Disclaimer: We totally own Sailor Moon. Like, seriously. every episode and the movies. All of it. eBay, yo.
The Power of Love
Dopey Was The Only Dwarf Without A Beard
Ami looked at the math equation and wept.
"IF AMI CAN SOLVE IT NO ONE CAN!!" Usagi and someone random screamed at thew same time.
Everyone blinked loudly.
"I mean... If anyone can solve it, Ami can."
Sitting in her desk at the corner of the room, Rei prayed to strange Shinto gods. She was, after all a pagan whore, I mean heathan.
Ami's mind was a misty haze of Mercury Bubble Splash, "Bubbles, bubbles, my bubbles." The night before came back to her in a misty memory.
Misty water-coloured memories, of the way we were...
Everyone screamed and ran from their desks as a bear burst through the door.
Mr. Mamoru, the teacher, coughed loudly, "They can smell the menstration."
After they had finished running from the bear, they started walking down the hallway, Ami with her cane. Minako, Makoto, and Dr. Foreman, followed her, their hands shoved into their labcoats as they walked down the hallway. They walked down the hallway to the background music of The Power of Love.
Suddenly, Principal Beryl ate a whole pizza and three quarters of another one while Ami commented on how low-cut her shirt was today.
Principal Beryl growled, "I don't take wardrobe advice from crippled drug-addicts."
Ami popped another vicotin and rolled in the hay, in her mind.
But oh. How the memories be hauntin'.
The janitor's closet's door flew open suddenly, and Snape and Dumbledore fell across the floor, their limbs and hair intermixing like blood on the tile floor. Because they had sex. In the closet, with the candlestick. And smoked a cigarette.
And it was grrrrrreeeeat.
Disclaimer: We don't own Finding Nemo, Barbara Streisand, Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgandy, HOUSE, Harry Potter, Clue, or Tony the Tiger. We just own France, which is infested with gay. Don't breathe the air there; you'll catch the gay.
A/N: I like France. Do you, Pat?
Um...Sorry, I didn't catch that, I was washing my hair.
Oh, I you didn't look like it. Sorry for interrupting you.
That's OK, Ima. I do not feel the need to comment on France at this point, for I fear I may be marauded by our French fans.
Aha. French people don't speak English. Haha.
Oh, that's right. They hate America anyway!
What?! Sure, ok. Anyway, a million's comments.
Wasn't Knive's first name Million? Wasn't it?
Sure.
AND A MYSTERY WAS FORMED, but kind of not. Until next time, folk. We must leave you, for we find our prey approaching. He wears pink pants. We call him Elton... John.
