LOLZ I love Shawn and Gus. They're hilarious. Just writing their banter is so much fun. So I give you pointless banter. XDDDD
Disclaimer: I do not own Gus, nor Shawn, nor root beer.
Gus walked into the office, glanced up, and froze.
What had to be thousands of brightly colored drinking straws formed some sort of demented spider's web in the Psych office. They were duct taped together to form one long straw that spiraled, dove, and loop-de-looped from a bottle of root beer on Gus' desk on one side of the room to where Shawn sat at the other end of the room, feet propped up on his desk with the other end in his mouth. He grinned when he spotted Gus and pulled the straw out of his mouth, pinching the end between his fingers so it wouldn't drip.
"Dude, how awesome is this?" he said, obviously delighted with himself.
"Shawn, are you insane? How am I supposed to get to my desk?" he demanded.
"Oh, don't be a baby, Gus. Pretend it's a laser field and you have to sneak through. Oooh, Mission: Impossible! I'll do the theme!" Shawn began humming the theme and Gus glared stonily at him.
"You're gonna clean this up."
"Oh, Gus! Come on! Have a sip! You kind of have to work at it, but how cool is it?!" Shawn exclaimed.
"It's not that cool, Shawn," Gus said petulantly, picking his way through the enormous straw to his desk.
Shawn smirked, "You wanna try it. You know you do."
Gus ignored him, sitting back in his chair and unfolding a newspaper.
"I even have a soda for you, dude," Shawn said, putting a bottle of root beer on his own desk and sticking the straw in it. "Go on! Try it!"
Gus ignored him for another full minute before the paper inched down and he glared at the straw in the bottle on his desk.
"Go on! Do it!" Shawn whispered, egging him on.
Finally, Gus sighed and refolded his paper, taking the straw from the bottle and taking a sip.
Nothing.
Shawn rolled his eyes. "Suck, Gus! Suck like you've never sucked before! It has to get all the way across the room!"
Gus glared at him, but sucked harder, his expression intensifying with the effort.
Shawn watched enthusiastically, cheering him on with the chant, "Suck like a Hoover, suck like a Hoover, suck like a Hoover!"
After almost two minutes of this, Gus pulled the straw irritably out of his mouth and said, "Shawn! This is stupid! It's not working!"
"It works! Now suck Gus!" he ordered.
Gus rolled his eyes and obeyed. Thirty seconds later root beer began haltingly flowing into his mouth. He nearly spit it out in surprise before he swallowed and pinched the end of the straw, exclaiming, "Oh my god, Shawn! It worked!"
"Dude, I told you! Isn't it totally wicked?!"
"That's amazing!" Gus marveled, taking another sip. "I think it tastes better!"
"It's because you have to work for it," Shawn said. "Okay, my turn!"
"What?! No way, Shawn! Your bottle is half empty! It's still my turn," he declared and pointedly took another drag.
Shawn raised an eyebrow and then plucked the end of the straw from the bottle. "Oops."
Gus' jaw dropped in astonishment. "I can't believe you just did that, Shawn! You're so immature!"
"I am rubber, you are glue, what ever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you."
"Oh. Oh, no you didn't. I know you are but what am I?"
"Your mo—"
"Don't go there, Shawn. I will break you," Gus warned.
Shawn smirked and put the straw in his mouth. Gus rolled his eyes, gave a long-suffering sigh, and put the straw back in the bottle.
Shawn always won.