How to Survive Imacculate Academy: The Tales of a Misfit Teen
Notes on Ugly Betty fanfiction
Takes place in present time (i.e. 2000s); in upper-East side of Manhattan NY.
Set in a fictional private school; decidedly unisex and operated/funded by powerful Roman Catholic church
Boys and girls attend school (really known as an academy); set up like a very posh boarding school (mostly because it is a really posh unisex religious private academy)
Did I mention that it's close to Central Park, like smack dab in the bustling heart of the upper-East side? I did? Good.
Betty gets into school due to having awesometastic connections ala Christina McKinney and Amanda Tannen. Don't ask. Or do, whatever. They know each other because Betty's dad used to know them once upon a time ago because her mother used to work with the McKinneys (more specifically Christina's mom who later met Tannen's mother, Fey Sommers while in college). Yeah loooooong story but the three moms remained close until Betty and Hilda's mother died from . . . something terrible. Yeah, I even changed what she died from! OH! Okay stopping now.
This is such a crazily constructed AU that it isn't even funny.
I'd like to thank my mom for having attended a posh religious all-Girls private school in her teens so she could later recount (in great accuracy) her experiences there, her parents for urging her to go and subsequently paying for it, and for Ugly Betty which melds pretty perfectly in my opinion with this monstrosity of a fabricated story
Boys sleep and typically chillax at their own dormitory in the West Wing (right-side for you "slow folks". J/k.) Girls typically relax and pamper themselves at their dormitory in the East Wing.
Girls and boys congregate for balls, holiday festivities likes Christmas feasts and for breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the Great Hall.
Boys can't be caught dead wandering into the East Wing, likewise for the girls. And no more will be said of that because it ruins the story---like about a good three-quarters of the way in. Muhahaha.
No, Hilda doesn't attend sadly, only Betty does because she actually wants to go. Hilda's actually smarter for not going to the academy, some rich kids can be b-r-u-t-a-l.
Oh you bet your $1.20 socks off that Marc St. James sneaks over to talk to Amanda and cause some crazy "gruesome twosome" mischief.
Yes, Amanda owns Halston and yes, that does mean that pets can be allowed on the grounds, so long as the pets' owners are held accountable for that pet in every way, shape, form, and/or word. They usually are reminded of this on a daily basis.
The principal is referred to as the headmaster. Hey, didn't I tell you that I was inspired by my mom's ultra posh religious high school? I mean, this was back when Jamaica was newly independent so could you blame them for still using that old English school system (not that they ever got rid of it; 'sides it kinda works).
Pfft, this is so not like Gossip Girl—I swear, no really, it isn't. No one gets any pregnancy—oh wait, I lied. Damn it!
Gio Rossi is Vincent Bianchi's cousin in this. OMGZ! I know it's so shocking! Okay, you can stop hyperventilating and debating on whether you should kill me with your newly discovered Vulcan Mind Meld powahs now. Seriously.
The Rossis and Bianchis jointly own one of the filthiest most disgustingly richest fashion empires in Italy, second only to freaking Versace and Dolce and Gabbana. Yeah repeat that, "eeeew really?" statement again, Amanda will love you for it.
Henry What's-His-Name? (Sorry Benry fans but I'm so gonna axe this nerdy hottie, I mean I gotta admit that Gorham is a looker, whew but on UB—being Henry, uh not so much. I mean TUCSON really? Freaking TUCSON!? With your pregnant psycho bitch stalker ex Charlie? Really?! And her not-yet-but-soon-to-be born kid? Really?) will be featured in here. Before you ask how he could get in, think of the word connections and that's all I'm sayin', Will there be Ocs in here? Oh yes, yes there will be. In fact ideas of Ocs are stewing in my head as we speak.
Biggest shitastic "Omf shit-take mushrooms-wtf did you do?! That's probably THE craziest twist ever or most brilliant twist ever, maybe a mixture of both"--thing concerning Alexis Meade will be revealed . . . ahem just not in these annotated notes. AAHA!
Yes, Daniel's still a filthy playboy like Papa Meade only worse because he's oblivious and suffering from a raging hard-on 24/7, courtesy of MOST of the female populace at the academy.
I'm debating on whether Tyler will make an appearance here. Matt will definitely be there as competition for everyone's favorite adorable wittle Daniel.
Erm Walter will NOT be in this fic like at all. 'Cause um hello? Did anyone like him? I mean, seriously?
Betty and everyone else will be like in their teenage years therefore meaning that sadly (ready your handkerchiefs and pitch forks folks), Justin will not be in this fic. Sowwy. But I did say primarily set in high school so that alone should make you rabid Justin-wuvvers hightail it. Just bein' frank, man, can't help it. Sowwy. ^^
Uh let's see Wili Slater will obvs be in here I just haven't decided how I'll implement her into the fic. Since this high-school based, I doubt she'll be playing the Queen Bitch role in here as prominently as she does in Horta's UB-verse. But don't worry darlings, I have cooked up a Queen Bitch so menacing that she'll make Wili seem as sweet as pie. Wili? Sweet as pie? Yeah I know, revolting and mortifying isn't? I know, I know. It's alright.
Queen B was partly influenced by girls-who-thou-shalt-not-inquire-about-from-my-area-of-residence, that badass brunette chick in Gossip Girls (solely for her impeccable fashion sense and boyfriend-stealing powers, way to go Leighton Meeser!), aaaaaaand my secret bitchy side. Le gasp, yes I have one and for that matter EVERY girl in this whole damn universe does too. C'mon admit it!
Chapters will be called 'episodes' because erm . . . it just popped into my head like as spur of the moment. And yes this so chronicles how our brave, brave Betty Suarez would fare in a private school chock full of uppity, biting, snobbish, pompous, ignorant rich kids. Sounds god damn scary don't it? Lol.
So getting all of the notable mentions out of the way . . . we can move on to the disclaimer and then hopefully the prologue to this grandly epic tale.
DISCLAIMER: The authoress of this story hereby exclaims that she doesn't own any of these wonderfully quirky and lovable host of characters, however if she did then Betty would have been shackled to Daniel Meade from like day one and neither of them would be THAT dense about their love for one another. Y'hear that Horta and co. they love each other, you better have taken the hint from those irate Detty fans (myself included) when you wrapped up the finale sniffs.
But yeah Horta and co. own every single last one of 'em. I just own my crazy-as-hell OC's. Enjoooooy.
Prelude: In Which the Unexpected Happens Unexpectedly
Elisabeth "Betty" Rosalind Suarez had always been a bright girl, it was something that Ignacio, her father never paused to gloat over secretly when neither of his daughters were present. True, he did adore both of his wonderful girls (Hilda was proving to be like the shadow of their now deceased mother, when it came to her appreciation for priding in one's appearance), but there was something indelibly charming about Betty's precociousness.
Even at four years old, the lovely girl had a way of brightening up everyone's faces for hours to come. There was always something to discover, something to find out the inner workings of: whether it was a music box or just the simple unfastening of a button on a coat lapel only to fasten it up again. Betty was a precocious kid: she had ALL of the questions, which either ended up in Ignacio blushing furiously or in her parents gushing at her about how amazingly bright she was. Hilda was lavished upon for her fashion sense and her no-nonsense attitude but Betty—ah for Betty it was always for her endless optimism and her love of knowledge.
That girl could sit on her windowsill and pore over neglected copies of books for hours and hours and-- well yeah, you get the idea. Now, Betty's optimism remained as bright as a star really for quite a while. She charmed the socks off of her father's neighbors, always being courteous whereas Hilda's crazy "hot Latina blood" as Ignacio deemed it could be set off like a firecracker at the drop of a hat. However the comfort of the Suarez home—of Rosalind, their mother's homecooking, of her humming, of her adoration for her girls, of her quiet evenings spent soothing them to bed with Spanish lullabies, of the smell of her simple fragrant perfume, of her shampoo smelling of lilac and just a hint of peach-blossom, all of that was gone in an instant. It was as if someone had whited her out of Ignacio, Hilda, and Betty's lives. Permanently. Kaput. She was gone. Never comin' back. Nope. Death had claimed her and that was it.
Betty remembered it clearly. If you'd asked her about it now, she would be able to recite the transpiring events of that day clearly in exact detail, down to the time she rolled out of bed and everything.
It had been a Saturday which for the Suarezes usually meant, trips to the supermarket for groceries, family outings at the park, and play dates with the neighbors' kids (that boy next door, Juan STILL hadn't apologized for stealing Betty's beloved teddy bear, Snuffles. Stupid boy. Probably infested it with cooties anyway) Ignacio was intent on rousing the girls up early so that they could all go to one of the many small clothing stores that lined the block to pick up their new church dresses but Hilda (late ass sleeper that she was) just wasn't going to get up.
"Oi, mija c'mon honey, early to rise, bright and early. Up, up, up! You gotta come with us to get your church dress remember," he gently shook his daughter, kneeling simultaneously at the side of her canopied bed. Hilda mumbled incoherently and weakly batted his hands away before covering herself with her pastel pink comforter.
Ignacio sighed while he heard Rosalind usher the sweet four year old Betty into the bathroom.
"Hilda, still giving you trouble?" Rosalind called out over the rush of water. Ignacio could only assume that Betty was brushing her teeth.
"Si, oh mi dios, why can't she just wake up and be a good girl on Saturday mornings? Matter of fact, why can't Hilda just get her butt up every morning, Rosalita?" Ignacio groaned.
"Now, now all you need to do is be patient. You know how Hilda needs her beauty sleep. Give her at least five more minutes tops. Besides, mi amor the stores don't open for another good 10 or 25 minutes. We have some time." Rosalind replied as she pulled Betty gently across the threshold only to have her sit on her lap as she herself sat on the edge of the bed. The sudden settled weight of their mother on Hilda's ooooh-so comfortable bed—mm velvet—wait, no that was cotton and polyester, oh who gave a crud—yeah that managed to wake her up.
"Aye muchacha! Felippe NO, you can't marry Carmela! She's your half-sist—ooh 'morning Papi, Mami, hehehe." Hilda laughed weakly and covered her embarrassment by mumbling about needing to straighten her hair before making a beeline for the bathroom. Ignacio shared a look with Rosalind who only smiled softly while continuing to plait her daughter's long luxurious dark hair. Betty was humming good-naturedly to herself all the while rambling on about well—nonsensical stuff really.
"So then Juan stuck his tongue out at me . . . but you see mami he HAD to be wrong because I read the book and he DIDN'T. He was just being a stupid poopy head."
"Mija, be a little more considerate than that, maybe Juan doesn't have that book at home," Ignacio broke in, earning a defiant stare from his younger daughter. Hilda returned just then, sporting a crazily concocted hairstyle, stiffened by gallons of canned hairspray. The sickening smell permeated into every fabric and pore in the room but nobody remarked about this at all. Fifteen minutes later everyone was rearing to go.
It was only after the Suarez clan had returned from their little shopping extravaganza that something felt quite unsettling. It was only after weeks later when Rosalind suddenly complained of not feeling hungry (which was downright odd because, she never ever ever could resist Ignacio's famous empanadas. Period.) and then lost a good 10 pounds in body weight seemingly overnight that Ignacio started to worry. Suddenly the young father of two felt even more inclined to be by his wife, constantly checking up on her as she put herself on bed rest, staying away from her job as a seamstress at a small sweat shop or as Hilda called it "Hell on earth incarnate, with harpies, excluding Mami of course for coworkers". Ignacio would herald his daughters into the kitchen to toil over pots of soup and piquant tacos or chile or whatever else he could quickly teach them to make.
"Ignacio don't worry, it'll be fine. I'll be fine. Our girls, I know that they'll be muy excelente. Stop being such a worrywart." She would tell him when he would come in almost at wit's end, furrowing his brow and biting his lip in worry. His dark eyes met her light brown ones as she squeezed his hand tightly and he could only think that he should be the one holding her hand, not the other way around. Then came the doctor appointments, then the worried barely resigned look of professional coolness, then the need for CAT scans and MRI's and blood tests, then came the results. Then, then, oh God then there were the results with those terrible words taunting him in fresh ink, just printed, smelling warm like it had just been calculated, typed, and printed out that morning.
There was his soundless barely contained scream, his hand reaching out to grip the railing for the staircase that led up to his apartment, the need to be supported by a stronger force. His silent prayers that "gracias a Dios, gracias a Dios, muy gracias a Dios that the girls are away at school!" were feverishly recited under his shaky breath and then there was her being suddenly admitted to the hospital, wheeled away on a stretcher, having her vital signs checked by frantic paramedics only hours later. Then there were the arduous, tedious waits at the hospital. His girls took to clamping unto his hands for all their little lives were worth. Her eyes took to growing glassier with each passing day, her body became frailer and paler, and her voice started pining away in breathy whispers.
"Mi pequena ama, come here for a . . . a m-moment," Rosalind called to a tearful Hilda and Betty one day. Betty clutched her older sister's hand like a death grip. She couldn't lose her mother—their mother to cancer. There was no way she was leaving them forever and ever and ever to pick up their pieces. NO! Betty wouldn't have it; rushing over to her mom before Ignacio could shoot out a word edgewise, she grasped her mom's slender hand in her tiny one. She remembered the strength in those slim elegant fingers—piano fingers, their papi had called them, but they were strong, calloused from too much piano-playing and sewing, too much crocheting and dumpling making.
"Mami, it'll be fine right? You'll get the bad sickness out of you, right?" Betty's voice finally broke and her mom stroked her face lovingly, a bright sheen of tears wetting her own face as her daughter let out a discouraged sob which quickly turned into a childish wail. It was so damn heartbreaking for Ignacio, he squeezed Hilda's shoulder and looked his tender wife in the eyes . . . so beautiful and she was dying . . . the cancer—it had always been there, lingering, waiting, until the tumor just grew—it had started months ago, right after Hilda's seventh birthday. The doctors had only given her a small window of time to live, two weeks—three if she was damn near lucky to toughen it out. It was the Wednesday of her second week. There had been a rush to get her scheduled for chemotherapy and radiation but the cancer was quickly spreading and death, the doctor had said was sadly---a very morose and likely possibility. If the treatments didn't kick in soon . . .
"Elisabeth, Hilda, my angels . . . m-mommy's very sick and," Rosalind made a conscious effort, chest heaving and her breath shuttering like a sickly fluttering thing, as she swallowed hard and thick, before pressing on, " . . . and mommy needs you to keep being strong g-girls. Hilda," she let her brown eyes, so like Betty's, so warm and full of unconditional passion stare right into Hilda's whose stare was strong, full of conviction, and unbridled passion like her father's.
"Yes mama," Hilda, the crazy spitfire, was unusually quieted now by the harsh metaphorical slap on the wrist that was their mother's impending last few minutes. Her whole world was crashing down on her—her mom's lulling sweet voice, her knitted softly hued caps and dresses, her smooth caramel skin, her warm hugs---Hilda's whole world were composed of all of those things and now they were slipping away . . . on a beautiful sunny Wednesday morning. Why? Just why?
"Take care of your sister and your father; you're so headstrong and fierce in spirit like your Papi," Ignacio let out a snort and a muttered, ". . . like I need to be cared for" in a slight humor-filled tone, despite the morbidity of the situation. Rosalind laughed, dryly coughing as she eyed her husband, ". . . oh, you'll need them, mi amor, you'll need them. You're . . . the best father and husband I could ask for . . . the best man . . . the st-strongest man I could . . . ask for. Proud to call you my husband, Ignacio."
He had to wonder if she had caught him visibly trying to wipe away his tears with tremulous hands.
"Betty . . . my pajarito keep being their sunshine and know this, pajarito . . .," Rosalind weakly beckoned Betty to come closer, snuggling the little girl into her chest, nestling her soft dark hair with thin fingers as her reedy voice wheezed out in small puffs, ". . . you can do . . . anything in this whole world. You'll go far; so far . . . you'll fly, I want you to fly and h-hold onto your dreams. Don't let anyone kill your dreams, ever . . . okay?"
Betty nodded tearfully, not quite grasping the seriousness of the message at her tender age but feeling touched all the same emotionally. And then with one last laboring breath and one last squeeze of that now ice-cold hand, Rosalind was gone and her heart monitor flat-lined. Ignacio scooped up his bereaved daughters into his arms and held them possessively to his chest, burrowing their heads into his warmth as they openly wept by their dead mother's bed.
12 years later . . .
'She would be 54 today, oh Mami . . .,' Betty mused silently to herself as she snapped her worn copy of Pride and Prejudice shut softly and laid it on her side table by her bed. There was only one good thing that had manifested out of the anniversary of her mother's death—one singular event that could mark the new beginning of Betty's academic life—and that was her pending invitation to one of the most prestigious private academies in the nation: Immaculate Conceptional Academy for Boys and Girls in upstate East New York. It was the snobbiest, most elite, most terrifyingly prolific, renown school in New York. Every "it" girl and "it" boy practically begged their parents relentlessly in their snobby nasal voices (or at least Betty assumed that they'd all sound nasal, like on those TV soap operas)just to attend school there.
All Betty knew from her deceased mom's longtime friend's daughter, Christina (Christina's mom used to attend Brooklyn college with Betty and Hilda's mother before marrying one of Ireland's famed and upcoming fashion designers and proclaiming herself a charitable socialite) was that it cost a "bajillion dollars, more than Oprah and Bill Gates' salaries combined, love" to maintain it and that the richest of the rich could get in, either that or pray that you were no common fool. The academy only took the most well bred, cultured, intelligent, and aspiring pupil under their wing. Unless the headmaster was good friends AND related (distantly and twice removed, but who the hell in Christina's family was counting?) to your best friend's dad, then you might as well forget about dreaming about attending it unless you were really, really filthily disgustingly rich.
Betty knew that she had a snowball's chance of getting in. Although she practically begged her dad to submit in the formal application form.
"I don't know mija it's so expensive, ever since your . . .mother's been gone, it's been tough to manage the apartment's upkeep, you know that. We can't possibly afford it with the way things are now," Betty's face had fell until Hilda suggested the most brilliant idea ever, her ruminations were usually concerned with the latest issue of Cosmo, that Gina Gambino chick who seemed to "steal EVERY guy that waltzed into NYC fresh off of a boat or plane", and of course the newest hot guy in question who just so happened to waltz into NYC fresh off of a boat or plane.
"Why don't you just talk to Christina's parents? They're practically like family dad and you know that Uncle McKinney will do anything now. He—he really helped when mom left." Hilda suggested, fighting the impending flow of hot tears at the mention of their mother. It had been years but still the hurt was as fresh as if it had happened just weeks ago. Rosalind was not a character that could be easily forgotten and filed away. Her family would be damned if they so much as forgot the smell of her hair or the sound of her voice.
"Yeah that's perfect, Hilda!" Betty beamed, practically crushing Hilda's bones together in a fierce hug.
"Aye, aye, aye alright I love you too now please stop trying to literally hug me to death! I'd love to live to see my 20s."
"Oh right sorry," Betty smiled sheepishly.
Ignacio meanwhile had pondered over it briefly before deciding that it wouldn't hurt to give his old pal, McKinney Sr. a call. The man although, very wealthy and borne of an affluent family, still behaved as if he'd come from humble upbringings like Ignacio. He was very frugal about his spending and only gave his daughter the necessities but for friends like Ignacio, who he'd bumped into by chance while strolling through the streets of NY as a young spirited twenty-something, he would do anything for that man and his lovely family.
"Alright well girls, I'll give him a call. We'll take this one step at a time, mija."
"Thank you dad, Hilda, I love you guys." Betty hugged them both, overwhelmed by the developments. To think, she'd soon be attending one of the best schools in the country, how many girls from Queens got to gloat about that on their resumes? Soon, she'd be THAT much closer to getting her degree in English and moving off into the hectic demanding world of publishing empires. Soon, oh so soon, Betty inwardly scream in happiness and performed cartwheels clumsily in her head. She was going to need a crazy caffeine crash in order to sleep tonight, that was for sure.
One month later . . .
"Betty, Betty, Betty! Oh my God, come here!" Hilda practically screamed until the whole of Finland could hear her. Betty groggily got up, stretching and yawning like a sleepy kitten, before regarding her sister with blearing bloodshot eyes. The poor girl had been up all night mulling over how she'd process the news of either being accepted or rejected into the academy. Betty had purchased a tub of Ben & Jerry's Cookie Dough ice cream and a box of Kleenex tissues for an unceremonious cry fest in case she got the worst news ever, and prepared her lungs for a scream-a-athon against Hilda if she got good news. Judging from her sister's deafening excited squeals, Betty could only assume that—that – but no . . . no way McKinney's dad could pull strings to get her in, even if she DID have ties, it wasn't as if they had the money to get in.
The academy's board or panel of judges really, selected their school's attendants based on their parents' combined incomes, the kids' intelligence, and their police records (hopefully their attendant-to-be didn't have a record at ALL yet, but there were those few . . .); the intelligence quotient of the student was measure by their responses to a subjective long questionnaire and their open-ended-anything-goes-styled 500-word essay requirement. Betty had chosen to write about how her mother's death impacted her as a person and how it also had allowed her aspirations to become the best editor ever finally seem that much more reachable. She only prayed that those late nights slaving and usually drooling out of exhaustion all over her poor keyboard was worth it.
"Huh?" Betty sleepily mumbled, only now blinking the last remnants of tiredness away.
Hilda produced a manila envelope with embossed gold-leafed lettering curling around the front in elegant Edwardian script. On it was imprinted, "Congratulations Recipient and New Attendee to Immaculate Conceptional Academy of Boys and Girls". Betty let out a long whooshing breath she hadn't even known she had been holding until her chest ached from lack of breathing. Her father proudly stood behind her, smoothing her hair and smiling over at Hilda, belatedly.
"Well go on open it, hon," he urged her, wiping his hands on his apron. The faint smell of baking cookies wafted in from the kitchen as Betty tentatively took the envelope in her sweaty palms ('God I hope I don't soil it, even the paper for the freaking envelope looks expensive. I bet they imported that from somewhere crazy too—like Britain or India or something'). She carefully ripped it open and pulled out a single thick oak-tag paper, faintly smelling of fresh sawed oak wood, the back was glimmering in gold leaf.
"Papi, do y-you want to read it? Suddenly I'm feeling more nervous than that rabbit at the beginning of Alice in Wonderland." Betty confessed earning a chuckle from their father and an amused roll of the eyes from Hilda. Ignacio took the paper gently from the girl's outstretched hand and slowly began to read the words aloud, his eyes shimmering in tears of complete happiness, as he let the news soak in, 'My baby's going to the most prestigious academy in America, one of the finest schools in this nation . . . God McKinney thank you so, so, so much. And Rosa you were right darling, you'd be proud of her.'
That was the only thought that dominated his mind as he read:
'To the parent(s) of Elisabeth Rosalind Suarez,
We are greatly overjoyed to inform you of your daughter's acceptance into the grand academy of Immaculate Conceptional. Your daughter's status as an attendee is effective immediately at oh-six hours tomorrow morning on September the Second, Two-Thousand and Six. Your daughter's tuition fee for all four years have been covered, her living expenses have also been covered, as have her expenses for her schooling supplies (please note that this is not limited to: textbooks, pencils, pens, notebooks, and folders). As is customary of the full package agreement, your daughter will have access to the famous East Wing Quarters exclusively accessed by the female pupils of this prestigious academic facility. All meals will be served in the Great Hall where the female and male pupils will congregate to socialize and feast on the finest meats, sweets, and wines imaginable.
Please note that we only wish to provide your daughter with the most intellectually charged atmosphere possible, where she will grow into a finer, more cultured, able-bodied woman, ready to face her fears and tackle the world at will. We hope that your daughter enjoys her stay at our institution that has been providing academic service of the highest standards to young girls and boys since 1855. Enclosed is a prearranged dormitory arrangement of your daughter's room mate and a list of items that are recommended to be brought upon stepping unto the school grounds; likewise there are a list of items that upon immediate sight on school grounds, will be deemed as improper and dangerous and therefore shall be confiscated promptly.
There is also an attached schedule that your daughter must keep on her at all times, it provides a list of her courses, which upon completing her first two years of schooling will be completely modifiable for her. She is to, at this point in time follow it and use it as a guide. There is also a handbook with a section on proper rules of conduct, we urge you and your daughter to read this over with great care. We hope you have a wonderful week and once more, can not stress how excited we are to accept your daughter into our academic family. We shall do our utmost best to accommodate her and make her feel at home.
Sincerely,
Headmaster Lucius Chancellor, Professor Emeritus of Latin Studies, PhD
Lucius Chancellor'
And that was the beginning of Betty's academic career, she was at the pinnacle now, flying high on an untouchable cloud. Little did she know just how hard it would be to stay right at the top . . .
A/N: And that's all folks. It's my first foray into the Ugly Betty community so try to take it just a little easy on me. This will be Detty fic, yes, yes. I'm a 150% Detty supporter here all the way, as you can see this is a crack AU at its finest soooo . . . yeah. ^^ Blame my overactive imagination on any plot twists that you might see in the future. Hope you enjoyed the beginning because it'll only get weirder and more entertaining from here on out.
TBP -
