This time I'm not trying to make you cry. I'm not trying to bring you down, shock you, surprise you, twist your outlook on life, fuck with your head, depress you, or anything like that. I am trying to make a fucking statement about a very, very serious problem plaguing our Sonic section at this point. Very serious indeed. So serious in fact that if it keeps up you are going to lose some of the legendary authors like Stephen Zacharus or Sean Catlett into a sea of impatient rage. And it will be your fault. Your fault, fordamte!

So fucking pay attention while you're reading this, because we've got something to say here.


Stop the madness!!

The Anti ask fic by David Macintyre


You're fucking killing me, do you know that?!

… let me elaborate on that a little.

I have a routine. Every day I wake up and I go for my morning run. A mile to 7-Eleven to pick up the morning paper. Entire trip there and back takes me maybe two minutes.

(Question for Sonic: HOW DO YOU RUN SO FAST?!)

See, for awhile I didn't mind this. I looked forward to it, actually. I *love* their hot dogs. And that chili machine, great fucking franks.

(Oops, better keep the rating down!!!!)

The really great thing is, lots of fans know about me there. I'm a star among 7-Eleven… rats, is that the word? But at any rate, see, I go there to cheers, gasps, points, you know the usual celebrity shit. And I really enjoy it, because sometimes I find that they have drawn pictures of me or my friends, or written little stories about us. It's cute. They can't be me, they can't be us


but they're still pretty good. Some of these people could go somewhere. Admittedly some of them are really bad, like this guy called David that seems to pester us all the time with really weird ideas, but some of them have a future with this work.


I enjoy it. It's a nice way to begin the day.

But, I digress. Lately there have been some huge, I mean huge, issues going on there. So much to the point that I don't think I want to enter that building again. Or any newsstand-carrying outlet if this keeps up.

Because it fucking gets on my nerves, and it's ruining my life.

Ruining it!

Do you KNOW what I am talking about?

Well, let me tell you.


Motherfucker tabloids, that's what.

I mean, obviously every celebrity has issues with tabloid articles, so sue me for sounding like a whiny bitch. But I like to think my problem is unique, because I sure as hell don't see anybody like, say, Russel Crowe, or Mel Gibson getting any crap like this.

What do I see?

"You asked us, and now Sonic the hedgehog answers YOUR questions!!!"

I mean, what the fuck?

And what kinds of questions are these? 'Why are you so cool?' 'Can I kiss you?' 'Who do you like, Shadow or Tails?' I'm not gay, you prick!

Oh, it started off innocently enough. One or two. I quashed the rumors down pretty easily. Nothing was going to get this out of hand.


But now it is.

Whenever I go there, I get these strange looks. Some of them just plain weird, like I've been caught using a dildo or something, or kissing Knuckles.


Others these horny looks like I'm some two timing son of a fuck. I took the time to buy one of these tabloids and found that apparently I've been going out with Amy—the little pink slut—and some girl named Sally. Who the fuck is Sally?! I mean, maybe in some other past life, or parallel existence, perhaps, in the big scheme, but damn, I've never heard of her.

But anyway eventually I lost it. I told them to leave me alone.

You know what, though, it didn't work.

Then it started happening.


Soon, every day, there was some new issue of a magazine out with a supposed interview of me and my friends. Some of them just recycled by the same author into several incarnations, but the questions didn't differ a whole lot.

So, you know what? Now I hate mornings.

I go there once a week, once a month. And every time, someone will shout 'Hey! It's Sonic!' and soon the place is full to brimming with all these no-dicked, girlfriendless losers and flat chested, usually fat, brace-face geek girls constantly asking shit like 'Will you make out with me?!' 'Why blue?!?!?!?!' 'Why do you have to be so cute Sonic?!' 'What's your favorite ice cream?!' 'Have you ever kissed Shadow in the mouth?!'

I mean, I would be very, very happy to answer all of these idiot questions—


Wait, let me rephrase that.

I would be happy to answer questions for these fans—it's part of the job description. And I happen to be an egomaniac. But see, they just ask me these fucking dumb questions like this, and what does that say to me? That they have nothing better to do than hang around a fucking convenience store all day waiting for the next tabloid 'interview'. There is no deep seated question that has been nagging in the mind since the person became a fan, not even from David. Although he is trying to quash the bugging bastards to begin with anyway, so. No, there is just pile after pile of the same people asking the same stupid SHITE.

I was willing to leave it alone and wait for it to subside. But that was until I got the call from Rouge. They've done it to her, too. And the tabloids with our names in them are all over the fucking country.

This is officially out of hand.

So what do I do about it?

I went on TV, dammit.

What, you think I can't get on a talk show?

Took me a couple of agonizing weeks, but I got it done.


(Noticing a pattern yet?)

Easy enough.

So, one, two, skip a few, I went on a talk show. By myself. And I got myself ready to say something.

The night basically led up to my appearance. There was brief talk of news and other bad jokes, but none of it was very in depth. No, it's just too damn important that I'm involved. And so it should be.

Finally I go up on stage and sit in the big red chair.

The host smiles down with his nailed, screwed, glued, capped, plated, $5000 teeth and opens his mouth.

"So, we understand you're pretty FUCKING angry about something tonight, Sonic?" The crowd cheers.

"You're damn fucking right I am."

I stand up and prepare to launch myself at the crowd. I take in a deep breath.

"You fucking listen all listen to me right now!"

The crowd gasps.

(Then SUDDENLY there were no more metaphors, like 7-Eleven and tabloids! And the story was in script mode, with bad grammar, and spelling, and too much sex!)

Sonic: You heard me, and I know you friggin' tabloid 'ask Sonic!' authors are in that audience right nw, and I have something to say! Id like to tell you all to go fuck yourselfs, and fuck you're dogs, and fuck yor mothers, because I'm sick of this demeaning tripe! You fucking morons pretending to be me and my freinds?! Your ruining me! You're ruining my life! is being bogged down to shit like a whor with a lot of aspirin because of u people! thanks to you the largest amount of reviews in the entire Sonic section is composed of idiotic questions like 'WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME, SONIC?!' and 'Are you and Shadow in love?!' and other stuff that nobody really gives a shit about except peeps like you freakin n00b authors that use all fancharacter casts! And you load down your REAL writing with ROFL and other such annoying acronyms! I mean, doesn't it fucking bother you that the most everybody sees now when they come to our hallowed section is a bunch of stupid 'ask the Sonic characters about their gay relationships' fics?! Don't the long term affects raise an issue with u when u write fic after fic after fic of just stupid fucking questions?! I'm goddamn tired of it, and so are the rest of us! If you want to write a motherfucking ask fic, at least make it good, and use REAL questions—like what Amy sees in me, why I don't like her back, how Tails and I met, I mean, some fucking questions, not a bunch of sex-inducing dares for the curious masturbator who isn't quite sure if he's becoming straight or not! I mean, goddamn, there's nothing wrong with ask fics if you do them right, but just leave it at ONE and let the tired idea die!!! STOP THE MADNESS!!!!111111 THINK OF THE KITTENS!!!! YOU'RE FUCKING KILLING ME, DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?!!?!?!?!?!? THE IDEA IS OLD AND TIRED AND GRAY AND WANTS TO DIE AN OLD LADY WARM IN HER BED, NOT A FUCKING METHUSALAH MURDERED BY THE EVENTUALLY CHANGING TASTES OF THE AUDIENCE!!!!

(The story reverted into literature mode once again.)

I had to pant for a long time after that. I don't think I took a single breath during that entire speech.

In fact, the entire thing came to me as very sobering.

I realized that really there isn't much of a point fighting it.

Unless more than one person speaks out, these 'ask fics' are not going to stop.

Sure, my friends could do something to help, they're annoyed too. But it takes more. It takes the audience, not a ragtag band of activists. It takes the tastes of the audience, not one mob psychological rant.

And, of course, if you watch the news, you'll always know that if death is involved, more people listen to you.

(Seeing as this is an ask fic, Sonic manages to pull a giant, laser-ammo, X233 Gatling sniper gun from the year 3456 where they have T99999999999999 connections and Macintosh has a giant dildo manufacturing device out of nowhere)


I cut loose on the audience and the host, unloading my infinite ammunition into anything that looked like it would move during an earthquake. Men, women, children, tables, chairs, cockroaches, it doesn't matter. I shoot it.

And that's it, it's done.

Maybe people will listen now that there's a giant bloodbath in front of me and there's about 500 dead bodies lying in bloody piles all over the fucking floor.

But it's missing something.

Missing something…


I'm David.

As the sole survivor of the massacre at the talk show, I hid behind the now almost nonexistent seating stands and watch what happens next. I don't think he saw me.

I watch as he puts in the finishing touch.

He takes the barrel of the gun and sticks it in his mouth and pulls the trigger.


Here comes the finishing touch.

I put the barrel in my mouth. I prepare to pull the trigger and unleash my rant and anger upon the world.

I fucking hate ask f


There. I made my point. Were you offended by this fic? Tell a friend! Do you agree? Tell a fucking friend, by all means! But the point is, it was made, we're tired of these goddamn ask fics, and something must be done! Now I go, and I hope you fucking ask fic authors choke on the ghosts of a thousand fleas that infest your grandmother's chest hair!