Sad Puppies Bite Back: A Parody
Page 3
Minions of the Puppy Kickers
TOR OFFICES, NEW YORK CITY
[Teresa "Long Knives" Nielsen Hayden lays back in her office chair, tapping away at a laptop, explaining why the Evil League of Evil was just soooo evil, and the Friends of Sweetness and Light were just too good and pure to be considered "Puppy Kickers."] How do you spell insidious?
[The desk next to hers is her husband, Patrick "Hearst" Nielsen Hayden, throwing darts at a board with Larry Correia's photo on it. It is, of course, a palatial space, and he misses most of the time. One dart heads right between Correia's eyes, then stops in mid-air, and then falls, seemingly scared of a photo of the International Lord of Hate.] Blast it. It's spelled with three "i"s.
[TNH nods] Got it. Must be consistent. It's not like there's one word that says "racist bigoted misogynistic homophobe."
[PNH] You mean it isn't "Vox"?
[They both laugh politely.]
[PNH] So, how goes the war on Puppies?
[TNH] I don't know. I'd have to ask. Igor! Igor!
[Moshe Feder limps in. He is cloaked in a thick, black, hooded cloak, so he can avoid sparkling in the daylight.] Yeth, mathster?
[TNH] Are you done spamming Brad's Facebook pages and blog posts?
[MF nods like, well, an eager puppy] Yeth, mathster! Yeth! I've even gone after them for calling us CHORFs!
[TNH] Yes! How dare the puppies make fun of us, even a little.
[PNH] Yes. It's not like we don't have a sense of humor, but still.
[TNH] No dear, don't you remember? We had ours surgically removed some time ago.
[PNH] Oh yes, quite right dear. So sorry.
[MF nods eagerly] I have retaliated by calling them talentless hacks. My mindless followers call them hillbillies, even the ones from New York City!
[TNH smiles] Good. And if you're well-behaved, we'll make certain that you do nothing but edit the big name authors like Sanderson -- the ones who do their own editing. Fail, and you'll only get to play with the mid-listers.
[MF flinches, like a vampire flashed a crucifix] No! Not that! I'll be good, mathster.
[PNH glowers] And if you really screw up, we'll hand you over to Vox Day, just like we're doing with Irene Gallo.
[TNH nods] Yes, how DARE she say that our books are bad!
[PNH] Reprehensible!
[They say as one] DON'T SCREW IT UP!
[MF] I have a minion who will state that women were only allowed on their ballot because the Puppies approved it!
[The Haydens exchange a look. TNH asks] What does that even mean?
[MF] Whatever we say, mathster. No one questions uth.
[TNH] Has anyone mentioned how we've just given a white male like Scalzi a $3.4 million advance on books that may not even break $2 million?
[MF shakes his head vehemently] Of courth not! He'th one of uth! No one talks of it!
[TNH] Good. I would hate it if it looks like we're paying him off for his work on kicking the puppies.
[PNH and TNH share a polite fake laugh]
[MF] And we have David Gerrold chime in every once in a while and scream of Vox Day!
[TNH frowns] One day, we have to get him to speak in whole sentences again. Speaking of, any word from Vox?
[Pat Hayden checks his emails] Awww, he's making fun of us. I just got a press release sent out from his composite steel throne on the Geyser of Faithful Tears.
[TNH pats him on the head] Don't worry. Moshe's a better fan than all of those big bad bullies put together, aren't they?
[MF smiles] Torgersen has given us a great idea! We can twitter bomb JJ Abrams for the racist, sexist, cisnormative Hell-hole that will be Star Wars episode VII.
[PH] Brilliant! Wait, how many ideas do you steal from the puppies?
[MF looks off into the distance, whistling innocently]
[TNH, to Moshe] Igor, make sure that nothing can be traced back to us, will you? We'd rather not the great and powerful owner get wind of it. He may get the wrong idea.
[MF] But I thought we can post what whatever we want, precious.
[TNH arches a brow] Wrong genre, Igor...
[MF] Sorry mathster.
[TNH] Well, *we* can't say anything, but you can. Because you're special canon fodder. By the way, how goes the efforts by our supporters to SWAT the Puppies?
[MF] Well...
SHERRY “Spartan I”ANTONETTI
[SWAT team pulls up to a giant walled fortress. There is a large horse statue that looks like it was built for King Kong next to the gates. They pile out of the van. SWAT leader looks up] Wait, really? Are we kidding, now?
[Beyond the walls, Sherry pours tea for her house guest on the front porch] As I was saying about my story, I thought satire was the way to go. Once there was an animal kingdom. But some animals felt it unfair that they had feathers and not fur, or having not been born with wings, or able to swim. Ultimately, the animals suffered from a two fold break down in their society. Everyone could only understand the commonly shared experience, and so rats could not comprehend the pain felt by monkeys, or the grief fish felt in the presence of an elephant. The inability to credit anyone with empathy, or to acknowledge feeling alone and isolated was universal even if the method of isolation remained singular, meant no one could trust anyone outside of their own clan. Lions became griffins, lizards, dragons, goats, satyrs, horses, hippogriffs, until almost no creatures born as created remained. The new creatures told the old ones how plain, unuseful and weak they were, and frequently showed off their new found capacities to the applause of all those not changed who longed for their approval. And with the event of the brave new world of endless variety, something was lost, the need to excel at anything beyond being different, and the need to cope with anything other than approval.
[The house guest, Declan Finn, nods] Very Garden of Eden-ish
[SA] I was going for an Anti-Narnia feel.
[DF shrugs] It works. I'm going to have to read that ... dang it, there's another one for the book pile. [DF nods at the horse in the distance] What's the deal with that, anyway?
[SA smiles gently] It was a gift. I'm going to wait and see if anyone in there will finally get tired and fall out eventually.
[DF nods sagely] Got it.
[Outside, the SWAT team considers how to breech the King Kong-like gates, when the giant horse starts to shift. Then it rocks. Then it sways. Suddenly, it falls over, burying the SWAT team alive. Out pops David Gerrold and John Scalzi]
[Scalzi grimaces] Another fine mess that Moshe has gotten us into....
Michael Z. “Mad Mike” Williamson
This one is a special request from well, almost everyone else who has read this series before. Here we go.
[The SWAT team leader looks at his men in the van en route] Listen, men, this is one of the Sad Puppies. Many SWAT teams have been disappeared by these people. The ones who went to Hoyt's house and Kratman were never seen or heard from again. We don't know where they're getting these weapons, but we have to be ready for anything. This is Williamson. He is fearsome. He's reportedly caused heads to explode just from reading his Facebook wall.
[The SWAT van stops. The team charges the house. They take up either side of the door.] 3...2...1...
[Sword comes down behind the rear of the SWAT team, cutting the shoulder strap of the submachinegun. He is wearing a James Bond tux, a Dread Pirate Roberts mask, with a Freddy Mercury Mustache. He disarms the SWAT guy, takes the MP5, and fires on semiautomatic, diving and firing at once. Each shot hits a member of the team. Most of the bullets land center-mass in the Kevlar vests. Some bullets hit the SWAT helmets, swiveling them around so they can't see. He herds them with gunfire until they're in front of the door, then the giant net snaps them up, lifting them all into the air.]
[He whips off his mask. It is Michael Z. "Mad Mike" Williamson.] That was easy.
[SWAT #8] Is that Freddy Mercury? I love him!
[SWAT leader] That's the target.
[MZW sighs] Some people
. Kratman was right, you really do need to be trained better.
[MZW cuts them down, takes their weapons, invites them in for coffee. They wander in. It is a workshop of death that makes WMD factories pale in comparison]
[SWAT leader] What the hell?
[MZW] I make this stuff. Where do you think the Sad Puppies get their toys from?
[SWAT #2 points to massive, evil looking gun] Can I borrow that?
[MZW] No. Larry asked for it special. Something about going to World Con.
[SWAT leader] Sorry about all this--
[MZW] Don't worry. I think it was a screw up. Some idiot at Tor libeled me. The Angry Pussies are really freaking quick to pull the trigger on that. I was kind of expecting you people to show up. Freaking Gallo.
[SWAT leader looks at all the weapons, waiting for something to blow up. As MZW serves them coffee, he simply smiles] You never know what might happen. [Deep malevolent laughter. His face goes perfectly straight] Seriously guys, next time, though, no rubber bullets, okay?
PS: Good Night Irene
OUTSIDE TOR OFFICES,
NEW YORK CITY
[Irene "Wino" Gallo grovels at the front door of the Tor building as though it were a real person] LET ME BACK IN! I'M SORRY! I'M SO, SO SORRRRRRYYYYYYY!!!
[Sound of a transporter beam goes off behind her. She looks. There is John C. Wright, living brain in a jar. Wright speaks into a communicator] Thanks for the beam-down Sarah. That helps.
[Addresses Gallo] So, Vox sent me down to have a chat with you.
[Gallo shrieks in horror] NOOOOOO
[Wright's jar swivels back and forth as he looks around for what's so scary] Really, lady? Anyway, Vox decided to offer you a choice, because almost all of you folks want another option.
[Gallo beams, a bit of hope remaining] Yes? Yes?!
[A portal opens up next to Wright's jar. From it emerge the sound of eternal damnation] You can have your choice of an eternity in either flames of the wrathful, or buried face down, up to your ankles, in boiling fecal matter for making others despair, or--
[Gallo jumps into the portal, not even giving a second's thought, or glance over her shoulder]
[Wright] -- or you can play chess with Vox for a day. Dang it! One of these days, they're going to let me finish the sentence!
SWATting the Wrong Puppies
MARGOT ST. AUBIN
Indiana
[SWAT team takes an hour to find the house in the winding, poorly labeled suburb. Upon arrival, they pile out in neat order.]
[SWAT leader] Remember, the 911 caller reports that they're in the Royal Manticorian Navy. It's probably a paramilitary unit.
[SWAT hits the door -- except it wasn't locked, so it swings right open. SWAT swings left into where the living room should be. SWAT #1 slips on a magazine, bounces his helmet off of the coffee table. SWAT #2 stops dead. The living room is a disaster area, with a fine layer of books, magazines, and catalogs covering everything. Swords line the wall like branches on trees. SWAT #2 helps #1 recover, but the movement creates a ripple effect through the detritus, causing some of the swords to fall of the wall, basically jumping out at the SWAT team. There is continued stumbling, fumbling, and crashing throughout the house.]
[Margot St. Aubin comes down, crashing into the SWAT guys on the stairs, sending the SWAT team tumbling down] Oh! Hey! Visitors! Great! Sorry, I was doing live commentary on Facebook. I think Irene Gallo may be back from Hell somehow. Here, take a look at my pretty kukri!
[MSA pulls out a blade that's about two feet long, and looks a little like a boomerang with edges]
[SWAT tries to scramble away. MSA doesn't notice, calls upstairs] Hey HON, wanna show them our gun collection?! Bring down the Mossbergs! Those are real crowd pleasers!
[Matt St. Aubin appears at the top of the stairs, a phone in one hand, Gatorade in the other. He frowns at the SWAT team, sips from his Gatorade, and presses the phone's screen a few times. The SWAT guys get a sudden and urgent call from their home station]
[SWAT #1] The station says they're under attack. Fall back! Fall back!
[SWAT leaves. MSA frowns] Aww. They left. Matt, did you do something?
[Matt sips again. Raises phone]
[MSA] I didn't know there was an app for that.
[Matt] There is now.
X Marks the Spot
Some historical perspective
During the 2015 Puppy fracas, an offer of peace was posted at 2:09 AM on Friday, June 12, by puppy kicker "The Cryptkeeper" David Gerrold.
At 1:09pm THAT SAME DAY, Gerrold hadn't heard from the big dogs of the Puppies, and thus declared “if it's war you want, it's war you'll get.”
Huh. So, neither Brad nor Larry commented on that 2am apology, he had angry people still pissed at being called neo-Nazis, and NOT EVEN 11 HOURS LATER, Gerrold wanted to play This is War! No, seriously, is David brain damaged?
And now, it's time to unleash .... oh, you know by now.
MEANWHILE, AT TOR
[Teresa Nielsen Hayden, Angry Pussy #1, glares over at the drooling, almost senile David "the Cryptkeeper" Gerrold] Did you post the fake apology?"
[DG]: Yes, mistress. Though it HURT.
[TNH]: Don't be bothered by it, lying to the infidels isn't wrong.
[Patrick Nielsen "Hearst" Hayden]: Wait, dear, isn't that what Islamic freedom fighters say?
TNH: Of course. Remember, they're the good guys.
[DG]: But . . . wait . . . they want to stone gays. And I'm gay.
TNH: Gerrold! What did I tell you about thinking too much!? It's their culture!
[DG hangs head] Sorry, mistress. Won't happen again.
[TNH]: It better not. Now, we'll let that apology stand for a few days so they're lulled into a false sense of security. When the crap hits the fan again we -- um, you -- will look like the reasonable one, you tried to be nice and peaceful like, and they'll be the obvious bad guys once more!
[Hayden 1 and 2 share a joyous, non-evil bout of laughter]
[DG]: Um . . .
PNH: What did you do?
TNH: Oh, not again!
[DG]: But . . . but . . . they were all so MEAN! And HATEFUL! I told them to be nice and let us do what we want, but they accused me of being insulting when all I did was tell the truth!
PNH: Oh. Okay then.
TNH: Yes, I thought you'd made a mess on my good rug again.
[DG cringes] Oh, no, mistress! No mess! I used the box, just like you said! I go there every time Brad Torgersen posts, just in case!
[TNH]: Well, this just accelerates the timetable. Just make certain it looks like THEY'RE escalating. Tor management isn't going to look at all the individual comments, so you can say whatever you like in the initial Facebook posts."
[PNH]: Except for the neo-Nazi thing.
[TNH]: Sigh. Yes. Except for the neo-Nazi thing. Damn squeamish management types. Afraid of a little WORD. Seriously, we need to work on equating Hitler with these small-government fanatics.
[PNH]: I bet we can get Ann Leckie to write that into her next Ancillary book. Maybe she can call it Ancillary Progress.
[TNH]: I like that title. Make it happen.
[PNH nods] I'll get Igor to work on it, precious.
[TNH smiles] We'll get them, and their little puppies, too. Thankfully, management might actually be dumb enough to believe that all of the people sending in boycott letters are merely spam bots. Heck, if we keep going like this, we'll say that Vox Day has superpowers.
[DG] He doesn't?
[PNH chuckles, ignores DG] Thank you File 770 -- where the mentally ill in Fandom go to die. We're good as long as they don't use snail mail. Hard to bot that. Thankfully. It's not like anyone is going to leak it.
[TNH frowns] You don't think that anyone in the lower ranks will spill the beans ... do you?
[DG looks at his phone. Presses a few buttons.] There seems to be something on Bayou Renaissance Man. He apparently has someone on the inside.
[Hayden 1 and 2 call up the
website and gape] Oh f*(k. Who is that guy?
[DG reading blog post] Nobody. He never condemned Vox Day. So he's a homophobe.
[TNH] But we never denounced Marion Zimmer Bradley for child molestation. I wonder if that's a double standard ...