Ebony does Wammy's House
This is a parody of "My Immortal", infamous for being the "worst fanfiction ever". The work has been transposed to the Death Note universe. I have only written one chapter so far. If I get enough encouraging reviews I'll keep writing. Otherwise, I will just leave it stillborn, as Mother Nature so wisely intended.
Chapter 1
AN: Disclaimer: no dictionaries or spell-checkers were consulted before, during, or after the authorship of this story. "Rules of grammar", you say? Screw you! Rules are for the Little People; I'm an anarchist. Jeez, get off my back already, bitch! Also, if you're looking for better plotting and characterisation, you should probably read Shades of Grey instead. So, for those who are still with me, I'll begin ...
Wammy's House had never been the same since Harry Styles, "the charming one" from One Direction, had deliberately masturbated into the drinking water. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but in retrospect not so much. Wammy's House was an all-boys orphanage, and their behaviour had worsened rapidly since that event. They no longer put much effort into studying. Instead, all they seemed to do all day was stay in the dorms and play with each other's yaoi holes.
Even L, who was a model student, found his grades slipping below acceptable standards. He rarely slept properly nowadays, and black rings had formed around his eyes. His posture had worsened, too. Confronted by his change in behaviour, L merely shrugged and said he had eschewed traditional conformal learning techniques for a more "hands-on" "autodidactic" approach.
Harry, who was the headmaster of the orphanage, decided that desperate measures needed to be taken. Henceforth, Wammy's House would, he declared, open its doors to a girl to see if she could straighten the lads out. That's where I come in.
My name is Ebony Pussy Dysentery Galore, and I have chronic dysentery (that's how I got my name). Many people come up to me and say "Hey, aren't you Mary Sue?" but I be like "back off, bitch, would Mary Sue drink blood like a vampire?" Then they don't mess with me no more.
My hair is as black as a raven. My eyes are brown, an island surrounded in the brilliant white sea of my sclera (whites of my eye, dumbass), much like a chocolate fish would swim in a toilet for which flushing was but a distant memory. Some people say I look like Marilyn Manson on crystal meth.
I get my clothes mostly from Superdry. I wear The Rebel Sunglasses - nineteen pounds ninety-nine pence online at .com - a black Vintage Fete Print Cami Dress – thirty-four pounds ninety-nine pence – Luxe Lace Bikini Top – twenty-four pounds ninety-nine pence – and Luxe Lace Bikini Bottom – nineteen pounds ninety-nice pence. You can sometimes get them cheaper in sales and with promotional codes. All prices are subject to change and are dependent on the availability of the garments. Standard delivery for the UK is free, with a 48 hour tracked service. If you are not completely satisfied with your purchase, you can simply return the item or items to them in their original condition within 28 days of receipt. They probably just give them a quick spritz with some kind of deodorant if you return them, and repackage them for ongoing sale, hoping that nobody will notice.
Superdry's international flagship store is on Regent Street, in London, and opened in 2012. They let me have the clothes for nothing, as an ambassador for the company. Everyone always assumes that the Japanese-style writing on their clothes is meaningless. However, I am fluent in kanji, and I giggle each time I see the logo, as it means "Asian men have small winkies".
I am not related in any way to Danny Bonaduce, for which I am grateful, because he definitely fell from the Ugly Tree, hitting every branch on the way down. Oh, and did I tell you that I am a vampire – because that's going to be important later? And a witch. I have pale white skin, but you probably figured that out from the Manson and crystal meth reference. I'm insane (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly black.
This is my first day at Wammy's House. "Wazzup Ebony", a voice shouted loudly. I looked up. It was ... Draco Malfoy ... no, I mean Near.
"What's up Near?" I asked.
"Nothing", said the shy boy without zygotes.
I heard Harry Styles calling in the distance, so I made like a tree, and left. I mean leave. Leaves. That doesn't work, does it? Let's try that sentence again: so I made like my pants, and split.