Fashion Club X: Just Unearthed Alternate Ending.
by Thomas Greene.
Some of these characters/situations/other stuff may be the copyright of MTV. This isn't as needed as a warning, but the writer doesn't want to get sued by The Man.
If you have any criticism on this work, send it to ReLect0@aol.com. If you feel the need to flame this work, I got two words for you, SUCK IT!
Anything else? Oh, yeah. Don't do drugs. Unless it is for good reasons.Ah, screw that, Smoke crack and worship Satan.
I had to go to the police. Apparently, if she had done all of these things, I was apeshit.
"Hi, welcome to the Highland police. What's your problem?"
"I may or may not have started a terrorist group."
"Get in line." I headed toward the back of the "Possible Terrorist Leaders" line. *Honestly,* that so didn't work with me! I'm too cute to fit with these people!
"Number 420?" My number. I walked in.
"So, what's your claim?" the person asked.
"In a very short while, I think that there's going to be problems with some form of blowing up."
"What's going to happen here?"
"Apparently, I am going to blow up some credit card companies so that I can keep all of my stuff."
"Ah, this is a SERIOUS problem. Let me dial Sgt. I-DON'T-GIVE-A-DAMN!" I proceeded to wait.
"Not bad, Quinn..."
"Why?" I asked.
"You just sacrificed yourself to show it. You squealed, now we're going to have to force-feed you until you look like Roseanne." They locked me up to the table. I screamed. I was doomed. I took some of the food. "Damn, I'm going to have to go to the bathroom now..." At least they let me go. I quickly headed to one of the buildings.
"Hey, where are you going?" I turned around. It was "Quinn."
"WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM?" I asked.
"I don't like people working against my dreams, especially when it's myself." Quinn replied.
"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"
"I don't think so," she replied as she pulled out a knife.
Somehow, Quinn had gotten her hands on a gun and placed it in my mouth.
"So, three minutes and we're all freed."
"MMGHPHOG!"
"What was that?"
"You *bitch*! You're going to totally eliminate plastic!"
"Isn't that a good thing? Make everyone need to pay cash for everything, play with an even playing field..."
"THAT'S BARBARIC! EVERYONE BEING AS POOR AS EVERYONE ELSE, HAVING TO SAVE FOR CLOTHING INSTEAD OF GETTING MONEY FROM MOMMY AND DADDY?"
"Tough, isn't it? Well, it'll make people learn budgets!"
"You've been reading Tom Brokaw again, haven't you?"
"Nope. Just saving your souls." I had to do it. For the world.
"Whatever's yours..." The knife went into my hands.
"Is mine." I placed the knife to my face.
"What are you going to do now?"
I proceeded to scar my face.
"AAAGH! I'm not pretty anymore!" It worked. She jumped out the window.
"That little idiot!" I cried. "I can cover this with some make-up so easily..." Some cops came over to the building. I checked out the tag. "Officer Smithee." I wonder why that's supposed to ring a bell?
"What happened here?" he asked.
"You know, saving the fate of the world as we know it..." I replied.
"Ah. I understand. Your imaginary friend went psycho and tried to blow up things?"
"Um, I don't understand. Buy me something pre-tty?" Dammit, I was talking like Quinn.
"Well, the scar's a dead giveaway. You had to cut yourself in order to kill this psychotic alter ego, right?"
"Um, yeah. How'd you know?"
"That's what comes from owning a copy of Fight Club, watching it, and understanding it, I guess..."
"Well, I guess that I'm not a choice piece anymore after that scar. You're not high enough on the chain, do you want to..."
"What? I don't think 'You're not high enough on the chain' is a good opening line, missy. Eh, you're cute enough, I'm a guy, sure." I went to leave with the officer. As we left, the buildings started to blow up.
"What? Didn't they send in the SWAT team to kill the bombs?" I asked.
"Um, my bad..."
by Thomas Greene.
Some of these characters/situations/other stuff may be the copyright of MTV. This isn't as needed as a warning, but the writer doesn't want to get sued by The Man.
If you have any criticism on this work, send it to ReLect0@aol.com. If you feel the need to flame this work, I got two words for you, SUCK IT!
Anything else? Oh, yeah. Don't do drugs. Unless it is for good reasons.Ah, screw that, Smoke crack and worship Satan.
I had to go to the police. Apparently, if she had done all of these things, I was apeshit.
"Hi, welcome to the Highland police. What's your problem?"
"I may or may not have started a terrorist group."
"Get in line." I headed toward the back of the "Possible Terrorist Leaders" line. *Honestly,* that so didn't work with me! I'm too cute to fit with these people!
"Number 420?" My number. I walked in.
"So, what's your claim?" the person asked.
"In a very short while, I think that there's going to be problems with some form of blowing up."
"What's going to happen here?"
"Apparently, I am going to blow up some credit card companies so that I can keep all of my stuff."
"Ah, this is a SERIOUS problem. Let me dial Sgt. I-DON'T-GIVE-A-DAMN!" I proceeded to wait.
"Not bad, Quinn..."
"Why?" I asked.
"You just sacrificed yourself to show it. You squealed, now we're going to have to force-feed you until you look like Roseanne." They locked me up to the table. I screamed. I was doomed. I took some of the food. "Damn, I'm going to have to go to the bathroom now..." At least they let me go. I quickly headed to one of the buildings.
"Hey, where are you going?" I turned around. It was "Quinn."
"WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM?" I asked.
"I don't like people working against my dreams, especially when it's myself." Quinn replied.
"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"
"I don't think so," she replied as she pulled out a knife.
Somehow, Quinn had gotten her hands on a gun and placed it in my mouth.
"So, three minutes and we're all freed."
"MMGHPHOG!"
"What was that?"
"You *bitch*! You're going to totally eliminate plastic!"
"Isn't that a good thing? Make everyone need to pay cash for everything, play with an even playing field..."
"THAT'S BARBARIC! EVERYONE BEING AS POOR AS EVERYONE ELSE, HAVING TO SAVE FOR CLOTHING INSTEAD OF GETTING MONEY FROM MOMMY AND DADDY?"
"Tough, isn't it? Well, it'll make people learn budgets!"
"You've been reading Tom Brokaw again, haven't you?"
"Nope. Just saving your souls." I had to do it. For the world.
"Whatever's yours..." The knife went into my hands.
"Is mine." I placed the knife to my face.
"What are you going to do now?"
I proceeded to scar my face.
"AAAGH! I'm not pretty anymore!" It worked. She jumped out the window.
"That little idiot!" I cried. "I can cover this with some make-up so easily..." Some cops came over to the building. I checked out the tag. "Officer Smithee." I wonder why that's supposed to ring a bell?
"What happened here?" he asked.
"You know, saving the fate of the world as we know it..." I replied.
"Ah. I understand. Your imaginary friend went psycho and tried to blow up things?"
"Um, I don't understand. Buy me something pre-tty?" Dammit, I was talking like Quinn.
"Well, the scar's a dead giveaway. You had to cut yourself in order to kill this psychotic alter ego, right?"
"Um, yeah. How'd you know?"
"That's what comes from owning a copy of Fight Club, watching it, and understanding it, I guess..."
"Well, I guess that I'm not a choice piece anymore after that scar. You're not high enough on the chain, do you want to..."
"What? I don't think 'You're not high enough on the chain' is a good opening line, missy. Eh, you're cute enough, I'm a guy, sure." I went to leave with the officer. As we left, the buildings started to blow up.
"What? Didn't they send in the SWAT team to kill the bombs?" I asked.
"Um, my bad..."