Really Bad Fan Fiction #7: Orphan Black

“Oy,” Sarah cried, “anyone seen my DNA? I know I left it lying around here somewhere. I’m pretty sure it was on a platter. Hey, what about you, monkey? Did you take my DNA?”

“Really, mom?” Kira was sulking on the couch, trying to hide behind a few large pillows. “I HAVE your DNA, at least some of it, but I didn’t TAKE your DNA. Sheesh. I’m so sick of your darn genome.”

“Now, now,” Felix scolded from behind the easel where he was busily painting nude portraits of his sisters, “don’t be a silly ragamuffin. Everybody knows that DNA is something your cells have, and you. are. not. your. cells. Am I right?”

“I lost my cellphone, too,” Sarah shouted from the bathroom, where she was turning out the cabinets looking for anything whatsoever she might have misplaced. Meanwhile, somebody started banging on the big metal door and Felix sighed and glanced over at Kira, fully intending for her to get the hint and go over and pull out the stupid screwdriver, but Kira wasn’t having any of it.

“I don’t wanna,” she pouted.

“Oh, all right,” Felix said. He carried his brush and paints along with him as he sauntered towards the door, ass out of his chaps.

“Who is it?” he called out.

“Bunch of bad guys,” came a gruff voice from the other side. “We’re here to grab the little girl, kick the bratty bitch in the head and stuff some wadded up rags in your own pretty mouth hole.”

“In that case, please go away,” Felix replied with a smile, and with a toss of his head indicated to his sister and niece that they should fly out through the window on a wire, race down the alley where no one was standing lookout, and hop into the BMW waiting at the corner where Art, as timely as ever, was waiting in the driver’s seat.

“Looks like rain,” Art said gruffly. “They won’t be able to follow us now, unless they patched into your nose ring with one of those bluetooth DNA trackers.”

“Blimey,” Sarah slapped herself in the forehead. “That’s where I left it. My DNA was right here on my face the whole time!”

Really Bad Fan Fiction #5: Doctor Who

Despite millions of years of having been everywhere, seen everything, and repeatedly fought ALL THREE kinds of bad guys that have ever existed, the Doctor is still not bored and is ready for yet another new adventure. Today’s Doctor is a cross-dressing Yorbik Tall Sloth and looks dashing in its furry green sludge vest and matching purple pantaloons. The Doctor has infiltrated a garage band intent on ruining the neighbor’s’ peaceful Sunday afternoon leaf-blowing activities. The band is making soothing sounds from axe-handles, whipsaws and pipe bombs. The vocals are provided by a glistening sea nypmh named Marla who whispers rapidly about claustrophobic shipmates and and their all-too-human biscuits. The neighbors are form-free Pescadillions who nevertheless manage to summon their inner demons in the shape of, you guessed it, DALEKS, who come streaming over the backyard fences making shrill beeping noises and blurting out threats involving fruitcakes and chocolate moose. Or mousse. Meese?

The Doctor thrills into action, dropping his banjo and picking up his brand new automatic toothbrush holder which coincidentally vibrates to the lower echelons of cosmic background radiation, instantiating a horde of rather sticky elephant mobiles, enough to temporarily confuse the DALEKS and make them spin around until they fall down and plead for mercy. The elephant mobiles by this time have turned into ice cream statues and are dripping messily all over everyone, including the Doctor’s new companion, a glyph from Leeds called Pancake Marmalade Jones. PMJ has a cellphone which serves no purpose in this episode, but is a flash-forward to some other episode in which something else happens, leading to other and more things to come.

Now there are blinking lights and a bit of fog and the the leaves that the neighbors had been blowing have become twenty-foot high weaponized mannequins with light green eyes reminiscent of a certain super-model-music-legend. These plastical forms are walking around like classic Frankenstein monsters and bumping into one another. Every time a pair collide another black hole rips through a galaxy, and if this continues for another two minutes and forty seconds without commercial break it will mean the death of the universe itself as illegal sub-atomic particles start misbehaving and cleaning out the pantry until there are no honeycombs left. Fortunately the Doctor has not forgotten the two five-syllable words required to immediately return the creatures to their proper forms as dead tree accessories cluttering up the pavement. Those words cannot be repeated because we forgot to turn on the captions and have no idea what the Doctor said. But believe me, it all happened just in the nick of time.

Really Bad Fan Fiction #2: Harry Potter

Harry, Ron and Hermione decided to go to America. They were sick of meat pies and chips and they’d also had enough of the whole wizards versus muggles rigamarole. They wanted to go where everyone had been created equal and endowed by their Creator. The first thing they did after landing at JFK and taking a cab through Queens was to get on a train to see the Real America. They somehow ended up in Racine, Wisconsin and got out to look around. Harry, Ron and Hermione were immediately impressed by the plethora of Dairy Queens and Chick-Fil-A’s available to the common bystander. The flavors, artificial or not, were much to their liking. It seemed like magic. You could order anything you wanted any time you wanted. There were even breakfast sandwiches at midnight.

Harry, Ron and Hermione got a room at a decent Best Western that even had a hot tub. That night while watching the local news they saw a story about a young woman who’d been stopped by the police for a broken tail light and had ended up beaten to death by them because she had been identified as black. Harry, Ron and Hermione didn’t understand. Hermione took it upon herself to look further into the matter, and discovered that even right there where they were, in far Northern America, the city had been deliberately segregated for generations, and quite a number of laws and regulations had their origins in a deep-seated racism.

“Looks like they have their own version of wizards and muggles,” she told the lads, “only here the powers aren’t special, they’re just rigged.” The next day Harry, Ron and Hermione set out to investigate the truth of the matter, each in their own way. When they got back together at an Outback Steak House for lunch, Ron got on Hermione’s last nerve by endlessly repeating “Bernie would have won” in response to everything she said. Hermione considered casting a silencio spell on her chum, but decided instead on a rather more simple “fuck you, Ron”. This curse reminded Harry that they were not too far from Lake Huron and suggested they go on a field trip there. “After all,” he said, “when they say ‘America the Beautiful’, they don’t necessarily mean its historical institutions. It’s the land more than anything else that is truly exceptional.”

 

Really Bad Fan Fiction #1: Spiderman

Peter Parker, the young superhero slash photographer, was out with his camera wandering around the truly shit parts of the city. He visited a homeless encampment under the freeway and, inspired by the works of Dorothea Lange, took a number of heart-rending photos of some unfortunates who live there. They were dizzy from hunger and dirty from outdoor living, and there was nothing that Peter Parker or Spiderman could really do for them. He could shoot webs from his wrists and that would be of no help whatsoever. He could swing from pillar to post all day long beneath that filthy iron superstructure and not one single rag would turn to even a hint of far-off riches. Peter Parker took his camera and his photos back to the Daily Bugle where he showed them to his tyrannical editor, Mr. Jameson. Jameson took a healthy bite out of his cigar and growled, “get the fuck out of my office you little pipsqueak, and don’t ever try to sell me this kind of stupid sentimental sob story ever again. No one really gives a fuck about these homeless people. They are no one’s priority, not now and not ever. Now go out there and find me some awesome shots of Spiderman kicking some bad guy’s ass. That’s what the people want.” Parker left the office feeling low and later confided his feelings to his girlfriend Mary Jane, but she was also kind of grossed out by the pictures. “I don’t even want to know”, she said. Mary Jane was just like everybody else. She was the girl next , and she was you too, and you know it. Peter Parker decided right then and there to renounce violence and crime-fighting forever. If I can’t help people who really need help, he thought, why should I go around supporting the police state, which can and does get along just fine without me? I might as well get a real job.

This and That – a Feed Book

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This is what’s next – my new work, to be serialized only here on Wattpad. It’s an idea I’ve been tossing around for a while and I think it might have some legs. If fictions are reflections of life, then a lot of “the way we live now” is through endless scrolling through a variety of sources – Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, news feeds and so on. As in Julio Cortazar’s book “All Fires the Fire”, in our world it’s “All Apps the App” – they all blend together in the day-to-day experience of them. Along with blogs and postings of our own are mingled the postings and realities of everything we choose (and some we don’t) to let into our senses. This work is an attempt to capture some of that experience. It will also have story, characters, and drama stirred together in the overall pot. It will incorporate some of my ongoing thoughts and personal experiences with cancer and with the world as it is,  along with ideas from my own collection of items in my Flipboard magazine Cashier World, my own feeds feeding into this feed book.

Fragments from books that don’t exist: The Sink at Night

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“But then I’ll have to be who I am,” Deletria said.

“I’d feel sorry for you,” Crimea replied, “if I really did, but I don’t. And I never will,” she added.

“You haven’t been nice to me since Ajax,” Deleteria said, and Crimea nodded.

“It’s true,” she smiled. “It’s been fun. Being nice to you was a thing, but now not so much.”

“I didn’t really like him,” Deletria said, as much to herself as to the former friend with whom she was waiting in line at the donut shop. It had been at least four months since they’d seen each other. The last time had been ugly. Crimea had torn up some papers she’d been working on and blamed it on Deletria, who had only remarked that the drawings looked like the work of a six-year old.

“I didn’t really like you,” Crimea told her. “Remember when you thought we were friends? We weren’t. We never were. I only put up with you because you knew him. Then you had to go and fuck him.”

“I wish,” Deletria said. “Dude couldn’t even get it up. I guess he was thinking about you the whole time.”

“I can help whoever’s next,” the cashier’s voice rang out. Deletria was whoever was next. She was glad to get the last word. She didn’t even hear Crimea’s bitter reply.

Fragments from books that don’t exist: It Logged In

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“A mile is long when home is far away” (Curve – Coming Up Roses)

It was important to stay awake. That much was clear. The other rules were more obscure. Juliet Herrera kept one eye on the clock and another on the classroom door. She kept her third eye to herself. Any moment now the professor would enter, followed by several moments of no one daring even to breathe as she settled into her spot behind the podium and rustled through the stack of papers she always carried around and never actually looked at. Until that moment, she tried to remember to count the inhalations, holds and exhalations that would lead to a greater sense of calm. The truth was that any sense of calm at all would be a greater one. Juliet always expected the worst, and today the worst would be whatever happened next.

Professor Mulcahy was never late, and she was never early either. All the clocks in the school were set to her time. She was the tick and the tock and every student, every administrator, every other teacher, even the cooks and the janitors counted on it. It was not important that she was not exactly alive, at least not according to the Merriam-Webster dictionary definition. The door would open, and the apparition would appear, and the first who made the slightest sound or motion would be the next to  quietly evaporate and join the other Risen in the ether.