Wonder Witch 1 – (A Saturday Morning Kid’s Show)

“This is unit 21 requesting assistance. There’s a possible 411 in progress at the First National bank on Main Stree-arggh!”.

With the force of a car crash, a sudden, pulverising blow from a gigantic metal fist smashed down upon the patrol car parked outside the large brownstone bank, immediately knocking unconscious and silencing the two uniformed police officers within.

“Meddlesome men in blue. I’ve had enough out of you!”, said “The Wizard”, handling the controls of his enormous, tungsten plated robotic slave, “No one shall stand between I and the fortune in dazzling diamonds contained in that bank vault”.

“Timothy?”, called the Wizard’s mother from down stairs, “Your dinner is ready!”.

“Gadzooks!”, griped the Wizard, angrily as he sat in front of the video screen in his bedroom, “How can one be a child criminal genius if one’s own mother keeps interrupting one for such trivial matters!”

Looking through the eyes of his giant, automated bank robber, he saw the frenzy of frightened and screaming customers and bank employees as his towering robot crashed its way in through the entrance to the bank and, with one wrecking-ball blow, shattered through the barrier between customer and teller, heading straight for the banks large, steel bank vault.

Then, using the extraordinary X-ray vision that he had developed for his incredible machine, Timothy Tindle, age 13, I.Q. 1001, peered inside the bank vault, locating the safe-deposit box containing twenty rare, pink Indonesian diamonds then, using a high powered laser cutting device mounted upon the metal behemoths right arm, he melted a large round hole in the 18 inch thick steel door and, reaching into the safe with one of his robots long telescopic and tentacle like metal limbs, he ripped the door off of the safe deposit box and grabbed up the smaller metal box inside which held the diamonds.

“Hey you! You big tin bank-robbing thing you!”, said a female voice from behind the hulking, mechanical giant, “You better put back what you’ve stolen, right now or face the consequences”.

The domed head of the gargantuan robot bank robber and its single, spherical camera like eye rotated 180 degrees to face the direction that the voice had come from and, through the video screen in his bedroom, Timothy Tindle saw the familiar pretty face; tall, pointy pink hat; domino mask and star-spangled, skin tight costume of that famous, crime fighting sorceress “Wonder Witch”.

“That’s right”, said Wonder Witch, prodding the metal giant in his steel girder like ribs with her magical ‘broom of justice’, “I’m talking to you!”.

“So”, said the Wizard, grinning gleefully and snatching up the spandex suited sorceress in his robot slaves enormous left claw. “Not only will I have diamonds but also the beautiful Wonder Witch, long a lovely pin-up on my bedroom wall, as my prisoner”.

“Hmm? Do giant robots have bedroom walls or even bedrooms?”, wondered Wonder Witch, reaching under her pointy hat and scratching her head then, using her miraculous super-psychic gifts
to penetrate the thick steel outer shell of the robots huge dome shaped cranium, she searched it for signs of a human mind or heart ; perhaps someone inside driving the thing like a JCB? But, no, it was all wires and solenoids and soulless computer bits and then she heard a voice calling from deep in the mists of her mind.

“Timothy Tindle! I will not tell you again. Stop playing on that silly computer of yours and come down for dinner”, it said.

“Gah!”, said another voice,angrily, “Just a few more minutes, mother. I am in the middle of something truly historic!”.

“Hmm?”, thought Wonder Witch, “Methinks this robo-robber is being controlled remotely by someone. Someone called…what was that name again? Timothy Tindle!”.

But, at that moment, Wonder Witch had far more pressing problems, like the giant robotic claw pressing tightly around her waist.

Fortunately, Wonder Witch always carried a magic potion for every occasion and, squeezing a pink gloved hand under the metal claw she managed to snatch a small vial full of a strange, bubbling purple liquid from out of her magic-potion utility belt and, uncorking it with her other hand, knocked back its magical contents, gulping it down and then, to the amazement of young Timothy, his beautiful captive suddenly transformed into a tiny, buzzing, pink bee in a tiny pink pointy hat, a bee far too small for the robot claw to hold and too fast for The Wizard’s lumbering mechanoid to swat.

“Bzzz”, said the buzzing, bee-like Wonder Witch, landing upon her broom, “Let’s go broom. It’s about time I paid Mr Timothy Tindle a flying visit”.

“Gah!”, said the Wizard, scowling as he saw Wonder Witch escaping on his video screen, “That worrisome witch has escaped my robot robbers clutches!”.

But, suddenly, there was a loud knock at Timothy’s bedroom door, “Timothy!”, said his mother’s voice, sounding grumpy, “Since you wouldn’t come down for dinner. I’ve brought it up to you”.

“Hmm?”, thought Timothy, his stomach starting to rumble, “I am feeling a little peckish”.

The Wizard got up and opened his door, “What’s for dinner mother?”, he asked, sniffing the air.

“Only a knuckle sandwich for you, you little creep!”, said Wonder Witch, socking Timothy hard on the nose so that the teenage criminal mastermind fell flat-out, backwards onto his bedroom floor.

“Good heavens! Wonder Witch?!”, said Timothy’s real mother, rushing upstairs when she heard
her son fall, “Whatever are you doing in my house?”.

“Hopefully, putting an end to your son’s bank robbing career, Mrs Tindle. Your Timothy just tried to rob the First National bank with a giant, remote controlled robot”, said Wonder Witch, standing super-heroically with her feet apart and her hands upon her hips.

“Oh my! Timothy!”, said Mrs Tindle, covering her mouth as she gasped in shock at her son’s villainy.

“Your son seems very smart, Mrs Tindle”, said Wonder Witch, “But he’s got a lot to learn about right and wrong”.

Then, binding the Wizard with a magical spell of ‘Fastening’, Wonder Witch took the junior mastercrook by broom to the local police station where the donut munching desk sergeant in the lobby was more than happy to take him into custody then, waving goodbye, she flew back to her high-rise, luxury apartment on the upper East side of the city and changed back into the dowdy, spinsterish attire and horn-rimmed glasses of her secret alias Professor of alternative religion, Dr Marjorie Morris and, slumping down onto her sofa, exhausted , welcomed her black cat Zoe as it leapt up onto her lap but not the can of cat food it was holding in its mouth.

“You’ll have to learn how to use a can opener, Zoe”, she said, chuckling, “I’ve had enough of dealing with tin cans for one day”.