Fanfic Service

Well, now, I’ve mentioned a time or two this fan-fiction contest that John Scalzi and Wil Wheaton are doing, right? Let’s review, okay?

John Scalzi is a science fiction writer who has authored several books, including “Old Man’s War,” “Agent to the Stars,” and “Zoe’s Tale.” He writes a popular and fairly mad blog called “Whatever.”

Wil Wheaton is best known to most of y’all as Wesley Crusher from “Star Trek: The Next Generation,” but in recent years, he’s also gotten some popularity as a writer — he wrote a short memoir called “Dancing Barefoot” and has his own blog called “Wil Wheaton Dot Net.”

Anyway, they decided to hold a fan-fiction contest to benefit the Lupus Alliance of America. You can read the full details about the contest over here, but here’s the gist of it. Scalzi and Wheaton went to a painter named Jeff Zugale and commissioned this glorious painting:

That’s Wil Wheaton wearing a clown sweater and riding a pegasus-unicorn-kitten, attacking John Scalzi, who has been turned into a green-skinned orc.

This is among the most awesomely awesome things ever.

The contest requires entrants to write a 400-2,000-word story explaining what the heck is going on there.

The contest deadline is the end of this month, and you can still get an entry done, ’cause I wrote mine in about four hours. That either means I’m endlessly awesome, or delusionally incompetent, but fer sher, you can write one before the 30th.

As for the story I entered, you can read it by clicking the “Continue Reading” link below.

The Scalzi-Wheaton War at the End of the World: A Totally Serious Story for Hugo Consideration
By Scott Slemmons

It was a time of dire danger on the distant planet Kanigher.

The skies were pierced by deadly lightning, volcanoes were erupting, the stock market had crashed, tornados were running amok, and five million space-vikings were attacking five million space-ninjas.

And it was all on fire.

John Scalzi, Uranian orc and dashing jewel thief, was looking for jewels to steal amidst all the chaos.

He had already found space-rubies and space-emeralds and even the space-Hope-Diamond, which had been dropped when the ghost of Princess Di was running out to help fight the space-vikings.

Suddenly, Wil Wheaton, official orc-harasser for the entire Planet Kanigher, flew up on his mystical pegalolkittycorn, which is part pegasus, part unicorn, and part lolcat.

“Hold, varlet!” cried Wheaton, shaking his spear at the orcish interloper. “Unhand those stolen jewels!”

“They’re not stolen!” said Scalzi, stuffing his bag of jewels down his pants while drawing his orc-forged battleaxe. “I found them on the ground. They’re scavenged, that’s all.”

“I’M ON UR PLANET KANIGHER, FLYIN WIL WHEATON AROUND” said the pegalolkittycorn.

“Never mind that, Scalzi, you smelly orc bastard!” shouted Wheaton. “Hand over the goods or I’ll have my pegalolkittycorn attack!”

“Did you say ‘Keg of kitty loliporn?'” gasped Scalzi.

“No, pegalolkittycorn,” said Wheaton.

“Oh, ’cause I might’ve found a box of the other,” said Scalzi. “It was even more disturbing than your clown sweater.”

“OH HAI,” said the pegalolkittycorn. “I HAS A KINKY FLAVOR”

“Don’t you dare talk smack about my clown sweater,” warned Wheaton, threateningly fondling his mighty spear. “This is my official uniform as the planet’s official orc-harasser, and I’ll not hear my badge of office jeered by a lowly orc!”

“Same thing for your pretty blue boy-shorts?” sneered Scalzi.

“My orc-harassing pants were in the laundry,” said Wheaton. “But that’s not important right now! What’s important is that you’re scavenging precious jewels in the midst of a disaster, and I need to harass an orc, and also I hear you’re from Uranus. Heh, Uranus.”

“Big deal,” said Scalzi, jabbing his axe in Wheaton’s direction. “You’re from Stupid Town.”

“I am not!” shouted Wheaton. “That’s a vicious and mostly unfounded rumor!”

“You need a shave, and you fondle your spear suggestively!”

“You look like a short Shrek clone wearing a leather miniskirt.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, your first name only has one L.”

Silence fell on the valley.

“I CAN HAS CIVILITY PLZ” said the pegalolkittycorn.

“So it is to be war between us, Scalzi?”

“Bring it, Wheaton!”

And the two warriors charged each other. The world suddenly slowed to a crawl, as if the entire battle was an intricate slow-motion set piece, the climax of a movie yet to be filmed, the final pyrotechnical explosion-based combat of a multi-million-dollar summer blockbuster starring Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise, except younger actors who we can get for cheaper, with a near-certain Oscar nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay and a “Based on a story by Scott Slemmons” credit which I can hopefully get rich with. ‘Cause writers get paid a lot, right? I mean, a lot. I ain’t doing this if you shitheads are gonna cheap out on me, you got it? I know people, alright? I know people.

And without warning, there was a flash of light, a sound like thunder, and a shockwave that threw both combatants to the ground. “Not so fast, gentlemen!” shouted an unseen figure. “Your war for jewels and blood is not with each other!”

Scalzi and Wheaton leaped to their feet, weapons ready. “Who dares?” shouted Wheaton. “Who dares oppose us?”

A cloaked form stepped dramatically from the shadows. “Your war… is with me.”

The hood of the cloak was thrown back, releasing a flood of flowing red hair.

Felicia Day!” gasped Scalzi. “Star of the Internet’s ‘The Guild!’”

“Also star of the Internet’s ‘Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog!’” gasped Wheaton.

“And those Sears commercials!” added Scalzi.

“MY NERD QUEEN SUPERSTARS” said the pegalolkittycorn. “LET ME SHOW YOU THEM”

“Enough of this foolishness, Felicia!” shouted Wheaton. “You cannot hope to stand against my mighty spear!”

“Or my orcish battleaxe!” Scalzi yelled. “What weapons could you have that would allow you to defeat both of us?”

Felicia didn’t answer, merely smiled, venomously, like a serpent, and drew a pair of nine-foot-long chainsaw cannons.

“MY HARBLS” gasped the pegalolkittycorn.

“Alright, dork lords,” Felicia said, raising the cannons and revving up the chainsaws inside. “Allow me to carve you a terminal geek-out.”

Lightning flashed, and blood flowed.

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