Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own Jhonen Vasquez. If I did, though, we would surely have a jolly good time *insert MSN devil smiley here, and highlight it so it looks eviiiler*. Any lyrics posted aren't mine, and are most likely from STP or Train songs. I used an idea from another Jhonen fic and twisted it into my own mess, so if you're the owner of the fic with the lying clock, I apologize for stealing your thunder. Oh yes, and this never happened, and will most likely never happen, sadly.
Author's notes: Yeah, I'm sure you're all getting sick of these author fics. And aren't you lucky, because this one I'm planning (the one mentioned in this story) is another one. What can I say, I'm good writing material ^_^ On with the show!
~Dreams Always Lead To Hideous Implosions~
Dalva looked up, feeling a moment of enlightenment. "Yes, of course! The answer has been here all the time, and I've just been too blind to see it! But I don't mind being blind if you don't mind doing time. Wait, who am I talking to? And, uh...what was the question again?" Yup, she had lost it. That night Dalva had had way too much caffeine, read way too many Zim fanfics, and listened to way too much bizarre music (namely the Butthole Surfers). That was the combination for true madness, writing inspiration, and the notion that you've suddenly become a genius. About halfway through the fanfic reading, she felt inspired to write another "version" of her last fic. Hadn't started yet. She was now staring at a picture of Pat Monahan in an awesome black sweater. Every now and then she would stop to pick up her hard-backed Sally diary and hit herself upside the head with it. Yes, the caffeine had definitely taken its toll. And yes, it was definitely time to start the next fic.
"I do think it's time to start the next fic. Besides, I'm starting to get a headache." She looked at her forehead in the mirror. "And a bruise."
She got her notebook from behind the bed, where no one would care too snoop...er, look...*glares at mom* leafed through a few pages of her other bad writing, and found a blank page. Dalva glanced at the clock. It was 4 AM. She was reminded of Jhonen Vasquez's introduction to his JtHM books. "The time...it tortures me! Eviiil clock," she sneered. "One day you will feel my wrath. Good for you. Waaay too much caffeine," she said while writing. She began singing, "Time time is not on my side, cuz the way I am, gotta gotta now, gotta find the reason why, a woman ain't a man..."
~*~
Meanwhile, we have turned to a dark room somewhere in Southern California. A guy in his mid-20's sat at a dimly-lit desk, pen in hand. He adjusted his wire frame glasses, ran his fingers through his bright red hair, then slammed his pen down. It landed on the floor; he crushed the thing with a rather clunky black boot. A tired Jhonen Vasquez has been struck with the ever-vicious late night writer's block. He held his newest work-in-progress up to his face and made an ugly face at it. He looked around, his gaze settling on the infernal bed, and made an uglier face at it. Jhonen sighed, then picked up another pen. "Yes, we are all doomed to live in a world of doomed writer's block filth. Er, OK, *I* am doomed to live in..." He yawned, reaching for the cup of quaffee that was sitting there for hours at his desk. "Yeah."
~*~
Dalva threw her notebook across the room. [AN: Yes, I'm sure you can tell where this is going.] Oddly enough, it landed behind the bed. "Good, maybe it's the Universe telling me to give up. How hard is it to start a fanfic, anyway?" Shaking her head, she continued, "Sheesh. Where's Jhonen Vasquez when you need him?" As soon as those words rolled out, she was magically transported to that dark room where Jhonen was locked away.
"Ah, good. That worked out well," Dalva said, smiling at her surroundings. Somehow she completely expected what just happened. Jhonen, on the other hand, was completely confounded.
"Uh...hi?"
Dalva leaned over to shake Jhonen's hand, smiling. "I'm Dalva, your fellow insane writer, weirdo, insomniac..." She looked down. "And boot-wearer. Apparently I've come for literary inspiration. Gimme!"
Jhonen raised an eyebrow, still very confoosed, but less so that before. "Um, well then..." he began. "It's good to know I'm not the only one with writing troubles. Sorry, Dal, but if I had any inspiration at all, I would be the one using it."
Dalva frowned, the growled at nothing in particular. "Stupid..." She looked around for something to blame. Looking out the window, the first thing that caught her eye was the trampoline in the next yard. "Stupid eviiil trampoline! Curse the trampoline! One day you WILL meet your deathy...fatey...thingy of...death-like...stuff. Or sometehing." She turned back to Jhonen, then to the nearly empty quaffee cup still sitting on his desk. "Hey, do you have any more of that made?"
Jhonen smiled a half-eviiil, half-amused grin. "I like the way you think. You say you're a writer?" Dalva nodded. Jhonen continued, "Then join forces with me! One day we will rule the world with an iron fist and two spiced chai lattes!" [AN: Well, I can dream, can't I?] The two mad beings in the room then went into an incontrollable fit of maniacal laughter, then collapsed--Jhonen on his desk, Dalva on the floor. This was, of course, due to the lack of sleep, the caffeine overdose, and the overwhelming presence of insanity.
The end!
Conclusion: When they woke up, Dalva was back in her room, and Jhonen was still in his. Neither one of them remembered a thing, but for some reason they both had a strange craving for spiced chai lattes.
The real end!
Author's notes: Yeah, I'm sure you're all getting sick of these author fics. And aren't you lucky, because this one I'm planning (the one mentioned in this story) is another one. What can I say, I'm good writing material ^_^ On with the show!
~Dreams Always Lead To Hideous Implosions~
Dalva looked up, feeling a moment of enlightenment. "Yes, of course! The answer has been here all the time, and I've just been too blind to see it! But I don't mind being blind if you don't mind doing time. Wait, who am I talking to? And, uh...what was the question again?" Yup, she had lost it. That night Dalva had had way too much caffeine, read way too many Zim fanfics, and listened to way too much bizarre music (namely the Butthole Surfers). That was the combination for true madness, writing inspiration, and the notion that you've suddenly become a genius. About halfway through the fanfic reading, she felt inspired to write another "version" of her last fic. Hadn't started yet. She was now staring at a picture of Pat Monahan in an awesome black sweater. Every now and then she would stop to pick up her hard-backed Sally diary and hit herself upside the head with it. Yes, the caffeine had definitely taken its toll. And yes, it was definitely time to start the next fic.
"I do think it's time to start the next fic. Besides, I'm starting to get a headache." She looked at her forehead in the mirror. "And a bruise."
She got her notebook from behind the bed, where no one would care too snoop...er, look...*glares at mom* leafed through a few pages of her other bad writing, and found a blank page. Dalva glanced at the clock. It was 4 AM. She was reminded of Jhonen Vasquez's introduction to his JtHM books. "The time...it tortures me! Eviiil clock," she sneered. "One day you will feel my wrath. Good for you. Waaay too much caffeine," she said while writing. She began singing, "Time time is not on my side, cuz the way I am, gotta gotta now, gotta find the reason why, a woman ain't a man..."
~*~
Meanwhile, we have turned to a dark room somewhere in Southern California. A guy in his mid-20's sat at a dimly-lit desk, pen in hand. He adjusted his wire frame glasses, ran his fingers through his bright red hair, then slammed his pen down. It landed on the floor; he crushed the thing with a rather clunky black boot. A tired Jhonen Vasquez has been struck with the ever-vicious late night writer's block. He held his newest work-in-progress up to his face and made an ugly face at it. He looked around, his gaze settling on the infernal bed, and made an uglier face at it. Jhonen sighed, then picked up another pen. "Yes, we are all doomed to live in a world of doomed writer's block filth. Er, OK, *I* am doomed to live in..." He yawned, reaching for the cup of quaffee that was sitting there for hours at his desk. "Yeah."
~*~
Dalva threw her notebook across the room. [AN: Yes, I'm sure you can tell where this is going.] Oddly enough, it landed behind the bed. "Good, maybe it's the Universe telling me to give up. How hard is it to start a fanfic, anyway?" Shaking her head, she continued, "Sheesh. Where's Jhonen Vasquez when you need him?" As soon as those words rolled out, she was magically transported to that dark room where Jhonen was locked away.
"Ah, good. That worked out well," Dalva said, smiling at her surroundings. Somehow she completely expected what just happened. Jhonen, on the other hand, was completely confounded.
"Uh...hi?"
Dalva leaned over to shake Jhonen's hand, smiling. "I'm Dalva, your fellow insane writer, weirdo, insomniac..." She looked down. "And boot-wearer. Apparently I've come for literary inspiration. Gimme!"
Jhonen raised an eyebrow, still very confoosed, but less so that before. "Um, well then..." he began. "It's good to know I'm not the only one with writing troubles. Sorry, Dal, but if I had any inspiration at all, I would be the one using it."
Dalva frowned, the growled at nothing in particular. "Stupid..." She looked around for something to blame. Looking out the window, the first thing that caught her eye was the trampoline in the next yard. "Stupid eviiil trampoline! Curse the trampoline! One day you WILL meet your deathy...fatey...thingy of...death-like...stuff. Or sometehing." She turned back to Jhonen, then to the nearly empty quaffee cup still sitting on his desk. "Hey, do you have any more of that made?"
Jhonen smiled a half-eviiil, half-amused grin. "I like the way you think. You say you're a writer?" Dalva nodded. Jhonen continued, "Then join forces with me! One day we will rule the world with an iron fist and two spiced chai lattes!" [AN: Well, I can dream, can't I?] The two mad beings in the room then went into an incontrollable fit of maniacal laughter, then collapsed--Jhonen on his desk, Dalva on the floor. This was, of course, due to the lack of sleep, the caffeine overdose, and the overwhelming presence of insanity.
The end!
Conclusion: When they woke up, Dalva was back in her room, and Jhonen was still in his. Neither one of them remembered a thing, but for some reason they both had a strange craving for spiced chai lattes.
The real end!