Parody Fanfic: The Importance of Being Dipsy
The first fic.

PG-13. Future fic. Potential spoilers for Fallen, definite spoilers for Full Circle.



The Importance of Being Dipsy
by Dipsy

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The landing hurt.

Like, landing-on-the-edge-of-his-right-hipbone
*really* hurt. An outside observer might even have
thought that Oma or The Others didn’t like him – an
idea that was even more ridiculous than the merest
suggestion that Sam and Jack were anything other than
co-workers (besides, depending on what pills she’d
taken on any particular day, Sam was either way too
feminine or just not feminine enough – so how the hell
would she get it on with Jack anyway?).

But back to the important stuff. Like him, for
instance. He’d landed, his hip was sore and oh – he
was naked.

Though he had to admit, as he looked down over the
form that technically hadn’t existed for the last year
or so, it wasn’t bad to look at. At all.

Wait. No! That was *wrong*...it was bad to look at,
but only because...he squinted...tilted his head...and
gasped.

It was blurry.

Wait a freakin’ minute! He’d ascended to a higher
plane, been on the most incredible journey of his
existence (‘life’ was such an abstract word, and could
no longer be accurately used in regards to him), had
felt the power of the universe coarse through him;
seen things that scant others had seen...and he
*still* had *bad* *eyesight*?

How was that fair?

If he hadn’t known for a fact that Oma and The Others
loved him right from his intricately groomed eyebrow
down to his wiggly little toes, he might have
suspected that they’d done that on purpose.

Still...one had to wonder...why had he been kicked out
at all? It couldn’t have been over that silly little
Abydos thing. No, much more likely there’d be a coup
at Ascended Beings Command. Frankly, he’d noticed
things had been getting a little cliquey there for a
while now, and as much as Oma and The Others loved him
(which they really did), in any group there were
always a few dissenters. People who just couldn’t
learn to live with change.

So really, things could be worse. He’d decided to
leave just as things were getting bad, and now he
could go and...

Oh. Do something?

Do, uh...

That was strange. He couldn’t remember what he’d been
thinking even just a few seconds ago. It was almost as
if his memory were being era-

*

“Hey. Naked guy.”

Something was prodding him. He was almost disappointed
when he realised it was a foot. Muttering, groaning –
wow, what the hell had he been drinking last night?
Must have been potent stuff. Everyone knew how well he
could hold his liquor – he forced himself onto his
back.

The phrase repeated itself, only this time as a gasp
of surprise.

“Naked guy!”

Well yes: he *was* a guy and he *was* naked (and
incidentally, when had that ‘naked’ part happened?
Hard as he tried, he just couldn’t remember anything).
Forcing one eyelid open, and confident enough with his
masculinity even with an apparent memory loss, he made
no attempt to cover himself as he studied the person
studying him.

Only it wasn’t just a person. It was a whole big group
of persons. The closest one, however, was an old guy
with this weird beardy chin thing going on. The
expression on his face matched his tone of voice when
he’d last spoken.

He...wait a minute. What the hell was his name? Okay,
until he could remember that, he was going with
‘Dipsy’ just because it was the first thing that came
to mind.

Dipsy opened his other eyelid, frowning heavily.
“Hello.”

Old Guy’s eyes widened. “You speak, naked guy!”

Dipsy carefully shifted into a sitting position.
“Yes...and so do you.”

“Where do you come from?”

Now that was an interesting question. Or at least it
would have been if he had an interesting answer. As it
was he had no answer at all. “I, uh...I’m really not
sure. Can’t seem to remember.”

“Not really a surprise,” Old Guy nodded sagely. “If
you came here the way He did, you’re lucky to still be
alive.”

‘He’? “He?”

Old Guy held out his hand. “Let me help you up. Don’t
worry; I have no interest in your sexually.”

Dipsy took the offered hand and stumbled to his feet.
“I wouldn’t mind if you were. I’m content with my
sexuality.”

Once he was up, Dipsy took a moment to look through
the crowd who’d gathered around him. Men, woman,
children...and every single one of them had the same
weird beardy chin thing that Old Guy did.

Weird.

Dipsy lifted a hand up to his own chin, just in case,
and was relieved to find nothing there.

*

During the walk to their destination, someone had
procured him clothes from somewhere. So now, he was no
longer naked, and had a crowd of about fifty people
following him.

That was pretty good. It felt...right. Maybe he’d been
a leader or something...

Old Guy (whose name turned out to be, funnily enough,
‘Old Guy’. What were the odds?) told him some of his
people’s history, but just as he was getting into some
third dynasty stuff, Dipsy realised something.

“Uh, Old Guy, you haven’t told me what your name is.”

“I am Old Guy.”

“No,” Dipsy chuckled tolerantly. Old people could be
so amusing sometimes. “I don’t mean you individually.
I mean your people as a whole. What’s your name?”

Old Guy slapped the side of his own head. “Oopsie.
Sorry about that. With all the excitement and
everything...” He closed his eyes, calmed, and then
re-opened them. “We,” he spread out a hand, gesturing
to all the people following behind them. “Are the
Sumuru.”

Sumuru? Something about that sparked Dipsy’s memory.
“Sumuru? Wasn’t it said that she was an ice-cold,
fascinating genius whose hypnotic powers impelled all
men to do her bidding?”

Old Guy shrugged. “Our ancestors just thought it
sounded cool. And how did you know all that stuff?”

Dipsy tried to push up glasses that didn’t exist
anymore. Wait...he used to wear glasses? Suddenly that
whole ‘blurry’ thing make a lot more sense. “Don’t
know. Just did.”

“Here!” Old Guy suddenly exclaimed, jogging forward a
few steps (not bad for an old guy), until he was in
front of some kind of building. Looked pretty sturdy,
and Dipsy wondered if it had its own toilet. He was
dying for a pee.

“Come with me,” Old Guy told him, then ordered
everyone else to stay outside. There were a few
mutters and complaints but they relented. Dipsy
understood how they felt – he wouldn’t want to be
deprived of his own company either.

The two of them walked into the building, Dipsy
blinking several times as he adjusted to the move from
sunlight to darkness. The basic layout seemed similar
to a church (though how did he remember what a church
looked like?); rows of wooden seats and at the front
of them all, some kind of altar.

Something decidedly coffin-shaped, actually.

Old Guy paused to one side, as Dipsy stared down at
it.

“Inside this container,” Old Guy declared. “Is the man
who fell from the stars.”

“Fell from the stars?” Dipsy asked, pointing upwards.
“As in from...?”

“The ceiling?” Old Guy asked. “No, from the *stars*
silly. He fell some twenty-two years ago.”

“And when did he die?”

Old Guy frowned, as if that were a really stupid
question. “When do you think? When he *fell*. He fell
from the stars, with nothing to buffer his fall and no
kind of safety equipment whatsoever. Of course he
died. He inspired us to set up a religion founded on
the concept of never doing something so utterly stupid
ourselves.”

“Ah,” Dipsy said. “Of course. So,” He cleared his
throat. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” Moving behind the coffin, Old Guy grabbed
the edge of a sheet that was hanging over something,
and pulled it up. “Of this.”

Dipsy gasped. Not because of who the portrait was of,
but because of...well...the blood.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Old Guy apologised. “Our
only portrait artist tends to go for realism, and the
man who fell was rather...icky...when we found him.
Still, if you can try looking *beyond* the blood and
exposed bone for a moment...”

Dipsy did. He really did. And this time he gasped
because of who the portrait was. “That’s me!” And
true, most of his chin was missing, but wasn’t
that...? “And I have a weird beardy chin thing, just
like you.”

Stroking his proudly, Old Guy smiled. “Who do you
think inspired them?”

Wow. He was looking at a portrait of himself. True,
his dead self, but that wasn’t the point. It simply
had to be significant. Puffing his chest out, Dipsy
placed his hands on his hips. “You know what this
means, don’t you Old Guy?”

“I think I do, Dipsy.”

“I’m destined to be your leader!”

Sigh.

Dipsy really liked his own brand of logic. Especially
when other people agreed with it.

Life was good.

*

Life suddenly got bad exactly one hiatus later. There
he was, lounging about on his throne, when Young
Sluttish Woman rushed in.

“Dipsy!” She yelled (he insisted on a first-name
policy; made the people more receptive. It didn’t
really matter than he only had the one name). “Dipsy,
there are travellers here!”

“Travellers?” He sat up, straightening his clothes.
“Where did they come from, Young Slut?” He knew she
appreciated the fond nickname.

As expected, she blushed slightly. “Through the giant
plug hole! It seems your theory was right, Dipsy – it
*is* a transportation device that sends you hurtling
from one end of the galaxy to the other.”

He clicked his fingers as he stood up. “Knew it!” Only
problem was, he didn’t have anyone to ‘ner ner’ to.
Dammit. Where was the fun in discovering something
amazing if you couldn’t rub it in someone’s face?

Speaking of rubbing it in someone’s face... “You’re
still coming over tonight, right?”

She blushed again. “Of course, Dipsy. But the
travellers...?” She pointed towards the door she’d
just rushed through.

“Of course, of course,” He nodded. “Send them in Young
Slut.” He was nothing if not magnanimous.

A few moments later and there they were – a rather
assorted group of people. “Hello,” He greeted
cheerfully, just beginning to notice the expressions
of surprise on their faces. “I’m-”

“Daniel!” The woman shouted, apparently stunned.

He was about to argue that no, he was Dipsy, but the
truth was he still didn’t really remember anything of
his life before being Dipsy. For all he knew he could
have been this ‘Daniel’. “Do you know me?”

“Of course,” They all rushed forward, though the
older, greyer one was much faster than everyone else.

Staring up to the top of the raised platform that
Dipsy and his throne were situated on, the old grey
one spoke. “Daniel? Is that really you?”

Somebody knew him? “I don’t know, to be honest. I’ve
been living here for the last three months or so, but
before that...I don’t really remember anything. Young
Slut said you came through the giant plug hole?”

Old grey one blinked heavily. “Uh...yeah. You used to
come through the ‘giant plug hole’ with us. We worked
together.”

“We did?”

“I am not sure this is Daniel Jackson, O’Neill,” The
one with the expensive-looking body art said. “He has
a strange growth on his chin.”

Old grey one – O’Neill, apparently – snorted. “Look
who’s talking, caterpillar face.”

Dipsy resisted the urge to touch his newly grown
chin-beard. They’d get used to it, just as he had. It
*was* part of the image, after all.

O’Neill focused on him again. “Okay, let’s try this.
I’m Jack O’Neill. This is Sam Carter, Teal’c, and
Jonas Quinn. Collectively we’re known as SG-1, and we
spend most of our time going through the giant plug
hole exploring other planets.”

Riiiiiiight. “And I used to do this with you?”

O’Neill could quite obviously sense his scepticism. “I
know!” Turning his back towards the one he’d
introduced as Sam, he spoke to her. “Carter, dig
Daniel’s glasses case out of my pack, will you?”

Sam started raising her hand...then paused. “You keep
Daniel’s glasses case in your pack?”

O’Neill turned a dusky shade of red. “Look, just do it
will ya?”

Badly holding back a smirk, Sam unclipped and unzipped
something (and there was something about that image
that made Dipsy wince), delved about inside the pack,
and a few moments later produced what she was looking
for. “Found it,” She said, promptly handing it over to
O’Neill, smiling as she did so. “I won’t tell anyone
if you won’t.”

Ignoring her, O’Neill stepped closer to the platform,
holding the case up.

Hesitating just for a moment, Dipsy quickly snatched
it away from him – it *could* have been a trick – and
then carefully, with one eye closed, cracked the case
open.

Glasses. Definitely.

Intrigued, he plucked them free from the case, and –
needing no persuasion whatsoever – opened them up and
slid them onto his face.

And it all came flooding back. All of it.

He screamed, dropping the case.

The last member of SG-1 who, up until then had been
staying suspiciously quiet, finally spoke. “*There* is
it.”

No, no, *no*! He tried to pull, tried to yank them
off, but it was too late; they’d pulled him off of the
platform already, dragging him across the ground. “No!
NO! I don’t wanna be Daniel Jackson again! The Goa’uld
chicks, the eyebrow, the *coffee*! NOOOOOOOO!”

Actually, he should probably re-think that coffee bit.

With his now-perfect eyesight, he saw Old Guy lurking
in the corner of the room. “Old Guy! Please, help me!
I don’t want to go!”

“Sorry Dipsy,” Old Guy shook his head. “You broke our
most cardinal of rules; you put those glasses on of
your own free will. You were really *stupid*.”

Daniel bit, fought, kicked; all to no avail. They held
firm despite his anguished screams.

“Colonel?” Jonas asked eventually, not seeming to
notice that Daniel was slipping into a catatonic
state.

Follow the yellow brick road. Follow the yellow brick
road.

“Yes Jonas?”

Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow
brick road!

“What kind of name is ‘Dipsy’, anyway?”

{END}