(Warning: Contains some mildly naughty-sounding parts, self-insertion, and idiocy.) Written in a moment of wild self-indulgence, it's... SHOCK VALUE 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO by BKWillis "...before I kill you, I just want you to know one thing. Mom always liked ME best!! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!! Think on that, as you writhe forever in the torments of Hell! Goodbye, Willis, and good riddance!" The speaker raised both fists into the air, threw back his head, and screamed, "At last, I am avenged!!" In the background, thunder rumbled dramatically as the man continued to hold his pose, eyes squeezed shut and tears of manly triumph rolling down his cheeks. Lydia hit the 'STOP' button on the tape deck, and the thundering ceased. "Nice speech, Bradleyard," she fibbed. "Now, if only you actually had Willis here right now..." The evil Bradleyard swiped at his evil eyes with an evil tissue as he replied, "That, my dear, is what I'm going to say to him when I finally have him helpless and defeated and in my clutches." "Well, I didn't think you were planning on telling him that while you trade knitting patterns." The Bradleyard, being an intensely evil megalomaniac, had a real problem comprehending things like sarcasm. And, like all megalomaniacs, anything he couldn't comprehend wasn't impor- tant to him, so he tended to just ignore these kinds of comments. This suited Lydia just fine, as it let her get away with quite a lot, and besides, she found a little bit of gullibility to be an endearing trait in an arch-villain. "You know what I'm going to do with him when I finally have him, Lydia...?" "Yes. You tell me several times a day." The Bradleyard went on, heedless of the eye-rolling Lydia was doing. "First, I'm going to kick him in the shin. Hard. Then, I'm going to kick him in the other shin. Then, I'm going to burn all his Marshall Tucker albums as he watches. After that, I cover his crotch in gravy and turn loose a pack of starving Boston Terriers..." Lydia sighed. Once he got going on this kick, it would take him two or three hours to wind up. Since there was something she needed to talk to him about, that simply wouldn't do at all. She'd just have to subtly manipulate the conversation onto another subject. "...and then I pour the scalding-hot espresso up his right nostril, while simultaneously OUCH!" The Bradleyard clutched at his head where Lydia had smacked him with the Whiffle bat. "Sorry, boss," she said without a trace of contrition, "but there's something we need to talk about." "This isn't going to be one of those 'relationship' talks, is it?" the Bradleyard asked with deep suspicion. "Oh God, tell me you haven't been reading _Cosmopolitan_..." "No, no," she reassured him. "Nothing like that. I want to talk about this fanfic project of ours." "Ah, yes. The Fanfic." Lydia could hear the capitalization in his voice. "That Willis thinks he's so hot for winning those awards, but I'll show them all what _real_ talent is! My Fanfic will reduce him to a quivering, defeated wreck of a man! Then, I kick him in the shin. Hard. Then, I OWWWCH!!" The Bradleyard staggered as Lydia swatted him on the head with a rubber chicken. "Sorry, boss," Lydia said mechanically. "Yeah, the Fanfic. I've got a few questions about it." "Naturally, naturally," the Bradleyard airily replied. "I, of course, would expect that you might have difficulty understanding the immortal genius of my creative vision." He ignored Lydia's rolled eyes. "What aspect of my godlike artistic mastery requires ex- planation, dear Lydia?" "The plot, for one thing." "What of it?" "Exactly. You haven't told me anything about it." The Bradleyard had set out a full-length mirror and was busily practicing his Evil Powerposes as they talked. He wondered idly if a cape would make him look more Evil, although finding one that matched the Lennox Air Conditioning shirt might be bother- some. "Well?" she asked, foot impatiently tapping to the tune of the 'Dick van Dyke Show' theme song. "I haven't told you about the Plot for a very good reason, my dear." "And that would be...?" "Because I haven't thought of one yet!" He ignored the veins throbbing on Lydia's temple as he made various Evil gestures that were vaguely reminiscent of some of John Travolta's dance moves in 'Saturday Night Fever'. "But never fear! I shall soon produce a Plot of such Olympian coolnessitude that it shall eclipse all that has gone before! And you, my dear, perky, and slightly short-tempered servant, shall be propelled to heights of stardom unattained by any since the days of June Allison! And I... I shall be a DEITY of Internet fiction! Everyone will acknowledge my supremacy! Especially Willis! Have I told you what I'm going to do to Willis? First, I'm going to kick him in the shin. Hard. And then, I'm going to YOWOWCH!" Lydia tossed the bent badminton racket aside. "Sorry, boss," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Anyway, isn't it time we got production of the Fanfic under way, hmm? The sooner we get it going, the sooner we can get it posted, and the sooner we can both get our revenge on BKWillis." The Bradleyard just stood blinking at her for a moment, then a huge and unhealthy-looking grin slowly spread across his features like a urine stain on the front of an incontinent man's pants. "Why, Lydia, that's BRILLIANT! Give yourself a promotion and a three- percent pretax raise!" He danced a quick, epileptic-looking jig and gave his henchgirl a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, boss," she said, blushing slightly, "but could I have something else instead of the raise?" "Name it, my not-as-smart-as-me-but-still-pretty-sharp assistant!" "Could I, uh, have a last name and some defined character traits?" "Done!" The Bradleyard scooped up a pen and a small legal pad and plopped down on his Couch of Ultimate Evil. "I'll just write you a into quick drabble to make it official. Let's see... ah!" With a look of sudden inspiration, he began to scribble furiously on the pad while Lydia watched over his shoulder. FIGHT TO THE FINISH by the Bradleyard Lydia G. Gordon, the Doctor's companion who looked just like Wynona Ryder, smiled in savage triumph as Lydia leaned down and whispered something in the Bradleyard's ear. He nodded and tore up the sheet, starting over on another page. FIGHT TO THE FINISH by the Bradleyard Lydia G. Gordon, the Doctor's companion who looked just like Wynona Ryder but with bigger breasts and nicer legs, smiled in savage triumph as she pinned her enemy to the slippery floor. "Surrender!" she declared. "Your reign of terror is at an end!" "Never!" snarled the evil and cool-looking Overlord Drayeldarb as he flipped the girl off of him, jumping atop her a moment later. "Now, _you_ surrender," he hissed, forcing her shoulders back. "Hah! I have not yet begun to-- Hang on. I think we're getting a bit dry here." "Mm, you're right. Evil Minions! Bring more chocolate pudding!" Lydia looked at herself in the mirror, watching her features come more into focus and lose the vague fuzziness that came from never having been described in prose. "Ooh! I love it!" she squealed. "Now," said the Bradleyard, "it just has to be performed and re- corded to make it official." He leered and held up several boxes of pudding. ---- "You know, on reflection, we probably should have put down some dropcloths or something. The floor will be sticky for weeks now." Lydia nodded. "You bringing out the crushed avocados and the chutney didn't help. And I think the hunchback took my panties when she left with her power tools." The Bradleyard shrugged nonchalantly. "Ah, well. Nobody ever said that being depraved was easy." He put his shirt on, only to find that the collar had been chewed off of it. The price of perver- sity, or something like that. "Seriously, though," Lydia said as she slipped into her dress, which was in fine shape since it had been nowhere near her body for most of the afternoon. "I think it's time we got our Willis- destroying Fanfic into production." The Bradleyard looked thoughtful as he brushed a few bits of avocado out of his hair. "I guess our first step should be assem- bling a cast to work with. We can maybe put out some flyers and run a Help Wanted ad in the paper. While you get those circul- ated, I shall use my vast creative expertise to begin constructing an epic Plot of such vast and sweeping potency that its beauty will cause grown men to weep like a schoolgirl with a splinter in her butt!" His voice began to rise as he went into his usual ego- maniacal ranting. "They'll all see! I'll be the Fanfic Savior! And I'll make Willis say how much better I am than he is! And then, I'll kick him in the shin! Hard! Then, I'll kick him in the YOWCH!" Lydia put the chutney-covered riding crop back on the dresser as the Bradleyard rubbed at the new sore spot on his head. "Let's just get to it, okay?" ---- "Places, everybody!" BKWillis glared about the set of _The Feminine Mistake_, noting with some displeasure that one of the stars of the next scene was missing. "All right! Where's Adric?" A nameless extra nervously replied, "I, uh, think he's outside, getting some ice cream." "He's _what_!?" Catbert walked over, nodding in confirmation. "An ice cream truck pulled up outside, and he, Nyssa, Tegan, Captain Marlowe, and the nun all went out to get some." BKWillis flopped back into his chair, tossing aside his copy of the script with a muttered oath. "Great. That's just great." To the cast and crew at large, he called out, "Okay, everybody! May as well take a ten-minute break. When we come back, though, I want everything ready for Scene 12." While the workers disper- sed, Willis sat in his Director's chair and grumbled. A few minutes into the unexpected break, the female Number One came over to him, a piece of paper in her hand and a con- cerned look on her face. "Hey, Chief. I got something here you might want to see." "Hmm..." Willis gave the paper a cursory glance. "Looks like a flyer for a casting call. Some newbie trying to scrounge a cast for a fanfic." He shrugged. "Happens all the time. It's nothing to do with us." "You didn't read it," the redhead said flatly. "Read the _whole_ thing." With a sigh, the author did so. ******** !!CASTING CALL!! GODLIKE TALENT PRODUCTIONS, INC. SEEKING SKILLED CHARACTERS FOR MAJOR NEW FANFIC EPIC GTP Inc. is looking for skilled fanfic characters to star in its newest line of epic short stories. Salary based on experience, plus health insurance and retirement package. We are an equal- opportunity employer and absolutely not a front for a Really Really Evil Villain. Apply in person at GTP's main office at 220 Turner Boulevard between 8AM and 4PM weekdays. Prior experience helpful, but not required. Seething, maniacal hatred of BKWillis a big plus. ******** "Yeah?" Willis asked, handing it back. "What's your point?" Number One pointed at the last sentence on the flyer. "What about _that_?" she demanded. BKWillis shrugged. "Probably just a typo..." ---- "Excuse me? Is this Godlike Talent Productions?" The receptionist, who looked just exactly like Wynona Ryder, but with bigger breasts and nicer legs, gave him a dazzling smile of welcome. "Why yes. Are you here to apply for a job?" "Yeah. Sure am." "Okay, have a seat. I'll just need to get some information from you. I need to know your name, employment history, and qualifications." "Darren Ullman. I've been leader of WANKER for several years, and worked at Burger King before that. I've been in several fan- fics before, including 'Cabals-Up', 'The Knights Who Say Nyssa', 'Like Water for Adric', and 'The Feminine Mistake'." Ullman pondered for a moment, then added, "Oh, and I also have a seething, maniacal hatred for BKWillis, if that helps." He began to shake slightly, grimacing and pounding his fists on the desk. This went on for several moments, but he finally settled back down and mumbled an apology. "Sorry, Miss. I just... react badly to that name, is all." Lydia looked him over, then reached out and clapped him on one scrawny shoulder. "Mr. Ullman," she said, "I have a feeling that you and the boss are going to get along just perfectly." --BKWillis Copyright Note: 'Doctor Who' is owned by the BBC. Catbert is from 'Dilbert', property of Scott Adams. Story and original characters are mine.