This is sorta post Angel, but that's only because I mention the Doomsday Group in the first few paragraphs. You really don't have to have read any of the books to read this. Or, well, actually, you have to have read the first book at least, but I digress.

No, this is not a Miggy fanfic. In the beginning, if you use a microscope, you'll see Fax, if anything.

Cyber cookies of gooey awesomeness to my beta, Kissy Fishy. She rocks.

Original publish date: 5/14/11.

Edited version update: 7/14/11. Many thanks to Tokoloshe Monster for pointing out some mistakes and for being generally awesome.

If I ignored him, he would go away.

This course of action in mind, I buried my nose deeper into the Times. It was musing on whether or not Obama supported the Doomsday Group. And, yes, I was reading a newspaper. It was either clean my room or depress myself thinking about Fang.

Iggy's blind eyes creepily burned into my skull.

I hunched my shoulders and focused on the print in front of me as best I could. Yet Iggy could not take a hint. But this was Iggy, after all.

He slid into the seat across from me at the kitchen table with the utmost solemnity. Disregarding my pointed rustle of paper, he folded his arms on the table. And then, with complete gravity, said, "Words are weird."

I slowly moved my paper down until my eyes peaked over the edge. And I stared at him. His blind eyes stared back roughly at where my nose was covered by the newspaper.

Words failed me. I mean, I knew Iggy was weird and random, but…

"Don't you agree, Max?" He asked it with so much seriousness that I grew concerned.

Iggy was a prankster. Iggy was a sexist pig. Iggy gave me gray hairs. Iggy was not serious, solemn or sober. Ooo, alliteration! Go me!

I shook myself from my thoughts, and decided it might be best to humor the pyro for now. The things I did for the people I loved...

My newspaper landed on the table with a very snazzy snap.

"Whatever do you mean, Iggy?" I asked.

"Words are weird. Phrases too."

I raised an eyebrow. For all his obliviousness when it came to hints, he certainly could read expressions well enough for a blind kid.

"For example," he explained. "The phrase 'throw in the towel.' It makes sense but does it really?"

"Iggy – "

"Because what does throwing a towel 'in' – whatever that means – have to do with giving up?"

"I think it has something to do with boxing and that you have too much time on your hands. You can always cleaning your pigsty of a room."

Iggy held up a hand. He looked long-suffering. "Please, Max. I'm questioning the foundation of words. Words our very world is built upon. I'm asking practical questions about the very heart of our society."

I sighed. It was going to be one of those days.

"Iggy, I was trying to read," I said plaintively.

"No, Max! My voice will not be silenced!"

"You're weird," I told him flatly. "Please go be weird somewhere else. Your voice can be heard in another room by other people who aren't trying to read."

"You can't silence my voice!" he exclaimed passionately. "It will not be silenced!"

"You're so weird. Do you know how weird you are?"

"Words are weird, Max. Not me." I began to scoff, but he talked right on over me. "In the beginning of time, we named our food before land-ish names, right? Like, field, meadow or wilderness?"

"Iggy, how old do you think I am?"

"It's a legit question, Max."

I reached across the table and smacked him upside the head.

"You have fifteen minutes, smart mouth. And then I'm kicking you out of here. Capisce?"

"Right. Now, since food is obviously needed to survive, the cavemen probably named food first. Like, they named 'dessert.' You with me so far?"

"Get to your point, Iggy."

"Alright, so who's the bright one who looked at a endless stretch of sand, shimmering with heat that reached 102 daily, and thought, Oh, this reminds me of my mom's pie! Let's name it 'desert'!"

I was brought up short. "He probably was suffering from heat stroke," I finally said.

"But not everyone is suffering from heat stroke, Max! Our foundation of communication is flawed! Why haven't we renamed the desert something like… lots of sand. Or miles of sand. M.O.S. for short. And the spelling. How are you supposed to remember the spelling difference?"

"Deserts you only want to go to once. Desserts you want two of."

"Clever. Where'd you hear that from?"

I rolled my eyes. "There's a reason I'm leader, Ig."

"Don't be an aretaloger Max."

Unsurprisingly, I reached out and smacked him upside the head smartly. Again. He yelped.

"Excuse me?" I demanded.

"How do you know that wasn't a compliment?" he cried.

"Because you're you, Iggy." I glanced at the clock on the wall. "Time's ticking. Fifteen minutes, remember? Now why'd you call me that?"

A pleased smile spread across his face. "It's my adopted word."

"Adopted word? From where?" I reached across the table and felt his forehead. "Are you sure you're feeling ok?"

With a scowl, he batted my hand away. "Yes, Max. Don't try to roblet me from the topic."

My eyes narrowed and my hand darted out to smack him. He caught it with one hand and scoffed. "Nice try, Ma – ow!"

I smiled sweetly.

"I have two hands, Einstein. Stop using words that I don't know the meaning of. Where'd you hear them?"

"I adopted them through Save The Words."*

"Oh. How silly of me. What do they mean, Iggy?"

"Well, an aretaloger is a braggart – ow, Max! I'm sorry I called you one, ok?"

"Fine. I can't believe I'm humoring you. Time's almost up, by the way."

"Roblet means to lead astray."

"Right." I paused then stood up. "Well, now that this pointless convo has wasted a good amount of my time, I'm – "

"No!" Iggy yelled, making me wince. "Smart cookie!"

He sounded so panicked that I sat down with and a sigh. His time wasn't up, anyway.

"Are you sure you're alright, Ig?"

"Yes. Anyway, who came up with smart cookie? It makes no sense. It's up there with calling someone a dumb cake – no one does it because it sounds incredibly stupid."

"That's great, Iggy, really. I – "

"And who came up with the word 'popular'? Names for trees came first, I bet, so who decided, Oh, let's put a 'u' in 'poplar'! Ditch the 'u' and instead of being fashionable and favored, you're cousins with an oak!"

"Ig."

"Oh, and who's the perv who heard laughter and thought, Oh, that reminds me of all the dead bodies I saw yesterday! Let's call yesterday's carnage 'slaughter'!?"

"Iggy…"

"And the word 'extraordinary.' Who wants to be extraordinary? It's just being extra ordinary… only pronounced differently. It's like subtle taunting sophisticated people use!"

"Iggy."

"Oh, and the word 'immature'?"

I covered my face with my hands and took a deep, calming breath. You do not kill Flock members. You do not dismember any part of a Flock member's body. You are Maximum Ride and you can handle Iggy. You are MAXIMUM RIDE.

"Please…" I murmured, voice coming out strangled.

"And who wants to go to a therapist? I mean… Therapist. Break it in half, and then the rapist." He shuddered. "Scary, huh?"

Scary didn't even begin to cover it. "Iggy."

He, of course, didn't notice.

"Plus, the word immature, broken up, is im… mature. I'm mature. English is so stupid! I bet other countries like Bangladesh go around laughing at us and our weird words. Maybe – "

"Iggy!"

" – it's just a hoax by the government to make the English language gibberish over time until no one can speak at all! Maybe they think that'll end wars!" He took a deep breath. "What, Max?"

I was Maximum Ride but, by all things good and sweet, I was not able to handle a male version of Nudge. "Did you have an energy drink? We're bird kids! You know what it does to us!"

"I didn't have an energy drink! Dr. M. banned them, remember?"

"Then are you competing with Nudge to see who can get a person's ears to bleed fastest? I mean, what the heck, Iggy! That was so – "

"Brilliant?" He stood up smugly. I sat frozen, staring at him. "Yes, it was nice stalling on my part, I must say."

My eyes narrowed. What was he - ? Wait, a second. Where was Gazzy?

Two slow and completely petrified words drifted through my head. Oh, no.

"I successfully robletted you," Iggy drawled. "So you wouldn't find out about Plan Doritos."

Iggy checked his watch (wait, what?) while I gaped at him. I was too stunned to move. You really can't blame me. His words were so strange it took a while to process.

Plan Doritos. Plan Doritos?

"Plan Doritos," he continued, "which should be going off right about, oh, now."

Even as he finished his sentence, a boom erupted from upstairs. A few seconds later, orange dust lazily floated down outside the kitchen window. I had to give him props for the timing. His mad scientist skills were scary accurate. I was impressed. No, wait, I wasn't.

"Iggy, Mom said no bombs in the house!" I shrieked.

"Ig!" Gazzy's voice drifted down from upstairs in the lair he shared with Iggy. "It worked! The Doritos Bomb worked!"

Doritos Bomb? I was utterly stupefied.

Iggy stood before me, hands behind his back. The grin spreading across his face could only be described as devious.

"Never underestimate the power of rambling, young grasshopper," he said wisely. And then bolted out the kitchen door. I was left staring dumbfounded at the spot where he just was.

Only when the light from the window was tinged orange from Doritos dust did I snap out of it.

"Iggy and Gazzy, get your butts down here now!" I yelled.

"Make me!"

"Not in this lifetime!"

Cackling drifted down the stairs to me.

A Doritos Bomb. Yet another reason why I'm leader.

*Save The Words (dot org) is real. Aretaloger and roblet are my adopted words. :) Go adopt some! Just a warning, though. The page might take a really long time to load.

Put at the end so not to even slightly spoil the Doritos thing… My Original, Specially Made, SharpestSatire Disclaimer: I don't own Times, Doritos or Maximum Ride.

Hope you enjoyed! R&R!

All my platonic and non-creepy love,

SS