#i might skim it but i ain’t reading your 3 page paper

[halfricanloveyou]

yo, this is my blog and i don’t owe you activism on it. i’m here for fun and!to bitch about shit sometimes but i’m here for me and not you.

if you’re thinking of telling me what to post and how to post it or what to say and how to say it, consider maybe sucking my dick and balls.

[another-tmnt-writer]

Truth or Dare?

Raphael x Reader

Author: Admin Mo

Summary: When Mikey needs another actor for his film project, Raph gets roped into it. He didn’t, however, expect for his costar to be so cool.

Note: There are not NEARLY enough college au fics for the bayverse boys, so have this as my first contribution. <3

Warnings: Swears, mentions of drinking, plenty of fluff

Word Count: 3.9k

“Raph, PLEEEEEAAAASE!!!” Mikey folded his hands together, pleading. “We need actors for our project and our group members can’t be in it.”

Mikey, as part of his endeavor to explore every creative program at the university the turtles were currently attending, was taking a filmmaking class. And, as a part of that class, he and his fellow classmates were required to make short projects in order to learn the basics of filmmaking, from writing to directing to using the equipment to editing. As an added bonus because his professor was so especially cruel, none of the people in his group could appear in his project, and while they had managed to recruit some of their classmates to fill in the smaller roles, one of the main roles was still unclaimed.

Raph scoffed. “Mikey, you know I can’t act for shit.”

“You don’t have to actually be good at it!” He pleaded. “You should see some of the other projects. No one in the program is good at acting.”

Raph was quiet for a second, his large arms crossed in front of him, thinking. “How long is it gonna take?”

“Few hours.” Mikey shrugged. He raised an eyebrow. “And your costar is really, really hot.”

Raph sighed, disgruntled. “When?”

“YES! DUDE THANK YOU SO MUCH! YOU WON’T REGRET IT!” Mikey ran and returned with a script and a schedule, shoving it into his older brother’s hands. “We film tomorrow!”

Raph’s eyes widened. “TOMORROW?!”

***

Raph went with Mikey to where the rest of his group was meeting to film their project. He hadn’t really had time to look at the script and Mikey assured him that they’d be filming in small enough chunks that he wouldn’t need to have very much memorized at a time. He also didn’t really know what kind of movie it was and he didn’t care; he just couldn’t wait until it was over.

A few minutes after they arrived, so did his costar. And god, he couldn’t stop staring. Mikey was right. God, why was Mikey always right?

“I am so sorry I’m late. The bus almost hit a pedestrian and it was a whole thing.” You apologized.

“Don’t worry about it!” Mikey waved off your concern. “This is my brother, Raph.”

“Nice to meet you, Raph. I’m (Y/N).” You introduced, a warm smile on your face.

Raph didn’t miss the way your eyes lingered on him, but instead of the looks disdain he usually got, instead it seemed to be curiosity. Awe, even? Weird, he decided, but not unwelcome.

It was a long, awkward moment before he realized he’d better respond. “Oh, uh, nice to meet you too.”

“Um, you guys can get to know each other a little better. We’ve gotta get the equipment set up.” Mikey said, leaving the two of you on your own.

The filming location was a place you were very familiar with: the library. Particularly, in front of the cozy little coffee shop in the library.

“I didn’t really, uh, look at the script, but I’m guessing they needed a monster for a horror movie or something…” Raph flipped through the pages, skimming.

“It’s a rom com.” You corrected quietly. “I’m the main character. You’re the love interest.”

If Raph could physically blush, he was sure his cheeks would rival the color of his mask. “…Oh.”

“Is that alright?” You asked.

“Oh! Yeah, yeah it’s fine, I just…” He chuckled to himself. “I ain’t ever acted in anything before, let alone anything romantic.”

“It’s not too much, I don’t think.” You reassured him. “I’m pretty sure the most they’ll have us do is awkwardly brush hands. It’s a coffee shop meet-cute.”

“Gotcha.” And while he was relieved, he was also a little…disappointed? Huh. Weird. “So, uh, what’s yer major?”

“I’m a film major. I’m in Mikey’s class and they needed actors, so I’m paying it forward in case I need someone in my project. What’s yours?”

“I’m undecided. Just, uh, taking some time to figure things out, you know. I never really had any…school experience before this.”

“That’s a lot to adjust to.”

“Yeah, it is. I’m getting used to it, though.”

“That’s good! If you need any help with anything, let me know. I’ve picked up a bunch of good tips and tricks.”

He chuckled. “I will, thanks.”

“Do you have snapchat?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“One second.” You fished your phone out of your bag and unlocked it, opening the app to your snapcode, which he scanned and added you. “There you go.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

Raph took some more time reading over the script to get the gist of the scene and you were right. Indeed, it was a rom com. Not his preferred genre, by any means, but maybe he’d warm up to it a bit over the course of the day.

“Hey (Y/N)?” Mikey called from over where they had the camera set up on the tripod. “Do you know how to white-balance this thing? Everything is orange for some reason. Which is a great color, but I’m sure Smith will dock us points for it.”

“Oh, I’ve got you.” You nodded. You looked up at Raph, your purse in hand. “Will you hold this for a second?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” He nodded, holding out a giant three-fingered hand to take the bag from you. He watched you walk over to where the rest of the group was standing, crowded around the camera. You worked your magic, shuffling through the menu and helping adjust the camera correctly. Raph couldn’t stop staring. You looked so focused. So passionate. He could tell you really liked film and everything it entailed and he wished he could just find something he cared about as much as you cared about your major.

“Awesome.” He heard Mikey say, his eyes fixed on the camera’s screen. “Thanks!”

“Of course!” You walked back over to where Raph was and he handed you your bag back. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but Mikey walked over to the two of you.

“You guys ready? I think we’re good to start now.”

“All set.” You confirmed, giving him a thumbs-up, and Raph nodded.

***

Raph might have to reconsider his stance on this acting thing. Did he think he was all that good at it? No. But so long as he had you as a costar, he’d act willingly in any project Mikey (or you) needed him for. And at the end of the shoot, he ended up having a really good time. So much so that when you guys were all done, he was…sad. Like, really sad about it.

You parted ways. You weren’t in any of his classes, so Raph wasn’t really sure if he’d see you around that much. And he didn’t see you around…until a few weeks later.

He was at the library studying with his brothers at their favorite table when suddenly, his phone buzzed, a message from snapchat coming in. He looked at the notification, doing a double-take when he read your name there. And when he reached to answer it, he moved too fast and knocked his shell-shaped cell phone off of the table.

Shit.

He bent down to pick it up and when he opened the snapchat, he was surprised to see…the back of his shell? It was captioned: “I spy with my little eye…Something red and green 😉”

Immediately, he whipped around, and sure enough, nestled in a table by the windows was you, looking at him over the top of your laptop screen. You giggled when he spotted you, waving.

Raph nudged Mikey, who was sitting across from him and Mikey traced Raph’s eyeline to where you were, his face immediately lighting up.

“Oh! Hey (Y/N)!” Mikey waved. “You wanna sit with us?”

“Is that alright?”

“Hell yeah!” Mikey motioned you over. “The more the merrier! We can pull up a chair over here on the end.”

So, you gathered your stuff while the guys rearranged some things, putting you on the end of the table, right between Mikey and Raph. When you got over there, you noticed they were sitting with the other two giant mutated turtles on campus, who you had heard of, but hadn’t met yet.

“(Y/N), these are our brothers. Leo’s over there in the blue, our fearless leader. And this is Donatello, the one we go to for homework help.”

“Not tonight you aren’t. This paper is due at midnight and it is…” Donnie glanced down at the clock on his laptop and as soon as he did, he started typing impossibly faster. “Eleven thirty-seven. Do not look at me or breathe in my direction.”

“Noted.” Mikey nodded, a trace of fear in his eyes.

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N). You’re in one of Mikey’s classes, right?”

“Yep! I’m in his film class.” You smiled, taking a sip of your iced coffee. “I got the pleasure of costarring with this one.” You nudged Raph lightly, causing him to smile the most genuine smile Mikey had ever seen on his older brother’s face.

Huh. Mikey took note, something devious stirring in the back of his mind. Interesting…

“What did you get on that, by the way?” You asked.

“We got an A! Well, Minus. But you know how Smith is.”

“Dude that’s awesome!” You bumped your fist against his. “Good job. I’m pretty sure my group got a B, but we’re not mad about it. C’s get degrees, as they say.”

“Cheers to that.” Leo chuckled.

“What are you working on today, Raph?” You asked, tilting your head in a way that sent his heart racing in a way he could not explain.

“I have a paper for my Writing 150 class.”

“Oof that sucks. Who do you have?”

“Trainor.”

“Ouch. She hated me.” You grimaced, shaking your head. “She found out I was bi and it was all over for me.”

“Did you report her? I’m pretty sure you can report her for that sort of thing.” Raph asked, trying not to get heated over it. He was pretty sure she didn’t like him very much either, but it was probably due to the fact that he was a giant green turtle. “That’s bullshit.”

“I’m in the process of that right now.” You nodded. “She’s a bitch. I don’t know if they’ll actually do anything about it though.”

“Keep me posted. I might file something too if she doesn’t stop glaring at me during class.” Raph grumbled. “It’s annoying.”

“That would be annoying. Her beady little eyes glaring at you for two agonizing hours of ‘This is how to correctly use a comma’.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. It is.”

You glanced at your phone, which buzzed with a text from one of your roommates. “Oh! Uh, do you guys have any plans this weekend?”

“Nope. Why?” Mikey asked, curiosity seeping into his voice.

“My roommate is throwing a party, if you guys wanna come. It’ll be pretty chill. Drinks, pizza, some music.”

“Oh hell yes.” Mikey nodded. He looked at Leo. “Leo, can we?”

“I don’t see why not.” Leo shrugged. “Sounds like a good time.”

“Is there a dress code?” Mikey asked. Now that he was finally allowed to socialize, he didn’t want to fuck it up.

“Nope. Just casual. Come as you are.”

“Do you need us to bring anything?”

“If you guys have a drink of choice, bring that, I guess, but otherwise, my roommate’s boyfriend works at a pizza place, so we get a pretty good discount and we have literally so much wine.”

“That’s amazing.” Mikey nodded, making a mental note to look into jobs at a pizza place later.

“We’ll bring a veggie tray.” Donnie said, his fingers flying across the keyboard of his laptop until finally, he stopped. “I finished, by the way.”

“Good job, dude!” Mikey gave him a thumbs up. “You wanna write mine next?”

“Ha.” Donnie stared at him. “Funny.”

“What’s your paper on, Raph? Maybe I can help.”

Raph turned his laptop towards you. “We have to write it about like growing up. You can, uh, read it if you want. I don’t mind. I’m kinda stuck right now anyway.”

“Okay.” You agreed, switching his laptop for yours. You winked. “Trade ya.”

“What are you writing about?” He asked, scrolling to the top of your document.

“Women in Film.” You shot finger guns at him. “I’m about to make some Film Bois REALLLL mad.”

“Roast ‘em, (Y/N).” Mikey laughed, knowing all too well exactly which film boys you were talking about. He was not a fan.

“That’s the plan.” You chuckled and then started reading over Raph’s paper. You had known before meeting them that they hadn’t exactly had the best childhood, but…wow was it eye-opening reading the experience from his eyes. “Holy shit.”

“That bad?” He joked, trying to read your expression.

“No, it’s…Raph, this is really good, but wow. You guys went through a lot, huh?”

“Yeah…” He shrugged. “It wasn’t all bad, but it sure wasn’t normal by any means.”

“Mmm…” You nodded, looking up at him. “I mean, normal is kinda overrated.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad ya think so. Not many people do.”

You shrugged, smiling softly. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not like many people.”

***

“(Y/N), this place is as clean as it’s gonna get. It’s a party. It’ll be messed up in,” your roommate, Haley, glanced down at her watch, “like twenty minutes.”

“I know, I just…I’m nervous. These guys are basically superheroes. I want to make a good impression.”

“Fair point.”

You swept the kitchen floor and got out the cutest paper plates you had in the cupboard as well as some solo cups and plastic wine glasses. If you could avoid broken glass today, that was probably the move.

The doorbell buzzed and your heart raced, but it was just your other roommate’s boyfriend with the pizza.

“Is Darcy here?” He asked.

“She’s upstairs getting ready, you explained, helping him get the pizza and breadsticks and everything set up on the counter. He’d also brought a few two-liters of Pepsi, which was good. You put it next to the giant jug of fruit punch you’d bought at the grocery store. It was important to make sure your non-drinking friends had something to drink, too.

A few minutes after, guests started arriving. Darcy came downstairs and started up her iconic party playlist. Your neighbors popped in. It was easier to invite them and let them have a good time with you than have them call security on you guys for throwing a party, even if it was the weekend and it was only nine.

You turned off the lamps in the living room and instead set your strip lights to party mode, causing them to cycle through a bunch of colors in time with the music. It was then that the doorbell rang again and you rushed to the mirror to check yourself once more. You adjusted your hair, straightened out your top, and checked your teeth for food. Nope, you were good.

So, with the rest of the hosts distracted, you opened the door. On the other side of it were four tall, green gentlemen, one of them carrying a veggie tray.

“Hey guys, come on in!”

You moved out of the way so they could step inside.

Mikey’s eyes widened, looking into the living room full of dancing college kids. “Woahhhhh this is awesome!”

“Glad you think so.” You laughed. “There’s food and drinks in here, the bathroom is in the hallway, and everyone else seems to be either in the living room or the back yard.”

“Where do you want this veggie tray?” Donnie asked.

“Thank you so much for bringing this, by the way! You can set it over by the pizza boxes. I can get a spoon for the dip.” You said, walking towards the silverware drawer and producing a spoon while Donnie popped the lid off of the plastic serving tray and opened up the dip. You handed him the spoon.

The guys were each sporting their signature color, but they were wearing clothes you hadn’t seen them in before. Usually, Raph liked to wear a large gray hoodie, but today, he was sporting a black t-shirt and an impossibly large red flannel with some jeans. It looked good on him. Like, really good.

Apparently, he was thinking the same thing, because as soon as you were free, he walked up to you and nudged you gently. “You look really good.”

Your cheeks flushed with warmth and you wished you could blame it on wine, but you hadn’t even had a sip yet. “Thanks. You clean up pretty nice yourself.”

Had you worn a red top on purpose? Yes, absolutely. Would you admit to it, though? No, definitely not.

But Mikey noticed. Oh, Mikey noticed everything. And he couldn’t help but think that you and his older brother would make quite the couple. Maybe there was something he could do to just…give it a little push.

***

The time came later, when the party was finally starting to wind down. Some people had left. Your neighbors had gone home, and you’d switched the strip lights to a light, warm color. You’d also switched the upbeat party playlist for something chill to play in the background. The remaining partygoers were all settled in a circle in the living room, eating whatever pizza was left, sipping on box wine, and playing a game of truth or dare.

“Haley, truth or dare?” Darcy challenged.

“Truth.”

“Okay…Fuck, Marry, Kill: Chris Evans, Chris Hemsworth and…..Chris Pine.”

“DAMN.” She cursed. “You can’t do that to me. Shit. Uh…Fuck Chris…Hemsworth. Marry Chris…Pine? And—”

“Don’t you do it!” You warned.

“Kill Chris Evans.”

“Noooooooooo!” You whined, taking a sip of your drink. The rest of the group laughed. “Poor Captain America.”

“Rest in pieces, Cap.” She agreed, shaking her head. “Okay…Mikey, truth or dare.”

“Dare.” Mikey answered quickly. He always picked dare, so in the fifth round of the game, it wasn’t much of a surprise.

“I dare you…to take a shot of straight lemon juice.”

“Easy peasy.” Mikey scoffed, pouring himself a shot and downing it.

You watched as his face contorted at the sour, sour taste. You couldn’t help but giggle a little at that.

“Good job, Mikey.” Donnie laughed, dipping a piece of broccoli in dip before popping it into his mouth.

“Taking it like a champ.” Leo added, nodding.

“Alright, my turn?” Mikey asked, looking around the circle for his victim, pretending he hadn’t been planning this since round one. “(Y/N). Truth or dare?”

You thought about it for a second. How easy it would be to just choose truth again, but for some reason, you were feeling a little brave, so instead, you picked, “Dare.”

“Oooooooh,” the circle said, all of them a little surprised by that choice.

“Okay. Alright.” Mikey rubbed his hands together mischievously. All according to plan. “I dare you to kiss the hottest person in the room.”

“OOOOOOOHHHH!” The circle all stared at you and you thought for a second, a smirk settling on your features.

“Oh that’s easy.” You got up and crossed the circle until you were standing in front of Raph. Even sitting down, he was almost your height. “Think I could get a kiss?”

Raph stared up at you, shocked, waiting for you to say Sike! HAHA! Did you actually think I thought you were hot?! Loser!

But you never did, instead looking down at him with sincerity, patience. Were you a little…nervous, even?

“Why me?” He whispered, his eyes fixed on you. There were plenty of good-looking human guys still there, and yet you were certain. Unwavering. Then, louder, he asked, his heart absolutely fighting to get out of his chest, “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” You nodded, starting to lean closer. Once you were most of the way in, you let him meet you in the middle, your soft human lips meeting his, which were, you had to admit, way softer than you thought they would be.

Raphael kissed you like you were made of glass, like if he moved too fast, you would shatter. It was his first kiss, after all, and he didn’t want to fuck it up.

When it finally ended, you walked back to your seat in the circle, your cheeks rosy, heart racing. Haley gave you a nudge and you giggled, your stomach filled with butterflies. The rest of the game went along with little fanfare, and once everyone was tired enough, the apartment cleared out even more, leaving just your roommates, Darcy’s boyfriend, and the turtles, who insisted on helping clean everything up. Well, it had been Leo’s idea, but the rest had agreed to stick around to help.

You volunteered to go out into the backyard to pick up all of the stray solo cups and White Claw cans. You hated litter. You worked out there alone for a bit. As you bent down to pick up the last can you heard the signature screech of the sliding door opening.

Raph squeezed through the narrow doorway, cursing his shell for making him so damn wide.

“Hey,” you said softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Your voice was almost swallowed up by the sounds of the choir of crickets outside.

“Hey.” He closed the sliding door. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah, of course.” You nodded, tying off the trash bag you were using to collect garbage. “How was your first college party?”

“It was great. Really, really great.” He said, taking slow steps through the grass towards you. “Um…I…did you mean what you said? Earlier.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you…was I really…” he laughed at the absurdity of it. “You think I’m hot?”

“I do.” You nodded. “Of course I do.”

“I’m sorry if I find that a little hard to believe.” He shook his head, stopping right in front of you. When he was standing in front of you like this, he was remined of just how big he was compared to you, just how much he towered over you. Just how different you were. “I’m just used to the opposite reaction.”

“Believe it.” You reached forward and took his hand in yours, gripping one of his giant green fingers.

“I’m trying to.” He chuckled and fiddled with your little hand, nervous. “You know, uh…that was my first kiss in there. I wasn’t too awful, was I?”

“I didn’t mean to steal your first one.” You laughed softly. “Sorry. But to answer your question, I thought it was perfect.”

“That’s a relief.” He was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Uh…If it’s alright with ya…I’d like to give you my second kiss, too.”

Instead of answering, you took another step closer, looking up, up, up into his piercing green eyes. “You’re gonna have to come down here; I can’t reach.”

He laughed. “Right.” Raph craned his neck down, one of his large hands tilting your face up towards his so he could meet you in the middle for another perfect kiss.

***

“What are you doing?” Leo asked Mikey, who was peering through the blinds into the back yard of the apartment.

Mikey only grinned proudly, nodding to himself. “Works every time…”

[opinuun]

Do you guys remember when this was a studio Ghibli blog and I’d post gifs? 2017 was a good year lol. Anyway. As a child, I never knew I’d thirst for a 2-D otome man, but sadly I’ve stopped. Yes, after two years of obsession, it’s time I retire from the fandom. I’m keeping the blog though. Ran this shit for years, ain’t gonna give up now that my horny-meter has plummeted to an all time record low. Did you guys know blogs don’t have a character limit??

Oh god. I didn’t know this blog would suddenly receive so much attention. Please, I am begging you to not scroll down. It’s endless MysticMessenger posts from two years ago.

Hey, I'm once again: back, you can't possibly have more time than I do. I mean, after all, I made this blog. You're only browsing it. And most people don't even come here. Not even my friends...*sniffle* The just ignore this poor, pathetic little page. All they do is fill out the TAB form and leave. I think. Maybe they're here right now! HI! HOW ARE YOU DOING? I'M FINE! THANKS FOR COMING! YES, I'M YELLING! Who am I kidding. This page won't get a single hit, unless I bribe people...now that has possibilities. Okay, fill out the TAB form, so I have proof that you bothered to come here and...uh...I'll...uh...send you a sandwich? Please allow 6-8 weeks for delivery. I'm bored. I'm gonna go hug a moose. MOOSE! I love-d you moose! Hey, I'm back again! Yea...*waits for applause* okay! Now I want all you loyal fans...*cricket chirps* to go to the link to see what I'm like. I took a whole bunch of personality quizzes and posted them there. I'm an evil villain, kitty and a freakazoid so far. And I only took the quiz once, too. Spooky how accurate they are...anyway, I command you to go! I'm going. I'm back. I'm gonna start counting how many times I say back. Let's see: 1...2...3...4...5! Wow. I must really be desperate for something to do. I now officially have proof that someone has been here! It was one of my friends. Apparently this page really is getting long, because my friend said something to that effect. Maybe. Anyway, moving on! I'm just basically typing nothing. Just like all those reports people have to do. You know? With a specific number of words. They start out with half that number, and then just fill in words until they have the right amount. I salute those people. You're great tradition is being carried out here, on the second most pointless site ever! Well. Maybe eventually some weird, bored person will wander onto my site on accident and be mildly entertained be my site until they wander onto a live video feed of a coffee maker. Or maybe not. I only know that I'm entertaining me, which was my original goal. So. I've done what I've set out to accomplish. Yea, me! I'm so special. You see, most people, they don't like reading or writing. So if you're not most people, you've made it down this far without skipping, skimming or getting the spark notes version. (Which I think does not exist) My point is, if you've bothered to read this, then, (like me) you probley have also read the ketchup bottle so many times that you have it down verbatim. Look verbatim up. It's a word. But, you should know that, since you like reading. Or maybe you're just skimming. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with reading food labels. You might be asked a question about them on a quiz show. And now, for the million-dollar question: How many calories are there in a single serving of Mustard? I can just see it now...It could be called Know-Your-Food. Or You are What you Eat. It'd probley be as popular as those game shows that no one's ever heard of. Speaking of food, what's up with pie? There's strawberry pie, apple, pumpkin and so many others, but there is no grape pie! I know. I'm just as upset about this unfortunate lack of development in the pie division. Think about it. Grapes are used to make jelly, jam, juice and raisins. What makes them undesirable for pie? Would they dry into raisins? Couldn't you just stick some jelly in a piecrust and bake it? It just doesn't make any sense. Another thing that bothers me is organ grinders. You know, the foreign guys with the bellhop hats and the little music thingy and the cute little monkey with the bellhop hat who collects the money? Okay. They're basically begging on the street. How did they ever afford an organ-thingy? Wouldn't it make more sense to get a kazoo, if you're broke? And if they're so poor, what possessed them to buy a monkey? I mean, I don't think I could afford a monkey, and I'm not exactly on the streets. Obviously I at least have a computer...so, back to the organ grinders. I would have sold the monkey and the organ and been able to eat for at least a year. Or, if I was weirder than I am, I could at least kill the monkey with the organ and eat it. Why on earth did they keep the monkey? It must have cost a fortune to feed...not to mention the mess. That's just one of those many facts of life that are better left mysteries. Especially since no one but me would ask the question. I better go. I think I hear a monkey...Okay...now I'm back. That's the sixth time I've said back! I realize that this longest text ever must be very boring and not worth anyone's time. But I'd like to take this time to thank the 2 and 1/2 people in the entire universe who have bothered to read this entire thing. I'm not exactly sure who they are, but: thanks! Right now, my spacebar is malfunctioning...that's not good...I have to press it two or three times just to insert a freaking space. Maybe the evil little faeries with the sharp little teeth have put their evil faerie dust on my computer. Or maybe not. This is too frustrating. Goodbye for now...Now I'm back. And still frustrated. But for a different reason. Today I had the misfortune of playing a Treasure Planet game on neopets.com It was terrible. Apparently the point of the game was to get your character to shout "Whoo-Hoo!" as many times as possible before you splattered your brains on the rocks, all the while listening to a soundtrack that is similar to a dying ceiling fan. Of course, when I started out I accidentally hit the rocks approximately three million times. Halfway though I used my four remaining brain-cells to decide that the game was dumb. So my goal changed from surviving to laughing evilly while my character died. So the game naturally did everything it could to preserve my life. The stupid game is still going on and I refuse to quit because I want my points. My character is actually dodging the stupid rocks better now then when I controlled him. I hate irony. Seeya. Okay. Now I'm back again. Today I added an update page, which is basically a less chaotic, outlined version of this without all the ranting. It's more like techno talk about arrays and how much I suck and whether or not the Braves will win this year. Okay, the whole braves thing is made up. But everything else I've said so far is true. I think. Maybe I should start on a boring disclaimer...Eh-hem. All contents of this site were designed for entertainment purposes only. Any use thereof that is not stated in the above mentioned statement would make the author, hereby referred to as Patron Saint of Paper Clips, very angry. Should you violate the purpose of this site: i.e. become not entertained, the Patron Saint of Paper Clips will be forced to take drastic measures. This is specified in Code: 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook. Ooooo…that’s a great idea! I’m gonna start quoting from the Flaming Chicken Handbook! Code: 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook states that the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (that’s me) is allowed to cause vague, pain like sensations while the offending person (or alien life form, dog, etc.) isn’t paying attention. Now I have a purpose in life! To make up quotes from the non-existent Flaming Chicken Handbook, which I’m sure you have a copy of. No? Too bad. It’s in the mail, I promise! Now I must take my leave…and remember. Cheese is watching. Okay...I'm back...I think that eventually half of this thing will consist of the word back over and over again...that's just weird. Which fits the motif of the rest of the site. There's even a money back guarantee. Isn’t' that nice? See? Now no one can ever say that I don't take care of my viewers. Especially since I don't have viewers. I have readers. Wait...I really don't even know if anyone bothers to read this. Even if I put it in a less chaotic, more user-friendly format people would still ignore this because it involves: reading. Yes. Sad to admit, but the majority of people would rather read the summary at the back of a book rather than the whole book itself. What has the world come to? It's pathetic. Especially since I'm bothering to write all this. It's not fair! Why can't I have more readers?! All the other internet writers have nothing on me, except they're better at advertising, having a central theme/plot and basically more talented. Whereas I'm more into the whole ranting and raving stage right now. Plus, I am horrible at spelling. Which is bad. Thank the powers that be for spell-check. The single greatest invention of the computer gods. I'm getting bored, so I think I'm done for the day. May your day be shiney! I'm back again! And I feel weird! I found at that yet another one of my friends is reading this. Creepy. Just how much time do they have on their hands. Perhaps their just trying to be nice. I can just see it now...an organization devoted not to feeding the hungry, or peace, or love or whatever, but to giving recognition to all those poor, pathetic, unpopular websites. I wonder what it's name would be. Don't Ignore Sites? Would it be called DIS? Isn't that like a slang term for an insult? Would that be considered poetic justice, or just a nice coincidence? And why do I even care? I'll tell you why. Because I have nothing else to do right now. I could be playing neopets, but ever since my bad experience with Treasure Planet, I don't feel like it. Oh, by the way, I noticed that whenever I use spell-check, my stupid computer turns the word probley into to word problem. To prevent this, I did nothing. So, it is now up to you, the imaginary reader, to decide whether I mean probley or problem...it's almost like a game! But without the bad sound track. And I promise not to force you to live when you would rather die. Moving on, I have nothing else to say, but don't feel like quitting just yet. I'm like the little engine that could. Or maybe the Energizer Bunny. I just keep going, and going and going. Or I could be like that annoying guy on T.V. who keeps asking if you can hear him. If my site manages to last a decade, my readers *snicker* will probley wonder what I'm talking about. My answer is simple. It doesn't matter. I'm just rambling. Which means that it doesn't matter if you understand anything I say. Doesn't that make you feel better? I bet it does. Wow. Look how long this has gotten. I even impress myself. Who would have thought I have this much free time? And I congratulate any reader who has gotten this far. Ooooooo! You must check out the fortunes section of the random stuff page! I've just gotten an idea for some more, original, fortunes...I gotta go!(may the moose be with you) And now I am back. I swear. If iI fill out the fake tab form I'm gonna have to put back as my favorite word...I already have filled it out, though. Would it be cheating to fill it out again? Only if I had multiple personalities. Or would it be cheating if I didn't have multiple personalities? The world may never know. Just like how many licks it takes to get to the bottom of a tootsie pop. Would it vary? The number of licks, I mean. Someone could have super-disolving spit, or watery-spit. Or what if you took big ol' slobbery licks? Does the commercial take that into account? No. It doesn't. And let me tell you, it's an outrage. It deludes all of American's sweet, innocent, candy-loving children into thinking that a cartoon owl is smarter than they are! "Mr. Owl, can you tell us how many licks does it take to get to the bottom of a tootsie pop?" Or whatever. And "Mr. Owl" replies "One...Twoo...Three! Chomp" And he bites it. That teaches our youth that it's okay to agree to help someone, and then ruin their experiment. Well...it's not. I am going to start a protest group. Teens Against Cartoon Owls. We could call ourselves TACO! I love the little tacos, I love them good! That is a direct quote from GIR, co-star and comic-relief on INVADER ZIM. Hmmmm...intersting. I put hyphens in both of his titles...it must be a conspiracy! I gotta go. Those TACO buttons don't make themselves, you know. I'm back again. And not so cheesed off about the whole tootsie roll pop thing. Right now, I have another twenty minutes on the Internet before I'm gonna watch T.V. And I can't think of anything else to do. So, predictably, here I am. It's not like I have anything better to do. Obviously, you know this. After all, look how long this text is. I wonder if I've made the world record? If I did, would I stop this? Why bother asking? I'll will most likely still be adding to this on my death bed. Hmmmmm...has any old, senile person ever written anything? Was it coherent? Did it make more sense that this text? Is it possible to make less sense? Am I enjoying asking retorical questions? Yes. Yes, I am. But I seriously wonder what something written by a senile person would be like. I've heard of poems and stuff written by people who were high, insane or paranoid. But never senile. Can a senile person write? Aren't they regressed to a child-like state? Does it even matter? Is anyone even reading this? Did I resume asking retorical questions? Do you care? Is this eating up time? I feel like I'm playing questions only on whose line is it anway. I probley should have capitalized something, or underlined but I'm feeling lazy...hey, you try to keep your two and a half readers happy! It's really stressfull. Someday, I'm gonna snap and just delete this entire thing. Gee, I hope not! I worked sorta hard on this. It's great for making random topics weave together to form an overall infrastructure of chaos. That made little sense. That's why it's here, and not some critically acclaimed site. Ooooooooooooo! I'm gonna quote from the FLAMING CHICKENS HANDBOOK again! Yep! I bet you were just breathless in anticipation. Okay. Here goes. Code: 472 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that this site in no way aknowledges the existance of other, better sites (hereon reffered to as the Losers) The Losers are a myth. The Patron Saint of Paper Clips (me again!) claims no knowledge as to where that particullary nasty rumor started, but confirms that this is the best site ever. It would be a sin against humanity for a better site to exist. Should you refuse to aknowledge the Patron Saint of Paper Clips as the ruler of the Internet, you will be subjected to punishment as stated in Code 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook (i.e. Experience vague, pain-like sensations when you're not paying attention) This has been a public service announcement. This is a test, I repeat only a test. Had this been an actual emergency, we would have bought up all the can openers and charged 3 cows and a pig for each one. I repeat, lock all you doors and windows, this is it. I repeat, there is nothing to worry about. Everything is fine. The end is not here. I'm going, you're on you're own! Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm back!*smiles brightly* And apparantly delusional! Anyway, I just finished rereading my longest text ever. And I became inspired to talk about nothing. You see, I periodically read the longest text ever to check the constant downward spiral of my sanity. Hmmm...I seem to be entertaining myself though, even while reading what I wrote. Which is why I still go to the Really Really Big Button That Doesn't Do Anything website. Because I am easily amused and have lots and lots of time on my hands. Maybe, some day far in the future (like next Thursday) I'll print a copy of this insane text. And then go door to door distributing it. Eventually, this would become a monthly tradition. Whole families would gather around their front door, in breathless anticipation while they attempted to barracade me out. I can just see the whole community rising to thwart my attempts to spread love, joy and insane chaos. I probley wouldn't actually print this out (think how much paper it would take!) but if I do, only friends and enemies will receive copies. Hmmmm...maybe my condition is worsening. Or not. I'm still peeved about the cartoon owl from the Tootsie Roll Pop commercials. He is pure evil. TACO will eventually destroy him. Unless he has already been destroyed by an even more radical Anti-Cartoon-Owl group. I hope not. Or, would that be good? I suppose I could let someone else have the glory. After all, I'm not in this line of buisness for the fame, fortune and power. What line of buisness, do you ask? Why, the assasinating annoying cartoon characters buisness. (Actually I just question them untill they spontaneously combust, I ask lots of questions) So, in conclusion, ladies and gentleman of the jury(that's you) I could not have possibly tortured "Mr. Owl" to death. I love owls. Hmm...I seem to be jumping from one subject to another more frequently. Either I am growing more comfortable with my on-line writing, or I am progressivly getting more insane and chaotic. I also am psyco-analyzing myself a lot today...hmmmm...I'm even saying "hmmmmm..." a lot. Just like a real psychologist. Hmmmmmmm. Time for another boring disclaimer!!!!!!! Code: 742 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that in no part does the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (That's still me!) actually claim to be mentally ill. That's either a) a publicity stunt b) An attempt at humor c) a cry for help or d) none of the above You can e-mail your responses by conducting a scavenger hunt of this site. Some of the pages of this site contain a link encouging the two and a half people to e-mail the Patron Saint of Paper Clips. There may also be evil little links that are designed to confuse you. These links send stuff to someone named johnjones66@hotmail.com Saint of Paper Clips does not know who this individual is, but sincerly wishes that you send all your hate mail to him. Not that the aformentioned individual claims to have received hate mail (or mail of any kind) via a website link. Thank-you for your time. Remember to send your answers to my sanity quiz to the e-mail account, bigppmegashlong@gmail.com Oh, and once I refer to myself in the first person again, the handbook quote is over. I just thought that I might like to mention that. Oh. You're still here. I figured you rush right on over to e-mail me. Perhaps you don't have time to waste e-mailing me. HA! HA! HA! That's funny!!!! If you you don't have time to waste, what are you doing here?!!! Oh, who am I kidding. I figure that even the people I manage to lure onto my site from neopets don't even bother to come to this particular page. Maybe I should make the link come here directly...Hey! What a good idea! That way I can spread my love, joy and insane chaos to more people! I'm a genius. Gotta go, must lure innocent victems to the second most pointless site ever!!!! I'm back. And really angry, and confused. I've always known that I was weird, that's always been a given. But now I realize that I am considerably more normal than the rest of my family. Today we had a "family outing." Now, most families will go bowling, or putt-putt golfing. They may go to a resteraunt with an arcarde, or the movies or to a theme park. Not my family! No, we got the greatest family outing of all. We got to go to a bar and play pool!!!!!*waits for readers to become insanely jealous* Yep, that's right, a bar with a pool table! Not only did we get world class cuisine (under-cooked hotdogs and over-cooked hamburgers), my little sister (age 10) got taught pool by someone I strongly supect is an ex-convict! Naturally when it was announced that we'd be eating dinner in this place, I could hardly contain my excitment(I glared at my mother and asked why we couldn't go to Pizza Hut) When we arrived, we were promptly served (after thirty minutes) In the meantime, we played a family game of pool(my parents played while my brother and sister and I watched) After two rousing rounds, our food came. The food was superb, (our food came the exact opposite of how we ordered it, and half of the onion rings were missing) Then we joyfully returned to our game(my sister and the ex-con played my mom) We spent hours there (from 5p.m.-7:15p.m.) There were many people that were the same age as me and my siblings (no one in the room but us were under 30) Us kids had to be dragged kicking and screaming from the bar ( I almost fell asleep during the last game I watched) As we left, there was a feeling of goodwill and fellowship between all(my sister locked me out of the car and wouldn't let me in untill I started yelling profanity in her general direction) The high point of the entire night was when my mother gave me $21 for my report card. She promptly borrowed $1 to help with the waitresses tip(This part I'm not being sarcastic about) All in all it was a night I'll remember forever (as the lowest point in "family outing"history, except for that time my mom dragged me to a church thing on the concept of truth.) My brother(age 13) even decided upon a new job he wants when he's old enough to work, a busboy at the bar. We had to tell him that he would probley have to wait untill he was 21.(Absolutly nothing about that statement was sarcastic) As you can see, I love my families outings(Not unless you're blind...or stupid) &#!#%&&!!!(*%$ WHAT THE %$#@ WAS MY MOTHER $#$#%$# THINKING!!!!!!!???? BRINGING $#$$# KIDS IN A BAR!? I know it was her idea, 'cause my dad hates it, too. My mom and my stupid little 10-year old sister loves it, though. *sighs* Why does my life have to be so weird? I'm leaving...now I'm back! And not so pissed at my weird family. Now is the time to mourn the loss of one of my most loyal readers (I think she's read the entire thing one time, which is more than anyone else has done so far) She has been banned from accesing any portion of the Internet, do to reasons that must remain confidental due to security reasons. If I told you, I'd have to kill you and all that stuff. So...now I am down to one and a half readers. Untill such time that I have more. I wonder why anyone would read this? You would have to have several characteristics that I possess. First of all, you'd have to have an extrodinary amount of free time. Second of all, you would have to have the patience to read through all of this. And lastly, you'd have to know where the heck this site is. I admit it. I haven't exactly advertised this site. Nor can I find it on any search engines. Some of my pages have stuff written in to make search engines recognize me, but it doesn't seem to be working. What must I do to rise above obscurity? I tell people I know about this site, but they either ignore this page, or don't even bother coming to the site in the first place. I suppose that is the bane of all authors. To pour your heart and soul into a passage, and have everyone ignore it. *sniffle* Why must this be? Maybe I should just give up. After all, no one would really care if I quit updating this site. But I can't help but think of stuff like the evil over lord list and REALLY REALLY BIG BUTTON THAT DOESN'T DO ANYTHING. They are not great neccesarily because of the content, (although that helps some) they are great because of their sheer length. You can read a little each day. And almost never finish. Also, I guess I still am trying to get the world record. I have heard some feedback suggesting that I make someway for people to remember where they stopped reading. It can be very confusing, especially if you weren't paying attention in the first place. Well, I dont want to organize this page, in any manner. This is chaos. And insanity. Not neat little text in classifiable rows, in alphabetical order. If you want neat, go to some other site(though, as mentioned in Flaming Chickens Code:472 there is no such thing as a site better than this one). Otherwise, I guess you're stuck with me. Awwwww...I'm touched! You didn't run screaming to another site, thankfull for the chance to escape this insanity. You're still here, which must mean that you'd rather be here than anywhere else! Hey, where are you going?! I thought you were gonna stay here and keep me company?! *drags reader back* See, I knew you'd stay! *gagged reader glares* What's that? I know this is the best site ever, thanks for the compliment! *reader starts inching towards freedom* I better go...I think that I may have a problem brewing. I'm back. And very concerned about this new, younger generation (all 10 year olds who were born in 1992) They are supposed to be the future. Instead they appear to be a nuclear armagedon in the form of a fifth grader. I chanced to have an interview with an informant from this evil generation (my little sister) who will be called Mrs. X for security reasons (no, she's not married, the "Mrs" makes it good as a disguise) I was quizing Mrs. X on Civil War History for an upcoming test in her classroom (whose location can not be devulged) Mrs. X seemed fluent in the subject. Using prior knowledge, I deduced that Mrs. X was full of crap. Out of sheer curiosity, I asked Mrs. X who participated in the Civil War. She immediatly replied "Clara Barton". I clarified, which countries fought in the Civil War. She answered: England, Russia, and (out of sheer desperation) Iraq. I believe that she was just listing countries she knows America has fought against. Now, correct me if I'm wrong...but Iraq? I don't know if Iraq even existed in the Civil War Era! Why on earth would we go have way across the world to fight them when we didn't even really need oil?!! Moving on, I finaly managed to coax my sister (I'm tired of writing Mrs. X) to tentativly guess that America fought in the Civil War. I mean, who'd a thought? America? Fighting in the American Civil War? In a moment of inspiration, I asked her who America fought. Her first guess was enslaved africans. Well, at least she knows that slaves were involved in the war. Before she could start listing all of America's enemies, I gave her a hint. I said "The Union fought..." With a crack, snaple and pop, some random synapses in her brain connected in the right order and she said "CONFEDERACY!!!" I was very proud of her, just as you would be proud of a two-year-old who has just announced: "I WENT POO-POO ON THE POTTY!!!!!" What I mean is, you wouldn't be very proud if the average person said that they just took a dookey on the toilet, and you wouldn't be very proud if they knew who fought against the Union in the Civil War. I confirmed that the Union was Northern and Free, and that the Confederacy was Southern and Slave. We resumed quizzing and she got every question on the worksheet correct. This is because she memorizes the questions. That way, she can pass the test without actually learning anything. You see, if you memorize stuff, you only have to remember that the answer to number 6 is Clara Barton for a week, rather than having to remember that Clara Barton started the Red Cross for the rest of you life. I sincerely appologize if anyone is offended by my view of memorization. I also would like such persons to immediatly leave my site. You don't belong here. You see...knowledge is good. If my sister...uh...Mrs. X were ever asked a question on the Civil War on a quiz show, she'd come up with nothing. With knowledge you can win money and the opportunity to look like a dork on national television. My sister is a big believer in the memorization system. I previous time when I was studying with her (American Revolution, this time) I was trying to help her remember the difference between the Patriots(Patriotic to America) and the Loyalists (Loyal to Britain) She didn't know what the word patriotic meant. I tried to explain. I asked her how you dress on the forth of july (she said nice) I asked what the colors red, white and blue were (pretty). I gave up in exasperation. More recently, I was trying to instill a sense of empathy and niceness in her. I asked her what the golden rule of christianity was. She didn't know. When I pressed her, she confessed she didn't know what chrisianity was. Completly defeated, I told her that it was the religion she practiced every Sunday when she went with her friends to church. This confirmed my suspicion that she only went so that she could have the use of the church's playground equipment. My family also strongly suspects that she stole $20 from the donation thingy. Anyway, that's my rant on the new generation that contains my little sister. When someone of her generation runs for president, I'm gonna do a complete background check. If they're anything like my sister, I'm movin' to Canada. Gotta go...the Russian-Brittish-Iraqi-enslaved-Africans are coming to defeat the Mexicans. I'm back! *there's that darn cricket again* And I have a genuine question to ask all of my loyal readers *cough-cough* Okay, here it is: Is it normal for a non-gender specific sibling to carry around various dead reptiles (snakes, turtles, lizards etc.) Furthormore, is it considered accepted behavior to talk to these dead reptiles, in a cooey, baby talky kind of voice? Finnaly, is it expected for said sibling's non-gender specific parent to encourage such behavior, citing "I was just like that as a child" as an excuse? It's an honest question as I fear that my non-gender specific sibling is weird. Who am I kidding? My entire family is weird. It's just a matter of degree. Hey, by the way. I'm sorry that my last few entries have been only about my various family antics. Although I can't see why you care, because there is a large probability that you do not exist, because I don't think anyone is reading this anymore. How discouraging. People need to make the time to waste time. It's a time honored tradition. Who'd thought that I could use time that many times in only a few sentences? It's been pretty quiet here lately, which is why I haven't added anything to this text in awhile. I know, you were just crushed that nothing new was happening. It's a sad, cold, cruel world out there and you had nothing to relieve the monotony of it. *sniffle* I feel so sorry for you! Next thing you know, you're internet connection will die. Well, too bad! Do you know I never even had a computer untill just a few months ago (that's why I'm obsessivly writing here) So I won't pity you if you're computer dies for unexpected reasons. Time for another quote from the FLAMING CHICKEN HANDBOOK!!! Code: 843 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook states that in no way is the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (guess who?) responsible for any faulty wiring or lack thereof in your computer. The Patron Saint of Paper Clips in no way wishes harm on your computer. Any derogatory statement is simply an opinion of an individual, not of the flaming order of the flaming chickens. Said order will in no way be held responsible for any damages, injuries, loss of life, limb, head, or organs. Okay, quote is done. Maybe I should put quotation marks around them...nah, too much work. But I probably will eventually get around to having a seperate page just for the FLAMING CHICKEN HANDBOOK. That way all the members (what members) can print out a copy of it for themselves (if they didn't get that copy in the mail) I guess I'm done for the day...I know. You want me to stay. It's okay. Because eventually, I'll be back! Seeya! I'm back. And once again suprised. When I was at a TAB poetry thingy (TAB is good TAB is great We love TAB) I met some new people. One of these people (who shall remain nameless untill such time that I have explicit permission to use her name) turned out to be almost as weird as me. As in...she read the ENTIRE Longest Text Ever. The whole thing. So far two whole people (to my knowledge) have read the entire thing, and a few people have skimmed it. That means I really can justify claiming to have two and a half readers! I'm so happy! That means my pointless obsession has actually entertained someone besides me! Perhaps, one day, far in the future, this will actually be a world record and random people will acutally voluntarily read this text every day. Or maybe not. The point is that it is nice to have readers. Or maybe it's not...I mean...won't the quality *snicker* of my work deteriorate if I am no longer writing for the target audience of me? If that happens, then no one will read this. And then I'll be writing for me again. And then the quality will rise. And then people will start reading. And then the quality will go down and the vicious spiral of good and bad will continue untill I either give up this text, or go crazy...er. In any case...I should probably find a topic. Yeah...a topic would be good. Or...I could just continue to write about finding a topic. Ooooo! I know a topic! Ice cream trucks! This has been bothering me for a while. You see...when it's hot, you want something cold to eat. Conviently, ice cream trucks come around during the hottest part of the year (it must be a conspiracy). As you may or may not know, small children swarm the ice cream trucks. The vendors even play whimsical music which I strongly suspect contains subliminal messages to make you hungry for ice cream. The vendors get oodles of cash, and the kids get ice cream. Now, in today's society of buying groceries on-line and getting them delivered, why hasn't any other food industry marketed this ingenius idea to bring the product to the consumer. I can just see Hot Dog, and Pizza trucks roaming the neighbor hoods, selling treats to hungry children...and adults. Of course, said adults would have to peel their butt-cheeks off the couch...but they'd have to do that for the delivary man anyway. The food trucks could even play music that made you hungry for their food. Then the problem with obesity in America would be blamed on evil food truck drivers as opposed to the harmless, benificient television and computer. We could all breath a sigh of relief as parents kept their children inside, away from the evil truck drivers and near the T.V. Gone would be the days when parents told children to play outside, it's a nice day. Parents would buy their children computers, video games and other television neccesities. This, of course would expand the market for such products. This would lead to a better, more stable economy. Food industires would be buying cars, gas and music. Parents would increase the purchase of entertainment items. In return companies would make a profit, pay their workers better. The workers would then be able to afford more entertainment items and the upward spiral would continue, as opposed to the evil downward spiral of my writing. In conclusion, Ladies and Gentlemen...if you implement my idea, there will be peace and prosperity for all. As long as you don't mind a few more couch potatoes. Gotta go...I think I hear a catchy jingle. I'm back...it's been awhile since I've written here. A lot has happened. Like my EVIL school computer deleting my updates page. But it's all good. Especially since I just saw The Matrix: Reloaded. The following text may spoil the movie for you, so WARNING: do no read this unless you have already seen the movie. Okay. What I liked best was the philosophy on choices. (the mindless fight scenes were really cool, too). It's like this. In the beginning of the movie, Neo is having dreams about Trinity's death. Later, The Oracle tells him that he has already decided her fate. Towards the end of the movie, Neo chooses to tell Trinity to stay out of the Matrix, since he saw her die in it. She agrees, but only after seeing how important it is to him. After a horrific chain of events (is it coincidence, or fate) the people who will deactivate the secondary power source of the building Neo is infiltrating, die. So...the plan is going to fail. Unless someone does something, Neo, Morpheus and many others will die. Trinity, who is of course outside of the Matrix, knows this and chooses to enter the Matrix to save the day. The events of Neo's dream unfold. So...when the oracle said that the choice had already been made, she was completely correct. The moment Neo woke from dreams of Trinity's death, he made a choice. He would do everything in his power to keep his dream from becoming reality. So he kept her out of the Matrix, and she saw the problem, and entered the Matrix to fix it. If she had been in the Matrix, she would have likely been with Morpheus, never would have known about the plan's failure, would therefore not have been in the situation that resulted in her death. And the plan would have failed and Neo might have died, along with a large portion of the city (the building was set to blow if there was any intruders) So...Neo's choice to attempt to save Trinity triggered the sequence of events that led to her death. As Neo realizes all of this, through a nearly omniscient Architect of the Matrix, he makes another choice. This choice is simply an extension of his original choice: he will save Trinity at all costs. Neo is told that he has two choices. He can save mankind, and doom Trinity. Or he can try to save Trinity and doom mankind. No guarantee that he'll succeed in saving Trinity. He goes for Trinity, makes it just in time to catch her body, and starts her heart back up. In return for not taking the easy route, he gains a power in the more or less real world. He can deactivate the machines, (squidies) but at great personal cost. The movie ends with him in a coma. Now, you must realize that I have described only one aspect of this movie of all movies. There are not enough words in the English language to describe the sheer coolness of the fight choreography, special effects and the plot. I highly recommend you see the movie yourself. I'm sorry that today's rant isn't random, insane or completely chaotic, but I must right my experience with The Matrix before I forget. I am so buying this movie when it comes out on DVD. I love it! You have to admit its sheer coolness. I mean, come on! It's the sequel to the movie that revolutionized the standard by which we judge special effects. I better stop typing before I have a heart attack...just remember...The Matrix has you...I'm back. And throughly pissed off at my school system in general. You see...they feel that the only way to reward academic achievement...yada-yada-yada...is to force the smart kids to be ushers for Senior Honor Nite, and Graduation. Where is the logic in this? I for one, didn't know about such dire consequences for not deliberatly failing classes. It was bad enough that I was forced to "volunteer" my precious time (i could have worked on this site)...no...I was forced to wear formal attire. My school system is stuck in the past...and formal attire means...a dress...a white dress...(for those you who never bothered to find out...I am indeed female). So...for the first time in about 5 years...I wore a dress...and something that was complelty white. What cruel fate is this? To compound the EVIL situation...I was forced to wear feminine shoes. In other words...they hurt. And they pushed my toes together. Since I have a rather weird phobia of touching my own skin...this made my evening my own personall torture session. I think that such gender-specific torture should be deemed inhumane and abolished from our great society...of flaming chickens. Henceforth...Code: 666 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that under no circumstance will the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (guess who) be forced to wear anything other than a t-shirt and preferably black jeans. Should you violate this right, you will become destroyed or possibly dizzy. I'm leaving now...I have some destruction to do. i'm back. from graduation. we had to get there one hour and fifteen minutes early because there was traffic. After standing around a lot...the ceremony started. Lots of people spoke. by the time I had to do my part (tell people where to stand before getting their diploma) it was dark. there were bugs. they liked landing on me. then...i got to go stand while people said a lot of stuff. i couldn't hear it because someone had put the speakers facing the audience. we clapped. the whole time, even during the name-calling, seniors were playing with silly string and beachballs. afterwards...they turned off the lights. there were lots of fireworks. i wandered around for 20 minutes looking for a cell phone. i called home, and waited another hour for my ride...traffic to the school was one way. i felt sorry for my dad. i am tired...but cannot go to sleep. i'll copy and paste this to my site. maybe the longest text ever. you will all suffer as i have suffered when and if you graduate. i cannot feel my feet. i hate dress shoes. I'm back. Today, I'm here to salute the Pointless Signs Of America! The PSOA have been whole-heartedly working for you, and what have you done for them? NOTHING! These so-called "pointless" signs are doing just what they were meant to do: entertain you! You cannot judge them simply because they have no apparant function. They expand your mind, making you think about all the things they could do. They could do anything they wanted to, if they just put their minds to it. If you judged everything by what it doesn't acomplish, then the entire world is populated by pointless beings. Noone can do everything, so how can you expect a SIGN, with the I.Q. of toilet paper, to do everything. You people sicken me. You expect far to much of the inanimate world. The inanimate world, on the otherhand, expects nothing of you. Which is exactly what it gets. If you expect nothing, and get nothing, you feel nothing. If you expect nothing and get something, you're happy. But, if you expect something and get something you feel nothing. And if you expect something and get nothing, you feel cheated. If you're following along, and not completly confused, you'll realize that it is better to be a pessimist than an optomist. Yep that's right. This entry went from saluting the PSOA to making a statement about my ideals. This has been a weird day. You can thank my associate "Meg" she came up with the PSOA acronym. Everyone, clap for "Meg".I gotta go...seeya later! I'm finnaly back! Today, I took a long look at this site, which is the acomplishment of almost a year of work. And I asked myself "How could I have better spent my time?" And so, in the interest of wasting even more time, I made a list. Here we go! Number One: I could have cured cancer. Not that I know anything about medicine...or cancer for that matter. But I'm sure that if I just would have put my mind to it, I could have done it. Number Two: I could helped the earth to find eternal and lasting peace. Which would be boring. So I at least have an excuse for not doing that. Number Three: I could have studied and stuff. Uh...don't think so...Number Four: I could have learned to drive. This would have resulted in the deaths of numerous pedistrians...and I would still probably be wondering around in search of a McDonalds. Number Five: I could have read more books, played more video games and watched more mindless television. Gee...I wish I'd thought of that sooner. Number Six: I could have implemented one of several plans for world domination. Or, as an alternative, I could have ruined several plans for world domination that other people made. Number Seven: I could drive people crazy. Wait...aren't I already doing that? Scratch number seven. And on to: Number Eight: I could have...uhhhh...ummmmm...actually thought up these things before hand. Number Nine: Now it's just getting redundant, isn't it? Number Ten: This is the list that never ends. Yes, it goes on and on my friend. One person, started typing it not knowing what it was, and they'll continue typing it forever just because this is the list that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friends, some person started typing it not...etc, etc. Okay...I admit it. I have officialy run out of ways I could have better spent my time. I don't think there actually are any. Except for maybe five and six. Now, those have possibilities. However, I am currently content to just sit here and type. For the benefit of you, the reader...who may or may not exist. Either way, I'm continuing to sort of entertain myself. I feel like I should be outraged about some topic or another. I just can't work up the energy to be outraged. Perhaps a nice, soothing mistrust. Yeah. I can work with mistrust. I definitly mistrust lots of stuff. Like organ grinders, and the evil conspiracies. Did you know, that Kodak was part of the conspiracy to assasinate John F. Kennedy. Now, some of you are probably thinking "Gee, Really?", or "Wow, I never knew that!" while others are thinking "Who's John F. Kennedy?" or possibly "Who or What is Kodak". I fervently hope that you're not thinking the last two...especially about Kodak. Kodak, as you may know, is a film developing company. And John F. Kennedy (JFK) was an alien bent on global domination. Or possibly a really good president who wanted to fly to the moon. Either way, he got assasinated. And ever loony in America decided that it was a conspiracy. Some even go so far as to claim that Kodak "changed" the pictures of the assasination to make an assasination in the bushes become a tree's shadow. I didn't know that they had such good technology back then. I have to wonder...why would Kodak do such a thing. Perhaps Kodak is actually a front organization for a shadowy governmental system that controls the entire world and didn't want mankind to obtain the freedom of the stars and so tried to sabotauge the space program even though it didn't work as well as they planned. Or perhaps not. Either way, Kodak is undeniably evil. How can any company that takes so many "wholesome" pictures not be? You can just bet that they look at every one that get's turned in to them, judging blackmail value, and whether or not you could get arrested. It's just sickening, you can't even take a simple photo nowadays. Unless you have a digital camera, which are a symbol of freedom from the old ways and willing enslavement to the new ways. We can only hope that the digital camera manufacturers are kinder masters than the evil Kodak Lords. I better go...I think Kodak is tracing my site....I'm back now! And, once again, I have proof that someone actually took the time (two hours) to read this entire Longest Text Ever! It's amazing, it's incredible, it's unbelievable. But true. Even more incredible, this time it's someone I don't even know! Wooooooo! I feel inspired and happy and other really good emotions and stuff. And so, I'll take a trip down memory lane, to the dark depths of the past, to when I decided to make this page. It was inspired, in part, by my sheer and utter boredom. In school, back before I even owned a computer, I'd type random words for long periods of time, 'cause I had nothing better to do. Once I got this computer, I decided to do something similar on my beloved site. But, it ended up making more sense than I anticipated (scary thought, huh). Oh, well...I tired of nostalgia. Back to the present. Right now, I'm just typing so that no one can say that I've been slacking off. I don't think I have any conspiracy theories...except pop-ups/pop-unders. Have you ever had the evil pop-up that says that if you click here, it'll get rid off all the annoying pop-ups? Isn't that sort of ironic? Could the pop-up blocker people have chosen a better means to advertise their product? It's like grand-theft auto 3's talk show, you know, the one where there are Citizens Raging Against Phones? Or CRAP, for short. And the lady representing them, calls the radio station...on a phone. It's stupid and ironic and just shouldn't exist in a better world. Pop-Up ad's help you get rid of pop-up ads? Insane, chaotic...hmmmmm...I wonder who thought of it? Was it on purpose, or was it just some mistake? It is now my civic duty to discover this ancient mystery, and reveal it to the uncaring world. Or maybe I'll go make a frozen pizza. Yeah. That sounds good, too. Since I'm not particualarly inspired at the moment, I should leave and let you gather what is left of your sanity. I just can't seem to stop, though. Okay...I can do it. I'm leaving. I'm back...and it's several hours later. I've decided to imortalize the stupidity of my dog, Moose. She is a heavy-set Yorkshire Terrior (12 lbs.) In otherwords, she's a small yappy dog who is big for her breed. Today, I met her arch-enemy. An enemy so terrifying that Moose cannot stop shaking. An enemy so hideous that Moose must destroy it at all costs. An enemy so dangerous that Moose fears it above all others. Now you may be wondering what horrible beast is Moose's arch-enemy. And you probably suspect that it is something pathetic. You would be correct in your suspiciousness...for Mooses arch-enemy is...*dramatic drumroll*...a small, white, feather. Now, Moose has seen many feathers, birds even. But none have struck terror in her little moose heart like this particular feather. So...naturally I put her arch-enemy in my pocket and brought it home with me. This action has made her very suspicious of where my loyalties lie. She tracks the feather smell all over the house, and goes crazy whenever I take it out of my pocket. She even got her sister and mother in the spirt of things. Now her sister sounds an alarm whenever she sees the evil feather. Now, you may be wondering what is so terrifying about a small, white, feather. So am I. It doesn't smell funny, (I asked my brother, since I don't have a sense of smell), it seems perfectly ordinary. So, I've decided that Moose works for some secret government organization, and that the feather is the key to the destruction of the world, and I am just blithely letting it enter our home, so that it may furthur its evil plans to destroy the universe. That is the only possible explanation as to why it upsets her so much. Or...maybe it's the feather off of the cartoon owl from the tootsie-roll pop comercials (one...two...three..*crunch*). Whatever the case, I decided that the whole world, (or three of four random people) deserve to know that if the world and or universe are destroyed, it's the evil, little, white, feather's fault. Now I'd better go and torture my Moose with it...:) I am officially back. And you, the potentially non-existant reader gets a once in a lifetime chance to hear me rant and rave about my Horrible, Horrible Family Vacation. I know. You feel very, very honored. It's like this. My mother is a control freak, and she decided on the spur of the moment that we were going north to visit relatives. Later that day, she decided we were NOT going north, we were going south to a beach resort. Still later that day, she got offended at some trivial thing and decided that we weren't going anywhere at all. The very next day, she decided that we were going north, after all. So, we packed everthing up. Before we knew it, we were on the road. The first part of the trip was fairly easy. As in, I was half-asleep, hoping that we'd arrive while I slept. Then, in an inspired move, my brother talked my mother into letting him sit up front. That meant that my mother would be in the back, with me and my younger, eviler sister. Immediatly, my mother started complaining. It was uncomfortable in the back, it was too hot, it was too cold. Then, she accidently woke our three yappy dogs up, and they relized that they were in a car. That meant only one corse of action for them. They started shaking and barked their little heads off. This annoyed my mother further, untill she asked, no, demanded that my father turn the car around so that we could go home. Unfortuantly, we had already driven 337 miles toward our destination. After much argument, my father was going to turn around, untill he realized that my mother was going to drop the dogs and me off, and then turn around and continue north. This seemed slightly unpracticle, so we ended up not taking that 337 mile detour. We eventually reached our destination after 16 hours of virtually non-stop driving. We got there, we ate. We slept. My mother visited relatives. And so the week went by. I got to go to a huge library, and see Terminator 3 at the local theater. That was the high point of the entire trip. The last day, we were deciding where to eat. My mom said that she didn't care. So my dad picked a steak place. My mother tried to order a mushroom-swiss burger...only to discover that the place had no swiss-cheese. So she decided on a salad, only to discover that they didn't have her favorite salad dressing. After much deliberation, she decided that she wouldn't eat. After complaining how hungry she was, and about the poor quality of the resteraunt, she walked out of the resteraunt, instructing the rest of us to "enjoy our meals". And I wonder where my little sister gets her annoyingness. Not that my mother is annoying...just set in her ways. The whole meal thing was about the only interesting thing to happen during the week. On the way home, we had gotten approximatly 4 hours into the trip when my mother predicatably decided that we had to go back and eat at the 50th aniversary of her favorite ice cream place. Needless to say, we ignored her. Oh, and when my sister had to go to the bathroom very badly during a traffic jam, my mother had the good taste to making hissing/water noises to make my sister's problem worse. She claimed that my little sister always did it to her, and she was getting pay-back. Between her bickering with my sister, and obsessivly playing neopets games, I don't know what to do with her. Anyway...that was my family vacation rant. It sucked. No suprise. At least it's over. Sorry if I complained a lot. If you don't like it, start your own longest text ever. Anyway, I promise to go back to my usual routine the next time I rant here. I thought of a topic on the way home, but forgot it. Seeya. I'm back! I know, I took you completly by suprise. You thought you'd gotten rid of me. *cheesy super-hero voice* Well, fear not, random citizen, for I, PSOPC am here! *normal voice* Today I have a very important to discuss with you in this: PERFECTLY NORMAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCMENT. Yes, that's right. It's time to warn you, the viewer...er...reader...about the evils of various stuff. Today's lesson is: subliminal messages . That's right, folks, mass hypnosis via commercials. Now, I'm sure you've at least heard of subliminal messages , right? No? Well...prepare to be enlightened. Subliminal messages are an advertising technique that puts hidden pictures and words into a main image. You don't see them, but your subconsious (dreaming) mind does. Your subconsious mind acts on whatever it is told. What does this mean to you? It means that WAL-MART TV IS EVIL! EVIIIIIIIIIIIIL!!!!!! Why else would they invest all that money to show commercials in their own store? Because they put subliminal messages in them, of course! Subliminal messanging also explains the successes of certain fast-food resteraunts, and brand name items. BEWARE YOUR TOASTER OVEN! Okay. That had nothing to do whatsoever with subliminal messages...it's just cool to say. Anyway, only watch wal-mart if you WANT to be subliminaly entertained into purchasing a new set of TUPERWARE, even though your old set is PERFECTLY fine. This has been a public service announcment. Pretty cool, huh? Uh...you don't have to take the subliminal stuff seriously. It's true, and all, but I have no proof about wal-mart, or certain fast food resteraunts. It makes sense, though. Wal-mart TV is evil. You cannot deny it. Seeya...hmmm..I wonder if there's subliminal stuff in my computer...I'm back. And I feel that it's time for a FAKE commercial break, for the highly informed, obviously brain-dead consumer. And now, a word from our non-existant sponsor. Ketchup: The only food that you'll want to eat after traveling to the 5th Dimension. It's been practically proven that Ketchup transforms into a highly intoxicating (non-addictive) delicious substance upon returning from the 5th Dimension. Stock up now with our Valu-Pak to recieve 3-metric tons of Ketchup, all for the low, low price of your brain, since you're obviously not using it anyway. Then, just wait for technology to "catch-up" (get it, catch-up, Ketchup?)so you can travel to the 5th Dimension like our scientists almost did. (Next Commercial) Get ready fo: Faux's new "reality" TV show, "How Low Can We Go?" It's about six contestants who compete to create the worst, least likely "reality" TV show. The winner not only gets the million-dollar prize, they get the chance to produce the show they created. Remember: if the show sucks, it's their fault, not ours!(Next exciting commercial!)And for all the idiots out there: Try new and improved Dum-B-Gon! Dum-B-Gon stimulates brain activity, making you up to 10 times smarter! Not only that, Dum-B-Gon: stimulates weight loss, cures "any" illness, does simple houshold chores, never leaves the toilet seat up and is the perfect gentle companion for your kids. How can you pass up this revolutionary new product? It's yours for only 3 bi-monthly payments of $3.95 ($3,95,000 on days ending in "y")Don't forget, Dum-B-Gon is practically guaranteed!* (*Not a guarantee) (Next commercial)Have you ever wondered why food sometimes goes bad in your fridge, even if you've only had it a few years? It's because of the "evil little faeries with sharp little teeth." These "faeries" sprinkle your food with highly toxic "age dust" and ruin a perfectly good four-year-old meatloaf. How do you stop them? With our patented "spray". Our "spray" kills over 99.9% of "faeries" (which are much to small to see) Our "spray" also kills most disease causing agents, like rats, or pigeons. WARNING: Leave food sit in an open, well-venilated spot for a week before eating. And now, back to our featured presentation. Wasn't that semi-entertaining? I bet you wanna go eat some Ketchup covered Dum-B Gon right now, while watching "reality" TV. Just make sure you "spray" your food first. Pathetic, wasn't it? Oh, well. I was bored, and a dilligent reader suggested I make fake commercials, so...therer they are. Happy? Good. I'm leavin', for now. I'm back. And I'm willing to enlighten you, the potentially you-know-what reader. Today, I was checking out some weird news. At one point, I read an article that stated that it had been proven, conclusivly, that Kansas was flatter than the standard pancake. The researches even used highly advanced technololgy to map the surface of a pancake and compare it to documented geology of Kansas. Some people disagree, the director of the Kansas Geological Survey said "I think this is part of a vast breakfast food conspiracy to denigrate Kansas. It's a cheap shot." So...doesn't that make you want to take Kansas' side (I sincerly appologize if you are from Kansas). It just seems extremly weird (and worthy of mentioning) that this semi-important guy from Kansas believes in a "vast breakfast food conspiracy". Makes you think that the long held belief that Kodak conspired with the JFK assasin(s) is normal. Another article claims that an anitseptic turned a polar bear purple, drawing large crowds of people. I sure hope other zoos won't copy them. Before you know it, we'll have orange alligators, pink tigers and blue lions. School children won't be able to correctly identify the color of a zebra. Random people will think they've gone crazy, after a seemingly innocent visit to the zoo. It's wrong, I tell you. A complete and total degregation of our societies values. What values, you say? The basic moral belief that Polar bears should be WHITE. Unless we spray-painted the snow purple, too. Then it would be okay. As long as the bear blends in, you know? Speaking of animals, there's a cat in California who is a kleptomaniac (likes to steal stuff). He sneaks into neighboring homes, and takes clothing, wrapped christmas presents, and anything he can find. He then leaves them under his owners car. Okay, better leave. I'm back. And I don't really have a topic today. I'm just bored. Sometimes I just do this, you know? Start typing without any idea about what it is I intend to say. Maybe I subconsiously DO know what I'm doing here, but refuse to admit it to myself. Or maybe I am monumentally bored and don't have anything else to do at the moment. Either way, I'm here. You must be pretty bored, too. Otherwise, why on earth (beta, krpto, zkdjf, Planet X, whatever) would you be here? It would make no sense. If you have something better to do, why wouldn't you be doing it right now? I would be. But, maybe that's just the difference between you and me. Yeah. That must be it. Unless you're bored. Then I completly understand. I need to find a topic. Here, topic, topic, topic! Come on, I won't hurt you, I promise! *hides large ax behind back* Come here, topic! Why are you afraid of little ol' me? *sigh* There are no topics anywhere near me. Kinda like me and "Meg" webcomic we are trying to do. It's called Hit-Or-Miss, any topics, plot, etc. are completly accidental and are not the fault/responsibility of the creators. That was sort of a topic, even though it was sort of random. Which is what I do best. Okay, I'm done with that litte commercial. What now...hmmmmm...should I share with you more of my paranoid/delusional conspiracy theories? Or have I been doing that too much lately? Oooooo! I know, I'll start of list of why it's fun/good to be insane/weird! #1You can say or do anything and normal people will agree with you in the hopes that you'll be satisfied, shut up, and go away. Far away. I will show you an example with this completly true stuff that I experienced several years ago. ME: My vicious, psychotic, flesh-eating bunny-rabbit wants to rule the world. RANDOM PERSON: Uh-huh, that's nice. ME: Yeah, but I told her that she'd be a terible ruler. I mean, she traded Asia for a carrot! And she doesn't even LIKE carrots! RANDOM PERSON: You don't say? ME: Yep. She also is the goddess of red jello. RANDOM PERSON: *head explouding from sheer insanity* As you can see, I was a very weird child (this happened in elementary school...uh...except for that head-explouding part). Okay...on to: #2 You can get out of practically anything by saying: a)It's against my religion b)I'm allergic to that. c)I have an extremly irrational fear of that. d)I already did that in a past life and it sucked. e)My psychotic bunny predicted I'd die doing it. Unfortunalty, several of those reasons LEGITAMITLY apply to a certain activity I do every Tuesday, which WILL NOT BE NAMED HERE LEST I GIVE IT POWER OVER ME! I'm allergic to parts of it, have irrational fears about others and I'm pretty sure it's against my Jenny religion...along with eating mashed potatoes, or potatoes of any kind. I'll add that to the FLAMING CHICKENS HANDBOOK. Thou shalt not eat spuds. Hmmmm...time for #3You can obsessive over ANYTHING, and people will think nothing of it. I, personally, am obsessed with, kitties, bunnies, bats, this website, drawing, making intriate little patterns with strings, doing mildly repetitive activities, being weird, apparantly making lists and cheese...and chickens...and flame. Fire is good. Fire is free. Fire is my friend...until it burns me. Then it must die...painfully. And on to:#4You make your friends look normal in comparison. And #5: You can give each of your pets several weird names such as: Ringling-Raison-Bailey-Suzana-Midnight-Schultz, Squirell, Moose, Moose-Moose, Moosey-Moose, Linzey-Moose, Muffin, Squirell-Muffin, Yabby-Doodle, Abby Normal, Wiggle-Baby, Wiggle-Muffin, Witle-Baby, Cheese-Monkey, Muffin-With-Squirell-Juice, Squirell-With-Muffin Juice, Moosey-Juice, Squirell-Monkey, etc. Now, wasn't that a fun list!? Doesn't that just make you proud to be weird? I should make bumber stickers saying that. Proud to be weird. It'd be cool. Anyway, gotta go! *yawn* I'm back. Last night I was super-charged with lots of sugar and not a lot of sleep. I ended up writing things during the time of night when EVERYTHING is hilarious, including the word sheep. To compound things, I wasn't alone, and things just escalated. The following is everything I wrote during that sugar-coated time period. Some are answers to e-mails, the rest are just stuff I wrote.

Definitly. THen we go to library. Guess what? Me and Josh ate lots and lots of sugar, and it's late at nite and everything is funny but we can't laugh 'cause everybody is sleepin' so it's even funnier but ever since we drank the water we sobered up even though we weren't drunk but we ate sugar...lots and lots of sugar. MOstly donut cake. Okay. JOsh says it was only one piece of cake. WE got it at Wal-mart. Or his mom did. OR something. Goodbye..

[saintcanardmoved]

Do you guys remember when this was a studio Ghibli blog and I’d post gifs? 2017 was a good year lol. Anyway. As a child, I never knew I’d thirst for a 2-D otome man, but sadly I’ve stopped. Yes, after two years of obsession, it’s time I retire from the fandom. I’m keeping the blog though. Ran this shit for years, ain’t gonna give up now that my horny-meter has plummeted to an all time record low. Did you guys know blogs don’t have a character limit??

Oh god. I didn’t know this blog would suddenly receive so much attention. Please, I am begging you to not scroll down. It’s endless MysticMessenger posts from two years ago.

Hey, I'm once again: back, you can't possibly have more time than I do. I mean, after all, I made this blog. You're only browsing it. And most people don't even come here. Not even my friends...*sniffle* The just ignore this poor, pathetic little page. All they do is fill out the TAB form and leave. I think. Maybe they're here right now! HI! HOW ARE YOU DOING? I'M FINE! THANKS FOR COMING! YES, I'M YELLING! Who am I kidding. This page won't get a single hit, unless I bribe people...now that has possibilities. Okay, fill out the TAB form, so I have proof that you bothered to come here and...uh...I'll...uh...send you a sandwich? Please allow 6-8 weeks for delivery. I'm bored. I'm gonna go hug a moose. MOOSE! I love-d you moose! Hey, I'm back again! Yea...*waits for applause* okay! Now I want all you loyal fans...*cricket chirps* to go to the link to see what I'm like. I took a whole bunch of personality quizzes and posted them there. I'm an evil villain, kitty and a freakazoid so far. And I only took the quiz once, too. Spooky how accurate they are...anyway, I command you to go! I'm going. I'm back. I'm gonna start counting how many times I say back. Let's see: 1...2...3...4...5! Wow. I must really be desperate for something to do. I now officially have proof that someone has been here! It was one of my friends. Apparently this page really is getting long, because my friend said something to that effect. Maybe. Anyway, moving on! I'm just basically typing nothing. Just like all those reports people have to do. You know? With a specific number of words. They start out with half that number, and then just fill in words until they have the right amount. I salute those people. You're great tradition is being carried out here, on the second most pointless site ever! Well. Maybe eventually some weird, bored person will wander onto my site on accident and be mildly entertained be my site until they wander onto a live video feed of a coffee maker. Or maybe not. I only know that I'm entertaining me, which was my original goal. So. I've done what I've set out to accomplish. Yea, me! I'm so special. You see, most people, they don't like reading or writing. So if you're not most people, you've made it down this far without skipping, skimming or getting the spark notes version. (Which I think does not exist) My point is, if you've bothered to read this, then, (like me) you probley have also read the ketchup bottle so many times that you have it down verbatim. Look verbatim up. It's a word. But, you should know that, since you like reading. Or maybe you're just skimming. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with reading food labels. You might be asked a question about them on a quiz show. And now, for the million-dollar question: How many calories are there in a single serving of Mustard? I can just see it now...It could be called Know-Your-Food. Or You are What you Eat. It'd probley be as popular as those game shows that no one's ever heard of. Speaking of food, what's up with pie? There's strawberry pie, apple, pumpkin and so many others, but there is no grape pie! I know. I'm just as upset about this unfortunate lack of development in the pie division. Think about it. Grapes are used to make jelly, jam, juice and raisins. What makes them undesirable for pie? Would they dry into raisins? Couldn't you just stick some jelly in a piecrust and bake it? It just doesn't make any sense. Another thing that bothers me is organ grinders. You know, the foreign guys with the bellhop hats and the little music thingy and the cute little monkey with the bellhop hat who collects the money? Okay. They're basically begging on the street. How did they ever afford an organ-thingy? Wouldn't it make more sense to get a kazoo, if you're broke? And if they're so poor, what possessed them to buy a monkey? I mean, I don't think I could afford a monkey, and I'm not exactly on the streets. Obviously I at least have a computer...so, back to the organ grinders. I would have sold the monkey and the organ and been able to eat for at least a year. Or, if I was weirder than I am, I could at least kill the monkey with the organ and eat it. Why on earth did they keep the monkey? It must have cost a fortune to feed...not to mention the mess. That's just one of those many facts of life that are better left mysteries. Especially since no one but me would ask the question. I better go. I think I hear a monkey...Okay...now I'm back. That's the sixth time I've said back! I realize that this longest text ever must be very boring and not worth anyone's time. But I'd like to take this time to thank the 2 and 1/2 people in the entire universe who have bothered to read this entire thing. I'm not exactly sure who they are, but: thanks! Right now, my spacebar is malfunctioning...that's not good...I have to press it two or three times just to insert a freaking space. Maybe the evil little faeries with the sharp little teeth have put their evil faerie dust on my computer. Or maybe not. This is too frustrating. Goodbye for now...Now I'm back. And still frustrated. But for a different reason. Today I had the misfortune of playing a Treasure Planet game on neopets.com It was terrible. Apparently the point of the game was to get your character to shout "Whoo-Hoo!" as many times as possible before you splattered your brains on the rocks, all the while listening to a soundtrack that is similar to a dying ceiling fan. Of course, when I started out I accidentally hit the rocks approximately three million times. Halfway though I used my four remaining brain-cells to decide that the game was dumb. So my goal changed from surviving to laughing evilly while my character died. So the game naturally did everything it could to preserve my life. The stupid game is still going on and I refuse to quit because I want my points. My character is actually dodging the stupid rocks better now then when I controlled him. I hate irony. Seeya. Okay. Now I'm back again. Today I added an update page, which is basically a less chaotic, outlined version of this without all the ranting. It's more like techno talk about arrays and how much I suck and whether or not the Braves will win this year. Okay, the whole braves thing is made up. But everything else I've said so far is true. I think. Maybe I should start on a boring disclaimer...Eh-hem. All contents of this site were designed for entertainment purposes only. Any use thereof that is not stated in the above mentioned statement would make the author, hereby referred to as Patron Saint of Paper Clips, very angry. Should you violate the purpose of this site: i.e. become not entertained, the Patron Saint of Paper Clips will be forced to take drastic measures. This is specified in Code: 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook. Ooooo…that’s a great idea! I’m gonna start quoting from the Flaming Chicken Handbook! Code: 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook states that the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (that’s me) is allowed to cause vague, pain like sensations while the offending person (or alien life form, dog, etc.) isn’t paying attention. Now I have a purpose in life! To make up quotes from the non-existent Flaming Chicken Handbook, which I’m sure you have a copy of. No? Too bad. It’s in the mail, I promise! Now I must take my leave…and remember. Cheese is watching. Okay...I'm back...I think that eventually half of this thing will consist of the word back over and over again...that's just weird. Which fits the motif of the rest of the site. There's even a money back guarantee. Isn’t' that nice? See? Now no one can ever say that I don't take care of my viewers. Especially since I don't have viewers. I have readers. Wait...I really don't even know if anyone bothers to read this. Even if I put it in a less chaotic, more user-friendly format people would still ignore this because it involves: reading. Yes. Sad to admit, but the majority of people would rather read the summary at the back of a book rather than the whole book itself. What has the world come to? It's pathetic. Especially since I'm bothering to write all this. It's not fair! Why can't I have more readers?! All the other internet writers have nothing on me, except they're better at advertising, having a central theme/plot and basically more talented. Whereas I'm more into the whole ranting and raving stage right now. Plus, I am horrible at spelling. Which is bad. Thank the powers that be for spell-check. The single greatest invention of the computer gods. I'm getting bored, so I think I'm done for the day. May your day be shiney! I'm back again! And I feel weird! I found at that yet another one of my friends is reading this. Creepy. Just how much time do they have on their hands. Perhaps their just trying to be nice. I can just see it now...an organization devoted not to feeding the hungry, or peace, or love or whatever, but to giving recognition to all those poor, pathetic, unpopular websites. I wonder what it's name would be. Don't Ignore Sites? Would it be called DIS? Isn't that like a slang term for an insult? Would that be considered poetic justice, or just a nice coincidence? And why do I even care? I'll tell you why. Because I have nothing else to do right now. I could be playing neopets, but ever since my bad experience with Treasure Planet, I don't feel like it. Oh, by the way, I noticed that whenever I use spell-check, my stupid computer turns the word probley into to word problem. To prevent this, I did nothing. So, it is now up to you, the imaginary reader, to decide whether I mean probley or problem...it's almost like a game! But without the bad sound track. And I promise not to force you to live when you would rather die. Moving on, I have nothing else to say, but don't feel like quitting just yet. I'm like the little engine that could. Or maybe the Energizer Bunny. I just keep going, and going and going. Or I could be like that annoying guy on T.V. who keeps asking if you can hear him. If my site manages to last a decade, my readers *snicker* will probley wonder what I'm talking about. My answer is simple. It doesn't matter. I'm just rambling. Which means that it doesn't matter if you understand anything I say. Doesn't that make you feel better? I bet it does. Wow. Look how long this has gotten. I even impress myself. Who would have thought I have this much free time? And I congratulate any reader who has gotten this far. Ooooooo! You must check out the fortunes section of the random stuff page! I've just gotten an idea for some more, original, fortunes...I gotta go!(may the moose be with you) And now I am back. I swear. If iI fill out the fake tab form I'm gonna have to put back as my favorite word...I already have filled it out, though. Would it be cheating to fill it out again? Only if I had multiple personalities. Or would it be cheating if I didn't have multiple personalities? The world may never know. Just like how many licks it takes to get to the bottom of a tootsie pop. Would it vary? The number of licks, I mean. Someone could have super-disolving spit, or watery-spit. Or what if you took big ol' slobbery licks? Does the commercial take that into account? No. It doesn't. And let me tell you, it's an outrage. It deludes all of American's sweet, innocent, candy-loving children into thinking that a cartoon owl is smarter than they are! "Mr. Owl, can you tell us how many licks does it take to get to the bottom of a tootsie pop?" Or whatever. And "Mr. Owl" replies "One...Twoo...Three! Chomp" And he bites it. That teaches our youth that it's okay to agree to help someone, and then ruin their experiment. Well...it's not. I am going to start a protest group. Teens Against Cartoon Owls. We could call ourselves TACO! I love the little tacos, I love them good! That is a direct quote from GIR, co-star and comic-relief on INVADER ZIM. Hmmmm...intersting. I put hyphens in both of his titles...it must be a conspiracy! I gotta go. Those TACO buttons don't make themselves, you know. I'm back again. And not so cheesed off about the whole tootsie roll pop thing. Right now, I have another twenty minutes on the Internet before I'm gonna watch T.V. And I can't think of anything else to do. So, predictably, here I am. It's not like I have anything better to do. Obviously, you know this. After all, look how long this text is. I wonder if I've made the world record? If I did, would I stop this? Why bother asking? I'll will most likely still be adding to this on my death bed. Hmmmmm...has any old, senile person ever written anything? Was it coherent? Did it make more sense that this text? Is it possible to make less sense? Am I enjoying asking retorical questions? Yes. Yes, I am. But I seriously wonder what something written by a senile person would be like. I've heard of poems and stuff written by people who were high, insane or paranoid. But never senile. Can a senile person write? Aren't they regressed to a child-like state? Does it even matter? Is anyone even reading this? Did I resume asking retorical questions? Do you care? Is this eating up time? I feel like I'm playing questions only on whose line is it anway. I probley should have capitalized something, or underlined but I'm feeling lazy...hey, you try to keep your two and a half readers happy! It's really stressfull. Someday, I'm gonna snap and just delete this entire thing. Gee, I hope not! I worked sorta hard on this. It's great for making random topics weave together to form an overall infrastructure of chaos. That made little sense. That's why it's here, and not some critically acclaimed site. Ooooooooooooo! I'm gonna quote from the FLAMING CHICKENS HANDBOOK again! Yep! I bet you were just breathless in anticipation. Okay. Here goes. Code: 472 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that this site in no way aknowledges the existance of other, better sites (hereon reffered to as the Losers) The Losers are a myth. The Patron Saint of Paper Clips (me again!) claims no knowledge as to where that particullary nasty rumor started, but confirms that this is the best site ever. It would be a sin against humanity for a better site to exist. Should you refuse to aknowledge the Patron Saint of Paper Clips as the ruler of the Internet, you will be subjected to punishment as stated in Code 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook (i.e. Experience vague, pain-like sensations when you're not paying attention) This has been a public service announcement. This is a test, I repeat only a test. Had this been an actual emergency, we would have bought up all the can openers and charged 3 cows and a pig for each one. I repeat, lock all you doors and windows, this is it. I repeat, there is nothing to worry about. Everything is fine. The end is not here. I'm going, you're on you're own! Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm back!*smiles brightly* And apparantly delusional! Anyway, I just finished rereading my longest text ever. And I became inspired to talk about nothing. You see, I periodically read the longest text ever to check the constant downward spiral of my sanity. Hmmm...I seem to be entertaining myself though, even while reading what I wrote. Which is why I still go to the Really Really Big Button That Doesn't Do Anything website. Because I am easily amused and have lots and lots of time on my hands. Maybe, some day far in the future (like next Thursday) I'll print a copy of this insane text. And then go door to door distributing it. Eventually, this would become a monthly tradition. Whole families would gather around their front door, in breathless anticipation while they attempted to barracade me out. I can just see the whole community rising to thwart my attempts to spread love, joy and insane chaos. I probley wouldn't actually print this out (think how much paper it would take!) but if I do, only friends and enemies will receive copies. Hmmmm...maybe my condition is worsening. Or not. I'm still peeved about the cartoon owl from the Tootsie Roll Pop commercials. He is pure evil. TACO will eventually destroy him. Unless he has already been destroyed by an even more radical Anti-Cartoon-Owl group. I hope not. Or, would that be good? I suppose I could let someone else have the glory. After all, I'm not in this line of buisness for the fame, fortune and power. What line of buisness, do you ask? Why, the assasinating annoying cartoon characters buisness. (Actually I just question them untill they spontaneously combust, I ask lots of questions) So, in conclusion, ladies and gentleman of the jury(that's you) I could not have possibly tortured "Mr. Owl" to death. I love owls. Hmm...I seem to be jumping from one subject to another more frequently. Either I am growing more comfortable with my on-line writing, or I am progressivly getting more insane and chaotic. I also am psyco-analyzing myself a lot today...hmmmm...I'm even saying "hmmmmm..." a lot. Just like a real psychologist. Hmmmmmmm. Time for another boring disclaimer!!!!!!! Code: 742 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that in no part does the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (That's still me!) actually claim to be mentally ill. That's either a) a publicity stunt b) An attempt at humor c) a cry for help or d) none of the above You can e-mail your responses by conducting a scavenger hunt of this site. Some of the pages of this site contain a link encouging the two and a half people to e-mail the Patron Saint of Paper Clips. There may also be evil little links that are designed to confuse you. These links send stuff to someone named johnjones66@hotmail.com Saint of Paper Clips does not know who this individual is, but sincerly wishes that you send all your hate mail to him. Not that the aformentioned individual claims to have received hate mail (or mail of any kind) via a website link. Thank-you for your time. Remember to send your answers to my sanity quiz to the e-mail account, bigppmegashlong@gmail.com Oh, and once I refer to myself in the first person again, the handbook quote is over. I just thought that I might like to mention that. Oh. You're still here. I figured you rush right on over to e-mail me. Perhaps you don't have time to waste e-mailing me. HA! HA! HA! That's funny!!!! If you you don't have time to waste, what are you doing here?!!! Oh, who am I kidding. I figure that even the people I manage to lure onto my site from neopets don't even bother to come to this particular page. Maybe I should make the link come here directly...Hey! What a good idea! That way I can spread my love, joy and insane chaos to more people! I'm a genius. Gotta go, must lure innocent victems to the second most pointless site ever!!!! I'm back. And really angry, and confused. I've always known that I was weird, that's always been a given. But now I realize that I am considerably more normal than the rest of my family. Today we had a "family outing." Now, most families will go bowling, or putt-putt golfing. They may go to a resteraunt with an arcarde, or the movies or to a theme park. Not my family! No, we got the greatest family outing of all. We got to go to a bar and play pool!!!!!*waits for readers to become insanely jealous* Yep, that's right, a bar with a pool table! Not only did we get world class cuisine (under-cooked hotdogs and over-cooked hamburgers), my little sister (age 10) got taught pool by someone I strongly supect is an ex-convict! Naturally when it was announced that we'd be eating dinner in this place, I could hardly contain my excitment(I glared at my mother and asked why we couldn't go to Pizza Hut) When we arrived, we were promptly served (after thirty minutes) In the meantime, we played a family game of pool(my parents played while my brother and sister and I watched) After two rousing rounds, our food came. The food was superb, (our food came the exact opposite of how we ordered it, and half of the onion rings were missing) Then we joyfully returned to our game(my sister and the ex-con played my mom) We spent hours there (from 5p.m.-7:15p.m.) There were many people that were the same age as me and my siblings (no one in the room but us were under 30) Us kids had to be dragged kicking and screaming from the bar ( I almost fell asleep during the last game I watched) As we left, there was a feeling of goodwill and fellowship between all(my sister locked me out of the car and wouldn't let me in untill I started yelling profanity in her general direction) The high point of the entire night was when my mother gave me $21 for my report card. She promptly borrowed $1 to help with the waitresses tip(This part I'm not being sarcastic about) All in all it was a night I'll remember forever (as the lowest point in "family outing"history, except for that time my mom dragged me to a church thing on the concept of truth.) My brother(age 13) even decided upon a new job he wants when he's old enough to work, a busboy at the bar. We had to tell him that he would probley have to wait untill he was 21.(Absolutly nothing about that statement was sarcastic) As you can see, I love my families outings(Not unless you're blind...or stupid) &#!#%&&!!!(*%$ WHAT THE %$#@ WAS MY MOTHER $#$#%$# THINKING!!!!!!!???? BRINGING $#$$# KIDS IN A BAR!? I know it was her idea, 'cause my dad hates it, too. My mom and my stupid little 10-year old sister loves it, though. *sighs* Why does my life have to be so weird? I'm leaving...now I'm back! And not so pissed at my weird family. Now is the time to mourn the loss of one of my most loyal readers (I think she's read the entire thing one time, which is more than anyone else has done so far) She has been banned from accesing any portion of the Internet, do to reasons that must remain confidental due to security reasons. If I told you, I'd have to kill you and all that stuff. So...now I am down to one and a half readers. Untill such time that I have more. I wonder why anyone would read this? You would have to have several characteristics that I possess. First of all, you'd have to have an extrodinary amount of free time. Second of all, you would have to have the patience to read through all of this. And lastly, you'd have to know where the heck this site is. I admit it. I haven't exactly advertised this site. Nor can I find it on any search engines. Some of my pages have stuff written in to make search engines recognize me, but it doesn't seem to be working. What must I do to rise above obscurity? I tell people I know about this site, but they either ignore this page, or don't even bother coming to the site in the first place. I suppose that is the bane of all authors. To pour your heart and soul into a passage, and have everyone ignore it. *sniffle* Why must this be? Maybe I should just give up. After all, no one would really care if I quit updating this site. But I can't help but think of stuff like the evil over lord list and REALLY REALLY BIG BUTTON THAT DOESN'T DO ANYTHING. They are not great neccesarily because of the content, (although that helps some) they are great because of their sheer length. You can read a little each day. And almost never finish. Also, I guess I still am trying to get the world record. I have heard some feedback suggesting that I make someway for people to remember where they stopped reading. It can be very confusing, especially if you weren't paying attention in the first place. Well, I dont want to organize this page, in any manner. This is chaos. And insanity. Not neat little text in classifiable rows, in alphabetical order. If you want neat, go to some other site(though, as mentioned in Flaming Chickens Code:472 there is no such thing as a site better than this one). Otherwise, I guess you're stuck with me. Awwwww...I'm touched! You didn't run screaming to another site, thankfull for the chance to escape this insanity. You're still here, which must mean that you'd rather be here than anywhere else! Hey, where are you going?! I thought you were gonna stay here and keep me company?! *drags reader back* See, I knew you'd stay! *gagged reader glares* What's that? I know this is the best site ever, thanks for the compliment! *reader starts inching towards freedom* I better go...I think that I may have a problem brewing. I'm back. And very concerned about this new, younger generation (all 10 year olds who were born in 1992) They are supposed to be the future. Instead they appear to be a nuclear armagedon in the form of a fifth grader. I chanced to have an interview with an informant from this evil generation (my little sister) who will be called Mrs. X for security reasons (no, she's not married, the "Mrs" makes it good as a disguise) I was quizing Mrs. X on Civil War History for an upcoming test in her classroom (whose location can not be devulged) Mrs. X seemed fluent in the subject. Using prior knowledge, I deduced that Mrs. X was full of crap. Out of sheer curiosity, I asked Mrs. X who participated in the Civil War. She immediatly replied "Clara Barton". I clarified, which countries fought in the Civil War. She answered: England, Russia, and (out of sheer desperation) Iraq. I believe that she was just listing countries she knows America has fought against. Now, correct me if I'm wrong...but Iraq? I don't know if Iraq even existed in the Civil War Era! Why on earth would we go have way across the world to fight them when we didn't even really need oil?!! Moving on, I finaly managed to coax my sister (I'm tired of writing Mrs. X) to tentativly guess that America fought in the Civil War. I mean, who'd a thought? America? Fighting in the American Civil War? In a moment of inspiration, I asked her who America fought. Her first guess was enslaved africans. Well, at least she knows that slaves were involved in the war. Before she could start listing all of America's enemies, I gave her a hint. I said "The Union fought..." With a crack, snaple and pop, some random synapses in her brain connected in the right order and she said "CONFEDERACY!!!" I was very proud of her, just as you would be proud of a two-year-old who has just announced: "I WENT POO-POO ON THE POTTY!!!!!" What I mean is, you wouldn't be very proud if the average person said that they just took a dookey on the toilet, and you wouldn't be very proud if they knew who fought against the Union in the Civil War. I confirmed that the Union was Northern and Free, and that the Confederacy was Southern and Slave. We resumed quizzing and she got every question on the worksheet correct. This is because she memorizes the questions. That way, she can pass the test without actually learning anything. You see, if you memorize stuff, you only have to remember that the answer to number 6 is Clara Barton for a week, rather than having to remember that Clara Barton started the Red Cross for the rest of you life. I sincerely appologize if anyone is offended by my view of memorization. I also would like such persons to immediatly leave my site. You don't belong here. You see...knowledge is good. If my sister...uh...Mrs. X were ever asked a question on the Civil War on a quiz show, she'd come up with nothing. With knowledge you can win money and the opportunity to look like a dork on national television. My sister is a big believer in the memorization system. I previous time when I was studying with her (American Revolution, this time) I was trying to help her remember the difference between the Patriots(Patriotic to America) and the Loyalists (Loyal to Britain) She didn't know what the word patriotic meant. I tried to explain. I asked her how you dress on the forth of july (she said nice) I asked what the colors red, white and blue were (pretty). I gave up in exasperation. More recently, I was trying to instill a sense of empathy and niceness in her. I asked her what the golden rule of christianity was. She didn't know. When I pressed her, she confessed she didn't know what chrisianity was. Completly defeated, I told her that it was the religion she practiced every Sunday when she went with her friends to church. This confirmed my suspicion that she only went so that she could have the use of the church's playground equipment. My family also strongly suspects that she stole $20 from the donation thingy. Anyway, that's my rant on the new generation that contains my little sister. When someone of her generation runs for president, I'm gonna do a complete background check. If they're anything like my sister, I'm movin' to Canada. Gotta go...the Russian-Brittish-Iraqi-enslaved-Africans are coming to defeat the Mexicans. I'm back! *there's that darn cricket again* And I have a genuine question to ask all of my loyal readers *cough-cough* Okay, here it is: Is it normal for a non-gender specific sibling to carry around various dead reptiles (snakes, turtles, lizards etc.) Furthormore, is it considered accepted behavior to talk to these dead reptiles, in a cooey, baby talky kind of voice? Finnaly, is it expected for said sibling's non-gender specific parent to encourage such behavior, citing "I was just like that as a child" as an excuse? It's an honest question as I fear that my non-gender specific sibling is weird. Who am I kidding? My entire family is weird. It's just a matter of degree. Hey, by the way. I'm sorry that my last few entries have been only about my various family antics. Although I can't see why you care, because there is a large probability that you do not exist, because I don't think anyone is reading this anymore. How discouraging. People need to make the time to waste time. It's a time honored tradition. Who'd thought that I could use time that many times in only a few sentences? It's been pretty quiet here lately, which is why I haven't added anything to this text in awhile. I know, you were just crushed that nothing new was happening. It's a sad, cold, cruel world out there and you had nothing to relieve the monotony of it. *sniffle* I feel so sorry for you! Next thing you know, you're internet connection will die. Well, too bad! Do you know I never even had a computer untill just a few months ago (that's why I'm obsessivly writing here) So I won't pity you if you're computer dies for unexpected reasons. Time for another quote from the FLAMING CHICKEN HANDBOOK!!! Code: 843 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook states that in no way is the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (guess who?) responsible for any faulty wiring or lack thereof in your computer. The Patron Saint of Paper Clips in no way wishes harm on your computer. Any derogatory statement is simply an opinion of an individual, not of the flaming order of the flaming chickens. Said order will in no way be held responsible for any damages, injuries, loss of life, limb, head, or organs. Okay, quote is done. Maybe I should put quotation marks around them...nah, too much work. But I probably will eventually get around to having a seperate page just for the FLAMING CHICKEN HANDBOOK. That way all the members (what members) can print out a copy of it for themselves (if they didn't get that copy in the mail) I guess I'm done for the day...I know. You want me to stay. It's okay. Because eventually, I'll be back! Seeya! I'm back. And once again suprised. When I was at a TAB poetry thingy (TAB is good TAB is great We love TAB) I met some new people. One of these people (who shall remain nameless untill such time that I have explicit permission to use her name) turned out to be almost as weird as me. As in...she read the ENTIRE Longest Text Ever. The whole thing. So far two whole people (to my knowledge) have read the entire thing, and a few people have skimmed it. That means I really can justify claiming to have two and a half readers! I'm so happy! That means my pointless obsession has actually entertained someone besides me! Perhaps, one day, far in the future, this will actually be a world record and random people will acutally voluntarily read this text every day. Or maybe not. The point is that it is nice to have readers. Or maybe it's not...I mean...won't the quality *snicker* of my work deteriorate if I am no longer writing for the target audience of me? If that happens, then no one will read this. And then I'll be writing for me again. And then the quality will rise. And then people will start reading. And then the quality will go down and the vicious spiral of good and bad will continue untill I either give up this text, or go crazy...er. In any case...I should probably find a topic. Yeah...a topic would be good. Or...I could just continue to write about finding a topic. Ooooo! I know a topic! Ice cream trucks! This has been bothering me for a while. You see...when it's hot, you want something cold to eat. Conviently, ice cream trucks come around during the hottest part of the year (it must be a conspiracy). As you may or may not know, small children swarm the ice cream trucks. The vendors even play whimsical music which I strongly suspect contains subliminal messages to make you hungry for ice cream. The vendors get oodles of cash, and the kids get ice cream. Now, in today's society of buying groceries on-line and getting them delivered, why hasn't any other food industry marketed this ingenius idea to bring the product to the consumer. I can just see Hot Dog, and Pizza trucks roaming the neighbor hoods, selling treats to hungry children...and adults. Of course, said adults would have to peel their butt-cheeks off the couch...but they'd have to do that for the delivary man anyway. The food trucks could even play music that made you hungry for their food. Then the problem with obesity in America would be blamed on evil food truck drivers as opposed to the harmless, benificient television and computer. We could all breath a sigh of relief as parents kept their children inside, away from the evil truck drivers and near the T.V. Gone would be the days when parents told children to play outside, it's a nice day. Parents would buy their children computers, video games and other television neccesities. This, of course would expand the market for such products. This would lead to a better, more stable economy. Food industires would be buying cars, gas and music. Parents would increase the purchase of entertainment items. In return companies would make a profit, pay their workers better. The workers would then be able to afford more entertainment items and the upward spiral would continue, as opposed to the evil downward spiral of my writing. In conclusion, Ladies and Gentlemen...if you implement my idea, there will be peace and prosperity for all. As long as you don't mind a few more couch potatoes. Gotta go...I think I hear a catchy jingle. I'm back...it's been awhile since I've written here. A lot has happened. Like my EVIL school computer deleting my updates page. But it's all good. Especially since I just saw The Matrix: Reloaded. The following text may spoil the movie for you, so WARNING: do no read this unless you have already seen the movie. Okay. What I liked best was the philosophy on choices. (the mindless fight scenes were really cool, too). It's like this. In the beginning of the movie, Neo is having dreams about Trinity's death. Later, The Oracle tells him that he has already decided her fate. Towards the end of the movie, Neo chooses to tell Trinity to stay out of the Matrix, since he saw her die in it. She agrees, but only after seeing how important it is to him. After a horrific chain of events (is it coincidence, or fate) the people who will deactivate the secondary power source of the building Neo is infiltrating, die. So...the plan is going to fail. Unless someone does something, Neo, Morpheus and many others will die. Trinity, who is of course outside of the Matrix, knows this and chooses to enter the Matrix to save the day. The events of Neo's dream unfold. So...when the oracle said that the choice had already been made, she was completely correct. The moment Neo woke from dreams of Trinity's death, he made a choice. He would do everything in his power to keep his dream from becoming reality. So he kept her out of the Matrix, and she saw the problem, and entered the Matrix to fix it. If she had been in the Matrix, she would have likely been with Morpheus, never would have known about the plan's failure, would therefore not have been in the situation that resulted in her death. And the plan would have failed and Neo might have died, along with a large portion of the city (the building was set to blow if there was any intruders) So...Neo's choice to attempt to save Trinity triggered the sequence of events that led to her death. As Neo realizes all of this, through a nearly omniscient Architect of the Matrix, he makes another choice. This choice is simply an extension of his original choice: he will save Trinity at all costs. Neo is told that he has two choices. He can save mankind, and doom Trinity. Or he can try to save Trinity and doom mankind. No guarantee that he'll succeed in saving Trinity. He goes for Trinity, makes it just in time to catch her body, and starts her heart back up. In return for not taking the easy route, he gains a power in the more or less real world. He can deactivate the machines, (squidies) but at great personal cost. The movie ends with him in a coma. Now, you must realize that I have described only one aspect of this movie of all movies. There are not enough words in the English language to describe the sheer coolness of the fight choreography, special effects and the plot. I highly recommend you see the movie yourself. I'm sorry that today's rant isn't random, insane or completely chaotic, but I must right my experience with The Matrix before I forget. I am so buying this movie when it comes out on DVD. I love it! You have to admit its sheer coolness. I mean, come on! It's the sequel to the movie that revolutionized the standard by which we judge special effects. I better stop typing before I have a heart attack...just remember...The Matrix has you...I'm back. And throughly pissed off at my school system in general. You see...they feel that the only way to reward academic achievement...yada-yada-yada...is to force the smart kids to be ushers for Senior Honor Nite, and Graduation. Where is the logic in this? I for one, didn't know about such dire consequences for not deliberatly failing classes. It was bad enough that I was forced to "volunteer" my precious time (i could have worked on this site)...no...I was forced to wear formal attire. My school system is stuck in the past...and formal attire means...a dress...a white dress...(for those you who never bothered to find out...I am indeed female). So...for the first time in about 5 years...I wore a dress...and something that was complelty white. What cruel fate is this? To compound the EVIL situation...I was forced to wear feminine shoes. In other words...they hurt. And they pushed my toes together. Since I have a rather weird phobia of touching my own skin...this made my evening my own personall torture session. I think that such gender-specific torture should be deemed inhumane and abolished from our great society...of flaming chickens. Henceforth...Code: 666 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that under no circumstance will the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (guess who) be forced to wear anything other than a t-shirt and preferably black jeans. Should you violate this right, you will become destroyed or possibly dizzy. I'm leaving now...I have some destruction to do. i'm back. from graduation. we had to get there one hour and fifteen minutes early because there was traffic. After standing around a lot...the ceremony started. Lots of people spoke. by the time I had to do my part (tell people where to stand before getting their diploma) it was dark. there were bugs. they liked landing on me. then...i got to go stand while people said a lot of stuff. i couldn't hear it because someone had put the speakers facing the audience. we clapped. the whole time, even during the name-calling, seniors were playing with silly string and beachballs. afterwards...they turned off the lights. there were lots of fireworks. i wandered around for 20 minutes looking for a cell phone. i called home, and waited another hour for my ride...traffic to the school was one way. i felt sorry for my dad. i am tired...but cannot go to sleep. i'll copy and paste this to my site. maybe the longest text ever. you will all suffer as i have suffered when and if you graduate. i cannot feel my feet. i hate dress shoes. I'm back. Today, I'm here to salute the Pointless Signs Of America! The PSOA have been whole-heartedly working for you, and what have you done for them? NOTHING! These so-called "pointless" signs are doing just what they were meant to do: entertain you! You cannot judge them simply because they have no apparant function. They expand your mind, making you think about all the things they could do. They could do anything they wanted to, if they just put their minds to it. If you judged everything by what it doesn't acomplish, then the entire world is populated by pointless beings. Noone can do everything, so how can you expect a SIGN, with the I.Q. of toilet paper, to do everything. You people sicken me. You expect far to much of the inanimate world. The inanimate world, on the otherhand, expects nothing of you. Which is exactly what it gets. If you expect nothing, and get nothing, you feel nothing. If you expect nothing and get something, you're happy. But, if you expect something and get something you feel nothing. And if you expect something and get nothing, you feel cheated. If you're following along, and not completly confused, you'll realize that it is better to be a pessimist than an optomist. Yep that's right. This entry went from saluting the PSOA to making a statement about my ideals. This has been a weird day. You can thank my associate "Meg" she came up with the PSOA acronym. Everyone, clap for "Meg".I gotta go...seeya later! I'm finnaly back! Today, I took a long look at this site, which is the acomplishment of almost a year of work. And I asked myself "How could I have better spent my time?" And so, in the interest of wasting even more time, I made a list. Here we go! Number One: I could have cured cancer. Not that I know anything about medicine...or cancer for that matter. But I'm sure that if I just would have put my mind to it, I could have done it. Number Two: I could helped the earth to find eternal and lasting peace. Which would be boring. So I at least have an excuse for not doing that. Number Three: I could have studied and stuff. Uh...don't think so...Number Four: I could have learned to drive. This would have resulted in the deaths of numerous pedistrians...and I would still probably be wondering around in search of a McDonalds. Number Five: I could have read more books, played more video games and watched more mindless television. Gee...I wish I'd thought of that sooner. Number Six: I could have implemented one of several plans for world domination. Or, as an alternative, I could have ruined several plans for world domination that other people made. Number Seven: I could drive people crazy. Wait...aren't I already doing that? Scratch number seven. And on to: Number Eight: I could have...uhhhh...ummmmm...actually thought up these things before hand. Number Nine: Now it's just getting redundant, isn't it? Number Ten: This is the list that never ends. Yes, it goes on and on my friend. One person, started typing it not knowing what it was, and they'll continue typing it forever just because this is the list that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friends, some person started typing it not...etc, etc. Okay...I admit it. I have officialy run out of ways I could have better spent my time. I don't think there actually are any. Except for maybe five and six. Now, those have possibilities. However, I am currently content to just sit here and type. For the benefit of you, the reader...who may or may not exist. Either way, I'm continuing to sort of entertain myself. I feel like I should be outraged about some topic or another. I just can't work up the energy to be outraged. Perhaps a nice, soothing mistrust. Yeah. I can work with mistrust. I definitly mistrust lots of stuff. Like organ grinders, and the evil conspiracies. Did you know, that Kodak was part of the conspiracy to assasinate John F. Kennedy. Now, some of you are probably thinking "Gee, Really?", or "Wow, I never knew that!" while others are thinking "Who's John F. Kennedy?" or possibly "Who or What is Kodak". I fervently hope that you're not thinking the last two...especially about Kodak. Kodak, as you may know, is a film developing company. And John F. Kennedy (JFK) was an alien bent on global domination. Or possibly a really good president who wanted to fly to the moon. Either way, he got assasinated. And ever loony in America decided that it was a conspiracy. Some even go so far as to claim that Kodak "changed" the pictures of the assasination to make an assasination in the bushes become a tree's shadow. I didn't know that they had such good technology back then. I have to wonder...why would Kodak do such a thing. Perhaps Kodak is actually a front organization for a shadowy governmental system that controls the entire world and didn't want mankind to obtain the freedom of the stars and so tried to sabotauge the space program even though it didn't work as well as they planned. Or perhaps not. Either way, Kodak is undeniably evil. How can any company that takes so many "wholesome" pictures not be? You can just bet that they look at every one that get's turned in to them, judging blackmail value, and whether or not you could get arrested. It's just sickening, you can't even take a simple photo nowadays. Unless you have a digital camera, which are a symbol of freedom from the old ways and willing enslavement to the new ways. We can only hope that the digital camera manufacturers are kinder masters than the evil Kodak Lords. I better go...I think Kodak is tracing my site....I'm back now! And, once again, I have proof that someone actually took the time (two hours) to read this entire Longest Text Ever! It's amazing, it's incredible, it's unbelievable. But true. Even more incredible, this time it's someone I don't even know! Wooooooo! I feel inspired and happy and other really good emotions and stuff. And so, I'll take a trip down memory lane, to the dark depths of the past, to when I decided to make this page. It was inspired, in part, by my sheer and utter boredom. In school, back before I even owned a computer, I'd type random words for long periods of time, 'cause I had nothing better to do. Once I got this computer, I decided to do something similar on my beloved site. But, it ended up making more sense than I anticipated (scary thought, huh). Oh, well...I tired of nostalgia. Back to the present. Right now, I'm just typing so that no one can say that I've been slacking off. I don't think I have any conspiracy theories...except pop-ups/pop-unders. Have you ever had the evil pop-up that says that if you click here, it'll get rid off all the annoying pop-ups? Isn't that sort of ironic? Could the pop-up blocker people have chosen a better means to advertise their product? It's like grand-theft auto 3's talk show, you know, the one where there are Citizens Raging Against Phones? Or CRAP, for short. And the lady representing them, calls the radio station...on a phone. It's stupid and ironic and just shouldn't exist in a better world. Pop-Up ad's help you get rid of pop-up ads? Insane, chaotic...hmmmmm...I wonder who thought of it? Was it on purpose, or was it just some mistake? It is now my civic duty to discover this ancient mystery, and reveal it to the uncaring world. Or maybe I'll go make a frozen pizza. Yeah. That sounds good, too. Since I'm not particualarly inspired at the moment, I should leave and let you gather what is left of your sanity. I just can't seem to stop, though. Okay...I can do it. I'm leaving. I'm back...and it's several hours later. I've decided to imortalize the stupidity of my dog, Moose. She is a heavy-set Yorkshire Terrior (12 lbs.) In otherwords, she's a small yappy dog who is big for her breed. Today, I met her arch-enemy. An enemy so terrifying that Moose cannot stop shaking. An enemy so hideous that Moose must destroy it at all costs. An enemy so dangerous that Moose fears it above all others. Now you may be wondering what horrible beast is Moose's arch-enemy. And you probably suspect that it is something pathetic. You would be correct in your suspiciousness...for Mooses arch-enemy is...*dramatic drumroll*...a small, white, feather. Now, Moose has seen many feathers, birds even. But none have struck terror in her little moose heart like this particular feather. So...naturally I put her arch-enemy in my pocket and brought it home with me. This action has made her very suspicious of where my loyalties lie. She tracks the feather smell all over the house, and goes crazy whenever I take it out of my pocket. She even got her sister and mother in the spirt of things. Now her sister sounds an alarm whenever she sees the evil feather. Now, you may be wondering what is so terrifying about a small, white, feather. So am I. It doesn't smell funny, (I asked my brother, since I don't have a sense of smell), it seems perfectly ordinary. So, I've decided that Moose works for some secret government organization, and that the feather is the key to the destruction of the world, and I am just blithely letting it enter our home, so that it may furthur its evil plans to destroy the universe. That is the only possible explanation as to why it upsets her so much. Or...maybe it's the feather off of the cartoon owl from the tootsie-roll pop comercials (one...two...three..*crunch*). Whatever the case, I decided that the whole world, (or three of four random people) deserve to know that if the world and or universe are destroyed, it's the evil, little, white, feather's fault. Now I'd better go and torture my Moose with it...:) I am officially back. And you, the potentially non-existant reader gets a once in a lifetime chance to hear me rant and rave about my Horrible, Horrible Family Vacation. I know. You feel very, very honored. It's like this. My mother is a control freak, and she decided on the spur of the moment that we were going north to visit relatives. Later that day, she decided we were NOT going north, we were going south to a beach resort. Still later that day, she got offended at some trivial thing and decided that we weren't going anywhere at all. The very next day, she decided that we were going north, after all. So, we packed everthing up. Before we knew it, we were on the road. The first part of the trip was fairly easy. As in, I was half-asleep, hoping that we'd arrive while I slept. Then, in an inspired move, my brother talked my mother into letting him sit up front. That meant that my mother would be in the back, with me and my younger, eviler sister. Immediatly, my mother started complaining. It was uncomfortable in the back, it was too hot, it was too cold. Then, she accidently woke our three yappy dogs up, and they relized that they were in a car. That meant only one corse of action for them. They started shaking and barked their little heads off. This annoyed my mother further, untill she asked, no, demanded that my father turn the car around so that we could go home. Unfortuantly, we had already driven 337 miles toward our destination. After much argument, my father was going to turn around, untill he realized that my mother was going to drop the dogs and me off, and then turn around and continue north. This seemed slightly unpracticle, so we ended up not taking that 337 mile detour. We eventually reached our destination after 16 hours of virtually non-stop driving. We got there, we ate. We slept. My mother visited relatives. And so the week went by. I got to go to a huge library, and see Terminator 3 at the local theater. That was the high point of the entire trip. The last day, we were deciding where to eat. My mom said that she didn't care. So my dad picked a steak place. My mother tried to order a mushroom-swiss burger...only to discover that the place had no swiss-cheese. So she decided on a salad, only to discover that they didn't have her favorite salad dressing. After much deliberation, she decided that she wouldn't eat. After complaining how hungry she was, and about the poor quality of the resteraunt, she walked out of the resteraunt, instructing the rest of us to "enjoy our meals". And I wonder where my little sister gets her annoyingness. Not that my mother is annoying...just set in her ways. The whole meal thing was about the only interesting thing to happen during the week. On the way home, we had gotten approximatly 4 hours into the trip when my mother predicatably decided that we had to go back and eat at the 50th aniversary of her favorite ice cream place. Needless to say, we ignored her. Oh, and when my sister had to go to the bathroom very badly during a traffic jam, my mother had the good taste to making hissing/water noises to make my sister's problem worse. She claimed that my little sister always did it to her, and she was getting pay-back. Between her bickering with my sister, and obsessivly playing neopets games, I don't know what to do with her. Anyway...that was my family vacation rant. It sucked. No suprise. At least it's over. Sorry if I complained a lot. If you don't like it, start your own longest text ever. Anyway, I promise to go back to my usual routine the next time I rant here. I thought of a topic on the way home, but forgot it. Seeya. I'm back! I know, I took you completly by suprise. You thought you'd gotten rid of me. *cheesy super-hero voice* Well, fear not, random citizen, for I, PSOPC am here! *normal voice* Today I have a very important to discuss with you in this: PERFECTLY NORMAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCMENT. Yes, that's right. It's time to warn you, the viewer...er...reader...about the evils of various stuff. Today's lesson is: subliminal messages . That's right, folks, mass hypnosis via commercials. Now, I'm sure you've at least heard of subliminal messages , right? No? Well...prepare to be enlightened. Subliminal messages are an advertising technique that puts hidden pictures and words into a main image. You don't see them, but your subconsious (dreaming) mind does. Your subconsious mind acts on whatever it is told. What does this mean to you? It means that WAL-MART TV IS EVIL! EVIIIIIIIIIIIIL!!!!!! Why else would they invest all that money to show commercials in their own store? Because they put subliminal messages in them, of course! Subliminal messanging also explains the successes of certain fast-food resteraunts, and brand name items. BEWARE YOUR TOASTER OVEN! Okay. That had nothing to do whatsoever with subliminal messages...it's just cool to say. Anyway, only watch wal-mart if you WANT to be subliminaly entertained into purchasing a new set of TUPERWARE, even though your old set is PERFECTLY fine. This has been a public service announcment. Pretty cool, huh? Uh...you don't have to take the subliminal stuff seriously. It's true, and all, but I have no proof about wal-mart, or certain fast food resteraunts. It makes sense, though. Wal-mart TV is evil. You cannot deny it. Seeya...hmmm..I wonder if there's subliminal stuff in my computer...I'm back. And I feel that it's time for a FAKE commercial break, for the highly informed, obviously brain-dead consumer. And now, a word from our non-existant sponsor. Ketchup: The only food that you'll want to eat after traveling to the 5th Dimension. It's been practically proven that Ketchup transforms into a highly intoxicating (non-addictive) delicious substance upon returning from the 5th Dimension. Stock up now with our Valu-Pak to recieve 3-metric tons of Ketchup, all for the low, low price of your brain, since you're obviously not using it anyway. Then, just wait for technology to "catch-up" (get it, catch-up, Ketchup?)so you can travel to the 5th Dimension like our scientists almost did. (Next Commercial) Get ready fo: Faux's new "reality" TV show, "How Low Can We Go?" It's about six contestants who compete to create the worst, least likely "reality" TV show. The winner not only gets the million-dollar prize, they get the chance to produce the show they created. Remember: if the show sucks, it's their fault, not ours!(Next exciting commercial!)And for all the idiots out there: Try new and improved Dum-B-Gon! Dum-B-Gon stimulates brain activity, making you up to 10 times smarter! Not only that, Dum-B-Gon: stimulates weight loss, cures "any" illness, does simple houshold chores, never leaves the toilet seat up and is the perfect gentle companion for your kids. How can you pass up this revolutionary new product? It's yours for only 3 bi-monthly payments of $3.95 ($3,95,000 on days ending in "y")Don't forget, Dum-B-Gon is practically guaranteed!* (*Not a guarantee) (Next commercial)Have you ever wondered why food sometimes goes bad in your fridge, even if you've only had it a few years? It's because of the "evil little faeries with sharp little teeth." These "faeries" sprinkle your food with highly toxic "age dust" and ruin a perfectly good four-year-old meatloaf. How do you stop them? With our patented "spray". Our "spray" kills over 99.9% of "faeries" (which are much to small to see) Our "spray" also kills most disease causing agents, like rats, or pigeons. WARNING: Leave food sit in an open, well-venilated spot for a week before eating. And now, back to our featured presentation. Wasn't that semi-entertaining? I bet you wanna go eat some Ketchup covered Dum-B Gon right now, while watching "reality" TV. Just make sure you "spray" your food first. Pathetic, wasn't it? Oh, well. I was bored, and a dilligent reader suggested I make fake commercials, so...therer they are. Happy? Good. I'm leavin', for now. I'm back. And I'm willing to enlighten you, the potentially you-know-what reader. Today, I was checking out some weird news. At one point, I read an article that stated that it had been proven, conclusivly, that Kansas was flatter than the standard pancake. The researches even used highly advanced technololgy to map the surface of a pancake and compare it to documented geology of Kansas. Some people disagree, the director of the Kansas Geological Survey said "I think this is part of a vast breakfast food conspiracy to denigrate Kansas. It's a cheap shot." So...doesn't that make you want to take Kansas' side (I sincerly appologize if you are from Kansas). It just seems extremly weird (and worthy of mentioning) that this semi-important guy from Kansas believes in a "vast breakfast food conspiracy". Makes you think that the long held belief that Kodak conspired with the JFK assasin(s) is normal. Another article claims that an anitseptic turned a polar bear purple, drawing large crowds of people. I sure hope other zoos won't copy them. Before you know it, we'll have orange alligators, pink tigers and blue lions. School children won't be able to correctly identify the color of a zebra. Random people will think they've gone crazy, after a seemingly innocent visit to the zoo. It's wrong, I tell you. A complete and total degregation of our societies values. What values, you say? The basic moral belief that Polar bears should be WHITE. Unless we spray-painted the snow purple, too. Then it would be okay. As long as the bear blends in, you know? Speaking of animals, there's a cat in California who is a kleptomaniac (likes to steal stuff). He sneaks into neighboring homes, and takes clothing, wrapped christmas presents, and anything he can find. He then leaves them under his owners car. Okay, better leave. I'm back. And I don't really have a topic today. I'm just bored. Sometimes I just do this, you know? Start typing without any idea about what it is I intend to say. Maybe I subconsiously DO know what I'm doing here, but refuse to admit it to myself. Or maybe I am monumentally bored and don't have anything else to do at the moment. Either way, I'm here. You must be pretty bored, too. Otherwise, why on earth (beta, krpto, zkdjf, Planet X, whatever) would you be here? It would make no sense. If you have something better to do, why wouldn't you be doing it right now? I would be. But, maybe that's just the difference between you and me. Yeah. That must be it. Unless you're bored. Then I completly understand. I need to find a topic. Here, topic, topic, topic! Come on, I won't hurt you, I promise! *hides large ax behind back* Come here, topic! Why are you afraid of little ol' me? *sigh* There are no topics anywhere near me. Kinda like me and "Meg" webcomic we are trying to do. It's called Hit-Or-Miss, any topics, plot, etc. are completly accidental and are not the fault/responsibility of the creators. That was sort of a topic, even though it was sort of random. Which is what I do best. Okay, I'm done with that litte commercial. What now...hmmmmm...should I share with you more of my paranoid/delusional conspiracy theories? Or have I been doing that too much lately? Oooooo! I know, I'll start of list of why it's fun/good to be insane/weird! #1You can say or do anything and normal people will agree with you in the hopes that you'll be satisfied, shut up, and go away. Far away. I will show you an example with this completly true stuff that I experienced several years ago. ME: My vicious, psychotic, flesh-eating bunny-rabbit wants to rule the world. RANDOM PERSON: Uh-huh, that's nice. ME: Yeah, but I told her that she'd be a terible ruler. I mean, she traded Asia for a carrot! And she doesn't even LIKE carrots! RANDOM PERSON: You don't say? ME: Yep. She also is the goddess of red jello. RANDOM PERSON: *head explouding from sheer insanity* As you can see, I was a very weird child (this happened in elementary school...uh...except for that head-explouding part). Okay...on to: #2 You can get out of practically anything by saying: a)It's against my religion b)I'm allergic to that. c)I have an extremly irrational fear of that. d)I already did that in a past life and it sucked. e)My psychotic bunny predicted I'd die doing it. Unfortunalty, several of those reasons LEGITAMITLY apply to a certain activity I do every Tuesday, which WILL NOT BE NAMED HERE LEST I GIVE IT POWER OVER ME! I'm allergic to parts of it, have irrational fears about others and I'm pretty sure it's against my Jenny religion...along with eating mashed potatoes, or potatoes of any kind. I'll add that to the FLAMING CHICKENS HANDBOOK. Thou shalt not eat spuds. Hmmmm...time for #3You can obsessive over ANYTHING, and people will think nothing of it. I, personally, am obsessed with, kitties, bunnies, bats, this website, drawing, making intriate little patterns with strings, doing mildly repetitive activities, being weird, apparantly making lists and cheese...and chickens...and flame. Fire is good. Fire is free. Fire is my friend...until it burns me. Then it must die...painfully. And on to:#4You make your friends look normal in comparison. And #5: You can give each of your pets several weird names such as: Ringling-Raison-Bailey-Suzana-Midnight-Schultz, Squirell, Moose, Moose-Moose, Moosey-Moose, Linzey-Moose, Muffin, Squirell-Muffin, Yabby-Doodle, Abby Normal, Wiggle-Baby, Wiggle-Muffin, Witle-Baby, Cheese-Monkey, Muffin-With-Squirell-Juice, Squirell-With-Muffin Juice, Moosey-Juice, Squirell-Monkey, etc. Now, wasn't that a fun list!? Doesn't that just make you proud to be weird? I should make bumber stickers saying that. Proud to be weird. It'd be cool. Anyway, gotta go! *yawn* I'm back. Last night I was super-charged with lots of sugar and not a lot of sleep. I ended up writing things during the time of night when EVERYTHING is hilarious, including the word sheep. To compound things, I wasn't alone, and things just escalated. The following is everything I wrote during that sugar-coated time period. Some are answers to e-mails, the rest are just stuff I wrote.

Definitly. THen we go to library. Guess what? Me and Josh ate lots and lots of sugar, and it's late at nite and everything is funny but we can't laugh 'cause everybody is sleepin' so it's even funnier but ever since we drank the water we sobered up even though we weren't drunk but we ate sugar...lots and lots of sugar. MOstly donut cake. Okay. JOsh says it was only one piece of cake. WE got it at Wal-mart. Or his mom did. OR something. Goodbye..

[nalufever]

Memes

‘Since Forever’ Nalufluffweek 2017: read on FF.net - ch 1   ch2   ch3   ch4   ch5   ch6   ch7   ch8   ch9  (don’t be afraid to leave reviews - the lifeblood of every writer ever)

Prompt: Memes. Success! Kind of. Confession articulated - and now to see if Lucy understands. Is she going to accept? Now, if Natsu can just stop rambling - that would be great. Lucy's about to write herself a note giving herself permission to do whatever she wants - and right now, it's to kiss Natsu silent. Win - win.

Lucy feared her heart would break free of her ribs. Had she ever felt so nervous before? Why was she standing still like this? Shouldn't she say or do something?

"Lucy, this is something I never expected to find or even want - a person who means more to me than anything else." Natsu nodded slowly, his chest rose and settled with a deep breath. "I want us to be more than friends. But if you don't feel the same, I'd learn to accept it." He shoved his hands into his pockets, swaying a bit side to side, eyes trained with intense focus on Lucy.

Aware Natsu was waiting for a response, Lucy gulped. She stared back at Natsu, the cold railing against her back at best a mild distraction. "Why'd you call me fat?" Aghast at the involuntary question, Lucy clapped her hands over her mouth.

"You still on that?" Natsu laughed. "How long ago was that? And I didn't say you were fat - I said it was a good thing you weren't too skinny! That costume on our last mission would never have fit you right if you were a bone-rack." He pulled his hands free, dislodging Mira's letter. It fell unnoticed at their feet. Natsu made an exaggerated hour-glass shape motion and then gave Lucy a wink and thumbs up sign.

"Too skinny?" Lucy felt colour rise higher on her cheeks. "So you don't think I'm fat?"

"Even if you were - which you aren't -" Natsu stepped close, breath tickling Lucy's bare collar. "- I fell in love with the girl who wants to be a writer. A person who battles beside her spirits, who trusts deeply and has learned to forgive. My partner, who happens to have a brilliant mind. Lucy, I love you."

Lucy felt like she and Natsu were in a suspended cocoon. This intimate moment was insulated from reality. Just inches away the real world threatened to intrude. The lights floating on the water continued to bob and spiral into new patterns. Lights across the harbour flickered on and off. Pockets of noise; conversations from other balconies in the hotel and music could be faintly heard. The stars watched in silence and the wind brought fresh scents of the sea.

Now that the moment was here - the moment Lucy had daydreamed about for untold years - she didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to think, where to look. Didn't know if she could trust her voice to work - was she going to laugh or cry? And in that desperate instant, Lucy cast her eyes down and spied the dislodged paper from Natsu's pocket.

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

Crouching down and picking up the letter was the work of an instant. Rather than answer Natsu, Lucy flipped the pages open.

Before she could read, Natsu caught her wrist. "I'd rather you didn't."

"I don't know what to think." Lucy gave a longing look to the letter before turning her gaze back to an anxious Natsu. "You're asking me to be your girlfriend, but before we left on this vacation,” Lucy gulped and forced herself to keep speaking. "You said you didn't consider yourself boyfriend material."

Natsu have a half-hearted chuckle. "No, what I said was that I'm not hung up on labels - meaning 'boyfriend' isn't enough to describe what I feel for you." He took the rustling papers from Lucy. Jamming them into a pocket, he placed her now empty hand over his thumping heart. "Feel my shirt - it's totally made out of boyfriend material!"

She ignored his feeble joke. "Why ask me to be your girlfriend now?"

"Because I've finally figured out that's what you want - and I want the same thing." Natsu took encouragement from Lucy's hand - still on his chest and gently rubbing. "Yeah, I asked for help. I needed it - there's no shame there. I'd ask a thousand people for help if it meant you saying yes."

Lucy felt the heat radiating from Natsu surge and drop. "Are you nervous?"

"Duh."

For Lucy, at that moment, Natsu seemed like his usual dorky self. Casual. At ease with himself and any situation, even if he'd just admitted to being nervous. Lucy ran her tongue over her drying lips. Interesting. Natsu seemed truly tense now. This was very important to him. No room for pretending or evading how she felt. "I'm nervous too."

"Y-you are?"

"I like you too. I've been scared to admit exactly how much." Lucy edged closer. Her hand still pressed over Natsu's heart, the rhythmic thumping soothing. "I don't care what we call this new stage in our relationship - but I want you to know I'm always gonna be yours."

"Is this a yes?"

Lucy smiled wide - lips stretching with a burn. "Yes."

"So, this means you do want me to be your boyfriend!" Natsu almost crowed, jubilant and relieved in equal measure. "Ice Princess can suck it!"

"..." Lucy gave Natsu a gimlet stare.

Slightly shamed, Natsu shrugged. "I went to Mira for help after Gray said I was out of my depth. Stupid bastard is gonna eat his words when we get back to the guild."

Lucy wet her lips again, raised her eyebrows slightly and tried her best to hand Natsu a telepathic clue - time to kiss.

Natsu leaned closer to Lucy, his breath tickling. "A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he confesses and kisses his Lucy exactly when he means to."

"Yes?" Lucy couldn't help her involuntary reaction - fluttering her eyelashes, trying to say wordlessly 'kiss me!'

"I need to go over there to see and hear for myself exactly what they're doing!" Mira tossed down her binoculars. "Let go!"

Laxus held Mira tight and shook his head. "Let the two idiots figure it out for themselves."

The she-devil almost twisted free, hissing at Laxus, "Ain't nobody got time for that!"

"Damn girl." He grinned at Mira. "Let's go work off some of your passion."

"Let me check on them later?"

Laxus winked. "Do you really think I'm gonna not give you my all? If you're able to walk later - that's gonna be surprising."

Mira giggled and clapped her hands. "I happened to bring a few new toys with me."

"I have all the time we need for that."

Natsu slid one arm around Lucy's waist and the other around her shoulders, his hand plunging into her hair. His voice was low but steady, "Lucy, you're -"

Lucy closed the distance between them - giving or was it taking - Natsu her first kiss. Lips slid over lips, mouths opened in exploration and tongues played without reserve. Passion rose, wild - like fire. Hot insistent desire made the two mages press their bodies closer.

Out of breath, they ceased their lip-lock. Natsu grinned foolishly - as did Lucy.

"Wow."

Natsu echoed Lucy's sentiments and then said, "Why'd we wait so long?"

"Not sure." Lucy looked dazed, but somewhat coherent. "We should make up for lost time."

"Hells yeah." Natsu kissed Lucy again - never more glad he'd admitted he needed help.

Mira's Letter:

Natsu, you need to read ALL of this letter - no skimming or you'll miss important information! Don't you shake your head and say, 'yeah, yeah!' You came to me for expert advice - so LISTEN!

You want to confess to Lucy your feelings - and that's a good thing - but just saying 'I like you' isn't enough. Girls like romance and emotions. Do you even know about all the different kinds of love a person can feel?

Physical Love (that would be insert tab A into slot B or whatever orifice works for the both of you) ~ Love of the mind (brotherly or platonic) ~ Playful love ~ Longstanding love ~ Love of the soul ~ Love of the self (fyi - not masturbation)~ Love of the child (you and Lucy should have 30 babies!)

You can have more than one type of love feeling for another person - and you don't have to nail down exactly to what degree it exists - admit it like a responsible adult and consult Lucy on how she feels.

Ooh! Here's an important definition! Soul mate: kindred soul, a person with whom one has a strong affinity, shared values and tastes, and often a romantic bond. That's what all the smart people are betting on. Do not make me lose my bet.

Affection can be giving thoughtful gifts at the right time - especially when your significant other isn't expecting anything. (Let's face it, for a long time I thought you were asexual - then I thought maybe you liked guys (nothing wrong with that!) and then Lucy showed up and you couldn't leave her alone - but let's not assume heteronormativity - the world is a large place and there's no call to discriminate.)

I think Lucy'd look great in frilly undies - she might like edible body paint, (I know a place that sells spicy chocolate flavour!) or some new bras (If in the heat of the moment, you burn off the one she's wearing - then she'd already have a replacement!) - ooh, and candy 3 There's a saying, 'candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker' - alcohol lowers resistance - but it might leave one or the other of you with regret. Keep a clear head and save drunken shenanigans for after you break each other in.

Natsu, tell Lucy how you feel. Give her the information she needs to sort her own emotions - wait for an answer and accept it graciously. Though I tell you what, if she runs away, I'll have Laxus send me over there through his lightning travel magic and 'talk' some sense into her.

You need her consent for any decent fun things you two can do once you confess. I know you have a cosplay kink - or else you wouldn't have held onto that maid outfit from Everlue Mansion. Matter of fact, I know the perfect little boutique that has silk scarves, feather dusters, padded handcuffs and all the gadgets take the same kind of batteries! Saves on keeping five kinds on hand!

You and Lucy have been best friends for a loooooong time. I expect some pretty vanilla sex between you two. (At the right time of course - but it's inevitable!) You're lucky you came to me, Erza would either have murdered you for daring to want to besmirch Lucy - or - forced you to read some of her favourite erotic novels. But just say the word, I can get you a near mint copy of the Kama Sutra.

Let Lucy know all the little things she does that you enjoy ~ and later you'll get to enjoy how bendy she is. Don't be afraid to try new positions and actually TALK about what feels good and be honest about what doesn't. Neither of you are mind readers - ooh, and don't ever ask Warren about what's on Lucy's mind (or anyone else for that matter) - he'll take great delight in telling you in horrific detail all the things you NEVER wanted to know - and there won't be enough bleach to wipe your mind clean.

So if you wanna show Lucy affection, be sure to compliment her lots and lots. Tell her she's pretty - say you like her outfit - admire her smarts - bring up something she did on a job you two did and say exactly what she did that you thought was awesome! Don't skimp on the details - those are what prove you pay attention.

Confess! After Lucy admits she loves you too - give her a big smooch! Try not to slobber - but a judicious amount of tongue is to be expected. No groping unless she touches you first! And I know I said you two should have 30 babies - you might want to give yourselves some time to enjoy running around your house naked. ^^ So for now, you should keep a stash of birth control with you at all times. You never know when you might get the urge.

Sex is a great headache cure btw ~ orgasms release endorphins. So if you're driving Lucy batty, all you have to do is seduce her pain away. Also! Lube! This will benefit the both of you. Make sure your lube and condoms are compatible. Don't be embarrassed to experiment. Don't be embarrassed to talk about safe words before getting your freak on.

I'm proud of you for reading all this, Natsu. :D It takes a mature person to admit when they need help. And face it, I'm the best help there is. Last, but not least - my best tip: ask Lucy with confidence - don't waffle. Wear your big boy pants and put all your best effort into showing her your sincerity. Tell her you like her. I know it's scary. Admit it's grown stronger the more you've gotten to know her - all sides of her. The good and the bad. You like her because she's Lucy.

The whole guild knows how you feel about her. You've managed to clue us in before you realized it for yourself - and now you've got to convince your partner. Ganbatte!

P.S. I call godmother once you and Lucy start popping out babies.

xoxo Mirajane 3

Thanks to everyone who's put in the time to read all these chapters - Don't be too shy to comment on what you'd like to see for the nalulovefest coming up - I'm not sure if people would like to see more high school shenanigans or if I should revisit my Officer Dragneel and Journalist Heartfilia AU? Comments, suggestions, critiques and reviews are extremely welcomed. My special thanks to @impracticaldemon for urging me to write for the fluff week. Without her, this story would not exist (or the title ~ lol). Go and check out her writing - it's excellent. Also, a warm thanks to @eliz1369  and @shell-senji  - also both excellent writers and active in the Hakouki and FT fandoms. I have deeply appreciated your reviews.

Tag Squad!! Just say the word - I can add or drop you from the list, no worries!

@rocktqueen @unashamed-shipper @ftfanfics @fic-writer-appreciation @celestialgeekmage @soprana-snap @celestialspiritqueen @nalu-fluff-week

[ourlastbastion]

Embers (Ch. 2)

AO3

Fanfiction

As it turned out, Maka and Soul hadn’t needed to concern themselves with finding a place to stay. The department had arranged for the two of them to stay at a local inn and would be covering the cost of the room. Anything else, though, the two of them would be paying for. That was fine by her, it was more than she expected.

Sleeping Lamb was a small, cozy little inn, the innkeeper a friendly old woman who was happy to meet the two and to help them to their room.

It hadn’t taken much time to get their clothes situated, leaving the bags under their beds, ready to be pulled out as needed On the table, Maka and Soul placed the boxes that they had been given by Elijah, carefully removing the lids from the boxes to look at all the files stuffed inside. It was going to be a lot to read through, going to take a lot of time, and they still needed to get up early tomorrow for plans to meet Elijah, and then Amanda Lewis’ parents.

“Let’s start with Amanda’s case file, then work from the earliest to the most recent,” Soul offered, digging through the files to find the manilla folders that held hers. “We can look for any similarities between all the cases, find where they differed. That sound like a good starting point?”

Maka gave him a smile and took one of the folders that he’d brought out, taking a seat on the edge of one of the two twin beds. “That’s a good plan, Soul,” she agreed, pausing only to grab some notepads and pencils, handing some pages and pencils to Soul. “So we can make notes, keep track of things.”

He grunted, taking it and settled into the chair, getting to work.

Opening her folder, Maka frowned as she was once again staring at the face of Amanda Lewis. The girl, so young, was only twelve when she was stolen away. Her gaze as she stared at the camera was solemn, no smile on her lips or in her eyes.

Looking at her, Maka couldn’t help but to wonder. What had she been like? Had she been the quiet girl who sat in the back? The loud, rebellious one who always caused a scene? The smart girl who did her best in class, worked hard? Had she a lot of friends? Had she only been comfortable with a small group of people? What kind of hobbies had the child had before being kidnapped? What dreams had she had for the future?

Who was she? What did she want to be?

Maka tried to imagine possible answers as she read through the file, tried to think of what kind of girl she could have been at the time. A kind girl, not too loud, not too quiet, someone who didn’t like to cause problems, but the sort who’d protect her friends. Maybe she was that kind of person.

Flipping to another page, Maka read through the contents more closely as opposed to the skimming she had done at the precinct. Twelve-years-old at the time; DOB October 11th, 2006; birthplace here in Pocklington; only child; blood-type A Negative; in Year Seven at school; went missing on December 3rd. Reports in the file match what she had been told at the precinct, that she had last been seen leaving school but had never come home.

Reading the pages, Maka supposed it wasn’t impossible that she ran away, but with the influx on kidnappings, it was also unlikely.

Maka frowned, glancing up at Soul who read quietly, scribbling down notes of his own on his case file and glanced back to her own. There were photos of the bedroom and house in the back of the folder. She looked at them and her frown deepened. It looked like a perfectly normal room, all things considered, she couldn’t find anything in the rooms that might point to anything in particular.

Eventually, Maka finished Amanda’s file and moved on to another one, and then to another, slowly climbing through the name of children who had gone missing. Alexander Griff, eight, last seen in Haxby; Cassandra Drudey, five, last seen in Rillington; Jaime Afton, ten, last seen in Howden. The list went on, kids all over the Yorkshire area, going missing within the past two years and not being found.

There weren’t any threads that Maka could find that really connected the kids to one another, nothing in the files showed any similarity between them other than being close in age. They didn’t have anything about their lives that really stood out, nothing about their location, not even what they were wearing stood out.

Eventually, Maka’s eyes began to hurt from reading over all the files, her paper filled with so few notes that she’d feel ashamed if this had been her studying for a test.

Sighing, Maka leaned back and looked over to Soul who wasn’t even reading the files anymore, just poorly pretending to do so by leaning back in his chair with a file folder over his face. She would have thought him napping if it was not for how he kept moving and shifting. “Any luck on your end, Soul?” she asked him, watching Soul stretch and move.

“Nope. They’re all pretty young, most ten or under, all in the Yorkshire area, but that’s it,” Soul said, having reached for his notes and skimming over the meager few he had written down. “Nothing really stands out in the files, no similarities to note.”

“Same, it’s frustrating,” she admitted, straightening out the files she had read, making sure that they were still in order and tidy. Best to not earn the ire of the police for messing up the case files they’d borrowed. “How about we call it a night for now? I think we’ve gotten as much as we can from the files for now, and we do have to get up early tomorrow.”

Soul nodded, already getting up to collect the files that Maka had left on the side of the bed, straightening out the already straightened folders and putting them back into their boxes. “Want to try giving Crona a ring before we turn in?” he asked her as he closed the boxes. “I know it’s pretty late over in Brazil right now, they might even be sleeping, but checking up on them wouldn’t hurt.”

That got a small smile from Maka as she looked for where she’d left her phone. There it was, hanging out on the pillow. “We can try. But we won’t talk for long,” she said. “We’ll say a brief hello and make sure they’re doing okay, and then we’ll let them get some sleep.”

“And then we can get some sleep ourselves,” Soul agreed.

Maka nodded and waited until Soul took a seat beside her on the bed, the weapon sidling up close to her as Maka began dialing numbers into her phone and setting it to speaker so that both could speak and hear.

A few moments passed; they could hear the phone ring. One ring… a second…a third…

“A-ah! Hello?”

Maka perked up and beside her Soul smiled, leaning in closer to her and to the phone. “Crona, hello! We didn’t wake you, did we?”

There was a nervous pause, the sound of the background, the sounds of constant movement, chatter, and music, suggested to Maka that they didn’t. “Oh, no, no it’s okay.�� Even now, after all these years, Crona still had a soft voice, still had their timid disposition. But, at the same time, there was something different to it, they sounded…. Off. “Sorry! I know it’s late, I sh-should be sleeping, I really sh-should! Just—some things came up, and—ah, sorry!”

“H-h-h-heeeeeeey! Who d’ya think yer talking too!” Ragnarok loudly slurred, cutting into the conversation, his voice peppered with numerous hiccups.  There was a cry of alarm and the two shared a glance as there was a minute or two of muffled arguing and banter, they could easily tell the weapon was hitting and bullying Crona as he usually did. “Fuck! You’re talking to those idiots? Piiiiiigy! What do you want!?”

“Ah, Ragnarok, I almost forgot how you sounded,” Maka muttered, earning a laugh from Soul. “What’s up with you? You sound so weird.”

Soul cocked his head to the side, brows crunched up. “You actually sound kind of drunk,” Soul noted, paused to think, and added; “Both of you kind of sound like it, actually.”

Crona let out a loud yelp, seemingly dropping their phone to the floor and falling after it by the sound of the clamor. Some people laughed, and even Crona let out a laugh. “Uh, we… I think w-we are? Sorry, the I, uh, stood and the room started spinning, and then my legs didn’t work. Now I’m on the floor.”

“You okay?” Soul asked.

“I think?”

Maka shook her head, trying to think of what was going on over there. “Okay, how did you two end up drunk? Crona, you’re not really the type to drink.” For as long as Maka had known Crona, she hadn’t known them to drink at all.

“R-Ragnarok,” Crona said.

And that would explain it. Crona may not have been a drinker, but Ragnarok had quite the fondness for it, if he was offered beer, Maka rarely saw him willingly turn it down. Which, since Ragnarok was Crona’s weapon and their blood, it only made sense that Crona ended up getting drunk as a result of Ragnarok drinking.

“Detective Barrichello, we, ah, he said we ought to have fun—a break from the case, and he, um, took us to this bar,” Crona hiccupped, pausing to pull themselves back to their feet, or that’s what Maka assumed from the sound. “We hadn’t—hadn’t made any new ground or, or got any new evidence on the case, so he thought we needed it—Ragnarok’s been drinking when the Detective said he’d cover the tab.”

Soul laughed, resting his head on Maka’s shoulder and smiling warmly at the phone. “Sheesh, tell the guy to take it easy. Don’t need him being a drunk, and it certainly ain’t cool, I’m sure Maka can attest to that.”

An image of Spirit flashed across her mind and Maka gave a huff. “Just make sure you’re drinking plenty of water! Trust me, you and Ragnarok are going to have quite the hangover if you don’t,” she cautioned and then added just as hastily. “And be safe! Make sure you stick close to the detective or anyone else you’ve made friends with out there! You’re both drunk, I don’t want people thinking they can take advantage of you because of this!”

“T-take advantage?” Crona yelped, letting out a soft whimper. “W-why would…?”

Ragnarok let out an ungodly screech, “Like anyone could! Let them try! Let them try!” he yelled. “I’ll beat them! I’ll kill them! Kill em and eat their souls! Just like the old days!”

“Ragnarok! No! We don’t do that anymore!”

“If they fuck with us, then there juuuust asking for it!”

“No they’re not!”

“Yes they are!”

Soul shook his head, looking to Maka and mouthing ‘dorks’ to her with an amused smile. Maka covered her mouth, stifling her laughter. It took her a minute before she was able to speak again, cutting into the argument the other two had. “Alright you two, settle down,” she waited a moment for them to calm back down. “You said you guys have made no headway on that Podcast Killer case Lord Death assigned you on?”

“No,” Crona confirmed gloomily, and Maka felt a little bad asking since it seemed to have brought down their spirit. “We’ve been searching and searching through all the past incidents, yet we still don’t got a lead.”

“Bastard is playing with us!” Ragnarok added. “Just wait, when I get my hands on him—I’ll gobble up his soul!”

“That soul you… could probably eat,” Crona mumbled. “I think.”

Soul chuckled, “Well, you’ll probably be able to eat his soul, hard to imagine that someone like that isn’t a Kishin egg. So, when you two finally catch him, make sure you give the sicko a good thrashing.”

“We will!”

“Ragnarok, quiet down, the waitress is staring at us!”

Maka smiled fondly, though the smile was only for a moment. Just as her and Soul were on an important mission regarding a serial kidnapping, Crona and Ragnarok were dealing with a serial killing. Though at least those two had an idea of who they were after; a man who had been dubbed the Podcast Killer by the public, a name deriving from how he sets up a live podcast to stream him torturing and killing his victims.

It was horrifying, terrifying, the person behind it was undoubtedly a monster. But he was smart, Maka would give him that. The police weren’t able to track him down by his podcasts, and the corpses of his victims showed up all over the world, making it hard to narrow him down to one place when he seemingly had the ability to travel all over. The last few bodies had been found in South America, with the most recent being in Brazil, hence why Crona and Ragnarok were there.

“Just be careful, both of you,” Maka said, speaking a bit softer. Soul yawned beside her and she found herself smiling gently again. “It’s late, so I think Soul and I are going to turn in for the night. You two should do the same soon, too.”

“Ease up on the drinking, Ragnarok,” Soul added.

She could just picture the weapon sticking his tongue out at the phone. “I don’t have to do what either of you say.”

“I’ll try to drink plenty of water,” Crona promised, “I’ll, um, I’ll see with Barrichello when we can head back to the hotel.”

Maka kept smiling as she heard Ragnarok complain over Crona’s words. “Got it. You two have a good rest of your night and make sure you get plenty of sleep,” she said, feeling like a mother hen, but really she just wanted to make sure Crona was taking care of themselves while out there. “Good night, Crona, sleep tight, love you!”

And that tiny, embarrassed squeak that they gave, even when drunk thanks to Ragnarok, well it made her heart swell. “L-love you two. Both of you!”

Soul laughed, “Get some rest, and best of luck on your mission.”

With a few more minutes of drawn out farewells, Maka hung the call up and abandoned her phone on the bedside table, letting out a yawn of her own as she felt sleepiness catch up to her. She blinked, licked her lips, and then turned to look to Soul.

“Think they’ll get their mission done before us?” she asked.

Soul shrugged out of his shirt and undid his belt, “Who knows? They’ve been on their mission a lot longer than we have, and the killings been going on for about as long as the kidnapping, maybe a bit longer,” he mused as he pulled back the covers on the bed. “Wouldn’t be surprised if by the time we catch the kidnappers Crona’s already waiting back home for us.”

Maka smiled and slowly undid her pigtails, letting her hair down and leaving the hair ties by her phone. “Maybe we could make it a race, see who gets done first.”

“You’ll just overwhelm them if you do that,” Soul laughed.

“You’re right, that wouldn’t be fair,” Maka conceded, turning the lights to the room off and then climbing into bed beside Soul. “I do hope that they catch the guy soon. Feels like they’ve been gone forever, and just talking on the phone isn’t the same as being beside them.”

Soul nodded, pulling the blankets up over the both of them, “I know how you feel, but I think you should be focusing more on our mission at the moment instead of theirs. Crona knows what they’re doing. Let’s just focus on the kidnappings, and once ours is done, you can fret about Crona’s all you want.”

Yawning, Maka nodded and nestled in closer to him, “Fine, deal.”

But, for now she had time to not worry about either missions, let her mind be free of thoughts of kidnappings and murders and instead embrace the freedom of sleep and dreams. She and Soul could sleep, rest up their bodies and rest their minds so that come morning, when they go and meet up with Elijah, they could give the mission their all.

Right now, though, they just needed to worry about sleeping and not to sleep past their alarms.

“Sea may rise, sky may fall. My love will never die~”

Singing softly, he spun around his workroom. On a counter was a laptop and attached to it were microphones and other equipment meant to get the best sound quality possible captured as this moment was recorded and streamed. He had to make sure his lovely audience heard every little sound so that they could paint a detailed gruesome image in their heads.

“Please!”

He ignored the sobbing, the crying, continuing instead to sing along to the music as he prepared his tools, “Go on, go on, go bravely on, into the blackest night.”

The room was dimly lit, a few flickering and full lights hanging from the ceiling, and terribly cold, too. cold, concrete floors and walls, not a window to be seen, counters littered with bloodstained tools, more hanging from the walls, ropes, straps, gags, and numerous candles and other toys stored nice and neat. On a coat rack hung a few bloodied and long aprons, in a box were numerous long gloves. He smiled, tightening the straps of the apron he currently wore—had to make sure his clothes stayed nice and clean, and then pulled on a pair of gloves. They snapped against his forearms when he let them go, reaching almost as far as his elbows.

His smile didn’t cease as he stared at himself in the stained and broken mirror, looking at his fractured reflection in satisfied delight; “Hold my breath, ‘til your return. My love will never die~.” He spun around mid-verse, holding a pair of pliers in his hands as he sang, facing the poor sap strapped to the old, torn, leather dental chair before him. “Lovely song, isn’t it? Played during Lucifer’s season four final—such a powerful scene, really, just that final “I love you”—it brought a tear to my eye. I don’t know how anything in the upcoming fifth season is going to be able to top it. Ohoho! Spoilers, I suppose, for those who may not have seen it yet.”

The man he had caught was middle-aged, probably in his thirties, a head full of curly brown hair, eyes bloodshot and teary, face unshaven. His wrists were bruised as he continued to fight against the leather straps holding him down, more straps holding him by the ankles and by his bared waist. He was naked, save for the briefs, as Samael had taken the liberty to strip him down to his skivvies while the man was still fast asleep from the drugs. It made the process so much easier when his prey didn’t have their pesky clothes in the way. He hated having to waste time tearing and cutting the fabrics away during his sessions just so he could get to the flesh and bones beneath, he didn’t have the patience for that kind of thing, and he didn’t want his audience to grow bored because he had to spend a few minutes removing clothing while they waited in tantalizing suspense to know what he would do next to his prey.

“Please,” the man begged, struggling ever so pointlessly. “I’ve done nothing wrong, please let me go!”

Samael laughed, twirling the pliers in his hands as he smiled at the man, “Why, what makes you think you’re here because you did something wrong?” he asked playfully as he began walking to his victim. “If I only picked people who did wrong deeds, well, I might as well apply for a badge and gun~!” he laughed heartily as he said that, leaning in close, careful not to bump the microphone hanging by them.

He spoke with a smile, but his voice was low, dangerous. “You don’t need to do something wrong to wind up here, my friend. Otherwise, only people who did something ‘wrong’ would get hurt, and we both know that isn’t true.”

Pulling away, Samael spared a glance to the laptops he had positioned carefully on a clean table, look at the screen that was pulled up. The chat log was full, moving far quicker than most could read as hundreds listened and talked. His viewers in the hundreds, a number that steadily climbed higher.

Some commenters weren’t sure if this was real or fake, others knew what was going on and were begging for him to stop, and even more, others who thought this was fake were egging him on and laughing. Even more were staying silent and listening, knowing this was wrong but unable to tear themselves away from the scene. Seeking to know what happens next, begging to be entertained. And Samael was nothing if not an entertainer.

“What shall we do first, my dear viewers?” Samael loudly asked, clapping his hands together in giddy delight. “I’ve him strapped down to the leather chair—not gagged this time as you can tell. I thought you’d like to hear his screams and begging more clearly. His wrists, his ankles, his neck and waist are all tied down by leather straps to keep him from going anywhere. We could tighten the straps up, too. Cut off the circulation to his hands and feet—oh they’d turn into such a lovely shade of color, don’t you think?”

He smiled, humming as he circled the man strapped to the chair, keeping an eye on the ever moving chat on the computer, his discerning eyes picking out a few comments here and there in the rush. Some telling him that he was a sick fuck, others laughing and asking if he was being ‘for real’, and even fewer actual suggestions from the brave few. Samael chuckled, coming to stand behind his prey, fixing his hair and running fingers through the dark curls.

So many ways to start this off, so many things he could do to this poor sap. The lad was beyond himself with whimpers, begging and crying, shaking like a leaf in a storm. “You’re absolutely adorable like this,” Samael whispered to him with a laugh, looking back up at the screen and pushing himself away from the nameless chap. “Ah! Righty! Brilliant ideas, my wonderful audience. I now know just what to do to really set the ball rolling.”

He turned the chair so that the man faced him, knelt down and with the pliers he had been holding, Samael took hold of the fingernail on his index finger. He smiled up at his friend, “This is going to hurt—but that’s the best part.” The man squirmed, and when Samael gave the plier and nail a good yank, well, the scream was pure euphoria to his humble ears.

Samael could only let out a deep sigh as he let the bloodied nail fall to the ground, listening to the man scream and cry in pain, as the chat continued to move, even faster than before, letting out a choir of alerts singing in the air along with the music playing in the background. He didn’t need to turn and look at the chat, the initial response to the first strike was always the same. Horror, confusion, doubt, laughter. Humans bearing their souls to the world under the safety of anonymity.

He smiled, his teeth fully bared, “Ah, where are my manners! My dear watchers can’t see what’s going on, and I completely forgot! Well, fret not everyone! As you can hear from his screams, I’ve begun work, though he’s quite the overreactor, now isn’t he? Why, all I’ve done is just tear out a single fingernail on his index finger and he’s gone and soiled himself,” Samael chuckled, and reached for the next nail. “But, we can’t stop right there, now can we? Let’s get the rest of these pesky little things out of the way.”

There was only an hour to work, well—Samael could have spent more time, he was the one in control, but he needed to exhibit some self-control, and for him that was maintaining a strict timeframe for how long he let these sessions last. An hour to create his works of art, an hour to entertain the masses with torture and horror.

It was a messy process, and his apron and gloves were well used, coming out soaked in blood by the end of it all. He had used quite a few of his tools; his knives to cut into his skin, hammers to break bones, he’d driven rusty nails into the flesh, had burned him, poured hot oil into open wounds. Everything had been wonderful, had driven him mad with delight, and it wasn’t even his best work.

Samael heaved a happy sigh; the recording done and dragged the body from the chair and onto an empty table. “You were such a wonderful partner today,” Samael said, giving his mangled corpse a pat on the shoulder, finding a clean scalpel to work with. “But, we’re not done, not yet.” He spun the knife between his fingers, running his hand over the cold chest, smearing blood on the gloves he wore.

He was going to need to think of where to leave the body after he had all his fun with it, had to make sure it was somewhere fitting, somewhere that his little followers could find—a treat for them. It wasn’t any fun if his so-called hunters couldn’t find the trails he left them. He wanted them to think they were getting closer to finding him while feeling like they weren’t making progress at all. But where oh where would he take them? Samael smiled as he looked to the wall of maps, to all the colorful circles he’d left over areas of interest.

Yorkshire, both East and North Riding circled in vivid red. Both an area he’d like to avoid leading his trail through while also an area of great interest to him. Nevada circled in black pen, with a fitting skull over it—he’d rather avoid Nevada, actually he’d like to keep out of America as much as possible, a filthy, corrupt, awful nation that one was. The Nagano prefecture was also circled, as was the Tokyo and Osaka prefectures. He could always leave it in some Brazilian city, just to mess with his hunters further. Oh, the possibilities were just endless, weren’t they? It just added to the thrill, to the fun.

With a song on his tongue, he drove the blade into his chest with acute precision, cutting through the skin and muscle, pushing past the bones until he had torn the untouched heart out of the chest. His smile grew, his body vibrated with anticipation and excitement as he held it carefully in his hands.

Oh, now this was his favorite part.

[ecchima]

Human is beautiful, perfect is boring

Note: This is not a new chapter, I just forgot to post chapters 4 and 5 on tumblr! We are still working on this fanfic tho, don’t worry! We just are really busy lately

Words: 4,4k Rating: T Co-author: @smuttybugggu AO3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Perfect is Boring   

A week has passed since their movie night, and Jesse McCree realizes that he’s in  love. The kind of love one might read about in romance novels or see in sappy movies, the one you want to write with a capital L and sign with a cutesy drawn heart. He can’t stop thinking about Hanzo; the man devours his thoughts with his eyes, his soft lips, his beauty…

Every time Jesse is alone with Hanzo, he feels like he just walked pass the pearly gates. It kills McCree knowing Hanzo despises one part of himself. But...seeing the kinder, gentler, and affectionate side of Hanzo, one that enjoys being with McCree, makes all the glares, scoffs and hatred worth it. It doesn’t matter how many times James feels his heart break as long as Jesse can feel his heart melt as well.

“-- abrón !”

McCree startles from his thoughts when a heavy binder slaps on his lap. He winces and glances to the thick pile tossed on his lap before hesitantly lifting his gaze to meet Gabriel’s irked one.

“You got a lot of nerve,  mocoso ,” Gabriel snaps and crosses his arms. “You slack off when you know we have the photoshoot with Shimada coming up. And now you aren’t paying attention to me!”

“But, Gabe,” McCree pleads. “I really was feeling sick! Come on,” he pleads, mouth pulling into a pout. “Ain’t a man allowed to feel sick once in awhile?”

“Pura mierda! ” Gabriel hisses immediately. “You pull that crap again and I’ll give you something really tough to cry about. You’re only lucky because Shimada missed a day as well.”

“Did he now?” McCree asks with an feigning smile. “I guess no human’s perfect, huh?”

Reyes throws his hands up and plops down in his office chair. “As I was saying, study that binder. It has all the previous photographs chosen by the magazine, so you’ll have an idea of what the client is looking for. You should be grateful, cabrón. It was a lot of work gathering those together.”

McCree chuckles and quickly opens the binder. “Thank ya, Gabe.” He skims through the portfolio, staring at the models on each page. Gabriel wasn’t kidding; most of them are shirtless and showing off their figures. “Ah...I think I get what they’re lookin’ for.”

“I hope you’re following your diet better than you are with showing up to work,” Gabe mutters in annoyance as he moves his attention to the paperwork on his desk. “Ah, mierda. Casi me olvido. That robot model is here, getting a tour of the studio. Mondatta?”

McCree instantly perks up. “THE Mondatta? He’s here?! Right now?” In an instant, Jesse sounds like an eager five-year-old child. “Can I go meet him? Pretty please?”

Gabe deadpans. “If you never use the phrase ‘pretty please’ ever again. Get the hell out of here and make friends with the robot. You could benefit with a collaboration with him in the future.”

In an instant, McCree stands up, waves to Gabriel and is out of the man’s office. He asks everyone he sees if they know where the omnic is until one of the make up artists tells him she saw Mondatta in Hall B’s cluster of photography rooms--most likely being shown where he’ll be having his pictures taken. McCree dashes in that direction and he swears he’s never run faster in his life until he trips on his own feet and falls forward. He lets out a string of curses and tries to stand back up but his arms refuses to carry his weight and he falls back, face first on the floor.

“You look pathetic, McMilan.” A pair of white espadrilles with a light blue border around the rim of the shoes comes into view.

McCree sighs against the floor before sitting up. “Howdy, Shimada-san.”

Only when Hanzo’s expression shifts from disgust to confusion does he remembers that James McMilan does  not  “howdy” people. He quickly glances away, pretending to find Hanzo’s shoes more interesting than his face.

“I was unaware the studio allowed clumsy cowboy impersonators in. Now, you sound as ridiculous as you look," he hears Hanzo say.

McCree steals a quick stare up and is met with Hanzo’s disapproving scowl before he walks away. His words leave a harsh sting, as he remembers Hanzo complimenting his accent on several occasions.  Another thing McCree is allowed to have but not McMilan, he thinks bitterly.

He goes to stand up but is stopped midway by a vertigo. For a second, he feels as if he’s going to fall back on the floor so he leans against the wall for support. When the sensation passes, he starts walking in the direction of Hall B.

It isn’t hard to spot which room Mondatta is in, the doors are wide open and there is a crowd of people gathered around the omnic. When he enters, McCree spots Genji talking excitedly with an omnic, away from the crowd in their own little corner, and he waves at them. The omnic waves back, making Genji turn and realise McCree’s presence. He waves back at Jesse with a big smile then points at the crowd and mouths “Mondatta” before giving him a thumbs up. McCree makes sure no one is looking at him and mimics a hat tip before diving into the crowd.

For years, his fascination for omnics had grown. It was amazing how prominent they became in society, with a vast variety of actors and models and even politicians. Jesse remembers watching the debates on television when there were no guitarists for the TV shop to display: people arguing over whether or not omnics should have as many rights as humans. He remembers the first time he saw Mondatta, on the front page of a dirty newspaper he was about to burn; how he instead tore the article off the paper and saved it to read.

If something or someone like an omnic could manage to go so far, then maybe someone like Jesse could be more than some kid playing guitar on the streets, burning newspapers to keep warm at night. Maybe one day, Jesse could finally be worthy of a better life...and of love. Not entirely in the romantic sense, a feeling of belonging and having love and support often given by family. His dad had been a piece of garbage and his mother never paid attention to what he did--even running with the Deadlocks didn’t get her attention--and Jesse had always wondered what it would feel like to be loved. But seeing a being as amazing as Mondatta makes him realize those days are over.  He had managed to meet Gabe, who was an amazing manager, even if he came across as a hard ass. And even more, he and Hanzo were growing closer.

It made Jesse realize, he’d never be alone again.

McCree feels his breath clog up in his throat when he spots a distinct shade of gold and white metal after the crowd parts slightly. He holds back a scream when his idol’s gaze falls on him and ignores all the other people greeting him while he approaches Mondatta, feeling like a young child as he gets closer and closer. “Uhhh! Mister Mondatta. Sir. It’s...it’s an honor to meet me--you! Meet you.” He winces and tries to hide his face with his hat before remembering he doesn’t have it, settling with his hand instead.

“It is an honor to meet you as well, Mister McMilan,” Mondatta answers, bowing his head respectfully.

McCree forgets how to breathe for an entire minute before he squeaks out “You  know me?”

The omnic chuckles and lays a hand on McCree’s shoulder. “Why, of course I know you. Your reputation precedes you, my friend. I have seen your work in my travels shown all across different billboards and magazines," Mondatta lets go of McCree’s shoulder, much to his chagrin. "But, I do not know you personally. Why don't you accompany me on my tour? I would love to speak more with you and Shimada-san."

“Shimada-san? Wait…Which Shimada-san are we talking about here?”

“I believe Mondatta-san was referring to me,” a stern voice answers. McCree turns to look at Hanzo, who doesn’t look happy with the omnic’s suggestion. “We were preparing to finish the tour. Just the two of us.”

“Wonderful,” Mondatta replies and cants his head to one side, seemingly oblivious to Hanzo’s ire. “I will inform my younger brother before we depart.”

Jesse watches as the omic strolls away and approaches the same omnic Genji is speaking to privately.

“Heh. You both have a lot in common already,” McCree murmures and glances to Hanzo. “You both have little brothers.”

Hanzo royally ignores him and quietly walks to the doorway, McCree follows after him. The silence is becoming heavy as they watch Mondatta letting some people take selfies with him.

“Hum,” McCree starts, unsure of what he’s going to say. “I didn’t have the time to tell you this earlier but, uh…I like your shoes.” He mentally slaps himself for that lame comment, watching as Hanzo looks down at his espadrilles and at McCree’s freshly polished shoes.

“Even your shoes are wearing makeup,” he scoffs with disdain.

The response quickly makes McCree wilt and he sighs at the rebuttal. Jesse takes out his phone, switches it into silent mode and types a quick text to Hanzo. He knows it’s risky but he could really use a bit of love right now. He re-reads his message and hits send.  Heya Hanzo~ How’s your day?

He can hear his lover’s phone vibrating when it is being pulled out. A small smile appears on Hanzo’s face when he reads the message and Jesse can feel his chest swell with happiness.

It is quite calm, I have been asked to accompany Mondatta, an omnic model, on his tour of the studio.

Jesse turns his back to Hanzo, to answer his text. OMG you’re with Mondatta??? He’s my fav model!!!! He hits send and quickly types a second message: After you, of course ♥

He hears Hanzo make a soft chuckle and his fingers type away. A few seconds later, he receives the message. Is that so? He’s about to write an answer when Mondatta interrupts him by putting a hand on his shoulder.

“My apologies for the delay,” the omnic says and Jesse notices Mondatta’s other hand resting on Hanzo’s shoulder. “My brother, Zenyatta, is quite fascinated with your brother, Shimada-san. He has been a fan of their music for several months now.”

Instantly the good mood drains from Hanzo’s face as he turns his attention back on Mondatta and McCree. “Ahh. I see.”

Jesse finds it strange that Hanzo doesn’t say more at the mention of his brother, considering how often he talks about him. It’s surprising, as well, that Hanzo turns away quietly and beckons for them to follow. McCree taps his fingers together for a few seconds, scratches at the back of his neck, and clears his throat. “So, that was Hall B. All the photoshoots happen there.”

“Obviously,” Hanzo replies.

“Hall C is where the photos are edited,” he continues, ignoring Hanzo’s irked voice.

“McMilan knows this part of the studios fairly well.”

“And you don’t, Shimada-san?” Mondatta asks innocently.

Jesse almost immediately gets another text. This robot is really your favorite model? He seems as bad as the rest of them. (´;︵;`)

“Well, Mister Shimada here is a bit of a special case with his work,” he clarifies and stares at Mondatta. “He’s very sought after because he refuses to let his photos be digitally altered.”

“Oh, I did not know that models could have that choice. When I asked about it at the beginning of my career, I have been told not to worry about it.”

“Many do not have such a choice,” Hanzo snaps at them. “It took years of hard work to possess even a modicum of this ‘privilege’. Not that many people understand what hard work and compromises means these days,” he continues, glaring at McCree as if he never ever worked hard in his life.

Jesse sighs. “I never said you didn’t work hard for it, Shimada-san and I never said everyone has that choice neither, including myself.”

Hanzo snorts. “Even if you were offered the choice, I doubt you would stop them from altering your pictures.”

McCree stops for a moment to think about it. Would he really ask for digital work on his photos if Gabe ever gives him the choice? He looks at his reflection on one of the windows and sighs again. “You’re right...Not everyone is as handsome as you, Shimada-san.”

It makes Hanzo scoff and press ahead without another word.

“Do not fret,” Mondatta states after a moment of silence. “I understand. You both may utilize alternate methods, but in the end, you both inspire. Many look up to your work.”

“Thank you.” Jesse smiles at the omnic. “And I know at least one person you’ve inspired as well. I don’t know where I’d be if I hadn’t read about you on a newspaper when I was--shoot--14 or 15? I just saw someone who climbed out of bias and did something meaningful. It opened my eyes.”

“I understand. It’s very humbling to be a source of inspiration.”

McCree’s smile falters and he swallows back some self-doubt.

“Now,” Mondatta continues and gestures ahead with a nod. “Where is Hall A? What is done there?”

McCree pauses and types out a ‘I bet he’s not so bad darlin. Can’t always judge on first impressions.’  to Hanzo. He doesn’t have to wait long to get an answer. Could you come get me around 5 p.m.?

Sure, hun. Can’t wait to see you again :^)

“My bad, Mondatta. Didn’t mean to get carried away there.” He tears his gaze away from the phone and glances up to the omnic. “Hall A is actually the runway! I don’t typically walk it myself, but it’s where they try to bring in new blood for the agency and fashion designers show off their new lines.”

The rest of the tour proceeds in a similar manner: little to no feedback from Hanzo while Jesse directs Mondatta around. They show him Hall A, and then the private dressing rooms for the prominent models, and then they end in the agency’s cafeteria. It’s located at the top of the agency, but a menacing flight of stairs guard the route up. There is an elevator located on the other side of the agency but it would seem odd and out of the way to ask to take the longer route so Jesse just sucks it up and starts climbing.

It’s not that Jesse doesn’t like taking the stairs. He usually does just that, but the diet has been pretty rough on him and each step just drains him of all of his energy. His breathing deepens around midway up as he hears Hanzo mock him for his lack of stamina. The remark makes him wish Hanzo would see McMilan the way he sees McCree.

Once he finally reaches the top of the stairs, McCree curls up on himself, hands on his knees, in an attempt to catch his breath. When he doesn’t feel like his lungs are burning anymore, he stands straight and is hit by vertigo again. He stumbles back and bumps into Hanzo; he desperately clutches against the man for support.

“M’sorry, Shimada-san,” he mumbles when he finds his balance back. He lets go of the man and takes a deep breath. “I guess you swept me off my feet,” he jokes weakly.

He doesn’t give Hanzo time to snap at him or for Mondatta to question if he is alright and quickly turns on his heels. “Anyway, I gotta head back to my dressin’ room. Nice meeting you, Mondatta!” He doesn’t spare them another glance before leaving.

The walk back to his room is draining, exhausting, and a huge strain on his body, but McCree pushes on. He doesn’t answer any of the staff greeting him on the way and locks himself in as soon as he enters. He slumps into the chair and looks at the ceiling for a while. He should talk to Reyes about the diet, it can’t be healthy to eat so little and exercise so much at the same time. He closes his eyes and almost immediately falls asleep.

McCree wakes up a few hours later, feeling sore and disoriented. He takes out his phone with a grunt and checks the time. He has one more hour before having to pick up Hanzo who apparently got worried after he stopped answering his texts. McCree opens the unread texts and listens to the voice mail message before typing a quick apology. Sorry sweetheart, I fell asleep :^/ I’ll be here to pick you up around 5 like I promised tho ♥

McCree scratches his face and groans. He should have gotten rid of the makeup before falling asleep; every inch of his face feels itchy and dry. It takes approximately half an hour to wash the makeup away before applying a moisturizing cream. McCree sighs and looks at himself in the mirror to make sure Hanzo won’t be able to spot the remaining marks of eyeliner around his eyes. He’s glad to see he doesn’t look as tired as he feels, the bags under his eyes are still visible but he knows his hat will hide them just fine.

He glances down at the time and swears under his breath. Why does it takes so much time to wash cosmetics away? McCree hurries to his closet and digs into it until he finds a pair of blue jeans and a--in his opinion, quite horrible--flannel shirt. He’s glad he kept a spare pair of boots as well, for when his dress shoes hurts too much. He changes quickly, drops his hat on his head and hurries to a washroom nearby where he can splash water on his slicked back hair to rinse the awful gel away. He looks at himself one last time in the mirror before walking towards the parking lot where Hanzo is waiting for him, careful to look at his feet so that his hat hides his face.

McCree huffs as he jogs to meet up with Hanzo. He kept his hat tucked against his face and took the less traveled paths, avoiding the crowds as much as possible. When he sees Hanzo, he starts taking longer strikes, his spurs jingling louder, which get the other’s attention. McCree can feel his heart melt when Hanzo smiles and waves at him like he’s the best goddamn thing on earth. It’s so refreshing and warming to see Hanzo’s expression not angry or upset, but simply happy...Happy to see McCree for once today.

“M’sorry I’m late, darlin’,” McCree says, planting a quick kiss on Hanzo’s cheek.

“How was your day, dearest?” Hanzo asks and returns a kiss of his own.

McCree hums and leans a bit against Hanzo, silently asking for more. “One of my co-worker’s been an ass.”

The other man’s expression turns sympathetic as he cups his hand against McCree’s cheek. “My condolences. I suppose I can help make you feel better at least?”

“Oh?” Jesse asks with a grin and pulls Hanzo’s arm over his shoulder, guiding it to rest around his neck.

“I have a surprise for you,” Hanzo whispers before pressing kisses against his neck.

“Shimada-san--Hum, sorry to interrupt,” someone says and McCree freezes as Hanzo steps aside, revealing Mondatta. “Oh, hello again McMilan.”

Silence settles between the three until Hanzo pulls back from him and shifts his gaze onto the omnic. “What?” he asks, frowning.

Jesse can feel the life draining from his body. His hands shake and his eyes grow wide. He tries to warn Mondatta, defend himself, apologize to Hanzo, wants to do something  but his body refuses to move and all he can do is watch as his world slowly shatters.

“Why did you call him ‘McMilan’?” Hanzo asks pointedly and peers at Mondatta. He scowls at the omnic; awaiting for some kind of explanation or response.

“Hanzo, darlin’,” Jesse finally manages to say, anxiously tugging at his collar. “I’m pretty sure he said ‘McCree’,” he fumbles with a flimsy excuse, eyes darting back and forth.

“He doesn’t know your name,” Hanzo snaps and turns on his heels, glaring up at Jesse. “So why would he say McCree instead?

“Surely this is a misunderstanding?” Mondatta suggests, as if sensing the tension between them. His robotic arms clasp calmly against his backside “But...you do possess an identical build, the same hair color and the same face albeit lacking the make-up Mister McMilan wears and a different shade of eye color.” It’s then when Mondatta pauses, glances from McCree to Hanzo and rests his hand against his chin. “...Perhaps I should leave you both to discuss this privately.”

Hanzo spares no second thought as Mondatta departs and glares at Jesse. “Is it true?” he demands. “Have you been lying to me?”

McCree extends a hand to try and wrap it around Hanzo’s waist. “Darlin’,” he begins.

Hanzo swats the hand away. “Have you been lying to me?” he repeats. If eyes could kill, McCree would be really dead right now.

“I-it’s not a lie! Just hear me out,” Jesse pleads and tries to clasp his hands around Hanzo’s--who in turn instantly yanks his arm out of reach. “It’s a long story.”

“Who are you?” Hanzo whispers deeply and jabs a finger against his chest. “Jesse McCree or James McMilan? Or is there a third name you go by as well?”

“That ain’t it! Just...jus’ listen to me?” McCree begs as he wipes his face, voice slightly cracking. He can’t remember panicking so much in his life before. “I’m both! Alright?! I’m both of ‘em. I have to be McMilan for my work, alright? But it’s not who I really am!”

“So you did lie to me when you said you were a soundcheck technician! How many more lies did you tell me?”

“Darlin’, please…” McCree tries.

“Do not ‘darling’ me! I do not know you!” Hanzo exclaims, taking a step back.

“Hanzo, please! I’m the exact same guy! Would you just…Would you just fuckin’ look at me for once?”

Hanzo freezes and scowls at him.

“How long have you and ‘McMilan’ worked together, Hanzo? A fucking year,” McCree struggles to explain as his bottom lip trembles. “And you never once gave me the time of day. You never gave me the chance to get close and get to know ya. A-at the bar, I didn’t mean to lie to you...but...but I thought it was some kind of joke when you came in and talked to me. But it wasn’t...You didn’t even recognize me, Hanzo.” McCree’s eyes starts filling with tears and he fights to keep his voice even. “Do ya have any idea how hard it was to stay away from you? To have to call the person you love by their family name because they hate your guts? Do you have any idea how painful it was to be half loved? Maybe if you didn’t keep your pretty head so far up your own ass, I wouldn’t hafta lie to you in the first place!” McCree half yells, anger and pain mixing agonizingly in his chest.

When he realizes what he just said, McCree’s eyes grow wide.

“I believe whatever lie we had is over then,” Hanzo stabs a finger against McCree’s chest. “Your lies, no. You are not worth my time, whoever you are.” He turns to leave and stops. “I even doubt you are worthy of anything with that attitude.”

McCree can almost hear his heart shatter into a million pieces, like glass, as the world spins around him. Hanzo’s voice saying ‘You are not worth my time, I even doubt you are worthy of anything’ in an agonizing loop in his head. The words slowly spin and change, turning into a shorter, deformed message: “You are not worthy of anything”.

He flashes back to being a fifteen-year-old, burning papers to keep him warm; he can never forget the glares of the flashy business men and women judging him as they walk by, whispering, “What a little brat.” and “What a waste.” He flashes back to the teachers in his early years of school, “You’ll never go anywhere. Who would care about a lazy student like you anyway? Your grades are so bad, I fear teaching you is just useless...” He flashes back to his desperate years: “You’re just a fucking piece of ass, Jesse McCree. You’ll never make it out there without me.” Lastly, he remembers his mother’s drunk face. “I shouldn’t have had you.”

When his mind finally races back to reality, he gets a glimpse of Hanzo’s face again and hears a distinct, “Do not call or text me ever again.”

He feels as immobile as a statue and can only watch while Hanzo walks away. Yet, once he’s finally alone, his legs give out, refusing to support him anymore. His heart feels heavy and his eyes itchy from the tears as an inhuman screech rips his throat.

One thing Hanzo will never know about Jesse McCree is how ugly he is when he cries out and, somehow, it soothes him to know that Hanzo didn’t get to truly see how ugly and disgusting he really is under his makeup.

Time passes in a blur: McCree barely remembers making it to his motorcycle and turning it on, barely remembers getting on his bike and straddling it, not even bothering to place his helmet on. He barely remembers putting his motorcycle in reverse. A familiar sound catches his attention--he realizes it’s the ringtone he assigned to Gabriel’s number--but he ignores it.

Lights stretches around him as he takes off from the agency and speeds up. He doesn’t check his speedometer, he forgets about the people around him, the cars, the streets. They are colorful blobs and blurs. All he knows is that everything hurts but the wind feels nice on his face. He doesn’t see the streetlight turning to red, doesn’t hear the car’s tires screeching as they stop, doesn’t hear the truck nor its horns.

Pain slams into his body. For a second, he doesn’t even realize the pain in his heart shouldn’t be able to do that. And suddenly…

He can’t feel or think at all.

Darkness.