Author's note: This is a parody of S.E. Hinton's books – not only The Outsiders but That was Then, This is Now and Tex.  I actually really like S.E. Hinton's books, don't get me wrong, but most of her novels are … well, exactly the same.  Try and see if you can spot things that I've blatantly parodied.

            Oh, and I'm not a pyromaniac or a Coca-Cola fiend.  In fact, I wish I could blame this on caffeine but I can't.  So there. 

Please review; flames keep me toasty.

            Note from A. Smithee's friend, The Masked Avenger, who was present during the five minutes in which this was written: To get the full effect of this "story," it must be read aloud with a ridiculous Oklahoma accent.

            Me and my buddy Johnny went over to a bar.  I looked around for a plain-clothes – I can always tell who's a fuzz – and then we went in when I didn't see one.  I ordered a Coke.  I'm what you could call a Coke fiend.

            Just then my older brother Roots came in.  "Where in tarnation have you been?!" he yelled.  Ever since my folks died from complications from operations, Roots has been my guardian but that don't mean I get along with him.  He was madder than heck.  I hadn't seen him this angry since I tried to set fire to the couch 'cause I was pretty sure flower children had been squatting on it.  We never lock doors in our house.

            Just then Houston swaggered in.  Houston was rude, annoying, and had got shot in several drive-through fast-food restaurant accidents in New York.  Houston's not my buddy but you had to respect him.

            Then Roots and me got into a fight.  After Roots abused me for a while Johnny and me ran away and hopped a train.  Then we realized we were headed for the handy vacant lot that kind of moves around our neighborhood.  You know it's not a good neighborhood when even vacant lots can go more places than you can.  Meanwhile back at the ranch, me and Johnny hopped off the train and set fire to random buildings – like in Gone With the Wind; you'd be surprised that a tough-talkin' hood like me enjoys reading – in hopes that we'd be redeemed as heroes.

            I'm a pyro.

            Then some tuff-lookin' skirts came into the building we were currently about to set fire to.  But I don't care for girls too much yet (my other big brother Beer was the same way before he grew out of it) so I lit the match anyhow.  Just then a flaming sack was dumped on me and Johnny's heads.  You don't want to know what was in that sack.

            "That'll teach you, greaser!" some random jerk in a madras shirt above us shouted, cackling.  He stopped cackling when Johnny climbed up the side of the building and shot him.

            Houston slapped the flaming sack on my back and swore.  Then Roots and Beer (who finally decided to show up) and I had a sentimental moment.  I wasn't surprised that Beer was bawling, 'cause he understands everyone's problems and for a greaser he sure does cry a lot, but I've never seen Roots cry except for the time when he broke his shoelaces.  I don't know why he cried then, but I knew then that Roots cared about me just like he did for Beer, and I knew we were still a family.  Then we got into a rumble with the friends of the jerk that Johnny shot.  I don't like jerks like them (we call 'em Socs); they get all the breaks and we were all just plumb mad that because of him Johnny was dying.  Oh yeah, Johnny had fallen off the side of the building after he shot the Soc.

            After the rumble I almost overdosed on asprin, Johnny died from the head trauma he'd gotten from falling off that building, and Houston got himself killed, I forget how.  I even wrote an English paper about it.  It goes like this:

            Me and my buddy Johnny went over to a bar.…