Archive | Skwibby fiction

William Shatner’s Inaugural Address

(After Winning the First Post-Two-Party Presidential Election)

william shatner, president

Friends, Americans, Countrymen! Lend me your ears. I come to bury our two-party system, not praise it.

I stand before you today, not as a conqueror, not as pop icon, but as your President. An American president.

Now, what I say next is not said with malice, but I bet you few, pathetic, angry, angry Republicans left standing now regret amending the Constitution so the Governator could be eligible, don’t you? Eh? Just a little bit?

Come on, a robot against Captain Kirk? It’s insulting!

Our new system will have to adapt, to find new worlds, to boldly go where no POTUS has gone before. I gotta’ tell you, this is more fun than pantsing George Takei.

They told me to be Presidential, so I should say that I intend to bring our country together. No more petty infighting between two groups that basically represent the same interests. We can look forward to petty infighting amongst dozens of groups, which represent the same interests.

My party, the Federation Party (or the Star Trek Party as it’s known to the Twitterati) is open to all Americans. It is a cooperative party, an optimisit party, which is why WE are forming a government. If we can cooperate with the Star Wars Ascendancy Party of America and the American Stargate Association, then we can cooperate with anyone. Even Ralph Nader.

I’m looking forward to working with my Vice-President, Mark Hamill. He looks easy to control. I like that. I’m not sure about Richard Dean Anderson. The agreement is that we’ll make him the Secretary of State, but I’m not sure he’s up to it. I think we should give him Transportation or Energy where he can do less damage, but the agreement was State, so what the hell.

This is my inaugural address, so I should give you some kind of indication of where I plan to take the country in the next four years. Space, naturally. If I don’t do something space-wise the fanboys are going to crucify me. Seriously, the only reason I’m not wearing a Starfleet uniform to this thing is that I threatened to turn everything over to Hamill if they made me wear it.

So Mars, definitely. And whatever new gizmos we can come up with. Personally, I want a phaser that will allow me to stun Leonard Nimoy’s cryogenically preserved head whenever he starts to go on a policy rant. He helped me run a great campaign and he’s gonna be a terrifying Chief of Staff.

But today is all about me!  And America. Yay America!

And for all you Canadians, filled with pride there is finally a Canadian-born President of the United States, I have some good news and bad news. First the good: the border crossing is going to be much easier. You won’t need a green card to work in the USA anymore. And I’m going to insist to the CRTC that you get to watch American Super Bowl ads.

Bad news? We’re gonna’ need Alberta. And the Winnipeg Jets, for some reason.

The End

Now vote with your wallet, and buy some long-form satirical fiction:

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The void loves you

The caption is perfect if you imagine it being narrated by Werner Herzog.

comic about fiction

Herzog continues to read: “The orange sky, like the creeping shadows that threaten to engulf our fictional protagonists, is a visual clue that this never happened beyond the void of imagination.”

If this cause a full-on existential crisis, watch Herzog talk about a deranged penguin (best started at 49 seconds in):

Alltop doesn’t find certain death funny at all.

The Bellerephon Problem

a monkey riding a goat

Bellerophon rides Pegasus to do battle with the Chimera

After murdering his brother for eating all the Cheetos, Bellerephon was exiled from Corinth. (A city famed for its Elvis impersonators and epic combovers.)

Then his luck turned. After avoiding the mechanized Probe-a-trons sent by the King of Corinth (aka, Dad) to finish him off, the plucky psychopath found refuge at the city of Tiryns, one of the Mycenaean strongholds of the Argolid. (This means they had a fortress AND indoor plumbing.)

Bellerephon wasted no time getting busy. And so, he was soon accused of attempting to rape the King of Tiryns’ wife, Antea. But the King of Tiryns did not want to kill our “hero” (we are legally obligated to use that term, even though “protagonist” would be more accurate). You see, our “hero” and the king had already shared a meal together, and the gods frowned on the killing of houseguests. (Though not brothers, apparently.) Instead, he sent Bellerephon on a suicide mission to kill the Chimera.

Scraped together from bits of DNA in the lab of Dr. Zeus, Father of the Gods (and a thorough maniac) the Chimera had the body of a goat, the tail of a serpent, the gonads of the Epherian bull, and the head of a lion. Oh, and it breathed fire. It enjoyed terrorizing the villagers of Lycia when it wasn’t violating unsuspecting she-bovines.

Thanks Zeus!

Athena, who in addition to being a god, was the CEO of a major multinational that dealt in common sense, knew that this was an excellent chance to destroy the Chimera. (They’d wanted to move into the Lycian market for years, but their sales force kept getting incinerated before they could ink a deal.) She helped Bellerephon to saddle and tame the mighty Pegasus. (In addition to being able to fly, Pegasus was flame retardant.)

Even this marvellous steed could not save them from the fiery breath of the Chimera. They were doomed. DOOOOMED!

Then Bellerephon had an idea. Using Pegasus as an ersatz dive-bomber, they approached the Chimera, and at the last moment, he threw a massive chunk of lead at the beast’s mouth. Its flaming breath melted the lead, which blocked its airway, and the creature was killed!

And instead of being killed for his attempted rape of Antea, he was lauded as a hero! (Not just a “hero.”) Oh, the sexy parties. The gold. The women. The giant swollen mellon that was his ego.

That’s when he decided to run for public office.

The End

The Fridgularity Buy my latest novel, which is the mythic tale of a chimeric fridge. Available in all formats in all the usual places online:

Paperback ($15.99)
Amazon.com | Independent Bookstores | Barnes & Noble Amazon.ca |

Ebooks (regular $6.95)
Kindle | SmashwordsKobo | Nook | iTunes

Alltop is more of a gorgon-slaying humor aggregator.

One of the Magi Explains About the Myrrh

three magi at night
Everyone keeps giving me shit about my gift to Jesus the Son of God and the Messiah, King of Kings.

“Isn’t myrrh basically perfume for mummies?” these ass-clowns keep asking me. “Is that an appropriate gift for a BABY?”

Look, first off you have to realize that I planned to bring gold.

But Caspar called dibs on that. Fair enough, I thought, he is the “Keeper of the Treasure” or whatever those freaky Chaldeans call him. I don’t know. Those people have some weird habits. Every heard of doing the Chaldean Donkey? But they have lots of gold, and Caspar is wealthier than Croesus.

So I thought, no problem. I’ll give Him some nice Frankinsense. That stuff rocks. I would wear it every day if it didn’t make me smell like a Babylonian prostitute. But then I found out that bastard Balthazar already had a pearl-encrusted, gilt box filled with the stuff.

“WTF Balthazar? I was going to give The Messiah Frankinsense.” He just flipped me off. That Balthazar is an Indo-Parthian twat, and a show-off to boot. Pearl-encrusted, my ass. We said one gift.

I was happy to represent though. I mean, of the three magi sent from The East, I was the only one who was a real magi. I went to Zoroastrian High, did my undergraduate degree at Azura University and my doctorate at the prestigious Zoroaster School at the University of the Great Whore of Babylon (a party college, but the program is well respected.) Without me those tools, who are kings and members of the high caste, but who never finished their basic studies, wouldn’t have even found Bethlehem. I mean, they couldn’t even identify their own asses, let alone the Star.

Myrrh, for those in the know, is one of the most holy of essential oils, which is why those decadent Egyptians use it for their mummification rituals. And yes, it’s a little bitter, but really, I have to object to the freakin’ hymn:

Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume
Breathes a life of gathering gloom;
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying,
Sealed in the stone cold tomb.

It’s about salvation, not just death and dying. It’s meant to represent that he was going to help us rise above death again. AND it’s got freakin medicinal values. Suck on that gold!

But I must admit, I probably shouldn’t have given it to him in a Lamb’s Bladder. That was taking the symbolism too far.

The End

Give the gift of satirical fiction …

Alltop loves a good lamb’s bladder cup. Originally published in 2010.