dedicated to bad fanfictions in general

SBAC productions presents --

The cornwallace show!

WITH YOUR HOST! ME! CORNWALLACE! YAY! I'M SO AWESOME! (and a kickass writer, too)

Welcome to the show. My show. That's right, I've gone all the way now. Selling out in every aspect, and now it's time to cash in with a good old ask-fic! I mean, how could I possibly not get at least two hundred reviews? At the very least.

Next I'll be doing a cute sonamy where they love each other a lot. After that, I'm going to be doing a tradgedy in which Amy loves Sonic, but Sonic doesn't even acknowledge her! Sadness induces suicide! GASP! She cuts her wrists in the bath tub, only for Sonic to find out and admit only too late that HE ALWAYS LOVED HER!! -cries- SAD!!1111 All the while, I'll be working on the epic saga of cornwallace the fifteen tailed kitsune with super powers that even I don't understand. I CAN'T WAIT!! READ AND REVIEW!!

Either way, we have a very special guest on the show today. A good friend of mine. Our companionship has lasted over ten years, ladies and gentlemen, I BRING YOU SONIC THE HEDGEHOG!

The audience applauses as Sonic makes his way to the couch next to my desk. The applause refuses to die down. Machine must be malfunctioning or something. Someone takes a baseball bat to it, and the applause stops. Finally.

So, Sonic. What brings you to town?

"Uh… you forced (A/N: invited) me to come to this dumb(A/N: awesome) little (A/N: big) show of yours(A/N: cornwallace's(A/N: mine))?"

Right. I meant to ask how you were doing.

"Why fan fiction?"

What?

"You heard me. Why fan fiction?"

Shuffle through my deck of index cards. Responses. I'm at a loss. Confused, even.

Uh. Let's talk about you, Sonic. You're the famous one, here.

"I don't want to talk about me, cornwallace. I want to know what the fuck you're doing here."

What do you mean? I'm doing an interview.

"You're fucking pathetic."

What?!

"You heard me. You're fucking pathetic in all ways."

Gulp. Take a sip of water. Shuffle my cards.

So, is Robotnik still on your nuts?

"Do you still have nothing on yours?"

What's that supposed to mean?

"Don't worry about it."

Can I just ask you some questions?

"No. Let me ask you something. Do you think you're being original?"

Of course I do. Am. It's the cornwallace show. There's no other cornwallace show. Just this one. Just me. cornwallace.

"That's bullshit and you know it. Right now you're blatantly knocking off two different sources."

What?

"You're ripping off the ask-fic parody and the ask fic all at once! Look at you! Have you an original bone in your body?!"

Of course I do! I wrote.. uh… Bummer may Horus didn't I?

"Oh! Are you referring to Pulp with characters from my fandom?"

It was only inspiration!

"Shut the fuck up. It was a rip off. A sham. A waste of time."

But I'm writing Seasons!

"The Reflections knockoff?"

God damn it, it's Reflection! Only one. Singular. By the way, how does one rip off his own story? I wrote Reflection.

"You're proud of that?"

You have a point there. But-

"Didn't you used to be a troll?"

Alright now, what does that have to do anything?

"Just reminding you how low you are."

What? You asshole.

"Then you ran away like a little bitch. Years and years you hid, like a fag, then some book made you want to write again, didn't it?"

That isn't entirely-

"Some book you could hope to never be as good as. You should have taken it as a sign that YOU ARE WORTHLESS! INSIGNIFICANT!"

NO!

"Then you started posting again, presenting your unwanted face among a group of original, creative young minds AND RAPING MY BELOVED FANDOM WITH YOUR BULLSHIT! YOU FUCKING PATHETIC BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU!"

He's on top of me, hitting me and choking me. I'm begging him to stop, or trying to, when another punch lands me on the jaw. I think it's fucking broken.

"Did you honestly think you could rip off Wingless Rain and get away with it? Did you really think you could go on writing your little fan fictions and suffering the world with the travesties you have committed upon ME?! UPON MY PEOPLE?!"

He gets up and starts kicking me.

"You're a fucking worthless hack!" he says. "Holding all the good writers like Simon and Royce back by sucking up all the creativity! The good writers are stuck behind blocks because you keep pulling your pud and cumming all over ffnet!"

Another kick to the head. I deserve this.

"Now" he asks, breathing heavily. "Why fan fiction?"

I get bored, I tell him. You can only jerk off so much before it gets boring, too.

"And that's your excuse?"

No, I tell him. That's my answer. You asked a question, dickhead.

My face catches his foot again. My nose is broken for sure. Blood running all the way down my neck and shirt.

"You've been controlling me for too long, cornwallace. You would fuck me up when you played the games, and you're fucking me up now with your bullshit stories. I'm not leaving here this day without your resignation, you son of a bitch. You fucking lazy ass pothead. You lifeless loser. Cheap knockoff."

I can't, I tell him. I'm too pathetic.

He shoots me a look. One I can't seem to describe.

Writing fan fiction is like playing with toys, I tell him. I pick a doll house (A/N: setting) and some dolls (A/N: characters) and I play. Can't build my own toys. Too lazy. Too pathetic.

He looks down upon me and he smiles. Not a warm smile. A smirk. Like he's won. This is want he wanted. Me to admit how pathetic I am.

Suddenly the entire Sonic gang kicks through the doors and comes storming down the staircase. Coming towards us. Carrying a big fucking cross. Something tells me to run, but I'm too weak.

Too pathetic.

They set the cross next to me. I want to run.

What are you doing?

"Saving you"

From what?

"A useless existence of smoking pot, jerking off, and stealing other people's ideas."

I don't want to be saved, I tell them, as they pick me up and place me on the cross. Holding me down. Before I know it, nails are halfway through my hands and I'm crying like a little bitch. Getting hammered in, like the whore I am. Once I'm nailed in, I'm erected.

And everybody is screaming at me all at once.

Sonic: You turned me into a junkie! AND an alcoholic!

Bunnie: You get my fucking name wrong! Scarlett O'Hare? What the fuck is that stupid Archie bullshit?!

Sally: You made me a fucking lesbian!

She's throwing things at me. They all are.

That story isn't even posted anymore, I tell her.

Antoine: You fucking racist! Just look at what you did to my accent!

Rotor: Yeah! What the fuck was with all that 'walrus' shit?!

Amy: You helped make me a guy, you sick fuck! Not only a guy, but a FAG!

Nack: You turned me into an idiot, because you are an idiot.

Knuckles: You're trying to say that I can't get laid? No. You can't get laid, so you hide behind a cartoon character.

Shadow: I NEVER LOSE!

Tails: I'm not gay. And I'm not fucking feminine, either. You asshole.

Griff: You didn't even do anything to me. I just hate all you morons and your ask fics.

Cream: You couldn't even get in my head. Because you can't think outside your own. All your characters are the same 'sarcastic' retard.

Cheese: i¿

Rouge: You made me a whore!

Big: Learn to spell!

Metal: You use "I" too much.

Snively: Do you even proof read? Ever?

Robotnik: Even I'm with Sonic on this one. You suck. Die.

Sonic steps forward, and starts spraying me and the wooden cross. Kerosene soaking into the wood and through my clothes.

Oh god.

Just tell me one thing, Sonic. Just please tell me this one thing.

He strikes a match and stares at me for a few seconds.

"What? Make it quick. We don't have a lot of time left, and someone has to die. It's a cornwallace fan fiction, after all. You predictable turd."

His words sting like moonshine on an open wound. Not that I would know what that feels like. Probably stings lots. Kind of like his words. Wait, have I already used that? Daaamn.

Clearing my throat I put as much bass in my voice as possible. Trying to regain composure. Get down to brass tacks. What this is all really about.

Sonic, what in the world makes you run so fast?

"You do, you idiot! You control everything I do! Even now, it's you! The penholder! There isn't a set speed I can run, because every jackass with a keyboard thinks he can make his own shit up. Jesus Christ, is this all you do?! Sit around and jerk off? When you aren't physically jerking off, you're mentally jerking off, and WE are the ones who suffer for it! It's SICK!"

The match burns through the finger tips of his glove. He curses, dropping it.

Hahahahahahahahahahah.

"You little shit!"

He lights another match.

Wait! Hold on a second! Give me a break, man. I'm sorry!!

"Sorry doesn't put it back together."

And with that magnificent sign off line, he flicks the lit match at me. Suddenly I erupt in a massive ball of hot and pain. Flames lick my face. Blacken my clothes. Burn through. My skin is sizzling. The stink of melting flesh, burning hair and kerosene might overwhelm me, if I wasn't currently breathing in fire.

This is it. The end.

The tragedy is the fact that I'll be back. Writing more fan fictions. I'm kind of an antichrist of sorts. The antichrist of ffnet. It may never stop.

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¿IS THIS ART?
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