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Superheroes and Bad Writing

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Be a super hero! Get your own spangly costume! Grab a cool name and fight bad writing wherever you see it!

The two hapless fic writers stood there, mouths gaping. In their trembling hands: grammatically-challenged stories.

"Did you see that?" GrammaB shook her fist, and her costume, made of dark-green spandex, with a cool little tutu, shone under the street light. "'Ares licked Iphicles' cock, he was a great cocksucker.'"

Her crime-fighting partner, PuncVixen, wrinkled her nose. "And did you see this?" Her voice trembled with barely-suppressed affront. "'Ready for orgasm, Ares' fingers shook with lust.' How can fingers have orgasms?"

"Disgusting!" GrammaB turned to the offenders. "Jail's too good for you two," she snarled with a hero's self-righteous goodness.

The pathetic perpetrators of pernicious punctuation cowered in the face of our heroes' wrath.

"No!" cried the first. "Don't hurt me, I promise I'll be good!"

"Yes," whimpered the second. "Studying harder, my writing is bound to improve!"

"You see?" PuncVixen shook her head sadly. "Even as they claim remorse, they continue to commit their crimes."

GrammaB could only sigh in disappointment.

As the two superheroes stood there, contemplating the fate of the two hapless writers, they were joined by another friend in the fight against bad grammar. WordWoman ran up to them in her blue lycra suit, dragging another pathetic excuse for a writer behind her.

"I found this one in a coffeeshop," she said disdainfully, pushing the writer over to the others. "'Clarks weeping cock jumped when Lex touched him, he couldn't breath'...makes me sick just looking at it!" She glowered at the writers. "So what are we going to do with these pathetic pieces of pitiable plots?"

From around the corner came the distinctive sound of four-inch spike heels striking concrete.

"You know me, girls. I like to make an entrance," drawled LipSis. She pulled a mirror from the well-filled bodice of her red and black sequined jumpsuit so she could admire her perfect, scarlet-stained lips.

"She's such a show off," muttered GrammaB. "So where's your offending fic writer? We're not here just to admire ourselves."

"Here, little ficcer. Come to Mama!" The pathetic, cowed and collared writer slunk around the corner and knelt obediently in front of LipSis. "Okay, let's hear it."

"Ares hesitated...unsure of what he should do. Perhaps...but no...that could alert Herc. He didn't want to do that...or did he...?"

"Enough! Cower there while we figure out your punishment."

The Shoe appeared, dusting off her black leather catsuit and dragging a cuffed and cowering writer. Pushing the offender to her knees, she said, "It's share time, chica. Lay it on us."

"Wolverine stared hugnrily at Rouge as she slipped the silken scarf from around my neck and kisses him passionately, there tongues tangling in a dance older than time. He ravishes the warm cavern of my mouth and Rogue's knee's went weak."

Shoe claps her hand over the writer's mouth as the others cringe in horror. "I think that's quite enough."

The Fragment Slayer dropped into their midst with an offender under one arm, and the offender's offering under the other.

"Listen to this, ladies." When the offender remained silent, the Slayer shook her vigorously. "Come on, it'll be easier if you cooperate."

"Fine. I don't understand what you're on about, but I'll read it." Clearing her throat, the offender began. "Lance stood up and walked to the window. Arching his back as he went. He looked over his shoulder at Chris. Who was laying on the floor."

"Stop. For the love of Lance, stop." The Slayer looked pained as she asked, "What are they teaching in English classes these days?"

The Three-Headed POV Monster came snuffling, snuffling, round the corner, almost knocking over WordWoman. Before the superheroine could beat the monster soundly over its middle head with a large copy of Strunk and White (which is difficult to find), the left head (the one that looked like Xander, only with a better haircut than his current one) cried, "Stop! Please. I snuffle in peace!"

The Monster lifted one of its huge scaly arms, and from beneath it dropped a defiant fic-writer. "Look, I don't see what your problem is! I'm just writing in Third Person Omniscient! It's perfectly legal."

The misshapen body loomed over the cocky young writer. "THAT," its middle head (the one that looked suspiciously like the Mad Poetess) screeched, "is NOT Third Person Omniscient, you moron."

It held up a page of slashfic before the assembled audience. "Read this. Now." The right head (the one that looked like Spike) grinned disturbingly. "Or I'll do something unpleasant to your ears."

"You can't -- I'm human," the fic-writer taunted. "It would set your brain-chip off."

The monster tapped the alleged author on the shoulder. "I hate to burst your bubble, but it won't set off my brain-chip," the left head informed her. "Because I don't have one. And Spike and I happen to have the same pair of hands."

"Plus, you're not human. Anyone who could write this paragraph can't possibly be human," the Spike-head added. The Monster grabbed the writer by the ear. "Now read."

"Geez. Fine." The writer lifted the sheet of paper up. "Xander stood by the window, looking out, wondering why Spike was so late. He'd been getting home later and later every night, and this time it was almost morning. Then the door opened and Spike came rushing in. Thank god he'd made it home on time; next time he went out searching for monsters to beat up, he'd remember to wear a watch. He threw his coat on the sofa and stalked over to kiss his lover. Xander looked so beautiful, standing in the moonlight by the window, the worry evident on his face. He breathed a sigh of relief as Spike's arms closed around him, and vowed to never let his lover go hunting by himself again -- it just wasn't worth the heartache. A cock hardened against his thigh, and there was a low chuckle in his ear."

The writer finished and looked up at the assembled throng of superheroes. "What? Third person omniscient. I was in everybody's heads. What's wrong with that?"

"Pardon me," the Spike-head said to the ladies around him. Then he grabbed the fic writer, and ate her.

"Yummy," the Xander-head commented.

"Snuffle," agreed the Poetess-head, rubbing her tummy.

WordWoman sighed and dusted off her shimmery blue boots with their slightly more-practical 2" heels. "You realize there's only one thing to do, ladies," she said, glaring at the pile of quivering writers.

"You don't mean--"

"I'm afraid so." WordWoman turned and snapped her fingers, causing a pile of elementary grammar books to fall from the sky, landing on top of their foes. "Now listen up," she said, her eyes narrowed. "The next one of you who confuses 'breath' and 'breathe', 'lose' and 'loose', 'they're' and 'their', and 'you're' and 'your'--or any of those--is going to get one of these surgically inserted somewhere you won't like it." WordWoman turned to her sisters in bad-grammar-fighting and arched one elegant eyebrow. "Next?"

The evil fighters were then joined by Homo Nym. A pathetic ficcer writhed in her gloved grasp. Nym tapped her foot (clad in emerald green satin boots, natch) impatiently. "Show them your slash story, you third grade reject!"

The wretched figure pulled out a tattered printout and handed it to GrammaB who read it aloud. "'Fraser, your hurting me!' squeaked Ray. 'But Ray, bondage was you're idea! Don't you remember you're safeword?' asked the Mountie. 'Its been so long that I can't remember!' said Ray. Fraser sighed. Rays safeword's were always so hard to remember and he couldn't remember who's turn it was to write them down."

GrammaB shuddered in horror. Once again Nym had found a slasher who knew not the difference between similar words. Would fiction ever be safe?

 

The End