Jelly: YO! It's Jelly!

Here with a SPECIAL BUD.

Allie: Hiya! I'm Allie Knight! (Yeah, that's my username on here too. Allie Knight.) Teehee! I'm high on Oreos, the most defrickinlicious cookie in the world! Anyways, back to Jelly.

Jelly: XP Yup, Allie and I are co-authoring a story together! We know each other in real life, too, which makes it doubly epic.

Allie: Why yes, yes it does. And yep, Jelly here is just as crazy in real life. But you didn't hear that from me!

Jelly: XDD Anyways, better get that disclaimer up!

Don't diss the disclaimer: We don't own Maximum Ride, because last time I checked, we were crazy kids, not a 60-year-old man. I, Jelly, own Bob the Zombie, St. Fang of Boredom owns the Jell-O Catapult of DOOM, Allie Knight here owns the Spork of Terror, and our Language Arts teacher, Mr. Graham, owns the 12-year-old can of tuna.

Seriously.

ON WITH THE STORY!

Max's POV

I sighed as Angel giggled and shook her head. "Go fish!"

It was pretty funny to see Fang's frustrated reaction, though.

"How many times..." he muttered as he drew his thousandth card.

"Max!" Angel cried, turning to me. "Got any sevens?"

Note to self: Never play games with a mind reader.

Too late.

"Angel?" I asked with a sickly sweet smile as I handed over my three sevens. "Get. Out. Of. My. Head."

Angel giggled and put down another pile. "I win!" she screeched, jumping up and down.

"For the millionth time," Gazzy complained.

Ella nodded in agreement. "Couldn't you play fair for once?"

Angel huffed - which was kind of adorable, for a 7-year-old. "It's my power. I should be able to use it any way I want," she said crossly.

Iggy shrugged as he threw down his cards. "I don't even know what I had in my hand," he offered cheerfully.

"You had cards," Gazzy pointed out.

Nudge rolled her eyes. "Oh. Em. Gee, Gazzy! That's, like, soooo lame of a joke. He meant what type of cards he had, you dummy."

Gazzy just grinned, unfazed.

I sighed, standing up. "Well, I'm gonna go get some snacks," I offered. "I'm starved."

"Since when are you not hungry?" Ella complained. "I mean, I'm going to have to get a job to help mom feed all of you guys. I'm too young! That's child labor!"

I rolled my eyes. "Ella, we don't eat that much."

My sister shrugged. "Well, maybe, but you did eat 2 tubs of ice cream in one sitting. By yourself."

"Do you want snacks or not?" I threatened. She shut up.

"Wait, wait, wait," Iggy interrupted. "You're MAKING the snacks?"

I froze. "Uh, on second thought, maybe Iggy should make some snacks. Everybody, into the kitchen!"

Iggy nodded, satisfied, and led the way.

5 minutes later

"I made my special!" Iggy announced, as an enticing aroma filled the air.

I nearly knocked my chair over as I stood up. "Cookies!" I yelled.

"Somebody has an obsession," Fang murmured darkly (has anybody else noticed that he says everything darkly?).

Gazzy nodded with a perfectly straight face. "We need to get you some help, Max. I think you should get some therapy."

Iggy joined in. "Yes, Max, I heard of a great place you can visit for rehab."

I glared at Fang, who flashed one of his rare grins, then I glared at Gazzy, who smiled impishly.

"Oh, and Iggy?" I asked.

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering if you can feel my death glare burning holes in your head," I threatened. Iggy laughed and brought out the cookies.

"Can I have some milk with the cookies?" Angel asked sweetly. Iggy nodded and turned to grab some as Total padded in.

"Mmm, cookies. Did you know, the earliest cookie cake-styles date back as far as 7th century A.D. Persia, now known as Iran-"

"Total, just shut up and leave me to the cookies," I growled as I dove in.

Total looked offended. "I'll have you know that the history of the cookie is a very interesting subject-"

He was cut off by my death glare.

Total sniffed, his ego wounded. "Fine. Just letting you know, there are zombies outside."

Nudge rolled her eyes. "Oh, nice one, Total. Like there are actually zom-"

She was cut off by the sound of breaking glass and the groaning of the undead.

Jelly's POV

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod-" my friend hyperventilated.

"Kaley!" I yelled. "Pull yourself together! Remember, we've prepared for this!"

Kaley nodded, gulping as she threw another package of graham crackers at the oncoming zombie horde.

I rolled my eyes. "Allie! Is the Jell-O Catapult of DOOM ready?"

Allie nodded, saluting me. "Yes, sir! I mean, ma'am! Yes, ma'am-eh, screw it. HECK YEAH!"

"Ready... Aim... FIRE!" I screeched, and we let out a loud battle cry as we let the catapult spin.

"JELL-O TO THE FACE!" I screamed, punching my fist in the air and high-fiving Allie. "Load up some more ammo!"

As Allie worked the Jell-O Catapult of DOOM, I ran over to my Language Arts teacher, to whom we owe our survival. It was his idea, after all, to put together some Zombie Apocalypse survival kits. Without him, we wouldn't be alive.

Right now, however, he was huddled in a corner, clutching his 12-year-old can of tuna.

"Mr. Graham! Pull yourself together!" I yelled. "I need your 12-year-old can of tuna, PRONTO!"

"But- but- IT'S THE CHICKEN OF THE SEA!"

I sighed. "Dude, are you imitating Jason's impression of you? Whatever. Gimme the tuna. NOW."

Before he could answer, I wrenched it out of his hands, pulled off the lid, and starting throwing globs of old tuna at zombies.

"Yo! Allie! I got the tuna! Think you can handle it while I go find your spork?"

Allie nodded, taking the tuna and enthusiastically throwing blobs of tuna into zombie's mouths.

I pushed my way through the crowd of fellow students, searching.

"Spork... come here, spork..."

Bingo.

It glinted, so beautiful, under a tipped desk.

I had to admire the beauty of the plastic white spork.

But it wasn't an ordinary spork.

It was the legendary Spork of TERROR.

Jelly: Possibly the weirdest fic I will ever write.

By the way:

Kaley, Mr. Graham, and Jason are all REAL people!

The 'Jell-O to the face' comes from Daneboe's 'Butter to the FACE!' when he was playing Plants vs. Zombies on his SuperBoeBros channel on Youtube.

The Spork of Terror is REAL.

I looked up the history of the cookie, and yes, the farthest people can trace any cookie-like pastry is in 7th century, A.D., in Persia (now Iran).

Yo Allie, wanna say anything else?

Allie: Sure! The actual Spork of Terror is metal, but to serve certain purposes in this story it's made of plastic.

Question of the Day: Has anybody else ever seriously considered stabbing somebody with a pencil?

R&R! (Or Stalker Bunny will FIND YOU.)