Meet the Stars: Hugo The He-Flea

With his massive thorax and legs as thick as matchsticks, Hugo cuts an impressive figure with many a lady flea swooning full away as he strides past them on his way to lift a pebble or bite through an ant. Men want to be him, women want to be with him. And the men who want to be him also want to the women who want to be with him to be with them when they are him. Oh yes, Hugo is one whole hunk of He-Flea and no mistake!

But it wasn’t always so.

Many moons ago, when Hugo Siciliano(1) first emerged from his egg he was a scrawny 97 milligram weakling. Girls laughed. Boys bullied. His parents despaired. But his dear mother did not give up on him. She fed him a daily diet of blood she gathered from only the fattest of pampered moggies to build up his body. His father developed a series of exercises for him to do and built him some equipment until a new improved Hugo emerged from the gym.

All the hard work not only crafted Hugo’s body into a work of living art, but also honed his mind to a sharply focused point enabling him to rise above the flotsam and jetsam of the average flea populace.

He climbed every mountain. He forded every stream. He followed every byway and even searched high and low. All of this he did in the nude because he considered it to be character building. He dined only on the blood of British Bulldogs and the finest of iron filings. He began to travel extensively seeking out greater and greater challenges with which to test his metal. He bested the Great Sansara Sasquatch. He defeated the terrible Jageroth Jaberwocky. He even trumped the Evil Nipple Beast of Ursula! But it was on his way to sort out the fabled Blingapotomus that fate took a fateful turn. It started with a grid quake trapping one Professor Antfarmoffski and ended with the rest, dear reader, being history…

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(1) His father was an Italian docker who followed his fortune on a tramp steamer to New York where he met a beautiful young French exchange student flea who was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar. The rest, dear reader, I will leave to your sordid imaginations…