The Perfect Day
a.k.a Let's all just beat up Scott because he bugs us 'kay?
Youth's -still- pointless yet -still- ever so famous notes: It's 11:08 in the morning. I have been up since 8. I have been babysitting. Babysitting is evil. Expect a list from me why babysitting is evil. But this is not a list, for once. Oh no! I do actually write fanfiction you know! Real, meaningful intelligent fanfiction that I proudly give to you when I'm not insanely hyper and ready to murder. But of course, I doubt my folks would appreciate it much if they find my siblings' body parts 'decorating' the walls.. *cough* I'm sane... Really.... But now, here's an insane piece of useless pocket fluff. It's called: The Perfect day, or as I like to call it: Let's all just beat Scott up because he bugs us 'kay?
Aaaaaaannnnnnnd they're off!
=========================================================
(I've decided to use these thingies because the other ones take to long. Alright? Good!)
Dawn broke over the X-Mansion...
(Sorry, telephone. Stupid people hung up. Okay. I can type now.)
Dawn broke over the X-Mansion, the perfect orange light illuminating the perfectly structured and perfectly balanced home that housed millions of perfect, well behaved teenaged mutants (Teenage mutant ninga turtles wananana!) Perfect, well behaved teenaged mutants, and they're perfect and respectful teachers. All of these splendidly perfect people were sound asleep in their perfect beds of their perfect rooms. Suddenly, a perfect ringing woke the perfectest (Is that a word?) one of all.
His name was Scott Summers.
He switched off the switch of the perfect alarm clock that the wonderfully perfect Professor Xavier gave him, then turned over to watch his perfect wife, her perfect lips pulled into a perfect serene smile. Her perfect red-brown hair spilled over her arms in a perfect waterfall-ish fashion. Smiling, Scott Summers sat up and adjusted his perfect ruby quartz glasses, but remembered with his perfect memory that he used crazy glue (At a perfect store price) to glue them to his perfect nose to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone, like that poor, perfect train station roof. His perfect smile widened as he put on his perfect teletubby robe and slippers, then shuffled out the perfect door.
(Story postponed until I can get my dog to let me stop petting her.)
(Almost.....)
(Almost..)
(Almost...)
(There. Proceed at will)
He figured he was the only one up, but the perfect Storm caught his attention. They both flashed perfect smiles.
"Hi Scott!"
"Hi Storm!"
"Perfect day!"
"Perfect!"
They both laughed perfect laughs and went their ways. Scott could have sworn he heard Storm mumble something about him, but he figured she was just complimenting about how perfect he gelled his hair this morning (Funny, he didn't remember gelling his hair yet..) Shaking the thought out of his oh-so-perfect mind, he continued on his way, giving perfect smiles to the perfect walls, and his perfect feet, and the perfect ceiling and.. Oh-no! The not so perfect Wolverine! And, Scott noted as he ducked out of sight from the not so perfect Canadian. He hasn't had his perfect coffee yet. Scott glanced down to his perfectly brewed coffee (That just appeared out of nowhere, 'cause Youth felt like it.) and decided to run. So he did. He sprinted perfectly for a few seconds, then decided to get the paper.
So he did.
He told this loudly to the now half-awake but still perfect students and teachers of the perfect mansion. Professor X told him with his perfect telepathic voice that Scott needs to do one of his perfect head-polishing techniques again. Scott agrees because, hell, he's perfect. So Scott goes to the perfect front door, stoops over to pick up the perfect paper, when a perfectly shaped bolder smashed him dead. It really was a perfect bolder.
And after that, everyone said it was a perfect day.
========================================================
Did I irritate you Scott fans out there? I know you exist... Somewhere.. Anywho, it's 11:33 now, I kept getting distracted. But! That's my story and I'm.. sticking to it., That's my stor-ah! (That's my stor-ah!) oh that's my sto-ah! Ahem.. Okay. I don't own Any of the X-Men stuff, that belongs to Marvel or Fox or whatever yada yada. The perfect bolder is mine, but only in my head. And I don't own the word perfect. I do, however own the word Yarguahuukijah. I swear. I just invented it. Bye bye!
a.k.a Let's all just beat up Scott because he bugs us 'kay?
Youth's -still- pointless yet -still- ever so famous notes: It's 11:08 in the morning. I have been up since 8. I have been babysitting. Babysitting is evil. Expect a list from me why babysitting is evil. But this is not a list, for once. Oh no! I do actually write fanfiction you know! Real, meaningful intelligent fanfiction that I proudly give to you when I'm not insanely hyper and ready to murder. But of course, I doubt my folks would appreciate it much if they find my siblings' body parts 'decorating' the walls.. *cough* I'm sane... Really.... But now, here's an insane piece of useless pocket fluff. It's called: The Perfect day, or as I like to call it: Let's all just beat Scott up because he bugs us 'kay?
Aaaaaaannnnnnnd they're off!
=========================================================
(I've decided to use these thingies because the other ones take to long. Alright? Good!)
Dawn broke over the X-Mansion...
(Sorry, telephone. Stupid people hung up. Okay. I can type now.)
Dawn broke over the X-Mansion, the perfect orange light illuminating the perfectly structured and perfectly balanced home that housed millions of perfect, well behaved teenaged mutants (Teenage mutant ninga turtles wananana!) Perfect, well behaved teenaged mutants, and they're perfect and respectful teachers. All of these splendidly perfect people were sound asleep in their perfect beds of their perfect rooms. Suddenly, a perfect ringing woke the perfectest (Is that a word?) one of all.
His name was Scott Summers.
He switched off the switch of the perfect alarm clock that the wonderfully perfect Professor Xavier gave him, then turned over to watch his perfect wife, her perfect lips pulled into a perfect serene smile. Her perfect red-brown hair spilled over her arms in a perfect waterfall-ish fashion. Smiling, Scott Summers sat up and adjusted his perfect ruby quartz glasses, but remembered with his perfect memory that he used crazy glue (At a perfect store price) to glue them to his perfect nose to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone, like that poor, perfect train station roof. His perfect smile widened as he put on his perfect teletubby robe and slippers, then shuffled out the perfect door.
(Story postponed until I can get my dog to let me stop petting her.)
(Almost.....)
(Almost..)
(Almost...)
(There. Proceed at will)
He figured he was the only one up, but the perfect Storm caught his attention. They both flashed perfect smiles.
"Hi Scott!"
"Hi Storm!"
"Perfect day!"
"Perfect!"
They both laughed perfect laughs and went their ways. Scott could have sworn he heard Storm mumble something about him, but he figured she was just complimenting about how perfect he gelled his hair this morning (Funny, he didn't remember gelling his hair yet..) Shaking the thought out of his oh-so-perfect mind, he continued on his way, giving perfect smiles to the perfect walls, and his perfect feet, and the perfect ceiling and.. Oh-no! The not so perfect Wolverine! And, Scott noted as he ducked out of sight from the not so perfect Canadian. He hasn't had his perfect coffee yet. Scott glanced down to his perfectly brewed coffee (That just appeared out of nowhere, 'cause Youth felt like it.) and decided to run. So he did. He sprinted perfectly for a few seconds, then decided to get the paper.
So he did.
He told this loudly to the now half-awake but still perfect students and teachers of the perfect mansion. Professor X told him with his perfect telepathic voice that Scott needs to do one of his perfect head-polishing techniques again. Scott agrees because, hell, he's perfect. So Scott goes to the perfect front door, stoops over to pick up the perfect paper, when a perfectly shaped bolder smashed him dead. It really was a perfect bolder.
And after that, everyone said it was a perfect day.
========================================================
Did I irritate you Scott fans out there? I know you exist... Somewhere.. Anywho, it's 11:33 now, I kept getting distracted. But! That's my story and I'm.. sticking to it., That's my stor-ah! (That's my stor-ah!) oh that's my sto-ah! Ahem.. Okay. I don't own Any of the X-Men stuff, that belongs to Marvel or Fox or whatever yada yada. The perfect bolder is mine, but only in my head. And I don't own the word perfect. I do, however own the word Yarguahuukijah. I swear. I just invented it. Bye bye!