(WARNING: Slightly obscene thoughts, dumb author comments, and stupid humor await! BEWARE!!!
Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING IN THIS FIC!!! Happy now? ^^;)
Say "Hola" to the Fangirls, Carlos!
It all began as a normal day for Carlos Oliveira. Today, he was walking down some street that he just liked to walk down (sweatdrop) in that all-sexy way of his, making sure not to avoid any women. Eventually, his trip led him to the "wealthy" sector of the town.
While passing a well-landscaped yard, (read: lottsa trees) a slight feminine gasp echoed behind him. Perfecting his smile and tossing his bangs back, Carlos turned to greet this new acquaintance, but then his jaw dropped in fear.
There before him stood literally hundreds of females, all with ghastly pale skin from sitting inside and playing Resident Evil 3 all day and night long. Their eyes were glazed, due to the countless hours these tortured souls spent at their computers, searching far and wide for fanfics and drool-worthy pictures. Dark circles hung under their eyes. Mostly teenagers were gathered in the yard, and countless pairs of eyes gaped at him, from blue to brown to hazel to emerald green. Drool hung from their mouths as they experienced seeing the hottie for the first time.
However, unlike zombies, who have deep voices and are slow, there-these DEMON women screamed, "CARLOS!!! CARLOS!!!!!!" as loud and high as possible, coming very close to shattering the neighboring houses' windows.
By the dozen, by the hundreds, more and more of these females poured into the yard and toward him at an alarming rate. All Carlos could do was run for his life and scream, "¡Mamá!"
The fangirls pursued, roused by the sight of his well-formed tush in action.
Carlos had finally run out of places to escape to. The choice was down to hiding in the mansion in front of him or standing here, and letting those THINGS pick him apart and who knows what else. "Heh, hard question," he mumbled to himself as he ducked into the large house and latched the door behind him. A sigh of relief escaped his lips.
A second look told him the mansion was deserted. Mail and bills clogged the mail chute on the front door to the point where nothing could fit through it. Being the wonderfully curious person he is, Carlos decided to explore.
The door he first opened was a bathroom. Neatly kept, albeit old-fashioned, with a claw-foot tub and the works. Sighing, he opened the next door in the entrance hall. Another bathroom. Confused, he threw open the next door, and a toilet stared right back at him. "These people must have had some serious incontinence problems," he mumbled as he broke into a run, running from room to room. All bathrooms. No kitchens, no bedrooms, no libraries, just commodes and sinks and showers and bathtubs.
Carlos was now sitting at the base of the stairs, wondering what to do next. One door remained closed. "Qué diablos (what the hell)," he sighed as he turned the doorknob and gasped.
Instead of a bathroom, it just so happened to be a safe room, complete with a large chest with creaky hinges, a cot, an old typewriter, and a bookshelf full of vaccines and serums and all of that stuff they're supposed to have.
"Just like Jill described it," Carlos laughed. However, the safe room didn't remain "safe" for long…
Carlos spun around to find hands emerging from the giant storage chest, engagement rings clutched in their fingers. He ran out of the room, but it was too late.
The fangirls surrounded our accented-friend and began to glomp and scream. Five minutes passed of Carlos fighting for his life and the girls fighting for him when all that military training pulled off and he managed to escape. Shirtless and with torn pants, Carlos ran out of the mansion and down the street. The fangirls, however, didn't pursue, but compared their findings.
"I got part of his shirt!"
"I got his shoe!"
"I stole his Rolex!"
"I got a chunk of his hair!"
One woman looked especially smug. "I didn't take anything," she said slyly, "But I did grope him!" That girl received high-fives.
Your most humble author, leader of C.O.C.O.A. (Cult Of Carlos Oliveira Association), held up her hand to signal silence. "Let us have a silent moment to honor the most glorified Carlos Oliveira."
All the fangirls present bowed their heads and closed their eyes. On most faces, however, a content smile remained.
Poor, poor Carlos was scarred for life.
THE END!!
Hi everyone! This has GOT to be the weirdest 'fic I've ever written, and as you'll notice I'm not good at humor. Send all compliments and CONSTRUCTIVE comments to karygurl@hotmail.com. All flames will result in my calling on Carlos and his firing his assault rifle on your sorry @$$. Thanks! ^.~ (This is also the first fanfic that I've finished in a year or two, AND my first RE fanfic. Wow, I must've broken a record or two there! Hehe…)
Oh yeah, the bathroom thing is actually sort of an inside joke, because you know that if you've played the first Resident Evil, there's only 2 or 3 bathrooms in the entire house. Dear lord, how LONG the lines must have been to use them! Not to mention the number of accidents that happened trying to get to one… Maybe THAT'S what caused the T-virus! ^^
Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING IN THIS FIC!!! Happy now? ^^;)
Say "Hola" to the Fangirls, Carlos!
It all began as a normal day for Carlos Oliveira. Today, he was walking down some street that he just liked to walk down (sweatdrop) in that all-sexy way of his, making sure not to avoid any women. Eventually, his trip led him to the "wealthy" sector of the town.
While passing a well-landscaped yard, (read: lottsa trees) a slight feminine gasp echoed behind him. Perfecting his smile and tossing his bangs back, Carlos turned to greet this new acquaintance, but then his jaw dropped in fear.
There before him stood literally hundreds of females, all with ghastly pale skin from sitting inside and playing Resident Evil 3 all day and night long. Their eyes were glazed, due to the countless hours these tortured souls spent at their computers, searching far and wide for fanfics and drool-worthy pictures. Dark circles hung under their eyes. Mostly teenagers were gathered in the yard, and countless pairs of eyes gaped at him, from blue to brown to hazel to emerald green. Drool hung from their mouths as they experienced seeing the hottie for the first time.
However, unlike zombies, who have deep voices and are slow, there-these DEMON women screamed, "CARLOS!!! CARLOS!!!!!!" as loud and high as possible, coming very close to shattering the neighboring houses' windows.
By the dozen, by the hundreds, more and more of these females poured into the yard and toward him at an alarming rate. All Carlos could do was run for his life and scream, "¡Mamá!"
The fangirls pursued, roused by the sight of his well-formed tush in action.
Carlos had finally run out of places to escape to. The choice was down to hiding in the mansion in front of him or standing here, and letting those THINGS pick him apart and who knows what else. "Heh, hard question," he mumbled to himself as he ducked into the large house and latched the door behind him. A sigh of relief escaped his lips.
A second look told him the mansion was deserted. Mail and bills clogged the mail chute on the front door to the point where nothing could fit through it. Being the wonderfully curious person he is, Carlos decided to explore.
The door he first opened was a bathroom. Neatly kept, albeit old-fashioned, with a claw-foot tub and the works. Sighing, he opened the next door in the entrance hall. Another bathroom. Confused, he threw open the next door, and a toilet stared right back at him. "These people must have had some serious incontinence problems," he mumbled as he broke into a run, running from room to room. All bathrooms. No kitchens, no bedrooms, no libraries, just commodes and sinks and showers and bathtubs.
Carlos was now sitting at the base of the stairs, wondering what to do next. One door remained closed. "Qué diablos (what the hell)," he sighed as he turned the doorknob and gasped.
Instead of a bathroom, it just so happened to be a safe room, complete with a large chest with creaky hinges, a cot, an old typewriter, and a bookshelf full of vaccines and serums and all of that stuff they're supposed to have.
"Just like Jill described it," Carlos laughed. However, the safe room didn't remain "safe" for long…
Carlos spun around to find hands emerging from the giant storage chest, engagement rings clutched in their fingers. He ran out of the room, but it was too late.
The fangirls surrounded our accented-friend and began to glomp and scream. Five minutes passed of Carlos fighting for his life and the girls fighting for him when all that military training pulled off and he managed to escape. Shirtless and with torn pants, Carlos ran out of the mansion and down the street. The fangirls, however, didn't pursue, but compared their findings.
"I got part of his shirt!"
"I got his shoe!"
"I stole his Rolex!"
"I got a chunk of his hair!"
One woman looked especially smug. "I didn't take anything," she said slyly, "But I did grope him!" That girl received high-fives.
Your most humble author, leader of C.O.C.O.A. (Cult Of Carlos Oliveira Association), held up her hand to signal silence. "Let us have a silent moment to honor the most glorified Carlos Oliveira."
All the fangirls present bowed their heads and closed their eyes. On most faces, however, a content smile remained.
Poor, poor Carlos was scarred for life.
THE END!!
Hi everyone! This has GOT to be the weirdest 'fic I've ever written, and as you'll notice I'm not good at humor. Send all compliments and CONSTRUCTIVE comments to karygurl@hotmail.com. All flames will result in my calling on Carlos and his firing his assault rifle on your sorry @$$. Thanks! ^.~ (This is also the first fanfic that I've finished in a year or two, AND my first RE fanfic. Wow, I must've broken a record or two there! Hehe…)
Oh yeah, the bathroom thing is actually sort of an inside joke, because you know that if you've played the first Resident Evil, there's only 2 or 3 bathrooms in the entire house. Dear lord, how LONG the lines must have been to use them! Not to mention the number of accidents that happened trying to get to one… Maybe THAT'S what caused the T-virus! ^^