Y'all, I'm back! Yes, the inspiratorial (is that even a word?) bug has bitten me in the bum once again, and my cynical side has decided to rear its ugly head. I will warn you, anything you see in this fic will be pure sarcasm. It will be brutal, it will irritate a few of you, and in hope it will leave you in tears (of laughter, once again me hoping). It's been a long bloody summer (no phone, no TV but 2 channels de Spanish, and living quite literally in the middle of a cornfield), so my cynicism and sarcasm have reached epic proportions. The dam has broken! You are forewarned!


Chapter 1: The Beginning...Of The End

Open the story with an introduction worthy of War and Peace, not Curious George

The day dawned dark and dreary, the effects of the wind and rain the previous night having taken their toll. The four friends sat in their hotel room, an empty bottle of wine lying across the table limply, dripping the last few bits of wine onto the carpet in a methodical, staccato rhythm. The man on the couch stared at the offending bottle, the twitch in his eye marking time with the drips hitting the floor, each appearing to be a sonic boom throwing itself at the mercy of the worn out beige carpet. The migraine he had going from the day before was only making his foul mood worse.

"Nothing like a rainy day to make the mood cheerier," mused Randy. He walked away from his position at the window to flop unceremoniously in the lounge chair near the fireplace. The four of them were stuck in the miserable weather, away from their families and jobs, due to the fact that one VKM thought it would be nice to get shots on the beach in Florida. Unfortunately, he hadn't checked the weather beforehand, and now said compatriots were given a wonderful room on the top floor of a hotel with a hurricane bearing down on them at breakneck speed.

"And on the top floor no less. Don't I feel safe," mused Jericho, poking around at the less than acceptable room service food. At this point, all he wanted to do was get home, but because he had the inability to say the word no to his boss, he was stuck with three people he couldn't stand, in a hotel room he didn't like, in a city he didn't know, with food he couldn't eat. Suffice to say, he wasn't in the best of moods, and Randy's offhanded comments were only serving to irritate him. He was only lifted from his foul mood for a few moments when Adam finally snapped, that twitching eye of his getting to him and he threw himself at the table, smashing through it but succeeding in slaughtering the offending wine bottle. A sadistic sort of grin was donned on his face.

"How like you Americans. No class, no elegance," slurred a slightly drunken Sylan Grenier. Adam looked up at him and growled, going to stand over him and, grabbing his neck, proceeded to drag him across the room, throwing open the door to the balcony and stuffing the small Frenchman onto the equally small balcony, slamming the door behind him and glaring at the two men now watching the spectacle. With as much dignity as he could muster after having taken out the overpowering prowess that was the coffee table, he sat himself firmly in the middle of the ruins, beginning a stare down with the two men.

"Nice move Edgeward. You got took out the evil Dr. Chardonnay and the equally as dangerous Kauf E. Table," said Chris, mindlessly flipping through the magazine he had, watching as Randy threw the remote for the TV across the room, shaking his head as it shattered into three pieces, watching as they littered the floor. The youngster took his spot on the bed, then, grumbling under his breath. "And now Randall takes out the taser like remote control. And you two are the ones getting the push." Chris ducked as Adam made another flying leap, this time aimed at him, only to have Chris deftly move out of the way. Shaking his head, Chris got up and went to his suitcase, pulling out his pajama pants and heading into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

"Shouldn't you let Sylvan back in," said a haunting voice. Randy got up to walk to the door of the balcony, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he tried to clear any and all thoughts of anger from his mind. It was unbefitting a man of his stature. Adjusting the tie still firmly around his neck, he straightened out his custom tailored sleeve cuffs and opened the door to have Grenier rush him, tackling him to the ground in a fit of happiness befitting a wet dog just come in from the rain to see his master. Realizing his blunder, Sylvan stood up and straightened himself out, the familiar sneer coming to mar his features once again.

"Stupid Americans. Throwing me out in the cold, always resorting to violence first" he said, staring defiantly at Adam. Adam, for his part, remained outwardly calm, simply standing up and throwing a right hook, catching Sylvan at just the right point. The Frenchman went down, holding his face gingerly as Adam pointed to the still open balcony door, the anger radiating off of him telling him all he needed to know. Sylvan wised up enough to grab a pillow and blanket on the way out, mumbling under his breath about stupid Americans.

"I'm a fucking Canadian damn it," yelled Adam, slamming the door shut with force and locking it again. He turned to Randy, watching as the young man loosened his tie, tears coming to his eyes as he saw the watermarks and a slight tear in the side. "You open that door again, and you two numb nuts are going to spend the night together on a romantic balcony for two." He turned for the side room, then, closing the door behind him, the deadbolt lock heard sliding moments later as Randy realized that he had two equally disconcerting options: either sleep on the couch, or share the bed with Chris. Considering the couch was a two seater, he unfortunately opted for the bed, undressing himself in a darkened corner before sliding into the bed, staying as far to one side as possible.

"You even think about crossing the middle of this bed or touching me in the middle of the night so help me God I'll make you a soprano so fast even RuPaul will be jealous," growled Jericho, getting in on the other side and glaring at the young man, inwardly smiling as he saw the terror cross his eyes. He found that Jericho was asleep sooner than expected, giving Randy the chance to use the one device that nobody knew he had: a working cell phone. Standing by the window to get good reception, he dialed the first number he could think of.

"Ric? Ric, you gotta help me man. I'm stuck with the sarcastic pain in the ass, the angry Canadian, and the mouthy Frenchman. I've got a few minutes left on my phone, and the worst part of all....THE CABLE'S OUT! I CAN'T WATCH SPONGEBOB!"


Like I said, cynical, sarcastic. I would like to add that it was inspired by The Helldragon's Yu-Gi-Oh Fanfiction For Dummies (whoever this guy is should be given some sort of award. He's hysterical). Stay tuned. I'm only getting warmed up. To point out a few things in closing:

a) Tolstoy is currently rolling in his grave

b) Should my Russian Lit teacher read this, I'll likely fail the course

c) I will likely end up in a strange sort of position in the afterlife, torturing those souls in hell with bad joke after bad tagline after bad cliché after.......