The (horrifying) sequel to Writing Wrongs.
By Ellen Barnhart
The four Monkees, Mike, Micky, Davy, and Peter, lounged
around the pad with Della, the mysterious and slightly crazed blonde they
managed to pick up in the process of saving Peter from some spies.
After all that excitement, they were understandably bored.
"I'm bored!" shouted Micky to the world in general.
"Quiet, man, Mistah Babbit'll hear you," Davy said,
looking at the door apprehensively.
"He's dead, Davy. You poked him with a stick,
remember?" Mike said with the strained patience that came with leading
this little group of lunatics.
Micky looked at Della suspiciously. "Don't
you feel any remorse for killing off Mr. Babbit?"
Della shrugged. "We're all here at the whim
of the author. She could resurrect him if she felt really bad about
it. Then again, she could turn you into a trout if she really felt
Mike attempted to crawl into his hat like a limpet
into a shell.
"What's with all the fish references? Anyway,
don't worry, she does feel sorta guilty for all the needless violence in
the last story. You're probably safe." Della picked a piece
of lint off Mike's hat.
"Oh, I feel so much better." Micky grimaced,
then stopped to think. Maybe the author felt guilty about beating
him up in the last story. Maybe he'd get some action this time around.
"Not bloody likely," Della murmured.
The front door burst open, and a hand shoved another
young woman through the door. This one was a brunette. "Ow!
Damn producers. You didn't have to shove me, Bob!" she shouted.
She shook a fist at the door, then brushed herself off. "I'm Lola
Delcross, Della's... cousin. Yeah, that'll work."
"What producers? Who's Bob?" Micky wailed.
Peter looked up from where he was picking tape adhesive
off a strand of love beads and shrugged. "Probably better not to
Lola, meanwhile, had wandered over and started playing
with Micky's hair. "Oooh, sproingy! Heeheeheehee."
"Oh, man..." Mike and Della said at the same time,
then shot each other identical shocked looks. "Don't do that," they
said in unison.
"I've never been to Unison, is it nice?" Peter asked
"You stole that from the Al and BT Chronicles.
Shame on you." Lola tried to look reproving but her heart just wasn't
in it. It was in her chest. Hahaha.
"What they don't know won't hurt them, love," Davy
said, trying to look charming in Lola's direction.
"Who said that? Oh," Lola looked down at Davy.
"Hello down there."
"Ooh, Mike, she got me, right in the kidney, ooh,
that hurts, Mike, it hurts." Davy fell over dramatically, mildly
concussing himself in the process.
"Hey," Della poked Davy in the arm. "Hey.
Why do you always tell Mike that? Why should he care more than, say,
"'E's the father figure leadery guy." Davy
shot Della a very "Duh!" look. It missed.
"Daddy!" Lola shrieked and attached herself to Mike's
"Faster than the speed of dumb. And they say
blondes are stupid!" Della shook her head and pried Lola loose so
she could explain some things to her.
"And you thought Della was scary..." Mike muttered.
"No, man, YOU thought Della was scary. I was
unconscious most of the last story." The pointedness of Micky's remark
went unnoticed. Well, almost unnoticed. Peter, now more than
slightly dizzy from the solvents he was using to clean his beads, whispered
"Oh, pointy!" right before he passed out.
"'Ey, what's wrong with Petah?" Davy asked, radiating
British cuteness in vain, since the girls weren't paying any attention
"Who knows what's ever wrong with Peter," Micky
said philosophically. "Me, I think it was a traumatic childhood."
"Not that, Micky, man, he's passed out!" an alarmed
Della looked up from where she was patiently tutoring
Lola with sudden alertness. "There's more than one Mike? Where?
Where!?" Three confused looks greeted her. "Oh, sorry.
Uh... go back to whatever you were doing. Hey, waitaminute, why were
there only three confused looks?"
"Peter passed out."
"Hey, wait," Davy said. "Which one of us just
"It wasn't you," Micky said. "Whoever it was
said 'Peter', not 'Petah'."
"Well, at least we've narrowed it down to two, but
may I remind you that something is wrong with Petah?"
Peter sat up. "What's wrong with Peter?"
Mike frowned in a charming and cute manner that
made Della lose track of what she was doing again. "We don't know.
"Oh, no!" Peter wailed.
Everyone stopped and tried to figure out what was
wrong with this picture, besides Lola making faces at her reflection in
one of Micky's cymbals.
Della suddenly raised her hand and bounced up and
down. "Ooh, ooh, I know, I know!" She pointed at Peter.
"He's awake!" Della crossed her arms smugly.
"Oooohhhhh!" everyone said, except Della, who was
smug, and Lola, who was easily amused, to say the least.
Della gave Lola a look of disgust. "Maybe
she's on drugs or something." Lola stuck her tongue out at her blonde
No one noticed Lorelei "Madame Spy" Olinsky sneak
in and fasten something around Davy's neck. In fact, no one noticed
her until she said, a bit too dramatically, "Davy Jones, you vill be Dracula
reborn! Ahahahahaha!" Lightning flashed outside the window
and cheesy thunderstorm sound effects filled the room.
"Hold it right there, shotgun! We've already
done the whole 'Dracula reborn' thing!" Mike shouted, and the thunderstorm
"What a kiss..." Davy said dreamily.
"She didn't kiss you," Lola said, waving her hand
in front of his eyes.
"Go on, scram." Mike frowned at Lorelei, who
glared back at him. "An' take yer 'Magic Necklace' with you."
Lorelei slammed the door, muttering some unflattering
things about Mike on her way out.
Della nudged Lola. "She's the kind of actress
that gives us a bad name, ya know." Lola nodded vehemently.
"Vehemently?" Davy asked, but was quieted by the
twin stares of the Delcrosses.
"Actress?" Peter asked, but was ignored.
"Where were we?" Mike asked.
"Ummm..." everyone said in a lovely five part harmony.
Lola was too busy digging through the ice box.
"Hey, you, author!" Della suddenly shouted.
Mike winced, since Della was standing right next to him.
Yes? What do you want? I'm very busy,
Della tried to stifle her giggles. "Uh, we
need some kind of plot device. Oh, and can you maybe bump Lola's
IQ up a few notches? If that's not to much to ask," she added
Oh, no, of course, no trouble at all.
There was a sarcastic edge to the disembodied voice.
"Oh, crap, we're in for it now!" Davy squeaked and
dove for the couch again. Unfortunately for him, Lola was curled
up under there with a teddy bear and a fluffy pink blanket. There
was definitely an ominous atmosphere, but after two minutes it got bored
and wandered away.
"Mike." Della started poking Mike's arm.
"Nothing." Della wandered into the kitchen
with a sudden craving for grilled cheese sandwiches.
Micky suddenly frowned and said "Peter Jennings
says there are too many bananas. Chiquita, NOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Everyone stared at him, except Lola, under the couch,
and Davy, trying to extract Lola, and Della, making lunch, so really, only
Mike and Peter stared at him.
"Um." Micky looked around, and backed slowly
into the downstairs bedroom.
"Strange boy," Mike muttered.
"Why am I under a couch?"
"Lola?" Peter bent over to look underneath
the couch and fell on Davy.
Lola stood up and dusted herself off. "Where's
"You mean Micky?" Davy asked from underneath Peter,
who didn't seem to notice.
Right on cue, Micky burst from the room. "I've
"Done what?" the other five people in the room chorused.
Della was slightly harder to understand, as she had a mouthful of sandwich.
Davy stole the uneaten portion out of her hand and snickered, but in a
genteel, British way.
"Uh, actually, I don't know. I made this thing
with a button on it."
Lola frowned. "Where is that ominous and foreshadowing
music coming from?"
"Oh, sorry." Peter put down his cello, trumpet,
and various other orchestral instruments..
"How do you play all those at once?"
Peter shrugged. "Twelve years of Yoga classes."
Micky was growing annoyed. "Hey, guy with
a mysterious object with a big inviting button over here, d'ya mind?"
Della, who had wandered over to the window, suddenly
shrieked and jumped into the nearest Monkee's arms. Sadly, it was
Davy, who was promptly squished, being so teensy tiny.
"What's wrong, Della?" Mike asked.
"I saw someone out on the beach! It was,"
she shuddered, "Bobby Sherman!"
Lola snickered. "Bobby Sherman..."
"PAY ATTENTION TO ME, DAMNIT!" Micky shouted.
"Some people are so needy," Della muttered.
"Whoops, sorry there, Davy."
"HELLO!? WHY ISN'T ANYONE LISTENING TO ME?!"
Micky was growing frantic. Peter, on the other hand, was growing
daffodils, but they couldn't compare to Micky's annoyed or frantic, which
were lovely in the spring. That's why Micky always won first place
at local garden shows. In fact, he was cultivating a particularly
fine bed of annoyed outside the front door. And the sprigs of frantic.....
Micky pushed the button. The other Monkees
leapt toward the drummer, shouting "Noooooooooooo!" Everything seemed
to be in slow motion.
"Nooo," the girls said disinterestedly examining
their respective nails.
What will happen in the next exciting chapter!? Who cares!?
And who said anything about exciting!?
Back to Chapter
One: Writing Wrongs
to Chapter Two and a half: Tapioca Tundra
Back to the Fanfic