Introduction to "You Can't Argue with Figures": The Bouncer of the Subreality Café is perhaps the most important single character in Subreal literature. First created by Falstaff in the second official Subreality Café story, "Raindrops Keep Falling in My Beer", he has become a figure commanding universal respect - which, of course, hasn't stopped everyone and his mother from trying to sneak into the Café under false pretenses. I would like to think that the following story pays him a little more respect than most, but my readers may judge for themselves.

This story was posted on the SCML on 10 March 2007, and makes reference only to a fandom that does not yet exist, so no prior knowledge is needed.


Disclaimer: Subreality first blossomed into existence under the nurturing eye of Kielle; the Bouncer first towered before the Café doors on Falstaff's watch; the Mary Sue Test used is Falstaff's and Grayswandir's, with some of the phrasing changed; and Master Maksali, I'm afraid, is entirely my idea.


A bright-yellow, tentacled serpent floated across the sidewalks of Subreality City. It stopped at a glowing neon sign proclaiming "SUBREALITY CAFÉ — MARY SUE NIGHT", nodded to itself, and drifted over to the door of the Café and tapped the Bouncer on the shoulder.

"Pardon me, my good sentinel," it said, speaking with an unplaceable but decidedly exotic accent, "but may a poor strolling vagabond refresh himself at this establishment?"

The Bouncer stared. "Who're you?"

"My name is Maksali," said the creature. "The Right Venerable Maksali, Master of Mental Disciplines."

The Bouncer frowned at him, as though trying to connect his name and face to some previous encounter. "Do I know your Writer?" he asked after a moment.

"Most probably," said Master Maksali dryly. "His name is Qoheleth."

The Bouncer thought for a moment. Then a look of recognition came into his face. "Yeah, okay," he said. "Got you placed now. You're one of the characters in that TV show he's working on."

Master Maksali bowed in acknowledgment.

"So what're you doin' here?" said the Bouncer. "You're not Written yet, are you? Don't remember seein' anything in TV Guide about a variety show with fictional characters as guest stars."

"No, I am not yet Written," said Master Maksali. "I was under the impression, however, that one did not have to be Written to enter the Café this evening."

"Well, that's true enough," the Bouncer admitted. "It's Mary Sue Night tonight, and we kinda want to encourage Writers to leave their Mary Sues unWritten, so if you were a Mary Sue…"

"Which I am," said Master Maksali.

"…you could go in and party with the best of them, but… What?"

"I am a Mary Sue," repeated Master Maksali.

The Bouncer stared slack-jawed at him for a number of seconds, then burst out laughing. "You… you're joshin' me, right?" he said.

Master Maksali shook his head.

"Come off it, Master M.," said the Bouncer. "We both know you're not a Mary Sue. Mary Sues are gorgeous pre-adolescent girls with sickeningly-sweet dispositions, and you're a prickly old alien sea serpent with purple spots."

Master Maksali shook his head. "I'm disappointed in you, Bouncer," he said. "A fictive of your experience should know better than to judge by appearances."

The Bouncer's smile gradually faded as he realized that the ancient wagga-serpent was serious. "Well, what alternative did you have in mind?" he enquired.

"Something with at least a pretense of objectivity," said Master Maksali. "There are a number of reputable tests on the Internet to determine a fictive's level of Mary-Sue-hood…"

"None of which are infallible," the Bouncer hastened to point out.

"Granted, but if a fictive registers safely within the margin of error on one of the more respected, surely he ought to be allowed to fraternize with his fellow disgraces to the name of literature."

The Bouncer frowned at Master Maksali for a long moment, certain there was some trick involved, yet unable to deny the old alien's logic. "Yeah, sure," he said finally. "There's no way you're going to score high enough on any respectable test to get in tonight, anyway."

"You seem quite certain of that," said Master Maksali.

"I am quite certain of it."

"In that case, perhaps we might raise the stakes," said Master Maksali. "Before your… ah… encounter at the Bureau, I believe you quite relished a good wager."

The Bouncer experienced a sudden resurgence of his old annoyance at telepaths. "What did you have in mind?" he said brusquely.

"If I succeed in achieving the necessary number of points," said Master Maksali, "I shall thereby gain the right of entry into the Café not merely tonight, but for all nights to come. Neither my current unWritten nature, nor my intended Mainstream nature, shall interfere with that right."

"And if you don't?" said the Bouncer.

Master Maksali extended his tentacles, as if to say that nothing in the Triune Cosmos was beyond his grasp. "Then you shall name your price," he said.

The Bouncer was intrigued despite himself. He couldn't remember the last time a fictive had made him an offer quite like this; why, it almost reminded him of… But there was no point in recalling that.

"Okay, Master M.," he said. "You've got yourself a deal."

"Excellent," said Master Maksali, and pulled twelve laser-printed pages out of a nearby carrying dimension. "This is a standard Mary-Sue test for original characters. One of its co-creators is among the Three Great Ones by whom Subrealizens swear – is, in fact, the specific Great One who gave you your current incarnation. If any test may be reckoned by a Subrealizen as decisive, surely it ought to be this one."

"Fine," said the Bouncer, who had in fact used Falstaff's OC test on much of that evening's clientèle.

"'Character is of above-average intelligence: 1 point,'" Master Maksali read aloud. "My status as a Master of the Mental Disciplines certainly indicates that."

"Check," said the Bouncer.

"'Character speaks more than four languages: 3 points.' When you have been constantly traversing the universe for over nine centuries, a certain linguistic fluency becomes inevitable."

"Fair enough."

"'Character has traveled extensively: 1 point.' See my comments above."

"Mm-hmm."

"'Character once easily learned a difficult skill (e.g., learned to play guitar in a matter of weeks): 3 points.' I once mastered the Spanish language inside of fifteen seconds; does that qualify?"

The Bouncer whistled. "I should think so. How'd you do that?"

"The easiest thing in the world," said Master Maksali. "I joined my mind to that of Colonel Íniguez, our gardener, and absorbed the contents of his speech centers. It was the Latin American dialect, of course, not proper Castilian, but it served the purpose."

"I see."

"Anyway, to return to the matter at hand: 'Character has an accent relative to his country of residence: 1 point.' For nearly the entire run of The Savotory Show, my country of residence is the United States of America, and I certainly cannot claim to have an American accent."

"Wait a minute," said the Bouncer. "I think that question might refer to the country you're a citizen of, not just where you happen to live."

"Even if it does, that is irrelevant," said Master Maksali. "As a licensed vagabond, I am legally a citizen of whatever country I find myself in."

"Oh," said the Bouncer. "Well, that's a handy little trick."

"It is," Master Maksali agreed, "and it is, furthermore, a trick that applies even to Ezchlen nations such as the United States, as the Chrorvusti High Court ruled in Case 4769-13-Ket."

The Bouncer had never heard of Ezchlen nations, the Chrorvusti High Court, or Case 4769-13-Anything, but, before he could ask any questions, Master Maksali had turned back to the printout. "'Character has a physical handicap that does not hinder him significantly: 6 points.'"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" said the Bouncer. "What physical handicap do you have?"

Master Maksali looked at him as if he were an idiot. "I have no legs," he said, speaking slowly to ensure that the Bouncer grasped this point.

"Well, of course not," said the Bouncer irritably, "but that's a characteristic of your species; it's not a handicap."

"Not on Snanpar, perhaps," said Master Maksali, "but on planets where the major cultural centers are located on land – such as, for example, the Earth – it is a most definite handicap, as evinced by the fact that most wagga-serpents who visit terrestrial planets have to get around in little buggies. I, however, do not, since I can lift my own body with my mind as easily as I can wiggle my left tentacle. Ergo, I have a physical handicap that does not hinder me significantly; ergo, six points."

For the first time, the Bouncer had an unpleasant feeling that he might not win this bet after all. "Okay…" he said.

"All right, then," said Master Maksali, and turned his gaze once more downwards. "'Character has a child or children for the greater part of the story: -1 point.'"

The Bouncer perked up; this was more like it. "I didn't know you had a child," he said.

Master Maksali nodded. "Her name is Moss," he said. "She was the daughter of two interstellar refugees who were killed by the Drakden Fever; they entrusted her to my care, and I have raised her as my own daughter ever since."

The Bouncer chuckled. "Sounds like a bit of a Mary Sue herself," he said.

"Actually, no," said Master Maksali. "She has taken this same test, and scored well below the acceptable threshold. And speaking of which: 'Character has a particular skill at which he is the best or among the best: 2 points, with a 2-point bonus if he is widely known for this skill.'"

"The Mental-Master thing?" the Bouncer guessed.

"Correct. I am one of the greatest Mental Masters the universe has ever known," said Master Maksali, in a matter-of-fact tone, "and this fact is attested in virtually every work on the subject published within the last 400 Earth years."

"Well, you can't argue with that," said the Bouncer.

"Certainly, it is difficult," said Master Maksali. "Now we have a list of Mary-Sue-like careers, with points to be added if the character has ever worked in them. In the course of my life, I have held several of the positions listed, but only two of them apply to my sojourn in Savotory Manor: those of rock star and dancer. These are two points each, for a total…"

"Now hang on a minute," said the Bouncer. "I'll accept the rock-star bit, but I'm not going to put you down as a dancer."

Master Maksali frowned. "Whyever not?" he said.

"Dance consists in a conflict between the dancer and gravity," said the Bouncer, remembering a Spider Robinson fictive who had once lectured him on this subject. "If you can nullify gravity with your mind, there's no conflict."

Master Maksali looked at him speculatively, then turned to the Café doors. "Do you mind if I poke my head in for a moment?"

"What do you think?" the Bouncer growled, shifting automatically from Reasonable-Yet-Firm-Custodian-of-a-Hallowed-Subreal-Tradition Mode to Fafnir-Guarding-His-Hoard-from-Siegfried Mode.

Master Maksali laughed. "Oh, don't be so suspicious," he said. "I'm not going to go in; I just want to ask something of your clientèle."

"Oh," said the Bouncer, snapping back into R.Y.F.C.H.S.T. Mode. "Well, okay, I guess I can permit that."

"A thousand thanks," said Master Maksali, and slithered past the Bouncer and slipped his head over the bat-winged doors.

"A word, if I may, ladies!" he called. "This humble person seeks assistance in his dispute with the Café's most reverend Bouncer. I trust there are several among you who have memorized the Oxford English Dictionary?"

For a moment, the assembled Mary Sues (most of whom were visiting Subreality for the first time) were too stunned to find themselves being mentally addressed by a yellow, bug-eyed snake-creature to respond. At last, though, three or four of them hesitantly put up their hands.

Master Maksali nodded. "Excellent. You," he said, pointing to a young woman with pointed ears and blue hair, "will you please tell us the definition of the verb 'to dance'?"

The young woman rose and recited coolly, "Dance (dans), verb. The origin of the Romanic verb is obscure; it is generally held (after Diez) to be…"

"Never mind that," said Master Maksali hastily. "All we need is the primary meaning."

"To leap, hop, skip, or glide with measured step and rhythmical movements of the body, usually to the accompaniment of music, either by oneself, or with a partner or in a set."

"Thank you, my dear," said Master Maksali. He blew her a psychic kiss, then uncoiled himself from the Café doors and turned back to the Bouncer.

"Well?" he said. "I, myself, would say that describes my routine to a nicety – except for that reference to 'step', of course. I can't do much in that line, but I do think I achieve a measured slither, which is much the same thing."

The Bouncer moaned.

"I will take that as a concurrence," said Master Maksali. "Now, let me see, where are we… ah, yes. Next comes a list of powers that the Mary Sue frequently possesses. It is difficult to speak definitely on this point, since the limits of my powers are only vaguely defined, so I shall only count those powers that I am slated to use in Savotory Show production numbers. These may change, of course, before they reach the screen, but in the meantime they are all we have to go by. Are you ready?"

The Bouncer sighed and nodded. "Yeah, sure, I'm ready."

"Telepathy, telekinesis, pyrokinesis, empathy, shape-shifting abilities, flight, trans-dimensional travel or communication, and super strength or speed."

The Bouncer let out a low whistle. "Well, I'll be…"

Master Maksali shrugged modestly (or conveyed the illusion of doing so, even though he had no elbows). "I am a super-powered alien," he said simply. "That is – how do you say – my shtick."

"I wish I had a shtick like that," the Bouncer muttered.

"In a sense, you do," said Master Maksali. "You are, after all, one of the most powerful and revered figures in Subreality, as evinced by the fact that even so powerful a being as myself must justify himself to you before entering the Café."

It was shameless flattery, of course, but it was flattery of a kind the Bouncer rarely heard: unadorned, matter-of-fact, and evidently sincere. Even alpha fictives are not immune from such things, and the Bouncer's attitude toward the old Snanparite softened considerably as a result.

"Well, get on with your list," he said. "So far you've only got 30 points."

"Considering that 36 is the necessary minimum for a Mary Sue," said Master Maksali, "I would scarcely use the expression 'only' there, myself."

"I dare say," said the Bouncer, "but I'm not yourself, am I?"

"No," Master Maksali agreed. "And, admittedly, the next item on the list is a deduction: 'Character has radically different religious beliefs from his creator: -3 points.' My religious affiliation is with Lobrigian Mysticism, and while Qoheleth has been reluctant to say what, precisely, that is, there seems to be no doubt that it bears little relation to Roman Catholicism."

The Bouncer nodded impassively.

"Next. 'Character is old even by the standards of his race: 3 points.' While wagga-serpents are one of the slower-moving, and therefore longer-living, races in the universe, a lifespan of more than nine Earthly centuries is unusual even for us."

"I'll take your word for it," said the Bouncer.

"'Everyone in the story ends up liking, respecting, or fearing the character: 3 points.' I think I can safely say that I have earned the respect of the other Savotorites; even young Obocord, who stoutly differs with my philosophy of the universe, consents to practice deference to my sensibilities."

"Obocord," the Bouncer repeated. "She's the flute, isn't she?"

"She is."

"Why does she differ with you about the universe?"

Master Maksali hesitated. "Because I represent the Superficial," he said finally, "while Obocord represents the Real."

At this, the Bouncer cracked a smile. "You know, Master M.," he said, "that's the best argument you've made for your Mary-Sue-hood yet."

Master Maksali appeared startled, then laughed. "Yes, I suppose it would be, wouldn't it?" he said. "Much better than 'Character is drawn by his creator much more frequently than any of the creator's other characters: 2 points'."

"Qoheleth draws you a lot?" said the Bouncer.

Once again, Master Maksali gave the appearance of shrugging. "I am a simple character to draw," he said. "Serpentine body, long beak, tentacles, spots; even my eyes need express no particular emotion. In fact," Master Maksali added, "confidentially, I suspect this question may be a weakness in the test; if I were a character that Qoheleth felt particularly strongly about, he would flinch from attempting to express me satisfactorily in pen and ink. To my certain knowledge, he has drawn Alexis Straulogh once in his life, and Carrie Faerie not at all."

The Bouncer shook his head. "No, I don't think it's a weakness in the test," he said. "I think your Writer's just an exception to the usual rule."

"Ah," said Master Maksali. "Well, we always knew that."

"Yeah, I suppose we did," said the Bouncer, staring at the admittedly unique creation in front of him. "Any more things you want to list?"

"Two more," said Master Maksali. "'Character's creator would want to be friends with him, if he was receptive to the creator's friendship: 1 point.' Only a fool," said Master Maksali, "prefers not to be the friend of a Mental Master."

The Bouncer didn't dispute the point. "And the last one?"

"'Character is frequently a mouthpiece for his creator's beliefs or views: 3 points,'" said Master Maksali. "This is an occupational hazard of being an advanced alien being, and has been since the publication of Micromegas. Writers enjoy believing that a truly advanced society, free from all Earthly prejudices, would think more or less as they do."

The Bouncer didn't dispute that, either.

"Now," said Master Maksali, "if you care to add up the points, you will find that I have a total score of 39. The necessary minimum for a Mary Sue, as I said before, is 36. If you have any quarrels with my assessment, I invite you to make them now."

The Bouncer reflected. It wasn't a huge margin, but each of its components appeared to be solid – except for the estimate of Master Maksali's powers, and that could just as easily be too low as too high.

And, to tell the truth, he wasn't entirely eager to start quibbling over the figures. After all, here was a fictive who had tried to get into the Café, as so many other fictives had done before him – but instead of attempting to trick him, pester him, or circumvent his authority entirely, he had engaged him in conversation, appealed to his intellect… why, dagnabbit, he had respected him. That was worth more than a few Mary-Sue points any day.

"Okay, then," he said, stepping aside from the doorway. "Welcome to the Café, Master Maksali."

The ancient sea serpent bowed. "My thanks, good Bouncer," he said. "It has been a pleasure discoursing with you." And with that, he slithered through the bat-winged doors, into the Third Free House.


Later that evening, the Bouncer was playing tic-tac-toe with himself in the dust of the sidewalk when a yellow, sinuous body flowed over the Café doors.

The Bouncer glanced up. "Evening, Master Maksali," he said. "Calling it a night, then?"

"Yes, I think so," said the Mental Master. "I look forward, however, to enjoying your hospitality tomorrow night, and for many nights to come."

It took the Bouncer a moment to remember their bet. "Oh," he said. "Right."

"Incidentally," said Master Maksali, "if I had failed to attain the requisite score, may I ask what your request of me would have been?"

The Bouncer thought about that. What was it that he would have wanted, had Master Maksali gotten to the end of his list and not qualified to enter the Café?

"I think," he said slowly, "that I would have asked you to go home, have a little chat with your Writer, and try again next Wednesday."

Insofar as a creature with a beak can smile, Master Maksali did so. "I see," he said. "Well, then, I assure you I would have done my best to satisfy you."

"Good to know," said the Bouncer.

"May your currents flow ever smoothly, good Bouncer."

"See you round, Master M."

And the wagga-serpent drifted off into the twilight, and the alpha fictive returned to his game, and an old man named Sarungano died in a bar skirmish about three blocks away, and the evening's story was ended.