Fic of Epic Awesomeness
Nov. 21st, 2009 07:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysobelSo #yuletide is infinitely helpful:
[18:16] * @Luna stares at single sentence.
[18:18] * @Hippo-Snow adds a sentence about tentacles.
[18:18] <@Hippo-Snow> Now you have two sentences!
[18:19] <@Llwyden> LOL!
[18:19] * @Hippo-isabeau adds tentacles to the two sentences so they can glom in more
[18:19] <@Llwyden> Oo, I forgot about tentacles. Hm.
[18:19] * @Tentacle-ZombieTruth adds a sentence about take-out!
[18:19] * @Hippo-Snow adds a sentence about math.
[18:19] * @Llwyden adds a sentence of tentacles snitching the take-out
[18:19] * @HematiteBadger adds a sentence about space monkeys attacking, a whole new subplot that was never in the original
(and onwards it went)
The fic, of course, had to be written.
###
Once upon a time, there was a sentence. It even had tentacles. Bob, our protagonist, decided to get Chinese takeout. He even used sophisticated math skills to figure out the total before he ordered. Unfortunately, the tentacles stole his takeout, making Bob very unhappy (and hungry).
Meanwhile, the city was being attacked by space monkeys. Oh, no! But SG-1 was there to save the day and stave off the evil space monkeys. There was a citywide party to celebrate their defeat. The tentacles had finished the takeout by that point, so they decided to bake a cake for the party. This proved useful when the space moneys returned, complete with a corps of drummers to provide a drumroll for the space monkeys wielding banana cream pies.
Bob, who was at the party, trying to make up for the lost takeout, ended up being attacked by space monkeys; not with their pies, but with their main weapon, which turned people into zombies. (Bob was not the only victim of the zombie ray, either; as a matter of fact, one of the tentacles had been zapped, which will be important later.)
Bob the zombie took a moment to ponder the fact that zombies adore parties, in part (pun not intended) because of the proliferation of brains. Sweet, sweet brains. They were even better than Chinese takeout! Plus, parties had champagne, at least if they were the good sort of parties. Champagne went well with brains.
At the same time that Bob, in his newly zombified status, was pondering the merits of parties, the space monkeys were being defeated yet again. Their banana cream pies had been defeated by the mathematically superior tentacles and their cake.
The main space monkey baker had run away from the party sobbing about this loss, most likely to compose emo poetry. His second-in-command ignored this, prefering instead to croon to the aforementioned tentacle zombie, promising that she would never give her up, never let her down, never run around and desert her (despite having technically speaking desserted her earlier by flinging banana cream in her general direction).
Elsewhere, a few elderly politicians who had been turned into zombies were discovering, as Bob had done earlier, the inherent love that zombies held towards parties. They continued their political career with renewed vigor, although the two Democrats did get into a fight about which one of them got to eat the brains of the presidential candidate. (That time, the pun was intentional, for which the author apologises.)
In a spirit of comradeship, everyone decided to leap into a rousing session of DDR. The space monkeys weren't quite coordinated enough to do well; the zombies had an unfortunate tendency to dance themselves to pieces, although Bob managed to hold it together; but the tentacles, with their wiggly tentacley goodness, were the winners.
But suddenly, one of the tentacles triggered a submachine trap, which had snuck from its native game habitat into DDR. Rocks fell onto the party, but, in an unexpected change from tradition, everyone lived. Yay!
Bob was an architect, or at least he had been pre-zombie; so he organized the intact zombies, along with the vampires who had snuck in due to a mysterious typo on the author's part, and the space monkeys, to work all together to use the rocks to build a castle. In the process, they discovered that the rocks were, in fact, diamonds, which meant that everyone was now rich[1].
Although they were able to divide the spoils equally, the tentacles were particularly sad that there wasn't going to be a castle. Tentacles loved castles, especially ones with hidden passages. They didn't love submachine traps so much, but the more they played, the better they were, despite being sad about the tragic lack of castleage.
The end.
1: Unfortunately, inflation2 meant that the diamonds became worth less, albeit not worthless, and so everybody did not live happily ever after.
2: The media blamed zombie invasions for the inflation3, except where they used "living-impaired" as a more politically correct euphemism; but the media didn't know the full story, because they didn't participate in Yuletide.
3: Which didn't explain the sudden inflation of footnotes, as this wasn't written for Discworld fandom.
[18:16] * @Luna stares at single sentence.
[18:18] * @Hippo-Snow adds a sentence about tentacles.
[18:18] <@Hippo-Snow> Now you have two sentences!
[18:19] <@Llwyden> LOL!
[18:19] * @Hippo-isabeau adds tentacles to the two sentences so they can glom in more
[18:19] <@Llwyden> Oo, I forgot about tentacles. Hm.
[18:19] * @Tentacle-ZombieTruth adds a sentence about take-out!
[18:19] * @Hippo-Snow adds a sentence about math.
[18:19] * @Llwyden adds a sentence of tentacles snitching the take-out
[18:19] * @HematiteBadger adds a sentence about space monkeys attacking, a whole new subplot that was never in the original
(and onwards it went)
The fic, of course, had to be written.
###
Once upon a time, there was a sentence. It even had tentacles. Bob, our protagonist, decided to get Chinese takeout. He even used sophisticated math skills to figure out the total before he ordered. Unfortunately, the tentacles stole his takeout, making Bob very unhappy (and hungry).
Meanwhile, the city was being attacked by space monkeys. Oh, no! But SG-1 was there to save the day and stave off the evil space monkeys. There was a citywide party to celebrate their defeat. The tentacles had finished the takeout by that point, so they decided to bake a cake for the party. This proved useful when the space moneys returned, complete with a corps of drummers to provide a drumroll for the space monkeys wielding banana cream pies.
Bob, who was at the party, trying to make up for the lost takeout, ended up being attacked by space monkeys; not with their pies, but with their main weapon, which turned people into zombies. (Bob was not the only victim of the zombie ray, either; as a matter of fact, one of the tentacles had been zapped, which will be important later.)
Bob the zombie took a moment to ponder the fact that zombies adore parties, in part (pun not intended) because of the proliferation of brains. Sweet, sweet brains. They were even better than Chinese takeout! Plus, parties had champagne, at least if they were the good sort of parties. Champagne went well with brains.
At the same time that Bob, in his newly zombified status, was pondering the merits of parties, the space monkeys were being defeated yet again. Their banana cream pies had been defeated by the mathematically superior tentacles and their cake.
The main space monkey baker had run away from the party sobbing about this loss, most likely to compose emo poetry. His second-in-command ignored this, prefering instead to croon to the aforementioned tentacle zombie, promising that she would never give her up, never let her down, never run around and desert her (despite having technically speaking desserted her earlier by flinging banana cream in her general direction).
Elsewhere, a few elderly politicians who had been turned into zombies were discovering, as Bob had done earlier, the inherent love that zombies held towards parties. They continued their political career with renewed vigor, although the two Democrats did get into a fight about which one of them got to eat the brains of the presidential candidate. (That time, the pun was intentional, for which the author apologises.)
In a spirit of comradeship, everyone decided to leap into a rousing session of DDR. The space monkeys weren't quite coordinated enough to do well; the zombies had an unfortunate tendency to dance themselves to pieces, although Bob managed to hold it together; but the tentacles, with their wiggly tentacley goodness, were the winners.
But suddenly, one of the tentacles triggered a submachine trap, which had snuck from its native game habitat into DDR. Rocks fell onto the party, but, in an unexpected change from tradition, everyone lived. Yay!
Bob was an architect, or at least he had been pre-zombie; so he organized the intact zombies, along with the vampires who had snuck in due to a mysterious typo on the author's part, and the space monkeys, to work all together to use the rocks to build a castle. In the process, they discovered that the rocks were, in fact, diamonds, which meant that everyone was now rich[1].
Although they were able to divide the spoils equally, the tentacles were particularly sad that there wasn't going to be a castle. Tentacles loved castles, especially ones with hidden passages. They didn't love submachine traps so much, but the more they played, the better they were, despite being sad about the tragic lack of castleage.
The end.
1: Unfortunately, inflation2 meant that the diamonds became worth less, albeit not worthless, and so everybody did not live happily ever after.
2: The media blamed zombie invasions for the inflation3, except where they used "living-impaired" as a more politically correct euphemism; but the media didn't know the full story, because they didn't participate in Yuletide.
3: Which didn't explain the sudden inflation of footnotes, as this wasn't written for Discworld fandom.