For those who were wondering, "How stupid will this get?", here's your answer... (Warning: Sexism, self-referentiality, songs, and far too many uses of the word 'nookie' follow.) SHOCK VALUE 4: CURRENT AFFAIRS, THE MUSICAL by Sir W. S. Gilbert and Sir Arthur Sullivan and BKWillis The Bradleyard paced the floor of his Sanctum of Gloom, nursing a bruised forehead from yet another of his and Lydia's 'discuss- ions' and casting a baleful, blood-misted glare at the room's bunny-rabbit decor. Actually, it was more like a petulant, sulky glare, but at any rate, the rabbits had him rather peeved. Here he was trying to compose works of dark genius, and all he could think of was bloody rabbits. "I bet Richard Adams had this same problem," he grunted. "He probably set out to write something like _Lord of the Flies_ and ended up with _Watership Down_ because he couldn't get his mind off the damned wallpaper..." He casually punted a bunny- patterned throw pillow across the room. "How can I plot Evil, or fan-fiction, or Evil fan-fiction for that matter, when I'm surrounded by happy little bunnies?! ARRGH!" The Bradleyard shouted his rhetorical question, and seemed to feel a bit better. As he settled down, the stereo quietly turned itself on, playing a fast, grinding heavy-metal beat that he began to sing along with, and not particularly well. (to the tune of 'Can I Play With Madness?' by Iron Maiden) "Give me some evil decor That reflects of gloom and doom Give me some evil decor To redecorate the room Give me some dark, surreal fixtures Something more to evil's taste Gargoyles or stonework or at least some chains Get the bunnies off the walls Remodel this whole place! "How can I plot with rabbits -- plastered onto every single wall How can I plot with rabbits -- can't think of evil schemes at all How can I plot with rabbits -- staring at me from around the room How can I plot with rabbits -- how can I plan BKWillis's doom? "I scream aloud in frustration I say I'll be Willis's bane, you know I say he'll pay for his mischief In this world and the next Oh, I'll show the world that he's completely pants Ruin him in the newsgroup's eyes So, then if you want to know the truth, son Well, I'll tell you the truth I'm the far better writer... if I just could get inspired! "How can I plot with rabbits -- plastered onto every single wall How can I plot with rabbits -- can't think of evil schemes at all How can I plot with rabbits -- staring at me from around the room How can I plot with rabbits -- how can I plan BKWillis's doom? "How can I plot with rabbits -- plastered onto every single wall How can I plot with rabbits -- can't think of evil schemes at all How can I plot with rabbits -- staring at me from around the room How can I plot with rabbits -- how can I plan BKWillis's doom?" The music cut out and the Bradleyard sighed, depressed again, as was his wont. If mood _swings_ were what normal people had, then the Bradleyard had a fully-equipped mood playground, complete with See-Saws of Euphoria, Slides of Despair, and a well-maintained Wave Pool of Irritable Excitability. "If only there were a way," he said to a bunny figurine. "If only I could simultaneously silence BKWillis's muse and invigorate my own." It occurred to him to wonder if he even _had_ a muse. Surely, he must have one somewhere, albeit a rather quiet one. Didn't every writer have a muse? He wondered if there was a way to find out. At that moment, a brick came smashing through the window, lashing the room with a spray of shattered glass. The brick itself crashed into a small shelf, demolishing every item on it except for a pair of ceramic rabbits. The Bradleyard swore and charged to the window just in time to see the culprits making their getaway in a US Postal Service truck. As he watched, the truck stopped at a house down the block, whereupon the driver heaved what looked like a brick wrapped in junk mail through the nearest window. Scowling and muttering about Civil Service Exams, the Bradley- ard picked up the brick and removed the small envelope that was tied to it. He noted with little surprise that the postmark was dated from over two years ago as he read the return address: Really Really Evil BKWillis's Muse Rural Route 6, Box 66 Falcon Head, Alabama, USA "I guess that answers that," he muttered, ripping open the letter. It read: To whom it may concern, I hereby tender my resignation as designated literary muse to the Really Really Evil incarnation of BKWillis, on grounds that he is a talentless manic-depressive idiot with no appreciation for quality musings, an annoying laugh, and a silly beard. It is my sincere hope that someone will throw a brick at him. Please forward my tax forms to the above address and update your personnel records accordingly. Very sincerely, RREBKWM "I guess that _really_ answers that..." He wadded up the letter with as much savagery as possible, which wasn't a whole lot, and hurled it at the ceramic rabbits, which it totally failed to damage. The stereo turned itself on again, playing a fairly typical '80's power-ballad intro with lots of slow, sappy-sounding guitar work. After a few notes, the Bradleyard began to sing again. (to the tune of 'Alone Again' by Dokken) "I hoped to see her when I sat down to write I hoped that on my prose she would shed her light Now I'm here, and I'm on my own Still I know how it feels I'm alone again "Tried so hard to write a fic But I couldn't find the words Now the tales won't flow from my pen I'm alone again Without a muse Alone again Without a muse--" His singing was abruptly cut off by the impact of a rabbit-shaped drink coaster against the back of his head. The stereo played on for a few moments before realizing that it was on its own, then cut itself back off. "Sorry, boss," Lydia deadpanned from the doorway. "It must've slipped." She didn't really care if he believed her, as long as it kept him from singing. "The new cast is here to see you." The Bradleyard clapped in delight, the new knot on his head forgotten. "Ah, my new Minions of Evil! Most excellent! Do show them in, faithful Lydia! That last musical number has given me the germ of a marvellous idea!" "I'll get the pudding," Lydia replied, starting toward the kitchen. "No, no," the Bradleyard hastily corrected. "Ix-nay on the udding- pay. Till later, anyway. For now, just show in my new Minions." The Bradleyard's new recruits filed in in a motley, apathetic fash- ion. First in was a tall, statuesque redhead in a revealing dress, who quickly appropriated the good chair. Then came Davros, looking depressed and occasionally sucking at a tube that led to large beer keg that had been fitted to the back of his mech-chair. Then came Captain Mike Yates and Kvetchian Commander Mucksch, who were engaged in a heated argument over who had the higher rank and should, consequently, enter the room first. After they forced their way in side-by-side, the argument turned to who got the good end of the couch. The remaining four Kvetchians followed, looking a bit nervous, with Darren bringing up the rear. "This is all of them," Lydia announced, closing the door. The Bradleyard held up his hands for attention. "Welcome, one and all! I am the Bradleyard, soon to be the Dark Master of Fan Fiction and your new employer. Some of us have already met. Captain Yates. Davros." He nodded pleasantly in their respec- tive directions, to which Yates replied with a crisp salute and Davros with a muttered "Yo, homey." He then turned his atten- tion to Commander Mucksch. "And you must be the leader of the evil aliens I've heard so many good things about." Mucksch leapt to his feet and performed a quick fist-over-the- heart salute, bowing slightly as he did so. "Commander Mucksch of the Imperial Kvetchian Interstellar Space Conquest and Sub- jugation Force, Harebrained Scheming Division, at your service, sir! I bring the full might of the IKISCSFHSD to the cause of your supremacy, sir! Our dedication to you is total, and our loyalty absolute and unswerving! We will be with you to the very end!" "Most impressive," the Bradleyard replied. "Just how strong is the IKS... IKCS... er, ICKY... ICQ... uh... Force, anyway?" "Our power is beyond reckoning!" the Commander shouted, just because he was the sort who did that a lot. "It's just these five," Lydia interjected. "Willis created the Kvetchians to be baddies, but he didn't need very many, so these guys are it." "I... see." The Bradleyard eyed the green-haired Kvetchian soldiers, mentally sizing them up. They didn't look like very much, being unassuming-looking men in rumpled gray uniforms, with lank, messy hair that ran the chromatic gamut from chart- reuse to hunter green. Each had a small sticker on his chest that had 'Hi! My name is ____' and their name written on it in large, blocky letters. Well, he'd figure out what to do with them later. He turned to the redhead, appreciatively taking in the sight of her long, long legs through the slit in her dress. He completely failed to see Lydia's eyes narrow and send the 30,000-Volt Tongoese Death Stare at his back. "And you must be Varn," he purred. "I've heard so much about you..." "That's 'Varne', not 'Varn'," she corrected, eyeing him right back and not looking especially impressed. "Ah, excuse me. Varne, then." The Bradleyard kicked in his Aura of Extreme Smoothness, fairly oozing Barry White music from his pores. "I look forward to working with you." "I'll bet you do." "I read 'Gates of Dawn', and was impressed by the way you called your associate 'Lord' and 'Master'. I think I could get used to that..." "I'll bet you could." Lydia snickered at the absence of 'Lord' or 'Master' in Varne's reply. "Perhaps we could arrange some employment for you in a more... _personal_ capacity, Miss Varne...?" The redhead arched a single delicate eyebrow. "Perhaps I could arrange to rip out all your major organs in alphabetical order, Mr. Bradleyard. I'm just here because Ken asked me to help you out and get some payback on that guy who made fun of 'Gates of Dawn'. I'm not here to 'put out' for anyone, because: A. I'm not being paid nearly enough and; B. I find no one in this room in any way appealing, except maybe the Wynona Ryder lookalike over there." Lydia put down the bunny-rabbit lamp she was about to throw at the Bradleyard and blushed decorously. "No nookie?" Commander Mucksch asked suspiciously. "Not from me, spinach-head," Varne answered lazily. "Me either," added Lydia. "Sorry." Mucksch sighed and stood. "Well, that's that, then." He motioned for his troops to follow. "Come on, men. Nothing more for us in this place. Maybe Helen Fayle is hiring." The five began to file out of the room, Davros trundling behind. The Bradleyard began to panic. "Hey! Wait! You can't just leave me like this! What about devotion? What about revenge? What about--" "Don't be a fool," Davros hissed, turning his chair back around. "What is devotion, or revenge, or anything, before the Ultimate Power?" "Ultimate Power?" Davros looked up at the Commander. "Can it be that he does not know? Must we explain it?" Mucksch nodded. "It seems we must." The stereo started up yet again, this time playing a slow but peppy pop-rock beat. To every- one's complete astonishment, Davros began to sing in a surprising- ly good, if a bit raw-edged, tenor, with Mucksch joining in on the chorus. (to the tune of 'Nothing at All' by Heart) "I would go home every evening Feeling lower than a slime I would feed myself on silence Wash it down with empty time "Then a new type of action Hit me so hard My physical reactions Caught me off guard "I found out nookie was all Better than anything I'd done before I found out nookie was all Not just fun, oh it's so much more Nothing else can make a man Feel this way If you ask me what could do it I'll just say You know nookie is all "Now I walk home every evening Feeling like I could beat the world Cause I know my destination Involves a willing pretty girl "From my first involvement with it I could tell For a bit of hanky-panky I'd fight my way into Hell "I found out nookie was all Better than anything I'd done before I found out nookie was all Not just fun, oh it's so much more Nothing else can make a man Feel this way If you ask me what could do it I'll just say You know nookie is all "Then a new type of action Hit me so hard My physical reactions Caught me off guard "I found out nookie was all Better than anything I'd done before I found out nookie was all Not just fun, oh it's so much more Nothing else can make a man Feel this way If you ask me what could do it I'll just say You know nookie is all "You know nookie is all You know nookie is all" "And that, young man, is the Ultimate Power. The power to shape a man's soul to your will, the thing that lies at the root of the male psyche." Davros pointed meaningfully at the Bradleyard. "I've been playing the arch-villain game longer than you've been alive, so trust me when I say that you must _never_ underestimate the power of nookie! Nookie rules all!" "I could've told you that," said Varne and Lydia simultaneously. The Bradleyard looked slightly offended. "So, you mean that the only reason you or the Kvetchians joined up with me was for the chance to get laid?" Five green-haired heads and one scarred bald one nodded together. "No nookie, no workie!" shouted Lemielsch, one of the Kvetchians. "Yeah!" agreed his cohort Vayoy. "No nookie, no Wookie!" "RRRAAOUGHAAAGHHAAA?" asked Chewbacca, peering in through the smashed window. "Aaah! Get out! Go!" Lydia hurled a ceramic rabbit at the Star Wars character as he ran off. "Go on! Scat!" When Varne gave her a questioning look, she explained, "I wanted to get him out of here before he had a chance to sing." Everyone nodded. "Anyway," said Mucksch, "we're outta here. It's nookie, or it's nothing. Ta-ta." "Wait!" the Bradleyard cried. "We can work something out! Lydia...?" "No way," the dark-haired girl said firmly. "Varne...?" "I wonder how your liver would look knotted around your neck, Bradleyard?" Darren gulped nervously and said, "I don't really go that way..." The Bradleyard threw a bunny-rabbit teacup at his head. "Davros! Mucksch! You think I wasn't planning on this?" the demented author hastily extemporized. "In the later stages of our campaign against Willis, there will be nookie aplenty. What is an evil scheme without nookie, after all?" "How so?" Mucksch demanded. "Weeeelll... all those women around BKWillis, right? An integ- ral part of my plans involves shifting their loyalty to us." The Bradleyard fervently hoped they couldn't tell that he was just making it up as he went along. "When they're on our side, there will be nookie for the asking, right?" He didn't notice Lydia and Varne looking like they wanted to see him roasting on a spit. "I don't know, sir," Gevahlltoy said to his Commander. "It sounds like he's just making it up as he goes along." "True, true..." It was Varne who saved the day for the Bradleyard. "Oh, come on, guys. Does he look like he has enough brains to make up something like that on the spur of the moment? I think not." "True, true..." "Just what does your 'campaign' entail?" Davros asked skeptically. "Have you actually worked out how you plan to go about destroy- ing this BKWillis and setting yourself in his place?" The Bradleyard sneered indignantly. "Of course I have. I am, in fact, ready to make my opening move against him. It's a beautiful plan, elegant in its simplicity, as all good schemes should be." He neglected mentioning that he'd thought it all up about ten seconds before their arrival. "And what do you know of scheming?" Davros sneered back. "Quite a bit, my differently-abled associate." The stereo turned itself back on, playing a sad country-blues beat with lots of organ and keyboard. "You see..." The Bradleyard started quietly sing- ing. (to the tune of 'Simple Man' by Lynyrd Skynyrd) "Mama told me when I was young, 'Come sit beside me, little villain And listen closely to what I say. And if you do this, You'll kill your other self someday. "'Take your time... don't scheme too fast, Troubles will come, so kick their ass. Go find some minions and hire a bunch. And don't forget, son, To clean your Lair after lunch. "'And make a simple kind of plan, Make it something your servants understand. Baby, make a simple kind of plan. Won't you destroy my other son, If you can? "'Be sure to lust for fame and gold. So if you need to, just sell your soul. And you can beat him if you try. All that I want is for my son's Less-evil twin to die. "'So make a simple kind of plan, Make it something your servants understand. Baby, make a simple kind of plan. Won't you destroy my other son, If you can? "'Boy, don't you worry... your other self Is a loser and nothing else. And you can beat him if you try. All that I want is for my son's Less-evil twin to die. "'So make a simple kind of plan, Make it something your servants understand. Baby, make a simple kind of plan. Won't you destroy my other son, If you can?'" "I'll bet Christmas get-togethers with your family are a trip," Varne said in the awkward silence that followed the song. "Thanksgivings were the worst," the bearded arch-villain sighed. "Especially the one where the Astoundingly Evil version of my aunt Wanda-Sue and the Generally Non-Aligned version of my uncle Kenny-Joe got in an axe fight over the Auburn/Alabama football game..." "So, just what is this brilliant 'simple plan' of yours?" Davros asked, hoping to forestall any more dysfunctional nostalgia. The Bradleyard powerposed in front of them, impressing no one except maybe Darren. "I propose to, in one swell foop... fell swap... sell fwap..." Lydia sighed and held up a sign reading, 'FELL SWOOP, YOU IDIOT'. "...in one fell swoop you idiot," the Bradleyard continued, "simul- taneously enhance our position while reducing Willis's own. You see, I propose that we... kidnap BKWillis's muse and use her for our own ends!" "For nookie?" Vayoy asked hopefully. Shugahmah slapped him. "Why, that's... not half-bad," Davros said. He seemed to consider the idea for a moment, although with a face like his, it was rather difficult to be sure. "This could work. We take his muse, the source of all his ideas and inspiration, and make her work for us. I _like_ it!" Commander Mucksch eyed the still-posing Bradleyard with new- found respect. "Excellent plan, sir. Who is this muse and where do we find her?" "NYAHAHAHAHA!" laughed the Bradleyard. "I have no idea!" Despite this not being an anime fanfic, everyone facefaulted. It was the only possible response. "But," the Bradleyard continued, ignoring his cast twitching on the floor, "I know how to find out..." ---- The host nodded to the camera as the commercial break ended. "Welcome back to 'Ask the Authors'. Our second guest of the evening is perhaps the most infamous denizen of alt.drwho.creative, an author well-known for what has been called 'self-referential insanity', 'magnificent silliness', and 'absolute stupidity'. It's my dubious pleasure to introduce BKWillis." "Hey, y'all," the author replied from the opposite chair, giving a lazy wave. The host eyed the little man with carefully-unconcealed distaste, wondering why the schedulers couldn't give him someone worth- while. Someone with some style, some dignity. Someone like Jeri Massi, maybe. At least someone with more style and dignity than this wretched hillbilly. Carrot-Top, perhaps? BKWillis drained the last of whatever it was he was drinking from the fruit jar he'd carried in and sighed, patting his stomach. A passing fly was caught in the exhalation and went instantly coma- tose from alcohol vapor poisoning. Willis didn't notice this, as he was too busy scrounging in his pockets for his pack of Marl- boros. The host curled his lip, but pressed professionally on. "Our first question comes from a Mr. John Paul, who writes, 'Given his treatment of religious themes in the _Badlands_ series, and the Interlude scenes in _Dementia in Time_, I am keen to know how BKWillis views religion. Is he an atheist? Sincerely, JP2.'" He turned to his unwanted guest and asked, "Well? Are you an atheist? And how do you view religion?" "Were you talking to me?" the author asked. The host began to steam slightly. "Oh, wait, I caught that," Willis said after a few moments of being glared at. "The answer is, no, I ain't no atheist. I'm a lapsed Deist. And, I view religion like this..." He squinted and cocked his head to one side. "Ha ha," he said to the still- glaring host. "That was a joke." He sighed. "Actually, I have no problems with any religion that doesn't send people around to knock on my door and wake me up at all hours of the after- noon." He frowned abruptly. "Except Discordians. They get on my last nerve." "Thank you for that inane and uninspiring response to an intelli- gent question..." "No prob-- Hey!" "...and now our next question is from Mr. Spike Lee, who writes, 'That redneck peckerwood is always going on about being from the South and his damn Rebel flag, so I want to know just what kind of white-supremacist neo-Nazi Klan-supporter he is. Peace out!'" The author laughed so hard, he fell out of his chair, which wasn't really all that hard since he was about half-lit from his jarful of 140-proof corn whiskey. After eventually finding his way back to an upright position, he gasped, "White supremacist? Me? That's just too freakin' funny. Last time I checked, being HALF-caucasian wasn't too good of a way to get accepted into the Ku Klux Klan." He laughed and pulled a dollar bill out of his pocket. "Here, Spike. Come get this and use it to buy a real first name." "Ah, the insights just keep flowing like a river, don't they?" the host asked drily. "Next, Ms. Gertrude Toklas writes to say, 'Reading BKWillis's fiction, I get some very mixed-messages regarding his attitude toward women. On the one hand, most of his female characters are very strong and independent personal- ities, often quite violent and aggressive, yet he also seems to fixate on their sexuality with revealing costumes and innuendo- laden dialogue. I just want to know, what gives, huh? Why the gun-toting sexpots? Yours, Gert.'" "Simple," said Willis. "I like girls. Girls are cool. Guns are cool, too. So, girls with guns have to be twice as cool. Or, maybe y'all will understand better if I explain it this way..." A cheesy synth- esized rap beat began playing, as Psycho Nyssa, Ember Ashe, Sister Roxanne, Ryoko the Space Pirate, several ADF-babes, Kaye Donegan, and Mistress Helen came out of the wings and formed a chorus line in the background. All were wearing very skimpy outfits and carrying firearms of various types. BKWillis climbed unsteadily to his feet and began to sing/rap to the beat, with the girls shouting along in the appropriate places. (to the tune of 'Girls' by the Beastie Boys) "GIRLS! All I really want is GIRLS! And in the morning it's GIRLS! 'Cause in the evening it's GIRLS! "I like them best when they're bad And maybe just a little mad That's why I give them each a gun So we can have some violent fun "You've prob'ly guessed I quite enjoy a bulging breast And the sight of girls half-dressed They cheer me up when I'm depressed Just the cure for when I'm stressed I say I do not speak in jest When I wish each girl were blessed With a bouncy D-cup chest "Chicks give life zest A curvy female is the best Blonde, red-haired or brunette-tressed But violent girls I'll be honest Turn me on most there's no contest The kind of girls you can't molest Or you will end up field-dressed There now my secret I've confessed "Hope you took notes... there'll be a test "GIRLS! Who play with big guns Who make things go boom They are the most fun In combat or bedroom "GIRLS! That's all I really want GIRLS! Two at a time I want GIRLS! With great big handguns I want GIRLS! Or swinging swords I want my GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS!" The music faded out, and the ladies slipped quietly into the wings as Willis noted with dismay that his cigarette was burnt out. He sank heavily back into his chair and set about the task of finding another Marlboro. "Ah, yes," observed the host, "nothing like a bit of 'T and A' to distract from the mediocre nature of one's ideas." The author shrugged. "Whatever works, egghead." "And now, our final question -- thank the Lord -- is from a Mr. Adleyardbray Smith, who wishes to know, 'Who is BKWillis's muse, and where is she located?'" BKWillis laughed again, a sound that was beginning to make the host think seriously about homicide. "Yeah, right!" the author exclaimed. "Like I'm really going to answer that! It's probably from some sicko with a grudge against me who wants to kidnap her for himself as part of a nefarious plot to defeat me and set him- self up as a some kind of 'Dark Lord of Fan Fiction'..." ---- The Bradleyard and his Minions of Evil stared at the TV set (or Device of Ultimate Malignance, as the Bradleyard called it, which is actually a pretty fair name for any television), mouths agape in disbelief as the end credits of 'Ask the Authors' began to roll. Ex- cept for Varne, that is. "I believe," she said, "that the correct word is 'D'oh!', exclaimed forcefully while slapping oneself on the forehead..." --BKWillis Copyright Notes: 'Doctor Who' is property of the BBC. The ADF created by Doug Killings. The character Varne is property of Ken Young. The character Ryoko is from 'Tenchi Muyo', property of Pioneer. The character Chewbacca is from 'Star Wars' (duh), property of George Lucas. Story and original characters property of BKWillis (and the Bradleyard).