular) work accomplished.

I hadn’t quite managed to punt the thing straight upwards. My toes had smashed into one edge of the underside, causing the car to move slightly forwards as it soared upwards. That off-centre impact was also responsible for the slow sideways spinning of the airborne car. I kept a careful eye on it as I stepped briskly forward, my head tilted towards the flying vehicle, my spotless gloved hands still on my hips.

After about ten paces, I caught up with the slight lateral movement of the machine and found myself standing directly underneath it, just as it was reaching the apex of its arc, some thirty feet above the street.

Obviously, I couldn’t catch the car as it began to fall (not without dirtying my gloves). And whilst I wouldn’t have tired kicking it halfway around the globe, a hundred yards at a time, that was not a practical solution. Instead, I puckered up and blew a nice, gentle stream of my breath at the vehicle, immediately reversing its fall as the power of my exhalation effortlessly defeated gravity’s pull on the machine.

Now that I had the car in the air, all I had to do was keep it there. Rising from the street myself, I flew towards the car, still blowing all the while, holding it in the sky, suspended on a cushion of my breath. Rotating so that I was flying “upside down” with my back facing the ground, I positioned myself under the vehicle and, using my sexy thick lips, adjusted the stream of my superbreath so that I could fly parallel with the world below, pushing the car along as I went.

I started to build up speed, flying higher and higher as I reached airliner-speed, all the while keeping the big, expensive car perfectly under control with nothing but the unfathomable power of my lungs. I continued to increase the pace, breaking the sound barrier and still accelerating. Soon, however, I realised my velocity was in danger of causing the fragile vehicle to break apart, so I slowed very slightly.

Just under thirty minutes later, I was hovering in the sky, the car held up by a jet of my exhalation above me, and a lake of bubbling volcanic lava far below. I’d been blowing constantly for half an hour, producing an unbroken hurricane of my warm breath, but I felt anything but winded. In fact, I probably could have stayed like that, blowing the car around like a brittle, dry, autumn leaf for weeks or even months. But I’m a busy girl with games to play and fun to have.

To dump the overrated, on-loan prick-mobile, all I did was close my lips and float to the side. Without my breath to hold it there, the vehicle had no business being in the sky and it fell like a sack of stones, flashing by me to splash straight into the lava. Fortunately, I was too high up to be caught by the displaced molten rock (sure, it wouldn’t have burnt me but my gloves might’ve been marked). Meanwhile, the car sank deep below the surface.

Twenty minutes later, I was at home, carefully pulling the gloves off and placing them on my dressing table. Of course, they were still completely spotless.

In my next post, I’ll tell you all about the second “Glove Challenge” I set myself.

Monday 19 February 2007 16:43 GMT

Well, I’ve received some interesting correspondence during my week’s break from posting.

A couple of people have written with suggested “Glove Challenges” (tasks for me to accomplish whilst wearing my pure-white elbow-length gloves without dirtying the pristine material). Some of the ideas sound like fun, and I think I might be trying them this week.

Others were not so great, frankly. I mean, “sewing” is hardly a fitting challenge for an unopposable goddess such as me! (As long the needle, cloth and thread are spotlessly clean, they wouldn’t dirty my gloves anyway). Besides, if I really needed any sewing done, gloves or no gloves, I’d just go about the task in my usual, quietly efficient way: by beating up some helpless male and then ordering him to do it for me on pain of death…

One good idea was for me to lift up some old ship and drop it on the South Pole. At first glance, that looked like fun. It would certainly have been pretty spectacular to observe (the overgrown dinghy in question weighs about 70,000 tonnes and is over a thousand feet long).

Whilst there’s no question that I could handle the weight (I’ve lifted heavier, if less voluminous, objects with a single hand, right and left, plenty of times) there was one problem: The vessel is already scheduled for demolition. Instead of the amusement I usually gain by wrecking billions of dollars of military hardware and causing massive problems for the authorities, all I would be doing is assisting with the ship’s decommissioning. And, as regular readers know, I don’t do “assisting”.

Incidentally, if I wanted to decommission a three-hundred-yard-long tub, I’d probably do it like this: Hovering about a hundred feet above the deck, I would let rip with a full-strength blast of my heat-vision, turning my head slightly to play the devastatingly powerful lasers all along the length and width of the craft. I can generate temperatures like those found at the heart of a star with my beautiful, sexy, bright clear eyes. In a matter of seconds, my “dirty look” would reduce those tens of thousands of tons of steel and everything else to plasma gas, in the process boiling away an area of sea of over a half a mile radius to a depth of about fifty feet.

Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, that might be fun. I might try it some day, but obviously not with a ship that’s already awaiting decommissioning. It would be much more entertaining to pick on a fully operational vessel…

But decommissioning an aircraft carrier is not going to be my second “Glove Challenge”. I’ve got something else planned for tonight. I’ll tell you all about it in my next post.

Tuesday 20 February 2007 17:47 GMT

"Glove Challenge number 2"

After a little thought, I decided the most enjoyable test would be to see if I could cause a minor earthquake without getting my lovely new, long white gloves dirty. It turned out to be not quite as easy as I'd imagined. Not that it was an especially difficult task to accomplish, but then again, nothing is "difficult" to do when you are the most powerful (not to mention gorgeous) being in the known universe...

Now, any geology student knows that earthquakes are normally caused by the movement of country-sized plates deep in the Earth's crust. My plan, however, did not include any plate-relocation. There was a good reason for that.

Yes, drilling down a couple of miles below the ground would have been easy for me. My slender, sexy body can carve through solid stone (and metal) much faster then any jet plane can "carve" through air. When I'm moving, my skull, my smooth feminine shoulders... even my lovely "soft" (they're soft to my touch, anyway) big, round breasts can pulverise any material in their path to dust in an instant.

And yes, shifting a million tonnes of global plate with my long, shapely arms would not have been in any way beyond my seemingly limitless abilities. Since I first went beyond Earth's atmosphere and received the benefit of direct energy from the sun, I've not encountered any object that was too heavy for my pretty, discrete, but incomprehensibly powerful muscles. In fact, these days I sometimes find myself wondering if I could move an entire planet. Perhaps I should try it one day. I think Neptune would look nice next to Mars...

Anyway, as I was saying, my decision not to try moving tectonic plates around was not based on any restrictions of my strength. It simply occurred to me that smashing my way through the ground and shunting a piece of continent would result in my gloves getting not just badly dirtied, but also utterly destroyed. So I had to find another way of causing a tremor.

Needless to say, I able to come up with an interesting, and reasonably effective, alternative. You can read about it in my next post.

Wednesday 21 February 2007 15:11 GMT

So, I’d ruled out (for the sake of my gloves) using my perfect body to drill my way deep underground to cause an earthquake.

Instead, I opted for an above-the-surface solution. But I couldn’t do it just anywhere. You see, the problem is that the world is soft. Of course, from my superhuman perspective, every material and substance in existence is soft, but some are softer than others. In order to carry out my artificial tremor plan, I needed an area where the ground is mostly thick, solid rock.

Conducting a continent-wide geological survey is a massive task… for “ordinary” people. They lack the key abilities that make the job effortlessly easy. “Ordinary” people need machines to do just about anything!

“Ordinaries” need machines to fly but I don’t. Studying wide areas of the ground is best achieved from an aerial perspective and I can fly faster, higher, further, quieter and more agilely than any aircraft.

“Ordinaries” need binoculars and telescopes to see the ground from the air but I don’t. With my bright, clear, sexy unaided eyes, I can see smaller details at greater distances than any man with any powerful telescope could.

“Ordinaries” need vast arrays of complex scanning and probing equipment in order to try and build an inaccurate and incomplete picture of what might lie just a few feet beneath the surface of the world but I don’t. My X-ray vision allows me to see right through kilometres of solid material as if it wasn’t there, giving me a perfect view of things hidden to the rest of the Earth’s population. It doesn’t even matter that light itself cannot penetrate as deep as my gaze. I can see just fine in the pitch dark.

All in all, by myself, with no tools, I’m vastly better equipped for the task than a massive team of “ordinaries” equipped with the latest, expensive, bulky technology. What might have taken twenty men a year to do, I completed in half a day. And, of course, I’m millions of times more pleasant to look at.

It wasn’t merely any area of solid ground that I was seeking. After all, there would be little point causing an earthquake if there wasn’t lots and lots of stuff to get shaken up by the tremor. By “stuff”, of course, I mean buildings and vehicles and infrastructure. Oh, and people, too…

It took four hours to locate an ideal spot. After that, it took four tenths of a second for me to descend from my observation point a mile up in the air to the ground, landing smoothly on my bare feet, my gloved hands coming to rest on my shapely hips. I was standing in the middle of a road. About twenty feet further down the path, was a high metal gate that formed part of the perimeter fence of a large industrial plant.

The whole plant covered an area of about half a square mile. The ground on which it was built was strong, solid rock. It was over forty foot deep at its most shallow. I smiled as I surveyed the lorries and smaller vehicles trundling around between the vast chimneys, storehouses, processing sheds and loading bays. Then, I took a moment (much longer than I needed, but I was enjoying myself) to peer inside all the buildings and count all the workers. I couldn’t help but chuckle as I thought of the big surprise they were all about to get.

And I’ll describe that surprise in my next post…

Monday 26 February 2007 17:51 GMT

As I cast my gaze over the activity taking place in the industrial plant, it occurred to me that an earthquake was the last thing anyone there was expecting at that moment.

Too bad for them!

Making the solid rock on which I and the plant were standing shake without going beneath the surface was simply a matter of striking the ground. I didn’t have any pile-driving equipment, but there’s vastly more power in one of my girlish fingers than any machine. Trouble was, of course, that my fingers were inside my pristine white gloves so I couldn’t use them. Instead, I had to use my feet. To be more precise, just one of my feet: my charmingly pretty, completely bare, right foot.

So, I had the “tool” for the job. But I also had to use it correctly. To create an “earthquake” with my foot, I had to stamp it with just the right amount of force. It’s been said, even by weaklings whose minds would explode if they tried to imagine a being half as powerful as me, that “power” is meaningless without control. I wouldn’t know how true that is, however, because along with my awe-inspiring power, I also possess perfect control. And flawless judgement. (Sometimes, it almost seems unfair that I have so much going for me. I mean, I’m devastatingly gorgeous as well….)

My problem was not that hitting the rock with ground-shaking force was beyond me. My problem was that generating such power is so well within my capabilities that there was a danger of me striking the rock too hard. If I had done that, my leg would simply have passed clean through the rock. Huge amounts of displaced stone would have been thrown up, and it would have been rather difficult to protect my gloves. I needed to use the perfect amount of force to shake up the area without causing excessive damage to the rock underfoot.

Anyone watching me would have seen me bend my shapely right leg at the knee, raising that lovely, dainty-looking foot about eighteen inches above the ground. To keep my nice new gloves well clear of any debris, I locked my hands behind my head, incidentally thrusting out my unsurpassed, sexually glorious breasts. Whilst the sheer eroticism of my pose would have overwhelmed an observer, there would have been no clue of the unfathomable power hidden within my magnificent slender body.

No clue until, that is, I stamped my foot down for the first time.

But that can wait for my next post…

Tuesday 27 February 2007 22:18 GMT

My foot is small. It’s delicate to look at, petite and feminine with dainty toes. My leg is shapely and slender, long and silky-smooth.

You wouldn’t think that I could really do much damage with either my leg or my foot. But my leg and my foot, the lovely skin that covers them and the pretty muscles beneath are staggeringly powerful. When I casually stamp my bare sole on the ground, the impact is greater than that of a house-sized comet crashing into the Earth.

Standing in front of the industrial plant, I had to use my powers of flight to keep my balance as my “dainty” foot made the rocky ground for half a mile in every direction bounce violently. As I listened to the Boom! of my stamp echoing around the landscape, I saw the vibrations it had caused spreading out, shaking the nearest buildings.

A lorry was lifted momentarily from the road beneath its tires as the ground shuddered. I spotted a couple of smaller vehicles crashing back down having also been jolted upwards. As the shockwaves travelled on, a man lost his footing on a staircase and was thrown over the side rail. Two more men walking between two buildings were knocked off their feet. Dozens more stumbled for a second.

The stone beneath my sole had cracked slightly, but was otherwise intact. Chuckling at the effects of my first attempt, I lifted my foot from the battered ground, holding it for a moment in the air before slamming it back down again.

Another Boom!

The same buildings shook again. A cylindrical metal tower, four floors in height, that had been motionless after the first stamp swayed this time. The lorry bounced two foot up again. When it landed, a tire blew out, and the big vehicle skidded to the side. Several cars were knocked into the air. A piece of corrugated iron fell off the side of a huge shed and clanged down right in the path of one of the jolted cars. The driver slammed on his brakes to avoid the new obstacle, only for one of the other vehicles to crash into his rear fender.

There was a scream inside one of the buildings. Using my X-ray vision, I peered through the intervening walls to see a woman tumbling down an iron staircase. As she fell, she rolled over a couple of other people who’d also been tripped. All over the building, people were picking themselves off the floor. It was a similar story inside the other edifices.

Laughing out loud now, I checked the ground under me and saw that the crack I’d made had widened and deepened, so I hopped effortlessly about a dozen yards to my left, landing on an undamaged patch of rock. It didn’t remain undamaged for long, however. A second later, my sole smashed into it hard enough to create a third massive vibration.

The stone fractured slightly beneath me. The ground shook all around. The tower rocked from side to side. Inside, a massive vat of liquid spilt, splashing over a worker who was thrown down by the dramatic movements of the building. The lorry that was skidding bounced again and came down onto its side with a massive smash. The crashed cars smacked into each other, like dodgems at a fairground; the vehicles, along with their occupants tossed around helplessly by the power my petite foot generated. Everywhere, dozens of men, halfway through struggling back onto their feet after my second stamp, were knocked back down.

I wasted no time smashing the rock under my sole as I banged my foot down once more. The stricken truck lifted from the road for a moment before settling down again, as did the cars and vans all over the plant. A tinkling smash drew my attention to a man who’d been tossed through a third-storey glass window by the vibrations. Others had been sent rolling on the ground. Shelves and light-fixings inside the buildings came loose and fell onto the helpless people. The tower creaked and leant to one side and then the other before appearing to right itself.

With huge cracks scarring the stone beneath me, I had to hop a couple of yards to the side once more. In that way, I was able to continue stamping my foot on fresh, uncracked rock, making more and more vibrations. I was laughing, but that didn’t stop me pounding away with my foot, creating series after series of new shockwaves faster than the existing ones could dissipate.

The vibrations followed each other across the plant. The tilting tower no longer had enough time to settle between sways and with a creak that was audible above the Boom!s of my foot, it toppled onto and through the roof of the neighbouring building. A huge sheet of flame tore from the collapsed tower, engulfing both constructions. The vehicles bouncing on the ground turned over in the air, and some of them exploded too. Glass shattered all over the place. People were rattling around like peas in a shaker. A low building shuddered and then seemed to sink into itself, the debris bouncing in time to the “tapping” of my foot.

I kept dancing around, finding solid ground and smashing my foot down onto it, until most of the buildings of the plant had collapsed, dozens of fires were raging and the air was thick was smoke and dust. I couldn’t see anybody actually standing, but I did notice fifteen or so crawling around, choking. I counted many times more on the ground not moving at all.

A few seconds after I stopped stamping my foot, the final vibration diffused away, tossing around everything and everyone for the last time. After that, with my leg casually resting on the ground once more, there was no more shaking. Even allowing for the settling of piles of rubble and the crackling of fires, the comparative stillness was remarkable.

With dozens trapped and many more hurt or killed inside the smoke-wracked plant, I took a moment to reflect proudly on the power I had displayed. Then, I remembered my priorities, and, as pathetic cries for help reached my ears, I carefully checked my white gloves for any signs of dirt or damage.

I’m delighted to say that my gloves were spotless.

So, it’s official. I can cause an earthquake without getting my gloves dirty. I have to say, it was fun finding out!

In my next post, I’ll reveal my third “Glove Challenge”.