Author's Note: This is a short-short set in the G Gundam universe, and it does not take itself seriously at all. There are maybe one or two minor spoilers in here, but you don't even have to have seen the series to get it. With that said, hope you enjoy...
Er... before I start the fic, none of you have to... y'know? Because I don't want to have to stop the fic for... y'know. So go ahead, I'll wait.
Okay, back? Well then, prepare yourself for...

MOBILE FIGHTER G GUNDAM:
"Career Choices"

I bragged to my friends about the new job. Yeah, they were flipping burgers at McDonald's, but me... I worked for the government! So our military strikes fear into the hearts of no one, but hey, good pay, good benefits, and more recognition than the paper hats they give to managers at Mickey D's.
A while back, Commander Smith... the boys call him Smithy... came to me and offered this unique opportunity. Talked about national pride, becoming a hero and, more than anything, getting chicks. The man knew how to catch my interest. So I signed up, which proved to be my first mistake. Yeah, I failed to get the full details. Stupid me.
I spent the first four months of this assignment sitting in a field somewhere, paid to sit on my tail. Sounds like fun, right? Well, I couldn't go further than one hundred feet from IT, so everything had to be delivered. Have you ever eaten off a catering truck? Imagine something about ten times worse, and that gives you an idea of what I put up with. I had the runs for a month, and the only thing around was a cheap outhouse.
And having to stare at IT that entire time really pissed me off. It remains the ugliest piece of hardware ever, and that's saying a lot. I despise it. I loath it. I just want to blow off its head and get it over with, but I don't want to deal with the court martial. It's a bad sign when you spend the entire preliminaries of the Gundam Fight hiding, but the president had a plan. A genius plan, I guess. While everyone else is beating up on each other, we hide, we don't lose, and enter the finals as an enigma. Great idea, right? Probably could have picked up a few headlines or at least a feature piece with that cute reporter that covers the fights.
Then Neo Japan just has to storm into town and blow that whole plan right out of the water. Our little surprise raised a few eyebrows, though most of the comments were more of the "They're still in it?" variety rather than the "This changes EVERYTHING!" kind. But still, we got some attention. That is, until the God Gundam comes flying in at the last second, fighting off some weird looking comments and posing dramatically. New Gundam, better entrance, and no one tried to off US on our way to the Finals. The other pilots just ignore me at the dinners, and not a single girl even looks at me twice. Even the Matador Gundam's pilot gets girls, and his Gundam is a giant bull's head!
A BULL'S HEAD!
After careful consideration, which took into account IT, the lack of attention, the fact my country put me up in a Motel 6, and the fact I never learned how to use the advanced attack systems they worked on for thirty years and hid in that ridiculous excuse for a mobile suit, I've come to a decision. Yes, this machine, despite its looks, can destroy anything in the tournament... but I won't let it. I'm going to throw the Gundam Fight. That's right, you heard me! I'm going to throw the Gundam Fight! I don't even need Marcellus Wallace telling me about kicking it in the Caribbian!
Yeah, fame, glory, power... whatever. I don't see a bit of it. And I hate this stupid Nether Gundam anyway.