Mr. 96: Hello, readers! You might remember this as the second of Mr. 96's Strange Stories, an anthology of two-shots I started to see which of the many ideas I had floating around in my brain was good enough to turn into a real full-fledged story. However, this one didn't get the full treatment because of high readership—I felt so bad about making an April Fool's chapter that I decided to turn it into an actual ongoing story in anticipation of Bugs Bunny's birthday this week! Looney Tunes is owned by Warner Brothers, who I am not affiliated with in any way.
Elmer Fudd: As Mr. 96's assistant diwector, I've helped make some changes to this work! We've got the watest in twanscwibing technowogy to make Daffy's wisp and Bugs's accent easier to understand! Doesn't do anything about my wotacism, though….
The planet L'D'rado. A dangerous and lawless place, where deserts and wastelands stretched as far as the eye could see, water was scarce, winds constantly blew hot sand in your face, and there were many dangerous beasts that could eat you in the blink of an eye. However, it was full of many precious ores that drew settlers in by the score, and it was this human element that made L'D'rado all the more dangerous, especially once it became populated enough to draw in outlaws, who'd hide out in the badlands and rob anyone foolish enough to leave the safety of a town.
But the most dangerous part of the planet was no doubt the civilized one, specifically the town of Buzzard Gulch. It seemed almost every day that a ray-volver shot whizzed through the air and vaporized a wall as the sheriff, an incompetent and selfish duck named Daffy, chased criminals completely ineffectively. Daffy was the most self-absorbed duck to come from Earth, which put him high in the running for the most self-absorbed duck in the universe. He was a horrible shot, thought he single-handedly did many things that were mostly the work of his deputy, and worst, he was a huge goldbricker.
As a matter of fact, Sheriff Daffy was currently relaxing in his chair, watching TV while enjoying popcorn. "Deputy!" he shouted, "My bag of popcorn's getting low!"
"I'm wo-I'm work-I'm w-I'm cooking as fast as I can!" Daffy's deputy, Porky Pig, shouted from the kitchen. As he cooked the popcorn over an open space-stove, he sighed to himself in lament of his current position. Being appointed to Buzzard Gulch itself was no picnic, but his sheriff was the worst—lazy, bossy, and selfish. As soon as it was done, he hurried it over to Daffy and poured him a fresh bag.
Daffy took a bite of popcorn. "A little light on the butter, don't you think, Deputy?"
"S-So-so-apologies, sir," Porky said, "C-c-cooking isn't standard deputy business. C-c-catching criminals is!"
Daffy was about to yell at his deputy when the phone rang. "Well, don't just stand there, Deputy!" he said, "Get the phone and see who'th complaining this time!"
Porky sighed, and picked up the phone. "a-he-a-hi-a-he-uh…greetings!" He said, "You've reached the, ah, shi-ah-she-ah…"
"Sheriff's office, ah know," the other end said.
"MAYOR LEGHORN?" Daffy shouted, pushing Porky aside and taking the phone.
"Ah, Sheriff Daffy!" the mayor said, "Just the man, ah say, just the man ah wanted to talk to! Come on down to mah office today, ah got somethin' important, ah say, somethin' important to tell you!"
"We'll be right over!" Daffy said, hanging up the phone. "Deputy! Clear my schedule and cancel any appointments I've got today! We're going to the Mayor's office!"
Porky sighed, very wisely not saying that the duties of a deputy had nothing to do with secretary work. The two left the sheriff's office and made their way over to the mayor's office. As they did, Porky noticed that two outlaws were headed towards the local bank with rayvolvers drawn.
"Uh, bi-ah-bi-ah-bo-ah-ba-ah….sir?" he said, grabbing Daffy's sleeve.
"Not now, deputy, we can't keep the mayor waiting!" Daffy said, pulling his arm forward without even bothering to look behind him or to his side.
Eventually, the two had reached the mayor's office. Daffy was about to knock on the door when it automatically slid open. Shrugging, Daffy and Porky made their way inside.
The mayor sat behind a mahogany desk in a high-backed gowell-suede chair, wearing a suit made of very shiny reflective foil. "Ah, Sheriff Daffy!" he said, "Siddown, son!"
"Why thank you, Mister Mayor!" Daffy said, wringing his hands as he took a seat. "What do you need from your sheriff?"
"Well, election season is comin' up, ah say, comin' up in a few weeks," the sharp-dressed rooster said, steepling his fingers together, "When ah selected you as mah runnin' mate last year, we made an agreement. D'you remember that agreement, son?"
"Well, yes, it was that I'd keep the peace, wasn't it?"
"Technically, it was that you'd keep the credits flyin' faster than the rayvolver beams, but you got most of it," Foghorn said, "Now ah understand, ah say, ah understand if'n that means lettin' a gowell-rustler or two go on occasion, but this recent rash of robberies…."
"Ac-ac…." Porky started to say before Mayor Foghorn raised a finger.
"Don't interrupt, son! Now, then, as ah was sayin', it's bad enough that you got your runty little deputy over there doin' all yer paperwork for ya an' talkin' on your behalf—not that ah don't understand, ah say, ah certainly am guilty o' passin' the buck more'n once in mah long career as mayor of this fine little ol' town, which, may ah remind you, is currently bein' robbed more'n twice a week by the notorious Ophiuchus Gang!"
"Well…" Daffy started to say, before Foghorn stood up.
"AH, SHADDUP!" the mayor shouted, "Can't get a word in edgewise 'round ya, Daffy! You keep runnin' your beak like that, you're liable to become even more of a disgrace to this planet's fine-feathered avian population than ya already are lettin' outlaws run ya over! It's affectin' businesses! People are afraid, ah say, terrified to enter our saloon an' put money in our bank an' all of our other fine, taxable businesses! An' that ain't even gettin' into your habit o' disintegratin' public property EVERY TIME YA DRAW YER RAYVOLVER!"
Meanwhile, in Buzzard Gulch's only saloon, business was proceeding as usual. People were drinking and playing cards with little regard for the surroundings, until the doors were kicked down. In stepped two outlaws. One was short and stocky, with a red moustache that covered most of his face and big red eyebrows that improbably blended almost seamlessly with the black domino mask he wore over his eyes, wearing a huge hat and a white vest over a green jumpsuit and carrying two rayvolvers. The other was tall and thin, wearing a black coat over a red jumpsuit and a Western bowtie, and a broad-brimmed black hat. Only eyes could be seen from the tall one's face, as his skin was pitch-black.
"Don't nobody move!" the moustached outlaw said, "This here's a stickup!" He fired his rayvolvers into the air, disintegrating the roof of the saloon.
"You are being robbed by the notorious Ophiucus gang! Isn't that thrilling?" the faceless alien added, drawing his own rayvolver and pointing it towards the barman. "My name is Marvin the Martian, and my unruly cohort goes by the name of Yosemite Sam. Do be so kind as to surrender the contents of your register, would you?"
The bartender smiled and nodded nervously, pressing the silent alarm under his bar. Instantly, the phrase "SILENT ALARM" appeared in bold letters on the screen of Sheriff Daffy's personal computer, but Daffy didn't see it or even look at it—after all, it was silent.
Meanwhile, back at the saloon, Yosemite Sam wandered around with his rayvolvers out while his partner politely told the bartender to hurry up with the money. Everyone cowered, except for a single rabbit in a pastel-colored poncho and broad-brimmed hat, who was busy eating a salad that had far more carrot chips than most salads had any business having. "Hey, you long-eared galoot!" Sam shouted, thrusting his rayvolvers in the stranger's face and chest. "What've you got to say for yourself, standing tall in the face of the roughest-toughest-he-man-stuffest-hombre's ever crossed the Planum Australe-y like that?"
The rabbit chomped on a carrot chip for a bit. "Ehhh….." he said, "What's up, doc?"
"What's up doc?" Sam repeated, "Stranger, you just 'what's up doc'd yourself into a hole in the head!"
"Oh no I didn't!" the rabbit said, drawing his own rayvolver.
"Oh yes you did!" Sam shouted, shooting the saloon's mirror. His shot bounced off and vaporized the opposite wall.
"OHHHH no I didn't!" the rabbit said, firing a beam outside. It bounced off the freshly-polished church bell and vaporized a mountain.
"OOOOHHH YES YOU DID!" A furious Sam said, thrusting his rayvolver in the rabbit's face and charging it up.
"Oh yes I did!" The rabbit said, putting his rayvolver back in its holster.
"OH NO YA DIDN'T!" Sam said, putting his rayvolvers back in their holsters.
"OH YES I DID!" the rabbit said, thrusting his hands in the air.
"OH NO YA DIDN'T!" Sam screamed at the top of his lungs.
Marvin looked over at his partner and rolled his eyes. "Oh yes…..he did," he said, firing a beam from his rayvolver. Traveling all the way from the register where Marvin was standing to the corner where Sam and the rabbit stood, the beam flew right over Sam's hat and the rabbit's left shoulder and disintegrated the wall behind them. "Your manipulations have made me very angry," he said, waddling over to the rabbit, "Very angry indeed!"
"They did?" the rabbit asked, with an expression of guilt on his face, "I'm, eh, sorry to hear that, mac. Here, let me buy ya a drink!" He ordered a drink and handed it to Marvin, who fanned the hammer on his rayvolver to change it to the freeze setting and froze the drink in the rabbit's hand. The rabbit was unprepared for the glass becoming so slippery and dropped it on his toe. "EEEYOOOW!" he screamed.
"Okay, not a drinker, I can respect dat!" the rabbit said, "Why don't we sit down and have a friendly game of poker, just da three of us?" He sat down at a table. "Here, why don't ya cut da cards?"
Sam, incensed at being made a fool of in front of his partner, chopped the entire deck in half with his knife.
"Oh, not poker players either, eh?" the rabbit said, creeping for the door, "Dat's just fine! Lemme just wash yer rides for ya and we'll call it a day!" But Marvin and Sam quickly drew their rayvolvers and vaporized the third wall of the bar.
The rabbit was infuriated by this. He had liked this saloon. "Of course you know, dis… means…. war!" he said, angrily drawing his rayvolver. Fanning the hammer with an even quicker speed than Marvin, he changed the setting to "burn" and fired it at the table the two outlaws were sitting at.
"HA!" Sam taunted, not noticing that his sleeve had also caught fire. "Ya missed, crazy varmint!"
"Oh dear," Marvin said, noticing that his sleeve had also caught fire, "Sam? I do believe that rabbit did not, in fact, miss his target!"
"What are ya, blind?" Sam said, not noticing the fire traveling all around his shirt, "'Course he missed! He didn't hit either of us!"
"Perhaps he….didn't intend to shoot us?" Marvin said, taking off his jacket and trying to put out the fire on the table with it.
"What kind of idjit wouldn't try to shoot us?" Sam said, "After all, we're the most wanted men in the entire galaxy! Nah, that rabbit was all talk!"
"Oh dear, and I just remembered I kept my supply of Illudium PU-36 Explosive Space Modulators in that jacket!" Marvin said, "We should run, Sam!"
"HECK no!" Sam screamed, "I'm the rootinest, tootinest, shootinest rayvolver north, south, east, AAAND west of this planet! I ain't gonna…."
At this moment, the saloon's fourth and final wall was broken by an eardrum-shattering kaboom, and the Ophiucus Gang was covered in soot.
"OOOOOHHHH, THAT TEARS IT!" Sam screamed, tossing the remains of his hat at the ground, "I'm gonna kill that durn rabbit if it's the last thing I do!"
"As gratifying as that would be, I doubt it's even a viable option with his outstanding marksmanship," Marvin said, "But I've got a plan so devious, a mere two-shot fanfic in an anthology wouldn't be able to do it justice!"
Mr. 96: That's all, folks! I hope you appreciate the changes in the costume department and the name of Buzzard Gulch, which was originally called "Smayk Bite Junction" until I realized that one fake animal with a name that vaguely sounds like a real one was enough.