I guess this is spam.  But given the fact that everything I've ever done 
has been depressing, I figured something amusing would be nice.  And 
seeing as how 'The Big G' influences ALL fanfics that are written, I 
thought I'd appease 'The Big G' and write something to his liking...

Standard disclaimers apply.

If you really want to C&C this, go ahead.  IT's just for fun and to help 
the writing process...


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

    It was a dark and stormy night.  Lightning crashed like battered 
waste drums and thunder rolled out heavier than cheap instant crescent 
roll dough.  The air was thick with debacle.  Absolutely THICK with it.  
That's when I knew I was in trouble.
    I'd been fighting a losing battle against my worst enemy - one I'd 
never been able to conquer for the life of me.  I'd tried many times in 
the past, but to no avail.  I had to submit to the dark side, as it 
were.
    That's when the sharp pain hit me, and a thousand points of lights 
danced in my vision in the shape of G.H.W. Bush.
    "I'm not doing THAT!" a particularly feminine voice shouted into my 
right ear.  It was painful, but in a good way I suppose.  If women 
weren't going to whisper sweet nothings, why not shout?
    I turned to the source of those sweet nothings.  A sultry looking 
yound woman with lavender hair stared at me with those soft eyes of 
hers.  It appeared as those she looked a bit miffed.
    "I'm not going to do THIS!" she protested, thumping a finger against 
a tome of script.
    "But we have to," I protested.  "It's in the script."
    She pointed behind her at a large, inflatable, 'anatomically 
correct' doll.  It was raggedly dressed in some kind of cloth armor and 
had phosphorescent paint on the eyes.  A plastic sword was in its right 
hand.
    "I'm not going to throw myself at that doll!" she protested, getting 
a better grip on the terrycloth towel wrapped around her generously 
curved body.
    "Well, Ukyou wouldn't do it.  Someone has to," I reasoned.
    "It's beacuse I'm not a pervert!" Ukyou protested from another 
chair.  She took another delicate sip of her tea.
    "I'm not going to do it!" the woman said.  "Even if I were IN 
character I still wouldn't do it!"
    "But, Shampoo-chan," I pleaded, "if you don't, The Big G won't be 
happy!  He'll protest, I'll never have anything read ever again, and 
I'll be relegated to an eternal hell filled with bad self-insertions, 
lemons, and banned threads spawned from the very bowels of GUBBY 
himself!"
    "You could at least have some mood lighting!" Shampoo yelled.
    "I do!  The lava lamps don't work?"
    Shampoo simply stalked away from me and sat in her chair on the set 
and sulked.
    "Even I have limits," a short old man on my left muttered.
    "I somehow doubt that oyaji," I mumbled.
    Happosai smirked.  
    "I only grope and steal underwear," he said with an air of art 
nouveau.
    "At least I don't have tentacles in this thing," I said with a sigh.
    "There in the fiftieth chapter," Akane said morosely.
    "At least they don't go around raping everyone," I tried to counter.
    "No, they go after ME," Ranma-kun said morosely.
    "And it's not even ME," Ranko-chan added from Ranma-kun's right.
    "At least it had a solid foundation," I said lamely.
    "A rift in the fabric of space, time, and anime-dom caused by the 
raging hormones of four lusty finacees, two sisters, one mother, 
compounded by the desires of cloisters Shinto priests globally is 
supposed to be reasonable?!?" Nabiki complained, breaking her 
characteristic calm.
    "You forgot the cream, sugar, and Jell-O instant pudding," Kasumi 
added quietly as she served tea.
    "At least those are real?" I said sheepishly.
    "If I really knew pressure-points, I'd strike you in the 
instant-IQ-raising Shiatsu point repeatedly," Cologne said as she walked 
into the set.
    "It's not my fault!  It's not my fault," I babbled.  "I'm just 
trying to get by and get some respet from fellow authors!  Is that so 
bad?"
    "No, but this script is," Shampoo said.  "It doesn't eve make me 
sound normal.  At least when they make me say 'too too delicious' I can 
make it cute.  This script has me saying 'too too horny' and 'too too 
orgasmic.'"  She pouted a rather sexy pout.  "I can't make that cute."
    At that point, the blow-up doll decided to spontaneously pop a hole 
in the inflatable organ and fly around the set in a rather silly 
fashion.  Cologne snickered.  Happosai winced.  The rest of them stared, 
their mouths agape.  I wept openly.

    ============================================================
    Little did I know that the scripts I'd been receiving in the mail 
were being typed up by a small, half-shaven, half-burnt hermaproditic 
cat and a disgusting looking wino that looked as though he'd been living 
under one too many outcroppings and drank one too many bottles of 
rubbing alcohol for the buzz.  I should have known, but how could I?  I 
was told that this kind of thing was trendy.  I suppose I should have 
actually read the script, but The Big G said it was going to be okay....







    

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