A Five Fosters Experiment
(An experiment in Anime Revenge Fics)
by Uncle Fester
<Anime character revenge fics. Hah!> Greg thought as he reached
for his fifth can of Fosters. <As if they'd dare.>
Greg tended to drink Australian beer whenever he got depressed.
Sometimes it took only one or two single liter cans to drive the
depression from him. For some reason, tonight, after four cans, he
was still depressed. He was feeling no pain, to be sure, but his
depression was still present. He caressed the fifth can; uncharted
territory. Usually by now, he was either too mellow to go for five or
straight passed out, making a fifth can impossible. In any case,
something unpredictable was sure to happen.
<Anime character revenge fics. Those fools. Letting all those
stupid Ranma, BGC, and other loonies get the drop on them.> Greg
snorted again as he opened the can.
[Cue Echo Chamber reverb and ILM special effects]
I AM THE VERY LIFE FORCE THESE ANIME FOOLS FEAR MOST!
"That's only because they've read your stories."
"Who said that?" Greg looked around startled. A female figure
slowly took shape over by the door. Recognition washed over the
inebriated would-be writer. "Trish?"
Bapbapbapslamcrashkneeinthegroingarlicpressattack-Bappitybapbapbap
rustyrazerbladeslicestompsmackslambamthankyoumam-Bapitybappitybapbapbap!!!
"Ohaiyo, Kun-chan. Long time, no see."
Bapbapbapsmashcrashwhapwhappow!
"Weinberg, get outta here! I *know* there's no "i" in Ohayo.
I'm just pulling Kun-chan's chain."
For several seconds Greg and Kun-chan glared at each other.
"How'd you get here?" Greg asked through clenched teeth.
"I was in the fifth can."
"You came all the way from Australia in a one litre can of
Fosters?" Greg looked incredulously in the can. "Geez, and I thought
Americans only feared the occasional dead mouse in their cans of beer.
And to think, you Aussies pack babes in the big cans." Greg's nose
was pressed against the can's opening; maybe Lucy Lawless was still
inside.
Bapbapbapwhackmashhithurtookeekoorpahahprojectakoattack
dragon'sbreath(toomuchgarlicfordinner)bappitybapbapbap!
"Greg, dear. Are you talking to someone in there?" came his
wife's voice from the other side of the door. "My guests are becoming
concerned."
Her 'guests' were the local chapter of 'The Daughters of The
Oglala Sioux Nation'. Greg had a living room full of Indians who were
discussing past ethnic injustices and growing more hostile by the
minute.
"Just getting in touch with my feminine side, dear" Greg chirped.
"Yeah and drunk on your ass again," she muttered as she went back
to her meeting.
Kun-chan, taking offence at the 'getting in touch with my
feminine side' remark, launched another Bap' attack.
Greg whimpered as he curled up into a ball on his chair; the
blows being successfully resisted by his powerful forearms. For some
reason, the attack suddenly ceased.
"All for one and one for all."
Greg peeked out from under his protecting arms to see three male
figures dressed in musketeer outfits and holding their swords aloft.
The Australian Lemon Goddess was nowhere to be seen.
"Sound off fellow writers."
"Biles!"
"Butler!"
"Lawson!"
"Aw geez." Greg's head hit the desk.
"Hey! Wait a minute." Butler said. "This isn't Kun-chan's
place."
"I know, but she left me an e-mail saying she was coming here."
Biles said with a regal air. "Lord only knows why."
Greg grabbed his fifth Fosters and started to take a drink. He
felt sure this was all an illusion and one more drink was just what he
needed to clear things. Unfortunately, the can was empty; well, not
totally empty.
"Not only is Kun-chan gone, but she took the rest of my beer as
well." Greg shook the supposedly empty can before noting: "And left
me with a dead mouse."
"Get a life, Fester."
"Actually, a life could mean many things, Biles." Butler began.
"As an existential existence one could ponder the meaning to the
various ethereal realms and how they relate to our existence as we
know it."
"I disagree." Biles retorted. "To examine the cross-dimensional
meanings of life one would have to have access to cross-dimensional
functionalities, in a truly esoteric sense, of course."
"I feel your pain, Greg." Lawson noted while rubbing his hands
together.
"Ah, but is pain a true emotion on the ethereal plane?"
"Not necessarily. I believe Palmer said it best in... 'Autumn',
I believe it was,..."
"OUT! OUT!! OUT!!!" Greg yelled as he herded them towards the
door. Opening it abruptly, he shoved the three 'egg heads' out and
slammed it shut.
Lawson reopened the door slightly and asked: "By the way, are you
going to Atlanta?"
"OUT!!!"
"Sheesh. No wonder you don't have any friends."
Greg slumped back to his chair, totally ignoring the fact he just
tossed three pseudo-intellectuals, dressed in blue coats, into a
meeting of a dozen native americans who were just getting to the part
about 'Wounded Knee'. The sounds of musketeers being ripped to shreds
by whooping female Sioux Indians echoed through the neighborhood.
Greg's neighbors, used to this kind of disturbance, simply slammed
shut their windows and pretended it wasn't happening.
Greg started to type his 'revenge fic' again when another female
voice interrupted him.
"I want a rewrite."
<Oh god! I know that voice.> Greg turned slowly to face...Nabiki
Tendo, her arms crossed and a look of destain on her face.
"Rewrite!?! What, the hell, are you talking about?"
"Part 4 of my series."
"Part 4?!? I haven't finished part 3 yet."
"I've seen the outline, wyrm."
"Hey! Leave him out of this."
"Who?"
"Never mind...what outline?"
"The one on your floppy."
Greg looked down at his zipper.
"The 3.5 floppy disk you keep carefully hidden away in that disk
caddie of yours, you moron!"
"Oh, that floppy." Greg sounded genuinely relieved. "What about
it?"
"I'm *NOT* going to be pregnant!" Her look was more lethal than
even Greg's wife was capable of. Come to think of it, it was very
similar to the one his wife gave him upon finding out the first time
*she* was pregnant.
"Look, you gotta be pregnant in the next part." Greg tried to
reason with the Anime character. "It'll be funny."
"FOR WHO?!? You don't have to go through the weight gain, the
morning sickness, the bloating, the yucky feeling." She lowered her
voice and growled: "I *hate* feeling yucky."
"It's only a story." Greg protested but felt sure it wasn't
working.
Nabiki's eyes narrowed and she got 'the look' again.
"I know where you do your banking." she noted.
"Big deal. There's no money there anyway. I just use it to
confuse the bill collectors."
"All right, I know where your investments are."
"Hah! Amalgamated Prune Pits went belly up five years ago.
You'll have to do better than that."
Nabiki smiled. As Greg had noted in Part 1, on any other woman,
Greg would have been running for his life. Actually, he should have
been.
"I know about Part 2.5." She smiled her best extortion smile.
"Two...Two point 5?" Greg whimpered. "Nobody knows about Part
2.5. Only my wife has ever seen 2.5 and 'boy was it worth it'...I
mean..."
"Having me do all those disgusting things with Jeff Lawrence."
She leaned over and pinched Greg's cheek. "And you said you couldn't
write 'lemon', you little dickens."
"Hah, again! Some threat. No one on this ML is interested in
'lemon Nabiki'. Okay, the lechers out on RAAC go for that kind of
thing...and maybe Kun-chan...and a few others. But that's all."
Nabiki just smiled and started unbuttoning her blouse; an evil
smirk plastered all over her face.
"You know, Greg." She purred. "Half the ML wants me." She shook
her shoulders seductively. Greg glanced quickly around for the hidden
cameras. "You could become *real* popular if we...you know." She had
gotten to the bottom button. It was obvious she wasn't wearing a bra.
Greg swallowed hard.
"Greg, dear." It was his wife at the door again. "Did I hear a
girl's voice in there?"
"No sweetheart, I was just working through some dialog." Greg
sweated as Nabiki started to unzip her slacks. <Good lord, she
*does* wear pink panties.>
"By the way. We're finished with the musketeers you sent us. If
you find any cavalry or BIA officials in there, please send them out.
The girls are really enjoying this meeting."
Greg quickly turned back to his computer and tried to think of
what to say to a rapidly stripping Nabiki.
"Nabiki, I know this is going to sound strange..."
"Nabiki?" It was a different voice this time. "Nabiki's not
here."
Greg spun back around to face a smiling Kasumi Tendo with her
younger sister, Akane. Greg looked quickly around the room for a
hidden naked Nabiki only to cum up with a stack of lemon' Ranma
stories he had downloaded from the RAAC archives. <Hmmmm. I wonder if
Sebastian writes 'Lemon Ranko' stories on the side. Maybe he'd
trade.>
Kasumi just smiled again. "I love the way you've written me in
your stories. I especially liked 'The Night' [Now available on the
RAAC archive] where I got to make the supreme sacrifice for my
sisters."
"Yeah, well, I never liked the thought of you being a mindless
bimbo like in 'Real Man' (or something) or a homicidal maniac." Greg
chuckled. "I mean, who'd ever believe you capable of such a thing?"
Kasumi just smiled and held her tiny basket in both hands.
"We've brought you cookies." Akane chirped as she held up her
basket. It contained, what looked like, charcoal briquets. Greg
swallowed hard again.
"Akane dear, why don't you take your cookies into the living room
with the other 'girls'." Kasumi said in a motherly way. "I'll bet
they would like to see how you pull weapons out of Rumic-space."
"Okay, Oneechan," Akane cooed. "Bai, Bai."
Akane slipped through he door, leaving Greg alone with Kasumi.
"So...What'd you bring me, Kasumi?" Greg asked as he turned back
to the computer.
"Something special just for you." she cooed.
Greg shook his head and chuckled. He had a weak spot for Kasumi.
Of all the girls in the series, Kasumi attracted him the most. She
was the perfect blend of everything a man looked for in a woman. He
was about to comment on that thought when he caught Kasumi's
reflection in the window behind his computer screen. She was holding
a large butcher knife over her head, ready to strike. Her expression
was the same; friendly, happy, and sweet.
With a sharp cry, Greg slid out of his chair and under the desk.
He could feel the impact of the knife on the back of his chair as he
moved. Had he waited a few seconds longer, Kasumi would have scored
another victim.
"For the love of.... Kasumi, what the hell are you doing!?" he
yelled as he started to climb back out from under the desk. He looked
around quickly but found no Kasumi and no knife. The only thing he
noticed was his room was neatly cleaned and dusted and his empty beer
cans had been removed; except for the one with the dead mouse.
"Shade and Sweet Water!" he mumbled. "Tomorrow I go back on the
wagon."
Turning back to his computer, Greg stared at the two lines he had
written. Either could have won hands down the 'Bad Fiction Contest'
Joe Palmer was running a few months ago.
"Maybe I should leave the 'revenge fics' to others." he mused.
"After all, my 'Nabiki-New Horizons' series [available at all the
better web sites everywhere] has been already tagged as an
otaku-wish-fulfillment type story. Why should I subject myself to
mindless attacks from vengeful Anime characters?"
The arrival of a single black rose on his keyboard announced his
next visitor.
"Greg, darling," Kodachi crowed as her arms went around Greg's
body, her hands coming dangerously close to his 'floppy' storage.
"I've always loved you best, my darling."
Greg froze with fear while her brother, Tatewaki Kuno, hovered
menacingly nearby. Greg fought for every breath over the stifling
presence of Kodachi's rose-smelling perfume.
"Sister, I fear your attentions are misplaced." her brother
remarked. "He is a gaijin and a married one at that."
"Brother, dear," Kodachi said nuzzling Greg's neck. "I tried to
tell you in Part 2, if you're nice to people, you can get anything you
want. If I'm nice to Greg, he'll write a nice story where I get my
honey, Ranma."
Greg's fear slipped into anger as he realized she wasn't hot for
him but rather for some mindless Anime character. He felt used.
Tatewaki's bokkan slamming onto the desk next to Greg's computer
caught his attention.
"You *know* where that enslaver of women, Ranma Saotome, is." He
sounded more menacing than usual.
"I know where Akane is," Greg answered, his voice changing pitch
as Kodachi ran her tongue around his ear canal.
"Speak, gaijin! Where art my love?"
Greg disengaged himself from the glomping younger Kuno and
reached into the office closet. Pulling out a buckskin jacket and
blonde wig, he tossed the items to Mr. Blue Thunder.
"What, pray tell, are these ridiculous items for?" Tatewaki was
suspicious but still listening.
"Look, sport, Akane is in a meeting with my wife and a bunch of
Sioux Indians. If you want to get into the meeting, you'll have to
dress like an honored member of the tribe. Just put on the jacket and
blonde wig, go into the living room, and say the traditional Sioux
greeting: Custer Lives. Got it?" Greg tried to peal Kodachi off his
leg while beating her hand off his zipper.
"Custer Lives?"
"Trust me, big guy." Greg cast a disgusted look at Kodachi as she
was licking the outside of his pants leg. "You'll be an instant hit."
Tatewaki Kuno did as he was instructed. Less than 30 seconds
after leaving the room, a war erupted in Greg's living room. Greg
listened as well as he could with Kodachi trying to trade skins with
him, but seemed to enjoy the screams of a certain would-be samurai.
The door to Greg's office swung open to reveal Martin perforated
with arrows with a tomahawk buried in his head.
"Good lord, man. What happened to you? Did my wife's friends do
that?"
"This?" Martin looked at his pincushion body. "Naw, I got this
from the ML members. You remember that nasty little comment I made
about the changes to the list."
"Oh, yes." Greg suddenly felt warm; warm enough to start
sweating. "I thought for sure everyone had forgotten all about that
by now." Tatewaki Kuno ran past the window outside, his pants on fire
and three angry female Sioux chasing him like a bunch of angry bees.
"Even Jennie..."
Greg's thoughts were interrupted by a flaming arrow that imbedded
itself in the window frame just over Greg's head.
"Perhaps not..."
Tatewaki Kuno ran back past the window, his pants still on fire,
but more female Sioux, three dogs, and a rabid squirrel in pursuit.
"Kodachi, dear," Greg tried to pull the spandex clad sex bomb off
his leg. "White Wolf promised to write a tender love story between
you and Ranma."
"Really!?!?" she sounded almost genuinely pleased.
"Sure, sweetie. All you have to do is...ah...make the Wolf, you
know, happy."
Like a shot Kodachi was out the door and down the hall. Soon,
the sounds of White Wolf's screams mingled with Tatewaki's. The pitch
was just right to make every dog in the neighborhood start howling.
Relieved, Greg turned back to his keyboard. Outside, Kuno was
being tied to a stake, his pants still on fire. Somehow, Greg got the
impression Mr. Blue Thunder was beginning to enjoy his ordeal.
<Maybe this will get him to quit thinking about Akane and that
pervert, Ranma.> Greg thought as he hacked out a few more lines.
"I doubt it." came a voice from the door.
"Zen? Is that you?" Greg asked without looking.
"Yeah, it's me."
"Did you bring the beer?"
"Two cases, enough even for you."
"How's things going out there?"
"Brutal, man. Real brutal." Zen opened a Fosters of his own
before continuing. "The Knight Sabers got Mike Loader, Jang Choe, Ben
Harrison, and Jim Franks. It wasn't pretty."
"Yeah, I hear they play pretty rough."
"You should've seen what they did to poor SKJAM." He shuddered
at the thought. "He'll never be the same."
"Anyone else?" White Wolf's screams had tapered off and the
Indians were using what was left of Tatewaki Kuno to roast
marshmallows.
"Well, A-ko got Nightelf. Tied him to her bed." Zen paused to
let his emotions wash past. "The doctors say it'll take six weeks to
get the smile off his face."
"Poor guy."
"And Slashtooth...oh, god. You won't believe what C-ko and the
Sailor Moon crowd did to him. I'm afraid he'll never be able to, you
know, again."
"Not with anyone normal, anyway."
"I suppose you've heard about Sebastian."
"What about Sebastian?" Greg's head whipped around at the name of
the old Teutonic expert on red-heads.
"Ranko got him outside the Math Department." Zen sniffed. "Drug
him into an empty classroom and...."
"That's okay, pal. Drink your beer. It'll all be over soon."
Greg turned back to his keyboard. "How about Kergma?"
"Don't ask. When I saw the results, all I could do was go over
to a corner and throw up."
"Sorry to hear that." Greg stopped typing and stared out the
window. "At least the three Kansas musketeers made it."
"Haven't you heard?" Zen almost dropped his Fosters. "Kun-chan
trapped them in Australia, just after she got doused... You've no
idea."
"Hmmmmm. Kun-chan too, huh?"
"I hear Biles might make it, but the Professor...." Zen shuddered
at the mental scene he was witnessing. "Poor Lawson. He now knows
what suffering really means."
"Never did make it to Atlanta." Greg thought with pity.
"Any word on Arromdee or Jack Ji?"
"They must have gotten between Ranma and Ryoga during one of
their fights. Someone reported Ryoga yelling:
'Twoallbeefpattiesspecialsaucelettusecheesepicklesonionsonasesameseedbun'
before the attack."
"Ah, yes." Greg nodded knowingly. "The 'Big Mac Attack'. Not
much left, I suppose."
"Are you kidding? It took out most of the West Coast."
"Poor guys."
"I just know Trish Ledoux is behind all this." Zen said staring
intently out the window. "I hear she personally got Ewan and Mousse
Lee. Kept making them say things in English they didn't really mean.
Terrable!" Zen was quiet for a few moments. "I've gotta go."
"Don't do it, man!" Greg spun around again and stared at the
shaken Zen. "They're still out there."
"I know, but I've gotta find out about the rest of the ML."
Greg knew better than to get in the way of Zen when his mind was
made up. All he could do was watch from the door as the man from
Memphis slipped into the night.
"Watch out for Shampoo, man. I hear she's gunning for ya." He
called out to the rapidly disappearing Zen. There was no answer.
Greg was about to sit back down and finish his fic when Azusa ran
through his back yard carrying one of his new pups and screaming
"Kawaii, Kawaii!"
"That tears it!" Greg stomped over to his gun safe and pulled out
his HK91. Snapping in a, now illegal, twenty round clip, he chambered
the first NATO standard 7.62mm round. Pulling down his sawed off
shotgun and shoving two automatic handguns in the waistband of his
pants, Greg stepped out onto his back porch. Kuno's smoldering body
cast a sickly sweet smell to the air; the Indians had switched to
roasting weenies. This was going to get messy.