"Alright," Robocuntface groaned, seductively lifting the 12th nugget he reluctantly stole from Eusine the Fabulous Heterosexual Magician to his mouth and erotically nibbling it betwixt his cherry man-lips before fucking chewing it like a pig and digesting the fucking digusting piece of shit. "I'm just gonna fucking say the flashback. I don't care if you interrupt, I'm just going for it, alright?"
Nobody cared enough to respond, as Looker, Sycamore, and Eusine were happily eating McDonalds food while playing strip Pokemon Master Trainer: The Board Game.
"Shit, I got ketchup on my nipples again!" Domino cooed.
"Cleanup on aisle my man-tongue," Sycamore replied, ripping his shirt off even though he was totally winning the board game.
"That's cheating," Lysandre replied, removing his pants.
"GODDAMN IT I DON'T CARE HOW FANSERVICEY THIS SCENE IS I'M FUCKING IGNORING IT AND BLOCKING IT ALL OUT FOR THE SAKE OF THIS FLASHBACK."
It was a sepia day in Middle School. Looker was the most handsome and rich and wonderful boy in his class, and all of the girls wanted to fuck him. "Oh Looker," they would moan, tossing their sepia panties at him as he walked by them in the hallway, "You are the most handsome and rich and wonderful boy in all of our class, we want to fuck you!" But Looker was too handsome to fall for their wiles, and merely signed their panties before returning them like the gentleman he fucking was.
"It's good to be the king, I'M HANDSOME, good to be the king, I'M HANDSOME," he sang to himself, skipping down the hallway to his table of COOL KIDS at school. And by cool, he meant TOTALLY FUCKING RICH AS HELL. Maxmillion Pegasus, his sassy openly gay friend who was totally fucking rich and had amazing silv-er, sepia hair, and Lawrence III, who was a blonde-er, sepia fucker and said he liked girls but spent a suspicious amount of time alone with Pegasus at candlelit banquets with Phil Collins music, were already seated at the gold-plated table, waiting patiently for their SUPER SEXY CAPTAIN to show up. "GOOD AFTERNOON, RICH CUNTS CLUB!" Looker said, happily sliding into his seat on the other side of his sexy rich friends.
"GOOD AFTERNOON, CAPTAIN LOOKER!" Pegasus and Lawrence replied, flashing the Illuminati triangle at him. That was their inside joke greeting. Not because the Illuminati existed and they were a part of it, but because they were so fucking rich that the thought of anyone else ruling the world was funny as hell.
"Thank you, fellow Rich Cunts!" Looker replied, crossing his legs and smoking a cigar, smacking the tray of peasant-shit mystery meat back in the fat old lunchlady's face and pulling caviar from the inside pocket of his 100%-Kalosian-Silk leisure suit that sat classily atop his glow in the dark RoboCop t-shirt. "How rich have you gentlemen become today?"
"I invented a card game!" Pegasus replied, bouncing his ass up and down giddily in his seat like Sycamore bouncing his ass up and down giddily on a massive, throbbing tire swing.
"That's interesting, I suppose," Lawrence replied, sipping his tea. "What sort of 'card game'?"
"THERE'S MONSTERS AND HOT WOMEN IN MAGICIAN COSTUMES AND DRAGONS AND YOU DUEL WITH THE CARDS AND IT'S LIKE REGULAR CARDS EXCEPT YOU'RE FUCKING FIGHTING WITH MONSTERS AND-"
"Don't be an idiot, nobody would play that shit," Looker replied, taking a puff on his cigar. "Lawrence?"
Lawrence sat upright in his seat and properly announced, "I collected five oil fields today! What about you, Captain Looker?"
"Me?" Looker asked, sexily crossing his not-bulging-because-he-was-in-like-8th-grade-man-arms. "You know, I'm doin' pretty good, gents... my lemonade stand opened its twelfth location in downtown Unova, leading to 2500% profits compared to what I was at last night before bedtime."
"I still can't believe you managed to get rich without having rich parents," Pegasus said in awe, not just at how amazing it was that Looker had managed to get rich without having rich parents but also with how smoothly he had worked that exposition of his friend's backstory into normal sounding dialogue.
"Well, you know how it is," Looker chuckled. "Just put an attractive spokesperson on your cup, shirtless-someone like, oh, ME-and teenage girls'll spend all their savings on that overpriced shit."
"Damn, maybe I should put my shirtless picture on one of my cards," Pegasus replied.
"Maybe you should," Lawrence replied, running his fingers sensually through Pegasus' manly silv-er, sepia woman hair.
"Yeah, how about no," Looker replied. "Nobody wants to see your fucking discolored nipp-" but before he could finish, a young, awkward, ging-er, sepia boy in tattered rags walked up to the table and looked longingly at him like a little lost poor puppy in tattered rags that was looking longingly at someone.
"Oh shit," Lawrence said, "it's a POORFAG."
"Don't use that word, it offends me," Pegasus scolded him, like Sycamore scolded your mom in his fifteenth porn flick. With his penis.
"What, 'fag'?"
"No, the P word."
"Poo-"
"NO DON'T SAY IT AGAIN MY HEART CAN'T TAKE IT!"
"Anyway, guys," Looker said, patting Lysandre on the back, "this is my friend from math class. He's pretty chill, so he's alright to hang with the cool fucks."
"Hmm..." Lawrence said, squinting suspiciously at Lysandre as he sat. "Are you rich?"
"Nope," Lysandre replied, scratching his ass.
"Are your parents rich?"
"Nope, they died in a tragic Rare Candy duplication incident off the coast of Cinnabar."
"Oh god. So you're poor AND an orphan," Pegasus replied. "I'm so fucking sorry, man."
"Nah, it's cool. They were cunts anyway," Lysandre replied, smashing the glass of sepia juice with his man-fist, picking the shards of bloody man-glass from his man-fist, and then pulling a glass of man-vodka from the inside of his 100%-Kalosian-Potato-Sack leisure suit to chug like a bad ass mothafucka.
"Damn," Pegasus said, turning with dropped jaws to Lawrence, the first time this had happened without ending in a passionate make out sessi-er, discussion of their feelings. "This guy IS hardcore, Look-man. Let's teach him how to be rich!"
"Oh my god," Lysandre shouted, bouncing his ass up and down in the seat like Sycamore's mouth sliding up and down over a massive throbbing corncob. "THAT WOULD BE TOTALLY FUCKING FANTASTIC!"
"Should we invite him to..." Pegasus paused. "THE THING!?"
"WHAT THING!?" Lysandre shouted, almost choking on his vodka with excitement like Sycamore almost choking on a massive, throbbing dick
-shaped popcicle on a hot summer's day.
"Well... I suppose we can let him in on the COOLEST, MOST AWESOME THING EVER," Looker replied, leaning in close to him like Sycamore leaning in close to your mom (with his penis). "This huge place only SUPER RICH KIDS can go in Unova, called TOYS R WE, is having a visit by Nentindough Labs, who have cloned ONE HUNDRED OF THE LEGENDARY POKEMON MEW AND ARE GIVING THEM AWAY AS A PROMOTION TO THE FIRST ONE HUNDRED RICH FUCKS TO SHOW UP!"
"OH MY GOD," Lysandre shouted, "THAT'D BE REALLY FUCKING COOL EXCEPT I'M A FUCKING ORPHAN WHO LIVES WITH MY WEIRD UNCLE ALDER WHO DOESN'T BELIEVE IN DRIVING BECAUSE IT POLLUTES THE ENVIRONMENT OR SOME HIPPIE BULLSHIT LIKE THAT SO I CAN'T GO AND oh god my life sucks and-" Lysandre then burst into tears, which caused Pegasus to burst into tears because he's really fucking messed up emotionally after being born with gorgeous silv-er, sepia hair and being so beautiful that he's always mistaken for a girl by the leader of his Boy Scout troop, even after growing an awkward mustache that he's hopefully going to shave eventually.
"No worries, Sand-man," Looker replied, coolly flipping on authentic Raichu-Ban™ shades like that one shirtless scientologist dude in the one Unovian gay-volleyball-airplane-porn movie Top Gun™. "I'm rich enough to use the trademark symbol twice in one paragraph, I'm DEFINITELY rich enough to fly us in my gigantic fucking private jet." As he straightened his shades, Domino moaned like WAIT WHAT THE FUCK
-
"Stop it, Lysandre! IF YOU KEEP THAT UP, IT'S GOING TO-OH! OHHHH! OHHHHHHHHH GOD YES, I'M GOING TO-"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU'RE SO LOUD YOU'RE BLOCKING OUT MY INTERNAL MONOLOGUE."
"How about you shut up," Lysandre replied. "Strip Jenga is really stressful, especially when you're trying to move a block you really shouldn't be touching to impress your best friend's hot topless blonde minion who for some reason makes orgasm noises while playing Jenga."
"IT'S NOT MY FAAAAAAAAULT," she moaned, "IT'S SO EXCITING WAITING FOR IT TO FALL, NOT KNOWING WHEN IT'S GONNA JUST COLLAPSE EVERYWHEEEEERE, KNOWING IT COULD JUST EXPLODE AT ANY SECOND, LIKE-OHHHHHH-"
"ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING LISTENING TO MY FLASHBACK!?"
"Yeah, yeah, I got it. I got to the table, you told me about the Mew thing, we're about to get on the jet. I can multitask."
"WELL THAT'S GOOD, BECAUSE I SURE AS HELL CAN'T WHEN YOUR WEIRD-ASS JENGA-FETISHIST-GIRLFRIEND SOUNDS LIKE A FUCKING JAPANESE PORN STAR OVER HERE."
"sorry," Domino whispered, speaking so softly now that she didn't use any capital letters at all. "stop it lysandre, it's going to-ahhhh. ohhhh. oh god. ohhh. don't stop, you can do it. it's going to-ahhhhhhhhhhh."
"Much better," Robocuntface replied, dropping his own angry capslocked tone of voice. "Anyway..."
-
"And finally," Looker finished, as his jet touched down, "the key to being SUPER DUPER MEGA ULTRA rich is to make your company publicly traded. Mine's going public tonight after the Unova Bowl, and I'll get, like, FIFTY GORILLION DOLLARS!"
"That's not a real number," Pegasus whispered knowingly to Looker and Lawrence. "The highest it goes is forty-five gorillion."
"Is that your mom driving?" Lysandre interrupted.
"Yeah, why?" Looker replied.
"Because DAMN DOES SHE HAVE SOME JUGS, BOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY." Lysandre fist-bumped Lawrence and Pegasus as Looker gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.
"PEGASUS, WHY ARE YOU FISTBUMPING HIM!? YOU'RE GAY!"
"Well yeah, but even I'D do your mom. I mean, come on, rero rero."
"Fuck you guys," Looker replied, climbing out of the super awesome MAN LADDER of his private jet into the parking lot of Toys R We as the others followed suit. "Some day I'm gonna be like Robo Cop and fuck you up."
"CONGRATULATIONS," that guy who stands in front of the gyms in every game and has like fifty gorillion bottles of water stuck down his pants for some reason announced, "YOU CHAMPS IN THE MAKING ARE OUR LAST THREE LUCKY MEW OWNERS! GET IN LINE, AND DON'T FORGET TO STAY HYDRATED!"
Lawrence cringed. "Did he just hand us bottled water from his-"
"Just don't make eye contact," Looker replied, dragging them up to the line. The line went on for about fifty gorillion hours before they even got near the part where the Nentindough Labs representative was handing out Pokeballs. At last, Looker was the next in line, followed by Pegasus the Fabulous Homosexual Card Game Creator and then Lawrence III, Master Collector of Oil Fields.
"Psst," Lysandre whispered. "Hey, Looker."
"What?"
"Looker, my dick is about to explode."
"EW, GOD, LYSANDRE, KEEP THAT SHIT TO YOURSELF"
"No, I mean, I have to pee REALLY FUCKING BAD."
"Then... I don't fucking know, just... hold it. You're like, two people back in line."
"I can't hold it that long. My bladder's gonna explode like those little dragon fucks that always kill me in Dig Dug."
"Too bad."
"I'm gonna piss all over you, man. Like, it's gonna be Gen 3 overworld weather effects on your face. Rain Dance, fucker."
"FINE," Looker snapped, stepping behind Lysandre. "YOU GO NEXT. WHAT THE FUCK DO I CARE."
Lysandre stepped up, got his ball, stepped aside and began to cry profusely like a little bitch. "FUCK," he cried as Looker approached him, clenching his own ball, "MY MEW IS DEAD."
"What?" Looker asked, quickly leaning in to examine Lysandre's ball (POKEball, you sick fuck).
"Yeah. It's all blue and dead inside. Er, I mean, a bluish shade of sepia."
"OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOD," Looker shouted, putting his hands dramatically on the side of his face and shouting dramatically to the heavens. "SAND-MAN, DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS!?"
"I need to hook it up to little strings and do a puppet show with its body because I'm emotionally disturbed and have nothing to live for?"
"NO, YOU FUCKING IDIOT! THIS IS A GODDAMNED SHINY MEW! THIS HAS GOTTA BE WORTH AT LEAST-"
"Excuse me, young man," a boy with his long sepia hair almost covering his eyes whose long, sepia cape was somehow always flowing dramatically behind him. "My name is Seto Kaiba, the richest cunt in the world. That's a really special Mew you've got there." He pulled out a gigantic briefcase and opened it, revealing LOADSAMONEY. "I'll give you fifty gorillion dollars for it."
"HOLY FUCK YES," Lysandre replied, grabbing the briefcase and tossing the ball to Kaiba, who walked away coldy and coolly like a badass, but was clearly pleased-or, well, as pleased as his Kirsten Stewart level emotions could show, at least.
"One second," Looker replied, leaping in front of Kaiba. "You can't just fucking BUY a legendary Pokemon! It's against all of the rules!"
"The rules can suck my dick," Kaiba replied.
"Im-impossible," Looker said, tears welling in his eyes. "Not only did you miss an amazingly obvious setup for an abridged series reference, but... I... Looker, I... I ALMOST HAD... GIVE ME THAT BRIEFCASE!"
"No-no-no, hands off, you heard the rich cunt," Lysandre replied. "I gave him my dead Mew, he gave me fifty gorillion dollars."
"But if you hadn't had to pee-"
"Oh, I didn't even really have to pee. I just wanted to go in front of you."
Looker's eye twitched, slowly, rythmically, like an Espurr's slowly, rythmically twitching eyes... death shone in his eyes like a Ditto's upon entering the day care for the first time... his fists balled up, like an Electabuzz balling up its fists upon realizing how fucking stupid it looks... a single tear ran down his face like a single tear running down the face of everyone who watched Pikachu's Goodbye as a child, and by a single tear I mean the fucking flood that Noah had to build a fucking ark for. For the first time in his life, Looker felt fear. Except it wasn't really fear, he was pretty fucking mad, more like it. Like, really fucking mad. He was motherfucking PISSED OFF is what I'm saying.
"Lysandre... you... fucking... son... of... a..."
"Now we can REALLY be rich buddies!" Lysandre shouted, twirling around in circles. "And I can be the new Captain!"
"LAWRENCE! PEGASUS!" Looker shouted. Pegasus dashed over holding a normal, non-dead, pink-er, sepia Mew, and Lawrence walked over sadly without one.
"They were all out," Lawrence moped. "They just gave me this stupid fucking Ancient Mew card. On the bright side, I don't know, maybe I'll be a collector now of rare Pokemon or some shit. I'm sure this foreshadows SOMETHING in the anime canon."
"Yeah, that's nice bitch," Looker mumbled. "Listen up, you two fuckheads. We're going home. And we're not taking Lysandre, because he's a cunt."
"But, I thought he was our friend-"
"HIS MOM IS PICKING HIM UP OKAY LET'S GO"
"But, his mom is dead-"
"SHE CAME BACK OKAY GET IN THE FUCKING JET." Looker, Lawrence, and Pegasus quickly boarded the sexy, phallic, long, smooth jet, flying far into the distance, as Looker laughed maniacally.
"Excuse me," Lysandre said, pulling kawaii-like at the sleeve of an intern at Toys R Us. "Can I call my parents?"
"I don't know, I'm just an intern."
"I don't even know what that means, but fuck them all to hell, then," Lysandre grumbled, kicking him in the balls, climbing over his crumpled over form, and walking into the employees only area to the phone labelled "EMPLOYEES ONLY: NO ORPHANS PRETENDING TO CALL THEIR PARENTS AND THEN CALLING OTHER THINGS ALLOWED."
"Yes," Lysandre said to the operator, an evil grin creeping across his face, "get me in touch with Kalosian Media Marketing, please... yes, I AM rich, and NO, I will NOT hold..."
Meanwhile, Looker and his rich cunt friends were riding their private limo back home, because the private jet got boring so they left it in a field somewhere, because fuck it he had like fifty anyway. "Ahh," Looker sighed, feeling no guilt whatsoever, "it's good to be the king."
"More like, good to the be CUNTFACE," Lawrence chortled, as Pegasus guffawed. Looker sprung out of his seat and joined them in looking out the limo's windows at the WAIT WHAT THE FUCK.
"WAIT WHAT THE FUCK-"
Electronic billboard after electronic billboard by the side of the road wooshed by with Looker's facebook profile pic on it with 'CUNT' scribbled on top, followed by varying slogans next to his company's logo:
"LOOKER IS A CUNTFACE, DON'T DRINK HIS LEMONADE"
"YOU WOULDN'T DRINK LEMONADE FROM A CUNT. YOU WOULDN'T DRINK LEMONADE FROM
A FACE. SO WHY WOULD YOU DRINK LEMONADE FROM A CUNTFACE?"
Looker's mom burst into tears laughing in the front seat.
"MOM!" Looker shouted, gritting his teeth.
"I'm... I'm sorry, honey," she replied, struggling sexily to catch her sexy breath, "but now that I think about it... your face DOES kind of look like a cunt!"
The billboards continued:
"CUNTFACE'S LEMONADE IS MADE FROM DEAD BABIES"
"CUNTFACE'S LEMONADE IS MADE FROM LIVE BABIES"
"LEMONADE? PFFT. MORE LIKE... LIKE... NOT-LEMONADE."
"LOOKER'S MOM, LET'S FUCK. I'M RICHER THAN YOUR SON AND MY DICK IS BIGGER THAN YOUR HUSBAND. NO, NOT YOUR HUSBAND'S DICK. YOUR ENTIRE HUSBAND. CALL ME 867-5309 -LOVE, THE MYSTERIOUS MR FLARE"
"GODDAMN IT, LYSANDRE!" Looker shouted as he pulled into his driveway, right across from a billboard reading 'CUNTFACE MANOR: SEND YOUR BURNING BOXES OF SHIT HERE!' "You can disgrace me, you can tarnish my handsome name, and you can call me a Cuntface, but you'll never hurt my business! I will buy you out, someday, you'll see!" He rushed upstairs in his private elevator like Sycamore rushing to get a condom whenever a hot naked Kantonese woman appears at his doorstep wanting to reenact scenes from his cinematic history, and sat on his Miltank leather couch in front of his 90 inch plasma flatscreen atop his gigantic fireplace. "ALFRED!" he shouted, summoning his butler. "TURN ON THE UNOVA BOWL!" Alfred, who is so unnoteworthy as a butler that the space he should be described in is just being used to show how insignificant he is, did so, and the Unova Bowl came to life as hundreds of Machamps in football uniforms slammed into each other fighting for a ball that for some reason did not look like a foot. "I only watch for the commercials," Looker chuckled to Lawrence and Pegasus, who had finally made it gaspingly up the not-private-elevator staircase to his 19th floor, "but they're always worth the wait! Plus, my stocks will be going public any minute now!"
"WHEN YOU GO OUT IN THE HOT SUMMER AIR," the first commercial boomed, "YOU GET THIRSTY. WHEN YOU GET THIRSTY, YOU WANT LEMONADE. WHEN YOU WANT LEMONADE, YOU GET HORNY, SO YOU WANT THE LEMONADE THAT HAS THE IMAGE OF A SHIRTLESS SEX GOD ON THE FRONT..."
"Damn," Lawrence said, sadly cuddling his ancient Mew card as Pegasus cuddled his actual Mew, "I didn't know you got a Superbowl commercial."
"I didn't," Looker replied, sensually sipping a cup of his lemonade with his beautiful, glisteningly moist man-lips. "I guess my interns are finally doing something right for a change! Great timing, too, with my stocks going pub-"
"WHEN YOU WANT LEMONADE WITH THE IMAGE OF A SHIRTLESS SEX GOD ON IT, YOU BUY LOOKER'S DELICIOUS HOMEMADE LEMONADE," the commercial continued. "WHEN YOU DRINK LOOKER'S DELICIOUS HOMEMADE LEMONADE, YOU'RE DRINKING 100% PONYTA PISS FLOATING IN ICE MADE OF RAPIDASH SEMEN..."
Looker spat out his lemonade all over Lawrence's face, even though Lawrence was sitting behind him, which means that he kind of did it on purpose and was kind of a shitty friend. "WHAT THE LITERAL FUCK-"
"WHEN YOU DRINK LEMONADE FLOATING IN RAPIDASH SEMEN, YOU REALIZE TOO LATE THAT IT'S THE SEMEN OF THE FOUR RAPIDASH OF THE APOCALYPSE. WHEN YOU REALIZE TOO LATE THAT IT'S THE SEMEN OF THE FOUR RAPIDASH OF THE APOCALYPSE, YOU GIVE YOUR SOUL TO GIRATINA AND HELP THE ANTI-ARCEUS RISE TO POWER. DON'T HELP THE ANTI-ARCEUS RISE TO POWER. STOP BUYING LEMONADE FROM CUNTFACE. THIS HAS BEEN A PSA BY THE MYSTERIOUS MR FLARE AND LYSANDRE LABS. P. S. CALL ME, LOOKER'S MOM, YOU'RE HOT."
"Oh well," Looker said, his trembling hand placing the glass on the ground in front of his chair. "It's-it's not like my shareholders are gonna be dumb enough to believe that, r-right guys...?"
"Master Cuntface," Alfred said, re-entering the room, "I have two pieces of information for you."
"Are my stocks doing awesome~!?"
"No, you're fucking out of money, owe fifty gorillion dollars in debt, and I'm quitting."
Looker ran frantically into his gigantic, gold-plated hallway to find his mother for assistance, but she was running sexily down the hall sexily hiding a phone behind her back. "Mom, why are you-"
"OH HAHA I'M NOT CALLING THE MYSTERIOUS MISTER FLARE IF THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE WONDERING HAHA TALK TO YOU LATER CUNTFACE BYE," she shouted, sexily slamming the door sexily behind her.
"We're out of here," Lawrence said, marching out dragging Pegasus by his beautiful manly woman hair. "We don't hang out with poorfags."
"DON'T. USE. THAT. WORD," Pegasus reminded him.
"Sorry. We don't hang out with fags, we mean. It's just worse because you're poo-because you don't have money. We're going to Lysandre's mansion to fuck passionately in his 15,000 gallon pool. And after that we're fucking his harem of Kanto supermodels in his 15,000 gallon Jello pool. You can't come because you're a cuntface. Peace."
Looker fell to his knees and gripped his beautiful, gold-silk carpet for the last time, tears streaming onto his 100% Italian Silk leisure suit for the final time before the creditors would tear it from him and leave him naked and alone, with nothing but his broken pride. He vowed that the day would come that he would rise up against the man who turned him from Looker Handsome, the World's Second Richest Man Behind Seto Kaiba, into Cuntface, the Poor Loser.
"Some day," he said, shaking psychotically, his mouth curling uncontrollably into a sardonic grin, "I'm gonna be a private eye, Lysandre. And I'm gonna watch every move you make, every breath you take, I'LL BE WAAATCHIIIINGGGG YOUUUUU, until you slip up, and then-THEN!-I will be there, and I will end you forever, telling the whole world that it is YOU who are the TRUE CUNTFACE! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAH-" But he was interrupted by the creditors kicking him out of the house and stealing his pants.
-
"And that," Robocuntface finished, wiping a Robocunt-tear from his Robocunt-eye, "is why you are my archnemesis forever, Lysandre."
"Wow, what a story, Mark," Sycamore said, removing his boxers and now wearing only a speedo as he failed miserably at strip Tower of Druaga, "Lysandre, you used to be kind of a cunt."
"Aw, shucks," Lysandre said, ripping his underwear off and revealing a matching speedo, "you're not so nice yourself." They then embraced beautifully and tearfully, proud of each other's evilness, as sexy shirtless Domino stealthily took pictures of this heterosexual display of friendship to misconstrue it as something else and post on Perfectworldshipping spots online for OMG INTERNET FAME.
"You missed it," Eusine said, completely naked. "We played strip lick-up-all-the-chocolate-syrup, and then Domino drizzled the syrup down her pants, except she wasn't wearing pants, and so then Lysandre got down and-"
"FUCK YOU, LYSANDREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Robocuntface shouted, falling to the floor dramatically again.
"Wait," Eusine said, "I FORGOT TO GIVE YOU ALL... MY FLASHBACK!"
"What's your flashback?" Lysandre sighed, as he and Sycamore began to put their clothes back on to prepare for strip whatever was next.
"Well, after Lysandre got rich and I transferred to your school, I asked Sycamore to the prom, and he was like, 'NOOOO, I'M STRAAAAIGHT,' and then when I walked home, I saw him MAKING OUT WITH LYSANDRE!"
"What?" Lysandre asked, confused. "Wait, fuck-was this on Halloween?"
"Yeah, so-"
"So fucking Lawrence III and Pegasus went that year as me and Sycamore. Sycamore and I went as Archie and Maxie that year."
"Wait, so you never..."
"Of course not," Sycamore laughed, "we're just two heterosexual best friends. It's not romance, it's BROmance."
Eusine's brain short circuited. "GUESS WHAT, LOOKER!?" he shouted, "I DON'T HAVE TO HATE SANDY ANYMORE!" He cheerfully grabbed a bottle of Jim Beam from Suicune, who was rolling around on the floor growling David Bowie songs drunkenly to himself. "GUYS, LET'S PLAY DRUNKEN STRIP MARIO PARTY!"
"ALRIGHT!" Domino shouted, "MARIO PARTY IS MY OTHER FETISH!"
"FUCK THIS SHIT," Robocuntface shouted, pressing the "Send" button on the email. "THERE. IT'S DONE. FUCK YOU GUYS."
The room grew silent. It had fucking happened. The world knew Lysandre and Sycamore's secrets. They were fucked, and not in the what-hopefully-happens-after-drunken-strip-Mario-Party-way.
"Well," Lysandre said, a single bead of salty discharge ejaculating onto his steamy face from his nervous man-pore, "Fuck."
WHO WILL WIN DRUNKEN MARIO PARTY?
WHAT WILL HAPPEN NOW THAT ZA WARUDO KNOWS LYSANDRE AND SYCAMORE'S DARK SECRETS!?
WILL ROBOCUNTFACE JOIN WITH EVEN BADDER GUYS NOW THAT EUSINE HAS SWITCHED SIDES!?
DO BADDER GUYS EVEN EXIST, COMPARED TO A GUY NAMED ROBOCUNTFACE!?
ALL THIS, OR MAYBE SOME OF THIS, OR, FUCK, WITH THIS STORY, MAYBE NONE OF THIS, ON THE NEXT CHAPTER OF OUR NEVERENDING SAGA... LYSANDRE GOES CLOTHES SHOPPING!