AN: yeah. I just need to blow off some steam. So I'm writing this piece on the many moods of Jack Spicer. And this is not meant to be taken literally. It's supposed to arouse questions and stuff like that. And this is much more than it is on the surface.
Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or anything of that manner.
Gothboy
Yeah, I walk through the mall with uncertainty, unknowing of what to expect. I don't even know why I come here. I can have all the clothes and technology I want delivered right to my door.
And everyone knows it.
They can tell by my designer wristwatch, my thousand dollar combat boots, and my state of the art engineer's goggles. And everywhere I go I hear jeers of "Fucking Poser!" "Rich Bitch!" and "Wannabe!" from the Goths who do nothing but that and obviously don't have a life. Or at least the one they do have just happens to be centered on the god of Hot Topic.
I make a left at the bridge and beside me is Hollister.
They laugh as they see me. I'm such a loser. And others just stare. What's a rich kid doing dressed like a hobo? What kind of reputation does he live up to? And then there are the others that actually realize who I am and just nod their heads in disappointment, fully knowing the extent of my father's displeasure in my tastes.
But the one thing both these groups have in common is me. They see, they target, they rule.
But what do I care? After all, I'm a Gothboy.