As some of you may have read on my profile, I do Tech Support for an ISP. This is a job that requires an enormous amount of patience and tolerance for idiots. (Yes folks, I'm only 19 and I'm already as bitter as a 90 year old man. Get a job doing Tech Support and you too can be just as bitter!!) One day I had an inspiration, and this is the result.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, so don't sue!! Lawyers everywhere: Shucks, another one slips by.
If the Gundam Wing Guys did tech support...
Heero
The pilot of Zero One sits in a dark room, the glow of his monitor the only source of light playing across his face. Patiently he waits, still and silent with his eyes closed for the first call of help. After an hour, during which Heero hasn't budged, the phone rings. Heero picks up the reciever, and in his monotone voice...
Heero: Hello?
Random customer: Hi, my name is Joe, I've been a customer for several years. (For some reason, most of my customers tell me this useless piece of info, as if that will make them special in my eyes. Well, it doesn't.) I can't get my email to work. Can you fix it?
Heero: Mission Accepted. What program are you using to check your mail?
Joe: Umm, I think it's Windows 195. (Die Bill, Die!!)
Heero: No, that is your operating system. Do you use a program like Outlook, Eudora, or Netscape Communicator to check your mail?
Joe: I use Internet Explorer, but it's not working.
Heero(already looking in the customer list for this poor fool's address, copying vital information onto his "People to Kill" list): And is there anything unusual about IE, can you go to any websites?
Joe: No, I tried that after I saw my mail wasn't working.
Heero: Alright, it looks like the problem may not be with your email, but with your connection to the internet. How do you connect to the internet?
Joe: With my computer. I click on IE and it opens to Microsoft's home page.
Heero(after adding a special "Terminate with EXTREME prejudice" note to his list): Let me rephrase that: What company provides your connection to the internet?
Joe: Dell. That's what it says on the front of my computer.
Heero(trying to send a Death Glare through the phone line): Why don't you give them a call. I checked your account status here, and you only use us for email. We can't help you if you aren't using our services.
Joe: Why can't I find someone who can help me?
Heero(suddenly smiling): Tell you what. After I finish this shift, I will personally come over and take care of the problem.
Joe: Great! Do you need directions?
Heero(a full-blown grin on his face by now, which means BIG trouble is ahead): No, I already have your address from your account. I will be there by 5:30.
Joe: Oh, okay. Thanks! *click*
The next day, all the news stations and papers record the tragedy of a man who died a horrible, gruesome death while tied to his computer chair by his mouse cord. Experts were stumped when they realized that the computer in front of him was working perfectly, and was the only object in the entire room that hadn't been scorched by an apparent bombing.
Duo
Sitting in front of his computer, (which is covered in pictures of Deathscythe and Hilde, along with a model of Shinigami's gundam seated atop his monitor) Duo patiently awaits his first call of the day. This lasts all of two seconds. He becomes bored, and brings up IE to surf the web while waiting. With one hand occupied with the search for fun stuff, the other hand is free to move down below the desktop (cut it out Hentais, your power is useless here!) to his bag of tricks. (Let me finish!!) Reaching into one of the pockets, he starts pulling out a sandwich. (See! BAD HENTAIS!) He begins eating, and as one end of the sandwich begins to disappear into the bottomless maw that is Duo's stomach, we see more and more of the sandwich appear from the bag. This continues for about fifteen minutes, with Duo inhaling one end of the sub, the other end having yet to appear from hammerspace. Finally, after roughly ten feet of food, the other end is seen emerging from Duo's backpack before disappearing into his digestive system. Many people wonder if there is a piece of hammerspace located within Duo, but the exploration of that shall not be conducted in this fic, as I've already digressed WAAY too far.
*Anyway*, shortly after consuming that light snack, the phone rings and Duo swings into action.
Duo: Yeah?
Second Random Customer(henceforth known as SRC, till I can dream up a name): Uhh, is this Tech support?
Duo: Yeah, sorry. What's the problem?
SRC: Well, I can't get any messages! I tell the program to get the messages and it sits there!
Duo: Lemme check your account. What's the address and password?
SRC: It's QueenR@rlc.net, and the password is QueenR.
Duo: Hn. Great security you have there. Lesse, it's coming up and...Oh! Looks like someone sent you a really big message! I'd bet good money that that's the problem. Y'see, email programs are meant for sending *messages*, not giant files! I can fix the problem, but it means deleting that message. Would you like to know what it is so you can decide?
SRC: Yeah, who sent it?
Duo: The address is PrevWind@cornerstone.net. The subject is RE:My True Love.
SRC: Oh, that's my brother! (Guess what that makes this person!) That must be the picture of He-I mean, my boyfriend, that Mill-my brother sent me. You CAN'T delete that message!
Duo: Well, If I don't delete it, then I can't make your account work. Either way, won't be able to get it.
SRC(alright, we all know it's her): Well, how am I supposed to get it then?
Duo: Get Zechs to either FTP it or put it on a Zip disk and MAIL it to you! Those are the only ways you'll ever see that picture of Heero. Did I guess those names right, Relena?
Relena: FINE! Delete the thing. I *will* get it from Milliardo one way or another.
Duo: Whatever. It's gone. Try checking your mail and see if it works.
Relena: Ok, but I only have one phone line. I can't check right now. (Common problem for me)
Duo: It's simple. We hang up, then you try checking your messages. If it works, good. If it doesn't, call me back.
Relena: Oh, I get it! Thanks! *click*
Duo: I can't believe anyone can be that dumb. Hey Heero!
Heero: What?
Duo: Your stalker just tried getting a file from Zechs about you! Some kinda pic or video, but I couldn't tell. It got stuck in the server, and I deleted it for her.
Heero: Thanks. I don't know how she could've gotten Zechs to do her dirty work, though.
Duo: Ah, well, it just means you have to be more careful.
Trowa
Trowa sits quietly (as if he does *anything* loud to begin with) and waits for a call, calmly reading a book. He has to hold the book waay off to the side to see it with both eyes, but he manages. When the phone rings, he sets the book aside and answers. We can peer over his shoulder to see the title, "Names for Children." Apparently he has grown tired of being called Nanashi. (again, that's a possible fic for later, before I go off again)
Trowa: Hello?
Third Random Customer(TRC for now, you can bet how my naming plan is going): I can't get to the web!
Trowa: Account name and password.
TRC: I just got a new account, and my account name should be "randomguy", and my password is "shoutingITSAGUNDAM", and the ITSAGUNDAM part is all capital letters.
Trowa: I take it you're one of our victims?
TRC: Well, yeah. I don't get it, I actually survived.
Trowa(sends a quick message to Heero, subject "We Missed One!"): Alright, let me check the account. Hn, it looks like the entire password was in caps. Try it now.
TRC: Ok, thanks! *click*
Heero walks into Trowa's cubicle, and Trowa spins his chair around to look at him.
Heero: I got your message. Who did we miss?
Trowa: One of those guys who are *supposed* to die right after yelling "It's a Gundam!" I know you hate to leave a mission unfinished, so I have his address here. Have fun.
Heero: Mission Accepted.
As before, the poor fool is found dead the next day, squished flat in his front yard in what appears to be the footprint of a mobile suit. In the dirt next to the corpse, a sign reads: It's a Gundam! When one official looks into the front window, he sees the computer connected to the internet, displaying a webpage devoted to images of gundams.
Wufei
As Wufei sits in the lotus position in his chair, smoke from burning incense curls around the small Nataku shrine atop his monitor. As he ponders the meaning of life as an ally of justice, the phone rings...
Wufei: Yes?
FRC: Hello, I'd like to set up a new account please.
Wufei: Very well. I'll need your name, address and phone number.
After the fourth random customer gives this information, I decide to call him Philionel di Saillune. (Slayers character)
Wufei: Alright, I need you to come up with a name and password to access the internet.
Philionel(call him Phil): Alright, the name should be Justice, and...
Wufei(Duck everyone, it's a battle of the Justice Freaks!!):KISAMAA! That has already been claimed by me!
Phil: Well then, what about JUSTICE, all capitol letters?
Wufei: Taken.
Phil: JuStIcE?
Wufei: Also taken.
Phil: jUsTiCe?
Wufei: Nope, that one's taken too.
Phil: Hammerofjustice?
Wufei: Let me check...taken.
Phil: Well then, what ISN'T taken?
Wufei: Onna hasn't been taken.
Phil: No thanks. I mean, is there anything justice-related that hasn't been taken?
Wufei: No, I have already checked. Even Injustice has been taken.
Phil: Well, I dont want that one anyway. What about KnightofJustice?
Wufei(after writing that one down and circling it): Sorry.
Phil: Argh! I give up! I'll go with AOL then. *click*
Wufei hangs up as well, then opens up the admin software and sets up an account for himself called KnightofJustice...
Quatre
(Please pardon any butchering of the Magunauc name. I honestly don't know if I got it right. And yes, I know Quatre's got a @#$%-load of cash, but I don't care!) Sitting in his cubicle, sipping contentedly from a cup of tea, the pilot of Sandrock waits for a customer to call. Surrounding him are all forty members of the Magunauc Corps, crammed like clowns in the cubicle. Apparently, they've learned quite a bit from Trowa. Various members are either fanning Master Quatre, giving him a manicure, and massaging his shoulders while he waits. (Try picturing 41 people in a cubicle. Average cubicle size: 6 feet by 5)
The phone rings, and before Quatre can even set his teacup on its saucer, a random Magunauc snatches the reciever.
Random Magunauc: Tech support.
5th RC: Yeah, I think I got a virus on my computer.
RM: What makes you think so?
5th RC: Well, whenever I try to open Word 195, I get a screen that pops up and demonic laughter starts playing. I can't make it stop unless I turn off the computer.
RM: Well, I think you're right. You should take your computer to a technician.
5th RC: What about you? Aren't you a tech guy?
RM(While dodging away from Quatre, who is trying to do *his* job): We only handle email problems, setting up accounts, and connecting to the internet.
5th RC: Dammit! I was told you could help! You're a techie, fix it!
RM(Now scrambling away from Quatre as the gundam pilot pulls out a pair of human-sized heat shortels, Zero Look{tm} in his eye): Look, all I can do is offer advice. Take your computer to a licensed technician, have them remove the virus, and buy yourself an anti-virus program. Don't forget to update your anti-virus software at least once a week. If you'll excuse me, I have another caller on the line.
5th RC: Fine. See if I ever sign up with you. *click*
The random Magunauc hangs up, turns around and announces: "That guy wasn't even a customer, can you believe that?!"
Quatre breaks loose from the other thirty-nine Magunaucs that are restraining him and yells: "GET OUT! This is *MY* job, and I can't do it if one of you keeps getting the phone before I can!"
The entire Magunauc Corps exchange worried glances between themselves and then all look at the floor.
Rashid: We're sorry, Master Quatre. But we did pledge to stand by you and protect you at all costs. That man might have yelled at you if he (points at the Magunauc who answered the phone) hadn't sacrificed himself.
Quatre(under his breath): And people wonder why I seem like such a wimp. These guys 'protect' me from everything! (Raises his voice so the others can hear) Okay, if you are all going to be in my way every step I take, then you're ALL FIRED!!!
All forty men collapse. With their one reason to live gone, (worshiping and protecting Master Quatre) they seem to wither away and die. Abdul (the sunglass-wearing one, right?) jumps up with a gleam in his eye.
Abdul: We don't work for you! You don't pay us, remember. We get our funds from the Gundam Scientists. (Wild speculation folks, don't quote me on this later) You can't fire us!
With that, the other 39 men jump up with glee.
Other random Magunauc: Yay! We still get to serve Master Quatre!
All Magunauc: Hip Hip Hurray!
They then do begin celebrating, dancing, and generally partying like crazy. Amazingly enough, all of this is still done within the tiny cubicle.
**************************
Back in the Featureless White Room...
Phelan: Well, what did you think?
Konoko: I can't believe you did that. How dumb can you get?
Phelan: Well, you should see the people I deal with everyday over the phone. You'd be surprised.
Konoko: Ugh. Forget I asked. And how the hell did you get forty-one men crammed into a tiny cubicle?
Phelan: Sore wa himitsu desu!
A young lady with golden hair and a long white dress pops out of nowhere and wallops Phelan with Very Large Mace(tm). As he goes flying off into the whiteness of the room, we hear his voice echoing back...
Phelan: REEEEVIIIIEEEEW!!!
The golden-haired woman disappears back into nowhere, and Konoko just stands there, shaking her head.
Konoko: Why me? I could have been a muse for some nice little 14-year old girl who likes writing drama, but NOOOOOO. I have to get stuck with some half-crazed (Make that fully-crazed, Konoko) 19-year old psychopathic freak with a sick sense of humor. I'm sorry, but anyone who understands Douglas Adams, Monty Python, AND Mr. Bean is certainly in need of some therapy.
Phelan(snaps himself back at Konoko's side): Now, now. Surely I must have some good qualities?
Konoko: Well, at least you haven't done anything hentai. You're horrible at it.
Phelan: Oh, yeah? C'mere!!
Konoko: EEP!! Gotta go. Besides, this this thing has dragged on long enough. Review, please!
Disclaimer: I own nothing, so don't sue!! Lawyers everywhere: Shucks, another one slips by.
If the Gundam Wing Guys did tech support...
Heero
The pilot of Zero One sits in a dark room, the glow of his monitor the only source of light playing across his face. Patiently he waits, still and silent with his eyes closed for the first call of help. After an hour, during which Heero hasn't budged, the phone rings. Heero picks up the reciever, and in his monotone voice...
Heero: Hello?
Random customer: Hi, my name is Joe, I've been a customer for several years. (For some reason, most of my customers tell me this useless piece of info, as if that will make them special in my eyes. Well, it doesn't.) I can't get my email to work. Can you fix it?
Heero: Mission Accepted. What program are you using to check your mail?
Joe: Umm, I think it's Windows 195. (Die Bill, Die!!)
Heero: No, that is your operating system. Do you use a program like Outlook, Eudora, or Netscape Communicator to check your mail?
Joe: I use Internet Explorer, but it's not working.
Heero(already looking in the customer list for this poor fool's address, copying vital information onto his "People to Kill" list): And is there anything unusual about IE, can you go to any websites?
Joe: No, I tried that after I saw my mail wasn't working.
Heero: Alright, it looks like the problem may not be with your email, but with your connection to the internet. How do you connect to the internet?
Joe: With my computer. I click on IE and it opens to Microsoft's home page.
Heero(after adding a special "Terminate with EXTREME prejudice" note to his list): Let me rephrase that: What company provides your connection to the internet?
Joe: Dell. That's what it says on the front of my computer.
Heero(trying to send a Death Glare through the phone line): Why don't you give them a call. I checked your account status here, and you only use us for email. We can't help you if you aren't using our services.
Joe: Why can't I find someone who can help me?
Heero(suddenly smiling): Tell you what. After I finish this shift, I will personally come over and take care of the problem.
Joe: Great! Do you need directions?
Heero(a full-blown grin on his face by now, which means BIG trouble is ahead): No, I already have your address from your account. I will be there by 5:30.
Joe: Oh, okay. Thanks! *click*
The next day, all the news stations and papers record the tragedy of a man who died a horrible, gruesome death while tied to his computer chair by his mouse cord. Experts were stumped when they realized that the computer in front of him was working perfectly, and was the only object in the entire room that hadn't been scorched by an apparent bombing.
Duo
Sitting in front of his computer, (which is covered in pictures of Deathscythe and Hilde, along with a model of Shinigami's gundam seated atop his monitor) Duo patiently awaits his first call of the day. This lasts all of two seconds. He becomes bored, and brings up IE to surf the web while waiting. With one hand occupied with the search for fun stuff, the other hand is free to move down below the desktop (cut it out Hentais, your power is useless here!) to his bag of tricks. (Let me finish!!) Reaching into one of the pockets, he starts pulling out a sandwich. (See! BAD HENTAIS!) He begins eating, and as one end of the sandwich begins to disappear into the bottomless maw that is Duo's stomach, we see more and more of the sandwich appear from the bag. This continues for about fifteen minutes, with Duo inhaling one end of the sub, the other end having yet to appear from hammerspace. Finally, after roughly ten feet of food, the other end is seen emerging from Duo's backpack before disappearing into his digestive system. Many people wonder if there is a piece of hammerspace located within Duo, but the exploration of that shall not be conducted in this fic, as I've already digressed WAAY too far.
*Anyway*, shortly after consuming that light snack, the phone rings and Duo swings into action.
Duo: Yeah?
Second Random Customer(henceforth known as SRC, till I can dream up a name): Uhh, is this Tech support?
Duo: Yeah, sorry. What's the problem?
SRC: Well, I can't get any messages! I tell the program to get the messages and it sits there!
Duo: Lemme check your account. What's the address and password?
SRC: It's QueenR@rlc.net, and the password is QueenR.
Duo: Hn. Great security you have there. Lesse, it's coming up and...Oh! Looks like someone sent you a really big message! I'd bet good money that that's the problem. Y'see, email programs are meant for sending *messages*, not giant files! I can fix the problem, but it means deleting that message. Would you like to know what it is so you can decide?
SRC: Yeah, who sent it?
Duo: The address is PrevWind@cornerstone.net. The subject is RE:My True Love.
SRC: Oh, that's my brother! (Guess what that makes this person!) That must be the picture of He-I mean, my boyfriend, that Mill-my brother sent me. You CAN'T delete that message!
Duo: Well, If I don't delete it, then I can't make your account work. Either way, won't be able to get it.
SRC(alright, we all know it's her): Well, how am I supposed to get it then?
Duo: Get Zechs to either FTP it or put it on a Zip disk and MAIL it to you! Those are the only ways you'll ever see that picture of Heero. Did I guess those names right, Relena?
Relena: FINE! Delete the thing. I *will* get it from Milliardo one way or another.
Duo: Whatever. It's gone. Try checking your mail and see if it works.
Relena: Ok, but I only have one phone line. I can't check right now. (Common problem for me)
Duo: It's simple. We hang up, then you try checking your messages. If it works, good. If it doesn't, call me back.
Relena: Oh, I get it! Thanks! *click*
Duo: I can't believe anyone can be that dumb. Hey Heero!
Heero: What?
Duo: Your stalker just tried getting a file from Zechs about you! Some kinda pic or video, but I couldn't tell. It got stuck in the server, and I deleted it for her.
Heero: Thanks. I don't know how she could've gotten Zechs to do her dirty work, though.
Duo: Ah, well, it just means you have to be more careful.
Trowa
Trowa sits quietly (as if he does *anything* loud to begin with) and waits for a call, calmly reading a book. He has to hold the book waay off to the side to see it with both eyes, but he manages. When the phone rings, he sets the book aside and answers. We can peer over his shoulder to see the title, "Names for Children." Apparently he has grown tired of being called Nanashi. (again, that's a possible fic for later, before I go off again)
Trowa: Hello?
Third Random Customer(TRC for now, you can bet how my naming plan is going): I can't get to the web!
Trowa: Account name and password.
TRC: I just got a new account, and my account name should be "randomguy", and my password is "shoutingITSAGUNDAM", and the ITSAGUNDAM part is all capital letters.
Trowa: I take it you're one of our victims?
TRC: Well, yeah. I don't get it, I actually survived.
Trowa(sends a quick message to Heero, subject "We Missed One!"): Alright, let me check the account. Hn, it looks like the entire password was in caps. Try it now.
TRC: Ok, thanks! *click*
Heero walks into Trowa's cubicle, and Trowa spins his chair around to look at him.
Heero: I got your message. Who did we miss?
Trowa: One of those guys who are *supposed* to die right after yelling "It's a Gundam!" I know you hate to leave a mission unfinished, so I have his address here. Have fun.
Heero: Mission Accepted.
As before, the poor fool is found dead the next day, squished flat in his front yard in what appears to be the footprint of a mobile suit. In the dirt next to the corpse, a sign reads: It's a Gundam! When one official looks into the front window, he sees the computer connected to the internet, displaying a webpage devoted to images of gundams.
Wufei
As Wufei sits in the lotus position in his chair, smoke from burning incense curls around the small Nataku shrine atop his monitor. As he ponders the meaning of life as an ally of justice, the phone rings...
Wufei: Yes?
FRC: Hello, I'd like to set up a new account please.
Wufei: Very well. I'll need your name, address and phone number.
After the fourth random customer gives this information, I decide to call him Philionel di Saillune. (Slayers character)
Wufei: Alright, I need you to come up with a name and password to access the internet.
Philionel(call him Phil): Alright, the name should be Justice, and...
Wufei(Duck everyone, it's a battle of the Justice Freaks!!):KISAMAA! That has already been claimed by me!
Phil: Well then, what about JUSTICE, all capitol letters?
Wufei: Taken.
Phil: JuStIcE?
Wufei: Also taken.
Phil: jUsTiCe?
Wufei: Nope, that one's taken too.
Phil: Hammerofjustice?
Wufei: Let me check...taken.
Phil: Well then, what ISN'T taken?
Wufei: Onna hasn't been taken.
Phil: No thanks. I mean, is there anything justice-related that hasn't been taken?
Wufei: No, I have already checked. Even Injustice has been taken.
Phil: Well, I dont want that one anyway. What about KnightofJustice?
Wufei(after writing that one down and circling it): Sorry.
Phil: Argh! I give up! I'll go with AOL then. *click*
Wufei hangs up as well, then opens up the admin software and sets up an account for himself called KnightofJustice...
Quatre
(Please pardon any butchering of the Magunauc name. I honestly don't know if I got it right. And yes, I know Quatre's got a @#$%-load of cash, but I don't care!) Sitting in his cubicle, sipping contentedly from a cup of tea, the pilot of Sandrock waits for a customer to call. Surrounding him are all forty members of the Magunauc Corps, crammed like clowns in the cubicle. Apparently, they've learned quite a bit from Trowa. Various members are either fanning Master Quatre, giving him a manicure, and massaging his shoulders while he waits. (Try picturing 41 people in a cubicle. Average cubicle size: 6 feet by 5)
The phone rings, and before Quatre can even set his teacup on its saucer, a random Magunauc snatches the reciever.
Random Magunauc: Tech support.
5th RC: Yeah, I think I got a virus on my computer.
RM: What makes you think so?
5th RC: Well, whenever I try to open Word 195, I get a screen that pops up and demonic laughter starts playing. I can't make it stop unless I turn off the computer.
RM: Well, I think you're right. You should take your computer to a technician.
5th RC: What about you? Aren't you a tech guy?
RM(While dodging away from Quatre, who is trying to do *his* job): We only handle email problems, setting up accounts, and connecting to the internet.
5th RC: Dammit! I was told you could help! You're a techie, fix it!
RM(Now scrambling away from Quatre as the gundam pilot pulls out a pair of human-sized heat shortels, Zero Look{tm} in his eye): Look, all I can do is offer advice. Take your computer to a licensed technician, have them remove the virus, and buy yourself an anti-virus program. Don't forget to update your anti-virus software at least once a week. If you'll excuse me, I have another caller on the line.
5th RC: Fine. See if I ever sign up with you. *click*
The random Magunauc hangs up, turns around and announces: "That guy wasn't even a customer, can you believe that?!"
Quatre breaks loose from the other thirty-nine Magunaucs that are restraining him and yells: "GET OUT! This is *MY* job, and I can't do it if one of you keeps getting the phone before I can!"
The entire Magunauc Corps exchange worried glances between themselves and then all look at the floor.
Rashid: We're sorry, Master Quatre. But we did pledge to stand by you and protect you at all costs. That man might have yelled at you if he (points at the Magunauc who answered the phone) hadn't sacrificed himself.
Quatre(under his breath): And people wonder why I seem like such a wimp. These guys 'protect' me from everything! (Raises his voice so the others can hear) Okay, if you are all going to be in my way every step I take, then you're ALL FIRED!!!
All forty men collapse. With their one reason to live gone, (worshiping and protecting Master Quatre) they seem to wither away and die. Abdul (the sunglass-wearing one, right?) jumps up with a gleam in his eye.
Abdul: We don't work for you! You don't pay us, remember. We get our funds from the Gundam Scientists. (Wild speculation folks, don't quote me on this later) You can't fire us!
With that, the other 39 men jump up with glee.
Other random Magunauc: Yay! We still get to serve Master Quatre!
All Magunauc: Hip Hip Hurray!
They then do begin celebrating, dancing, and generally partying like crazy. Amazingly enough, all of this is still done within the tiny cubicle.
**************************
Back in the Featureless White Room...
Phelan: Well, what did you think?
Konoko: I can't believe you did that. How dumb can you get?
Phelan: Well, you should see the people I deal with everyday over the phone. You'd be surprised.
Konoko: Ugh. Forget I asked. And how the hell did you get forty-one men crammed into a tiny cubicle?
Phelan: Sore wa himitsu desu!
A young lady with golden hair and a long white dress pops out of nowhere and wallops Phelan with Very Large Mace(tm). As he goes flying off into the whiteness of the room, we hear his voice echoing back...
Phelan: REEEEVIIIIEEEEW!!!
The golden-haired woman disappears back into nowhere, and Konoko just stands there, shaking her head.
Konoko: Why me? I could have been a muse for some nice little 14-year old girl who likes writing drama, but NOOOOOO. I have to get stuck with some half-crazed (Make that fully-crazed, Konoko) 19-year old psychopathic freak with a sick sense of humor. I'm sorry, but anyone who understands Douglas Adams, Monty Python, AND Mr. Bean is certainly in need of some therapy.
Phelan(snaps himself back at Konoko's side): Now, now. Surely I must have some good qualities?
Konoko: Well, at least you haven't done anything hentai. You're horrible at it.
Phelan: Oh, yeah? C'mere!!
Konoko: EEP!! Gotta go. Besides, this this thing has dragged on long enough. Review, please!