You asked for it, IMAO: Crappy fan fiction

So Harvey over at IMAO wanted some fan fiction paying homage to Frank's In My World stuff. Specifically, he asked for Buck the Marine killin' for'ners. Not many people have created two-cent rip-offs of Frank J.'s genius yet, so I figured I would give it a shot.

Fan fiction is generally horrible, if not outright crappy. I mean, just Google it and see what you find. It's almost as pathetic as some of the books and movies themselves, which is quite an achievement for things like Harry Potter. Harry Potter fans, though, have generally read the subject material they're making fan fiction of cover to cover about 1,643 times. It's sick, really. I didn't have the time or the energy to read through all of IMAO's In My Worlds, so, in keeping with the tradition of crappiness here at The Order of the Blue Square, we intend to lower the bar even lower. Wish us luck.

Note to my visitors from IMAO (as opposed to what other visitors, I don't know): Please post in the comments section on a scale of 1 to 10, with one being very crappy, and 10 being a pile of manure that mocks the very deity of Frank J., how crappy this is.

With all required apologies and "homage" to IMAO and its "In My World" series . . .

President of the United States of America George Walker Bush was sitting in the Oval Office, discussing important matters of national security with his senior-level advisors.

"Do I look fat in the gray suit, or is it just me, guys?" Bush asked.

"I wouldn't know, Mr. President. I leave the wardrobe selections entirely up to my wife," said one of his unnamed aides.

"Hey, that's a good idea, thanks," Bush said. "Lauraaaaaaaa!"

"I'm right here, you dumb cowboy," Laura Bush said. "And before you ask me one more time about which suit 'makes you look fat' again, I have news for you. None of them makes you look fat. You are fat. And you really do look like a chimp."

"But... but Laura, do you really..."

"Shut up. Now get back to talking with your aides about how you're going to fix those 20% approval ratings of yours."

Laura stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. "Idiot," she muttered to herself.

"Guys, is it true? Am I really fat? I mean, Laura hasn't been baking her special cookies for me in weeks, so with that and riding my cool new Seg-day or whatever you call it and listening to my ePad on a daily basis, I thought I'd been shedding a few pounds."

"I'm not going to say anything to you, sir, but I will tell the New York Times all about what Laura just said to you right after leaving this office," said another unnamed thirty-year-old.

"Hey, you, how'd you get here? Where are you from? I don't even know your name," said Bush.

"Oops, did I say that out loud?" asked the unnamed source in his typically rhetorical, time-wasting fashion. "Uh... bye, guys."

"We sure have been seeing those people around here a lot lately," said Bush. "I think the NSA or the CIA or the FBI or the IMF should be doing something about them."

"Uh, sir? The IMF is just a stupid made-up agency in the Mission Impossible series. It doesn't exist, Mr. President," said a loyal aide who was new to the Oval Office.

"Really? I'd wondered why I hadn't heard nothin' about it. Anyway. So, heh, if those other acronym-lovin' city slickers haven't been keepin' my White House securified, I think there's only one man left for the job."

"Who, sir? Jack Bauer?" asked the aide.

"No, silly. Even I know he's fake, heh. No, folks, it's time to call... Buck."

"Buck who, sir?"

"Buck... the Marine!"

"But aren't Marines supposed to only be used in foreign missions? Like, invading other countries and stuff? The whole Middle East thing is getting old. We could go for France if you like, sir. It's been a while since FDR's guys made up that whole anti-fascism cover for the sole purpose of invading France, and the public may be ripe for another vast right-wing conspiracy after the Clinton scandal."

"Well, I figger if I can put national guardsmen on the border, why can't I have Buck the Marine do a little cleaning-up at the New York Times for me?"

"Um, Mr. President, I know I'm new here and all, but I'm pretty sure that's illegal . . . "

* * *

After having finished a somewhat awkward and very childish conversation with the President, Buck the Marine ponders his latest mission assignment:

I dunno why Bush sent me to kill off those 'unnamed sources' of his. Maybe that's why his approval ratings are so freakin' low. Dern gone crazy, the man has. Oh well. I'm a Marine, and Marines do what the President tells us to do, even if it's the worst idea since pullin' out o' 'Nam.

"Hey, you."

"Huh? Wha, me?"

"Now listen, citizen. I know you guys are pretty dumb up here in New York, but don't tell me you don't know a Marine when you see one. If y'all keep writing about us like you know what you're talkin' about in the paper, then the least you can do is recognize a Marine and give him the respect he deserves by recognizin' when he's talkin' to ya."

"Uh . . . I'm just the janitor."

"Oh. Never mind, then. Be on your way, American."

Darnit. First one I see, and I have to let him live. Oh, look, there's a door. It even has a sign. "The New York Times. All the news that's fit to print." Sounds suspicious. I'll have to keep my eyes open and my machine gun ready.

"Um, soldier?" said a security guard. "We don't allow weaponry of any kind inside the building, even for members of the Armed Forces."

"That's Marine to you, bucko. Buck the Marine. And I have a special permit."

"Oh, really? Can I see it?"

"Yes. It's right here."

Buck expertly pulled out his knife and quickly executed his lethal manuevers.

I'll save some of the really painful stuff for the reporters, he thought.

Moving on, Buck the Marine came across a few more rent-a-cops, a half-dozen dweebs in suits with press badges, and other random people that he summarily shot without thinking. Left in the corner was one freckled super-dweeb with glasses, ruffled hair, and a terrified look on his face.

"Hey, you."

"Wha-wha-whaaaat?" he stammered.

"Are you one of them so-called 'un-named sources' I keep readin' about?"

"N-no, I'm just, just a reporter, here, t-to report th-the news to the A-a-American people."

"Same difference."

30 seconds later, the freckled super-dweeb lied on the floor, with broken glasses and a horribly ruptured kidney.


* * *


"Gee, Mr. President, I was 'spicious at first about killin' somebody other'n for'ners, but I had forgotten how much I hated those lib'ral reporter types. Besides, them journalists folks 'r way diffr'nt from normal people, like us Marines. Killin' them is pretty much just like kill'n for'ners themselves."

"My thinking exactly, Buck. Keep up the good work."

"I didn't know you thought, sir. I sure don't, but I guess bein' President and all, you have to sometimes. Me, I stick to killin' for'ners and now journalists, which is what I do best. It is an honor and a privilege to serve, Mr. President. Hoo-rah!"