Oh, I'm probably no good at parodies. All I've ever written are angst-filled monologue-ish stories... So why am I even bothering with this?
Answer: Because I'm incredibly bored and have got a minor case of what experts like to call "Writer's Block". Is it contagious? I think so. *grins evilly*
Take from that what you will. ;)
Disclaimer: Yes, of course I own The Outsiders! That's why I'm writing on a site named "fanfiction . net"! *That was sarcasm, guys. Please don't sue me for it.*
"What do you think it is?"
"I dare you to poke it, Soda."
"Poke it yourself, Two-Bit!"
"You're no fun."
"No, I just happen to like all ten of my fingers, thank you very much."
Darry sighed in exasperation. Personally, he didn't care what all this junk was that kept on magically landing in his living room, he just wanted it gone.
Life in the Curtis house had been absolutely hectic the last couple of days, and the oldest Curtis is sick. Of. It.
"Can't you guys just leave the thing alone?" He asked irritably, putting aside his newspaper. Because of Pony's damn English "paper", he, Darry, had been practically forced by all the crazed fans to fulfill his "expected" role as the world's first just-out-of-his-teens-40-year-old-dad.
The truth was, that paper hadn't been one of those "report-the-facts-exactly-as-it-is-or-else!" assignments ... To be fair, it wasn't Pony's fault that he had taken some artistic licence with it.
Because the personalities of the gang were just not that over-the-top. Yes, Darry could be serious sometimes, Soda could be happy-go-lucky, Steve could be a tad on the mean side, Two-Bit could be funny, Johnny could be nervous, and Dally could be--- Wait, scratch that. Dally was the only person whose personality Ponyboy didn't exaggerate.
But the point was, Pony's English teacher had went positively bonkers over the 180-page, er ... essay, gushing on and on about how good it would look in print.
They had all gotten a good laugh out of that one, but that was before Pony told them the teacher was dead serious.
"So ... just to clarify ... You wrote 180 PAGES of your theme on stuff that didn't even happen?"
"Uhhh... Yeah..." Pony had admitted sheepishly, "I went a little overboard."
"That's sure puttin' it lightly." Darry had muttered, but agreed with the publishing. God knew they needed a bit of extra money, so why give up on this excellent chance, however unusual?
That conversation had happened about a week ago. Before the book had started selling copies faster than they could count 'em. Before stuff they'd never seen in their lives had started popping up all over the house.
Today it was a pink, rectangular-shaped object that was slightly rounded off and looked like it could open. It had been ringing on and off for the last hour it had been there, and was giving everyone except Two-Bit, Soda, and Pony an intense headache.
"Glory, just find a way to shut it up, will ya? My head's gonna explode if I have to listen to that racket for one more minute ..."
How well Darry could sympathize with Steve at the moment ... It was either screaming fangirls jumping around outside, trying to get a peek inside while threatening to break the poor house's very foundations, or it was the random ringing/beeping/honking/tooting/flashing of another alien technology from the future.
You'd think Soda and Two-Bit would get sick all the "fun" after a while. You'd think Ponyboy would so much as complain about it like a normal human being for once. He was spending more and more time cooped up in what we expected to be his own little world, where everything was big and dramatic and really, really exciting.
Darry wanted very badly to bang his head against the wall. At least that would redirect the pain of it all.
Everyone suddenly jumped as a shrill, disembodied voice started coming out of the pink thingy in Soda's hand at the moment. He'd successfully opened it, whatever it was, and they were being rewarded with this.
"Ohmigoshh! You figured it out, yay!"
There was a piercing squeal sounding suspiciously like tires skidding to a sudden stop. Darry felt like he may just need hearing aids after this.
"Anyways, hi, I'm Yvonne Curtis. My mom FINALLY let me use my time-traveling-cell-phone-recorder to send you guys a message, and I'm so so so so glad you found out how to use it! Well, actually, my last name isn't REALLY Curtis, but I absolutely LOVE your amazing book The Outsiders, and I wish I was part of the Curtises, so I'm going to change my name one of these days! *Long, dreamy sigh* So, I'm like, TOTALLY in love with every single member of the gang, and I dream about you guys every single night and-----"
There was more, but Soda had snapped the thing shut, his face reflecting the expression of horror and disgust all seven of them had on. Yes, even Ponyboy stuck his head into the room in utter disbelief.
"What was ... that?" He asked in a hoarse whisper.
"I'm not planning to open it again to try to figure it out," Soda said, serious for once. "Cover for us, Pony. Me and Steve are off to the DX like good little mechanics. You know as well as I do what'll happen if we don't start acting like they want us to act again."
He paused, then looked at everyone sternly, "Darry, you'd better start reading that paper again if you know what's good for you. Two-Bit: Just keep cracking lame jokes. Johnny, your job is easy. Just sit there like the little lost puppy you are, and be all silent and stuff. Oh, and you and Dally are supposed to be dead, so act like it. Ponyboy, you've got a couple of options. Read, write, draw, daydream, or go watch the sunset."
"But it's noon!" Pony protested.
Soda thought for a while, then pulled an old calendar from the drawer.
"Here." He thrust the calendar at Pony impatiently, "Just stare at this thing."
Darry peered over curiously, and nearly choked on his coffee from laughing.
"I'll just go read," Pony mumbled, and retreated back into his and Soda's room with a book in his hand.
As soon as Soda finished telling everyone what to do, his signature grin was back on his face.
"Well, we'll see y'all later!"
Darry watched as Soda and Steve rushed around the room, dodging who-knows-what and giving everyone suspicious glances as if they were on some spy movie. After they finally "escaped" out the back door, Darry sighed again and went back to the paper that he'd memorised five times already. If only he'd been nicer to Ponyboy when he had written his book/essay/theme ...
The alarm clock rang, and Darry yelled mechanically, "Ponyboy, have you done your homework yet?"
He didn't wait for an answer. This was something he was completely used to already. The zombie fans had sent him this alarm clock, so he'd "know" the exact times when he should yell at Pony to do his homework like the stern dad they wanted him to be. 3 times a day, to be exact.
This was really the least of Darry's worries, though ... Because tomorrow was the monthly "Give Ponyboy a Horrible Accident/disease, Then Watch as the Rest of the Gang Cry and Spill Their Hearts in Front of His Hospital Bed Day".
So, how was that? Remember: Entertainment purposes only, please do not flame unless you truly have a good reason to hate it. If so, flame all you want.
Review!
