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royallyprincesslilly · 5 years ago

Text

Title: Anatomy 101***

Chris Evans AU x Reader One Shot

Warning: SMUTTY, SMUT, SMUT, NSFW, cursing, choking, slightly older man/college student

Word Count: 5.6k

Note: Sooo, at this point, I’m just going to stop apologizing and giving summaries. I think everyone just expects me to be one of those writers who just have fifty-‘leven open WIP

**Loosely edited**

**Loosely Proofread**

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Uuugh!"

You slammed your palm down on the alarm clock. Its annoying blaring was really grinding your nerves especially given the fact that you hadn't gotten much sleep because you decided to go to the frat party last night and didn't get in until nearly four in the morning. You looked at the clock and grimaced seeing it read eleven.

Why the fuck did I take this class? Yes it was a core class, but you didn't have to take it this early, you could have taken it in the fall, but you had the bright idea of doing it in the spring. Groaning again you rose off the bed and sat at the edge. Hating yourself some more for your asinine decision you dragged your feet to gather your bath supplies so you could get a quick shower. You walked through the hall with your eyes closed; muscle memory was carrying you. Not caring what was going on around you, you walked into the shower room, stripped and stepped into the hot stream of water. This was precisely what you needed, not only were you a little hungover, but you were also half asleep. Usually, you wouldn’t want to get your hair wet this close to class because then you'd have to battle with it to get it straight and the process took entirely too long, but now you didn't care at all. The water beamed down on your scalp, and you sighed thoroughly enjoying it.

By the time you made it back to your room, you had less than thirty minutes to get dressed and make it across campus to your Anatomy and Physiology class. Doing your best to hurry, you picked something cute but not too cute. It was after all an 11 am class, and the professor was a boring old man who lost your attention the minute he uttered his first word. That was bad; you needed this class not only for your degree but your career. How could you become a clinical physiologist if you didn't understand the essential functions of the human physiology? You couldn't, plain and simple. You needed to find a way to get your head in the game or else you'd be done for.

Hearing the campus clock striking eleven, you rounded the corner and ran down the steps into the health sciences building where your class was held. You gripped your heels tightly in your hands. You regretted the choice as soon as you stepped out your dorm and saw you had eight minutes to get across campus. On an average day walking, it took at least twelve to get to class. You panted and bumped into a group of students standing around talking.

"Hey, watch it!"

"You watch it. This is an education facility talk outside idiot!"

Not bothering to go back and forth you ran up the flight of stairs and down the hall to the class door and flung yourself inside.

"And that is why and how the cardiovascular system is easily the most important system in the body."

Everyone looked at you. Ignoring the eyes, you hurried up the steps and to one of the many seats. There were only fifteen people in this class because everyone else was smarter than your dumb ass. You made it to the fourth row back and took the closest seat. Your heart was pounding in your ears as you tried to catch your breath. You closed your eyes and held your head back, thinking it was way too early for this shit.

"Is everything all right Ms--Y/N?"

Your head snapped forward and landed on the man standing in front of the room, half perched on the desk.

"Holy shit you're gorgeous!"

The snickers that rang out around you alerted you that your censor had failed you yet again. You pinched your lips together and closed your eyes; embarrassment filled you.

"I mean--uh, yes everything is fine," you corrected and dug into your bag to retrieve your notebook and other supplies.

"Thank you for the compliment, much appreciated," he said as he rose from the desk and walked around it, giving you the first view of his perfect ass. Your jaw dropped as you gawked. This was not your professor. This man was nowhere close to being your professor. Everything about him was the opposite. He was taller easily reaching 6'3, his eyes looked to be blue from here while your professor's could have been green, or brow, or green, hell you didn't know. This man before you was built like he spent two hours in the gym a day and didn't take any days off and his ass looked like you could bounce a quarter, a nickel, a dime, and a penny of it and it would bounce off and create ninety-five cents, he had a magical ass, a magically luscious ass. He turned around, and your eyes widened as they zeroed in at the crotch of his pants. You could see a subtle bulge, a bulge of a man who was packing a semi-automatic but that said semi-automatic was asleep.

"Eh-eh-eh-em!"

Shaking your head at the unexpected loud sound, you looked up to see him looking at you. You'd been caught. You averted your eyes and flipped to an open page in your notebook and began taking notes. Thinking to yourself that no man let alone an academic professor should be this fine, you took a few calming breaths and did your best to listen to the lecture. You found yourself getting lost in him because not only was he gorgeous he was smart, those two put together made him the sexiest man you’d seen on this campus. Before long, you found yourself having little daydreams as he spoke. You fantasized about his big hands squeezing your ass, his lips tasting yours, his thighs resting on either side of your cheeks as you took every inch he had to offer. In a matter of minutes, you were wet and getting quite hot and bothered.

An hour and forty-five minutes into your two-hour class, he placed the chalk down and walked to the front of the desk where he leaned against it. His thighs pressed together, and you wondered what it would be like to sit across his lap. You looked around and noticed for the first time the entire class was females. You wondered if they’d known sexy, blue eyes and dreamy would be here. When you looked ahead there, he was standing in front of you down at the front of the class. It was so unexpected you jumped and sank back into your seat. It was then you saw a sly smirk spread across his face.

“Ms. Y/N.”

You raised an eyebrow to him, giving him more of your attention, even though he’d had it this entire time.

“True or false, Dopamine is the human body’s pleasure chemical.”

You thought about it vaguely remembering him talk about pleasure. Truth be told once he began talking about pleasure you zoned out and thought about just that—him giving you pleasure.

“Eh-em, well dopamine is made in the brain, and the brain is responsible for most if not all the chemicals the body produces and distributes. So with that being said; true.”

He smirked and licked his lips slowly. “What are the body’s connection and relationship with the pleasure center? How does let’s say the first signal or spark begin all the way to completion?”

You knew this; you’d read in the text and studied it for an upcoming quiz. Right now, though, you were drawing a blank. As you looked at him you knew he knew you had nothing. How the hell could you think with him looking at you? It was as if his eyes were boring into you, stripping away everything you used as a shield, defense mechanisms, walls, clothes, shit you felt bare underneath his intense gaze.

“Okay, seems you might need another way to grasp the material. Come on down,” he said. You didn’t move, you looked around the room, and no one looked as if they thought this was strange. When you looked back to him, he walked back to his desk.

“I won’t repeat it.” The authority in his voice had you shooting up involuntarily. You looked around again and the girl nearest you rose her eyebrows as if to say you were in trouble. Were you in trouble, you thought? You closed your notebook and slipped your feet into your heels before you descended the stairs to make it to the desk he was now leaning against. You stopped a few feet from him and clasped your hands behind your back. His eyes dropped to your breasts, and his teeth scraped over the skin of his bottom lip. Surprise ran through you. There’s no way your professor just checked out your boobs, you thought to yourself. This was wishful thinking. You shook your head and shook the idea away.

“Do you normally struggle in this class?”

“Um, no.”

“Professor Evans. That is my name, and that is what you’ll call me,” he filled in with authority. This time you felt the butterflies in your stomach. You swallowed a little more loudly than intended and took a breath.

“No Professor Evans.”

“So it’s just today with me you seem to be a less than sample student?”

“How--.”

“You showed up ten minutes late when everyone else managed to make it on time. You were barefoot when you came in and since you’ve barely listened to a word I’ve said. So, I ask again; is it just with me you’re not the sample student?”

Speechless you looked around the room again and crossed your leg over the other. For some reason, your nether regions were tingling. There was no way this was turning you on, you thought.

“I guess it’s just with you—Professor Evans.”

He nodded, stood up straight, and walked to you never taking his eyes off yours. You lost all breath in your lungs; you couldn’t even think, his eyes pinned you where you stood. You bit your bottom lip; his eyes fell to them before he disappeared behind you. Without your eyes, you still knew he was directly behind you.

“And why is that Ms. Y/L/N?”

“I don’t know.”

“Class give me a brief physiology of lying, spot a liar. Go!”

The girl you sat close to shot her hand up first then spoke.

“When someone lies, Catecholamines are released in the body. these are the hormones that spawn from stress, which is what the body is put under when it lies, professor Evans.”

“Good. Anyone else?” More hands shot into the air, and he called on another student.

“The body then has tells, fidgeting, sweating, and subtle voice fluctuations to begin professor Evans.”

You rolled your eyes; these bitches were looking for an A++ today.

“Good. Now Ms. Y/N, which one of those tells do you think I registered with you just now?”

You bit your tongue; this was getting a little humiliating, and you didn’t like it.

“You tell me, Professor Evans, you’re the one between us with an actual degree on the subject. Enlighten me, pretty please.”

Once the words were out, he looked to you, his lips smiled, but his eyes darkened from a celestial blue to an almost the shade of blue denim jeans. The transition took your breath away, and you released a gasp, one that was inconspicuous to the rest of the class but somehow you knew he’d heard it. The edges of his lips turned up into an almost sinister smirk, one that made your stomach fall partially from dread and fear, but also from excitement and anticipation.

“Be seated Ms. Y/N.”

On wobbly legs, you hurried back to your seat and did your best to compose yourself. He continued to lecture, but his eyes never landed on your again. He went on as if you were invisible. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. On the one hand, you were relieved not to be under the intense scrutiny of his stare, but you wanted him to look at you, you wanted it more than almost anything. For the remainder of the class, you didn’t pay attention to one word he said. You just watched him move. The way his trim legs moved and how his ass looked as it was perched atop the desk made your hands itch to touch. The way his lips moved to form speech and the way his tongue tipped out every so often to wet his lips made your mouth water and long to taste his. You could barely contain the amount of arousal you felt. It definitely superseded anything you’d ever felt before. You wanted him, bad.

“Okay, so that is all for today, hopefully, you have a new understanding of the curriculum. Go on get outta here,” Professor Evans said.

Everyone got into motion gathering their belongings and exiting the room. You heard the girl that sat close to you speak under her breath.

“Goddamn, he’s fine.”

You smiled to yourself, and the two of you exchanged an all-knowing look that said the two of you understood the situation. When you grabbed your bag, you didn’t pay attention to how you took it up, and everything spilled out. You cursed to yourself, bent down, and retrieved the items. By the time you finished, it was just you in the class. You made your way to the door. When you turned the knob, it didn’t budge. It was locked. You tried it again and added some force, but still, it didn’t move.

“What the hell?” Looking around the room you realized you were alone, not even the professor was in sight.

“Hello?” No answer. You wiggled the doorknob again and kicked it when your frustration rose high.

“What did that door ever do to you?”

Spinning around you saw Professor Evans sitting in the front seat with his legs spread wide and arms crossed over his chest. Even like this, he still looked incredible.

“It’s locked, how did it get locked? I didn’t know these doors even locked from the inside.”

“Well, now, you do. I locked it.” He stood and walked closer to the desk. You felt an uneasy feeling in your chest, and a chill ran down your spine and crept around to settle in your belly. You felt as if you should feel fear and part of you did, but it didn’t grip your entire being.

“Wh—why would you lock it? What is this?”

“I thought you needed a little more—tutoring,” he said.”

“Excuse me?

“You know you’ve been watching me all morning, I doubt any of the material even made it in,” Professor Evans said.

Trying your best to keep a straight face and show no emotion or shock you clenched your jaw and held your chin high; “Ha, I was not watching you.”

“Do you prefer gawking? I saw you staring at my ass. I could almost hear all your dirty little thoughts.”

You wanted to die; you were so mortified. Not that he’d caught you clearly sexually objectifying him, but he had the balls to tell you. At the thought of him having balls your eyes involuntarily dropped to his crotch. You heard a breathy chuckle and snapped them back to his face. He smiled and shook his head.

“Have a seat.” You didn’t move. One, because you couldn’t believe what was happening and two, you were afraid of what was happening.

“Now, Ms. Y/L/N.”

Damn your need to please. You walked toward the front row of seats before you felt him grip your wrist. You looked to him with a questioning look.

“Not there. The desk.” Obeying, you changed courses and walked to the elevated podium where the desk was. Stepping up the two steps, you placed your belongings on the chair that held his things. Once you sat, you crossed your legs and looked to him. He stood a few feet away, just watching you. He didn’t move though. A full two minutes passed in silence, then he walked to you.

“Uncross your legs.” Feeling a little strange, you hesitated and searched his blue eyes. They were a bit darker than before but still gorgeous. You did as he asked and took a deep breath.

“The reading and assignment last week according to your previous professor’s notes state it was on the physiology and biology of lust, attraction, and attachment. Is that correct?”

You could feel the heat coming off his body though he wasn’t touching you. It made your body come alive. You nodded, unsure your voice worked. Without a word, he shot you a questioning glance, one that gave you the opportunity to rewind. You took a deep breath and swallowed the lump forming in your throat.

“Yes, Professor Evans.

“Let’s test your knowledge. What is the biology of attraction?”

You scanned your memory hoping you’d find even the smallest detail from the reading you did over four days ago. He was fucking with you. Who remembered their reading from so long ago, especially when they had other classes they had to read for too. His eyes never left yours; it was as if he were trying to intimidate you or make you mess up. You began to wonder if he wanted you to mess up. He smiled as if reading your mind.

“Ms. Y/L/N. Tick, tock goes the clock.”

“Attraction is just a mix of chemicals in your body working together to fire off a response to the brain.”

“What chemicals?”

“Dopamine, norepinephrine, and serotonin,” you filled in.

“What effect does each of those have?”

“Norepinephrine is the chemical that makes one giddy, energetic, and euphoric; it can even lead to decreased appetite and insomnia. Serotonin, a hormone that’s known to be involved in appetite and mood, a lot of studies have shown that serotonin may have a part to play in the intense infatuation that characterizes the beginning stages of love and attraction. Dopamine is the feel-good hormone. It’s released when we do things that feel good and have similar effects as Norepinephrine,” you finished.

You couldn’t tell what his expression was he was behind you. Suddenly you felt his heat near your ear.

“So it’s just with things I say you struggle with,” he whispered. God, his voice sounded so sexy, and on cue, your body responded. You felt the ache of your breasts your telltale sign they needed to be touched, the heat swirling in your belly and the slowly increasing pulsation between your legs.

“You forgot one other thing--,” Professor Evans took a deep inhale, one that broke you out in goosebumps.

“Pheromones. They are a huge tell-tale sign of attraction—I can smell you.”

You tried to stifle a moan, but you were unsuccessful. You knew he heard it. Soon he was standing before, you between your slightly spread thighs with his thighs grazing against your skin. He was hot—literally.

“Tell me about lust.” His voice was low and filled with something you couldn’t put your finger on. Something that spoke to the heat in your belly and traveling down between your thighs. Clenching your jaw, you took a steadying breath.

“Testosterone and Estrogen are the primary chemicals. Testosterone increases libido, and estrogen can also increase arousal.”

“What kind of arousal?” his voice was now gruff.

“Sexual,” you whispered.

He closed his eyes and sunk his teeth into his bottom lip.

“You smell—so damn good.”

You studied his face, went over every inch of his beauty. He had not one wrinkle. His beard was no doubt one of your weaknesses. You were always a sucker for a full beard and a nice ass; he had both. Your eyes traveled over him, but below his waist was obscured. You recognized the desire pumping through you. You didn’t expect to see his eyes open when yours returned to his face. You licked your lips, and his eyes remained there. When his lips crashed to yours, you hesitated and allowed him to expertly kiss you. His beard was soft against your face as were his lips.

You’d been kissed plenty of times before, but this kiss was different. This kiss wasn’t from a boy pretending to be a man as all the college guys you dated had been. This was a man in every form of the word, taking charge. You felt his hand at the small of your back before he pulled you to the edge of the desk, closer to his own body. You felt the protruding bulge in his pants as it connected with your pubis. Without thinking, you moaned and laced your hand in his hair and gripped the strands as he intensified the kiss.

In an instant, your back was flat against the desk, and he was hovered over you kissing you better than anyone ever had before. His tongue teased yours. Feeling your anxiousness rise you sunk your teeth into his bottom lip, his moan vibrated across your lips before he roughly pushed your thighs back to meet the desk. As he pulled back from your mouth, his eyes skimmed your body before they stopped at the junction of your thighs. You laid sprawled atop the desk with your hot pink thong on full display. His groan echoed throughout the empty room; then he moved his hand to your pelvis where it rested possessively for a second before he balled the dainty fabric and ripped it right off of you.

You flinched at the sudden action and the sting it produced on your skin. Professor Evans then slapped your sex, creating a wet sloshing sound. Your back arched and a moan escaped your lips.

“Do you know why you’re wet?”

You shook your head; you knew damn well why, but you sure as hell wasn’t going to say it. He smiled as he dropped down to eye level with your aching core.

“Your body is aroused by my pheromones, so much so that the dopamine in your system is increasing at a fast rate, one that is intoxicating you and bringing your body into hyperdrive. Tell me Ms. Y/L/N, is this the perfect example for lust?”

God, he was killing you. You didn’t care if this was lust or not all you knew was if he didn’t stop talking and show you what that mouth could do as he’d been teasing all class you’d combust. He dropped a kiss to your inner thigh, and you groaned. Your arms instinctively flew to his head hoping to pull his head to you, but he evaded you.

“I see someone is feeling anxious. Answer the question.” You still didn’t want to. You lowered your hand to your sex and rotated your fingers around your wetness. His eyes automatically dropped to watch you. He slowly licked his lips as he watched you. Two could play this game; if he wanted to tease you, you’d do the same. You slowly dipped one finger into your heat and gasped aching backward at the sudden pleasure that filled you.

“You’re so wet, show me.” You pulled your finger out to show him how they glistened underneath the florescent lights of the classroom. He examined your finger before his mouth engulfed it. He sucked your finger clean, ensuring to nibble and flick his tongue around it. God, he was a tease. As if sensing what you were thinking, he smiled before his mouth dropped to your sex and began pleasing you better than anyone had before.

Your hands flew to your breasts and squeezed, trying to maximize your pleasure. His tongue rhythmically flicked across your sensitive bud, and then he was sucking it into his mouth. The change of sensations sent your body into a state of heightened arousal, one you knew preceded an impending release. You couldn’t believe you were already there. It had barely been two minutes. He sped up the movements of his mouth, no doubt wanting to torpedo you into your orgasm. The heat in your belly furled out to every inch of you, and without warning, you whimpered, gripped his head ground yourself against his mouth. He didn’t let up; instead, he sucked your lips into his mouth before you felt his finger inside you. Arching up onto your elbows, you watched as he maneuvered two fingers in and out of your swollen heat. His lips were glistening with your wetness, wetness that looked to saturate his perfectly groomed beard.

“Fuck!”

He smiled and pulled his fingers from you then sucked them clean.

“Not quite yet. You’ve been biting those lips all morning,” he began as he stood before you. Your eyes dropped to his hands at his pants as he began undoing them. Once the buttons were undone, you saw peeks of grey cotton. He wasted no time pulling down his pants and underwear until his thick need flopped out and bobbed before you. Your jaw dropped at the sight of him. Yes, he carried himself with unmistakable big dick energy you somehow didn’t expect it actually to be big. It—was—big. You couldn’t tear your eyes from him. He stroked himself once, then twice until your teeth sunk into your bottom lip.

“I want to see them wrapped around me,” he finished. You shouldn’t have moved as fast as you did. You wasted no time sliding off the desk to drop to your knees before him. Once you were eye level with his need, you licked your lips way too anxious to have him. You gripped his girth and marveled that your hand couldn’t even fit around him fully. As you stroked him, you heard his breathing pick up. Tipping your tongue out to trail along the underside of his length, you ended at his smooth tip. Professor Evans groaned and widened his stance. Continuing your tease, you licked across his skin for a few more minutes until you slowly lowered your lips onto his scorching desire. Once your lips tightened around him more than halfway down, he hissed out and ended with an aggressive groan.

“Fuck, so good Y/N!”

You noticed he used your first name and it turned you on even more. Moving your mouth up and down his length, you decided it was not the time to be cute. It was time to enjoy yourself fully. You had been thinking about this all morning. You knew this was a once in a lifetime thing and decided to fully let yourself go. Speeding up your mouth you increased you suction as you neared his tip. Every time you did, he cursed and bucked forward, feeding you even more of his lengthy thickness. After a few minutes, his hands connected to the back of your head, and he began thrusting into your mouth. His hips sped up, and before you knew it, you were taking damn near all of him. Every time he thrust forward, you felt the tip of him slink past your tonsils. You had to stifle your gag reflex and take everything he offered. You refused to back down. His moans and grunts filled the room, and you were happy the door was locked to prevent anyone from walking in. Although, if anyone looked in the peek-a-boo window they’d see you on your knees with your spit dribbling from your chin as your professor face fucked you. You didn’t care; the danger of discovery only made you want him more.

Professor Evans pulled himself from your mouth with a loud groan and “pop,” “Face down on that desk, poke that perfect ass out for me.”

You did as you were told, ignoring the coldness of the glossy maple colored wood against your exposed skin. The anticipation was killing you, and it showed with the slight shiver of your body. You felt his hand connect with your backside and you moaned.

“I love the perfect jiggle of this ass,” he said before he slapped it again, and again. Each hit made you wetter and wetter. When you felt him rub himself against your opening, you flung your head back releasing your own grunt. You didn’t have to wait much longer before you felt him fully sink himself inside your needy channel.

“Fuck, yes!”

You felt his hand roughly grip your hips as he rocked his hips back and forth, building the friction and pace steadily stoking your desire. He felt so good, better than you’d ever remembered it feeling before. The heat from his skin scorched you from the inside out and heightened your pleasure. Professor Evans picked up his speed and plowed into you making sure that every time he connected with your body, he forcefully nudged forward stroking the swollen bundle of nerves.

“Shit, yes, yes.”

“You love this dick, don’t you Y/N? You love how it fills your needy little pussy!”

Your panting grew louder, and you tried to hold on to anything you could find, the only thing close enough was the edge of the desk. When his thrusts slowed down the force of which he slammed into you didn’t. Each bruising thrust only made your eyes lull to the back of your head more. You felt his body hover over your back and then his fingers reach around between your legs to caress your clit. You hissed at the sudden increase of pleasure and knew your release was seconds away.

“Oh my god, yes!”

“What’s my name?”

“Professor Evans! Yes, fuck this tight little pussy!”

“God damn right it’s tight. It’s been waiting for a real man to claim it,” he growled out as he increased his speed but added a slight swivel of his hips upon impact. The change of angle sent you over the edge.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck! I’m coming!” With that, the dam broke, and you hit the desk over and over as you came long and hard all over him. Still, he didn’t stop or slow down, not his pounding increased to an incredible speed and force. You knew you were going to be sore tomorrow and possibly the day after that.

“Does this pussy love me?” you nodded wildly, not caring how thirsty you looked. You were parched and didn’t care if he knew it.

“This pussy loves you! Shit!”

You felt another orgasm build within you, your legs gave out, but he was there to hold you against him and the desk. His thrusts became sloppy, but they remained precise. He knew what he was doing, know how to handle a woman’s body, knew just how to make it do whatever he wanted. You felt his breath at your ear.

“Ready for this one? It’s going to be big. Say yes, Professor.” His hand around your throat barely squeezed, but it was enough to trigger your orgasm.

“Yes, Professor!” His grip tightened slightly, and his thrusts sped up. After one, then two and a third gut plunging thrust your second orgasm took over. You clenched around him and screeched through the intense pleasure. His hands slacked, and your body slid off the desk. He turned you to face him, and it was then you saw the unbridled need that darkened his eyes.

“Your knees,” he grunted out through clenched jaws. You obeyed and opened your mouth. This was not your first time. He quickly stroked himself, and while maintaining eye contact with you. It was so hot your hand crept between your legs to swirl around your still needy soaking clit. Your fingers moved as quickly as his hand did and when the first spurt of his come splashed the side of your mouth yet another orgasm coursed through you. You felt his come fill your mouth spurt after spurt. It barely registered over the brain-numbing pleasure you felt from your final release. He cursed and grunted to his heart’s delight before you wrapped your mouth around him again and milked him for every drop he had left.

After a few moments, he hissed again and released a small, vulnerable whimper before he slowly pulled himself from your mouth. You looked up to him and licked your lips of any excess before you teasingly bit your bottom lip. He smiled and shook his head as he began pulling his pants and underwear back in place. You slowly stood on shaky legs before you leaned against the desk. His eyes dropped to your hand and took it, placing your coated fingers in his mouth to clean them off. Just like that, the heat had been reignited. Staring into his eyes, you could tell he felt it too. His jaw clenched and unclenched before he stepped back from you.

“You’re free to go.” You heard the click of the locks signaling the end of your little tryst. You walked around the desk to your belongings and smoothed over your clothes before you walked to the door. You could feel his eyes boring holes into you as you walked. When your hand touched the doorknob, you heard him call your name. You glanced back at him to see him holding your torn and tattered thong in his hands.

“See you next class.” He moved the underwear to his nose and smelled. You wanted him again. You glanced down to his waist and saw the evident bulge in his pants and smiled to yourself. You weren’t the only one with an insatiable need. Turning you walked out the door savoring the delicious ache between your thighs. Maybe you would enjoy this class after all.

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#anatomy 101 fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #Chris Evans X black reader #chris evans x you #chris evans smut #black fanfiction

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alphacrone · 5 years ago

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for it’s better to burn out than to fade out of sight (3/?)

rating: T pairings: Yuki & Tohru (platonic), Tohru/Kyo, Yuki/Machi, other canon pairings & friendships summary: In the end, it wasn’t sadness Yuki felt, when Tohru Honda had her memories erased. No, it was anger. And anger he could work with.

<< read previous chapter || read next chapter >>

iii. now my heart’s a frozen lake where streams used to flow

***

“Do you think wave-girl seduced him?”

Yuki paused at the mention of Hanajima. They were barely more than acquaintances, but Yuki didn’t like the tone the girls in the classroom were using. He leaned back against the wall and continued to listen.

“Ew, no way! But he seems close to that Honda girl…”

They were talking about Tohru? Yuki’s blood began to boil.

“How could someone so plain attract Prince Yuki like that! He deserves someone beautiful and utterly perfect .”

“Seriously. Do you think she...you know...with him?”

One of the girls gasped. “Don’t say something like that. The Prince wouldn’t do that with just anyone .”

Under his blind anger at these girls’ insults of Tohru, Yuki wondered just how they could make such assumptions about him . How could they know what would attract him? How could they know he wasn’t hooking up with anyone willing? Who were they to assume his own thoughts and feelings?

But...well, even if they didn’t have the right to think they knew him, how could they even begin to know him? Yuki was a creature of ice and snow, cold and hardened against the world. His heart was frozen solid, buried deep and far, far away from the light of day. He’d never let anyone close, really, only Hatsuharu on occasion.

And then, Tohru had appeared in his life. From the moment he’d found her in the woods, he knew what Prometheus felt gazing upon fire for the first time. Yuki wanted to steal this light for himself, keep her safe and far away from harm, but to be a Sohma was to be dangerous. It would be wise to leave her behind and retreat behind his walls, but Yuki was tired. He was tired of loneliness and tired of the cold, tired of watching the world pass by like a movie he couldn’t pause.

And Tohru was bright, and Tohru was warm, and Tohru was so unfailingly kind and loving, it made Yuki’s heart ache. What would happen to his heart of ice in the face of these new flames in his chest? Would he extinguish her light? Or would he thaw?

Yuki was a creature of snow and ice; would there be anything left of him when he melted?

***

Yuki wasn’t sure what he expected from Hanajima’s house when she invited him to study after school, but the normalcy of it did surprise him. He supposed it would be foolish to think she lived in some spooky, European mansion in the middle of the neighborhood, but against the backdrop of the average house she seemed more startling, like ink against a stark canvas.

“Hope you’re better at history than we are, Prince,” Uotani said, pushing hair from her face as they approached the front door. “I’m great at remembering formulas for math, but I can’t remember dates for shit.”

“Uo’s a math genius!” Tohru called over her shoulder, bouncing a little. “She can do really complicated equations in her head!”

“Eh, math’s just easy,” Uo said with a shrug. “Once you get how it works. Remembering dates and names for things that happened before I was born is confusing.”

Tohru blushed, but didn’t seem too embarrassed when she said, “I think it’s all confusing. But I like learning about the past. So many people have lived so many lives, it’s really interesting.”

Hanajima opened the front door and softly called, “I’m home.” The other girls parrotted her, and all three kicked off their shoes with a familiar ease. Yuki knelt down to remove his own as an older woman replied, “Welcome home!”

Uotani cast a grin at Tohru. “Well, if I’m a math genius, Tohru’s a home ec genius. Our girl can cook and sew like nobody’s business.”

“I kno-” Yuki caught himself before he could reveal he had, in fact, spent a few weeks eating Tohru’s cooking for every meal. “I see.”

“O-oh, it’s nothing,” Tohru sputtered, waving her hands around. Hanajima and Uo led them upstairs to Hanajima’s room, both smirking at Tohru as her face grew pink. “Cooking isn’t anything special like math.”

“I think it’s really special,” Yuki said honestly, readjusting his grip on his school bag. “I’m awful at cooking and cleaning. Most of my meals are take-out.” Of the three men in the house, only Kyo could cook, and he adamantly refused to cook for anyone but himself. After Shigure’s last attempt at cooking, he and Yuki had gone back to take-out and microwaveable meals.

Hanajima’s room was much like the rest of her house—unnervingly normal—but at least here there were touches of her darkness. The dark bedspread and curtains at least hinted at the macabre aesthetic of Kaibara High’s resident witch.

“O-oh, really?” Tohru said, sitting down at the small table across from the bed. “I’m sure you’re not awful.”

“Oh, no, I am,” Yuki laughed, sitting down next to her. “I burn everything.”

“Well, look at that,” Uotani teased, flopping down on Tohru’s other side. “Prince Yuki has a fault . Alert the fangirls, they’ll lose their shit.”

“All men are fallible,” Hanajima said evenly, dark eyes boring into Yuki. “To be perfect is to be inhuman.”

Yuki swallowed roughly. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I guarantee I am incredibly fallible.”

With a snort, Uotani pulled out her notebook and reached around Tohru’s to softly smack Yuki with it. “We’re just giving you a hard time, Yun-Yun.”

“Yun-Yun?” Nobody called him that, except for Kagura when she wanted something.

“Uh, yeah,” Uotani said with a shrug. “I bet that’s what Kyoko would’ve called you.”

“Who?”

“Kyoko,” Hanajima said softly. “Tohru’s mom.”

“Oh.” There was a thick pause. Technically, everyone knew now that Torhu was an orphan, but Yuki wasn’t sure how many people knew how recently her mother had died. “Was she...a fan of giving people nicknames?”

All three girls smiled. “Yes, she was,” Tohru said fondly. “She’s why Uo and Hana go by Uo and Hana.”

“And she would absolutely love to tease you,” Uo said. “A little pretty boy like you wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“She sounds...fun,” Yuki said.

“She was,” Uo agreed.

“Who’s this? I didn’t know you had more friends, Saki.”

Yuki turned to see a miniature Hanajima. Though his hair was short and his uniform that of the nearby middle school, the boy in the doorway looked exactly like his sister.

“Don’t be rude, Megumi,” Hanajima scolded lightly. “This is Yuki Sohma, our classmate. He’s going to use his status to gain us top academic scores.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, before Uotani laughed and said, “Prince Yuki is here to study with us.”

Tohru smiled at the boy. “Sohma, this is Megumi, Hana’s little brother.”

“Nice to meet you,” Yuki offered, but Megumi said nothing as he studied Yuki’s face.

“You have an unusual energy,” Megumi eventually said, face impassive. “Shall we have snacks?”

“Go get some rice crackers, kid,” Uo said. “You can join us if you study too.”

“Do you need help, Megumi?” Tohru asked. “I can help make tea.”

“Grandmother is already making some for you,” Megumi said. “I’ll see if she has any rice crackers.” He stood and left without fanfare, leaving Yuki feeling more stressed than he had earlier. What a strange boy .

“Love that kid,” Uotani said with a chuckle. “He talks like a old man.”

“When I was staying here, he’d offer to read me bedtime stories,” Tohru said. “It was very sweet, but funny coming from a little boy.”

“He’s an odd one,” Hanajima agreed. “I’m not sure where he gets it from…”

Yuki and Uotani exchanged a bemused look. “Alright, history,” Uotani said. “Someone quiz me.”

“I will!” Tohru grabbed her flashcards and held one up for Uotani. Yuki opened his own notes and tried to focus on them, but was quickly interrupted by Megumi returning with snacks and tea. The girls all cooed over him and told him to join them, so he silently squeezed in between his sister and Yuki, making no real effort to study as the high schoolers returned to their work.

“So, uh, Megumi,” Yuki said after a few minutes of Tohru and Uotani’s excited flashcard quizzing. “Do you also, uh...see waves?”

Megumi raised an eyebrow, but his expression did not change. “No. Saki controls waves.”

“Ah.” Yuki cleared his throat, unsure if he should continue talking.

“I, however, have studied the ancient art of curses,” Megumi continued, voice high and monotone. “All I need to curse a victim is their name.”

Yuki wondered if that was supposed to be a threat. Not that it mattered; he was already cursed.

“What do your curses do?” He asked, resting his hand in his palm. He glanced to the right, but Tohru was thoroughly absorbed in her flashcards, cheering every time Uotani got an answer correct.

“It depends,” Megumi said, not breaking eye contact. “Sometimes it renders the victim ill or in pain. Sometimes it causes them bad luck. Sometimes it makes them the target of negative energies.”

“What about...transformations?” Yuki asked, tapping his pencil against the table. “Can you curse someone to turn into an animal?”

“What, like a toad?” The boy looked unimpressed. “I’m not a witch.”

“I didn’t mean to imply you were,” Yuki backpedaled, holding his hands up in surrender. “It’s just...an interesting concept, don’t you think?”

Megumi tilted his head. “I suppose. To trap an enemy in a foreign vessel is a cruel torture.”

“But you’ve never…?”

“No.” Yuki felt his heart drop. “But it is a curious idea.”

It had been foolish to put any sort of expectations in this child Yuki had known for less than an hour. But just having someone outside his own family discuss curses so casually had sparked hope deep inside him.

Could there be others like him out there? Could this curse be broken? Could this curse be inflicted on someone else, a new family of unwitting monsters?

“Sohma!”

Tohru’s voice broke Yuki from his spiralling thoughts. She was smiling—she was always smiling—and pointed to one of her flashcards. “Can you help us with this one? The textbook gives two different dates for this, and we don’t know which is correct.”

Yuki took a deep breath and nodded, scooting over to look at the flashcards. He supposed it didn’t matter, really, if Megumi held the truth to his...hereditary affliction. For now, it was enough to sit by Tohru Honda and bask in her warmth.

***

Classes were over but Yuki had promised to help the class president with some budgeting, so he bid Tohru, Hanajima, and Uotani goodbye and headed towards the student council room, already dreading Takei-senpai’s overbearing nature.

As he crossed the walkway overlooking the school gate, Yuki noticed Tohru and Hanajima waving Uotani off as she sprinted off to get to her job on time. Tohru was laughing, swinging Hanajima’s hand as they meandered down the stairs at a slower pace. Yuki couldn’t help but smile at the scene, watching his friends—friends?—look so happy and carefree.

He turned to continue his return to the classroom when he noticed a boy standing a few yards away, eyes trained where Yuki’s had just been.

The kid was dark-haired and slouched against the wall, a couple file folders clutched loosely in his hand. He frowned, still watching Tohru and Hanajima. Yuki glanced at the girls again, noticing that Hanajima had separated from Tohru and Tohru now walked alone. Still, the boy’s gaze followed her, frown increasing, turning almost vicious.

It was that angry frown, Yuki would later claim, that spurred him into action. Crossing the walkway quickly and silently, Yuki dipped between the boy’s line of sight and Tohru, blocking her from view. The boy startled, blinking in surprise.

“Leave Tohru Honda alone,” Yuki hissed. “Whatever you want with her, drop it.”

The guy held his hands up. “Hey, hey, calm down, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were watching her,” Yuki said, poking the boy in the chest angrily. “Leave her alone.”

“I wasn’t planning on starting shit,” the boy said. “Seriously, calm down, I’m not gonna hit on your girlfriend.”

“She’s not- Just- What do you want with her?” Yuki crossed his arm over his chest, face growing warm.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” the guy said with a smirk. “But she and I have a past.” He shouldered past Yuki, turning to add, “Don’t worry about it, Yuki Sohma. I’m not gonna talk to her.”

Before Yuki could respond, he winked and sauntered away, waving as if they’d just had a normal, casual conversation. Yuki sighed and glanced back out to where Tohru had been. She was gone, predictably, but a small part of him felt disappointed by her absence.

You’ll see her tomorrow , a small voice told him. This isn’t like before. She’s still here.

Yuki couldn’t stop the chill that ran down his spine. She was still here, for now. And Yuki would do whatever it took to keep her there, away from the clutches of the Sohma family and its curse.

#fruits basket fanfiction #fruits basket spoilers #fruits basket #furuba manga spoilers #yuki & tohru #anna writes things #x-posting from ao3

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opinuun · 5 years ago

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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 [email protected] 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, [email protected] 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..

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saintcanardmoved · 5 years ago

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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.

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