Hall of Heads, Pt. 4 - Schermer vs. Plotts.

After so many months, unchallenged, atop the mountain of severed Disembodied Floating Heads of his defeated opponents, Evil Florist  Louis Schirmer may have gotten a little soft, leaving himself vulnerable to attack by a newcomer with something to prove. Can Schirmer hold the DFH throne? Can anyhead throw him down? The Hall of Heads has been very quiet.

What's this? Who is this whelp of a head, defiant in his sparkling bright battle glasses? Rookie DFH contender Ellery L. Plotts, Nationally Known Radio Station Consulting Engineer of the DeForest Training ad! Oh, the gasping!

This fresh new face is young. How young? Fwoossh! He just jumped Schirmer from behind, predating 1953's Dean of Orchids by six years! Plotts' home turf is an ad from 1947. Schirmer didn't see that coming! He needs eyes in the back of himself!

El Plotts has cropped out his neck. That's just good DFH form, people. Rule one of DFH school is NO NECKS!  Snip! The kid's done his homework. But it takes more than good fundamentals to bring down a titan like Schirmer. What else have you got, nerd?

He's got a special attack. That's what. Radial Drybrush Umbra Attack! Shweeeen! Schirmer is an old fashioned evil florist. He's rattled by El Plotts' fancy tricks.

El Plotts has got himself a building in his ad. Zoosh! Up to the top of the tower he goes, like his own little Barad-dûr, from whose vantage he seems to think he can dominate the battle. This new guy has got some slick moves! What's Schirmer to do? Is this the end?

Aah, but Plotts was so busy with his radio wizardry and high energy attacks, he forgot the one thing that really matters. He's kind of smiling. Rule two of DFH club is BE CREEPY. This will cost him.

The Dean of Orchids Louis Schirmer has never forgotten his evil roots, and El Plotts just doesn't understand what he's up against. The tower crumbles! Kabloooo! Plotts is down! It's a pleasure to watch a master at work, people. Hall of Heads, round 4 goes to... Louis Schirmer! Ding! Try not to stare into his eyes. Avert your gaze.

Guapo of no use when the chips were down, in the salsa.

Wretched in defeat, El Plotts is helped out of the ring by his manservant Harold J. "Pico de Guapo" Elliott. Where were you when the tower fell, Elliott? You can only serve one master, and yours is fear. What's that THING hanging off of you? Is that a neck? You sicken me. At least your master fell in neckless honor.