Chapter One - Daryl and the Zombie Stripper

A/N: Full disclosure, nothing is sacred in this, my first attempt at a crack fic. I plan to poke fun at pretty much every aspect of the Walking Dead fanfic universe, including the ship wars, slash, awkwardly-written sex scenes, tropes that have been done to death, RPF, etc. Rated M for Dixon mouth and really, really bad smut.

While I'd like to take full credit for this baby, Aaya123Woods contributed the egg (or sperm?) the moment I tripped and fell into her Harry Potter story, 'The Golden Trio Discovers FanFiction.' It was a magical moment and she doesn't even know about our love child... Anyway, as soon as I applied that concept to our favorite apocalyptic gang, I pictured Daryl Dixon having an uber freakout when he discovers that strangers like to write and read about him having sex, then Merle popped up and the ideas started flowing and I just knew this had to be written.

As for time frame, it takes place after the Season Six mid-season finale. Imagine the Alexandrians somehow resolve the walker invasion and repair the wall; Daryl, Sasha and Abraham use their newly acquired rocket launcher to take out Negan's entire gang; and our favorite characters are reunited for a brief period of calm before all hell breaks loose.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my potty mouth and bizarre sense of humor. All credit for our favorite characters goes to AMC and Robert Kirkman. Anyway, I'm certainly not making any money off this, so nothing here for any legal ferrets to worry about.

Daryl's first lucid thought upon waking was centered around that sound. Namely, who the fuck was playing that awful music? His second, why was there music? His third, he needed to wake up because that techno shit was a sure fire sign his brain was about to launch into one of those nightmares about Merle and zombie strippers.

He forced his eyes open and groaned when he was greeted with Merle's signature grin, a hard thump to the chest, and that booming, raspy voice announcing, "The fucker finally woke up!"

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, but when he opened them again, Merle was still there, huge smile splitting his face and his one arm wrapped around the shoulders of a stripper with huge tits in a slutty nurse costume.

Daryl lifted his head and glanced around the room. Wait… no stripper pole, no tables… God damn, the light in there was way too bright for this to be a strip club. And the only people in the room were his jackass brother and the slutty nurse, both of them now sporting matching grins.

The nurse started to make sense now – the flickering lights overhead, what looked to be the steel bars of a hospital bed, an IV pole to his left, even that antiseptic smell…

But Merle? What the hell was Merle doing here? Merle was dead! Face nothing but a mess of pulp, dead so long, he was worm food by now! And why the fucking techno music? God, would someone just turn that crap off? Daryl struggled to sit up, frantic to find and beat the shit out of the source of that vibrating, repetitive 'ping, ping, funk' that masqueraded as a bassline. Fucking hell, that sound was coating his ears like slime, dripping into his brain and the pressure was about to make him lose his ever loving mi-

Merle could always tell when his brother was fixing to lose his mind, so he leaned over and muttered into his ear, "I know you hate this techno shit, little brother, but Bonnie here says she can't dance to nothing else. Just relax and enjoy your resurrection…"

What? Resurrection? Well, he sure as hell wasn't Jesus, so he was a walker? But the two living, breathing people in the room, one of whom had started to shake her ass in an awkward, jerky fashion, the other still grinning to beat the band, weren't making him hungry... No compulsion other than to find the boom box he'd spotted in the corner and punch it a couple hundred times…

So if he wasn't a walker, maybe this was some kind of afterlife? But he didn't believe any of that silly bullshit about life after death. Your two feet were flat on the ground or your toes were up. Your blood was pumping or it wasn't. You were living or you weren't nothing. Okay, there was that fucked up halfway point between the two…

Daryl flinched when he caught Bonnie, now improvising a pole dance with the IV stand, leering at him with a focused enthusiasm he wasn't used to seeing in a stripper. And he knew strippers – back before the world shit the bed, Merle was always dragging him to some tittie bar, convinced the sight of a pair of boobs and a shaved cooch would wake his dick up and make him start praying at the altar of the pussy.

Well, wherever he was, it sure wasn't heaven. No way they'd give this girl the job of door greeter… And Merle as St. Peter? Fuck that noise…

Bonnie had noticed his flagging attention and was attempting to get it back by trying, without much success, to pull her leg behind her head. Daryl ignored her acrobatics and grunts as flashes of memory began to flood his brain.

He, Rick, and Carol going on a run for Mr. Kraus' pastamaker... The old man's constant whining after Mrs. Neidermeyer's death and the discovery that they'd been knocking boots… The splinter faction he'd formed demanding a pasta dinner to honor that whiny bitch's death, as well as half the town's population… Threatening to tell Carl about his father and Carol's plan to go all Scarface and take the splinter group out… He grimaced as vague memories of Williams Sonoma swept over him… Hitting up five – FUCKING FIVE – of those goddamned stores before finding the yuppie gadget… Returning the next evening to fireworks going off over the town, the walls surrounded by walkers… Covering themselves with geek guts and making their way back via the sewer tunnel Maggie and Aaron had told them about… Emerging to find themselves in the middle of some kind of barbecue? And then… Bullets. Lots of them. Everywhere. The last memory he'd had was of a… red, white and blue gazebo?

Daryl checked his stomach, his arms, his head. No pain, no blood… Merle's face – nose, mouth, and eyes all in the right place – was inches from his ear, whispering, "Calm your shit down..."

Yeah. He was dead. Definitely dead.

Bonnie decided that this was a good time to bend over and rub her ass all over his crotch. So this was what hell looked like… Or maybe he was tripping on mushrooms again? The girl turned around and her glitter-smeared tits were right there, and while her teeth were a bit gnarly, she didn't look a thing like that Chupacabra… Now she was shoving them in his face, and the patchouli stank coming off her was more than he could deal with. Goddammit, whatever this was, wherever this was, it was all kinds of fucked up and he was done with it.

Daryl pushed the girl away from him and scrambled to his feet, shouting, "Off! Get the fuck off me!" He rounded on his brother and yelled, "Enough, Merle! Stop siccing strippers on me!"

Moments later, chaos filled the room. Bonnie sobbing in the corner, Merle yelling something at him about being a pussy, and still with that goddamned techno music! Daryl wanted nothing more than to leave, but Merle blocked the door. He quickly scanned the room for another exit and spotted his crossbow leaning against the wall behind him. Muscle memory kicked in. He grabbed the weapon, loaded it, and fired a bolt into the boom box.

Relief flooded Daryl. Now he had to take care of that crying girl…

His brother quickly stepped in front of Bonnie and used his one arm to gently push Daryl's crossbow down. "Settle down, brother," a placating tone to his raspy voice that did nothing to calm him. His brother kept going, though. "I know you been through the ringer, but we don't kill the living. Remember?" He snickered, before adding, "Oh, wait, that ain't true since Rick went batshit…"

Daryl glared at him. He was about to go batshit if Merle didn't get that girl out of here and explain what the hell was going on.

Merle continued in what he probably thought was a soothing voice. "We got a solution here. Just hold your fire while I get Bonnie out of here, then I'll tell you everything you need to know."

Merle turned around and crouched down so Bonnie could see his face. She was huffing through the final stages of her crying jag, mascara and snot streaking her makeup. Her red, mottled face contorted as she tried to stop her flow of tears, a sad smile peeking out as his brother groped her waist in a bullshit attempt to comfort the woman. That same soothing voice, though, as he spoke to her. "I tried, girl. Thought the apocalypse might have softened the boy up, but seems he still doesn't know what to do with a good piece of tail. I do, and I'll make you feel all better if you meet me at Dale's later."

And with that, the girl was gone, but not before Daryl caught a glimpse of the despondent scowl she threw him as Merle shuffled her out of the room.

Now it was the two of them. And a bunch of questions he didn't even know how to begin to ask.

Merle guided him backwards until he had no choice but to sit on the bed, then crouched down and started to use that bullshit soothing voice of his again. "First off, you need to settle down."

Oh, hell no. He'd had just about enough of his hot-headed brother playing the role of the sane, rational one. That was his job. "Cut the drug counselor act, Merle. Just tell me if I'm tripping or not."

His brother's raised eyebrows and twisted smirk didn't bode well for a straight answer, so he tried again. "I'm fucking serious, Merle. Tell me what the hell is going on and give it to me straight. No bullshit."

The asshole just kept looking at him with that grin that said he knew something Daryl didn't, but had the good sense to start talking before Daryl lost his shit again.

"You're a reality TV star, little brother."

Yet another A/N: Those of you who are reading my Cupid piece already know that I'm not very reliable… Sorry. I truly feel bad about leaving it hanging for so long. I assure you (like you have any reason to believe me) that I'm not done with Daryl and Lilly, but I've been consumed with some other imaginary figures in my head. Hence, my plan to use this little fic as a quick and dirty writing exercise to keep me primed and lubricated (ha!) for that work. This means shorter chapters, more frequent updates, and probably a shit ton of mistakes because I plan to keep this light and fun. Hopefully, I'll be able to stay on track, but it relies (only a little bit) on whether or not you find reading this fic as amusing as I do conceiving and writing the thing.

Lastly, I didn't write this story to intentionally piss anyone off, but this is the internet and someone is bound to get butt hurt and let me know in a childish review. So, here's a heads up to potential flamers. Bite me. Obviously, I don't take any of this stuff seriously (duh!), so it's safe to say that I won't take your opinions seriously, either. In fact, if your review gives off even a whiff of pettiness or includes text speak (which is pretty standard among flames), I'll likely leave it up for my and others' amusement. Constructive criticism based on my writing is welcome, however, as are ideas for future chapters. Is there an aspect of the fanfic universe or the show that drives you up the fucking wall? A scene or conversation that plays out in your head and makes you laugh out loud? I won't guarantee anything, but PM me and we'll talk.