Well, writer's block is a terrible thing. *Brandishes spear* But I have
hunted down and killed the dreaded writer's block! *holds up ghastly head*
Rejoice all authors! Rejoice! Yay! *Dances* I have reviews. *Cries* I feel
so happy. I could sing *dodges boot* but I won't. Missy can sing instead!
*dodges another boot, this one has high heels* Maybe not. So read up and
then press the little button and write a review! Reviews feed Missy,
letting her become more terrible then before. Flames are bad, they burn the
poor ickle kitten! So constructive criticism, and nice people's reviews are
good, flames are bad. Missy is hungry, feed her! Or I'll let her loose on
the world! *Maniacal laugh* *Sounds of hisses*
*Ooooohhhh, yeeeesssss, pllleaaasssseeee*
Scary, scary cat. Honestly, is anyone else out there scared as much by her as I am? She has just run away on turbojets, she is not at all like I first imagined her. Let her be a lesson to all authors, keep tight control over your characters. Or you could end up with a hiseous beast like Missy. And that would be a fate worse then death.
I hurry over to the TV and change the channel. A chorus of groans greets my action. "I am going to kill Aiden! He is a bad, bad boy!" I see what is on. Music videos. Just as bad. I flip through the channels and find nothing worth watching. Just lots of soaps and bad, bad movies. I turn the TV off. I turn around and rub my hands at the Fellowship. I grin "Who wants to go out?"
They shrug, look at each other and nod. Legolas enquires "Where are we going?"
"Oh, just out. Come on. Now remember, weapons are a no go. Weapons are not to be used, or even drawn." They nod. "As long as you understand." Please let them understand. Please oh please let them obey. I lead them to the front door, and usher them out. I pause, dash back inside and make a note for Gandalf. I exit again and lock the door, putting the key in my purse. It doesn't match, but I am still wearing a watch. So it's not entirely correct, that's all right. I am not obsessed, like some sad people out there. I turn on my mobile and nod to the Fellowship. "Let's go."
We head off down the road. I decide to walk to the Westfield near my neighbourhood. A Westfield shopping centre is a breed of shopping mall, for all the people not in the know. Also known as a center of commerce, capitalism, fashion police, deadheads, airheads, skaties, jocks, surfies (fake here in the part of Sydney where I am), and other easily identifiable teen groups. There is even a Goth group, who patronize a weird coffee/book shop on the lowest level. It has pentacles on the doors and advertises a Black Sabbath on the weekends. It's just plain scary.
My theory of the shopping malls is that eventually they will spread out, converge, blend and cover the entire earth. In America, this trend can already be seen, with giant multiplexes. For some people, spending their lives in the mall would not be very different to what they do now. I'm not talking about the people who are condemned to work there. I believe that somewhere on Earth, is an organization working to this very end. It's probably headed by Americans, so they can rule the Earth. Degenerate capitalist pigs! No, I'm not communist, just cycnical. Reds unda da beds!
I keep walking and make sure I can see all of the Fellowship all the time. This is how mothers must feel. Remind me never to have children. At least these guys are all supposedly adult. Notice, I said 'supposedly'. My mobile rings, my theme is 'Cows with Guns'. The chorus. You know, 'We will fight for bovine free-ee-eedom, we will hold our horned heads high. We will run free, with the buffalo, or di-ii-iii-iii-iiieee..." That song rocks! "Hello."
"Hey Sandy, whassup? It's Jenny. Do ya want to catch a movie? What's that one, about the secret agent with amnesia?"
"The Bourne Identity?"
"That's it! Do you want to see it?"
"I can't today. I have to look after a few people."
"Any guys?"
"They're all guys."
"I am coming to your place! Or should we meet at Westfield?"
I give in. She will never let me hear the end of it if she doesn't meet them. Why did I say they were all guys? Why oh why oh why? "All right. We'll meet you at the Foodcourt in half an hour?"
"Sounds good. See you then. Bye!"
"Bye." I hang up. Can this day get any worse? Jenny, I have to say even if she is one of my best friends, is already close to being a mary sue. She writes sappy romance fanfics on the Web. She has an entire website dedicated to the things. Most of them are LotR. This will not be good.
What happens in the Foodcourt? Is Jenny a mary sue as Sandy suspects? But is she a rabid mary sue who runs around flicking her hair and batting her eyelashes and saying things like 'Ooh, you're so strong!'? If you know a mary sue, please call the number at the bottom of your screen now for its diposal. Mary sues are an environmental hazard. Call now and help save nature from the effects of their beauty products!
*Ooooohhhh, yeeeesssss, pllleaaasssseeee*
Scary, scary cat. Honestly, is anyone else out there scared as much by her as I am? She has just run away on turbojets, she is not at all like I first imagined her. Let her be a lesson to all authors, keep tight control over your characters. Or you could end up with a hiseous beast like Missy. And that would be a fate worse then death.
I hurry over to the TV and change the channel. A chorus of groans greets my action. "I am going to kill Aiden! He is a bad, bad boy!" I see what is on. Music videos. Just as bad. I flip through the channels and find nothing worth watching. Just lots of soaps and bad, bad movies. I turn the TV off. I turn around and rub my hands at the Fellowship. I grin "Who wants to go out?"
They shrug, look at each other and nod. Legolas enquires "Where are we going?"
"Oh, just out. Come on. Now remember, weapons are a no go. Weapons are not to be used, or even drawn." They nod. "As long as you understand." Please let them understand. Please oh please let them obey. I lead them to the front door, and usher them out. I pause, dash back inside and make a note for Gandalf. I exit again and lock the door, putting the key in my purse. It doesn't match, but I am still wearing a watch. So it's not entirely correct, that's all right. I am not obsessed, like some sad people out there. I turn on my mobile and nod to the Fellowship. "Let's go."
We head off down the road. I decide to walk to the Westfield near my neighbourhood. A Westfield shopping centre is a breed of shopping mall, for all the people not in the know. Also known as a center of commerce, capitalism, fashion police, deadheads, airheads, skaties, jocks, surfies (fake here in the part of Sydney where I am), and other easily identifiable teen groups. There is even a Goth group, who patronize a weird coffee/book shop on the lowest level. It has pentacles on the doors and advertises a Black Sabbath on the weekends. It's just plain scary.
My theory of the shopping malls is that eventually they will spread out, converge, blend and cover the entire earth. In America, this trend can already be seen, with giant multiplexes. For some people, spending their lives in the mall would not be very different to what they do now. I'm not talking about the people who are condemned to work there. I believe that somewhere on Earth, is an organization working to this very end. It's probably headed by Americans, so they can rule the Earth. Degenerate capitalist pigs! No, I'm not communist, just cycnical. Reds unda da beds!
I keep walking and make sure I can see all of the Fellowship all the time. This is how mothers must feel. Remind me never to have children. At least these guys are all supposedly adult. Notice, I said 'supposedly'. My mobile rings, my theme is 'Cows with Guns'. The chorus. You know, 'We will fight for bovine free-ee-eedom, we will hold our horned heads high. We will run free, with the buffalo, or di-ii-iii-iii-iiieee..." That song rocks! "Hello."
"Hey Sandy, whassup? It's Jenny. Do ya want to catch a movie? What's that one, about the secret agent with amnesia?"
"The Bourne Identity?"
"That's it! Do you want to see it?"
"I can't today. I have to look after a few people."
"Any guys?"
"They're all guys."
"I am coming to your place! Or should we meet at Westfield?"
I give in. She will never let me hear the end of it if she doesn't meet them. Why did I say they were all guys? Why oh why oh why? "All right. We'll meet you at the Foodcourt in half an hour?"
"Sounds good. See you then. Bye!"
"Bye." I hang up. Can this day get any worse? Jenny, I have to say even if she is one of my best friends, is already close to being a mary sue. She writes sappy romance fanfics on the Web. She has an entire website dedicated to the things. Most of them are LotR. This will not be good.
What happens in the Foodcourt? Is Jenny a mary sue as Sandy suspects? But is she a rabid mary sue who runs around flicking her hair and batting her eyelashes and saying things like 'Ooh, you're so strong!'? If you know a mary sue, please call the number at the bottom of your screen now for its diposal. Mary sues are an environmental hazard. Call now and help save nature from the effects of their beauty products!