Tank: Holy crap. Your desk is a mess!
Me: Yeah, so? You didn't care until now.
Tank: Yeah, but this is serious, Sanity. Your desk is basically accumulating paper, books, pens, notebooks, and- wait. Is that a piece of pizza?
Me: Yeah, so?
JP: ALRIGHT! This is insane. I see at least twenty pieces of stray paper, an ice cream bowl, and water bottles on your desk. I'm cleaning it!
Me: Please, no straightening up da mess on my desk. You gonna jam up my system!
Tank: What system? It's just a bunch of random pieces of paper you jot down note-
Skid: Shhh!
Me: Don't tell the Swiss people my system, you idiot! They'll find me!
Tank: I thought we were over this . . . ths Swiss aren't coming for you! They are peaceful people.
Me: Then how do you explain the Swiss army knife?
Max: *looks up from her poker game, which she's winning* She's got you there.
Me: HA!
Disclaimer in Poetry Formish (I could get used to this):
If I owned MR,
I'd be rich.
If I owned Switzerland,
I'd be evil.
Which I am,
But you already knew that.
Didn't you,
The Swiss?
Tank: *head desk*
Me: Oh, and Okay so? Max in no way resembles me. I have dark brown hair, and naturally its still a light brown. My hair is down to my shoulders and Max's is up to her ears. I'm not going to say anything about this being cliche or whatever because cliche is how I do things until something comes along.
Get. Over. It. Wait, why am I even writing this? You reviewed chapter fucking two! Why would you read anymore than you had to to label this a cliche? Huh? Why would you?
I ask all my readers to read the whole story before you made a bad review about it. I do that. But I rarely make bad reviews. Thanks, peoples!
Why did I do a disclaimer? This is an A/N! I swore I'd never do this. But I need help. I want to do homecoming, but I have no idea how. And how should Max and Sam break up?
It's writers constipation. I tried writing it two different ways, but both suck. So I need help. I'll take anything.
- Sanity