I apologize in advance to those of you who love Justin Bieber, and I would like to say that if this is just plain lame, it's probably cuz I wrote it on the spur of the moment. Thanks for reading, and if there's anybody who cares, I will be updating The Disappearance and Captivity of Daphne Grimm very soon. And increasingly often, because after Friday I'm out of school!

Disclaimer: I do not own Puck, the Sisters Grimm, or Justin Bieber.

I am going to die of humiliation/lack of emotional stability/a whole lot of other crap. That little demon Grimm is going to pay for inflicting me with this awful virus – as soon as I can get my hormones under control long enough to consider my practical joking options. Some may ask, why is The Dreaded Puberty Virus so bad to deal with? Aren't I being a bit dramatic?

The answer is FREAK NO! Puberty is the most incredibly noxious affliction I've ever witnessed, and the first one I've ever experienced, since fairies AREN'T SUPPOSED TO GET SICK. But here I am, and this is the worst disease I've ever seen. Which is saying something, because I've been alive since long before the Black Plague. Rats have nothin' on this.

For starters, I get these horrible little pink and white bumps all over my face. They're so incredibly disgusting, which is awesome, but they hurt when I pop them, and they totally ruin my stunning good looks. Every time I walk by, that witch Grimm snickers at the big ol' honkers on my nose. What peeves me off is that while I have eighty bazillion little gross bumps on my skin, Little Miss Sorry Butt has none! She says it's because she uses this special face soap, but I'm not even going to consider soap. So I'm stuck with these hideous blemishes on my face. Where is the justice? Well, apparently not in a world that gave us Justin "Finally Going Through Puberty at Freakin' Sixteen Years Old" Bieber. Speaking of which, why is he even in music? I didn't know it was socially acceptable to say the same word over and over and over and call it a song. I mean, really, how hard is it to sing something besides "Baby, baby, baby?" And don't get me started on his voice. The kid is sixteen and just now singing below a soprano pitch. But I'm getting off topic, and I don't want to offend anybody (I'll get to that later, when I have more time and some Grade A glop grenades on hand), so I'll just continue.

Another thing is the mood swings. One minute I'm all happy and planning my next prank, and then suddenly I'm angry at the world and wishing I was dead! And then the next minute I get this inexplicable craving for cheese crackers with gummy bears and watermelons and chocolate chip cookies. But I'll get to that in the minute. To show you what I'm talking about, check out this example:

A RELATIVELY NORMAL DAY IN THE GRIMM HOUSEHOLD (OR SO YOU THINK):

Me: Hmmm…my plan is almost complete! Very soon I will have a brand new, absolutely horrible concoction to dump on Grimm's head! Could life be any better?

Grimm: You look like something died on your face, Mr. Pimples.

Me: WAAAAHHH! I hate the world! Nobody loves me! Why am I stuck on this dreadful, forsaken ball of doom and carbon dioxide?

Old Lady: Oh Puck, liebling, I made you some –

Me: GO AWAY! I HATE EVERYBODY! I want some cheese crackers! Ooh, and isn't there some of that leftover chocolate cobra spit cake down there? I bet we have some watermelons…oh, what a wonderful world it is! Hey, Old Lady, don't you just love being alive? I feel like singing! OOOOKLAHOMA WHERE THE WIND COMES SWEEPING DOWN THE PLAAAAAIIIN…

See what I'm talking about? That's just not me. I am supposed to be emotionally stable, absolutely diabolical, and a master trickster. I do not wail like a baby because Grimm calls me Mr. Pimples. Which is a lame insult, anyway. I think I'll buy Grimm a book of decent insults for Christmas. The rapid changing of moods makes me want to go rip off a pop star's head.

Also, the aforementioned incessant hunger. That seriously sucks. I mean, I can eat a whole bag of extra fatty, salty, wonderful potato chips, and then an hour later I go back for a tub of ultra-chunky snail slime ice cream! I'm never full, and eating just makes me want more! What up with that? I mean, I always eat a lot, but that's because I like food. Now, I have to eat every five minutes to keep from collapsing in on myself. If I were a girl like (which, thankfully, I am not, unlike Justin Bieber. Snicker, snicker) I would be an anorexic by now, because I would have gained about twenty thousand pounds from all the food I eat daily. Miss I Can Handle Puberty Better Than You is still as perfectly nonchalant as ever, though. Why did I get the monster appetite and she just sits there and munches on granola bars and little posers pretending to be peaches? She calls them 'nectarines'…

Also, I can't stop thinking about the dumbest thing of all: girls. I DON'T LIKE GIRLS! I was never meant to be attracted to anyone, but now I find myself staring at any creature with long hair and big eyes. One disturbing episode found me staring at a brunette on the TV screen, and she was an absolute angel from the back, but then she turned around and I discovered that she wasn't so great from the front…

Because it was actually Bo Bice. Who is a dude. Wow, I am screwed up. But the worst is when I find myself staring at – horror of horrors – Grimm. Can we say "Icky?" I mean, she's Sabrina Grimm! Ugly! That sorry butt kid I have to save from disaster time and time again! But she's got really shiny hair…and big blue eyes…and nice legs…whoa, whoa, whoa. Let's halt this little dreamboat for a second. Please excuse me while I ashamedly clean the drool off my shirt. It's the puberty talking, got it? Good.

So now you know why puberty totally sucks. Don't let yourself fall into the trap! Unless I get to push you in. Not only would that be more in character for me, but it would be really funny. Now I just have to find Justin Bieber and push him in.

Reeeevvviiieeeewww! I love opinions! And if you're getting out of school this week, give me an imaginary high five.