Sad Puppies Bite Back: A Parody

by Declan Finn

  [SWAT #1 shakes his head] Monday.

  [JB shrugs] Huh. Time flies. Anyway, my mage was about to whup that paladin when you guys crashed in--

  [SWAT #2] Sir? The guns?

  [JB] Oh, right. [Calls over shoulder] Honey! You and Mandie playing with the props for another short film?

  [Kitty Krell comes down the stairs in a form fitting green dress that hugs her curves like a Volvo, She is stunning.] No. Trying on the outfit for Godmother. What do you think?

  [SWAT team all develop nosebleeds]

  [JB] Looks great, Kitty. Hey, SWAT guys, you want to come in, play a little D&D?

  [SWAT #3 raises his hand. SWAT#2 slaps it down. SWAT #1 says] Sorry sir, we couldn't possibly impose--

  [JB] You sure? We've got 5th edition rules.

  [SWAT #1 Hesitates, shrugs] Oh, why not?

  [JB grins] Cool. Grab a seat right over there, just clear off the swords and don't trip on any of the guide books.

  Andrew Marston of Marshfield

  AKA: Clamps, AKA Alauda

  AKA Yamamanama

  Yes. Really. Those are only some of his online alias.

  [The house starts to shake. The windows rattle. The lamps topple over. The loud rolling thunder sounds like the end of the world. SWAT breaks down the door. AM is dressed in standard Unibomber chic -- unkempt hair and beard that make him look like an escapee from an insane asylum. He is already face down on the floor, hands held at the small of his back.]

  [AM] Vox Day did this to me! Vox Day SWATted me! He's out to destroy my life! He keeps calling the cops on me because his novels suck! He's stalked my friends! He posted embarrassing videos of my friends to YouTube!

  [SWAT officer #1 zip-ties AM. The other team members sweep the house. SWAT #1 hauls him to his feet] You are under arrest on multiple counts of fraudulent 911 calls. You have the right to remain silent--

  [AM] No! NO! You can't do this to me! Vox is doing this! Vox also planted the mutilated small animals in my back yard!

  [SWAT #2 comes down stairs, holds up cellphone] Found it, Sarge. Under his pillow. I need a shower. He's a bed-wetter.

  [SWAT #1 tightens his grip] Just because it's a burner doesn't mean you can keep using it over and over again.

  [SWAT #2] Especially when John Ringo has fans at the NSA.

  [AM stares a moment, dumbfounded] Vox sent you, didn't he? You're all under Vox's mind control! You're out to get me. You're allll out to get me! I need my tinfoil helmet! Save me! Save me someone!

  [SWAT #2] Who are you yelling for? Not like you have any friends here. Unless you mean the stuffed animals upstairs.

  [AM screams] Don't you touch Bill the buffalo! He's my bestest friend ever!

  [SWAT #1 sighs] Seriously, you have the right to shut the f*** up. Anything you say can and will be used to prove you are an idiot.

  [AM] They're going to feed me to Cthulhu! I don't want my mind eaten by an elder god! HHHEEEELLLLPPPPPPP!!!!

  [SWAT #1] That presumes you have a brain.

  [AM] I've been framed! Framed! I'll kill you all with my mind!

  [SWAT #1] Blanks never hurt anyone.

  [SWAT #2] Did you mention the terrorism charges?

  [SWAT #1] No, I forgot. Australia wants first dibs on you. Something about stalking, threatening, and directing terrorism against one of their citizens, and I don't know about Cthulu, but they did talk about maybe feeding you to crocodiles ...

  [AM thrashes in terror] No! Not the Shadowdancer! Not the Shadowdancer! WWWAAAAHHHHH!!! MOMMY!!!!

  [SWAT #1] Aw, damn. Johnny, this guy pissed himself!

  [SWAT manhandles him outside. There is a TARDIS blue Abrams tank parked in front. His Tankness, Tom Knighton is waiting at the hatch, smiling] Hey, Andrew. I heard they were busting your sorry ass. I volunteered to come down and escort your behind to jail. If you behave, I may not bring out the first poker. No promises.

  [AM passes out. SWAT #1 frowns at him.] Your Tankness, you said you wouldn't mess with him. You were just joking, right?

  [Knighton smiles beatifically] Of course. What sort of person do you think I am?

  Meanwhile, over at Tor

  [Hayden #1 and #2 look at the arrest of AM on the television. They look at Moshe Feder.]

  [Teresa Hayden] Really, Igor? That guy was the best you could come up with? He's crazier than a bag of cats.

  [Patrick nods] Quite, dear.

  [MF shrugs] He'th perfect. No one will ever believe we put him up to it.

  [TH frowns] Do you have anyone else?

  [MF shrugs] I have a backup in a file.

  [MF takes out cellphone, taps out 770-770-0770] Hey, Mike, remember that reader of yours that you sent us? We need another guy .... No, no problem. He worked out fine. He just had to move on ... Yes, unavoidable circumstances.

  For those of you who don't get the joke, Alex Marston is one of Vox Day's stalkers -- AS WELL AS one of Shadowdancer's. He's so utterly insane, the local cops have apparently been sicced on him a few times. Also, he's even visited us.

  So, if anyone sees an Anonymous comment talking about how Vox Day really is going to raise Cthulhu, or taking this WAY too seriously, you know who it is.

  As for “Mike's fans,” it's a reference to where I saw the comments about how these posts are "death threats." I know nothing about the guy who runs the site, but damn, some of his readers in the comments are a little nuts

  Passion of the Puppy Kicker

  Logan County, West Virginia

  [In a Darkened cave in the middle of the backwoods, Logan County, West Virginia, degenerate hillbillies, drug-maddened Saponi and Shawnee shaman, blood-drinking devil dogs, together with an inhuman living fungi from Pluto, all make hideous sacrifices and perform acts of unspeakable abomination to adore their a ninety-one foot tall Vox Day idol made of radioactive black marble. Another cloaked figured enters in a grand gesture. It is Vox Day, the Supreme Dark Lord of Darkness, Manager of the Abyss. There is a virgin tied to the altar that looks a lot like NK Jemisin. Vox is handed the dagger made of obsidian, and heads towards the altar.]

  [Phone rings]

  [Vox Day] Oh, damnit. Sorry guys, got a new text.

  [Vox Day reads text.] Who? [VD dials, wanders off to the side] Yeah? Got the text. Who is this guy? [Pauses, blinks, then scoffs.] That schmuck? Didn't we turn him over to the cops already? He was banned from the internet? ... What do you mean they let the little twerp go? Oh come on, does he have to murder someone before they bust him?

  [VD listens for a moment. His face goes pale with terror] Wait, he did what? To who? Shadowdancer? I knew he was crazy, but is he stupid? Nevermind, I know the answer. Geez, if I knew he had a death wish, I would have obliged him years ago. At least I would have just offed him -- quickly. Maybe fed him to Cthulhu when I was bored. It'd be quicker than what she does to him.

  [VD listens, then laughs evilly] They may not extradite him? You think that'd stop her? Anyway, thanks for the update ... Wait, he's blaming me? I forgot he was still alive. I've got Tor and NK Jemisin to torment.

  [VD looks over to the altar. The virgin sacrifice is gone.] Gotta call you back. [Click] Okay! Who lost the sacrifice? Come on, people, how am I supposed to be even a minor dark overlord if you people keep losing the sacrifices? Sigh ... I need better help.

  Back in Australia

  [Rhys Modena carefully catalogs his equipment against a checklist] Barrel of honey, check. Barrel of fire ants, check. Barrel of funnel spiders, check. Crocs in the back yard for clean up duty, check.

  [Shadowdancer comes up behind him] What's with the torture tools?

  [Rhys] In case we can get a shot at little Clampsy-whampsy.

  [SD nods] How likely is that?

  [Rhys] Aff is working on hacking the DHS database so the transfer order is to our custody. I figure we baste Andy-Wandy's legs in honey, then release the fire ants. After they're done, we hose him down, use the banana spiders, and for an encore, we release the funnel spiders. I'm hoping we can get to him in time, fix hi
m up, start all over again. Sound like a plan?

  [SD shrugs] I was just going to make sure he got a cell covered with my artwork. He hates it so much he may bash his brains out.

  [Rhys frowns] Really? Does he live in bizarro-world or something?

  [SD giggles] I think it's called Earth 770. Hell, you should see some of the crap he calls art. Or the crap he writes. I think brain cells die every time someone tries to read a few words. He hates anything good, he likes anything ugly and terrible.

  [Rhys] In America, I think they call that a hipster.

  [SD] I was hoping that was American slang for shooting from the hip.

  [Rhys shrugs] I could be wrong. [Thinks a moment] I think we can work with the art angle. I'm surprised you didn't want to do more to him.

  [SD shrugs] It was just another terrorist attempt. What was that? Fourth one this year? They're like rats, only easier to get rid of.

  [Rhys shrugs] I guess he should be lucky that the kids weren't home.

  [SD's face goes serious. Eyes start to glow red. Somewhere, the Terminator theme starts to play] Then we wouldn't have enough fire ants. I'd need to use my microplane grater on him. Slowly. We've still got the fire poker, right? We might have to retask it as a suppository.

  In the Tank

  [His Tankness, Tom Knighton, guides his Abrams TARDIS blue tank through the streets of Marshfield. Andrew "Clamps" Marston is in the back, whining like a kicked puppy at the sounds coming through the headphones clamped to his ears]

  [TK looks back at him, frowns] You better not piss in my tank. You do, I really am going to toss you into the time vortex.

  [AM continues to scream, trashing like he was being slowly impaled on a bed of needles.]

  [TK] At the very least, shut up before I gag you.

  [AM continues screaming as though he's being ripped apart]

  [TK] That does it.

  [TK gets up, storms into the back. While the tank is on auto-pilot, runs over Joe Buckley. TK storms forward. AM is trussed up like a Christmas turkey] That'll teach you some. It's not like I'm torturing you with Britney Spears at full volume. It's just Monster Hunter International at moderate volume. Yikes. Stop being such a baby. You think this is bad, just wait until you get put on a plane to Australia.

  [TK frowns] I wonder if they'll let Rhys modify him to be a stupid T-800 ... Nah, he's already been assimilated by the Haydens. And who wants a retarded Terminator?

  [TK looks back at AM] Though that would still be an improvement, I guess.

  [TK sniffs the air] Oh you did not just do that in my tank.

  [Later, in the depths of the M1-A1 Abrams TARDIS, there is a movie theater-like room. Andrew Marston is tied to a chair, with his own underwear jammed in his mouth. From the overhead speakers, the audio book for Larry Correia's Monster Hunters International is playing. On the screen, flashes of Shadowdancer's artwork plays on screen in an endless slide show. Marston's face and eyes are secured as in Clockwork Orange. The chair's seat has been replaced by a bucket, as he continually soils himself]

  [TK, at the controls] That'll teach him to soil himself in my tank.

  A WorldCon Carol

  First Spirit

  [To begin with, Heinlein was dead. As dead as a doornail, but not quite as dead as the neurons in John Scalzi's brain. The two Neilsen-Haydens, Teresa and Patrick, are fast asleep in their beds -- single beds, on opposite sides of the room. The room is filled with a sudden, bright light. In the center of the room is a glowing, translucent figure in a midshipman's uniform.]

  [Ghost]: "I am the ghost of--"

  [TNH:] "Nooooooo! Hsssssss . . ."

  [Ghost]: ". . . What?"

  [PNH]: "She's . . . allergic to . . . you know. That thing some people say in place of 'holiday season.'"

  [Ghost]: "You mean 'Christmas'?"

  [TNH screams. It sounds EXACTLY like a Wilhelm Scream.]

  [Ghost]: "Wow. You're not very original, are you?"

  [PNH] looks like he's about to agree, but then thinks better of it] "Hey, don't talk about my -- oh, wait, sorry, dear. I almost defended you there."

  [TNH]: "That's okay, honey. I know, this Hugo situation is enough to make even the best feminist male start acting like a chauvinist pig."

  [Ghost]: "Well, that's why I'm here."

  [PNH]: "To be a chauvinist pig?"

  [Ghost]: "No, I'm the Ghost of Hugos Past."

  [TNH]: "Nooooooo! That's almost as bad!"

  [PNH]: "I have to agree. That stuff contains Heinlein."

  [TNH]: "Hsssssss . . ."

  [PNH: "Don't worry, dear, it also contains Marion Zimmer Bradley and David Gerrold. So this fellow can't be ALL bad."

  [Ghost]: "Hey, give me a break. I can't be blamed for that one. That's up to the Ghost of Hugos Present. Some years he gets drunk. I think that year he was high."

  [PNH narrows his eyes] So, what do you want?

  [Ghost] I'm one of three spirits that will appear to you tonight. They will be your chances to change your ways, lest you lose the Hugos FOREVER.

  [Both cringe. TNH snarls first] How dare you! We can never lose the Hugos!

  [Ghost smiles] Wanna bet.

  [PNH] Who are you, anyway? [Looks at uniform] Who the hell are you, anyway? Some David Weber fan?

  [Ghost frowns] Listen, buddy. Step one, I don't want to be here either. We were going to send Harlan, but he's still alive. We made him an offer anyway, and he still wouldn't do it. So you got me. As for your vaunted "message fiction of the past" --

  [With a snap of his fingers, the room fills with books. The two are buried alive in books. All of them are hardcover, gold-edged, printed on high-quality paper. Both of them have to scurry under their beds to avoid being crushed.]

  [The Ghost stands in the middle of the room, untouched. His voice carries to them despite all of the books in the way] This is your "message fiction." The patriotism of Frederic Brown! The innovation of Bester! The faith of Walter Miller! The anti-communism of Vonnegut! The scope of Clarke! The surrealism of Dick! The wonder of Dune! The overpowering imagination of Niven!

  [TNH screams again] Make it stop! Make it sttoooopppp! Too much unapproved literature! Too much fun, profitable books! I need a safe zone! I need a John Scalzi novel!

  [Ghost] And, of course, there's me! I would have brought my powered armor, but it wouldn't fit in the room.

  [The beds break under the pressure of the books. They are slowly smothered. The Ghost laughs] And that's for destroying Starship Troopers!

  BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAH

  [The books and the ghost of Robert Heinlein disappear. The beds are perfectly fine. They crawl out from beneath them and look around. It looks as though nothing had happened.]

  [TNH] Just a dream.

  [PNH] Yes, dear.

  [TNH] Nothing happened.

  [PNH] Yes, dear.

  [TNH] Absolutely not a problem.

  [PNH] Yes, dear.

  [TNH] We should go back to bed.

  [PNH] Of course, dear.

  [PNH and TNH crawl back into bed. They book look around, then each of them turns on their book lights on their nightstands. They flash each other nervous smiles, then tuck in]

  Second Spirit

  [An hour later, the room is once again filled with a bright light. The two are blasted out of bed. Standing the middle of the room is Joss Whedon. TNH throws the lamp at him. It goes through him and crashes against the wall.]

  [Joss looks over at the pieces on the floor] They laid money that you'd do that. Now I need to give them a percentage point of my Marvel earnings. You know how much that is? I could make a hundred years of Firefly off of that.

  [TNH blinks] Joss Whedon?

  [JW] No, it's the other balding redheaded writer who gets canceled by Fox on a regular basis. Tonight, I'm the ghost of Hugos present.

  [PNH] What? No! You can't be.

  [JW sighs] They were going to get Torgerson to do this, he's nicer than I am, but then he was called into active service. Again.
/>   [TNH scoffs] Ha! He was too cowardly to face us, was he?

  [PNH] Hid in the military, huh? Heh.

  [Joss looks back and forth between them.] Yes. Of course. Because fighting ISIS is nowhere near as scary as you two losers.