| The Fandom Exchange Project Summary: Take two writers and swap them so they are writing each others fandoms. Rating: 18, the first one is Garth Ennis after all. Notes: The J. K. Rowling writing Invisibles veers off from her style completely at the end but what the hell. Thanks to Selena for her help with the Grant Morrison writing Harry Potter. Also the Miller and Gough writing Sherlock Holmes isn�t particularly accurate but I feel it is in the spirit of the show. * * * * * What if Garth Ennis wrote Winnie the pooh? Christopher Robin was walking by Rabbit�s house in the hundred acre wood when he saw a very unusual sight. Sticking out of the hole that Rabbit used as a front door was Winnie the Pooh. �What are you doing there, Pooh?� Asked ChristopherRobin. �I�m fucking stuck, what does it look like you blind twat.� Answered the bear. Christopher Robin pulled out his lighter engraved with �Fuck Deforestation� and lit up. �Wanna tell me how you got stuck pardner?� �That bastard Rabbit kept feeding me honey, when I tried to leave I got stuck. I wouldn�t mind so much but Rabbit said that as long as I was stuck I may as well be useful.� �What, is he using you as a clotheshorse or something?� �I fucking wish, arrgh. He�s at it again.� The bear grunted in displeasure. �Would you make him stop buggering me?� �What are friends for?� Said Christopher Robin. �Silly fucking bear.� * * * * * What if A.A. Milne wrote Preacher? In which Jesse Custer searches for God Cassidy was woken on a fine spring morning by the sound of a solid knock on his front door. �I wonder who that could be.� He said. He quickly opened the door and found his friend Jesse Custer peering under the doormat. �Hello, Jesse Custer.� He said. �Is there something interesting under my doormat?� �I�m afraid not, Cassidy. I�m looking for God. I don�t suppose he�s in your house anywhere.� �I don�t think so but we better check to make sure.� So they checked under the bed and in the larder and behind the sofa and inside all of Cassidy�s shoes but they couldn�t find God anywhere. �Oh well.� Said Jesse. �I guess I better search for God somewhere else.� �I�ll help you look.� Said Cassidy. �Let�s start in the pub.� * * * * * What if Brian Michael Bendis wrote The chronicles of Narnia? �It is always winter.� �It�s always winter?� �Because the land is under the grip of the White Witch!� �Grip of the White Witch, huh?� �And she..� �She what? What does she do?� �She wont let us celebrate Christmas!� �Man, that�s just...� �I know it�s... �That�s fucked up, is what it is.� �Yeah.� * * * * * What if C. S. Lewis wrote Powers? Deena stepped into the wardrobe, feeling the fur of the coats around her. She went in further and found a second row of coats behind the first. It was quite dark and she put her hands out in front of her as she pushed through them, expecting at any minute to feel woodwork against her fingertips. She took another step, and another. �This must be a massive wardrobe.� Thought Deena, pushing her way further in. She noticed that something was crunching under her feet. Stooping down she felt it but instead of the floor of the wardrobe she felt something cold and powdery. �This is very queer.� She said as she continued on. She realised that it was no longer fur that was rubbing against her face but something hard and prickly. �Why, it�s like the branches of trees!� Exclaimed Deena. Then she noticed something light ahead and a moment later she found herself standing in a clearing in the middle of a wood. There was snow covering the ground and fir trees all around. She was just wondering what to do next when she heard the pitter patter of feet running away from her. Then she saw a very strange person through the trees. She hurried after him. He was a little taller than Deena and carrying an umbrella, white with the falling snow. From the waist upwards he was like a man but below his waist he was like a goat, with glossy black hair covering his legs and cloven hooves. His skin was rather reddish too and he had a strange, nice looking face with a pointed beard and curly black hair with the tips of two horns poking through. One hand held the umbrella, the other carried several brown paper parcels. He was a Faun. He paused and glanced backwards and when he saw Deena he gave such a start of surprise that he dropped all his parcels. �Goodness gracious me!� exclaimed the Faun. �Freeze, Tumnus.� Shouted Deena, pulling her gun. �You�re under arrest.� �Fucking cop!� Shouted Tumnus, pulling his piece. BLAM. Deena shot first, the bullet going through Tumnus�s shoulder and knocking the faun off his feet. �Unit 314 requesting backup and ambulance.� Deena called into her radio. �Now.� She addressed the Faun. �You have the right to remain silent.� * * * * * What if the writers of the Bible wrote South Park? The book of South Park 1.1 And lo did the children of man walk unto the lunch line. 1.2 And they didst see that there was apple crumble for desert. 1.3 And this didst please them. 1.4 And lo Chef didst give greeting unto the children. 1.5 And lo the children didst ask of the chef what is it to know a woman. 1.6 And lo Chef didst say that to know a woman is to lie with a woman and to lie with a woman is to know her. Oh baby. 1.7 And lo the children didst ask for the apple crumble. 1.8 But lo Chef didst become stern and forbade them from eating of the apple crumble. 1.9 And lo didst the children became wrathful and demand to know why it was there if they couldn�t eat it. 1.10 And the Chef asked of the children that they be obedient to him and trust in his ways. 1.11 But lo Cartman son of Mrs Cartman had already tasted of the forbidden crumble. 1.12 And Chef was wroth with fury. 1.13 And Chef didst banish them from his lunch line. 1.14 And there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. 1.15 And lo didst aliens attack and everyone pretty much lost the plot. * * * * * What if Trey Parker and Matt Stone wrote the Bible? Midday in the garden of Eden. A buffed up Tarzan-like Adam and a playboy style Eve are lounging about naked. The Pope stands nearby, nodding agreeably, his robes billowing in the wind. Clouds form a face overhead and the voice of God thunders down. God: �Hello there, children.� Adam & Eve: �Hi, God.� The Pope: �Hmm, yes.� God: �How are you liking paradise?� Adam: �It�s ok I suppose.� God: �Only Ok? Surely there is everything a man could ever need there. Have I not provided you with a beautiful jungle full of food and a fine ass woman to make sweet love to.� The Pope: �Hmm, yes.� Adam: �Well that�s all good but what about those apples?� Eve: �Don�t mind him, God, he�s just pissed �cause he�s impotent.� Adam: �Why�d you tell him that.� Eve: �He�s all knowing, he knew it anyway.� God: �Yeah, all knowing, good one.� The Pope: �Hmm, yes.� God: �What�s wrong, Adam, performance anxiety?� Adam: �I�m not sodding impotent, I�m just pissed off because you�ve forbidden us from eating apples from that tree.� God: �And?� Adam: �I wanna eat some fucking apples, ok?� God: �No.� Adam: �Why not?� God: �Because I said so.� The Pope: �Hmm, yes.� Adam: �What kind of answer is that?� God: �Let me put it this way children; those apples will take away your innocence, like when a woman first gets down with a man. She can never get her cherry back after that. And even though its a fine thing for a man to eat a few cherries the moment he gets a daughter he�s gonna forbid her from going near men. �Cause he knows that the men just wanna get a taste of cherry, you understand? Adam: �Huh? I�m talking �bout apples not cherries, dumbass.� God: �IF YOU DISOBEY I WILL SMITE THEE!� Lightning shoots from the sky and hits the Pope blasting him into several bloody pieces. Adam: �Oh my God, God killed the Pope.� Eve: �You bastard� God: �You gonna do what I say now. Adam: �Fuck yeah.� The clouds clear leaving Adam and Eve alone. Adam: �Hey, now we can get it on.� Eve: �Wow, God cured your impotence?� Adam: �Kind of. It was just hard to get it up with the Pope standing there.� * * * * * What if J. K. Rowling wrote The Invisibles? �Dane, you�re the future messiah.� Dane Mcgowan couldn�t believe this was really happening to him. He was just a poor boy from Liverpool, he was nobody special. The bald man smiled pleasantly, the light glinting off his piercings. �I�ve been ordered by Tom� O Bedlam himself to take you to the Invisible College where you can learn how to use your powers.� It was too much for Dane. He couldn�t believe that he was being offered a way out of Liverpool, a way out of his delinquent life. They couldn�t really believe that he was the future messiah. �It has to be a mistake. I�m not holy.� �Holiness isn�t about how religious you are, it�s about what�s in your heart, Dane.� �I like to burn things, is that part of it?� �Best you don�t mention that part to folks, huh?� �Mr Mob?� �Call me Gideon, Dane.� �Ok, Gideon?� �Yes, Dane.� �Is being the messiah why I don�t have a dad? Was I a virgin birth?� �Sorry, Dane, that�s just �cause your mum�s a slut.� �Oh, shame.� �Oh yeah, your dad could be anyone in Liverpool.� �No need to rub it in.� �Hell, anyone in England.� �Motherfucker.� �Well now you mention it, son.� * * * * * What if Grant Morrison wrote Harry Potter? �More speed, Harry?� �Thanks. You know,� Harry leaned over and snorted the powder before looking at Ron with a contemplative expression. �with powers like these we could be superheroes.� �Could we wear revealing costumes with bright colours?� Asked Ron absently as he tried to work out the best wig to go with his dress. �I�m serious. We could right wrongs, we could wear tights, we could rip out the archaic governmental system and install a true democratic process. One with style. One which included cool voting machines with big levers.� �Again with the big levers thing. Harry, it�s time to admit you have a problem.� �Why don�t wizards interfere in normal human affairs? Everyone says that they would just become dependent on us to fix all their problems but doesn�t that presuppose that they are fixing their problems now?� �Well, they do have a point. Muggle society is progressing and learning without our help.� �But Wizard society has it�s share of problems too, we have institutionalised slavery, cruel and unusual punishments, we don�t even teach basic maths and science in our schools, do you even know what a periodic tables is, Ron?� �Is that something to do with when girls get to a certain age...? So I don�t know, do I have to?� �Our education system is providing us with the tools to change the fabric of reality but not the mental tools to do basic maths.� �So what are you gonna do about it? Talk to Dumbledore?� �Nah, I think I�ll dress in fetish gear and seek out the forces of authority to strike down with my mighty wand.� �But, Harry, we harassed Filch last night, can�t we go clubbing?� �Ok, but only if you promise not to make a fuss if Neville hits on me again.� * * * * * What if Gough and Miller wrote Sherlock Holmes? �Holmes?� �Yes, Watson?� �We�re friends right, Holmes?� �Of course, Watson.� �And we have a normal friendship?� �Normal? Our friendship is the stuff of legends.� �I was just wondering if all friends had such frequent baths together?� �Perfectly normal.� �And the kissing?� �Nothing untoward about it.� �Holmes?� �Yes, Watson?� �Pass the lube.� �Of course, Watson.� * * * * * What if Arthur Conan Doyle wrote Smallville? Ext. The grocery store. Day. Lex Luthor is examining the shattered door of the store with a magnifying glass. The thick steel frame of the door has been twisted and there is a hand shape visibly imprinted in the metal. Ethan stands nearby with an expectant look on his face. Clarke lounges nonchalantly nearby. Lex: �Hmmm.� Ethan: �Have you found an explanation for this dastardly deed, Mr Luthor?� Lex: �I believe so, Officer.� Ethan: �Well I am glad, sir, I am at my wits end to explain such a queer occurrence. It is almost as if a man has ripped the door out of his way in a hurry but surely no normal man would have the strength for such a deed.� Lex: �Do you see the powdery residue on the metal there? That shows that whatever caused this was organic. And the scorch marks around the frame clearly show the cause.� Ethan: �I didn�t see any scorches.� Clarke: �They�re right there.� Ethan: �Oh, you�re right, I don�t know how I could have missed them. So, you say you know what the cause was?� Lex: �Quite right, Officer, you will recall that last night was an exceptionally windy night and quite overcast? It is my supposition that the wind picked up a leather glove that had been discarded in the street and it was blown about the street until it came to be caught upon this door handle. At some point during the night, my guess would be about 1am, the door was stuck by lightning.� Ethan: <gasp> Lex: �The lightning blasted the metal and vaporised the glove, leaving only this handprint as evidence of it�s presence.� Ethan: �Well blow me, Mr Luthor, that�s quite an explanation.� Lex: �It is based merely on the available evidence.� Ethan: �I knew if anyone could explain it, it�d be you, Mr Luthor. Thank you very much.� Lex: �It is always my pleasure to assist the constabulary.� Ethan walks off. Clarke walks over to Lex. Clarke: �Lex?� Lex: �Yes, Clarke?� Clarke: �You think he bought it?� Lex: �Well he did this time but, Clarke...?� Clarke: �Yes?� Lex: �Next time you get a craving to lick Cherry Garcia off me at 1am please be more careful, he�s not going to believe any more of these ridiculous explanations.� Clarke: �Sure thing, Lex.� |