Ctrl-A-Delete, a Glee fiction

I do not own Glee. Remember to review!

Dear Kurt,

I do realize that it's the middle of winter and there seems to be no sign of the snow letting up, but I want to let you know that when the fair comes to town this summer that you and I are going. We will buy tickets and have fun. Scratch that. I will buy the tickets. We still both get to have fun.

Since I know that you won't let me pay for your fun, I suggest we find a couple of birthday parties to sing at this summer. We cant earn some cash fast, and get free cake. Think about it Kurt. Getting paid for quality time with your boyfriend and cake. Chocolate, Funfetti, the occasional carrot cake. Did I mention ice cream cake? You know you can't resist my charms.

We'll go on the first day so we can get discount tickets. That way we can work less parties. The novelty of free cake does wear off after a while. Your hips will thank me when they can still glide into those ever so skinny jeans of yours.

We'll have to get there early to find some good parking. If we get there before they open we could find a way to spend our time wisely. Like shouting Katy Perry at the top of our lungs. Okay, there are many more things I'd rather be screaming, i.e. your name. But little kids go to that fair Kurt. I am not going to make a mother explain to her kid why there are strange noises coming from the car shaking across the parking lot.

Then again, they do watch reality TV.

Ctrl-A-Delete

Dear Kurt,

They say that swallowed gum will stay in your system for seven years. That is a lie. But that doesn't mean that I was worry free this morning when I accidentally swallowed my gum after Jeff whacked me on the back. In his defense, he didn't know I was chewing it at the time. I gagged on it for a minute and then it was gone. He felt so bad he offered me a new piece of gum. I politely declined.

I mean, what if I were to accept his gum? There was a piece of Cinnamint Orbitz, that I may have possibly stolen from you when you weren't looking, somewhere inside my digestive system. He had that Extra Dessert Delights gum. It was supposed to taste like Strawberry Shortcake. Sure, I wanted to try it, but what if I swallowed my gum again? Then I'd have two pieces of gum inside of me.

What if Mr. Cinnamint and Miss Strawberry were to mate with each other as they journeyed through my digestive tract? Then they'd have Baby Cinnaberry. Mint and strawberries do not go together.

What if they started a fight inside of me and got stuck somewhere inside of me? Then I'd hiccup and bubbles would come out.

Kurt, whatever you do, do not let me near a stick of gum until this one is fully digested. I don't care how you have to keep my mouth busy, but make sure that no gum enters.

I do have a few suggestions if you need them.

Ctrl-A-Delete

Dear Kurt,

So the sweet lady from next door came over today. She was looking for her pekepoo. In case you are as confused as I am when I first met Clifford. Not Clifford like the big red dog either. That confused me at first too. More like Clifford, her deceased husband. Creepy right? If you were to die first, I'd never name a dog after you. Or any other animal.

I rushed out of the shower and answered the door because apparently no one else could be bothered to get the door. My hair was a bit askew. I had tried to tame it on my way to the door, but I felt getting a shirt over my head was a higher priority. Answering the door shirtless is frowned upon in this household. Then again, so is not answering the door.

After I assured her that her beloved pekepoo was not doggie napped by anyone at our house, she gave my a once over. Then she pointed at the top of my head.

"Boy, you need a haircut." I ran a hand through my untamed hair and smiled down at her. I promised her that I'd look into it when I had the time.

I don't want to go get my hair cut. Last time I went they tried to coerce me into waxing my eyebrows. Which they were unsuccessful at by the way. I happen to like my eyebrows, and my hair. Besides, I can't let all of my hair gel go to waste.

Admit it, you think my eyebrows are hot.

Ctrl-A-Delete

Dear Kurt,

How is it that it is Monday night and I have no homework? I actually finished it before practice today. You are a very good incentive.

My shower cooled me down a bit. I decided to turn on some football to keep my mind off of what happened. I think my parents would get suspicious if I took another shower. I could always lie and say I found shampoo stuck in my hair. But washing out shampoo is a lot quicker than it needs to be.

I didn't think I was still in that frame of mind. I figured I was at a normal level of dirty, like soil-under-your-fingernails-after-weeding-the-garden dirty. Not playing-slip-and-slide-in-a-puddle-of-mud dirty. Clearly I was wrong.

I wasn't listening to the announcers too hard, but some phrases did catch my ear.

"He's off to the sidelines for a quick blow. The hole closed on him before he could penetrate it."

Gosh Kurt, how could a player injury sound so incredibly filthy? You have no idea where my mind is right now. Football words that sounded so innocent are making me blush. Among other things.

It seems as though Hickey: Part Two is definitely more detrimental. And to think, I wasn't even on the receiving end.

By the way, why haven't I been on the receiving end yet?

Looks like we're going to be needing a Part Three.

New message from Kurt. Read.

Dear Kurt,

I'm pretty sure that isn't what they meant by madly. More like, head over heels crazy.

Actively idle,

Backspace

Driven crazy in love,

Backspace

I'll be Bach,

Blaine

(P.S. Bach is very happily in love with his Beethoven. That'd be you.)