The Stick Is Canon!

THE STICK IS CANON!

Feedback (good, bad, indifferent, just want to bother me, whatever) is appreciated. Please write to: theangstguy@yahoo.com

Synopsis: There should perhaps be limits on how literally fanfic writers can interpret canon, or on how trivial a detail can be to not be worth writing about.

Author's Notes: This tale was my entry for the final battle in the March Madness fanfic-writing competition in the spring of 2010, held on PPMB. The final scene appears (in canon) in “I Don’t.”

This tale, like many of my sillier stories, makes use of a free font called Jester for the titles and subtitles. This delightful, useful font can be easily acquired (again, for free) from Dafont.com and Urbanfonts.com.

Acknowledgements: My thanks to Midnightstorm for the excellent contest.

The more devoted the fanbase, the smaller the detail that

can become tempting Canon Fodder.

—TVTropes.org, “Canon Fodder”

Sandi has to beat them off with a stick.

—Linda Griffin on the subject of boys and her daughter, “Gifted”

* * *

“But Mom—”

“Don’t you ‘but’ me, young lady! I’m telling you this because I know what’s best for you. It’s the only way you’ll ever get a boy to show you respect! You want those boys to respect you, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Then use it, or else those chimpanzees will take advantage of you. They’re not thinking with the heads on their shoulders, Sandi. They’re thinking with the heads on—”

“Mom, that’s gross!”

“No, Sandi. Gross is letting everyone know that you’re weak and can be talked into anything. Gross is letting a boy ruin your best blue dress when he gets you to play ‘White House Intern’ in his car at the rock quarry. I remember your father once tried to get me to—”

“Aaah! STOP! I am so not listening to this!”

“It’s your choice, Sandi: the stick, or we have your name legally changed to Monica.”

“You wouldn’t!”

bip boop bip bip beep bup bip “Hello, Lawndale clerk of courts? Linda Griffin here. Are you open tomorrow between noon and two? I need to fill out some paperwork for my daughter, Monica.”

“MOM!”

* * *

“Wow, that’s weird.”

“Huh? What?”

“We ran out of gas! I can’t believe it. Now we’re stuck here at the rock quarry! May as well relax and enjoy ourselves before I call for a tow.”

“I guess.”

“You haven’t said much all evening, Sandi. Was Chez Pierre all right? You okay?”

“Huh? Oh, it was fine, Corey. I’m okay. Lot on my mind.”

“Yeah. Boy, the news about that White House intern and the President is really something, isn’t it? Man. Hey, what do you think about—”

“Go ahead and unzip your pants.”

“…whuh?”

“Unzip your pants. Let’s get this over with.”

“ALLLLLLL RIIIIIIGHT!”

“I need to get something out of my purse first.”

“Sure thing! Wow! This is so cool! The other guys said you were kind of stuck up and everything, but you’re really AAAHHH!!! AAAHH!!! OOOWW!!! AAAAAAAA!!! NO! NO! DON’T—YEOOOOW!!!”

* * *

“Rrrrr, feisty! The next model up in our Lawndale High bridal expo sends a clear message: go west, young man! She’s rough, she’s tough, she’s lovely. Our Sandi is in a silk-and-rawhide outfit by Harve’s of Beverly Hills, proving that the happiest day of your life doesn’t have to be dull. Stick ‘em up, hombres! Va va va voom!”

Sandi Griffin sneered in the direction of Charles Ruttheimer III as she modeled the Western-style bridal outfit. Subtle, Upchuck, real subtle, but no date and no stick for you, ever. Mom was right. Boys really do respect me when I use a stick to beat them off!

Original: 04/18/10, 05/01/10, 05/03/10

FINIS