Shatnerquake

Shatnerquake

by
Jeff Burk

This is a work of parody, as defined by the Fair Use

Doctrine.
 
Any similarities, without satirical intent, to

copyrighted
characters, or individuals living or dead,

are
purely coincidental.

ERASERHEAD PRESS

205 NE BRYANT

PORTLAND, OR 97211

WWW.ERASERHEADPRESS.COM

ISBN:
 
1-933929-82-0

Copyright © 2009 by Jeff Burk

www.literarystrangedigest.blogspot.com

Cover art copyright © 2009 by Samuel
Deats

www.deatsfeats.com

All rights reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written consent of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

Also by Jeff Burk

Shatnerquest

Shatnerpocalypse

Snuff Film Side Show

Mountain of Smut

The Planet Fucker

Sex and Death Camp

Torture Time comes to Tinsel Town

Fuck the System

Super Giant Monster Time!

HomoBomb

Shatnerquake is dedicated to the following people:

Angie
Molinar
, Rose O’Keefe, Carlton Mellick III, Whitney
Streed
, Jeremy Robert Johnson, Cameron Pierce, and—of course—George Takei

Dear William Shatner,

This work is a tribute to you.
Not an attempt to mock, ridicule
, or belittle you.

You are the quintessential postmodern man.
 
You have made a career out of playing a caricature of yourself.
 
Your entire life has become an elaborate work of performance art.
 
Who can tell when you are acting and when you are just being crazy Shatner?
 
I know I can’t.

There is no line between fantasy and reality when it comes to your work. For that I salute you.

Real life is so boring.
 
But while the rest of us attempt to find some escape from our normal world of drudgery, you take a different approach.
 
You remake the world in your own image.
 
You’re an accomplished actor, writer, singer, and all around crazy-cool person.
 
I bet when you walk down the street, people and vehicles part before you in honor of your
Shatnertastic
self.

This is your world, the rest of us just live in it.

So this book is for you, Mr. Shatner, a true renaissance man.

Love,

Jeff Burk

P.S.
 
Please don’t sue me.

“How do I stay so healthy and boyishly handsome? It’s simple. I drink the blood of young runaways.”

- William Shatner

CHAPTER ONE

Sniveling little sycophantic shits
, thought William Shatner looking from the limo’s back seat.

The limo pulled past the front entrance of the hotel and headed for the back.

Thank God, I don’t have to deal with them.
 
Yet.

A crowd of several hundred people milled about the colossal arched doorway.
 
Some were dressed in Starfleet uniforms, some dressed as police officers, some in
lawyerish
suits.
 
Most were simply dressed in jeans and t-shirts.
 
Many of the shirts had Shatner’s face plastered on the front.

Shatner looked at the people and he stared back from dozens of different chests.

They were mostly young men but a few women peppered the crowd.

At least I might get some tail out of this.
 

Shatner arched his neck to get a better look at the hotel.
 
The Cathode-La was the largest, most advanced convention center in the world, featuring four full-sized theaters, a cafeteria and six restaurants, twenty-three bars, more large empty rooms than one could even count, and enough lodging to hold a medium-sized army.

The building was a squat, white cube the size of one-hundred city blocks.
 
A mostly ugly piece of architecture, except for the front entrance.
 
A large glass pane, at least a hundred feet wide, sat in the concrete.
 
It almost reached the roof but the top of the glass rounded off to a point before it got there.
 
Its shape felt more appropriate in a church behind
the alter
than on a multi-billion dollar corporate structure.

At the glass’ base were dozens of revolving doors leading into the Cathode-La’s main lobby.
 
The doors were flanked by two massive white columns that stood as high as the building.
 
In between
them
hung a huge white banner.
 
“Welcome to ShatnerCon!” was printed on it in black scripted letters.
 

As the limo pulled around the corner of the building a lone man sitting on the ground caught Shatner’s eye.
 
He wore a t-shirt with Bruce Campbell in the “Army of Darkness” movie-poster pose
on
the front.
 
He held a cardboard sign with the crude, hand-written message: “Alright you Primitive
Screwheads
,
listen up!
 
Don’t follow the False Messiah!”

The man raised his right arm and waved a stump wrapped in white fabric at the passing limo.
 
Shatner felt a shiver go down his spine even though he was sure the limo’s tinted windows prevented the man from seeing inside.

Fucking Campbellians.
 
They’re even here.

William Shatner had no personal problem with Bruce Campbell.
 
He understood that Bruce was just another actor trying to squeak out a living in the dog-eat-dog world of entertainment.
 
Shatner just wished that he would stop encouraging his followers to destroy all those who competed for the straight-to-video dollars.
 
The constant death threats and assassination attempts were getting annoying.
 

The limo went down the side of the building.
 
Things were much less active over here.
 
The parking lot stretched away from the building as far as one could see and every space was filled.
 
Throughout the maze of vehicles, scattered people were heading in the direction of the front entrance.
 

After a few minutes the limo rounded another corner of the building and pulled to a smooth stop.
 

Here we go.
 
Put on that pretty public face.

Shatner got out of the limo and found himself standing at a non-descript maintenance door with a woman in her late thirties next to it.
 
She was dressed in a black skirt, a black suit jacket with black shirt underneath, and black pumps.
 
She was holding a clipboard with one hand and a half-smoked cigarette with the other.

“Mr. Shatner,” she said nodding.
 
She brought the cigarette to her mouth and breathed in deep.
 
The rest of the cigarette was immediately reduced to long gray ash.
 
She breathed out a cloud.

“That’s…me,” Shatner said smiling broadly and trying not to cough.

The woman tossed the butt away and extended her hand.

“I’m Natalie
Albright,
we’ve spoken on the phone.
 
You’re eight minutes late,” she said as they shook hands.

“Follow me please.” She turned around and opened the maintenance door.
 

Shatner sneaked a look at her ass as he followed her in.

They were in a white hallway with a lush purple carpet floor.
 
Natalie walked quickly down the hall and Shatner hurried to keep up.

“Over the next four days we have you scheduled for fifteen events.
 
I recommend that you start preparing your acceptance speech for the ‘Achievements in Exceptional
Shatnerisms
’ Award Banquet now.
 
You will be expected to speak for at least three hours.”

The two rounded a corner and were going down another identical hallway.

“How…are you doing?
 
Things… going smoothly so far?” asked Shatner.
 
Come
on,
turn on that Shatner-charm.

“Everything’s functioning smoothly outside of your late arrival.”
 
Natalie checked her watch.

“So are…we headed…to my room?” asked Shatner.
 
It was obvious he wasn’t going to get anywhere with her.
 
She was all business.

“Oh, no.”
 

They turned another corner and were standing in front of a door.

“Your first signing was supposed to start four minutes ago.”

Natalie pushed open the door.
 
On the other side was a plain steel table.
 
Sitting on each side of the table were three foot high stacks of Polaroid press-shots.
 
In the center of the table was a single silver magic-marker.

Two large men dressed in riot gear stood on the other side of the table.
 
They were facing the huge line of people that extended all the way across the several-hundred foot long room and out the door on the other side.

Shatner stepped out into the room and it exploded in cheers as the crowd saw their hero.

Give them what they want.

Shatner flashed a huge grin and waved his arms at the delirious acolytes.

“How long,” he said, turning back to Natalie, “am I here for?”

“An autograph was included in the price of admission.
 
This is your first block for tickets numbered A01 to AAA54.
 
It shouldn’t take you more than eight hours.”

Eight-fucking-hours!
 
At least they’re paying me a fortune for this.

Shatner did his best to maintain his cheerful smile as he moved behind the table.
 
He picked up the marker and popped the cap off as the two guards moved aside.

The first fan stepped forward and Shatner almost gasped aloud in horror.
 
The man looked identical to Shatner—from his face to his hair to his body build and height.

“It is an honor to finally meet you.”
 
The man even had the same voice.

It took all of his skills as a public entertainer for Shatner to not give away his shock.
 

The fan placed a copy of
TekWar
on the table and put out his hand.
 
“I’m Bob Chaplin.”

Shatner turned back on and shook his hand.
 
“Wow…it’s…just… like looking into a mirror.”
 
He gestured at their clothes, “We’re…even wearing the same suits.”
 
They were each dressed in navy blue suits, white undershirt, and pale blue ties with slanted white stripes.

The fan blushed.
 
“It was really quite easy to figure out which outfit you would go with.
 
You wear roughly the same thirteen configurations for public appearances.
 
There was then the consideration of major con versus minor con, this obviously being a major con.
 
That eliminated six possibilities.
 
From there it was a simple matter of reviewing your last twenty-eight appearances and comparing that to your public dress history.”

Behind him Shatner heard a static-distorted voice, “Ms. Albright, we have a 2517.”

Shatner looked behind him and saw Natalie stepping away from the table and raising a walkie-talkie to her mouth.

“Could you sign it to: My Number 1 Fan, Bob?”

Shatner turned his attention back to the fan.
 
He opened the book and started to write on the title page.
 

He could hear Natalie’s hushed voice quickly talking.
 
She sounded pissed.

“That’s…a little creepy…like Misery,” Shatner said chucking and handing the book back to Bob.

“What?”

“You know…Kathy Bates…the Stephen King movie.”

Bob stared blankly.
 
“I don’t think I do.”

Natalie was suddenly standing next to Shatner and placed a hand on his shoulder.
 
“Bill, we got a problem in the theaters that I need to go take care of.
 
I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

Oh my God, she’s going to leave me alone with these people.

“Now don’t worry about anything, we have plenty of security,” she motioned to the guards who had moved to either side of the table.
 
They stood tall and stoic, facing forward.
 
They looked like police officers, but their black uniforms bore no insignia.
 
Their heads were covered with black helmets with black face-shields pulled down.
    

Shatner did not feel any more at ease.

“Someone will be along shortly with water and can take an order for anything else you may want.”

Before he had a chance to respond, Natalie was through the door they had come through.

Bob beamed an adoring smile.
 
“The cosmetic surgery cost a fortune.
 
The voice-box reshaping alone was sixty-thousand dollars.”