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My thus-far worthless hobby is about to pay off!

July 31st, 2008 by todd merriman

Anyone who’s known me for any considerable amount of time knows how dedicated I am to my hobby of writing fan fiction. Some fans write about “Star Trek” and some write about “Star Trek: The Next Generation,” while others write about “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.”

My favorite show is “60 Minutes”.

And if you haven’t caught the buzz yet, they’re making a movie.

Look for it next summer: “90 Minutes — The Sixty Minutes Motion Picture,” starring Martin Lawrence as Ed Bradley and Owen Wilson as Morley Safer.

And not to brag, but some very influential people in Hollywood have seen some of my work and were impressed enough to pony up some dough for me to write the novelization of the screenplay.

Here is a sample chapter.


Morley Safer sneezed, overwhelmed by the dust in the basement of the academic library. He wished his anonymous source would hurry up. He didn’t have all day to collect dust like the antiquated AV equipment that surrounded him.

He looked at his watch.

“Ten more minutes, and I’m out of here,” he muttered to himself.

“Oh, I don’t believe you’re going anywhere, Mr. Safer,” said a voice from the darkness.

Just then, the lights came on.


“That’s right, Safer. It’s me. Phillip Morris, himself. Mr. Big Tobacco.”

“You think this is the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at me?” Safer tried to play it cool, though he couldn’t take his eyes off Morris’s nicotine-stained trigger finger, taut around the mechanism that could, at any second, send a lump of lead and blue flash out of the revolver’s cold steel muzzle.

“You think killing me will stop the truth?” Safer said.

“Oh, I don’t aim to kill you, Mr. Safer,” Morris wheezed with detachment and menace. “You have to take a message to your friend Mike Wallace. I can’t have either of you poking around in my affairs any longer. As for the truth, go ahead. Tell the entire world. Tell them the whole truth. Tell them that I am an alien from outer space aiming to conquer and control the human race through its tendency toward addiction. They’ll think you’ve flipped.”

Morris shape shifted. Before Safer’s eyes the CEO became a gray alien, his face devoid of features, his eyes big, black and empty.

“I find your Earth weapons crude, but very effective.” The alien had not spoken, but the words found their way into Safer’s brain, nonetheless. “When you get out of intensive care, make sure your viewers know we prefer to communicate using telepathy.”

One of the creature’s three fingers cocked the hammer.

“Not so fast, Phillip Morris!” Another voice shouted.

Ed Bradley stepped out of the shadows, shirtless and scraped but no worse for wear, an ammo belt draped over his shoulder and a machine gun trained on Morris’s gargantuan head.

“Ed!” Safer cried out to his colleague. “No one is supposed to know I’m here. How did you find out?”

“I’m that good, baby. And you’re lucky I am. Otherwise, you’d be filing your reports from six feet under. Put the gun down, Morris. The jig is up.”

“Up yours,” Morris projected into Bradley’s mind.

“You alien muthafucka!” Bradley opened up on the shapeshifter with the all the M-60 had. Empty shells clattered to the floor as round after round splattered gray alien gray matter all over the dusty overhead projectors behind it.

Bradley then reached into his waistband and pulled out the 9-mm handgun he always carried just in case. He tossed it to Safer.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, Morley!”

They made their way through the labyrinth of stacks, up the stairs and out the front door. They each breathed a sigh of relief once inside Bradley’s Cadillac El Dorado.

“Check it out, Safer, I just got this new amp.” Bradley cranked the volume on his stereo, and soon Safer could feel the throbbing bass rattle his lungs.

“This be the shiz, my nigga,” Safer shouted over the hiphop groove.

“What the fuck, white boy? You can’t say nigga. Only I can say nigga.”

“That’s a load of shit, Ed. You’re saying a word is off limits to me just ’cause I’m white?”

“Damn right. You white folks got every thing else. You stole the blues, you stole rock n’ roll. There’s even white boys rapping now. You ain’t using the word nigga.”


They pulled up to the stoplight. The music so loud, they didn’t hear the black helicopter hovering over traffic.

But they noticed when the Volkswagen behind them erupted in a blazing fireball.

“Shit, they got a chopper on us!” Bradley cried. “Stinger missiles, too.”

“Well then, floor it, bitch!”

Bradley stomped on the gas. Tires squealed. The caddy swerved to avoid cross-traffic that had the light.

The helicopter rained bullets down on the Cadillac and surrounding traffic.

“They fuckin’ up my rims, yo!” Bradley shouted. “You gotta take that chopper out! Use the RPG in the back seat!”

The caddy weaved through traffic, the helicopter hard on its tail, leaving destruction in its wake. Cars crashed. Trucks exploded. Exciting shit. Safer hung out the window, the rocket launcher on his shoulder, taking aim at the helicopter.

“Can’t you keep this car moving in a straight line,” Safer complained. “I can’t get a shot on the copter.”

“Hey, don’t tell me how to drive and I won’t tell you how to get shot down by Lesley Stahl.”

Another explosion jolted the car from behind.

“The road don’t get no smoother. Shoot them muthafuckas!”

Safer cleared his mind, took aim, held his breath. He had but one shot. He squeezed the trigger.

Direct hit. The helicopter blew up. Pieces of it fell out of the sky onto cars and pedestrians. None but the pilot were seriously injured.

“Ha ha! Nice shootin’, my nigga!” Bradley said.

Bradley and Safer walked into CBSNews headquarters, greeted by their colleague Lesley Stahl.

“Hi boys.”

“Lesley, you should have seen it!” Bradley rejoiced. “You ain’t the only one that’s good at shooting down around here!”

She eyed Safer. “What’s he talking about?”

“Oh, it was nothing, really.” Safer said, shuffling his feet.

“Nothing? Nothing? Lesley, this helicopter was on our tail, and our boy Safer here took that motherfucker out!”

“Safer! Bradley!” Mike Wallace shouted. “In my office now!”

“Gotta go,” Safer said to Stahl. “Tell you all about it over dinner tonight?”

“Um… No thanks. I’m waxing my cat tonight.”

“Now, Safer!” Wallace shouted.

The two men followed Wallace into his office.

“Shut the god damn door!” he ordered. Bradley obliged him. “I just got off the phone with Phillip Morris! Can you explain why you’re harassing him, Safer?”

Safer and Bradley looked at each other, chilled.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, god damn it!” Wallace shouted. “What the fuck are you doing bothering an important businessman like Phillip Morris?”

“I was doing legwork on a story. I didn’t know he would be there.”

“Didn’t know he would be there? You’re telling me he’s got nothing better to do than just show up wherever you happen to be!”

“Sir,” Bradley interjected. “Phillip Morris is an alien. And he’s supposed to be dead.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Bradley? And what the fuck were you doing there? Aren’t you supposed to be working on a story about air bags? And where the fuck is your god damn shirt?”

“But I got wind that Morley was walking into a trap.”

“Shut the fuck up, Bradley! You’re on thin ice! Thin! Fucking! Ice! I don’t want to hear any more nonsense about aliens and dead businessmen and traps! It’s bullshit! I’m sick of this loose cannon reporting! Safer, you’re off this story! I don’t want you going anywhere near Phillip Morris, do you understand me?”

“But Mike,” Safer said. “I’m on to a big story here.”

“Do you understand me!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now get the fuck out of my sight. Deadline is coming up tomorrow and I want to see something good from both of you!”

“Yes, sir.”

Bradley and Safer left Wallace’s office, hanging their heads. They turned the corner in the hall and there stood Andy Rooney.

“Did you ever notice how you two are a couple of fuckups?” he said.

“Shut the fuck up, Rooney,” Bradley said. “Aren’t you supposed to be in your office bitching about paperclips or some shit?”

“Whoa. Snap,” Safer said.

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21 Responses to “My thus-far worthless hobby is about to pay off!”

  1. Jacob Says:

    Good lord, who’s directing this thing, Uwe Boll?


  2. Stickfodder Says:

    I’ve read a lot of fan fic but that just takes it to a new level of creativity. Most of the fan fic I’ve read was basically poorly written porn or just plain poorly written. I wish more people would make a story around a weird concept like this. That was just hilarious I’m glad I read it.


    ineedhelpbad reply on July 31st, 2008 11:53 am:

    Hmm… poorly written porn. Your ideas are intriguing to me and I wish to subscribe to your newsletter.


    Stickfodder reply on July 31st, 2008 12:37 pm:

    Umm I don’t have a newsletter, but I do have a crappy web comic page on Drunk Duck and the comments for my comics seem to be getting longer and eventually may become a newsletter Ooo you can join and fave me! or suscribe to the Rss I just discovered I have!

    Just keep in mind that I said it’s a crappy web comic so you are forewarned. although its only 4 days old please give it time.

    Captcha “form career” Well I doubt it but one can always hope.


    Brina Ferret reply on August 1st, 2008 2:44 am:

    hey, there is some fanfiction out there that is well written porn mixed in with a poorly written story that has no plot… and even some good fanfiction the problem is are those are the minority which would mean as a fanfiction author if your fanfic is legible, has a plot, and makes some sort of sense when weaved together, and characters never cross the OC line wouldn’t you be failing at writing fanfiction?

    “Mischke Etna” Etna never liked commas so she moved to Japan


  3. A B Says:

    Sooo… Ed Bradly is being played by Samuel L Jackson, then? You’re gonna needa a snake or two.


    Brina Ferret reply on August 1st, 2008 2:47 am:

    how bout serpentine aliens instead, they can be hijaking the plane… a 9-11 flashback with everyone freaking out

    captcha: “John beware”


    todd merriman reply on August 3rd, 2008 11:18 pm:

    No. Martin Lawrence is playing Ed Bradley. They called Samuel L. Jackson, but he was busy making some boring art house piece of shit.


  4. Andrew Says:

    Oh! Oh! Can I be Andy Rooney? I’m really really good with pointless tirades against seemingly incuous objects.

    Captcha: Reagan Greenleaf – “George! Put down the pot and come run this damn country! Jeeze, if I didn’t know better I’d say you have Alzhimers.”


  5. tsukinofaerii Says:

    LOL What? No slash? Sex? What kind of novelization-of-the-movie-of-the-news-program is this? After a firefight (with aliens!) there must be a kiss between the two winning fighters–that’s the rules of fanfic bub. You’ve only got male leads and a token female here. As I see it you have two choices (short of hopping on the slash wagon, in which case I may need to spork out my eyes):

    1) Give someone breasts.
    2) Play it for jokes.

    Also, you need someone with seven feet of hair and rainbow colored eyes who happens to have a pet unicorn and the key to the plot. Male or female, doesn’t really matter as long as they have a tragic version of your own bio. And vampires.

    Geeze, you’ve broken so many rules, I don’t know where to start. What kind of fanfic writer ARE you, anyway?


    Brina Ferret reply on August 1st, 2008 2:53 am:

    no no, no kiss is needed for fanfiction, this is where they break out into lemon or for the wimps a lime. maybe its with one of the males and the token female, maybe a threesome or a foursome or a gangbang on the token female ((depends on how much you hate said female)) that or all the “good guys” end up dead and/or miserable

    captcha:”Pick Jervis”


  6. paula Says:

    For Mike Wallace: can we get the Arnold himself? If not, how about Pee Wee Herman, he’s got time these days!

    capcha: spitting troll?!?


  7. Jason Says:

    Neil Patrick Harris needs a role in here somewhere too…


    sean reply on August 1st, 2008 12:27 am:

    If you’re going to include NPH, you have to include either Vinny from Doogie Howser or Nathan Fillion (anyone who’s seen Dr. Horrible can attest to how well they work together in film). It’s science.


    Jason reply on August 1st, 2008 3:44 am:

    Bullshittery! NPH was pure standalone genius in Starship Troopers.

    Captcha – victory At. Don’t end your sekret phrases in prepositions. Its tacky.


    sean reply on August 1st, 2008 3:49 am:

    I’m not saying NPH is not a good actor; quite the opposite. I was merely saying that for the purposes of good chemistry between the characters/actors, to include either of the aforementioned. So…boo-yah.

    Skippy of NJ reply on August 1st, 2008 10:22 am:

    Forget that. put NPH with Harold and Kumar. Which gives me the idea to put these movies in the same universe. Have Harold and Kumar pass by on the way to White castle. With NPH in the car or after he stole their car.

    i no longer care that it probably isn’t funny, i just made myself and a few of my friends fall over(literally) at that idea.

  8. randomspaces Says:

    Aren’t Stingers surface to air missiles?


    todd merriman reply on August 3rd, 2008 11:23 pm:

    Probably. That’s what copy desk is there for.


  9. TheShadowCat Says:

    You should be ashamed of yourself. You forgot the scantily clad ho bitch with boobs up to her ears and a mini skirt so short that everyone’s her gynecologist whether or not she bends over. Let’s not forget she has to be absolutely gorgeous, have unusually colored eyes and be smarter than Einstein, Newton and de Vinci combined. Barring that, Morley and Shafer need at least one sex scene together, preferably more in lurid detail.

    You need to go back to fanfiction writer’s school in order to get something that is truly worthy of the title of bad fanfiction.


  10. VonZorch Says:

    Obivous poorly researched ficion. It’s well known that anyone who works for the Lame Stream Media doesn’t know which end of a gun the bullets come out of, muchless ever carry one.


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