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> Normal Teenage Life, Friendship is Nightmares
Post #161
xoxjoanxox


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post Jan 11 2011, 03:52 PM
QUOTE (Ocil @ Jan 9 2011, 04:54 PM)
The worst part is that I actually know and am friends with someone who could easily have written that.
*


I am so sorry. Is that friend the kind of person you keep just to hate?


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QUOTE (9/13/2013 3:49:17 PM Max-Vader:)
YOU KNOW NOTHING, JOAN SNOW

QUOTE (Master of AFTER @ Feb 5 2014, 05:08 AM) *
I Was the Drink: The Joan Cheng Story

QUOTE (Screaming Soulcatcher)
Joan are you the straightest shota
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Post #162
Max-Vader


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post Jan 11 2011, 11:23 PM
QUOTE (Al_Cone @ Jan 12 2011, 05:33 AM)
You see, when finally finished and posted in its entirety back in the summer of 2005, Normal Teenage Life was just barely shy of five hundred thousand words. As previously stated, the story as currently posted is 122,077. 500,000/122,077 = 4.09. That means--and brace yourself for this--in its original form, the author's notes for Normal Teenage Life outnumbered the actual story four to one.
And this is just the very tippy-top of the iceberg. And that iceberg? Is only the first twenty chapters' worth of author's notes.
*

WHAT?! How could you possibly write about 400000 words worth of authors notes? Is she mistaking her fanfic for her fucking live journal or what?


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I have had a vision. It has been revealed to me by the secret chiefs of the world that I am sexier than Buddha and harder than Jesus. I cannot die.
Joan (requesting my drawings): I'LL PAY YOU
IN ORAL SEEEX
Paragon: I will literally pay you in oral sex if you go on a call and sing that entire song [Little Girls by Oingo Boingo] for us and record it
Scream: Welp guess its my turn to owe Max a IOU blowjob
Paragon: I think Max is rapidly becoming the new pimp of PA
Shane: Max for realest nigga of 2013
TigerEyes: No means yes and yes means anal.
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Post #163
Waffleman


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post Jan 12 2011, 05:33 AM
How can you have THAT MUCH MORE to say about your story than you say in the ACTUAL STORY?


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Post #164
Al_Cone


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post Jan 12 2011, 08:18 AM
QUOTE (Waffleman @ Jan 12 2011, 06:33 AM)
How can you have THAT MUCH MORE to say about your story than you say in the ACTUAL STORY?
*


I suppose when you're fourteen years old and you think people care about things like which boys you wish would take you to the winter brunch or whatever the hell they do in middle school, you'll write whatever the fuck you feel like writing, relevance be damned.

Of course, there's also the minor fact that people actually DID care...


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Post #165
P Dot Alex


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post Jan 12 2011, 09:16 AM
So, just to clarify, she wasn't as much writing a story than writing a blog with a story bit. Makes me wonder how a fourteen-year-old girl can have the time to write half a million words in the first place.


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I got one of these. C'mon, don't be shy.

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Post #166
Ocil


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post Jan 13 2011, 01:39 PM
QUOTE (xoxjoanxox @ Jan 11 2011, 05:52 PM)
I am so sorry. Is that friend the kind of person you keep just to hate?
*


Well, he's one of my oldest friends and he's actually a really cool guy, he's just kind of close-minded and religious to an almost unhealthy degree. But, like I said, that aside, he's actually really cool.

Jeez! And I thought the version we were getting was bad! 500k words?! And the vast majority of it author-hour bullshit? That's.... that's getting pretty close to, if not actually unforgivable.
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Post #167
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post Jan 13 2011, 05:26 PM
QUOTE
You see, when finally finished and posted in its entirety back in the summer of 2005, Normal Teenage Life was just barely shy of five hundred thousand words. As previously stated, the story as currently posted is 122,077. 500,000/122,077 = 4.09. That means--and brace yourself for this--in its original form, the author's notes for Normal Teenage Life outnumbered the actual story four to one.


The nerdiest thing came to my mind:

The Speed of A relative to the Speed of B = the square root of Mass of B divided by Mass of A.

Studying for my Chem final sucks.


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QUOTE (9/13/2013 3:49:17 PM Max-Vader:)
YOU KNOW NOTHING, JOAN SNOW

QUOTE (Master of AFTER @ Feb 5 2014, 05:08 AM) *
I Was the Drink: The Joan Cheng Story

QUOTE (Screaming Soulcatcher)
Joan are you the straightest shota
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Post #168
Al_Cone


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post Jan 13 2011, 06:08 PM
QUOTE (xoxjoanxox @ Jan 13 2011, 06:26 PM)

The nerdiest thing came to my mind:

The Speed of A relative to the Speed of B = the square root of Mass of B divided by Mass of A.

Studying for my Chem final sucks.

*


Alright, now take that idea, and write an entire blog entry about it. Then slap together some stupid half-baked storyline about an autumn dance and call it brilliant writing.


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Post #169
xoxjoanxox


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post Jan 14 2011, 05:12 PM
QUOTE (Al_Cone @ Jan 13 2011, 09:08 PM)
Alright, now take that idea, and write an entire blog entry about it. Then slap together some stupid half-baked storyline about an autumn dance and call it brilliant writing.
*


It will still be better than any crap Queenie writes


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QUOTE (9/13/2013 3:49:17 PM Max-Vader:)
YOU KNOW NOTHING, JOAN SNOW

QUOTE (Master of AFTER @ Feb 5 2014, 05:08 AM) *
I Was the Drink: The Joan Cheng Story

QUOTE (Screaming Soulcatcher)
Joan are you the straightest shota
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Post #170
Al_Cone


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post Jan 14 2011, 06:36 PM
QUOTE (xoxjoanxox @ Jan 14 2011, 06:12 PM)
It will still be better than any crap Queenie writes
*


Let's qualify that statement a little better: Any crap that she wrote. Bear in mind that this story is more than six years old, and having actually known her personally, I can say without any doubt that her writing then and her writing now are worlds apart. I wasn't much better than this when I was that age, I can tell you that much.

So, that in mind, would it be better than any crap she writes? No, because it's been almost six years since the story ended, almost seven since it began, and what she writes now is entirely foreign to this mish-mash of personal drama and mediocre storytelling.

Would it be better than anything she wrote? Judging by this story, yes. Doubtless.


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Post #171
xoxjoanxox


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post Jan 16 2011, 06:26 AM
QUOTE (Al_Cone @ Jan 14 2011, 09:36 PM)
Let's qualify that statement a little better: Any crap that she wrote. Bear in mind that this story is more than six years old, and having actually known her personally, I can say without any doubt that her writing then and her writing now are worlds apart. I wasn't much better than this when I was that age, I can tell you that much.

So, that in mind, would it be better than any crap she writes? No, because it's been almost six years since the story ended, almost seven since it began, and what she writes now is entirely foreign to this mish-mash of personal drama and mediocre storytelling.

Would it be better than anything she wrote? Judging by this story, yes. Doubtless.
*


Ah yea, sorry. I'm thinking of this in present time and forgot this story is six years old.

But I can still say that when I was twelve, even though I had other issues with my writing, I never confused my stories with a LiveJournal entry.


--------------------


QUOTE (9/13/2013 3:49:17 PM Max-Vader:)
YOU KNOW NOTHING, JOAN SNOW

QUOTE (Master of AFTER @ Feb 5 2014, 05:08 AM) *
I Was the Drink: The Joan Cheng Story

QUOTE (Screaming Soulcatcher)
Joan are you the straightest shota
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Post #172
Al_Cone


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post Jun 3 2011, 12:16 AM
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******

San Quentin State Prison
11:34 AM


Solitary confinement suited Wilson just fine. He didn't need too much space, which made the tiny confines of his four-by-six cell irrelevant. Nor was comfort critical to him. The mattress was flat, the sheets scratchy, but both were an improvement over a dank foxhole in a crater-marked, bombed-out hellscape. Wilson had enough experience with the latter to appreciate his current situation as a step up.

If there was one thing he would change, it'd be the state of cleanliness. The very first sight that greeted him when he stepped into his windowless, soundproof cell was a great brown log floating in the middle of the toilet, its ends curved upward in a mocking grin. Through everything that had happened--the arrest, the interrogation, the deposition, the trial and the sentencing, Wilson had remained the very image of stoicism and courage. The sight of the previous occupant's bowel movement in the filthy, yellow-stained toilet was the first thing that actually drove him to some level of despair. His requests for some Comet and a Brillo pad had been denied, though the warden was merciful enough to allow a bar of Dove hand soap, and the communal shower had been surprisingly well-kept. Wilson had worried that if he were to use the shower, he'd come out dirtier than when he'd gone in.

With so much time on his hands and so little human interaction, Wilson's days consisted almost entirely of doing hundreds of push-ups and sit-ups in a row, repeating as needed to whittle away at his boredom. Months of this routine had kept his body strong and limber, but he was growing restless. He hadn't expected to be locked up nearly as long as he had been. Sooner or later, he'd reasoned as the officers were wrestling him to the ground on the lawn outside of Jefferson, they'd slip up in the guard rotation, leaving an opening that he could slither through back to the students who needed his protection.

But the prison staff had been surprisingly competent. With a man of Wilson's reputation, it would be exceedingly stupid to give him anything less than the maximum security possible. He'd had no opportunities to escape thus far. San Quentin Prison, he admitted grudgingly, had fully lived up to its reputation.

*****

He had been dosing on his cot that morning, having slept uncharacteristically late, when it happened. There was a horrible metallic shrieking sound that jarred him completely from his sleep, followed by half of his door--which had been cloven vertically down the middle--falling inward toward his cell with a heavy crash. With his new view to the outside world, he could see a woman dressed in a flowing black lolita maid's outfit with long blonde pigtails trailing behind her head. Blue eyes, rimmed with black eyeshadow, peeked at him beneath a curtain of platinum blonde bangs. She was smiling impishly at him.

"It's not my birthday, is it?" Wilson asked.

The fetish paragon before him edged the tip of a curved, shimmering scythe into view. Wilson eyed the blade warily. "An assassin."

The girl nodded cutely. "Here to kill me?" Wilson asked.

She shook her head. "Only if you get handsy, grampa. My name's Margaret, and I'm here to rescue you."

Wilson wasn't sure how his morning could get any more surreal, but having fallen down the hellish rabbit hole that he'd been trapped in since the start of the school year, he didn't think he had reason to be surprised by anything, however absurd, that happened to him. "Rescue me?" he asked, pushing off of the bed and sitting upright, his back pressed against the wall. "What, you broke into a maximum security penitentiary on your own to liberate me? All out of the goodness of your heart?"

"All out of the goodness of someone's pocket book is more like it," said Margaret. "I'm not usually in line with rescuing prisoners. Killing prisoners, yeah, occasionally, but you're the first guy I've ever busted out of a jail."

"Any reason in particular why you're branching out so suddenly?" Wilson asked coolly. His calm demeanor masked his near-euphoria at being sprung from his dank and mold-stained prison cell.

Margaret shrugged, ruffling her dress as she did. "It's a special case," she said simply. "Now, I went through a lot of trouble to break into this place, and concrete isn't exactly easy to cut through. So you wanna do me a solid and step out now?"

*****

"Here," Margaret said later as they stalked the eerily quiet corridors of the prison. She offered Wilson a familiar weapon - the broom-handled, C96 Mauser that had been taken from him after his arrest. "I pilfered this from contraband on my way up here. It's got a full clip in it, so if we run into trouble, don't hold back."

"Contraband?" Wilson asked, taking the gun from his rescuer. "Did they have any of my other things?"

"They did," Margaret replied. She had raised her scythe so that the blade rested against her shoulder like the butt of a rifle, and was staring down the weapon's grip with some intensity. "But carrying around an entire trunk full of shit isn't in my definition of stealth. You'll have to settle for what I gave you."

"And that, I suppose, is in your definition of stealth?" Wilson asked, indicating Margaret's scythe. He crouched low and held his pistol in front of him, aiming down the sights as the two moved. "I can think of several dozen weapons that would be more handy in a jailbreak than that."

"I am very sure that I don't care what you think," growled Margaret. "You know what else isn't in my definition of stealth? Noisy chit-chat. So why don't you - hey, hold up a minute."

Margaret came to a stop. Wilson followed suit, creeping closer to her. "What is it?" he whispered.

"Quiet," hissed Margaret. She was eying the corridor warily, "Tell me you heard that."

Wilson shut his eye, focusing. A quiet, sub-audible skittering noise reached his ears. "Like an animal's claws on linoleum," he whispered. "Guard dogs?"

"No," said Margaret quietly. "If a guard dog had sniffed us out, we'd be hearing a lot more barking than none at all. Besides..." She lowered her gaze to the ground. "It's coming from below us."

The concrete floor before them exploded upward, pelting Wilson and Margaret in debris. From the newly formed hole emerged an insect-like creature, four-legged and no larger than a dog. Numerous spindly arms, tipped in razor-sharp claws, grasped the lip of the crater as it dragged itself out, exposing its brown, orange-tinted body. The jaws were familiar enough; Wilson had seen them on the face of the Hydralisk that he'd encountered on the night of his capture. His mind returned to the pilfered Umbrella documents that he'd obtained from Billy Mays; this was the bread-and-butter, frontline soldier of the Zerg Swarm, classified by Umbrella as a Zergling.

Wilson wasted no time, snapping off two shots from his Mauser at the creature. They struck dead-on, but deflected harmlessly off of its skin. He remembered the encounter with the Hydralisk; he'd killed it with a 40mm grenade round, not a .45 ACP. Unless Margaret had something of a higher caliber up her dress somewhere, he'd have to take care of the Zergling the old fashioned way.

The Zergling bypassed Margaret and pounced at Wilson, jaws spread impossibly wide. He caught it in midair and threw it, narrowly avoiding being gouged by its ridiculously numerous claws. The Zergling wasn't so much bigger than a labrador, but it was damned heavy ("With skin like that, how could it not be?" Wilson silently asked); regardless, it flew a fair distance through the air before landing and skidding on the ground. It quickly regained its balance, and Wilson dropped back into his well-worn CQC fighting stance, armed with a useless pistol and no blade. My kingdom for a knife, he thought grimly.

Margaret snorted behind him and shoved him out of the way. "Idiot," she muttered derisively, raising her scythe to her shoulder again. Before Wilson could get a word in edgewise, a magnificent explosive sound echoed through the corridor. The tip of the scythe that was pointed at the Zergling flashed, and a gaping, bloody hole the size of Wilson's fist appeared in the side of the Zergling's head.

Amazingly, it still managed to return to its feet, though it did so shakily. It lumbered towards Margaret, but she fired again, either oblivious or apathetic to the damage that she was no doubt causing to Wilson's ears, and the Zergling's forehead exploded. The body slumped to the ground, twitched a moment, and then lay still.

Smoke trailing from the scythe's tip, Margaret turned to Wilson. "That eyepatch doesn't make you Big Boss, you know," she snapped. "What, exactly, were you planning to do? If a bullet won't kill that thing, what makes you think that CQC would be any more effective?"

"It was just about all I had left," Wilson admitted. "I wasn't expecting..." He gestured to the scythe.

"What, this old thing?" Margaret said, hefting her scythe into the air, resting the blade on her shoulder. "It's a Barrett M82 anti-material rifle. This baby can punch through tank armor." She lowered the scythe so that the barrel touched the floor and leaned casually against it. "I stuck some blades onto it once I picked up the alias."

"That's either a terrible idea," said Wilson, flicking the safety on his Mauser and stuffing it in his waistband, "or a very excellent one. I take it 'Margaret' isn't your alias, dear?"

Margaret flashed him a sinister grin. "It's not my real name either; I just like the sound of it. But if I were out to kill you, I'd be using a different name entirely."

"I'm curious," said Wilson, eying the still-leaking corpse of the Zergling. "Suppose you were out to kill me. What would I call you then?"

The lolita assassin ran a fingertip down the blade of her scythe, tapped the tip affectionately, and inspected her fingertip, before turning back to Wilson and winking mischeviously.

"Reaper."

******

The prison's courtyard wasn't as deserted as the interior, by virtue of having a single occupant standing atop a house-sized, throbbing fleshy mass that pulsed disconcertingly. The man atop the mass wore all black, an unseasonably warm ensemble for the warm California spring. Trousers, shirt, sunglasses and long, leather duster were all uniformly jet black.

Wilson recognized the man from Billy Mays' files as none other than Albert Wesker, current head of Umbrella and universally reviled bioterrorist. More than that, he was the son of a bitch who lost Wilson his job. As selfish as it was, Wilson was a bit more miffed at that last part than anything else in Wesker's description.

Margaret was close behind him, her weapon still raised to her shoulder. "Crap. The getaway chopper was supposed to be here by now. I guess it's not coming at all, is it?"

"You sound calm," Wilson said to her. "Nothing you're seeing right now is disturbing you in the slightest?"

"I'm unflappable," said Margaret. "What can I say?"

Wesker slid down the side of the pulsing mass and landed on the ground. An organic, foul-smelling purple carpet extended around the perimeter of the mass, and it was expanding with every step that Wesker took. He was still a fair distance away, but Wilson drew his pistol, flicked off the safety and set him in his sights.

"Slade Wilson," boomed Wesker from across the courtyard. "In the company of Margaret Moonlight. An odd couple indeed." Wesker came to a halt, about halfway between the mass and his opponents. "Margaret, I had no idea that the U.A.A. was taking an interest in this."

"They aren't. I am." Wekser was directly in her line of fire. "I take an interest when there's money involved. You should know how this works; you've hired from the U.A.A. often enough."

"For all the good it did me. That damned loudmouth pitchman is still alive and kicking." Wesker spat. "That's a lesson well learned, however, because it taught me to always tie the loose ends on my own." He grinned wryly. "Well, more or less on my own."

Wilson stepped forward a half-pace. "You've come for me, then?"

Wesker nodded, his grin receding into a wicked smirk. "You've been a formidable opponent, Wilson. You successfully fended off my ambitions in your school for quite some time. Taking you out directly was never an option; you were far too cunning, too skilled, for that to succeed. And that you avoided ingesting Volxemortserum at all is nothing shy of a miracle. So I have to congratulate you, Principal Wilson, for stalling my plans for as long as you did."

"I'd accept the accolades," said Wilson, "except you're an evil son of a bitch who's trying to turn my kids into an army of mutated freaks. Pretty words don't mean so much when they're coming out of your mouth."

"Quiet, Philistine," said Wesker, eliciting a miffed grunt from Margaret. "I don't expect one so low as you to understand my grand designs. Mine is a higher purpose than yours; mine are loftier goals than you could ever aspire towards."

"I thought you said you respected me," said Wilson, puzzled. "You're a little all over the place here, Wesker."

Wesker spread his arms and smiled. "I'm a complex being, Mr. Wilson, with complex feelings and complex motivations. Again, I don't expect you to understand." Behind him, the fleshy mass suddenly exploded, pelting everything in a fifty meter radius with viscous orange goo, Wesker included. He bore it all without flinching. In the mass' place was a gaping hole, its rim a wide, fleshy lip-like construction and its interior pulsing with a sickly green light."Simply know that a new dawn is coming, and that my Zerg are its heralds. Godhood is within my grasp, and nobody, not you, nor your lolita friend there, nor Zero himself with all the armies in the world, will deny me."

"Big talk," said Wilson. "Now eat lead." He fired; Margaret followed suit a split second later.

Wesker, still grinning like a smarmy son of a bitch, wove between the two shots, dodging them effortlessly. Margaret fired again, repeatedly, until her ammunition was exhausted, but Wesker maneuvered through and around the bullets without exerting himself.

Margaret slammed another magazine into her rifle. "You smarmy, bullet time-using pseudo-British unclefucker!"

"I know that you're angry, dear Margaret," crowed Wesker. "So I'll let that one slide." From the pit behind him, a body began to emerge. A mammoth shape, colossal in proportion, four-legged and rippling with muscle beneath its chitinous exoskeleton, with four scythe-like blades the size of an airplane's wings protruding from its head, climbed slowly from the hole, dragging itself into the courtyard. The beast could easily dwarf any tank in existence; its size and scale could only be rivaled by a Metal Gear.

"An Ultralisk?" Wilson breathed. "But the documents said that those were too costly to produce in any large quantity!"

"And they were correct, Principal Wilson!" said Wesker. "We had projected that only a handful of Ultralisks could be produced with our current resources. Doable, certainly, but we decided that we wanted all the bang that we could get for our buck. Instead of a dozen Ultralisks--individually powerful, but easily defeated by heavy artillery--acting as shock troops, we opted to produce a single Ultralisk, and pack every bit of the power and fury of those dozen into its being. What you see before you is larger, stronger, faster, and better than a single Ultralisk. This," he said, turning towards the towering beast behind him, "is the mighty Torrasque!"

Margaret took a shot at his exposed back. Wesker sidestepped it without turning around. The shot struck the Torrasque's foot; it flinched and grunted, but otherwise exposed no outward sign of pain. Margaret lowered her rifle, eyes wide with shock. "Oh, fuckin' eat me."

"That can be arranged," said Wesker with a laugh. "Mighty Torrasque! It seems I'm running a bit behind schedule. I had planned to deal with these interlopers personally, but the situation is unfolding far more rapidly than I had anticipated. I must return to the staging area to complete our final preparations; I leave you here to dispose of the refuse."

The Torrasque raised its tank-sized head to the sky and bellowed. "That's what I like to hear, my pet," said Wesker. "Leave not a trace of their being."

"Please," said Wilson through grit teeth, "tell me you had a plan for this."

"Was I supposed to have one?" asked Margaret. "According to the mission specs, we should have been on a chopper bound for an offshore oil rig right now. I got nothin' here."

"You sound nervous," said Wilson. "Thought you were unflappable."

"Oh, piss off. We're about to die."

Standing atop the fleshy protrusion lining the perimeter of the hole, Wesker turned his head to the thoroughly fucked Wilson and Margaret. "It's been some run, my friends. But it ends here. My one regret is that I won't get to see your bones be gnashed between my pet's teeth. Mighty Torrasque, end them!"

The Torrasque bellowed again and charged, surprisingly light on its feet for so tremendous a beast. Wilson and Margaret dove in opposite directions to avoid its charge, and the beast instead slammed into the building behind them. The building crumbled atop its head, brick and cement cascading down its granite-solid body and crashing to the ground. Wilson scrambled to avoid the shrapnel, and succeeded in avoiding the larger, more deadly chunks. He couldn't see what had happened to Margaret.

The Torrasque removed itself from the wreckage of the building, turned its head and spotted Wilson. It whirled about to once again face him and charged, closing the distance between the two of them with three giant steps. It raised a redwood-sized leg over Wilson and slammed its foot down. Wilson evaded at the last second, rolling to the side before the Torrasque's foot could crush him. The mutant Ultralisk lowered its head to him and buried all four of its blades in the ground around him. Its mouth, horribly large and lined with teeth the size of a grown man, opened wide and the beast roared, covering him in foul-smelling green spittle. The sound was even more unbearable than the stench.

Still on his back, Wilson propped himself up on his elbows and backpedaled quickly to avoid the beast's mouth when it tried to devour him; it instead buried its face in the dirt. With Wilson mere feet away from its face, the Torrasque eyed him with all six of its human head-sized eyes, furiously and silently willing its prey to hold still and die.

Without hesitating, Wilson raised his Mauser.

His final round tore into one of the Torrasque's eyes, burying itself into its pupil and exploding the eye around it. The Torrasque jarred its face from the dirt and screamed, agonized. Wilson took some grim satisfaction in knowing that its eyes were a weak point, but knew that without any more shots, this knowledge would do him no good.

"At least I got in a hit before the end, you ugly quim," said Wilson to the still-reeling beast. "Do your worst."

The Torrasque began to recover. Viscous red blood still oozed from the wound, but its five intact eyes locked gaze with Wilson. Wounded and galled beyond all reason, it roared again and stomped forward.

A shrill, ten-note whistle cut through the air, drawing both Wilson and the Torrasque's gaze away from one another, to the source of the sound. The whistle was loud, but sad, melancholic, and Wilson felt a sudden pang of sorrow. The Torrasque felt no such emotion; it was simply curious as to the source of the obnoxious noise.

The report of a gun cut through the air, and another of the Torrasque's eyes exploded, but far more impressively than the one that Wilson had shot out. Though bloodied, dirty and torn, Margaret Moonlight had righted herself, stood amid a pile of debris, and fired a shot that further blinded the Torrasque. This one seemed to hurt more than the other; it whipped its head back and forth, its Kaiser Blades haphazardly swinging in all directions. Wilson dove between two blades as they scissored towards him, and sprinted for Margaret, sliding to a stop by her side.

"Here," she said, handing him a stripper clip full of pistol rounds. He immediately slid them into his Mauser. "Take two more with you and get out of here."

Wilson pocketed the other two clips, looking dumbfounded at his rescuer. "How? Where? How? Why? How?!"

She grabbed his collar and pulled him close so that he'd hear her low tone over the cacophony of the Torrasque's roaring. That .50 cal round had clearly done a number. "I don't know the whole story of what's going on. But it sounds bigger than a paycheck for a girl who gets her kicks decapitating Philistines. Someone wanted you out of that jail so that you could do a job, which makes you a little bit more important than me."

"Margaret, my dear, you're far from disposable," said Wilson smoothly.

Margaret smiled a pearly smile. "You'd be surprised just how disposable we assassins are. The only difference between now and the norm is that there's a purpose behind my death. On a normal day, I'd just be another corpse and another paycheck for some goddamn pussy. This way, my death counts for something. Get out of here; do what you're meant to do. I'll buy you the time you need and hold off this beastie."

"Again I ask," said Wilson. "Where and how?"

Margaret pointed to the fleshy, green-tinted hole. "Wesker went through there, right? To what he called the 'staging area.' Wherever he went, that's where the action is, and that tunnel will take you to him. Go there and stop him before it's too late."

"I still don't know what 'it' is, exactly," said Wilson. "But I know better than to argue with a pretty lady."

Margaret slapped him playfully on the cheek. "Sorry old guy, but boys cannot crack this oyster shell. So stop wasting your time flirting, and start saving the world."

The Torrasque was coming out of the throes of agony by now, and it once again began searching for its quarry. Margaret shoved him in the direction of the organic, subterranean tunnel. "Don't make me say it twice; get out of here and save our sorry asses. And don't let my death be meaningless."

Wilson smiled at the lolita assassin, turned his back to her and ran for the hole, the fleshy carpet squishing under his prison-issue shoes. He wasted only a second peering into it before taking a deep breath (which he regretted; the hole emitted a foul odor on par with the Torrasque's mouth) and jumping into the sickly green pit, hoping that wherever it took him would be far fresher and far less vaginal.

The Torrasque caught sight of Margaret. It had forgotten Wilson; its only concern now was this tiny, pale interloper. It dug its foot into the dirt, lowered its head and gnashed its teeth and Kaiser Blades, growling a low, rumbling growl.

Margaret flourished her weapon, sunlight dancing off of the mirror-polished scythe blades. "Reaper has come, sinner. Let's have at it."

This post has been edited by Al_Cone: Jun 28 2011, 12:19 PM


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Max-Vader


Vide, quam mihi persuaserim te me esse alterum
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post Jun 3 2011, 03:08 AM
Yay, new update! Let's read it!

QUOTE (Al_Cone @ Jun 3 2011, 10:16 AM)
[...]The Torrasque caught sight of Margaret. It had forgotten Wilson; its only concern now was this tiny, pale interloper. It dug its foot into the dirt, lowered its head and gnashed its teeth and Kaiser Blades, growling a low, rumbling growl.

Margaret flourished her weapon, sunlight dancing off of the mirror-polished scythe blades. "Reaper has come, sinner. Let's have at it."
*

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I have had a vision. It has been revealed to me by the secret chiefs of the world that I am sexier than Buddha and harder than Jesus. I cannot die.
Joan (requesting my drawings): I'LL PAY YOU
IN ORAL SEEEX
Paragon: I will literally pay you in oral sex if you go on a call and sing that entire song [Little Girls by Oingo Boingo] for us and record it
Scream: Welp guess its my turn to owe Max a IOU blowjob
Paragon: I think Max is rapidly becoming the new pimp of PA
Shane: Max for realest nigga of 2013
TigerEyes: No means yes and yes means anal.
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Post #174
Al_Cone


Where we're going, we don't need nanomachines
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post Jun 4 2011, 06:07 PM
See, folks? I haven't forgotten this story. <3

I wanted to wait until the next chapter of NTL: Gaiden was written and posted before I continued the mock. If anybody's interested--and I'm sure at least three people are--there are going to be, at most, three more chapters of that before the story comes to a close. We're at the home stretch here, and while I can't say for sure when it's finally coming to an end--I'm probably going to be alternating between NTL and SMLoZ for the time being (incidentally, as of yesterday, both stories only have a scant nine chapters left in their being; we're at basically the same point with the both of them)--one thing's for certain: It'll probably be done before the Rapture.

As for this chapter, it's actually a favorite of mine. When it was first posted, I distinctly recall reflecting on what an odd chapter it was, as--well, you'll see why when you read it. It was a treat to work on a chapter that is as flummoxing now as it was six years ago.

******

Chapter 21: Immaturity

Original Japanese Title: "Garfield, Why Are You Sad?!" Trust Me, You Do NOT Want To Know!!!

"Feh." Raven muttered one day in Spanish class.

"Feh what?" Garfield replied softly, not wanting the teacher to hear.

Raven's stutter is preventing her from saying the name of her favorite 90s child actor. Cory Feh-ldman.

"This is dead boring." Raven moaned.

"So for nosotros it's podamos, then for vosotros it's podasteis, then for ellos, ellas, ustedes, you use poda" The teacher drowned on.

Oh, so they have an indoor swimming pool where they apparently hold Spanish class, inexplicably taught by a woman who doesn't know how to swim. That Wilson, man, what an asshole.

"I see your point." Garfield agreed.

"GARFIELD! RAVEN! For the last time, stop talking or you will be given detention!"

"Sorry." Garfield and Raven replied together.

Not understanding what "stop talking or you will be given detention" meant, they were promptly sent to detention.

"All right," The teacher continued, then took a glimpse at the clock. "We've only got a little bit of time left, so I'll hand your quizzes back to you!"

Many different answeres immediately followed.

I guess "answeres" is how you say "answers" in ess-pan-yola.

"Yes! I can't wait!"

"Oh god I bet I failed this one."

"Me too..."

"God I'm so nervous..."

"I think I'll definitely get above a 90."

The quiz is over, jackass. You can't get a new score on a quiz that you already took.

"I got question six wrong definitely."

"This answer key that I stole from the teacher says so."

"Joy. Tests back. Just what I need to make my day so much better." Raven added in with the crowd.

Garfield: Why are you so angry all the time, Raven?

Raven: I don't know, Garfield. Why are you such a pussy faggot bitch all the time?


"Nah, I think you'll do okay." Garfield replied.

"Well that's one person."

"Adam...Lauren...Zach...Amanda..." Sra. Alton called out each name as the teens stood up and walked over to the teacher to get their quizzes. "Garfield...Raven..."

A BB/Rae shipper sent Sra. Alton a threatening e-mail the night before, demanding that Garfield and Raven's quizzes be handed out concurrently so that she would have something to post about on the internet/masturbate to.

As Raven looked at her paper, she saw that she got a 93. "Yes! Finally."

Garfield looked at his paper, than Raven's, and slunk back into his chair.

"C'mon Gar, what'd ya get?"

"Not tellin."

"Gar. Tell me."

Garfield: I don't know, okay?! You know damn well that I'm totally illiterate!

"No."

"Tell me or I'll analyze you."

Garfield gave her a look of horror at the thought.

I know the context for that line. And no, context doesn't help it make any more sense. Or sound any less stupid.

"Okay okay! I got a 76!"

"Wow...that sucks." Raven agreed.

"Don't remind me."

76? A C? That sucks? Given how stupid we know Garfield to be, I'm surprised that his standards for quality academic work are so high.

"HOW CAN YOU MANAGE TO TURN A SIMPLE TEST-GIVING BACK INTO A REGULAR SOCIAL SESSION! SIT DOWN AND STOP TALKING!" Sra. Alton exclaimed...loudly.

I'm glad that adverb was there to clear up the matter of Sra. Alton's volume, because the capslock text indicated to me that she was whispering very softly, like a kitten.

Also, chill the fuck out, Sra. Alton.


"Hey Gar, what'd ya get?" A kid named Adam Crete, who sat next to Garfield asked. (Garfield sits in the first row, middle of the class, Raven sits behind him, and Adam is on his...:thinks hard: hits Gizmo left)

I'd like to live in the parallel universe where that information is considered relevant.

"And you care why?"

"Cuz I bet I got higher than you."

"Then it's none of your business Crete."

"I bet I got higher than you."

Given the availability and quality of marijuana in that particular Mediterranean island, I wouldn't doubt it.

"Shut up."

"Just tell me what you got!"

Tell him what you got, li'l mama. Tell him what you got, pretty lady.

"Sheesh! Will you shut up!" Garfield hissed. "Why is the entire world trying to piss me off today?"

Yes, Garfield, the entire world consists of you, Raven, Adam Crete and your teacher. Who very clearly has an anti-Garfield grading system, meant to specifically irritate you.

"So, does anyone have any questions?" The teacher asked.

"Yeah, I do." Garfield said raising his hand. "How come you took off two points for number six? I only missed one letter, and there's twenty letters in the word so that should be like half a credit."

Garfield, you whiny little shit, if you're unsatisfied with your test score, then maybe you should have tried studying for the test instead of screaming your throat hoarse at Victor for daring to eat a Slim Jim and beating off to photographs of Ingrid Newkirk?!

"Nice math skills." Adam scoffed. (That's cuz the calculations were incorrect. It would be one twentieth of a point.)

Yeah, too bad that no teacher, anywhere, grades their students' papers on a fractional scale.

"Well Mr. Logan, although I'll admit I am impressed with your...calculations, let me remind you it was a four point question, as well as my quiz. With my grading. You got the word wrong."

"It was only one letter!" Garfield insisted.

Fun fact: Garfield's grandfather was a calculator for an American artillery division in World War II. During the siege of a strategically important French town, the elder Logan miscalculated an artillery barrage, causing a round to fall on--and subsequently destroy--a cathedral where the local parish had given shelter to hundreds of Jewish children whose parents had been sent to the concentration camps.

During the court martial, Logan insisted that it wasn't his fault, and he didn't deserve to be sanctioned. "My calculations were only off by one digit, and there were twenty digits in the number! I should only get like a twentieth of that fifty year prison sentence!"


"Gar, it's not worth it, shut up!" Zach hissed.

"But I could have gotten higher if you'd just" Garfield tried to reason.

"Enough! Mr. Logan, if you aren't happy with my class, would you prefer a seat in detention?"

He could just transfer into Madame Nord's class with Dick and Kori. But then he wouldn't be able to take cell phone pictures of Raven's cleavage while she's napping during the lectures, so I guess that's out.

"No big deal. I've been in detention before." He grumbled in reply.

"For three straight weeks?"

"No Sra..." Garfield replied slumping down in his chair again. The entire world was against him. Again. It sucked.

Garfield: Man, DJ Croft never has to put up with this shit!

"So I hear you got a 76." Adam teased Garfield after class. Raven was waiting for him outside the classroom so they could catch up with their friends. Spanish is last period.

Nuh-uh. I remember that chapter where dinner was followed by Raven skipping the rest of her classes. Don't try to confuse me with the idea that there's a set schedule to all of this madness; we both know that it's subject to change with each fucking chapter.

"My grades are none of your business Crete."

"Maybe not, but it's really funny."

"Then what'd you get?"

"94."

"You suck."

"Thank you. See ya lata dolt." Adam said pushing Garfield aside as he walked past him, walking out the door, pushing Raven along as he went out.

Holy shit, Adam Crete is my new favorite character. Too bad he'll be disappearing after this chapter. Probably transferred transfarred to the same school as Kitten, X, Michael Null and those kids from the last chapter.

"Watch where you're going!" Raven snapped.

Adam Crete was surprisingly strong for the weakling that he appeared to be. He was significantly taller than Garfield, but not as tall as Kori, with sandy blonde hair and black eyes. Adam had a nasty tendency to pick on Garfield, but lately he seemed to focus all his energy on tormenting our poor little comedian.

Later in life, Adam Crete would change his name to Adrien Veidt and throw Garfield out of his apartment window.

"What'd Adam do this time?" Raven sighed.

"Just being the asshole that he is." Garfield muttered.

"Oh lighten up, you could have failed it."

"Yeah...whatever."

Garfield's too distracted by the PowerPoint presentation that he's making about the multi-national Illuminati/SEELE/Abstergo/La-Li-Lu-Le-Lo-funded conspiracy to get him a 2.0 GPA.

"Sheesh. Moody much?"

"God just shut up!"

I can't tell who we're supposed to sympathize with. On the one hand, experience with Myk@n's fanfics has taught me that emo Beast Boy is always sympathetic, but on the other, this story seems to enjoy rimming Raven at any opportunity, and Beast Boy DID just snap at her.

Raven shot him a glare. "Alright, you see how soon the next time is when I take an interest in your life." Raven gave him another glare, and walked away.

"See how soon the next time is when I take an intrest in your life." Garfield mimicked. "And they call me moody."

Garfield's mechanical eye spun madly in its socket as he said this.

That night at dinner, it was the usual set-up. Garfield with his tofu and Victor with his meat. Well, Victor was shoving it down, and Garfield kinda was just...poking at it.

Stop poking at Victor's meat and shove it in your mouth, Garfield. This is the usual set-up here.

"Dude what's your problem?" Speedy asked. "You're like, not eating."

"No, yah think?" Terra replied. "And the untouched food was not a single clue."

"Yeah. You didn't even mention my choice of meal. Again. That's like, the tenth time this week." Victor said.

Garfield however didn't respond.

Garfield does not believe he'd like to pay attention to any insistent buzzing noises of meaningless carnivores.

"Gar, what the hell is your problem? You awake?" Victor said shoving him to see if he would respond.

"Lay off." Garfield snapped regaining his balance.

Garfield: Uh. Please lay off, scary black man?

"Okay. I am convinced. Garfield has finally snapped. We need to get some protein into his system ASAP." Bee advised.

"Has Garfied ever...snapped?" Kori pondered.

Trust me, you do NOT want to know.

"I don't think so." Dick decided.

"Oh he's just moping about his grades." Raven brushed it off.

"Grades? What about his grades? Don't tell me he's failing again." Terra asked.

"No, he just got a 79."

"76." Garfield corrected.

What is with these assholes and their tendency to talk about people in the third person, as though they aren't even present? They did it to Raven, they're doing it to Garfield--is it intentional? Or is that giving the story too much credit?

"That sucks, but it's nothing to mope about." Dick insisted.

"Yeah, whatever."

Garfield's going about this all wrong. Knowing how bad his grades were before, a score of 76 would probably be enough to raise his GPA, at least a tiny fraction. He should be treating this less like a malignant tumor and more like a heavenly boon of manna.

"He'll probably be his old self tomorrow. Maybe he just needs to sleep." Bee suggested.

"Maybe he's finally cracked?" Speedy added.

"That's definitely a possibility." Terra agreed.

"Or maybe he's going insane?" Victor said.

"Guys?" Raven interrupted.

"Or maybe he's trying to fail..." Kori thought.

"Guys!" Raven yelled.

"What?" Everyone turned to look at her.

"I really don't think contemplating his mental health is helping."

That depends on whether or not their goal is to push him closer to suicide.

"Mm-hm...what Raven said. I'm goin ta finish my homework." Garfield mumbled, walking out of the dining hall.

"Garfield's doing his homework. Can we call the paramedics?" Speedy asked.

Raven shifted uneasily in her chair. "I think it'd be better if you seriously just left him alone."

"Raven. He can't hear us." Terra pointed out.

And that makes it okay to talk about him negatively behind his back! Our heroes, ladies and gentlemen!

"Still. It's not helping."

"Why would you know that?" Victor asked.

"Don't tell me your analyzing us again." Dick moaned.

If Raven ever wants to get 100% completion, she's going to have to scan each and every single minutely important thing and get all the data she can for the logbook.

"No." Raven lied quickly.

"Yo Gar, you...normal again?" Victor asked the next morning at breakfast.

Victor, however, hadn't noticed that Garfield had transformed overnight into an enormous vermin. To be fair, it is kind of hard to tell the difference.

"Hmmoh yeah, perfectly normal." Garfield replied quickly.

"But what is normal with Garfield anyway?" Terra laughed, and everyone else did as well.

Garfield smiled. "Yeah, I'm not exactly normal am I?" He said laughing half-heartedly. (I can't spell...)

Or write a competent narrative to save your life, but I won't hold either of those things against you.

Actually, that's a lie; I do, with extreme prejudice.


"Mm-hm." Raven agreed while sipping her morning herbal tea.

"So what are you going to do about the 76?" Kori asked, always concerned about the group's grades.

Hack into the school mainframe and change it to a solid B-?

"Make sure he doesn't do it next time, that's for sure!" Speedy replied.

Raven looked over at Garfield to see his reaction. He seemed to be joking as well, going along with it. But for some reason, she had a sinking feeling in her heart. He was indeed smiling and laughing, but...it didn't seem genuine to Raven.

For fuck's sake, Eyrie; don't tell me you replaced Garfield with an alien lizard man too!

"Nothing can be wrong...I'm just over analyzing it..." Raven muttered to herself. But she couldn't shake off that sinking feeling, bugging her.

"Hey Rae, what's wrong? You're talking to yourself again." Dick asked.

"Hm? Nothing. Nothing at all."

Raven: Right, Tyrone the Tremendous Tapdancing Tapeworm? ...Tyrone says yes. He also told me just now to pour out the rest of my tea onto Terra's groin.

Terra: Dammit Tyrone, not again!


"God can you believe how little homework we're been getting lately?" Bee commented.

"I'm not complaining." Garfield answered.

"Not that you ever do it." Dick smirked.

"Still, I wouldn't complain."

Blatant fucking lies; you assholes can't survive without something to complain about. Five minutes from now, you'll all probably be bitching over the low workload, and blaming it on the grand international conspiracy spearheaded by Wilson aimed at making you all pass middle school.

"Yeah, but we're getting that packet at the end of the week right?" Terra guessed.

"Yeah the Scopes Trial or something like that." Victor replied.

"Scopes Trial?" Kori asked, head tilted slightly. "I believe that was in our Social Studies textbook, not the Science."

The entire table looked at her.

Dick: She's been reading the textbook! On her own time!

Victor: Freak! Monster! Abomination!

Bee: Let's sacrifice her to mighty Zophar!


"What? Did I do something unusual?" Kori wondered.

"You read ahead." Raven said, eyes wide.

"In a textbook." Dick added.

"Yes." Kori answered sweetly.

Kori only reads her history textbook for the bass reliefs of nude historical figures. Mm, Theodore Roosevelt, you sexy beast; I'll carry your big stick any time.

"Kori, you are one weird girl." Victor replied.

"Odd." Bee corrected.

"Why odd?"

Oh lord, this again...

"'Cuz weird is good, strange is bad, and odd is when you don't know which to use." Terra stated.

"Okay then you're strange." Garfield decided.

You've already discussed this. We do not need a new running joke, especially not one this blatantly wrong. Besides, I'm still recovering from that barrage of "Boys are clueless" that thankfully petered out a dozen chapters ago.

"Not stranger than you." Speedy chortled, and most of the table agreed, and laughed along, including Garfield. Except Raven. She was too busy analyzing Garfield. She couldn't help it. It was horrible.

He had a .02 nickel imperfection in his right molar filling! Well, her favorite pair of pliers would have something to say about that.

Just watching it all made her shiver with disgust. He laughed...but hell with it, Raven knew something was wrong. How? Well god knows how, but she can just tell. She had this horrible sinking feeling that told her something was wrong. And as she always said, trust your instincts. She had to do something about it...sometime.

Looks like it's time for Raven to once again indulge in the fine art of pity sex. Only this time, she's going to be the performer, and not the recipient.

The day continued...somewhat normal. But what is normal anyway?

Oh, you know, a nuclear family, two cars in the driveway, the specter of nuclear war forever suspended over your heads, mandatory Sunday church worship, a white picket fence and not a single black person as far as the eye can see. The American dream, circa 1955!

Everyone met up after class, settling down by the common room to relax.

Weell...almost everybody.

Looks like the anti-Speedy lynch mob finally caught up to him. I hope Mendoza can at least spring for a janitor. There's a lot of Speedy to clean out of the carpets.

"Has anyone seen Kori?" Dick asked.

"She's at some club." Victor answered.

Yeah, a Gentlemen's Club.

"Doesn't she have like, a club every weekday?" Bee asked. "We never see her after school."

"Nah, she's only got something today, and on Thursday." Garfield explained.

"But she's always ready to get extra credit." Dick added.

That's what they call it when she comes home with dollar bills falling down the legs of her pants.

"Or study!" Victor laughed.

"I wouldn't laugh if I were you Victor." Raven said with a glare.

"Um...why...?"

"Because maybe if you actually studied you'd be able to improve your pitiful grade point average."

"Hey! It's not that bad! Not as bad as Gar's anyway." Victor laughed.

I'm starting to develop a Garfield-shaped lump on my forehead from the story bludgeoning me with his "the-whole-world-is-out-to-get-me" sob story.

"Oh c'mon! I got higher than you on the last test!" Garfield retaliated.

"So? In general I still get higher than you."

"Whatever."

"But we do have a major test. A majorly important test. Remember what our teacher said?" Bee asked.

"Oh don't be stupid Bee. You know I never study." Speedy responded.

So we've established, in this chapter alone, that both Victor and Speedy are allergic to schoolwork. Keeping in mind the story's repeated assertions that the only ones who ever do well in school are Kori and Raven, this begs the question "where the fuck do any of these cockbites get off talking down to Garfield about his low grades?" The proper comeback would be for Garfield to point out that they're all as contemptibly stupid as he is.

Of course, being a tofu-eating pussy with no character direction, he isn't going to say that.


"Okay fine. Speedy, don't study but I'm going to, and I advise the rest of you to do so as well." Raven suggested.

"It's Social Studies. Who needs to study?" Dick answered.

"Yeah, I agree with Dick. But ya know, Garfield, you should go with Raven and study."

Ever the scholar, Disembodied Voice dispenses some words of wisdom.

"Why?" Garfield asked flatly. "Do ya think I'm not good enough or something to pass a test without cramming?"

Garfield: How dare you imply that I can't pass a difficult test without adequate preparation beforehand?!

"Wellno." Terra said.

"Then why?"

"'Cuz your grades suck." Speedy replied bluntly.

"Not as much as yours. And since I suck so much, I'm goin to go freaken study!" Garfield snapped, getting up.

"Garfield we were only kidding. Sheesh chill out!" Dick said.

Yeah man; you don't REALLY need to study!

"Maybe I don't wanna! Since it's so apparent that my grades suck, I'm gonna go study cuz then maybe I'll be able to prove my grades worth of being not teased about!" Garfield snarled, storming away.

"Well that was...odd..." Victor muttered.

Yeah, I'll say. I still can't make heads or tails of that snit. I hope sentence structure is the first thing that Garfield studies.

"And extremely OOC." Raven added.

"OOC? Which means what exactly?" Speedy asked. (I'm in the mood to hit Speedy.)

You're writing Speedy, you Troglydite. Author, assault thyself.

"Out of character. DUH!" Bee answered.

If you don't speak fanfiction author conversationally, then go to hell, Philistine!

"Hey guys!" Kori exclaimed happily popping up next to Dick. "Where's Garfield?"

"Garfield is" Raven started to say, but then trailed off.

At first, Kori thought that Garfield had died and that Raven was uncomfortable discussing it. But then she remembered how cheerful she acted in the wake of her mother's death. Raven wouldn't grieve over the death of a person she was close to. That'd be extremely OOC.

"Currently unavailable." Terra finished.

Kori gained a concerned look on her face. "What happened?"

"Nothing really. Garfield just finally snapped." Victor stated nonchalantly.

"But like I said, he really was very OOC." Raven decided.

"How can person be out of character? A living person doesn't have set character traits do they?" Terra asked.

Certainly, nobody in this story does.

"Yeah. We all know Garfield to be...very...immature right?" Dick explained.

"So?"

"And we always tease him about his grades...?" Kori tried to elaborate.

"So?"

If this were all a part of some grand scheme to get Garfield to improve his grades using reverse-psychology, I would be so, so impressed with this story.

Raven sighed. This wasn't getting anywhere. "SO Ms. Oblivious, Garfield got sick and tired of being pushed around."

You guessed it folks; this is the Very Special School Shooting Chapter!

Terra blinked. "Oh. That's rather boring."

"You don't get it do you?"

"No. Not really." Victor answered.

Raven sighed. "You people are hopeless."

"Thank you." Speedy said bowing.

Terra pointed to Speedy. "What he said...did...whatever."

"Guys, I'm gonna go get some stuff to study with." Raven said getting up.

Raven had better pray that it's a test on My Chemical Romance.

"I'll be back. Don't go anywhere."

"No Rae, we're gonna go to South Carolina and leave you here to rot." Victor drawled.

"Oh go bite me." Raven replied walking away.

"No thanks, I'll pass."

She probably tastes as bad as she smells.

"Victor you're such an idiot!" Bee laughed hitting him.

Victor scrambled to block her. "Damn girl! What did I tell you about hitting me? You hit hard!"

"Oh please Mr. Football Quarterback.

...As opposed to that other kind of quarterback.

You should be able to take it." Terra stated.

seven minutes later

The school was ablaze, the faculty and students were locked in their rooms, and Garfield "El Fuego" Logan had claimed his seventeenth victory over inadequately insulated buildings.

"I'm back!" Raven said walking back to the group holding a textbook...and an iPod.

Oh, I guess it is a test on My Chemical Romance.

"See! Told ya we weren't goin to South Carolina!" Victor replied.

"Right. Then you're going to go to Italy, then travel to Pluto and a nonexistant planet called Temorin or something."

"Actually I think it's Tamaran." Kori corrected brightly. "It's in a comic book."

OH FUCK YOU. There is a time and a place to break the fourth wall like that, and it is not during a story based on a cartoon based on a comic book where all the characters in the story AND in the source material happen to share the same names and relative backstories!

"Whatever."

"Raven." Kori said.

"What?" Raven asked sitting back down.

"How exactly do you plan studying while listening to your iPod?"

"I don't know. Good point." Raven said putting the earphones in.

"Kori let Raven do what she wants. If she wants to completely obliviate the purpose of studying let her do so." Dick responded.

Yeah, listening to music while you're doing your schoolwork. Who the hell does THAT, huh?

Raven glared at him. "Thanks for giving me so much credit Boy Blunder."

"Hah! Boy Blunder! I'll remember that for next time he does something stupid!" Speedy laughed.

Dick groaned. "Great...a nickname."

"I think Boy Wonder would be more appropriate." Kori said smiling softly.

The kids all groaned, knowing that another PowerPoint lecture on Dick's myriad bedroom talents was coming.

"Whatever." Raven mumbled, turning on her iPod.

Okay...so she wasn't studying, more as just...staring at the open book while listening to her iPod.

She did attempt to study. No really, Raven did. 'I mean seriously, how can you study with The Killers' "Mr. Brightside" blasting in your ear, your friends being extremely loud, and a boring topic to study about?

Simple. Don't be an idiot with an attention span that can only be measured with an electron microscope. Blasting loud music is a well-proven, if unbelievable, studying tactic.

We're not even starting FDR til next week. At least FDR is interesting. And how can you expect to focus when one of your closest friends just totally and completely SNAPPED?' Raven thought to herself.

Ah, middle school. Don't ever change.

"I'm gonna find Gar." Raven decided, standing up, turning off her iPod, and closing her textbook.

"Why?" Speedy asked simply.

"'Cuz."

"Oh cuz, great reason. Just admit that you" Terra started to argue.

"Terra. Do me a favor and shut up." Raven interrupted.

Godmothershucklingdammit it's been like six chapters since your crush was outed; would you drop the will-they-won't-they pretense and ride that bad boy like a fucking bucking bronco already?!

"Raven, leave her alone. I'm inclined to agree with Terra. Just admit why you want to." Bee agreed.

"I'm just looking out for him!"

When you're as annoying as Garfield, vigilante justice is a legitimate concern.

"What's his problem anyway?" Victor asked.

"Yeah, it's not like him to blow up at us like that." Dick also wondered.

"Are you guys serious?" Raven asked in disbelief. "You don't get it. How many times did we go through this?"

Garfield is a teenage boy with tiny teenage testicles pumping tiny teenage testosterone into his bloodstream.

"Well let's look at it from the normal perspective." Speedy put in.

"From someone who does not analyze everything." Kori put in truthfully.

"Garfield, got a bad grade, not a rare occurance. We don't do anything unusual. Then suddenly, Garfield blows up at us.

Stop right there. That's all the reason you need to leave Garfield alone. It's not your fault, or your responsibility, that he's suddenly premenstrual. Let him get over his ridiculous shit by himself.

Then you give us this cock and bull story about how he doesn't like our treatment of him. That's not like him." Victor explained. "So how the hell would we know what is wrong?"

"Can't you tell though? I mean it's obvious he's been feeling down!" Raven insisted.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Scholarly though he is, Disembodied Voice has much to learn about the nuances of teenage moodswings.

"Am I going crazy or something for noticing this?" Raven asked with a desprate look.

Kori sighed and looked up to the ceiling as if asking God for help.

Kori's been worshiping the ceiling fan for eight months now.

She took a deep breath. "Raven come here." Kori said taking Raven aside. "I think it would be best for you to go back to your normal conversations." Kori advised as she went to a more...quiet area to advise Raven. After all, who can have a private conversation with TV and video games and people blasting in the background?

There were all of those things in the background? Since the fuck when?!

"What Kori? Please tell me you have some understanding."

"Honestly?"

"No Kori, I want you to be a complete and total liar to me." Raven said dryly. (Queenie looks at the clock on her cable box. HOLY CRAP! I never stay up this late...12:12 AM...hey it's already 3/19! I go to bed remotely early that's why...BUT BACK TO THE CHAPTER!)

Well, that was bizarre.

"Okay, so listen. Honestly, I do not have any idea how you areinterpreting Garfield's feelings. None of us do. Obviously you see things we don't."

Raven was too distracted by the ghosts of Abraham Lincoln and Billy Mays playing table-tennis behind Kori's back to listen to her friends' fortune cookie wisdom.

Raven gaped at Kori wide eyed. "Oh no you don't. Don't go thinking I'm some sort of telepath. No way. I just over analyze things."

"Either way Raven, you still see things others don't. Correct?"

"I guess so..."

Yes, yes, Raven is a speshul snowflaek. This doesn't need repeating. We've been hearing it all throughout the goddamn story.

"And you are the one always tell me to trust my...or your intuition?"

"Yeah, but I don't"

HA! I know that's just a punctuation error, resulting from uploading the document to ff.net, but still, the implications of that are...HA!

"Then what is your intuition telling you?"

"To check on Garfield."

"Then do it already girl! Kori's supposed to help me study!" Bee said as she popped up behind Raven.

"HOLY CRAP BEE! Don't do that." Raven said jumping turning around.

The hornets suddenly buzzing behind you should have been a dead giveaway, Raven. You have nobody to blame but yourself.

"Then go already!" Bee said pushing Raven out the door.

"When did I say I'd help you study?" Kori said. "I can't! I have a date tonight!"

"With Dick?" Bee teased.

"Who else? He is my boyfriend?" Raven heard Kori say before she shut the door.

Raven was sitting in a local diner.

Poe's Pie and Pork Ribs. Comes with a line from The Raven printed on every receipt. It's the only diner goffik enough for Raven's illustrious presence.

She was annoyed. Very. How could Gar be so mean to her? She hadn't DONE anything.

Honey, that's so wrong that it's practically cancerous.

Sheesh. Try to help someone and they jump down your throat.

She remembered what had happened, just less than an hour and a half ago.

Raven was walking down the school hallway, looking for Garfield.

"I'm going to find him. I'll find him if it's the last thing I do today." She muttered while walking quickly.

...Adding "today" to the end of that sentence sort of takes some of its potency away, hon.

While walking down the hallway, Raven spotted one of Garfield's other friends outside of her little group of friends.

"Ian!" She called out to the brown haired boy standing near the gym. "Ian have you seen Gar?"

"Garfield? Yeah, he went by here about half an hour ago. Didn't even stop. He was muttering something about the art room, so that's probably where he is."

"Thanks." Raven said walking towards the art room.

What Ian didn't mention was that Garfield was also muttering about "sewing himself a bride" and carrying a thread-and-needle in his hands.

When she got there...she didn't see Garfield, but on the nearest table someone's art work, along with some colored pencils. Raven slowly walked into the room and looked around, checking for anyone. She didn't hear, or see anything.

But what else can you expect from the Helen Keller Memorial Art Studio?

"I wonder who did this?" She muttered softly making her way towards the table. She looked at it and saw...cartoons About two pages of them.

"About two pages?" Counting to two isn't that hard, Raven.

Raven wouldn't exactly call them good, but they looked like whoever had done it spent a lot of time on it. She looked closely at them and saw who they were done by.

Raven: Who's "Christian Weston Chandler"?

Garfield.

She examined them some more. It just seemed to be Garfield drawing himself either singing at some sort of concert...or singing to someone.

You have to be pretty narcissistic to draw fanart about yourself.

She saw that it was mostly Simple Plan songs.

Ahahahahaha, of course.

'Interesting'. She thought. One of them had the lyrics of "Shut Up" written on it. And...from what Raven could tell from the drawing...it seemed to be to...most of their friends...Terra...Dick...Victor...

I don't know what's more hilarious; the confirmation that Gar secretly hates the people he hangs out with, or that he drew a picture of himself singing a malicious song to them. What, did he cram all the lyrics into a single gigantic word bubble? This is ridiculously reminiscent of Myk@n; I'm starting to wonder if this is where he got the idea for Beast Boy's Magic Voices.

and then there was Adam, who Garfield seemed to draw...some sort of heavy object falling on his head. Speedy's too. But hey, it was Garfield's cartoon.

Not like she should report to the administration that Garfield's drawing fantasies of himself murdering his schoolmates.

Then Raven picked up the second sheet of paper. It was different.

It was manilla, instead of white.

Wait a minute, "the second sheet of paper"? He put all of those drawings on one piece of paper?!

...How...how did he fit all the song lyrics onto the same paper?


It was just Garfield, sitting on a stool, spotlight on him, playing the guitar, the speech bubble indicating the song being sung was supposed to be something by Maroon5. She Will Be Loved.

Raven hummed along with the lyrics as she read them;

Deleting the song lyrics because fuck that shit.

What shocked Raven wasn't the song.

Well Gar wasn't really the Maroon5 type of person. More a Simple Plan, but that's not the point.

Garfield identifies with things that contain the word "simple" in their names.

The point wasn't even that he'd been sneaking off to the art room without telling anyone.

Anybody familiar with Gar's coke habit would know that he frequently disappears for hours at a time.

It wasn't even that he had obviously "borrowed" Kori's manga book to...attempt...to draw.

I thought that Terra was the kleptomaniac? This cast is a fucking breeding ground for manias...

What surprised Raven most was who he had drawn him singing to.

She never knew that Garfield was so attracted to Warren Beatty. Finally, common ground!

Her.

Well sure, she had heard that he liked her...but didn't believe it...

Because she is RIDICULOUSLY OUTRAGEOUSLY UNBELIEVABLY STUPID, UNOBSERVANT AND POSSESSES AN ATTENTION SPAN ONLY SLIGHTLY LONGER THAN GARFIELD'S MINISCULE ERECTION!

but before she could contemplate this anymore, she heard movement behind her. Raven quickly put the drawing down and whirled around...and saw Garfield.

I guess that's better than "suddenly, Draco jumped out from behind a wall." But not by much.

"What are you doing?" He asked, looking a combonation of paranoia, suspicion, and irritation. Or maybe Raven was overanalyzing...again.

Or maybe Raven had failed to notice that there was a nigh homicidal teenager alone with her in a room filled with incriminating evidence against him.

"Just wondering where you went. You kind of blew up at us, so I was concerned."

"How'd you find me?"

Followed the urine trail.

"Ian told me."

"I'm gonna kill that little snitch...Wait, what are you doing with my drawings?"

"Nothing...I was just looking at them. They'reum...clever."

The story doesn't say, but I can only guess that Raven is trying desperately not to laugh right now.

Garfield snatched the drawings away. "You don't like people poking around in your business, so don't go around poking in mine."

Dude, you left them out for everybody to see. Hey, for that matter, where did you go after you finished them? Off to take a dump and growl effetely at some passerbyes? And, again, why the devil would you leave them out for everybody to see if you didn't want anybody to see them?

"Gar, I'm just concerned. Is there really something wrong with a friend being concerned about another friend?"

"Well maybe when one friend doesn't want you to get invovled then you shouldn't. It's not your problem, it's mine. Don't go poking in my business. You're not helping. In fact, you're probably making it worse." Garfield said in a grim tone unlike his normal tone.

Yes, Garfield, it's all Raven's fault that you got a C on your Spanish quiz. I'm glad you're not misplacing any of the blame here.

'Maybe he's been spending too much time around me...' Raven thought. "Well I'm sorry for commiting a crime! I didn't realize that trying to help a friend is!"

"It's not, but that doesn't mean you should get involved in other people's business!"

...That doesn't make any sense. He basically just said "You were justified in checking on me, but that doesn't mean you should have come to check on me!"

"Fine with me! See the next time I care! I'll remember never to help you!"

"Maybe I don't want your help! And maybe you should learn to not get involved in"

And it went on like that, for quite a bit of time. Raven and Garfield just standing there yelling at each other.

This, by the way, is one of the CIA's "enhanced interrogation techniques." Sleep deprivation has never been easier.

The only thing it ended up in was Garfield collecting his things and making a hasty retreat, with Raven storming out to the diner she now resided in.

"Hmph." She scoffed, taking a sip of her chocolate milkshake she had ordered. "Stupid boys..." She muttered.

Oblivious to her skyrocketing blood sugar.

"Hey Rae! What's up?" Someone said as they sat down opposite Raven.

"Nothing really Rose...what are you doing here?" Raven lied.

Rose: Ugh, it's Jack. I tried calling him while he was at work and asking why he never sleeps next to me, and if he knows what day it is tomorrow, and he muttered something about defusing a timebomb and how it wasn't a good time to talk at all. What a selfish prick!

Rose had very light, very long brown hair that reached to down her back, with gray eyes. She wasn't exactly what people would be call...tall, but hey, what do you think the boots she was wearing were for?

Walking? Because that's just what they'll do.

Since it was southern California, and it was practically spring, she could no longer wear the sweaters whe was so found of. So, she stuck to a black tank top and dark jeans.

Dat sed "simple plan" on da but. U mite tink shes a slut butt shez rilly nut.

"I've got nothin better to do. Hey, is that chocolate?" Rose asked with an excited look in her eyes.

No, Rose, it's just thick, brown and has the same taste and consistency as chocolate.

"Yeah. You want one?"

"Nah, I've got some chocolate stored in my room. I'll get it later. Besides, I just had a vendi cappuccino." (I don't drink coffee...nor can I spell...)

The girl who write meticulously in Spanish all throughout her lame self-insertion fanfic cannot spell "Venti." There is no justice in the world.

Raven rolled her eyes. "Great. Shouldn't you be working on that social studies workshop project that's due tomorrow?"

"Hell no! I've got umstuff to do. So why are you here Rae? You're never like...out."

"Well...it's"

"It's Gar isn't it? Oy that boy is so crazy and" Rose started to rant, but was interrupted by a wolf whistle in her direction.

In burst a pack of grey wolves, snarling, fangs bared. Within minutes, the diner was the scene of a bloodbath, and in strode the feared archvillain Volpus Rex--by night, the scourge of the city; by day, a mild-mannered schoolboy named...Garfield Logan!

She turned to the stupid boy who had done it. "Excuse me for a minute." Rose got up and started walking in the direction of the boy

"So ya wanna play? Then let's play kid. You just made your last mistake." Rose hissed as she snarled at him...and...

Due to the non R-rating of this story, let's go to that lovely Koala I am so found of...

I'm starting to understand why koalas are endangered.

Koala: :chews on leaf: Chew chew chew chew chew chew chew chew chew chew chew

Back to the story.

Raven grimmaced as she looked as Rose's "handiwork". "I assume that's why you haven't gone out on a date yet."

"Pretty much.

Jefferson Co-Ed School for Violent and Dangerous Sociopaths.

So it's Gar isn't it?"

"Yeah. He's been such a jerk. I hate boys. Evil blasted things."

Raven: Wanna go have erotic lesbian sex?

Rose: Do I ever!


"Rae. You are so in denial. Talk to the boy, I'm telling you it'll"

"I tried that."

"Then let him come to you."

"What? I've never heard of that"

Rose: Whoops. I meant at you.

"OO! Look it's Sammi! And she finally got that damn Caleb Sawyers to ask her out!"

Raven gave her a strange look.

Oh, that? Don't mind that; there's just another story being written in this diner.

"Oh don't think that way Raven, I'm not going to intrude! I'm just gonna get Linka, then we'll intrude! I'll see ya lata Rae!" Rose said as she got up and went off in search of Linka.

"She is really...odd...if she weren't the only girl in my social studies workshop class who didn't call me a witch..."

Raven needs to expand her pool of friends beyond her mouthbreather roommates, their boyfriends and the girl with the multiple personality disorder who watches Evangelion on her laptop during class.

She sighed and took another sip of her milkshake, and looked around at the diner. Mostly students. Those on dates...or preps. She shuddered with disgust as she looked at the preps.

They were all so...shiny...and pink. Very very pink. And blonde. And pink.

And that's why Raven is better than them.

Pink. Gosh they sure wore a lot of pink...hey wouldn't it be funny if they all had pink hair?

This anti-prep thing is starting to develop some very disturbing racial undertones.

Raven smirked at that thought. What were they giggling about? Raven listened hard, having found nothing better to do with her life at the current moment. She caught snatches of conversations.

"Oh god and did you see who the tennis star is going out with? You know, the guy from Ukraine?"

"I thought it was Russia?"

Oh, those aren't preps. They're Hetalia fans. Way worse, if you ask me.

"Same thing. Anyway, he's going out with that Olga girl."

"Her? But he's sooo cute! Why would he go out with her?"

"Have you like seen her outfit? And that hat! Who wears a black hat in March? It is like, so totally ugly."

"Actually, I don't think it's like so totally bad."

I don't understand what the purpose of this sequence is. Queenie needs to stop splicing selections from her own life into her story.

"If that's so, then shut up you sorry excuse for a prep!"

"Like, I didn't mean it!"

"But why would such a hottie go out with her!"

"I dunno. He said something about personality."

"If he's out with her, he can't be that hot."

Why is this happening.

"Yeah. He's officially off the hottie list."

"Anyone who goes out with someone for personality is."

"Whatever that is."

IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm really sorry but I've got to do this...OLGA, if you feel...offended...because the preps are picking on you...please don't get offended! PLEASE!

The only, the ONLY reason I can imagine that sequence being written, allowing for now the possibility that it isn't stupid self-insertions of Queenie's daily life being randomly written into a story that they clearly do not belong in, is to compare it to the trite, mundane bullshit that Raven and her crew routinely discuss and indulge in, and to paint Raven as a hypocrite for criticizing a pair of girls enjoying their meal and discussing shit that is no less trite and mundane than what she and her friends discuss in EVERY SINGLE FILTH-STREWN CHAPTER of this piece of mold-covered, worm-infested horse shit. Because I can't recall a single conversation between Raven and her friends that was any more intelligent or important than the one between those thrice-damned preps! Where the fuck does this cobweb-cunted bitch get off?!

I am also entertained by the notion that Queenie was stealthily talking shit about her friend Olga and masking it by having the "preps" in the story be her mouthpiece.


Raven sniggered. 'Senseless preps...who was more senseless anyhow? The preps...or Garfield?

Whoa now, Raven, comparing Garfield to preps?! Let's not say anything that we can't take back!

Lately he'd seemed so...unaware of just about everything. God damn it. Why did he have to be so ignorant? I hate boys. Okay, well no I don't. I don't hate Garfield. He acted like just a jerk how could I not hate him? WHY AM I HAVING A MENTAL BATTLE WITH MYSELF? AM I GOING'

The cleaning crew will arrive in an hour to wash the contents of Raven's brain out of the booth.

Our little bookworm's arguementsI mean thoughts were interrupted as a small bell chimed, indicating someone else had entered the shop.

This chapter was like twenty-five percent filler. I just realized. That's like...an NTL record.

Raven turned her head to see who it was. She saw a flash of tanned skin and dark, spiky, messy hair, and immediately sunk into her chair.

Raven: Kingdom Hearts cosplayers? At this time of year?!

"Crap. It's Gar." She muttered. "Maybe he won't spot me..."

"Hey Raven." Garfield said as he sat down in the same seat that Rose had.

"What're you doing here and how did you spot me?" She snapped.

"Well aside from the fact that you're the only girl in here with dark hair and faded purple highlights, not much."

"Oh that's nice, my hair caught your eye. My bloody hair."

Girls hate it when boys notice their hair.

"Sheesh, sheathe those claws girl."

"Not like you don't deserve it. And since when have you known what sheathe means?"

"I dunno. I saw it on TV. What's your problem? I thought you wanted to know"

"I'm sorry, didn't know that I was supposed to care after being attacked for my morals."

This would be more poignant if it weren't so easy to believe that they have this discussion bi-weekly.

"Rae!"

"Don't Rae me. I believe you are being the indecisive, ignorant simpleton, not me."

Gar stared at her blankly. "Will you quit pulling the higher-education act here?"

"And why exactly should I?"

"Cuz for god sakes I came to apologize."

"Oh yeah sure. Boys don't apologize. Have you ever seen in any movie, TV, or book when that happens and it's not out of character? Or has Dick, Victor, or Speedy ever? I don't think so."

You guys should listen to Raven here, because she's absolutely right. Boys don't apologize, girls hate when boys notice their hair and preps are hideous untermenschen.

"Well maybe I'm not like them."

"Gar lying is not helping."

"Well I'm not!"

"That's right. You're the only one who has yet to go out with someone. You're also the one who's never had a steady grade average. You're also the one who fails to be neat. You're the one who is becoming such a"

Oh no, don't say it Raven; don't say the "P" word!

"Okay, I get the point! Sheesh!"

"Gar if you don't get to the point I'm going to drown you out with my iPod and Hot Fuss."

"Hot Fuss...?"

That's what Raven calls her flatulence.

"The Killers's album. With Mr. Brightside..."

"Oh yeah. I knew that." Garfield replied fidgiting in his seat.

"WILL YOU GET TO THE POINT!" Raven exploded, standing up, growing very impatient...and drawing attention to herself. All eyes were on her. She looked around at the people staring at her. "GET YOUR OWN LIVES PEOPLE!" (Thank Milli for that line everyone. Clap for her. Then go one to the rest of the chapter. :claps for Milli:)

Do I have to do them both? Can't I just gouge out my eyes and start squatting in an abandoned yeast emporium?

Also, Raven, you can talk down about the preps all she likes, but at least they have the goddamn decency not to loudly air their feuds for everybody in earshot to hear. So shut your talkhole.


"Vicious thing aren't you?"

"You should know that." Raven grumbled, sitting back down. Suddenly, the music playing in the background of the diner changed from...Green Day...to...Hilary Duff. "That's it. I am not staying here."

Raven fokkin h8s dat little bitka (bufy rox!666)

"What? But Rae! I was getting to the point."

Raven sighed, rolled her eyes, and hit Garfield. "I meant the music idiot. I hate this music. I will not sit here and listen to this."

Green Day's fine but Hilary Duff is the straw that breaks the camel's back. So, boys, literature and now music--no taste in anything, huh Rae?

"Then should we go outside."

"Yeah, sure whatever." Raven said getting up yet again, and leaving some money on the countertop for her milkshake...plus tip.

Waitress: Ma'am, this is the price for one milkshake. You ordered three.

Raven: Sut das fok up, u prep! U dnot evn plya GC n MCR in ur stoopid preppy resterant!


She began to walk out, Garfield trotting after her in an attempt to catch up.

"Rae! Wait up!" Garfield said, catching up to Raven's quick stride and following...barely. "Slow down!"

So Garfield--established in earlier chapters to be a soccer player AND a trumpeter, which implies that he has reasonably well-developed cardiovascular skills--cannot keep pace with Raven--established in earlier chapters to be very un-athletic and completely flummoxed by the idea of exercise.

Like I said, no set character traits in THIS story.


"Why?" Raven said, abruptly stopping. "Why Gar? Will you just tell me why?"

"Cuz I can't keep up with you! You're fast."

"I'm pissed. There's a difference."

"That's not what I mean."

"Then stop being cryptic. Oh that's fun to say. Everyone always says that to me." Raven said, relishing that line.

Some people are aghast when they fall into hypocrisy. Raven? She wallows in hers.

"I mean why are you pissed?"

Raven gave him a disgusted look and shook her head. "How ignorant are you? You get mad at me, snub me, pretend to be happy when you're not, and then yell at me. What do you think?"

"Pretend to be happy when you're not." So...you're mad at Garfield for being unhappy? You're spot on with those other ones, darlin', but let's not try to lose focus.

"Oh..."

"Do ya get it now funny boy?"

"Umm...yes...?"

Every time I see that phrase attributed to Garfield's character, I add another quarter to my Hate Jar.

"Good." Raven said turning her back on him.

Garfield sighed. "Damn it you're going to make me say it aren't you? You're going to make me say I'm sorry. I can't believe your doing that. You're"

Hey, are we going to get to know why Garfield was unhappy?

"Gar."

"What?" Garfield asked in desparation.

"I get the point."

Garfield breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

Seriously, the chapter said he'd been like that for more than a week; that implies that there's more to his depression than just a stupid persecution complex and a bad test score. What the fuck was his deal?

"Egocentric concited ignorant boys...Tch..." Raven muttered.

Muzzle it, bitch; we know full well that any time a boy shows even the slightest interest in hopping on your saggy gray ass, he's suddenly not conceited or ignorant at all and is in fact a pure paragon of humanity.

"Hey Gar?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did your little cartoon have you singing 'She Will Be Loved' to me of all people?"

SPOILER ALERT: This chapter doesn't end with them as a couple.

Yeah, I know. I fight the battles I can win, guys.


Garfield turned bright red. "Well um...you see...I just um...sort of..."

"Please Gar, finish that sentence." Raven said with a smirk.

Garfield turned a darker shade of red. "You see...it's just...that I uhh...didn't um...have...uh...any other..um...songs to...do...?"

I don't doubt that. We know that these kids have awful musical tastes.

"Sure." Raven sniggered in disbelief. "You are so hopeless."

No? We're not going to get any clarification on Garfield's sudden bout of the sulkies? Just gonna be left up in the air?

Well, fuck you too, Normal Teenage Life.


This post has been edited by Al_Cone: Jun 4 2011, 06:14 PM


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post Jun 4 2011, 07:51 PM
Excellent work again, Al, though I just keep wondering how the hell these people continue to call each other friends.


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post Jun 4 2011, 08:52 PM
Everyone in this damn story is completely unsympathetic and unlikable. It's really grating. Why should I care about any of these people? They're all horrible people with no concept of empathy or compassion!


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post Jun 4 2011, 08:55 PM
I just noticed!

QUOTE
"Don't Rae me.


Don't-rae-me-fa-so-la-ti-dooooooooooon't~


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post Jun 5 2011, 03:20 AM
Wow, that was certainly a strange chapter.

Also, the school shooting-joke was really funny.


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post Jun 6 2011, 06:38 PM
And I thought my friends were douchebags.

Also, inserting real people into a story? FKING WORSE IDEA EVER, HOW MUCH STUPIDER CAN YOU GET?!

Or are we going by Joey Buttafuoco Logic here?

Edit: Oh my, I guess DKM is now He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Name on this site?


This post has been edited by xoxjoanxox: Jun 6 2011, 06:39 PM


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oneluckyduck


Quack!
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Group: Members
Posts: 3,089
Joined: 11-February 11
From: Japenis
Member No.: 438
Gender: Female



post Jun 10 2011, 03:46 AM
Holy crap I'm fully updated with this story.
It feels...so weird. This is one of the first stories I read on this site, you see.
smile.gif


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"I was getting all pumped for hot pizza bondage and cocaine action"
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Lo-Fi Version Time is now: 22nd October 2014 - 07:45 PM