Your name is Lord English, most awesome of men. Currently you are working on project deton-HATE-ion, where you detonate all the haters. You are detonating the haters in the shape of a circle, the ideal shape for a bitch to be. All of the great artistes draw idealized figures, and you are the master of masters. When the bitches see this, their self esteem will plummet, and in a magical process known as "negging," they will start to follow you in parade formation. Then other men will see how much of a bitch collector you are and give you bow-fives, which is where they bow and give you a high five at the same time. The males will start kissing in front of you and, according to lesser masters than you on Deviantart, will start Yaoing it up with you.
You descend on the latest planet of haters and open the door to the Cairo Overcoat, switching it into badass garment for handsome men mode. Sometimes you wish somebody would record the exquisite technique you use to blow up these dream bubbles. You look around at all the dumb crap that needs to be destroyed. In this case, you see a bunch of boy ghosts hanging out with a bunch of bitch ghosts. This would be okay if the bitches were in their natural role of prostrate chairs and couches, but they actually seem to be playing kickball together. Ugh, awful. What is even more awful are those snake statues that end up on so many planets. The statues on this planet are bright green, the color of NO. There are also a bunch of rocks, which you guess aren't as stupid as all the other stuff, but you're not going to get upset over a bunch of rocks getting blown up. You raise your wand. Magic is not only real as fuck, it is also the coolest thing ever. Finally, you open your mouth and let the awesome explosion beam rip through all the ugly crap. Real artists like you are not afraid to get their hands dirty. Oh god, two of them are holding hands before they die. You kill them extra hard and save the image to your mental spank bank.
The now double-dead people's soft bits burn away almost instantly, leaving only skeletons that get thinner and thinner as your radness beam slices away the outer layers. It does the same thing with the rocks and the statues. A hole forms in the Cairo Overcoat. You grin as you survey the ongoing damage. No maestro's performance has ever been as sweet and elegant. But then you notice the snake as your beam destroys the last few outer layers of granite and it becomes a squiggly line. You remember how your drawings used to look like that before you had those months of practice to refine your craft. And as much potential as those drawings had, they simply did not reach the sublime perfection of your current art.
What if your dating with Yaoi menfolk skills need to be improved the same way: via grinding through a bunch of dates and coming out as the supreme master of datecraft? You need to get fucking started then, because no doubt dudes are already after your Yaoiness. If you are not already a date expert by the time you are finished with your artwork, the dudes may think your bitch parade is around for the sake of enjoying bitches rather than attracting dudes, and fuck that. Great testosterone gurus like you don't like bitches.
There is exactly one group of men manly enough for you to practice your fine seduction arts on and that is alternate versions of your younger self. You can't use your actual younger self because you don't remember that happening and what if you mess with time too much and bring back your shitbag sister for good? Way better to search around for alternate Caliborns. Once you finish killing the shitloving fuck out of this dream bubble, you turn your coat back into a coffin and fly around looking for Caliborns. You can take as long as you want because the universe recognized you were awesome and gave you time travel powers.
The first Caliborn you see has a drawing in a different style than yours on his computer. Obviously he is no good for dating. Instead, you blow his dream bubble the fuck up. It's far enough away from your ideal woman figure that it doesn't mess up your artwork. As a brilliant artist, you have learned to recognize things like that.
The second Caliborn is talking rationally with Gamzee. Fuck that noise. You kill them all but don't actually blow up the bubble because they are too close to your precious masterwork.
The third Caliborn uses a rifle, which is such an inferior type of gun it makes your veins pop. A bit of your amazing rage beam sure puts a stop to that.
The fourth Caliborn eats his meat and candy mixed together like some sort of cavecherub. You can't believe any version of you would do that when you are such a meticulous and precise artist. No way would he be able to draw a circle. You put him out of his misery.
The fifth Caliborn still sits chained to his bed a year after you escaped. Since it is a simple biotruth that the strong pulverize the weak, you kill the shit out of him.
The sixth Caliborn wears a grey shirt instead of a black one. Kill kill kill.
The fifteenth Caliborn sits on his chair with one leg over the other like an inferior woman. You put an end to that by destroying him.
The forty-eighth Caliborn coils around and around the edges of his dream bubble in snake form. This is literally the grossest thing you have ever seen and for the first time, you close your eyes as you raze his dream bubble. It feels dirty to have your beam even come in contact with this monstrosity.
The five hundred and sixty-second Caliborn doesn't have the same wiring on his robot leg and is therefore vastly beneath you. You kill him, obviously.
Finally, you find a Caliborn whose universe differed only in that he predominated over his sister a lot sooner and couldn't enter the medium. Now this looks like somebody a male like yourself could go out with. You descend to his planet and land on top of your old room. It feels good to have the red sun beating down on you again. Shitty JPEG statues litter the land as far as the eye can see. The hole that leads to your room wasn't designed with somebody as muscular as you in mind. Pieces of the roof splinter off and fall to the floor when you squeeze through. The ladder rungs similarly weren't built to withstand the weight of a fucking god and bend when you step on them.
Caliborn takes one look at you with his glassy red eyes and raises his gun in your direction. "Who. The fuck. Are you." God his voice is annoying. You remember sounding like that when you were him and being so fucking annoyed with your voice.
Your current voice sounds deep and grainy, which is alpha as fuck. "I AM YOU FROM THE FUTURE." And to prove it, you blow up your idiot sister's half of the room. Caliborn puts down his gun and fist bumps you. The two of you grin at the charred remains of her stupid chest and dumbass coatrack. Her computer, desk and journals are nothing more than dust.
"WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A TESTOSTERONE MALEDATE," you say.
He leers at you for a few seconds, considering. "None of the. Weaker gender. Will be involved in this, right." Ashes from your sister's side waft to the ground.
"ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT. BITCHES ARE ONLY GOOD FOR SERVITUDE AND BEING DEAD."
He taps his robot foot against the floor. "Alright, so. Awesome. Let's get this thing going. Show the bitches. How they are doing it so incredibly fucking wrong."
"EXACTLY. THIS IS GOING TO BE SO MUCH BETTER THAN A DATE WITH A FEMALE INVOLVED. TWO GUYS HAVING MANLY BONDING TIME."
"Let's fucking go. Partake on this dude journey." Caliborn walks to the hole where your sister's moron side of the room used to be. Since you and Caliborn are both dudes of a high caliber, you walk right on the hot surface without giving a fuck. You float to the red dirt while Caliborn has to stumble over each rock and building on the meteor. He falls into the same crater twice and has to drag himself back out. It's things like this that will build him up into an ultimate male bastion like you.
The two of you stand at the bottom, staring up at one of the many JPEG statues on your planet. A green metal torch covered in compressed pixels cuts into the sky.
"SO, WE ARE OUTSIDE OF THAT METEOR WE ONCE LIVED IN," you say.
"We sure are. Now what do we do."
"WE COULD CLIMB A STATUE IN A BROLIKE MAN NER," you say.
The two of you trek to the base of the JPEG statue. Where the stairs should be you see only a messy, grey mass of pixels. You use your magic to explode a path up to the statue part. The two of you head inside and walk up the spiral staircase. None of the inside lights are on so you have to try extra hard not to fall. You refuse to use the rail because you are a man and needing such pussy things is beneath you. Every few minutes, you find a blockage made of artifacts, which you blow through with your beam.
You are almost to the top when Caliborn stares at you and says, "Wait. Isn't this a statue. Of a woman."
You both hurtle down the steps as fast as you can. Caliborn trips over a stray group of pixels and falls down the stairs head over feet. If only you had warned him about the stairs. You grab him so you can go faster and punch your way out of the statue. Then you open your mouth and incinerate it so nobody can ever find evidence you were climbing a female statue.
"ALRIGHT, THAT DIDN'T WORK. BUT DOING THINGS THAT DON'T WORK IS COMMON ON THE PATH TO PERFECTION. THIS TIME WE WILL DO SOMETHING THAT DOES WORK."
Caliborn dusts himself off. "We could go. Eat some meat and candy."
You float to the top of your tower on the meteor while Caliborn scrambles up. By the time his clawed fingers pull him above the edge of his room, it has cooled down enough that grabbing it is no longer a feat of manliness. His forked tongue lolls out of his mouth and his breathing comes slow and heavy. He grabs a bag of candy corn and tears it open with his teeth.
"WAIT JUST A FUCKING MOMENT," you say.
He turns his head and pauses. "What."
"EATING IS SOMETHING BITCHES DO ON THEIR STUPID FEMALE DATES. WE MEN DO NOT EAT ON DATES BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE LOWERING OURSELVES TO FEMALE STATUS."
"Fuck. You're right." He drops the bag of candy corn. The contents clatter across the metal floor, a few rolling off the tower down to the meteor.
The two of you stand for a few seconds in silence. "SO. WHAT ELSE IS THERE TO DO? I DON'T REMEMBER THERE BEING ANYTHING TO KILL ON MY EARTH. IS IT DIFFERENT ON YOUR EARTH?"
"Nothing here to kill. But my hideous sister. Who I already killed a long time ago."
You look around the room for proper male dating activities but find none. There isn't really a two-person use for a sarswapagus, Caliborn's guns have nothing to kill, and the only other things in the room are meat and candy. No way are you going down the stupid-bitch food route again.
"We could talk. About how amazing our lives have been. In our respective universes."
"SURE. THE BEST PART FOR ME WAS - WAIT A SECOND, WAIT A SECOND. IF THERE IS ANYTHING DUMBASS BITCHES LIKE TO SHRIEK ABOUT BETWEEN IDIOTIC YET HIGHLY WATCHABLE PILLOW FIGHTS, IT IS 'COMMUNICATION.' THIS MEANS TALKING ABOUT THINGS ON DATES AND I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW MANY HARRIDANS ACROSS THE AFTERLIFE HAVE NAUSEATED MY EARHOLES WITH THEIR FEMALE SCREECHING ON COMMUNICATION. NO WAY US BROS WILL DO THAT ON OUR DATE."
Caliborn nods and sits down cross-legged. He stares at the hole in the room. "Let's just look outside at our bitch-free world."
You agree and sit down with him. Lifeless red dirt stretches to the horizon. One of the JPEG statues falls to the side. Something about this makes you uncomfortable, but you can't figure out what. A flare from the sun makes it all click. "WAIT. NO. SITTING TOGETHER AND STARING AT THE SUNSET IS EXACTLY WHAT DISGUSTING GIRLY FEMALES DO ON THEIR DATES. OURS MUST BE BETTER THAN THAT TO WORK. I HAVE AN IDEA. LET'S TURN AROUND AND LOOK AT THE WALL."
Caliborn turns around and stares at grey wall above the sarswapagus. You follow suit. Boy, it sure is grey. And uniform. This Caliborn must have never touched that particular bit of wall enough to leave grease or scratches.
The minutes pass by. When sitting cross-legged gets uncomfortable, you shift your legs until they lie straight in front of you. You can't think of a more man-gical way of spending your time. Occasionally you or Caliborn gets itchy and scratches. Wind blows in and out of the hole where your sister's side used to be. This is how men live when there are no annoying shrews to make it so they have to do dumbass other things. The room gets dimmer and dimmer as the sun sets. The gray wall remains the same. If only all of life could be this incredibly manly. You look around the room a couple of times, but you worry that it might be girly to do that so you mostly stay focused on the wall. Hours pass in blissful, manly silence.
"This is the best date ever. Much better without the bitches."
You nod. "THEY COULD NEVER UNDERSTAND HOW AMAZING TESTOSTERONE BRO DATES ARE."
A/N: Let me know what worked, and especially let me know what didn't work. I'm always open to criticism and looking to improve. :)