oxFHxo: Hope you like it!

dis: Kingdom Hearts Characters are kingdom heart's blah blah blah i promise not to steal that stuff.

So maybe the old business wasn't for me. Actually, my boss told me that when he fired me. I didn't enjoy being attacked by guardian monsters, having my security replaced by animals – which left at the sign of no job, having to fake smile, and having to pay for all the damage Ansem caused anyway. It was a warm spring day. Actually, I'm lying. It was cold, and it was winter, and it was snowing. I was leaning against the cold brick of a cold apartment building in cold New York City. It was one of those moments where you wish you had a bag to shove over your head. The Kingdom Hearts Talk Show didn't work out to well. Luckily, Ansem was wrapped up and shipped out to the nearest mental hospital. I saw a newspaper floating down the sidewalk. That would have to do. I picked it up, bent it around a little and shoved it over my head. Everybody who saw me without a bag on my head, or in this case newspaper, asked 'are you that girl who screwed up on television?' And when I had a bag on my head, everyone just walked by me, muttering things about crazy people. I know crazy people. And I wasn't one. I swear. I swear! I knew that when I took off my newspaper, there would be ink all over my face. I might as well just read it this way. Slumping down against the wall of the apartment, I was reading the help wanted ads. New talk show host. I wonder where that job could have opened up, I thought sarcastically. Something poked me in the side.

"Hey lady. Are you dead?" came a little kid's voice.

I ripped the newspaper off my head.

"NO I AM NOT DEAD YOU LITTLE TWERP GO AWAY!" I screamed. He looked petrified, like he was going to cry. Guilt trip. "Oh no, oh no. I'm sorry! Come here, it's ok!"

"You're a crazy lady! Go away!" he turned around and ran.

"Good going." I muttered to myself. I turned back to the crumpled newspaper. Plumber, welder, Keyblade master? What a spoof. One caught my eye. Actually, it poked me in the eye, because the wind blew it there. As I wiped the tearing eye with my sleeve, I prepared to beat the crap out of that ad. But I read it instead.

WANTED: Radio host. Original one left for a Talk Show. Some experience needed.

There was a number on the bottom. I rushed to the nearest phone booth, hung up the phone on some middle-aged dude and dialed the number. I had to close the door. The guy I pushed of the phone was banging on it though. No one picked up, but I left a message. In my "professional" host voice of course. This job would be a cinch.

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