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Bones McCoy

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(This is a fragment of a fanfiction I was commissioned to write about 12 years ago. I don't remember the name of the source material, and I don't know where the rest of it is. Actually I don't even remember writing it...)

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But then came the rumors, rumors of furtive military activity in the hinterland... of remote, heavily-guarded installations being hastily constructed...



January 27 2019: The government of Japan begins quietly rounding up boys who have no "significant other", and placing them in special internment/reeducation camps.



March 11 2019: The government of Japan begins quietly importing large numbers of American girls from New Jersey...



--- --- ---



Kotaro woke up on a cold concrete floor. A bank of fluorescent lights was glaring down at him from a high ceiling. He blinked and coughed and struggled to his feet.



Where was he? He spun around nervously, army green cement block walls, he was standing in the center of a cell, roughly 5 by 5 meters. There was a metal door in one corner, a door with no handle. There were large black loudspeakers bolted to the ceiling above the door.



How had he gotten here? The last thing he remembered, he had been putting the finishing touches on a special edition 1/150 scale model of the Millennium Falcon. But now he was in some sort of prison cell... How?



Kotaro tried to clear his throat. "Ahem, ahem. Hello? Hello, hello? Hello anyone?"



His voice was a cadaverous croak, his throat was as dry as uncooked instant ramen. He tried to speak again.



"Hello, hello! Help, help! I need water! Let me out of here!"



Static crackled from the ceiling loudspeakers. "Mister Watanabe, you are awake."



It was an older female voice, one that did not sound particularly military or official. Kotaro staggered over to the door and began pounding with the palms of his hands. "Yes lady, I'm awake! Open up, let me out! I'm dying in here! I'm not a criminal, I'm just an ordinary man!"



The overhead loudspeakers blasted hate down upon him. "You are not any kind of man at all, you little shit! You are just a worthless Trekkie eunuch!"



Kotaro gasped. "I'm not a Trekkie, I like Star Wars!"



"It's still all just the same stupid garbage, you little prick!" the loudspeakers roared.



Kotaro cringed in fright. "B-but why am I here?"



"Why don't you ask Mister Spock?" the loudspeakers sneered.



"I told you, I'm not a Trekkie!" yelped Kotaro.



The loudspeakers vibrated in their brackets. "SHUT UP! Just shut up, you dickless wonder! You're a thousand times a more useless asswipe than your stupid father! And if you want to know why you are here, I will tell you. You are here... to be put to death!"



Kotaro screamed in horror.



"I'm just kidding. Grow up." said the loudspeakers.



Kotaro realized that the threat of his imminent death had just been a pointlessly sadistic joke. He pondered this carefully for a moment, then he said "Mom, is that you?"



"I am not your gods-damned mother!" the loudspeakers shouted, "And for all I know, your poor mother has died of a broken heart, all because of you! She nearly died bringing you into this world, do you even care? People who have children generally want to have grandchildren one day. But what hope of that exists, when a mother has a sexless monster like you for a son? Had you even had a single date in your life?"



"Sure I have!" Kotaro protested.



"Building a sand castle at the beach with your cousin Mio when you were seven does not count as a date!" the loudspeakers shrieked.



"Oh." said Kotaro.



"So, do you think that you're just too good for Japanese girls?" the loudspeakers demanded.



Kotaro shrugged. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but yes. Japanese girls, they bore me."



"Fine, then." the loudspeakers said, ominously.



"What's that supposed to mean?" Kotaro said, worriedly.



"Fine means fine." said the loudspeakers.



"But what do you mean by fine?" said Kotaro.



There was cruel laughter from the loudspeakers. "Fine means that all your video games and action figures and scale models and stamp collections and movie posters and all the rest of your useless pop-culture paramasturbatory crap has been confiscated and destroyed."



"Even my Boba Fett sleeping bag?" Kotaro whined.



"Especially your Boba Fett sleeping bag, you've had that damn thing since you were twelve." said the loudspeakers.



"Woe is me! What am I to do?" Kotaro wailed.



More laughter from the loudspeakers. "You are to stand up straight and tuck in your shirt, you little pee-stain. You are about to meet someone very special."



The door of Kotaro's cell opened, and a girl walked in. She was a Western girl. Pretty, about his age. Long dark hair, little black dress, high heels. But her glance was as cold and dead and horribly empty as the shadow on the floor of a grave; her eyes seemed to be harboring the Antichrist. An almost-palpable miasma of despair seemed to swirl and pulse all around her.



Kotaro instinctively gave ground before this apparition, retreating to the far corner of his cell.



The loudspeakers spoke again. "Meet Carmela Fanucci. Your new girlfriend. Her hobbies include helping with the family business, taking long walks on the beach, shopping, and being the daughter of a very prominent loan shark and, ah, let's say investor. Like you, she is an avid collector. Carmela... collects human ears."



Oh shit, Kotaro thought to himself. Carmela was walking closer to him, and smiling. And then she started talking English at him, but Kotaro couldn't understand English, not worth a damn could he understand a single word she was saying.



Which, on balance, was almost certainly a good thing.



"Well, hello there cutie pie," Carmela said, "So you're the very eligible bachelor I was sent here to meet. So that means... a shit-ton of money, right? What are you, you're Yakuza, right? Am I pronouncing that okay, Ya koo za, Ya kew za? And say, you've still got all your fingers, that means you've been a good soldier, right? A good samurai? Right?"



Kotaro was looking very unhappy. Very very unhappy. Now Carmela was leaning very close to him, and whispering more English at him.



"I've been a good soldier, too... I killed my first man when I was thirteen, does that put a rock in your pocket, baby? Braided piano wire. I killed him real slow. Sawed it in, tight and slow. Am I getting you hot, baby?"



Kotaro thought that it was time for him to at least try to say something.

(He was wrong of course.)



"Um, me not words. Factory. English no. Awful music."



The loudspeakers spoke. "You never studied, Kotaro."



Carmela stopped smiling. "You have got to be frickin' kidding me. This right here is probably a deal-breaker."



Kotaro nodded. "Use The Force."



"Oh you're goddamn right I'll use the force," Carmela snarled, as she started poking her index finger into Kotaro's chest, none to gently, "Your wallet. Show me your wallet. And you better have more money that the frickin' Emperor."



Carmela started going through Kotaro's pockets until she found his wallet. She opened the wallet, and was not best pleased by what she found inside.



"Five thousand yen, and a Darth Vader medallion?! What, are you a frickin' comedian?"



She backhanded Kotaro across his teeth.



"Is this a frickin' joke to you? You better have some serious money!"



She headbutted Kotaro, knocking him to the floor.



"Talk better! I said I can't understand you! What kind of shit are you trying to pull?"



She straddled Kotaro, grabbed him by the throat and started smashing his head into the wall.



"Aren't Western girls exciting?" said the loudspeakers.





An eternity passed.

(About 45 minutes passed.)





"No Kill I!" Kotaro screamed.



"I said I want answers!" shouted Carmela. She had him pinned against a wall, and was slapping him across the face, over and over again.



"So, do you still think Japanese girls are too demure?" said the loudspeakers.



"Help me! Save me!" screamed Kotaro.



"Have you had enough time to think about what you really want out of life?" said the loudspeakers.



"I want no more skull fracturings! No more broken fingers! No more cigarette burns!" screamed Kotaro.



"But are you sure you could never be happy with Miss Fanucci?" said the loudspeakers.



"Get this evil garlic-stink succubus away from me!" screamed Kotaro.



"And will you make an effort to find a nice Japanese girl?" said the loudspeakers.



"Yes! Anything! Save me!" screamed Kotaro.



"Very well!" said the loudspeakers. A squad of soldiers stormed into the cell, and managed to subdue Miss Fanucci with the liberal application of taser-prods. Kotaro collapsed to the floor.



"Of course, if you don't manage to find a Japanese girl, we have a girl from Arizona you might like." said the loudspeakers.



Kotaro began to sob. "No, not a sun-dried lizard-woman from the desert! Arizona girls are worse than the womp-rats of Tattooine!"



But then a soldier jabbed a hypodermic syringe into Kotaro's neck, and his twisted little otaku brain went to sleep for a while.





When next he awoke, Kotaro was propped up on a park bench, somewhere in Tokyo. It was early morning. His injuries had been somewhat patched, and he was wearing a reasonably not-too-cheap business suit. Some cash had been stuffed in his trouser pockets. He felt like crap, but he often felt like crap. He was supposed to find a nice girl. Or he could just throw himself from a tall building, of course. But that would be taking the easy way out. But taking the easy way out held considerable appeal for him, because he was quite probably the laziest carbon-based life-form in the galaxy. So, he started looking left and right, for tall buildings from which to throw himself. Tall, but not too tall. Because with a too tall building, he might have time to change his mind halfway down. And that would suck. But then he noticed a folded piece of note paper stuck in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out and looked at it. It was a handwritten note. It read "Be diligent, and try your best!"

It looked a bit like his mother's handwriting.

It looked exactly like his mother's handwriting.

It was his mother's handwriting.

He tore the note in half, and threw it away.

But then, a girl sat down beside him on the park bench. He looked at her. Was she Japanese, yes. Was she nice, not even remotely. She was disheveled, and unkempt, and simply crazy-looking. She was wearing a hat and coat fashioned from plastic shopping bags and blue duct tape. She was carrying a stack of old newspapers. She looked at him.

"Behold, avant-garde origami." she said.

And then she took a piece of newspaper, and crumpled it into a rough shape.

"Voila, an elephant." she said.

"That's not origami, you're just making a mess." he said.

But then she crumpled another piece of paper into another rough shape.

"Voila, a hummingbird." she said.

"Stop doing that." he said.

But then she crumpled yet another piece of paper into yet another rough shape.

"Voila, the Eiffel Tower." she said.

"By any chance, are you an escaped mental patient?" he said.

"Voila, yes I am." she said.

And so he just sat there on the park bench, while an escaped mental patient crumpled newspapers beside him.

After a while, he told her to f--- off.

And a while after that, he asked her to f--- off.

And a while after that, he offered her money to f--- off.

But she just sat there, crumpling her insane newspapers. So he watched her. Clearly, she was clearly insane. She was a clearly insane person. But upon closer inspection, she wasn't exactly unpretty. Maybe she was a diamond in the rough, maybe she was just misunderstood. Maybe with a bit of care and understanding, she could blossom into a nice girl?

No, obviously not. She was clearly insane, and nothing but insane. But, maybe she could be part of a clever ruse, to fool his wretched mother? If he could clean her up, coach and cajole her into seeming uninsane for a few minutes, and then say he was going to marry her, but that they had to move to a remote island because, because... because she had severe allergies to synthetics and automobile exhaust, yes that sounded believable.

But no, that would never work. His mother would never fall for it. His mother would take one look at her, and hate her. Absolutely hate her...



(Kotaro was about about to have a brilliant idea, perhaps the only brilliant idea of his malfunctioning Japanese life.)



His mother would hate her.

His mother would absolutely hate her.



He tapped the crazy girl on the shoulder.



"Hey you." he said.

"Voila, what?" she said.

"Would you like to visit my parents?" he said.

"Voila, sounds like fun." she said.

"Oh, so much fun." he said.

"Voila, shall I stab them with my scissors?" she said.

"No, at least not right away." he said.

"Voila, I see." she said.

"And could you tell my mother that we're in love?" he said.

"Voila, I will scream it at her." she said.

"That would be perfect." he said.

"Voila, are we in love?" she said.

"Um, sure." he said.

"Voila, let's get married." she said.

"Okay, I guess." he said.

"Voila, and have lots of babies." she said.

"Um, how many?" he said.

"Voila, hundreds and hundreds." she said.

"Sounds fine." he said.

"Um, could you go to our wedding dressed up as a Wookie?" he said.

"Voila, you must have read my mind." she said.



And so, the young lovers stood up, and slowly began walking in the general direction of his familial abode. But, could he really bring himself to do this? Could he really marry this crazy girl, out of sheer spite against his despicable mother? Yes, yes of course he could. He glanced at his demented fiancee. She seemed happy. This made him feel happy, too. He decided to glance at her again. Of course, subconsciously he was still scanning the horizon for tall buildings, but this detail really isn't very romantic, so let's not dwell on it, hmm?



... ... ...
 

Bones McCoy

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:eek:

Once long ago my little niece visited, and also her little Chinese friend. So this little Chinese girl was happily scampering around, looking at this and that, you know very much just a typical happy kid. Until she walked past a bookshelf with some old action figures on it. She did a double-take and stared at one (and only one) of the old toys. Not with a happy face, in fact with just about the most alarmed little face you ever saw.

So anyway a short while later I was in the kitchen getting some snacks for my little visitors, and that little girl walks into the kitchen, holding that one certain action figure. Holding it tight, with both hands. Restraining it, one might almost think. And she walks out on to the porch, sets that toy down at the far end of the deck, walks back into the kitchen and closes the door.

Talking to my sister later, she told me that the little girl had told my niece that the toy was "a very very bad man".
 

Wind7

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I nearly gagged! :sick:

cat-gag.gif


Cat McGaggy Agrees.
 

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