A Five Fosters Experiment (An experiment in Anime Revenge Fics) by Uncle Fester Greg thought as he reached for his fifth can of Fosters. Greg tended to drink Australian beer whenever he got depressed. Sometimes it took only one or two single liter cans to drive the depression from him. For some reason, tonight, after four cans, he was still depressed. He was feeling no pain, to be sure, but his depression was still present. He caressed the fifth can; uncharted territory. Usually by now, he was either too mellow to go for five or straight passed out, making a fifth can impossible. In any case, something unpredictable was sure to happen. Greg snorted again as he opened the can. [Cue Echo Chamber reverb and ILM special effects] I AM THE VERY LIFE FORCE THESE ANIME FOOLS FEAR MOST! "That's only because they've read your stories." "Who said that?" Greg looked around startled. A female figure slowly took shape over by the door. Recognition washed over the inebriated would-be writer. "Trish?" Bapbapbapslamcrashkneeinthegroingarlicpressattack-Bappitybapbapbap rustyrazerbladeslicestompsmackslambamthankyoumam-Bapitybappitybapbapbap!!!!!!!!!!! "Ohaiyo, Kun-chan. Long time, no see." Bapbapbapsmashcrashwhapwhappow! "Weinberg, get outta here! I *know* there's no "i" in Ohayo. I'm just pulling Kun-chan's chain." For several seconds Greg and Kun-chan glared at each other. "How'd you get here?" Greg asked through clenched teeth. "I was in the fifth can." "You came all the way from Australia in a one litre can of Fosters?" Greg looked incredulously in the can. "Geez, and I thought Americans only feared the occasional dead mouse in their cans of beer. And to think, you Aussies pack babes in the big cans." Greg's nose was pressed against the can's opening; maybe Lucy Lawless was still inside. Bapbapbapwhackmashhithurtookeekoorpahahprojectakoattack dragon'sbreath(toomuchgarlicfordinner)bappitybapbapbap! "Greg, dear. Are you talking to someone in there?" came his wife's voice from the other side of the door. "My guests are becoming concerned." Her 'guests' were the local chapter of 'The Daughters of The Oglala Sioux Nation'. Greg had a living room full of Indians who were discussing past ethnic injustices and growing more hostile by the minute. "Just getting in touch with my feminine side, dear" Greg chirped. "Yeah and drunk on your ass again," she muttered as she went back to her meeting. Kun-chan, taking offence at the 'getting in touch with my feminine side' remark, launched another 'Bap' attack. Greg whimpered as he curled up into a ball on his chair; the blows being successfully resisted by his powerful forearms. For some reason, the attack suddenly ceased. "All for one and one for all." Greg peeked out from under his protecting arms to see three male figures dressed in musketeer outfits and holding their swords aloft. The Australian Lemon Goddess was nowhere to be seen. "Sound off fellow writers." "Biles!" "Butler!" "Lawson!" "Aw geez." Greg's head hit the desk. "Hey! Wait a minute." Butler scowled at his surroundings. "This isn't Kun-chan's place. This is a *dump*." "I know, but she left me an e-mail saying she was coming here." Biles sniffed with a regal air. "Lord only knows why." Greg grabbed his fifth Fosters and started to take a drink. He felt sure this was all an illusion and one more drink was just what he needed to clear things. Unfortunately, the can was empty; well, not totally empty. "Not only is Kun-chan gone, but she took the rest of my beer as well." Greg shook the supposedly empty can. "And left me with a dead mouse." "Get a life, Fester." "Actually, a life could mean many things, Biles." Professor Butler leaned on his sword and stroked his chin. "As an existential existence one could ponder the meaning to the various ethereal realms and how they relate to our existence as we know it." John Biles shook his head while putting his sword on Greg's desk. "I disagree. To examine the cross-dimensional meanings of life one would have to have access to cross-dimensional functionalities, in a truly esoteric sense, of course." "I feel your pain, Greg." Lawson scowled at his companions, his thoughts obviously on his next sad fic. "Ah, but is pain a true emotion on the ethereal plane?" "Not necessarily. I believe Palmer said it best in... 'Autumn', I believe it was,..." "OUT! OUT!! OUT!!!" Greg yelled as he herded them towards thedoor. Opening it abruptly, he shoved the three 'egg heads' out and slammed it shut. Lawson reopened the door slightly and asked: "By the way, are you going to Atlanta?" "OUT!!!" "Sheesh. No wonder you don't have any friends." Greg slumped back to his chair, totally ignoring the fact he just tossed three pseudo- intellectuals, dressed in blue coats, into a meeting of a dozen Native Americans who were just getting to the part about 'Wounded Knee'. Sounds of musketeers being ripped to shreds by whooping female Sioux Indians echoed through the neighborhood. Greg's neighbors, used to this kind of disturbance, simply slammed shut their windows and pretended it wasn't happening. Greg started to type his 'revenge fic' again when another female voice interrupted him. "I want a rewrite." Greg turned slowly to face...Nabiki Tendo, her arms crossed and a look of destain on her face. "Rewrite!?! What, the hell, are you talking about?" "Part 4 of my series." "Part 4?!? I haven't finished part 3 yet." "I've seen the outline, wyrm." "Hey! Leave him out of this." "Who?" "Never mind...what outline?" "The one on your floppy." Greg looked down at his zipper. "The 3.5 floppy disk you keep carefully hidden away in that disk caddie of yours, you moron!" "Oh, that floppy." Greg sounded genuinely relieved. "What about it?" "I'm *NOT* going to be pregnant!" Her look was more lethal than even Greg's wife was capable of. Come to think of it, it was very similar to the one his wife gave him upon finding out the first time *she* was pregnant. "Look, you gotta be pregnant in the next part." Greg tried to reason with the Anime character. "It'll be funny." "FOR WHO?!? You don't have to go through the weight gain, the morning sickness, the bloating, the yucky feeling." She lowered her voice and growled: "I *hate* feeling yucky." "It's only a story," Greg protested but felt sure it wasn't working. Nabiki's eyes narrowed and she got 'the look' again. "I know where you do your banking." she noted. "Big deal. There's no money there anyway. I just use it to confuse the bill collectors." "All right, I know where your investments are." "Hah! Amalgamated Prune Pits went belly up five years ago. You'll have to do better than that." Nabiki smiled. As Greg had noted in Part 1, on any other woman, Greg would have been running for his life Actually, he should have been. "I know about Part 2.5." She smiled her best extortion smile. "Two...Two point five?" Greg whimpered. "Nobody knows about Part 2.5. Only my wife has ever seen 2.5 and 'boy was it worth it'...I mean..." "Having me do all those disgusting things with Jeff Lawrence." She leaned over and pinched Greg's cheek. "And you said you couldn't write 'lemon', you little dickens." Nabiki just smiled and started unbuttoning her blouse; an evil smirk plastered all over her face. "You know, Greg, half the ML wants me." She shook her shoulders seductively. Greg glanced quickly around for the hidden cameras. "You could become *real* popular if we...you know." She had gotten to the bottom button. It was obvious she wasn't wearing a bra. Greg swallowed hard. "Greg, dear." It was his wife at the door again. "Did I hear a girl's voice in there?" "No sweetheart, I was just working through some dialog." Greg sweated as Nabiki started to unzip her slacks. "By the way. We're finished with the musketeers you sent us. If you find any cavalry or BIA officials in there, please send them out. The girls are really enjoying this meeting." Greg quickly turned back to his computer and tried to think of what to say to a rapidly stripping Nabiki. "Nabiki, I know this is going to sound strange..." "Nabiki?" It was a different voice this time. "Nabiki's not here." Greg spun back around to face a smiling Kasumi Tendo with her younger sister, Akane. Greg looked quickly around the room for a hidden naked Nabiki only to cum up with a stack of 'lemon' Ranma stories he had downloaded from the RAAC archives. Kasumi just smiled again. "I love the way you've written me in your stories. I especially liked 'The Night' [Now available on the RAAC archive] where I got to make the supreme sacrifice for my sisters." "Yeah, well, I never liked the thought of you being a mindless bimbo like in 'Real Man' (or something) or a homicidal maniac." Greg chuckled. "I mean, who'd ever believe you capable of such a thing?" Kasumi just smiled and held her tiny basket in both hands. "We've brought you cookies," Akane chirped as she held up her basket. It contained, what looked like, charcoal briquets. Greg swallowed hard again. "Akane dear, why don't you take your cookies into the living room with the other 'girls'," Kasumi said in a motherly way. "I'll bet they would like to see how you pull weapons out of Rumic-space." "Okay, Oneechan. Bai, Bai." Akane slipped through he door, leaving Greg alone with Kasumi. "So...What'd you bring me, Kasumi?" Greg asked as he turned back to the computer. "Something special just for you." Her voice was soft and alluring. Greg shook his head and chuckled. He had a weak spot for Kasumi. Of all the girls in the series, Kasumi attracted him the most. She was the perfect blend of everything a man looked for in a woman. He was about to comment on that when he caught Kasumi's reflection in the window behind his computer screen. She was holding a large butcher knife over her head, ready to strike. Her expression was the same; friendly, happy, and sweet. With a sharp cry, Greg slid out of his chair and under the desk. He could feel the impact of the knife on the back of his chair as he moved. Had he waited a few seconds longer, Kasumi would have scored another victim. "For the love of.... Kasumi, what the hell are you doing!?" He yelled as he started to climb back out from under the desk. He looked around quickly but found no Kasumi and no knife. The only thing he noticed was his room was neatly cleaned and dusted and his empty beer cans had been removed; except for the one with the dead mouse. "Shade and Sweet Water!" he mumbled. "Tomorrow I go back on the wagon." Turning back to his computer, Greg stared at the two lines he had written. Either could have won hands down the Bad Fiction Contest' Joe Palmer was running a few months ago. "Maybe I should leave the 'revenge fics' to others." he mused. "After all, my 'Nabiki-New Horizons' series [available at all the better web sites everywhere] has been already tagged as an otaku-wish-fulfillment type story. Why should I subject myself to mindless attacks from vengeful Anime characters?" The arrival of a single black rose on his keyboard announced his next visitor. "Greg, darling," Kodachi crowed as her arms went around Greg's body, her hands coming dangerously close to his 'floppy' storage. "I've always loved you best, my darling." Greg froze with fear while her brother, Tatewaki Kuno, hovered menacingly nearby. Greg fought for every breath over the stifling presence of Kodachi's rose-smelling perfume. "Sister, I fear your attentions are misplaced. He is a gaijin and a married one at that." Kodachi began nuzzling Greg's neck. "Brother, dear, I tried to tell you in Part 2, if you're nice to people, you can get anything you want. If I'm nice to Greg, he'll write a nice story where I get my honey, Ranma." Greg's fear slipped into anger as he realized she wasn't hot for him but rather for some mindless Anime character. He felt used. He felt dirty. He felt like a character in one of SKJAM's stories. Tatewaki's bokken slamming onto the desk next to Greg's computer caught his attention. "You *know* where that enslaver of women, Ranma Saotome, is." He sounded more menacing than usual. "I know where Akane is," Greg answered, his voice changing pitch as Kodachi ran her tongue around the outside of his ear. "Speak, gaijin! Where goes my love?" Greg disengaged himself from the glomping younger Kuno and reached into the office closet. Pulling out a buckskin jacket and blonde wig, he tossed the items to Mr. Blue Thunder. "What, pray tell, are these ridiculous items for?" Tatewaki was suspicious but still listening. "Look, sport, Akane is in a meeting with my wife and a bunch of Sioux Indians. If you want to get into the meeting, you'll have to dress like an honored member of the tribe. Just put on the jacket and blonde wig, go into the living room, and say the traditional Sioux greeting: *Custer Lives*. Got it?" Greg tried to peal Kodachi off his leg while beating her hand off his zipper. "Custer Lives?" "Trust me, big guy." Greg cast a disgusted look at Kodachi as she was licking the outside of his pants leg. "You'll get immediate attention like you've never experienced." Tatewaki Kuno did as he was instructed. Less than 30 seconds after leaving the room, a war erupted in Greg's living room. Greg listened as well as he could with Kodachi trying to trade skins with him, but seemed to enjoy the screams of a certain would-be samurai. The door to Greg's office swung open to reveal Martin perforated with arrows with a tomahawk buried in his head. "Good lord, man. What happened to you? Did my wife's friends do that?" "This?" Martin looked at his pincushion body. "Naw, I got this from the ML members. You remember that nasty little comment I made about the changes to the list." "Oh, yes." Greg suddenly felt warm; warm enough to start sweating. "I thought for sure everyone had forgotten all about that by now." Tatewaki Kuno ran screaming past the window outside, his pants on fire and three female Sioux chasing him like a bunch of angry bees. "Even Jennie..." Greg's thoughts were interrupted by a flaming arrow that imbedded itself in the window frame just over his head. "Perhaps not..." Tatewaki Kuno ran back past the window, still screaming, his pants still on fire, followed by more female Sioux, three dogs, and a rabid squirrel. "Kodachi, dear," Greg tried to pull the spandex clad sex bomb off his leg. "White Wolf promised to write a tender love story between you and Ranma." "Really!?!?" she sounded almost genuinely pleased. "Sure, sweetie. All you have to do is...ah...make the Wolf, you know, happy." Like a shot Kodachi was out the door and down the hall. Soon, the sounds of White Wolf's screams mingled with Tatewaki's. The pitch was just right to make every dog in the neighborhood start howling. Relieved, Greg turned back to his keyboard. Outside, Kuno was being tied to a stake, his pants still on fire. Somehow, Greg got the impression Mr. Blue Thunder was beginning to enjoy his ordeal. Greg thought as he hacked out a few more lines. "I doubt it." came a voice from the door. "Zen? Is that you?" Greg asked without looking. "Yeah, it's me." "Did you bring the beer?" "Two cases, enough even for you." "How's things going out there?" "Brutal, man. Real brutal." Zen sat down and opened a Fosters of his own before continuing. "The Knight Sabers got Mike Loader, Jang Choe, Ben Harrison, and Nightelf. It wasn't pretty." "Yeah, I hear they play rough." "You should've seen what they did to poor SKJAM." He shuddered at the thought. "He'll never be the same." "Anyone else?" White Wolf's screams had tapered off only to be replace by strange moans. The Sioux were using what was left of Tatewaki Kuno to roast marshmallows. "Well, A-ko got Jim Franks. Tied him to her bed." Zen paused to let his emotions wash past. "The doctors say it'll take six weeks to get the smile off his face." "Poor guy." "And Slashtooth...oh, god. You won't believe what C-ko and the Sailor Moon crowd did to him. I'm afraid he'll never be able to, you know, again." "Not with anyone normal, anyway." "I suppose you've heard about Sebastian." "What about Sebastian?" Greg's head whipped around at the name of the old Teutonic expert on red-heads. "Ranko got him outside the Math Department." Zen sniffed. "Drug him into an empty classroom and...." "That's okay, pal. Drink your beer. It'll all be over soon." Greg turned back to his keyboard. "How about Kergma?" "Don't ask. When I saw the results, all I could do was go over to a corner and throw up." "Sorry to hear that." Greg stopped typing and stared out the window. "At least the three Kansas musketeers made it." "Haven't you heard?" Zen almost dropped his Fosters. "Kun-chan trapped them in Australia, just after she got doused... You've no idea." "Hmmmmm. Kun-chan too, huh?" "I hear Biles might make it, but the Professor...." Zen shuddered at the mental scene he was witnessing. "Poor Lawson. He now knows what suffering really means." "Never did make it to Atlanta." Greg thought with pity. "Any word on Arromdee or Jack Ji?" "They must have gotten between Ranma and Ryoga during one of their fights. Someone reported Ryoga yelling: 'Twoallbeefpattiesspecialsaucelettusecheesepicklesonionsonasesameseedbun' before the attack." "Ah, yes." Greg nodded knowingly. "The 'Big Mac Attack'. Not much left, I suppose." "Are you kidding? It took out most of the West Coast." "Poor guys." "I just know Trish Ledoux is behind all this," Zen said staring intently out the window. "I hear she personally got Ewan and Mousse Lee. Kept making them say things in English they didn't really mean. Terrable!" Zen was quiet for a few moments. "I've gotta go." "Don't do it, man!" Greg spun around again and stared at the shaken Zen. "They're still out there." "I know, but I've gotta find out about the rest of the ML." Greg knew better than to get in the way of Zen when his mind was made up. All he could do was watch from the door as the man from Nashville slipped into the night. "Watch out for Shampoo, man. I hear she's gunning for ya," he called out to the rapidly disappearing Zen. There was no answer. Greg was about to sit back down and finish his fic when Azusa ran through his back yard carrying one of his new pups and screaming: "Kawaii, Kawaii!" "That tears it!" Greg stomped over to his gun safe and pulled out his HK91. Snapping in a, now illegal, twenty round clip, he chambered the first NATO standard 7.62mm round. Pulling down his sawed off shotgun and shoving two automatic handguns in the waistband of his pants, Greg stepped out onto his back porch. Half the Australian membership passed out that the thought of an armed and crazy American. Kuno's smoldering body cast a sickly sweet smell to the air; the Indians had switched to roasting weenies. This was going to get messy.