Okay, I wrote this without reading any of the emails
being passed around, or anything, because I didn't
want to be influenced by anyone, either positive or
negative. I wanted to find out _why_ this damn thing
was so popular without a shred of help.
DISCLAIMER: This is as cold, as cruel, and as evil as
I can get. I was downright mad when I wrote this, and
I got madder as I continued on. Take most of the
comments in here with maybe a bit of salt.
Okay, I eased up a little towards the end, but even I
can only channel so much bile before it starts to
burn, ya dig?
MYSTERY FICTION THEATRE 3000
Youmas Attack the United States
MST written by Aaron Bergman
Doctor Forrester glanced at his watch and smiled as
the tiny alarm beeped. "It's showtime."
He reached over to the controls of his Satellite and
ran his fingers down the keys lovingly. "Let's see,
Decompression Alarm, Fire Alarm, Humdinger Attack,
Movie Sign, Menchi Song... let's go with Decompression
Alarm." A finger depressed the key, and Forrester
turned to the monitor to watch the fun.
The results were saluatory, of course. He'd spent
some time preparing his subjects to fear this alarm,
dropping grim hints about how he'd been forced to use
substandard materials and imported labor on the
Satellite, and how it could all collapse at any time
(the fact that all those words were true didn't really
make a difference, of course), and so the subjects
were indeed afraid of being sucked out into the great
void of space at any time.
"One-experiment, two-experiments,
three-experiments..." He counted to fifteen before
cutting off the alarm, giggling in sadistic glee as he
saw Joel trying to pull his underpants over his head
instead of a shirt. Forrester keyed the all-ship
intercom and said casually, "Oh, I'm sorry." A
calculated pause later, he added, "Did I wake you?"
For once, Joel had none of his insolent bearing as he
stared up at the camera in the corner of his room and
shouted, "YES, YOU DID!"
"Ah, good." Forrester smiled and let the smile carry
into his tone as he said, "I have a little job for
you, Billy Bottoms."
The subject's eyes widened, then narrowed, as he
realized what Forrester must mean. The mad scientist
sighed heavily, muting the mike as he did so. Why, out
of all the people available as janitorial temps, did
the subject he picked have to be intelligent?
Admittedly, it was only a certain rat-like kind of
intelligence, well-suited for an experiment, but...
"You want us to watch a movie? AGAIN? We just did one
the day before yesterday!"
The time for gloating was not now, so Forrester
repressed the urge and said almost merrily, "Oh, this
isn't a _movie_, my precious, gollum gollum."
"A FIC?!?!" Joel's voice was choked with rage. "You
woke us up in the middle of the night, interrupted my
dream about eating a perfect slice of blueberry
rhubarb pie after a hearty IHOP lunch, for a FIC?!?!?"
Darkly, he said, "This had better be good."
By this time, the 'bots had made it to the subject's
room. Now was the moment for gloating. so gloat
Forrester did. "Oh, don't worry about THAT; it's the
worst of the worst of the worst."
Crow said, softly, fearfully, "Hold me, Joel. I'm
scared..."
The other robot, the one whose name always escaped
Forrester, went for defiance instead. "You don't scare
us!"
The gloating went up a notch. "Oh, _I'm_ not the one
that's going to scare you. It's this story that will
do the job for me." Forrester's spider-like hands
stretched over the keypad, and he hesitated a moment
before pressing the send key. "This little crashing
bore is entitled, 'Youmas Attack the United States,
version 2.' Enjoy! Or, rather, DON'T enjoy..."
Forrester pushed the button, then glanced over his
shoulder at his late-night visitor. "Do you think
that'll do the job, my Evil friend?"
The man laughed, a sound to send children weeping to
their mommies. "Oh, indeedily will, my Evil friend. If
waking them up in the middle of the night doesn't get
them mad enough to mutilate this thing, then the fic
itself will do the job."
"One thing that I'm curious about, though..."
"Yes?"
Forrester leaned back casually, hiding his inner
tension handily as he asked, "Why are you doing this,
anyway? I thought you hated _him_."
"Look, I'm his Evil Clone. That means, technically,
he's me. Any time he gets the need for vengeance, it
makes me feel that much closer to him." Eyewrin smiled
and said, "Usually, Aaron is such a goody-two-shoes.
But this... even I must bow to his sheer sadism."
"It's starting!"
From:"Firethorn" <firethorn@srt.com>
To:ffml@anifics.com
Subject: [FFML] Youmas Attack the United States. v2
Date: Mon, 12 Jan 2004 06:00:27 -0600
JOEL: ...That's it. The kid gloves are OFF. It's a
free-fire zone, gentlemen, pick and choose the targets
as they appear.
November 23, 2003.
JOEL: A date that nobody really cares about.
CROW: Hey, wasn't that almost two months ago?
That was the day of the first published, confirmed
incident in the United States.
JOEL: Oooh, my tension levels are soaring already.
What dread incident will be revealed? Ferocious French
taunting? Breaking-and-redecorating? The murder of
Koshi Rikdo?
The day the beings later known as youma first hit
San Francisco, California. One hundred and
fifty-seven people died that day.
TOM: ...
CROW: ...
JOEL: ...
TOM: ........And?
CROW: Wow, my empathy level shot right to zero. No
real lead-in, just a flat statement, no description-
JOEL: Has this guy even BEEN to San Fran? That many
people die in seventy-two hours, give or take a dozen
lives. I can't see how that many dying in one day
makes a big freakin' deal.
The monsters just teleported in and went on a
rampage.
TOM: Yeah, that's kind of what monsters do. ...Wait a
second, I thought we were talkin' about youma. WTF?
It ended up taking a SWAT team, some citizens with
heavy rifles, and a brave EOD man who improvised a
large mine attached to his truck. All only to take
five of them down.
CROW: You know what would've been kind of interesting
here? ANYTHING! Maybe some action? Maybe some
adventure? Maybe some mayhem? KEEERIST!
TOM: Oh, proper sentence structure, and maybe some
paragraph work, would have helped to. Would it REALLY
have been so hard to hit "Enter" after you typed
'rampage'? New subject = new paragraph. Think about
it.
Oh, EOD? Explosive Ordinance Disposal. The Bomb
Squad.
JOEL: (sarcastically) Thank you, Mr. Exposition. I
needed that.
Suddenly the war on terror, Iraq and Afghanistan
took
a back seat. Sure, the attack killed less than
Pearl
Harbor or September 11 did.
CROW: It killed less than BEE STINGS do every year. It
killed less than WINE CORKS do every year. But do
people get up in arms about those? Threaten to storm
the winecellars? Nooo.
It didn't matter.
JOEL: (deep breath) If it didn't matter, WHY ARE YOU
TALKING ABOUT IT?!
Sure, alot of mullahs whined that the 'Great Satan'
was reaping his just rewards.
CROW: Oooh, 'quotes'. How 'witty'.
They soon learned differently.
TOM: Maybe you should talk with them about this
learning thing, Mr. Mysterious Exposition Artist. It
couldn't hurt, unless your head exploded. (pause) Hey,
that's a win-win situation!
I had recently read an essay about the "Jacksonian
Tradition". It struck a chord in me. And with
this, it rang a far greater one.
JOEL: (groans) Perhaps a word on what the hell the
'Jacksonian Tradition' is would make me NOT want to do
a vicious pun about the 'Jackass Tradition'.
TOM: How many freakin' paragraphs should this first
paragraph have been divided into? Five? let's see,
first one on 'November', second one on 'It ended',
third one on 'Suddenly', and fourth on 'I had'. 'I had
it ended suddenly.'
CROW: Hey, not a bad sentence to sum what someone
shoulda done to this thing.
Me, I took stock of my finances, and ordered a .50
BMG sniper rifle. Cost me close to $8,000. Took
every cent I had saved in my career.
CROW: I cry foul! The red tape alone on getting a
rifle like that would cost him at least twenty grand
to cut through. Even in a national 'emergency'
(snort), the government ain't likely to enjoy the idea
of just handing out milspec weapons.
Fortunately, the same day, Barrett had announced
that they were going to sell at cost, plus tool-up
costs.
TOM: Oh, that explains it. Riiiiiiiggghhht.
They were going to expand. Precipitously. Theories
were proposed as to what they were, and why they
attacked.
CROW: They who?
JOEL: You know, the title characters. Youma attacking
the United States.
TOM: Youma Versus The United States? These kind of
movies should always have versus.
Aliens, monsters, radioactive mutations, all the
theories expressed in the movies were proposed.
TOM: I'm experiencing a spiritual conundrum, Joel.
The fact that the bodies decomposed to dust so
quickly didn't help.
JOEL: What's that?
We didn't know anything but that it took large
amounts of damage to kill them.
TOM: I don't know WHO to hate! The youma, for
attacking the United States and starting the whole
thing? The United States, for being dumb enough to get
involved in this thing? The author, for dragging us
into it?
Until then they were a nightmare out of hell.
CROW: Just hate the US. Go for it! Why not? Everyone
else in the world does it!
JOEL: And if everyone were drinking from the 400 hertz
AC wires before the outlet rectified it into DC
voltage, would YOU do it to?
CROW: If it would keep me from being forced to read
this fic? In a heartbeat.
How little we knew, and yet, how right we were.
JOEL: Well, at least you got the first half right.
The next attack came three days later in Tuscon,
just
long enough for the public to have started to wonder
if the attack was a once-only event.
TOM: What, no massive government coverup? No
survivalists and religious lunatics declaring the end
of the world? In three days, a LOT can happen. Sheesh.
News the first night, then forty-eight hours for the
human animal to lose the thin veneer of civilization?
JOEL: Now, that's going a little far. ....Naw.
The second attack was with six of the suckers.
CROW: You know, I'm starting to feel like the sucker
for having read this far into the story.
But Nevada was a different proposition than
California, and they had some warning.
JOEL: From what? Mystic Sparkly Luvluv Radar Power? I
don't see no magical girls fluttering around in...
Nevada. What are they gonna do, hand out flyers for
the Love Chapel?
Only seventy-eight people died that day. Eight
civilians opened up on the youma, delaying them long
enough for many people to escape.
CROW: I still don't quite see how simple bullets can
whack a demon. (voice goes dark and gravelly) "I'm a
F&#*IN' demon!"
Curiously, one man was more effective that what
seemed right. Pastor JackNewman's bullets, from a
unimposing .38 revolver, did more damage than the
.45's fired by several others.
JOEL: Ah, I see. Give me some o' that old-time
religion, it's good enough for me.
But it was several weeks before this news came out.
TOM: (groans again) This sentence just hurts. Really.
It should be part of the previous sentence, joined by
a semicolon or some such. Sheesh.
At this point, President Bush started calling up >
military forces.
TOM: Quick, decisive action from the Prez, of course.
Oh, wait, it wasn't made _entirely_ clear that the
'several weeks' just mentioned didn't happen until
AFTER the President went into action.
Every base was in force protection Charlie, with
west > coast bases in Delta.
CROW: Er, I wonder if this guy realizes what Delta
ACTUALLY means for most bases? "We know that this base
could be the next target, guys, so we're closing it
down tighter than a-"
JOEL: Crow, don't you DARE say it!
CROW: "Duck's bottom." ...What did you think I was
gonna say?
We were scared. Troops overseas were clamoring to
come home and help.
CROW: (voice goes strange) Definitely NOT a military
man, this author. Troops don't clamor for SHIT. Even
right after September 11th, where we KNEW who the
enemy was, we only grumbled lightly until Bush
declared this 'War on Terrorism', which we can only
hope doesn't go as badly awry as the War on Drugs. Too
bad it's already promising to do just that. Cut off
one hydra's head, it grows back double. Try to burn
the wound closed, the other six heads tear you apart.
Try to throw it to the ground, it rises up again,
stronger than before.
JOEL: ....What?
CROW: (voice back to normal) What? Did I miss
somethin'?
Eventually, even the inactive reserves were called
back. The draft was talked about, but we had enough
volunteers (with lots of age waivers), to cover
expansion.
TOM: You went all weird and started ranting about
terrorists.
CROW: What, you mean like that guy that did the thing,
uh...
The attacks accelerated and spread. We learned that
Japan had been suffering from them, and some 'Sailor
Scouts' or 'Sailor Warriors' had been fighting them.
TOM: FOUL! You're saying that the Japanese have these
mystical warriors in your fantasy world, and the
Americans are so spiritually empty that they don't
have the equivalent? Well, screw you too.
It was discovered that blessed bullets, especially
from certain pious individuals, were more effective.
JOEL: Don't you have to be pious to bless something in
the first place? Isn't that IMPLIED in the act of
blessing?
It certainly resulted in certain priests being,
well,
marked as fraudulent.
JOEL: Aaahhh, I see. Kind of a joke.
I thought it was especially funny when it was found
that a Wiccan's rounds had more effect than a number
of Catholic priests.
JOEL: I wish I were as easily amused as you, friend.
Our reaction was, well, extreme.
CROW: So, was mine, against, your commas!
This was a fight against EVIL. A number of mullahs
in the sandbox were torn apart after their
'blessings' proved less than effective in killing
the
beasts.
TOM: Ah, shouldn't the 'Sandbox' be quotated?
CROW: (voice goes strange again) And only people who
have been stationed over there should be allowed to
refer to it as the Sandbox. Gah, Saudi is sooooooooo
boring.
After Fort Carson was attacked, killing 12 soldiers,
I was issued an M-16. But that was discovered to be
capable of little more than harassing to the youma.
JOEL: Harrassment of Youma: $200 dollar fine and 50
hours community service.
They had gotten tougher.
TOM: Good for them.
Well, so did we.
TOM: Good for you. (pause) WHEN WILL IT END?!?
You quickly started seeing weapons worn openly by
people. First it was mostly handguns, but soon
people started carrying the heaviest rifle they
owned.
CROW: (voice is normal again) Boy, how do I cash in on
the arms trade? TOW missiles? Copkiller rounds?
I started carrying my Barrett instead of the M-16,
and nobody questioned me.
JOEL: Why do I get the feeling that he wrote this fic
so he could imagine stroking his big gun?
CROW: Hey! How come you can say that kind of stuff?!?!
Anti-firearm laws were repealed at a state level at
a fast rate if they weren't ignored completely.
TOM: Not a bad idea, in theory, but then I've always
been an NRA lunatic.
The federal government was only a little slower, as
the more conservative states gained enough power to
point out that an armed citizenship saved lives.
JOEL: The government would never be that smart.
They've managed to deny that solid fact for years; how
would demons change their minds?
CROW: Yeah, the youma? I can handle that. The Barret?
My imagination can stretch that far. But the
_government_ being _sensible_? Schyah, right.
Government NEVER EVER loosens control. NEVER. No
matter what kind of government, no matter what the
circumstances, a government will NEVER remove a
control that it has on its population. (pause) Did
that sound bitter to you?
The youma mostly hit population centers, but
anywhere
people gathered was a target.
TOM: Isn't that the FREAKING DEFINITION OF POPULATION
CENTER?!?! Anywhere that people gather. (flip through
book foley sound) Yep.
We, the military, just couldn't cover everywhere
sufficiently. The NRA and other groups started
setting up carefully staged 'parties', complete with
.50BMG machinegun demonstration centers... It was
the rebirth of the militia.
JOEL: Sounds nice, doesn't it? All this is wrapped up
so nice and tidy, it disturbs me. I mean, how far is
my sense of credulity supposed to go? Feh.
In Colorado Springs, the local Class 3 arms dealer
happened to be close to a youma attack with his...
vehicle. He managed to dust 3 youma in short order
with the two machine guns mounted on his SUV. This,
to me, marked the start of the full restoration of
the 2nd amendment.
TOM: (Lisa Simpson) "But dad, the second amendment is
just a holdover from revolutionary days! It has no
meaning in today's society."
CROW: (Homer Simpson) "You couldn't be more wrong,
Lisa. What if the King of England came in here right
now and started pushing you around. Would you like
that? Huh? Would ya?!"
Meanwhile, every scrap of evidence about the attacks
were gathered up and analyzed.
JOEL: Oh, man. I'm not sure how much more of this I
can take, guys.
I heard rumors of new weapons, even as
precision-guided artillery was being set up in
strategic points in and around cities.
CROW: Fight it, Joel! Fight it! We wi-ill, overcome...
Police were given GPS devices and hasty training in
calling in fire support. I still remember the how
the youma looked shocked when they were hit with the
first artillery strike.
TOM: I ain't even touching that with a ten-foot pole.
For all of six seconds, when the second shell hit.
TOM: And THIS is rightly part of the previous
sentence. Sheesh.
Heck, at Minot AFB we had a B-52 flying at all times
armed with 500 pound laser guided bombs. And people
around with radios and pointers.
TOM: Look, the rules for using 'AND' is very simple!
You have TWO SENTENCES. They need to be joined
together, because they relate to the same subject.
SOMETIMES you use a COMMA LIKE SO, and CONTINUE with
the sentence. Sometimes you don't have to and that's
all right too. Using 'and' to start a sentence of its
own is wrong grammatically. Dramatically, I've seen it
used well once in a while, but that doesn't mean you
should use it that way ALL THE DAMN TIME!
CROW: Joel, you might need to turn down the Editor
software a notch. ....Naw.
Washington D.C. had alot of the protection, of
course, with an A-10 constantly circling between the
White House and Congress building.
JOEL: Mmm. Okay, I can accept that. But what happens
if the youma appear INSIDE the building?
The 30MM rounds from the GAU-8 don't need any
blessings to kill youma. Hotlines were set up so
people could call in attacks.
TOM: Good for them. Hey, shouldn't this be part of
ANOTHER new paragraph?
Fast reaction heavy weapon patrols were formed.
They
usually finished up what the citizens didn't kill.
CROW: How bloodthirsty the average citizen becomes.
You were right, Tom, the veneer of civilization is
thin indeed.
Youma started to learn, but they didn't have much of
a learning curve, that's for sure.
JOEL, CROW, TOM: I ain't even TOUCHING that one.
They had a hard time, even when they popped up in
the
dozens, to learn to keep out of the view of rooftops
and towers.
JOEL: Wouldn't dying kind of preclude them from
learning anything to begin with, if the humans are so
good at killin' them?
Most of them had snipers on top firing blessed
ammunition.
JOEL: Wouldn't that get kind of cold and boring, just
waiting there on the off-chance a monster would wander
into your sights? Admittedly, that's a sniper or
counter-sniper's job, but ya know, it takes a good
measure of discipline to sit in one place for hours.
And can you IMAGINE the number of snipers it would
take to cover even one reasonably-sized population
center?
CROW: Yeah, not to mention anywhere that people
gather.
One round usually wouldn't kill one, but they would
do rather serious damage. Three or four rounds
would > finish most of them off.
CROW: If only it could do something similar to this
fic. Jeez!
Of course, it would be all over when the FRHWP, or
'FRAP', showed up.
TOM: Of course. More 'quotes'. how 'interesting'.
Heavy machine guns would keep the youma from
charging
the HMMWVs long enough for the others to nail them
with RPGs and wire-guided missiles.
CROW: Now I wish I WAS an arms dealer! Wait, that
should be "I wish I WERE an arms dealer."
JOEL: (hums little tune) I wish I was an arms dealer
and not a hetero, I wouldn't have to deal a woman's
come and go, I wouldn't have to listen to them whine
about my massive machismo... ooooohhhh... I wish I was
an arms dealer and not a hetero!
What, with the attacks, most public places are
guaranteed to be attacked sooner or later. We
refuse
to give up our lives for the youma.
CROW: Yes, give up your lives... for justice!
And that includes gathering.
TOM: "And the indigenous human returns to their
spawning place, the dank bar, regardless of
supernatural predations..."
Anyways, public places have all been reinforced.
After all, they have to take monsters, and the
high-caliber response to them.
TOM: And this is an example of when you don't need to
use a comma for 'and'. Man, I wish English weren't so
confusing grammarctically.
CROW: Is that a word?
TOM: (dignified) It is now.
The highest-risk sites have guards armed with
machine
guns just in case. Crime has dropped to just about
zero. Everybody's armed, and any gunfire attracts
an overwhelming response.
JOEL: I just realized that, in part, he may be right.
This could just be a massive allegory instead of a
serious fiction.
CROW & TOM: HUH!?!?!?
Sure, we still take casualties. But we're in a
fight
for HUMANITY.
JOEL: Well, it would take something totally irrational
that threatens everything in society which would NEVER
EVER HAPPEN, like an attack by youma, to bring down
the wrongheaded and stupid gun laws that allow
criminals to buy guns on any streetcorner while a
legal citizen can't even walk into a gun store without
being interrogated a dozen ways about the uses he
plans for his weapon.
CROW: ....And the allegory?
Many of us view it as the preview of the final
coming. 'Praise god and pass the ammunition' type
of thing.
JOEL: Is the whole story. Nothing like this would ever
happen, so he's free to describe what he would feel
having guns in everyone's, and he means EVERYONE'S,
hands would be like.
Even now, less than a year later, there's talk of a
monument to all those who've fallen to the monsters.
TOM: Aaahh, I see....
And the talk about pulling out of the other
countries
evaporated once we learned that other countries were
suffering attacks as great, if not worse than us.
CROW: That big brother tendancy of the US again.
"We'll take care of you! No worries! We don't care if
you think you can take care of your own problems!
Democracy for all!"
Especially when news of the youma's motives came
out.
They were feeding on us, on humans. Our energy is
what fuels their attacks. Attacks elsewhere only
fueled further attacks, on us and others.
JOEL: Hang together or assuredly we will all hang
seperately, is that it?
China was direly struck, and became our ally once
more.
CROW: When was China EVER a US ally? The Boxer
Rebellion in the 1880's?
They were unable to maintain their country as it was
under the assault. Everybody had to be armed to
hold back the tide, and you can't oppress an armed
people.
JOEL: Awww, ain't that a pretty sentiment.
Iraq and Afghanistan quickly became some of our
staunchest allies.
TOM: Good for them.
Especially when it was discovered that the mullahs
who preached hate and death were the least effective
in blessing rounds. Common people did better.
CROW: A sad element of truth in that.
TOM: Out of the mouths of fools and babes... too bad
this guy seems to think that almost all the Muslim
preacher men preach death exclusively. He betrays his
ignorance with each word. Fer cryin' out loud, the
average Arab is a peaceful fellow! Most of them look
at their terrorist cousins with a mixture of pride and
shame; pride that the terrorist has the courage to go
back to an earlier time when war was the way of Allah
and shame that all of those fools just outright reject
the words of Muhammed. The shame is far, far stronger
than the pride, at least in the average citizen.
The USA showed once again how much war material it
could produce when threatened.
JOEL: Yep, we're gun nuts all right.
We were the largest arms exporter in the world
before. Now we're practically the world's supplier.
CROW: Er. You DO realize that plenty of countries
manufacture arms, don't you? And a lot of them are
very, very good at it.
The new M-20 rifle, firing an explosive 10MM round
is
the most popular, followed by the venerable .50BMG.
CROW: *snort* explosive rounds? Someone's been playing
too much Shadowrun and not had a loving gamemeister
detonate all the explosive rounds his character
carries...
I've heard some troops are being issued an
experimental variation on the gyrojet round.
TOM: Er, aren't gyrojet rounds THEMSELVES
experimental? At best? Even if they do exist? Why not
just arm the buggers with Mark IV Plasma Cannons?
Supposed to do more damage at longer ranges.
JOEL: Hey, is this another broken partial sentence?
TOM: Yep. *scowl* Do you think he does this on
purpose?
Thing is, if you're that far from youma, you call in
for an air strike or artillery, know what I mean?
TOM & JOEL & TOM: NO, WE DON'T!!!!!!
I hear that we've had some success in the research
on
how they manage to teleport in.
TOM: Good for you.
The other day, I heard on TV that the youma might be
coming using Antarctica as a relay point. If so, I
can see us nuking the area...
JOEL: .....And that's it?
TOM: Is this suppposed to be some vague crossover
between Sailor Moon and Heinlein's Puppet Masters
novel?
JOEL: That's a bit of a stretch.
CROW: The ending left me feeling disappointed. The
middle left me disappointed. The beginning left me
VERY disappointed.
JOEL: All good points, there. (stretches) About all I
can say is.... Let's go back to sleep.
AUTHOR'S NOTES
I hate this fanfiction.
I hated it even before I opened it up to look at it,
and I hated it worse after reading once through it,
quickly.
How DARE a utter piece of reeking excrement like this
story garner so much notice, so much debate, while the
Kingdom Hearts tale I poured myself into and posted
late last Thursday got TWO WHOLE EMAILS?!?! This thing
is a tenth, a thirtieth, a tiny infintesmal fraction
as good as Hall of Lost Heroes, and it pisses me off
that this thing got any attention at all.
This... thing lacks plot. Lacks continuity. Lacks
character. Lacks anything at all to establish this as
a story. And yet...
It has something. Not promise, not as such, but the
PROMISE of promise, as though you COULD see a not-bad
story coming out of this thing with a year's worth of
writing. Hell, it could even make a half-decent novel,
in the hands of a competent writer.
...But probably NOT from first-person, not if you're
going to describe stuff across the country instantly.
One of my favorite authors, Harry Turtledove, has the
gift of taking a one-word idiotic idea and turning it
into a truly great novel. "Aliens invade during the
middle of World War II?" "If magic were technology,
what would the pollutants be?" "What would happen if
the AK-47 were given to General Lee's Army of
Virginia?"
That's about what this story is, and the one sentence
is the title YATUS: "Youma Attack The United States."
But that doesn't MAKE this story good. It's barely an
idea post. It's barely a fragment. It's utter tripe.
It's... Oh, dammit, I could go on insulting this thing
forever, and all I'd do is make myself angrier.
The raw truth is that I'm ENVIOUS I got buried by this
thing. It makes me just downright pissed that I feel
such a petty emotion towards something so terrible.
Meh.
I wrote this all up in about two hours, minus a small
delay when my laptop ran out of battery power, and I
didn't have anyone look at it before I posted it to
the FFML. Pardon any lack of humor in it, I wasn't
feeling very funny when I wrote this.
Aaron Bergman
iamfanboy@hotmail.com
"In fact, at times I fear I have the ambition
of a genius, the eye and ear of a genius, and
all the talent of a chimneysweep."
-Honore Balzac
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