My neighbor writes fan fiction...and after drinking a six-pack of Mountain Dew and stuffing my food portal with Hot Pockets, so could I.

My suggestion: stolen clocks

The once magnificent buildings and landmarks were laid to ruin by bloodshed, famine, and the savages of genetic mutation caused by the solar flare of 2136. All that was left, were roaming gangs of mutated street thugs clinging on to the once beacon of civilization and moral turpitude that was Chicago. This is what Hannibal had to cross in order to recover the last of the highly sought after Flava Flav clocks that had been stolen and distributed throughout the former United States after the Scientology Uprising of 2117. According to legend, whomever reunited the clocks would return peace to the Kingdom of Zorblath.

After surveying the land one last time, Hannibal activated the Geosynchronous Eatanium Pellets and fired up his rickety old hover sphere. It was a good ship. She had seen him through the food riots in New Pilsen and the Ryborg infestation three months later. Her name, the Lamisil AT, had originally been commissioned by the Denver Mint to combat the cycloptic cave people of Tessian 6. If she could handle an armed horde of Tessians with limited depth perception, she could handle the city of angels…but her success in Chicago was not likely.

Hannibal’s plan was simple. Rocket his way across the city’s south side and land in the culturally deprived area formerly known as Wrigleyville. He figured he could stock up on provisions from a contact he had in the Vablathian Empire, a sinister organization interested in only one thing….being sinister.

His trip into Wrigleyville was fairly uneventful. After locating an abandoned improvisational theater, Hannibal sought the greedy swine known as Grumlot, his contact in the Vablathian Empire. Hopefully Grumlot would be interested in accepting the ligocot addicted cyborg Xeci as payment for the provisions he desparately needed.

Grumlot was a bumbling Vablathian Orc with a penchant for misplaced arrogance. He was tall for an Orc, standing around 3’11” with purple eyes and jaundiced scales. His tentacles were not nimble like the other Orcs and he lumbered due to an old war wound. He was by no means trustworthy; unfortunately Hannibal needed him for more GE Pellets and a new particle cloud-emulsifying unit. His current PCEU had been on the fritz since Xambeion and he couldn’t risk a fusion accelerant destabilization when he faced off against Txazor the chief protector and guardian of the last Flava Flav clock.

Your suggestion: Stan Feldberg, self-proclaimed king of industrial magnet sales