Adam Lambert and the Prisoner of Glamkaban

As told by a flagrant ladleful of gravy

Lightning rippled through the night sky, waking the beautiful young man sleeping in his cousin's bed. The sky and yard outside the window, which allowed our young protagonist to see the message that had just been sent to him from the heavens: it was time to awaken and fight crime. "Again, Zeus?" Adam Lambert asked of the brilliant light outside. "I just finished my shift." But the electricity was tenacious; another bolt struck the same place, probably waking up so many others in the suburban neighborhood. It didn't matter, however, as Lambert was only duly aware. When a god calls on a demigod like Adam, it's time to knuckle up and take the streets.

Five minutes after waking up, Lambert was fully dressed, sans one fabulously chic hat. He strolled across his room like a vacuum cleaner in the middle of the night, and reached for the closet door, which was filled entirely with amazing caps and a variety of scarves to fit his mood. He selected a nifty little black peasant hat and briefly considered a silken bandana to tie around his neck, but thought better of it and gently closed the closet doors. Upon doing so, he caught sight of a life-size poster of a late-80's Michael Jackson, whose single gloved hand, wavy hair, thick makeup, and characterized wink were forever immortalized in this photographic representation. Lambert shed a single, silent tear and made an expression as if to convey, "Yes. You have left us, but you'll be back in our hearts. Come back to me, Master Jackson." Then he dramatically turned around and stepped onto a circular rug in the middle of his floor.


Adam's exact weight was registered to open the trap door hidden under the rug, which allowed him quick and efficient access to the streets. He opened his eyes after the air stopped rushing around him to discover that he was now in the middle of night-fallen suburbia, tranquil and resting despite the previous interrupting bolts of lightning. Adam smirked confidently as he used his L.A.M.B.R.T.O., a wrist-bound computer that allowed him to detect evildoers and crime in the process. He jumped into the air to get a better signal, and pinpointed a crime in the act!


He was flying! Or if you prefer, he was falling with style. As Lambert glided through the clouds of the night, he noted tenderly that the city was so peaceful when it was at rest like it was now. A wave of affection rushed through him like an adrenaline rush, and he at once longed for one of his many boy toys for some hand holding action. Oh, but the crime, if he allowed it to continue unimpeded, could shatter that peace like a brick through a window. Gritting his sparklingly perfect teeth, Adam descended on a black limousine, not even denting the thing thanks to his fabulous landing. "Not bad at all, Lambert," he whispered to himself, allowing him this one moment of pride before becoming the crime-fighting, evil-destroying machine that he was.

Quickly, he assessed the situation: there was a hooded man with a gun threatening another young man in an alley across the street. "Gimme yo' money, dawg!" the hooded man, whose voice, Adam noted with a tinge of disgust, was unnaturally deeper and raspy, which was no doubt the result of smoking too much.

"Smoking's bad for your health!" Adam said as he gracefully dismounted the limousine, allowing his hair to beautifully sway in the wind. "Maybe you should quit before it's too late," he added dangerously.

"Man, get outta here, I gotta GUN," the hooded man said, again disgusting Adam with that horrible raspy voice.

"Yes, but what good is your gun against the power of glam?" Adam asked matter-of-factly, winking as he raised a single slender hand into the air and grasped at the moon, which suddenly became full. "By the power of Glamskull…! I HAVE THE POWERRRR!" and a shining bolt of moonlight shone on Adam, clearly indicating that he had been chosen by the gods to stop evils like muggings and the like.

"Man!" the hooded man yelped, and he fired two bullets at Adam. But without even trying, Lambert had turned the bullets into showers of rose petals, which gracefully spun around him. Adam grinned and pulled a bottle of wine, which he opened with a single wink at the cork; the wine poured perfectly into two glasses that appeared before Adam.

"Let's dance," Adam said.

"I can't!" the evil man with the hood said. "I'm… I'm no match…!" And with that, the ground beneath the hooded man opened up and he descended into hell.

"Hmph! I win," Adam said, winking again.

The young man that Adam had just saved gasped and ran to him, embracing him in thanks. "How can I ever thank you…?"

"Hmm," Adam said. "Perhaps a dance…?"