Disclaimer: Once upon a time there was a narrator who took it upon herself to screw up every story she could get her hands on. With complete and utter disregard for the opinions of others, authors and fans alike, she made it her mission to corrupt any good plot line or character development she had the means to. With the help of her tech-savvy computer and her skills of destroying anything she put her mind to, she quickly set to work on annoying the crap out of everybody. These are her stories.

It did not shock the Professor that he was once again the center of an elaborate plan to lure in the Powerpuff Girls in order to ultimately destroy them. It did shock him, however, when the plan worked.

It happened so quickly – the girls shattered the roof ruthlessly and descended from on high to save him – but it was over in a flash. And it went something like this:

"Why are we still doing this?" Bubbles asked in exasperation, flopping down onto the floor below her father. "I mean, this is, like, the billionth time we've swooped in to rescue the Professor. Aren't you guys getting tired of this?"

"We've rescued him 2,087 times, precisely," Buttercup iterated. She smoothed her dress and touched up her make-up in her hand mirror before continuing. "What is your point, sweetheart?"

"Well, I've about had it with all this flying back and forth to do the same damn thing every day and a half. I just wanna kick back and relax for the rest of my life."

"I know what you're suggesting," Blossom grinned evilly, "We kill the Professor. Life would be so much easier without that bag of mortal weakness getting in our way. And after we laser the crap out of him, we can go on a murder-spree and destroy the entire town! So much fun!" Blossom giggled incessantly until Bubbles silenced her.

"Stupid-head, what would killing him solve? Even if we destroyed Townsville, we'd still have to work our whole lives. There is no end except an end to us."

"Ah, so you mean that we should perform a cluster suicide to end our suffering," Buttercup said matter-of-factly. Bubbles nodded solemnly. "That's a brilliant idea, my love. Blossom, plan sound good?"

Blossom picked her nose absently. "Yeah, sure. Anything to shut Bubbles up. Let's go kill ourselves."

And so Professor Utonium watched as his three daughters violently killed themselves. Their lifeless bodies lay prostrate on the floor beneath him.

"Girls! Girls! No! You can't be dead! You just can't! Oh, my poor darlings!"

"Don't get hysterical. Geez, you act like you didn't expect this." A voice, at times high and at others deep, beckoned him from another room in the cave-like lair of this prison. "Come in and have dinner with me."

Professor Utonium didn't want to, but there was something in the allure of his tone that forced his feet forward. "Who-who are you?"

"I am Him." And so he was. Sliding into the room, the first thing Utonium noticed was the velvety shine of Him's so-called skin. The second thing he noticed was his naked crotch.

"Oh my!" the Professor exclaimed, raising a hand to cover his eyes. But the longer he looked, the harder he found it to pry his eyes from the source of his ebbing discomfort.

"Don't fight it, Professor; you don't have to resist for your girls anymore. You are finally a free man."

He struggled to breath, struggled to push words through his salivating lips. "Are you implying that I want you?"

"Search your pants, Professor – you know it to be true."

And Him was right, for beneath his pants throbbed the lust of a warrior, of a lover who had been repressed far too long. Slowly he began to strip, his clothes dropping of his shoulders with the weight of the world with them. Everything that had kept him from happiness – the rules of society, his needy children, the callous hand of virtue – all of it hit the floor with his final article of repression. Feeling lighter than a breeze, he floated into Him's waiting arms.

The two men kissed, forgetting their societal roles and just caressing each other in the sanctity of this hidden cavern lit by a bodiless warm glow.

But when they stumbled into the bedroom, Utonium began to doubt. "This is wrong," he whispered, holding Him close and yet not close enough. "I'm good. You're evil. We can't love each other – it's a crime against nature."

And then Him began to sing: "If you are chilly, here take my sweater. Your head is aching, I'll make it better. Cause I love the way you call me baby. And you take me the way I am."

Utonium was stunned speechless. "Your singing is so beautiful. It has shown me the light – I know now that it is okay to love you, if only in secret, for our fellow Townies would never understand our love."

Him sobbed, let out a single tear. "Be we doomed to thrive in secret, to hate in the light of day and love under cover of night, I would gladly prefer it to not loving you at all."

"You are so eloquent. I never knew how much soul you had behind your cold, black eyes." And they delve back into their kissing, into a passion so foreign to them that even the narrator could not describe it, for they had shunned her from the room.

But know this, faithful reader: the Professor and Him lived happily ever after. At least until I decide to kill them later.

In a few hours the sun will rise.

The End