(Warning: Contains epic amounts of swearing and violence. The Rugrats aren't little kids any more, dammit!)

Bad-ass Rats

Tommy punched the wall. Hard. He was so angry. Nothing was the same. The same was nothing and everything was fucking different and it fucking sucked. "Fuck!" He exclaimed.

"Tommy," His mum called, hearing the swearing from his room. He wished she'd shut the fuck up, she just didn't get it. No one bloody did. She wasn't a teenager; she didn't understand the catastrophic difficulties he was coping with; a grown up rat, grown up, misunderstood and angry.

"Fuckkkk!" He yelled, louder. That'd teach the bitch for trying to suppress his fucking feelings. No one told Tommy Pickles when he should stop swearing. No one. Not even his best friend Chuckie. Except they weren't fucking friends now. Tommy was all popular and shit and didn't like any of them any more because why would you talk to someone with little social status? Yeah. It seemed a bit out of character, but it was deffo legit. He didn't talk to Phil or Lil either. "Fucking fuck fuck." he repeated the word and punched the wall again, his knuckle bleeding and pain coming out of his fist.

"Tommy! That swearing's not good for your heart and soul. I've invited your friends around."

"I don't have any fucking friends Mum. No one gets it. Fuck." But he went downstairs anyway.

There in the kitchen say his estranged mates. Phil's hair was long and shaggy, like a drug addled Lions got when he hadn't washed in a while. His brow was all furrowed, like a crinkled piece of silk and his legs were covered by ripped jeans. All the holes showed how poor he was; he looked malnourished, like a stray dog. He dealt drugs now; Tommy had actually seen him a couple of times when he'd been desperate for a high, but lately, Phil had moved onto the harder stuff; he needed to fund his gambling and drinking habit. Tommy missed Phil loads, but not as much as Chuckie whose hair was down to his feet. It was like, so long and ginger. He'd never seen the like. Chuckie didn't look so good; he was soon to go to prison for rape and slander because everything was bad now and they lived in the ghetto and were badass motherfuckers. Lil was there, short shirt, low cut top; the whole slutty ensemble. She'd obviously come here from work; she had a steady paid job as hooker. She didn't like being paid for sex much, but hey, a job's a job so she put the fuck up with it. . . And Kimi there too, holding a gun under the table, cradling it like a child. Kimi had a child now. She'd got pregnant at the age of 14 to Phil and had raised it; it's whereabouts are unknown. True story.

"Moooom," Tommy whined, like a strangled elephant. "Why're they all here? I didn't fucking invite them. Just get out. All of you." he raised his voice and threw something, smashing it on the floor.

Kimi pulled her gun out, "Hey, fuck you." She shot a warning bullet, right past his left nostril.

"Fuck you back." Tommy said, drawing his own gun, which was WAY bigger than Kimi's because she was just a girl.

Chuckie saw red and it wasn't the tiny strand of hair that fell over his eyes, "Hey Tommy, fuck this!" He drew his gun as well; an even more impressive specimen. "No on shoots my fucking sister, bitch."

"God Chuckie, why don't you fuck off and rape someone." Tommy retorted, laughing at his own incredible wit.

At this point, Phil felt left out so he pulled out he and Lil's shared gun (they were twins, so they shared everything. Phil dealt with aim, Lil dealt with the trigger). "Fuck you guys in general!" Lil yelled out, a crazy gleam in her eye.

Didi walked in with Stu. They had shopping bags and super luckily, they'd just been to the gun store so they both pulled out impressive, manly firearms and aimed at all the misunderstood teens.

"Listen here, motherfuckers!" said Stu, "Put your fucking guns away you twats. Your mother and I are hosting an important Barmitvah for Dil in under five minutes. I SAID, put the FUCKING guns away!"

"Fuck you, Dad." Tommy replied, ignoring his Dad's wishes.

"That's fucking it, I've had it with you, you cheeky sod." Didi said, "Never talk to your father like that again, you hear me!"

"What're you going to fucking do, Mum?" Tommy said; he was one cocky son of a bitch.

Didi smiled, madly, "This." She shot him, his red blood oozing out onto the suburban kitchen floor, hastily lowering the worth of the house. Geez, no one wanted to buy murder houses any more and that'd be a real issue when Didi and Stu wanted to move. Still, that'd teach him to be rude to his own father; the dick.

Stu smiled and started making out with Didi, impressed and turned on by her impressive accuracy while murdering their son. The making out progressed and they went outside for a quicky, before anyone had a chance to say anything.

Little did they know Dil was hiding up in one of the cupboards and to punish them all for being violent and using weapons he blew the kitchen up with a self-made pipe-bomb, murdering all of them, except Kimi who he went on to marry. They raised lots of tiny, American-Japanese children together until eventually, the guilt at murdering his family and friends became too much to deal with and he took his own life leaving Kimi and the kids to starve on the streets.