Disclaimer: Chewed gum is sticky. The placing of it in one's hair may result in an undesirable situation.


Light Yagami was not amused. At the front of the room, a balding middle aged man was giving a lecture. God, Light scowled, Can these people be anymore suckish? It's no wonder I always feel like I want to lecture them into next week… They can't even master basic English, not to mention hair care!

Light was not your average high school student, and what was more was that everyone knew it. There was just something about him that made everyone know that on a win scale of one to ten, where one was that dweeb who ate lunch in the bathroom and ten was a mosh pit made of Skittles, Light was infinity plus one. Yeah, plus, not minus, you bastard physicists.

Whether it was his amazingly perfect hair, his scintillating wit, or his ability to divide by zero, Light was everything any guy could want to be. Because of that, people were more than willing to forgive him for some of his more eccentric qualities, like his insistence that the truth was too much for them, his belief that astrophysicists deserved to be ridiculed, and the way his eyes would sometimes flash red.

But then again, he was the top student in the nation, so maybe that truthiness thing of his did have something going for it.

Sometimes, Light felt like being admired by everyone who ever existed just wasn't enough. Like during his English class, when he was once again reminded that even though people had the right idea about worshiping his existence, he wasn't sure if he even wanted such utter imbeciles to even be around him.

After all, stupidity was contagious.

Light, however, was working on a solution to that problem. Long ago, after he had decided that the only position worthy of a being such as himself was Dictator of the World, Light had experienced an epiphany.

People, Light had thought, suck. Most of them are stupid, and more of them are ugly. I don't want to rule over stupid, ugly people. I want to rule over un-boring interesting people who look like they don't have STDs.

This quandary had stayed with him for quite a while, until one day, as he lounged on the couch while his younger sister squealed about something on the television, he realized what it is was that had been going wrong all this time, and he finally knew how the world could be made a good and happy place.

His sister had clapped as a rather windswept conservative who was screaming something about the charges being a lie, and that he had never raped and murdered a young girl in 1990 was dragged away by a few very nice looking men with white coats. Light had frowned.

Wait… Rape? Should Sayu be watching this? Not that he cared much, but his mother could have been watching, and he always tried to give a good face for the parentals.

Then another man had showed up, claiming he was the Beck guy's therapist, and that he was only trying to help, and that no client of his was a rapist, and how did the men in white coats feel about that?

A therapist! Light sat up with a jolt as his sister chucked her sippy-cup at the screen. That's it! I know what I have to do… I shall become a therapist for the world, until its filled with people who aren't complete idiots, and then I shall rule it!

After Light had gotten over his maniacal diatribe, he slowly pet his sisters feather-stuffed Doritos plushie, because his mother was too allergic to let him have a cat or some kind of hamster for his dramatic moments, and because Doritos were one of the few things he could say yes to. His sister had started out with a stuffed bear, but his parents had learned the hard way about letting enemies into the after he had gently explained the threat down to them.

Who ever said you couldn't teach old dogs new tricks?

Either way, Light now knew what he had to do. In order to make the world not so much of a horrible place so that he could rule it happily, he would become the world's first World Therapist. He even knew how he would do it, and it really was for their own good anyway, so he wouldn't even have to feel bad for it.

He would go around to every person who needed his help - which was really every person - and tell them exactly what was wrong them, every chance he could, so that they would understand that they were horrible, fix it, and become a better person.

In hindsight, Light sighed as he pretended to listen to his teacher, that wasn't my best plan. But I've spent too much time on it already, so there's no time left to pick a new one. I'll just have to tough it out and get some expendable minions to do the grunt work. How I would kill for some minions…

Suddenly, sensing a minor disturbance in the force, he looked out the window. The fuck? He thought. A black notebook had fallen to the ground.

As soon as the class had ended, Light walked up to the notebook. "A 'Death Note'?" Light frowned. "Hell… why's it in English? No one here besides me is smart enough to want to struggle through something like this if not for class. Is this another one of those projects for psychology? I didn't want to have to deal with a baby Flour bag, but… Maybe I should have taken psychology. If I'm stuck learning about Romeo while those dorks get to read shit like this, something definitely is wrong with the world."

A group of nearby students edged away slightly as Light's eyes flashed red. They had known him long enough to readily embrace the forgive and forget policy when it came to him and his monologues and knew that the best thing to do in a situation like this was to pretend to be either deaf, blind, dumb, stupid, or foreign. Despite their attending the same school as Light for at least a decade, Light never seemed to notice or care about their temporary ailments… Mysterious.

Shrugging nonchalantly, because Light liked to pretend his rants at the sky were normal, Light skipped his way home. "Let's see," The black cover of the notebook opened up to reveal a list of rules. "Oh pooh. Like I need this. I make the rules, I don't follow them."

Then, because even though he was as OCD as the master Monk himself, Light just couldn't stand for someone defying his authority. He whipped out a magic marker and proceeded to perform his own special brand of vandalism.

"Let's see," Light muttered, squinting his red flashing eyes. His mother had tried to make him get glasses, but glasses were for losers and contacts were for masochists. Like hell he was sticking things in his eyes on a daily basis! His momma didn't raise no fool.

"The human whose name is written in here shall die… This will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in mind… If the cause of death is not written within forty seconds… Yadda yadda yadda." Light gave the rules one last disgusted look before liberally covering them with magical ink as black as he liked his coffee - which would be a medium cream, because black coffee tasted like some real bad fucking shit, and like he already stated, he wasn't some sort of masochist.

Anyway, soon the page was more of a… well, let's just no more. Light stared at it for a few moments, one eyebrow raised. "Are you shitting me?" Light snorted. "A mysterious book falls from the sky and talks about magically killing people, and I don't even get to talk to a sexy young Christian Coulson?"

Flipping to the next page of the book, Light stared irritably at it. "Now let's see. I bet I can summarize those rules way better than whatever joker thought up this whole thing could." And he did. Except better. Without the crummy specifics and in secret code so that only he could understand in his… genius. Yeah. Genius.

The notebook read as follows. "Know thy name and face, dipshit, cuz if UR gonna kill some1 U better know that much. Humans only, fags + UR mom Rn't included. If U want 2B personal about it, put their cause of death in B4 40 secs, & then their details in the next 6 min and 40 secs, cuz I'm a bastard who doesn't want 2 give U easy 2 remember #'s. If no cause is written, then it's 3 attacks all the way baby, cuz UR all gonna die of 'em by 45 NEway, fatasses."

Light nodded, face set. His message was stern but merciful. It laid down the law firmly, but in a gentle way. It presented not the facts but the TRUTH. Now, if only he could find a way to get free drinks out of it…

Shaking his head, Light reminded himself that he wasn't an English car, he was in no way funny, and that drinking was an irresponsible thing for people to do while in high school and a pathetic thing to do out of drunken frat parties.

Light tried not to think of things like drinking and funny car names or why his eyes turned red or why he was pretty sure that the "t" in his name was meant to be silent, he really did. But looking around his room, it was easy to see why someone as amazing brilliant and pretty as Light would succumb to such a demeaning thing as boredom and contemplating one's place in the universe.

Light's room pretty much sucked. There was bookshelf full of books that were banned from schools because of their radical-ness, not their pictures, a computer that he could hack into NPA with, but not into any interesting sites because his dad was a cop and had people watching him all the time, and a bed not full of good memories.

So, after spending a good fifteen minutes picking the lint off his sleeve, Light sighed, grabbed his new notebook, and headed off to the television to do his favorite thing - yelling at the stupid people on it.

Sometimes, he felt a bit odd about it, like he had that one time his mother had informed him that the people on the screen couldn't hear him. When he replied with, no, it's me that can't hear them, she had edged away slightly and went off to bake cookies.

He was going to have to talk to her about that… It wouldn't do for Light, soon to be God of the New World Order, to gain weight.

Either way, an hour passed in which Light ranted viciously against the people who had the indignity to pretend that they couldn't hear him. "And change your clothes, you fucking bastard! What kind of retard wears the same clothes for longer than twenty-four hours! No, you fucking reporter, I don't give a shit if he's holding a bunch of kids hostage, that's no excuse for neglecting basic hygiene!"

As the reporter droned on, Light snorted as he crossed his arms. "The hell do you think you are, bitch? Yeah, like no one can see that pimple on the side of your fucking huge-ass nose… Think again, dyke." Suddenly, Light got a light bulb above his head. "Fuck, Sayu!" The aforementioned girl giggled as she skipped up to her room. "I told you to stop throwing these things at me, it's not that funny!"

Tossing the bulb over his shoulder, Light ignored the ensuing crash as his eyes snapped down to his little black book. The face of his latest failed client-to-be in mind, Light picked it up. "Well," He rationalized, "It's not like the world could miss anyone that ugly anyway." His morals comforted, Light quickly scrawled down the name and got up to go make himself a sandwich.

Behind him, the television blared on as the scene turned sentimental. Little children ran towards their crying parents, and a police squadron rushed into the building. Light, of course, noticed none of it, because he was on his ass on the floor, picking light bulb shards out of his foot.

Brown eyes scowling at his giggling sister, Light grimaced. "Last time I have another fucking idea where Sayu can see it," He muttered.

Much later that night, Light sat at the diner table with his family, muttering darkly under his breath as he ignored their concerned glances. Trying to lighten up the mood, Sachiko, his mother, clapped her hands. "Well!" She started off brightly, "How was work today, honey?"

Soichiro's mustache wiggled. "The weirdest thing happened at work today," His mustache said. Light glared at it with a passion. Mustaches, Light thought, will be the fourth thing to go. Sayu made odd hissing noises at her food. Her food hissed back.

Soichiro's mustache bravely soldiered on. "There was this hostage situation with some dude and a bunch of kids - creepiest thing since that Charlie and The Chocolate Factory remake, if you asked me." Soichiro's mustache often felt like the world would be a much better place if people asked it's opinion more often.

Sayu and her food came to an agreement and began to make odd hissing noises at the mustache. Light, sensing an ally, fed his peas to Sayu's mashed potato monster. It was a worthy sacrifice if it meant getting rid of all which was wrong with the world.

"It was the strangest thing," The mustache continued. "Just as we were ready to give up on the children and just bomb the shit out of them so we could all go on a doughnut break, the dude just passed it. The autopsy showed that the guy's major intestine apparently leaped straight up through his neck and throttled his brain." The mustache was greeted with a stunned silence.

Sachiko looked troubled. "Can intestines do that?" She ventured. Even Sayu and the potatoe monster stopped their conversation. Light went pale.

The mustache appeared to be attempting to nod, if its twitching was anything to go by. "Apparently. Story has it, one of the kids let him borrow a mirror, and his body realized that it would be a crime to let something so ugly live-" The rest of the explanation was cut short as Light dashed away from the table and ran up the stairs, a black notebook cradled in his arms

Taking the brief moment of silence as its cue, the mashed potatoes launched themselves off of the table and onto Soichiro's mustache, who then commanded its man slave, Soichiro, to run like hell. Sayu, being hell, ran after them. "No, Mr. Mashed Potatoes! You can do so much better!"

Sachiko bit her lip and stared at the empty chairs strewn around her table. "Where did I go wrong?" She pondered. "Maybe I should have listened to that lovely man when I was pregnant with Light before he died in that terribly tragic plane crash. I just never believed that blood mattered more than mustaches…" Then she grabbed the others' plates, shoved the food down her throat, and waddled off towards the kitchen. "Oh well! More food for me!" She cheered.