If you are a lover of faux-hawks, purple prose or fics that register over eighteen thousand on the Fluff-O-Meter (which, incidentally, only goes up to six hundred), I suggest you turn away now, as the following overtly snide parody may induce vomiting, heart palpitations, or mindless, shocked gibbering at your computer monitor of choice.

…

No, seriously, I mean it.

…

Okay, well, now that that's weeded out the faint-hearted among us … I'd like to apologise in advance for this story. I really don't know what came over me.

Well, okay, I lied. I do know. I blame the reading of one too many badly-written fluff pieces and a lack of sleep on my part. (That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.) I like fluff as much as the next person...but I love parodies more.

(I write fluff, myself ... I'm a massive hypocrite, if that makes the rabid J/C shippers feel any better.)

STUPID DISCLAIMER THAT I THINK IS REQUIRED: The forgery of John A. Davis's signature is coming along nicely, but is, regrettably, not complete yet. So, I don't own Jimmy. Sorry.

This…THING…may expand into a series of oneshots, depending on response and/or inspiration. Enjoy!

(And I apologise for the irrational hatred of faux-hawks, and I apologise even more if someone you know and/or love has or had one. I'm sure there must be a branch of Fauxhawks Anonymous in your city or town, if you look. Admitting you have a problem is the first step towards curing it, you know. ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, I'LL STOP NOW. )

Jimmy skipped over the road in the summer sun, smiling delightfully. Scattering flower petals in his wake, he traversed the steps up to his adorable little angel's house in a hop, a skip and a jump and rang the doorbell fifty-nine times. He was just that happy, delighted, thrilled and gloriously ecstatic to see-

"Cindy!" Jimmy's mouth dropped open at the sight of her, despite the fact that he had seen her almost daily for the last four years straight, in precisely the same clothes every time. Hormon – I … I mean, love just changes your perception like that.

Cindy, who had opened the door, batted her eyelashes so hard a small twister started in Iowa.

"Why, hello there, Jimmy, you boyfriend of mine, you. I missed you during the eight hundred ninety-four seconds we just spent apart NOT awkwardly declaring our eternal, everlasting love for each other and/or making out like horny teenagers despite the fact we're still in elementary school. And did I mention you're my boyfriend now? Boyfriend boyfriend BOYFRIEND! …how are you?"

"Delightful, now YOU'RE here with me, Cindy, my … er … Cindy-kins ... "

He's not a genius with mushy talk, okay?

Cindy leapt into his arms, and he caught her because Jimmy totally invented, like, a machine that makes him really super buff and totally able to catch someone taller than him without warning. And stuff. Oh, and he doesn't have that whippy-dip hairdo that we all know and love. Instead, he has a fauxhawk. (Because, as all good children know, fauxhawk = cool, and totally not the sort of thing that douchey teenage guys and/or douchey sports stars wear in order to look 'sic az, brew ' (sic).) Also Jimmy's head isn't big anymore. HE HAD A SUDDEN GROWTH SPURT, OKAY. GEEZ.

Jimmy gazed into Cindy's limpid green orbs, shimmering and sparkling like sparkly, beautiful emerald fire in the summer sun, completely disregarding the fact that anyone whose eyes sparkle that much is obviously in need of serious medical attention because they've probably been attacked by a rampaging preschool girl with a fondness for glitter and no compunctions about using it. (Or maybe a rabid manga artist or something.)

Cindy, likewise, gazed into Jimmy's deep sapphire eyes, like the deepest of oceans, like a lighter version of the deep midnight blue of space (only, like, totally more compassionate and smart and hot and stuff), like the sea around that island that she keeps having flashbacks to for no apparent reason, like toilet water after it's been treated with a certain brand of peroxide. Ah, the romance!

They continued their staring for another fourteen point six one minutes, totally ignoring the "what-the-hell-are-they-doing" looks from random passers-by, and the fact that all of their parents could see everything they were doing extremely clearly from the comfort of their respective living rooms on either side of the street.

(In fact, Cindy's mother had been staring at them from behind her curtains, making a disapproving face, because she's a jealous, conniving beeyatch who can't stand the TRUE LUV between Jimmy and Cindy and thinks he's not good enough for Cindy despite the fact that he's probably going to be a billionaire at least sixteen times over before he's twenty-one. Around the third minute of the staring-a-palooza, Cindy's mother (NB: does she even have a name?) felt faint from the fumes of supreme mushiness, and had to go lie down in her room with a wet facecloth over her eyes until she could breathe normally again. Which was lucky for her, really, because if she hadn't let the happy couple be all couple-y together, the preteen author of this horrendous piece of fanfiction would probably have killed her off. Or something. (See footnote 1, at the end of the story.) )

Then Jimmy and Cindy, happily oblivious to all this internal drama, realized that they should probably be kissing or something, because that's usually what happens next.

So they did. And it was awesomely cute and adorable and awesome and sweet and totally and utterly memorable despite the fact that they're ELEVEN and have no experience at kissing at all, aside from the few awkward pecks shown throughout the series.

(Actually, Cindy did have some make-out experience, but only with the tender crook of her elbow, back when she had an uber-crush on Nicky-Nick.)

Then, suddenly, gloriously, both Jimmy and Cindy snapped back into character. Hard.

Jimmy dropped Cindy like she was a hot potato. (A really, really hot potato, if you catch my drift. Wink wink nudge nudge.) Both characters instantly began trying to scrape the entire surface of their respective tongues off with their fingernails.

"Uck! Ptoo! Blah! Vortex, were we just ... making out? In public?"

"Er … I really hate to be the one to break it to you, Jim- I … I mean, Nerdtron … but, um, yes. Yes, we were."

A disgusted look came over both of their faces, and they shivered in unison.

"Neutron - what just happened to us? Where was the plot? The storyline? The humor? The character development? Heck, where was the character? This is so out of character for us - both as separate characters and as a … um … couple - that I'm surprised the universe hasn't melted in on itself in disgust. I mean, the whole point of our relationship is that it's firey! We aren't afraid to argue! It's love-hate, and that's what makes it likeable and believable, despite what the Jimmy/Betty shippers say! …Spewtron, are you even listening?"

Jimmy had caught sight of his reflection in Cindy's house's window a few sentences back and had almost fainted. He struggled for words, gaping like a goldfish, finally coming out with: "…PUKIN' PLUTO! DO I HAVE A FAUXHAWK?"

"Erm ... yes?"

Jimmy dropped to his knees and screamed a scream so chock-full of pain and misery you'd swear his lab just imploded, taking Goddard, his parents and a newly-won Nobel Prize with it. He then started frantically swiping at his hair, trying to make it go back to its original state.

"It ... won't ... go ... away! Ahh! I'm stuck like this!"

He grabbed Cindy's shoulder and pulled her face down so it was within inches of his. (But not in an even vaguely romantic way, this time.) He spoke, very deliberately.

"Cindy. If you work out a way to get rid of this..." Jimmy gestured towards his hairdo, lost for words to describe it. "...this THING on my head, I promise I'll help you thoroughly destroy the shrine to me you probably have in your room. AND your diary, half of it probably filled with rapturous descriptions of our dates and half filled with drawings of our future Mary-Sue children and the name 'Mrs Cynthia Aurora Neutron-Vortex' written over and over in girly, curlicue script."

Cindy considered this proposal. "You're sure they'll both be thoroughly destroyed?"

"As thoroughly as our dignity and reputations."

Cindy opened her mouth to protest, thought for a second about her suddenly-back-in-character situation, shut her mouth again with a snap and nodded. "Deal. But I get to smash your shrine to me, too."

Jimmy nodded his mercifully back-to-'normal' (read: freakishly proportioned) head frantically, and they shook hands on it.

"This never happened."

(1) By 'the preteen author', I am referring to the also-fictional fanfiction author who would write such horribly purple prose. Not me. Thankfully, I myself am not a preteen, and I like to think my writing isn't nearly as bad as I'm purposely making this.