Sad Puppies Bite Back: A Parody

by Declan Finn

  [Insert images from any Game of Thrones wedding here]

  The Puppies of WorldCon

  William " The Morrigan" Lehman

  [Lone SWAT guy comes to submarine held in drydock (literally. On stilts, on dry land). SWAT guy knocks on the hull. From the conn tower pops The Morrigan, William Lehman, looking more like a pirate than Johnny Depp ever will, parrot on one shoulder, cutlass in hand] Avast! Who goes there?

  [SWAT guy] Hey, Will, it's James. How're you doing?

  [WL] Ahoy matey! What can I do for ye?

  ["James"] 911 called us, they got a report of you threatening someone with a gun?

  [WL] Nonsense! All me muskets are locked up tight.

  [James nods] That's what we figured. We knew something was off when they called your place a house. You hosted too many shindigs back when you worked with us on the force. See ya around.

  [WL] By the way, matey, what day is it?

  [James mentions date] Avast! I must be off!

  No, that's not the end of the story. Wait for it.

  James "Shrapnel" Schardt

  James was also going to be a bit player below.

  But, he also asked for this.

  [SWAT team approaches house with no problem at all. They take up positions on either side of the door. The battering ram is about to take the door when cute little kitten brushes up against SWAT guy's leg. SWAT guy nudges it away. Door opens. SWAT is buried in cats. Schardt runs out of the house for car, wearing a Wendell's Roughnecks t-shirt. He stops, notices the SWAT guys buried in felines] Oh, hey, everybody. Anyone want a cat? I have too many of them. Feel free to take a few, I'll do a headcount when I return from Spokane. Ciao!

  [Schardt gets in car, and drives to airport]

  Wait for it...

  Kate Paulk, The Impaler

  In my defense, this was Tom Knighton's idea

  [In the backwoods of Pennsylvania, a SWAT team weaves in an out through another part of the forest. They come to the door of the house. Sign on the door says "Gone to WorldCon." SWAT team turns around. The "forest" they moves through was an entire front lawn filled with poles with tips sharpened for impaling people. The tips of all of them are black with what appears to be dried blood. Sign next to them reads: "For SJWs who piss me off." SWAT team leaves at doubletime.]

  Before anyone tells me that Madam Paulk doesn't live in the backwoods, I should noted two things. One, I'm a New Yorker so San Francisco feels like the backwoods. Two, I've been to Pennsylvania, it all feels like backwoods. Especially Philadelphia.

  KATE "THE IMPALER" PAULK

  ROUND TWO

  [SWAT Captain arrives at the scene of the SWAT call. There are no impaling stakes, just a house. He has the SWAT van pull up to the house. He comes out in his dress uniform, the rest of the SWAT team piles out in full armor. The SWAT leader sighs] A field of stakes, huh? Give me a break.

  [SWAT leader goes up to door. Knocks. It opens to The Impaler, Kate Paulk. She is of sturdy build, round face, brunette. She smiled, and said with a light Australian accent] Hello, can I help you?

  [SWAT leader] Ma'am, my men were here the other day, telling me about a field of impaling stakes, dried with blood?

  [KP laughs] Oh, those. They were nothing. I got them used off of eBay -- hence the blood. I returned them. I mean, who sharpens them? Ideally stakes aren't sharp. They're well-rounded and greased / oiled to make the experience last longer.

  [SWAT leader nods slowly, and says with forced casualness] Oh, really?

  [KP nods pleasantly] The main reason I don't impale people is that it's so hard to get the blood and stuff out of the carpet, you know?

  [SWAT leader looks over her shoulder] To address the phone call we got, there is no one around here waving a weapon around?

  [KP laughs] Not for days. My husband isn't here right now, and sword sparring is on Fridays. And, damn it, the Evil Lord of Evil keeps luring my minions away, so I'm left with the cats. Okay, they're dangerous enough, but still, stupid Vox...

  [SWAT leader] So, the short version is that you don't have any weapons around here aside from swords?

  [KP smiles] Didn't say that.

  [KP points to a button inside the door frame. It is a great big threatening button that must never ever ever be pushed -- it says that on the label underneath the button] In case of emergencies. It's amazing what you can do when you used to be a software tester.

  [SWAT leader] So, not for us, then?

  [KP blinks. Her speech is a little slurred now, almost like she's drunk] Nope. Not at all.

  [SWAT leader] Are you okay?

  [KP] I'm narco...leptic. This happens.

  [SWAT leader] Maybe we should

  [KP falls forward against the inside of the door frame, squashing big red threatening button]

  [SWAT leader] Oh darn.

  [Hilarity ensues. As do screaming. Running. Explosions. And flying Impaling stakes.]

  Almost there…

  John C. Wright

  "The Brain"

  [SWAT kicks door in, swarms house. In the front den is John C. Wright, the living brain in a jar, pounding out a novel using telekinesis.]

  [JCW keeps typing] Can I help you gentlemen? You could have knocked you know, it would have been possible that I would have even invited you in and explained the situation; though I had expected it much much sooner than this.

  [SWAT team looks confused. SWAT #1 looks at JCW.] We had reports of --

  [JCW] --a deranged man waving a gun around, I know; I had figured; after all, it was inevitable, giving the current climate in which we reside. After the first few threats to my livelihood, I've managed to become accustomed to this level of stupidity and hostility that has been thrust upon me by the reprobates at Tor Books and the Morlocks who follow them. We will not even discuss the loathsome comments of one Irene Gallo. Just because I dared to be unapologetically Catholic; I'm becoming tired of this general destructive nature of the luecrottas. Somehow, I am a racist, though Catholicism is not a racial characteristic but a spiritual one, and sainthood is not an inherited characteristic.

  [SWAT #1] Well, um, sir --?

  [JCW] Yes, I'm a sir. I may be a brain, but I'm not gender-neutral.

  [SWAT #1] We should probably leave now. Obviously, someone made a mistake.

  [JCW] By all means, leave. But there was no mistake. After all, look up the imbecility of the situation online, you'll learn that this was quite deliberate. Just ignore anything that attaches me to GamerGate -- the only gamer who has read my work is one Daddy Warpig. Were I a pagan, I'm certain that I would erect a suitable shrine to Daddy Warpig, a stepped pyramid rising from the steaming jungles of Mexico, adorned with larger-than-life marble statues of raging boars coated with hammered gold, on which to sacrifice captive foes, and offer their still beating hearts to his glory! AH hahahahahahaha!

  [SWAT team looks decidedly uncomfortable.]

  [JCW] Of course, I'm joking. It is almost depressing that I am required to say that to be understood.

  [SWAT] Goodbye, sir.

  [JCW] Good day, all.

  [JCW continues to pound out his novel, starring Vatican ninjas, Aslan in powered armor, fighting Kaiju demons]

  Penny “Kitteh Dragon” Redford

  [SWAT opens door. It was unlocked. They charge in. SWAT leader accidentally kicks a small cat. Cat seems to be completely unharmed as it lands on its feet with a heavy thud, as though it was a heavier animal. SWAT sweeps and clears the home. They regroup in the living room.]

  [SWAT #1] Did dispatch give us the wrong address?

  [SWAT #2] I don't think so.

  [SWAT #1 squints at a sign on the wall] What's that? "Don't feed the kitty-dragon"? What the hell is a that? Sounds like something a kid would make up.

  [Cat pads its way to center of room, and opens its mouth wide, as though it's yawning, and then breathes fire, singing the nearest SWAT members.]

  [SWAT #1] RUN!!!!

  Jonathan "Gunny Mormon" LaForce

  Logan, Uta
h

  [SWAT trots up walkway, stops dead at the door. They are hit with the smell of barbecue. SWAT #1 looks over at the other team members, thinks it over, waves everyone to lower their muzzles. SWAT #1 knocks on the door.]

  [Jonathan "Gunny Mormon" LaForce answers, decked out in his tactical apron] Can I help you guys?

  [SWAT #1] We had a report of a guy waving a gun around?

  [JL rolls his eyes] I've been cooking all day. Gotta get the snack bar up and running. As for my gun ... [JL turns to one side, showing the cops his gun, securely on his hip, the holster strap still over it] Now, if you guys are done, I have to get back to my business. Ribs need cooking.

  [SWAT #1 frowns] Mind if we join you for lunch? We were about to call in before we were told to roll out.

  [JL chuckles] I guess. You know, I'm the son of an LAPD officer. The guy who walked me through my enlistment process was a former marine turned SWAT officer.

  [Female voice from inside.] Honey, are you done yet? These canning jars won't fill themselves!

  [JL smiles, the chuckle turns slightly evil] As for lunch, sure fellas, come on in.

  [SWAT steps inside, making sure to wipe their feet. A blonde woman steps out of the kitchen and gives a broad grin to her guests.] Oh, Jonathan! You brought help. Everyone, into the kitchen! We have a hundred jars to fill before the ribs!

  [SWAT looks at each other like they were suckered. They take a deep breath, smell the ribs, and they all trudge into the kitchen, willing to work for their lunch]

  [JL chuckles] If this is what it's like, I should get SWATted more often.

  Why did I do this one? Because ribs.

  Meanwhile, over in Iraq.

  Terrorist: RUN! It is the Sad Puppy Brad! He will kill us all with his flamethrower!

  Brad: Aww. But I left the flamethrower at home, it was a loaner. Come on! It's not like Scalzi sent you guys email about me! ....Did he?

  [Tank rolls in behind Brad. Hatch opens. His Tankness, Tom Knighton sticks his head out] Hey Brad, you free for a few days?

  [Brad frowns at the retreating enemy] I am now. Why?

  [Knighton] Great. We're off to see the Hugos. Maybe that'll make the Puppy Kickers shut up about running away to fight ISIS?

  [Brad blinks] Wait, run away?

  [Knighton] Yup. They've been saying that you'd rather fight ISIS than the "awesome might" of the Puppy Kickers.

  [Brad frowns thoughtfully] Give me a moment, I should leave my CO a note.

  [Knighton smiles] Don't worry, Kratman already wrote him one. By the way, I brought Larry's flamethrower if you want.

  [Brad claps his hands] Yay!

  WORLDCON, SPOKANE WASHINGTON

  [WorldCon is practically empty, for a Con. A borderline ghost town of two thousand people. If DragonCon is New York City, WorldCon is Detroit. Suddenly, the ground shakes. The front windows rattle. It feels like an earthquake! Then, the squeal of brakes as a tank rumbles to a stop outside.]

  [Tom "His Tankness" Knighton pops out of the Abrams] We're here everybody!

  [The International Lord Of Hate himself, Larry Correia, pulls himself out. He is bristling with guns -- handguns in hip, thigh, ankle, and shoulder holsters, a bazooka and two automatic rifles on his back, and a LMG cradled in his hand like a baby. His MOLLE vest is covered with ammo. He looks like a heavily-armed mountain] Thanks for the lift, Tom.

  [Sarah Hoyt, the Beautiful Yet Evil Space Princess beams herself onto the sidewalk from inside the tank. She is dressed like Erin Gray from Buck Rodgers, wrapped in tin foil, with a bubble helmet] I'm just glad that there wasn't another stop for gas.

  [Knighton shrugs] Sorry. Cruddy mileage. Could have been worse --

  [A belch of flame comes out of the top of the tank, Brad Torgersen, the Warm and Cuddly Skeletor bounds out like a kid with a toy] Whhhheeeee!!!

  [Knighton sighs] --we could have left the flamethrower with Brad on the way here.

  [Brad sprays the air with the flamethrower for a bit, then stops, and notices that everyone is looking at him. Like a kid with a cookie jar, he puts the flame on "cigarette lighter" and lowers it] Sorry.

  [Sarah pats him on the head] It's okay.

  [Knighton looks around] Where is everyone, anyway? The Hugos are supposed to be this big thing, and I've seen Ohio Comic Con more crowded.

  [Larry shrugs, and his arsenal moves with him] Our people haven't shown up yet. Don't worry about it. But that's been part of the problem of the Hugos for years, and why the Hugos only represent this incredible small, incredibly cliquish circle of fans.

  [A Black Knight appears before them, strangely barefoot, stating in an incredibly snotty voice] No! None -- of you -- shall pass! The Hugos represent allll of Science Fiction!

  [Larry sighs] Hi, John. Everyone, you remember John Scalzi. Knew I shouldn't have let him out of the window seat.

  [Sarah rolls her eyes] Doesn't he get enough of a beating every time you two go a few rounds on Twitter?

  [The Barefoot Scalzi roars] No! He never addresses any of my points! He started Sad Puppies because he just wants a Hugo! Admit it, Correia! Admit it!

  [Brad] But he turned down his nomination this year.

  [Scalzi] Oh, shut up Brad!

  [Brad pouts and hugs his flamethrower like a teddy bear]

  [Sarah nods, nearly dropping her fishbowl helmet] Hey, stop picking on Brad! And hell, you couldn't even get on the ballot!

  [Scalzi] That doesn't even touch on the issue!

  [Knighton] It blows you out of the water. You have no leg to stand on. Now stand aside!

  [Scalzi] You didn't even touch me!

  [Sarah rolls her eyes] Your argument is in pieces on the floor.

  [Scalzi] It was just a scratch! I've had worse! Come on, ya pansy!

  [FFFFWWWWWEEEE WHAP! Scalzi is suddenly covered in a half ton of carp. Larry, Brad, Sarah and Knighton turn to see the Grand Strategikon himself, Tom Kratman, in his full Patton-regalia] Princess Sarah! Your Carp Trebuchet Of Doom is perfectly accurate!

  [Sarah laughs] Isn't it though? I had to sacrifice a few Mings worth of planets to get it just right.

  [Kratman slaps Larry on a patch of skin not covered by guns or ammo] Larry, you magnificent bastard! What are we all waiting around here for! Let's go in!

  [Larry] We're waiting on a few more people.

  [Van comes to a screeching halt. John "Dr. O. No" Ringo emerges, wearing his kilt and button down shirt. After him comes Miriam, Queen of All Things Goth. His two kids spring out, wearing full BDFs, carrying enough weapons to make Larry happy]

  [Ringo mutters] Why did I have to come to WorldCon? I have DragonCon in a week!

  [Miriam] Hush dear, it'll be over shortly.

  [Ringo] At least it's night. Cursed daystar.

  [Sarah] Hey John! Miriam! Write any good books lately?

  [Ringo shrugs] I haven't felt like it. Why are we all here? These guys stiffed Jim Baen by never once giving him a Hugo, so they don't get my vote.

  [Brad] I thought a united front would be good for us.

  [Knighton] And I needed to take my tank out for a spin rather than just commuting.

  [Kratman] This is outstanding!

  [Ringo] Yeah, yeah.

  [Miriam hands him a coffee. He downs it like a shot of vodka. Ringo blinks, looks around, whips out his laptop, and starts writing his next book]

  [Kratman] We waiting on anyone else?

  [Sarah beams, radiant] Who do you think we're waiting for? We only need one more.

  Halt!

  [David Gerrold, the Cryptkeeper, lurches up to them] All of you stay out! This, the Hugos, the precious, they belong to the people of WorldCon! Not outsiders!

  [Larry rolls his eyes] That's what I said before this started. [Points to pile of carp] Tell that to him.

  [Gerrold roars] Racists!

  [Larry frowns] I'm Portuguese.

  [Sarah] Ditto.

  [Gerrold] Misogynists!

  [Sarah stamps her foot] Hello? Woman! Otherwise, I'm a guy
with a great rack!