This riff was the sequal to the one I posted yesterday. At the time I just called it "Hee Hee", but for this issue, we'll give it a proper title.

Remember, if you like these, there's a whole lot more from much better writers to be found in TCATGR! Just drop RD Rivero a line and he can hook you up.

As for my reading schedule, next up, Jon Prideux! After all this time, I still can't spell his name right...

"RD's Revenge!"

::Dedicated to Thundera Tiger, who asked me to warn her the next time I made her sides split...::

Snarfer was kicked back in his office in the Tower of Omens' basement, perusing the latest issue of "Playberbil", and wondering how anybody could possibly do such things with being fatally electrocuted.

Suddenly the door slammed open. Framed there was the master of evil, the epitome of vileness, the Grand-High-Poohbah of grotesquery...

"For God's sake, man, get on with it!" he snapped.

...RD Rivero, clad in a red lounge robe, a meerschaum pipe dangling from the side of his mouth.

Snarfer uttered a horrified shriek and dove beneath his desk, his magazine fluttering forgotten to the ground. "What're you doing here, shnarfer shnarfer?" he mewled.

"Honestly, I don't understand it," Rivero purred to the shuddering snarf. "Why is it that everyone of you is so scared of me? I've simply come on business, what harm is that?"

"Your business IS harm, yep it sure is!" Snarfer accused.

"Well, yes, I suppose that is true," RD replied, then whipped an obscenely long elephant gun from beneath his robe. He blasted the back of the desk with both barrels, blowing the wood and the snarf beyond into a spray of pulverized fragments.

"Now that that's finished on to the task at hand," RD said. He walked past the desk, leaning the gun against it as he did. He stopped in front of a squat white machine and opened it's top lid, revealing a large glass panel.

From his breast pocket he produced an 8x10 glossy of a creature that seemed part Sir Lancelot, part Incredible Hulk, but mostly a rather stupid-looking German Sheppard dog. The autograph on it read, "To my good friend RD Rivero the Ever-Grisly, long may he reign. Yours Truly, Fianna"

"Mine truly indeed, my fellow mastermind," RD said softly. "But I cannot allow you to cast aspersions on my manhood and remain unmolested, old friend."

He placed the glossy face-down on the glass and closed the lid. On the console keypad he pressed "999" and "start". As the machine began to hum, he threw back his head in a roar of evil laughter and disappeared.


*************

The kitchen was a disaster area, strewn with pots, broken dishes and smashed furniture. The legendary samoflange swept through the wreckage, whirling like a dervish as it flailed it's appendages around.

Panthro tried to draw a bead on it with his samoflange stunner. As long as it goes straight this time, I've got a clear shot at it, he thought.

Fianna watched the crazed automaton's movements, trying get a sense of it's patterns. As long as it goes straight this time, I've got a clear shot at it, he thought.

The samoflange went straight. Fianna yelled, "I got it!" and pounced. Panthro yelled, "I got it!" and fired.

When the smoke cleared, the samoflange lay stretched out on the floor, immobile. Across the room, Fianna sat straight-legged against the wall, smoke rising from his body, his mane sticking out from his head like a big green hedgehog.

The Thunderkittens and Snarf, hearing the blast, burst into the kitchen.

"Oh my God, you killed Fianna!" screamed Wilykit.

"You bastard!" yelled Wilykat

"He's not dead," Panthro growled, kneeling next to the stunned writer. He slapped him on the side of his head and said, "Hey, c'mon, wake up."

Fianna turned towards the panther and, in a high pitched voice, sang, "I love to sing-a, about the moon-a in the June-a and the spring-a. I love to sing-a. About a sky of blue-a and a tea for two-a." Then he quieted down and stared off into space some more.

"Somebody get me a pint of stout from the fridge," Panthro called.

Snarf passed him the open bottle. "How is drinking beer going to help, Panthro, snarf-snarf?"

Panthro hooked his fingers around Fianna's upper jaw and lifted. The caninoid's face turned upwards and his mouth fell open.

"This isn't beer, it's stout, and in his case it's more like a blood transfusion," the panther said as he emptied the bottle down Fianna's throat and let his muzzle drop.

After a few moments the writer shook his head blearily and his eyes began to focus. The others gathered around him and pulled him to his feet. Suddenly Snarf leapt back and yelled, "You did kill him Panthro! He's got a halo!"

Every stepped away from Fianna. Gathering his wits, the caninoid reached over to the dish rack and removed a gleaming silver skillet. Looking into it at his reflection, he saw that the top of his head was indeed glowing a bright white.

"Uh-oh," Fianna said. The light suddenly flashed down the length of his body, making him wince as it crossed his eyes, finally disappearing when it reached the floor.

"What the hell was that?" Panthro said.

There was a loud "pop" of displaced air, and there appeared beside Fianna an exact duplicate of himself, perfect in every detail. The new caninoid looked at the assembled felines, then back at Fianna. Then it waggled it's eyebrows and ran out of the kitchen, howling and yipping like mad dog.

"What the HELL was THAT?!" Panthro roared.

"At a guess," Fianna said as he put the skillet back, "RD Rivero's made a visit to Snarfer's Character Copier again. And this time, it ain't Tygras he's running off."

There were a series of pops from within the depths of the Lair. Somewhere they heard Cheetara scream, followed by the sound of glass breaking.

"Oh that's gotta hurt," Wilykat said, looking out the kitchen window.

"He actually bounced," Wilykit commented.

Fianna and Panthro left the others and ran downstairs towards the garage. They reached the entrance when they heard an enormous crash from the door opposite.

"No, oh God, no!" Panthro cried as he threw it open and ran down the spiral staircase to the basement, Fianna hot on his heels.

Years earlier, Panthro had constructed three kegs, each as long as a man was tall and a full six feet across. The wood had been from special trees, the leaves of which the Warrior Maidens would drink as tea for it's intoxicating effects. Bengali had constructed a set of sturdy iron bands, ornamenting them with ancient Thuderian heiroglyphics extolling the power of drink to lighten the heart. Cheetara had spent weeks carving wood to produce spigots that were perfect replicas of Tug Mug's head.

The ale in these kegs was crafted from the finest water from hidden springs known only to the Maidens. The hops and barley were likewise the upper end, purchased at great expense from Wollo traders. The finished product was shared with close friends, allies and at state events, and was widely regarded as the finest ale on Third Earth.

The writer and the warrior sprang down the final steps and landed ankle-deep in homebrew. One of the kegs was completely demolished, even it's individual planks split and fractured. Another stood on end, the lid ripped off, half empty. The last was in a similar state, save for being half full of very drunken Fiannas, singing loudly and slurredly.

"He oughta be an emperor, a shultan or a king. UNTO his praises we shall surely sing. Just LOOK at all he's done for us, he's filled us up with cheer! God bless Panther-Oh, the cat who invented beer, beer, beer, tiddley beer, beer, beer..."

Panthro fell back, covering his face with his hands, screaming "The horror! The horror!"

Fianna gave him a sidelong look. "'The horror'? Yeah, this is Rivero's doing for sure. We have to get to the Tower." He grabbed the shaken Thundercat and hauled him back upstairs. They made it to the garage and burst inside. The Thundertank sat with the hood up, four Fiannas stuffed in beneath it.

"I thought you said you could fix it!"

"Well if you hadn't stepped on the part!"

"Hey guys, do you think this is import- whoops, never mind..."

"AAAAIIIIIEEEEE!!!!" Panthro shrieked.

"C'mon, we have to make it on foot!" Fianna yelled, grabbing the trembling panther and dragging him through the garage to the bay door. Outside, he noticed the cat was developing a distinct facial tic.

Outside was no better. The Fiannas were as thick as grass, fighting, arguing, singing old Irish folk songs in chorus while accompanying themselves horribly on hundreds of harmonicas. The two companions soon found themselves separated by the mass of huge green, armored caninoids.

"Are you winking at me?"

"Why you big studly hunk o'feline, I didn't know you cared!"

If one of these things pinches me, I'm gonna kill 'em all, Panthro thought. Including the original.

Then Panthro had a flash of inspiration. "HO FIANNA!"

Several hundred heads turned his direction and canted slightly to the side.

"What did we drink when you got here this morning?!" he bellowed.

"GUINNESS!" several hundred canines bellowed back. Then, from over the hill in the direction of the tower he heard, faintly, "...budweiser..."

Panthro took off at a run and soon caught up to the wheezing caninoid writer. "What gives?" the Thundercat gasped.

"Chainmail...heavy. Must...talk...like...William...Shatner," he gasped.

"No I mean what gives with them?" he pointed over his shoulder at the mob of caninoids around the Lair. "You're usually better behaved than that."

"Not perfect duplicates," Fianna said. "Just enough detail for the role they're playing in the story. Also, if you knew your whole lifespan would be less than forty minutes, wouldn't you want to live it up, too?"

Panthro thought about this as the two ran on in silence, drawing ever closer to the Tower of Omens.

**********

Panthro kicked down the door to Snarfer's office with a crack of splintered wood. He rolled in low, 'chucks out, ready for anything.

Fianna walked in without making any attempt at covering himself. He went directly to the damaged desk and looked at the grisly display on the opposite side. "Oh my God, RD Rivero killed Snarfer!"

"I'm not biting," Panthro said, straightening up. "Besides, you used that one already. Do you ever think of something original?" He hesitated, looked around, looked at himself, then back at Fianna.

"Never mind," he muttered, walking over to the desk and leaning against the front of it. Fianna, meanwhile, went to the character copier and pressed the cancel button. The machine slowed and stopped.

Panthro reached over and lifted the lid and took the picture out and looked at it. "This is a promo shot," he said. "Why the hell did you give him this?"

"How was I supposed to know he was one of my two fans?" Fianna said with a shrug. He examined the readout on the copier. "Six hundred and seventy-eight. There's plenty of me to go around."

"So what do we do about them?"

"Well, the story is winding down, so they should start dying in about a half hour or so."

"A half an hour!" Panthro exclaimed. "Think of all the damage those things could do in thirty minutes. There's got to be a better way."

"Wellll..."

"Say it," Panthro said with a grin.

Fianna suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "Um, well, we could..."

"Say it," Panthro's grin had broadend into a toothy smile.

"Uh, kill them."

"YES!!!" Panthro yelled, pumping his elbow. He unlimbered his 'chucks and said, "You better stay here, Fianna. Wouldn't want to clean your clock by accident, you know."

"Er, yeah, sure," the writer said. He looked absolutely nauseous. "Knock yourself out. I'll just stay her and clue Benny and Pumie in on the situation."

Suddenly the room exploded in blinding red light. A sulfurous stench filled the air, driving them back from the door. Gradually the light faded, coalesced into a sinister form...

"RD Rivero!" they cried in unison.

"Ah, it's good to be remembered," the evil one said. "And I see you've figured out my little trick, old friend. I do hope you've learned your lesson about toying with me."

"There's only one lesson needing taught here, Rivero!" Panthro roared, spinning his 'chucks. "It's time I taught you some respect for the Thundercats!"

"Oh, do hush, won't you dear?" RD said. Then he whipped out his elephant gun and let Panthro have it, point blank. The panther seemed to disintegrate in an explosion of ground flesh, spraying blood and steaming guts. Only his legs remained, standing for a moment, then falling away from each other with a pair of meaty thumps.

The door to Snarfer's storeroom crashed open and Panthro stormed inside. "Goddammit, will you knock that shit off?!" he bawled.

"Sorry, Panthro, truly," RD said, secreting his gun once more. "I was trying to make a point."

"You see, this continuity, this world we share, has no consistent rules of cause and effect. Call it entropy, chaos, what-have-you, the result is the same."

"No one can die permanently here, since the next writer who comes along can call the deceased back to life at any moment, to serve whatever purpose they wish."

"Hah!" Panthro laughed. "Then you can never destroy the Thundercats, no matter how hard you try!"

RD smiled, and the chill of that wicked mirth froze their blood in their veins.

"But Panthro, I don't want to destroy you," he said softly. "I want you all to live again and again, forever, as I explore to the fullest depths of my evil imaginings, all the myriad ways to corrupt, violate, torment, and torture you. You are my playthings, Thundercat, to abuse and break as I see fit, knowing that I can repair you with a thought, just to break you again."

Rivero threw his arms wide and cried out, "All the Third Earth, the Thundercats, the Lunatacs, even Mumm-Ra himself! You are all mine, now and forever! MWAAAAHAHAHAHAH!"

Then he disappeared, leaving the two companions standing there with a defunct copier, a damaged desk and a dead snarf.

"The short form being, 'We're fucked'," Panthro muttered, his shoulder slumping in defeat.

Fianna smiled broadly. "Not yet, old buddy. There's one thing RD Rivero forgot."

"What's that?"

Fianna opened a specially padded belt pouch and took out a small thin object, with a silver stick affixed that read Oregon Scientific. He opened it up, revealing a gray LCD screen and keyboard.

"This is MY story," Fianna said and began to type. "Suddenly RD reappeared. 'What is this?!' he stammered."

Suddenly RD Rivero reappeared. "W-w-what is this?!" he said, but Fianna was already typing.

There was an explosion of pastel light from RD's body. He began to shrink rapidly, his form spitting off flowers like sparks from steel under a blacksmith's hammer. When the fracas subsided, on the floor where Rivero had stood was a small, cuddly brown bunny.

The rabbit reared up on it's hind legs, placed it little mittened forepaws on it's fuzzy hips, and squeaked, "Now this is just silly."

Keys clicked again, and the rabbit shined with a blinding white light. When this passed, there stood a blonde haired little boy, about eight years of age. Beside him was a life-size stuffed toy replica of Thundera Tiger.

"How did I get dragged into this?" she said, as RD fished around in his pocket, muttering about setting his "mertilizer" to "deep-fat fry".

Then once again the forms glowed, and when it cleared this time, there was a blonde human in his late teens. He woe blue jeans, a white tee shirt, a black leather jacket, and an expression that combined youthful belligerence with the look of a three-day-drunk.

"Oh my God," Panthro whispered. "It's...it's..."

It was Macauley Culkin.

"Would you care to explain this?" the youth demanded.

Fianna closed his palmtop and shrugged elaborately. "I wanted to find a form more vile, more repulsive, more absolutely abhorrent even than your own. What do you think?"

Rivero/Culkin examined himself for a moment, then looked back at Fianna. His face struggled visibly to change expression, but it seemed incapable of any except snide smugness.

Finally he gave up and said, "Not bad, actually. I didn't think you had it in you. Even if you did have to 'borrow' the concept from And then the male-."

Fianna grinned. "Nonsense. The old chestnut about the writer manipulating his environment through his story has been around forever. Stephen King, Tanith Lee, and the twits who made that Kim Basinger cartoon among them."

"So you're abandoning any pretense of originality?" Rivero snickered.

Fianna grinned. "Hardly. Originality is not about the tool, but how it's used. You may well employ this tool when you seek vengeance on me, evil one, but the trick is to do it better than I did."

"That sounds like a challenge, pup," RD said.

Fianna laughed. "Perhaps it is, at that!"

"Then rest assured that when next we meet, Fianna of Ayryn, it will be in my time, my place, and most importantly, my story!! MWAAAHAHAHAHeeeekkk. Goddamn puberty..."

And with that, he disappeared.

"Is it over?" Panthro asked. "Did we win?"

"It's never over," Fianna said. "And yes, this time we won."

Panthro walked towards the exit shaking his head. "Every time you writers show up here, I feel like Hercules in that 'Legendary Journeys' show."

Fianna smirked, extended his hands and two perfectly-chilled bottles of Guinness appeared there. He passed one to Panthro.

"It's good to be a god," he said as he put the bottle to his lips.

---

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