50 Shades of Worf
by Christopher D. Schmitz
Genre: Humor, Satire
Publisher: TreeShaker Books
Publication Date: November 15, 2019
A back-alley brawl between the furries and the bronies.
Deadpool cosplayer keeps stealing all the erotic pegasus artwork.
Someone used a necronomicon to open a tentacle portal in the men’s room.
Two cops must go undercover at a local comicbook convention to stop Wil Wheaton’s murder.
Is this a buddy cop story or a crime-comedy? Neither. This is comic con... er, comicomedy?
Excerpt 1:
“I know where he went!” Jessica exclaimed. “There’s another lobby
on the other side of the convention center—it’s the sixth street entrance.”
Diego nodded and
sprinted forward to try and close the distance. Winded by the jog, Jessica
tried to catch up.
The hallway
suddenly erupted in pandemonium. Costumed denizens of the halls jumped out to
bar his passage. Their brightly colored fabrics and masks whirled like a
kaleidescope.
Jumping atop a
chair a scrawny man dressed as a Pink Panther, except that he wore a leather
thong, screamed, “Another intruder! The Bronies continue to violate the sacred
truce and cross through the neutral zone!”
Diego barely slowed
as he looked back at Jessica, she pushed and shoved at the costumers who clawed
at her. “Furries! Run!”
The detective
plowed through as the furries raised fists high, brandishing makeshift weapons
and costume props like some kind of My Little Pony Mad Max hybrid.
Pink Panther
yelled, “We must defend our honor and our borders!”
His minions
screamed their support. “Justice for Jonah!”
Jonah, a turquoise
leopard, leaned against a cement block wall with his mask off. He nursed a
bloody nose—probably from Houdek—and mumbled, “I’m okay, you guys. Really.”
The cry for blood
only intensified as Jessica caught up to Diego. Together, they burst through
the line and fled with thirty angry furries chasing them like a faux-fur flood.
Directly ahead, a
bare-chested, overweight man in a mullet and neon spandex crawled atop a stack
of tables and howled. “The furries want to go to war with the Bronies? So be
it; Bronies Assemble!”
The other side of
the hallway suddenly filled with humanoid men and a few women wearing fake ears
and brightly colored hair, tails, and wigs. Someone screamed from their rear,
“Super magic friendship beat-down!”
Diego grabbed
Jessica’s hand and led her through the oncoming horde. He lowered his shoulder
and pushed through with relative ease. Bronies bounced off his tough exterior
with whimpers and squeaks.
“Oh no!” Jessica said beneath her breath. “It’s a full-blown turf
war beneath the Furries and the Bronies… the prophecy is finally coming true.”
Just as they
emerged from the crowd of colorful, fluffy anarchy, the two forces collided.
They wheezed and shrieked as they smashed against each other. “You were
supposed to be one of us!” a furry screamed. “For Equestria!” several Bronies
shouted as they curb-stomped a fox-girl. “We’re twenty percent cooler than
you!”
Diego and Jessica
finally crashed through the fire door and into the sixth street lobby.
Immediately they spotted a long-haired man stepping into a group of
non-Japanese Japanese schoolgirls. With his broad shoulders and dark suit he
stuck out like a sore thumb, no matter how he tried to hide.
“There!” Jessica pointed.
Diego sprinted
ahead and speared him from the back, tackling him like an eager linebacker. The
man screamed with a feminine shriek as the detective took him down.
Pinning him to the ground,
a brown wig fell from the costumed genderbender. She howled for help and the
cosplaying schoolgirls rained down fists and feet upon detective Diego. They
screamed their mantra. “Cosplay is not consent! Cosplay is not consent!”
excerpt2:
“Do you think anyone would want to hurt you or scare you?”
Wil Wheaton looked
at the big detective with a serious face. “Michael Dorn.”
Diego furrowed his
brow but Farnsworth’s jaw dropped. “Not Michael Dorn!”
“Afraid so. There’s been something of a feud happening at any
convention we’ve both been guests at. I mean, two years ago at a dinner party
his cat, Gowron, knocked up my Princess McMittens at a Star Trek reunion event
and he’s flat out refused pay kitten support. Then, we got involved in this DDR arcade challenge and I spilled a
whole bunch of soda on the machine…”
“And it shorted out before he could beat your high score?”
interjected Farnsworth.
“No. He totally destroyed me. But then he slipped on the dance pad and hit his head. And then it shorted out and zapped him
pretty good… it burned a hole right through the cheeks of his pants.” He tilted
his head back and laughed. “It was amazing. But yeah, I’ve been on his bad side
ever since.”
Diego’s phone
buzzed with a text from Quast.
“Do you think I’m in danger?” Wheaton asked.
“No. We think it was just someone trying to prank you,” Diego
said and then indicated to Farnsworth that he needed to make a quick call. He
turned and spoke in hushed tones, several paces away.
“So…” Farnsworth tried to stall. “You’re a big Knights of the Illuvian Age fan?”
“Of course.”
“Do they have a screenplay yet? Have you seen it?”
A mischievous
glimmer twinkled in Wheaton’s eye. “You’re wondering how they plan to handle
the unicorn sex scene?”
Farnsworth blushed
and shrugged.
“I haven’t seen the full script yet. But I’ve been told ye old
pokey horse is a significant part of the special effects budget.”
Diego was still on
the phone and couldn’t help the new detective. “I had your action figure when I
was a kid,” he blurted out.
Wheaton raised an
eyebrow. “You ever make me do anything weird?”
“Of course…”
“Well now it’s my turn.”
“Wha…”
“Turn about’s fair play. Now you have to do what I tell you—it’s
only fair. Stand on one leg.”
Farnsworth
inexplicably obeyed.
Wheaton took a jar
of peanuts from the cupboard. “Are you allergic to peanuts?”
Farnsworth shook
his head.
Wheaton grimaced
and put them back, instead turning to the mini-fridge. “Okay. Well I think I
have some questionable bologna in here I can make you eat.”
Diego hung up and
rescued Farnsworth. “We’ve got to go. Thank you, Mister Wheaton, for your
time.”
Christopher D. Schmitz is an author of fiction and nonfiction books. Before throwing himself into book writing he had published short fiction in more than twenty outlets. In addition to a day-job working with teenagers, he also writes for a local newspaper, speaks/sells books at comic-cons and other festivals, runs a blog for authors, and makes an insanely tiny amount of money playing the bagpipes.
He grew up as a product of the 1980s and thinks Stranger Things is "basically my biography." He lives in rural Minnesota where he drinks unsafe amounts of coffee with his family and three rambunctious dogs. The caffeine shakes keeps the cold from killing him.
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