You are Dave Strider. The coolest of the cool, the epitome of irony and things being like fucking Christmas up in your geographical affiliation. If you were Santa, you'd be around all year because the ho ho ho's never stop trying to get in your pants. But that day, you were just a boy named Dave Strider.

You woke up early in the morning, being roused from a dream that involved swords that were surprisingly UN-shitty and a pair of glasses that might have been even more ironic than the ones you had grown accustomed to.

Unfortunately, just before gazing upon the shades that Jesus had worn to perfectly accent his thorny crown, you'd been suckerpunched in the man breast by a sound that exactly mimicked that of a dying bat.

You would know, of course, because you we're the one who'd killed the winged creature sitting in a jar of formaldehyde above your bed. You kept its right wing tethered to your favorite pair of headphones as an ironic good luck charm.

You stretched out on your frameless mattress, sitting up and sliding your legs off the edge of the ironically over filled cot. You pulled a loose, red shirt over your chest before checking to ensure your boxers were in the right position. With those damned puppets around nobody could be too careful.

After satisfying your curiosity, you fixed a pair of perfect black shades over red apple eyes and gripped the hilt of your favorite shitty sword. Normally the sound of dying animals didn't alarm you in the slightest but there was something slightly off about this particular morning. Not to mention you were ironically absorbed in getting to the last bowl's worth of Cookie Crisps. It was a milky chocolate experience that blew the mind of anyone who had been blessed with the gift of taste.

You snaked your way through the cluttered apartment, passing a lump of smuppets and a suspiciously placed video camera. Your majestic cool kid instincts told you to check the kitchen for the source of the dying animal/weird activity your bro was taking part in. If you had been able to tell the two sounds apart, you wouldn't have been up so damn early on a Sunday morning, looking for whatever had created the screeching noise that penetrated your ears.

That sounded grimaced slightly, trying to decide whether it was funny, disgusting, or a downright possibility what with your roommate's personality being so... Crass. You paused for a moment in front of your kitchen, preparing your shitty sword and adjusting your ironic glasses, before swinging through the doorway to-

"Hey." ... What? You were instantly confused. Not that you'd ever show that to anyone. There was a young girl at the end of your sword, her nose bloodied ever so slightly by the tip of the blade. She blinked a few times as she glared through to the core of your very soul. Well, not really.

You weren't even sure that you had a soul. And upon further inspection it was discovered that she only had one eye. The other thing staring you down happened to be a sphere of marble with a yellow smiley face on it. Weird. Undeniably freaky. Like Smuppet weird. Why was this girl even in your house?

She seemed to be dressed in a turtle neck and an ankle length skirt. Neither article of clothing had any real color to it, as if something had just sucked all the pigment out of her outfit. The same event had occurred with her hair which was less of a collection of strand shaped dead cells than it was a matted clump of limp gray things. Almost as if a group of baby rats had been forced into a tiny box and tangled up so tightly that they fused together and created a multi-headed Cerberus-type rat overlord.

She also had little bits of food and what appeared to be the remains of some woodland creature sticking out of a particularly revolting clump. You noticed there was a large picture of an eyeball on her turtleneck. Ironic, you had to give her some credit for that. Using an inexplicably obtained ladle, she spooned a mouthful of miniature chocolate chip cookies and skim milk into her cheeks slowly, remaining eerie eye contact with you the entire time.

Her glass eye was almost comforting because it made you think something along the lines of 'Hey, at least I have both of my eyes' which made you a bit less insecure. Not that you'd ever admit anything like that to anyone living, dead, or trapped in a vegetative state.

"Yo," you replied. By now you'd decided that she was the victim of Bro's ridiculous charisma. This creature was just one of your brother's billions of one night stands, probably appearing the way she did because of his freaky fetishes. You knew he was into cyclopses so you didn't have any doubts of the female's placement in your positively legit high rise apartment.

"S'up?"

"I made pancakes, you want some?" why, yes. Yes you did. But you had some conflicting thoughts about allowing a possible pedo/necro/that-fetish-when-you-fuck-sleeping-dudes phile. Somehow, within the time you'd taken to think about all this, she had thrown about fifteen flapjacks on an enormous plate, coated them in butter, and slathered them in what was either raspberry sauce or the blood of a goat she'd sacrificed to Satan that very morning.

"Thanks," you gave the pancake fairy a light nod before seating yourself on the ratty couch in your living room. After years of owning the loveseat, you knew exactly how to sit to avoid all the questionable stains. One was vanilla ice cream but the other thirty seven were... Uncategorized. You glared over at the foreign female currently sitting in the kitchen with what was supposed to be your orgasmically delicious and mind blowing breakfast.

Not that you could complain about pancakes, you were simply bitter over the fact that you weren't eating miniature chocolate chip cookies. Pancakes just weren't ironic enough. But you supposed eating pancakes whilst watching Sunday morning cartoons was even more ironic than miniature cookies.

You got just about as snug as a bug in a rug and took your first bite of sweet pancake goodness. You were still unsure whether it was blood it raspberry sauce, but the cake itself was surprisingly bearable. Not to mention you didn't think the creepy girl in the kitchen had AIDs which was an unmeasurable bonus to your flapjack experience.

While enjoying a first generation episode of Pochèmon, the engaging story of a young lad named Soot Sketchum who travels the lands to collect and tame mystical creatures with the help of his best friend Pichaku, you had a few thoughts about putting on pants to preserve a sense of modesty in your home.

Then you remembered this girl had spent the night with Bro which meant that any decency that had wriggled its way into your home to die had met a brutal, disgusting, and possibly chocolate flavored fate.

With that in mind, you kept your ass in the loveseat and somehow managed to finish your stack of fifteen pancakes slathered in the blood of a young goat named Leopold Geoffrey Scotts. You started to feel strangely tired after your meal and decided to take a quick nap.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about you nodding off, especially after being roused so early. But there was a strange thickness sticking on your tongue, almost too heavy for you to swallow over. You felt similar to that night Bro had served you his homemade lasagna.

You shuddered. Now it was time to attempt to fight the sweet embrace of sleep. But, it was Summer vacation, you didn't have to worry about anything being imperative to your success or even important in any way, shape, or form. You didn't have to do anything really. You wanted to talk to your friend John online but maybe you didn't have to. Maybe you would take a nap.

That concerned you, it wasn't like you to feel all fruity like that. A pair of arms grabbed onto the back of your head and forced your neck to accommodate their strength. You were shoved into an enormous pillow, quite obviously drugged. Dammit. Why did Bro want to have sex with a manic cyclops?

Of all the girls he could have he chose the one that obviously had as much of a taste for young boys as she did smuppets and scalene triangles. You took a short minute to reflect on how strange it was that women were always all up on your jock.

A dopey smile graced your lips as you choked lightly on the stench of Aged Seasoning deodorant, a scent made specifically for men or the occasional tomboy who takes her business far too seriously, and breast meat.

You were sheer moments away from passing out. You couldn't even focus on the hilarious spokesman for the grotesque musk coating the woman you were about to lose your virginity to. Damn. You had other plans for that night. You did have to accept the compliment of a chick being so enamored with you she wanted to drug your pancakes though.

You allowed her to continue viciously pressing your face into her chest without any argument, as if you could make one at this point. She pulled your face away after a moment of serenity. Her smiley face glass eye stared straight into the area behind your glasses which was practically your soul.

"I didn't have sex with your brother. That's all that matters now. Also I'm drunk, I broke all your windows and used all your Krazy Glue to fix them poorly, I slept under your bed, I stole four of your smuppets, I took half of your least favorite record, the other half is in your milk carton don't ask me how I did it just accept, I filled your pancakes with cherry liquor, Captain Morggan, and sleeping pills, and also I'm your old kindergarten teacher but some serious shit has happened and I need to tell you something really important. When you get asked to play Sburb, you have to say yes. Say yes to the dress, Strider, say yes to that dress. Don't worry I can assure you I'm not crazy I'm just-"

Woooooooot~ So I got this random idea a few days ago and I was totally like "Why the shit not?" I actually said that in the middle of class but it doesn't really matter. Anywho, I'm hoping to create a very interesting story and all that shit. Not to mention there should be a fair degree of shipping, the best being a taste of sweet DirkJake LOOOOOOOOVE. Also planning on some TereziKarkat and maybe a tad of KanayaRose. I'll certainly take reviewer suggestions too so talk to MEEEEEEEE.