A/N: I got so many nice reviews from my readers. I love that I have reviews
for a work that I posted, never having posted anything before. Thank you so
much you guys! And thanks esp. to Clover Point, who left the nicest review.
Unfortunately for me, I had to write those college papers, so I haven't had
a chance to do anymore silly fanfic until now. But hey, I'm getting to it
now and that's all that matters, right? As it happens, I'm also a fan
addicted to several fics, so I know what it's like when an author starts a
fic and then either takes forever to update it, or just drops it
altogether, and I honestly don't know which is worse. So I'm not gonna do
that to you guys, b/c that's just cruel. Anyway, I wasn't even planning on
adding to the first chapter, but the reviews I got just made me want to
write more. But be warned: I don't even know right now what's going to come
spewing out of my demented, S/V-action-deprived head of mine. It could be
anything.
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias, J.J. Abrams does, Touchstone does and Bad Robot does. Blah blah blah, shoot me!
Distribution: (Chaosti is caught off guard and looks at the audience with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look) Uhh, sure? Just tell me when, where, for how long and how much potato salad will be involved in the process. Never did trust potato salad.
Proceed at your own risk.
The Dangers Of Boredom ch 2
(Somewhere in Tahiti)
Sydney was enjoying herself. She was currently sprawled out on a towel on the sandy beach outside of the hotel, soaking up the sun. Somewhere nearby, her boyfriend was grabbing them some much-needed alcohol, because really, who would want to be in Tahiti on a vacation like this and not have a drink? She spots Vaughn coming towards her, two huge titty glasses full of who-knows-what kind of liquor.
Sydney (sitting up and accepting one of the drinks from Vaughn): What the hell kind of drink is this? I thought we agreed when we got here, all margaritas all the time.
Vaughn: Well, I was standing in line and the person in front of me ordered one of these babies and it just sounded so good that I had to grab a couple. They're called "Sacrificial Virgins."
Syd: "Sacrificial Virgins?" What's in 'em?
Vaughn: Well apparently enough alcohol to make you forget you're about to be tossed into a volcano. (Takes a test sip, and immediately starts coughing.) Oh man!
Sydney (in the same situation as Vaughn): Damn! That stuff should come with a warning label or something.
Vaughn: Syd, alcohol does come with a warning label. You know how when you're standing in line at the ABC store and you have nothing to read so you glance at the back of the bottle and see this little paragraph featuring the words, "surgeon general," "should not consume" and "pregnant?" You know what I'm talking about. Syd: Michael, no one loves a smart ass. Except for me, apparently, and we all know that I can't make any claims at sanity. But damn if these things aren't good. (She takes another sip.) You know, a few more of these and I could maybe be lured up to a hotel room with a married man. Now how horrible would that be?
Vaughn (gathering up Syd, towel and all, and heading in the direction of the hotel): Not horrible at all. In fact, I've been meaning to talk to you about the whole "married" thing...
(Back in Los Angeles)
Jack unlocks the door to his apartment and staggers in, drunk off his ass. He manages to make it into the living room without tripping over anything and stumbles over to the couch to pass out. The last thing that registers in his brain before he passes out is the fact that his couch is lumpier, softer and a hell of a lot more active than it was this morning.
(The next morning)
Jack was dreaming. In the dream he was standing outside under a bunch of trees, hugging Pamela Anderson, who was some kind of superhero. He looked up into the trees and saw a bunch of shadowy figures. He yelled for Pam to get down, and she squealed and spun on her heel to run in the other direction, and in doing so, knocked Jack out when one of her swinging boobs hit him smack dab upside the head. So, when the ninja midgets dropped from the tree branches above his head, he wasn't able to defend himself or Pam from their attack.
Jack: Pam! Get away from the ninja midgets! Use your Laser Boob to knock them out and then fly away and get help.
Unfortunately for Pam, the ninja midgets were just too many in number, and easily overpowered her. Jack decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.
Jack: All right you assholes! I didn't want it to come to this, but it looks as though I have no choice! If you don't release Ms. Anderson, I'm afraid I'll have to put you through a torture technique the likes of which no man has ever come back sane from. That's right, I'm going to subject you to a Barney Marathon!
The ninja midgets started screaming so loud that Jack was sure they could be heard in the middle of a Linkin Park concert. They immediately released Pam and started running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Pam ran to Jack as soon as they released her. To anyone watching, the picture of the pair running towards each other would remind them of the opening credits of Baywatch in which Pam is running down the beach in slow motion. Except that Jack is there running towards her and is in slow motion as well.
Jack (once he reached her): Pam, you're safe! Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you ever again.
Pamela Anderson: Oh Jackie, I was so frightened! I thought that those ninja midgets were going to kill me and I would never see you again. It was the most terrifying two minutes of my entire life! Hold me!
And with that she flung herself into Jack Bristow's waiting arms. However, it seems that fate was not done making her suffer. She had thrown herself at him with such force that she accidentally deflated her boobs, and they got smaller and smaller until they were no longer the size of soccer balls and were now the size of ping-pong balls.
Pamela Anderson: NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! Not my boobs! Those things cost me thousands of dollars in plastic surgery! And I'm supposed to start filming a television show next week. How am I ever going to get an appointment under the knife and recover in only five days flat! Oh Jack! You have to help me. You could use your super secret agent contacts and find me a doctor pronto. And while you're at it, a damn good makeup artist. Oh, and call my agent and tell him it's a code red! He'll know what it means. He's dealt with this before, he'll know what to do.
Jack's head is beginning to spin with all of Pam's chatter. Not to mention the fact that she has her hand clenched around his upper arm in a death grip, and he's quite certain that if she doesn't release him from her tourniquet- like grip, he'll have to have it removed from lack of oxygen to the blood.
Jack: Pam, you have to calm down! And let go!
The actress's rising inane chatter overwhelms Jack. He starts to sway back and forth, out of sheer dizziness. He is beginning to feel like he usually does after a night of drinking and being mysterious, (which really does take more effort then one would think.) Just as he thinks that the ground is about to open up and swallow him whole he hears a disembodied voice calling to him.
Disembodied Voice: Jack! Jack! Jack! Wake up, Jack!
Slowly, everything goes out of focus, and eventually fades to black. When he comes around again, he finds that he is still on the couch he collapsed on last night. There's just one difference, though. His ears pick up the sound of bacon frying in the kitchen, and the sweet smell of fresh coffee wafts into the living room.
Jack (walking into the kitchen): Who's there?
He rounds the corner into his kitchen and comes to a complete halt. Because standing there making breakfast is the last person he would ever expect to see in a domestic setting.
Jack (completely floored): What are you doing here?
Tbc...
Well, I know that most people detest cliffhangers, I do too. But I've got to at least make an attempt at drawing attention to my fic. If you or anyone you know likes funny S/V Alias fics, please spread the word.
Let's sing a song:
If you're happy and you know it, leave a review! If you're happy and you know it, leave a review! If you're happy and you know it, oh dear god won't you please show it! If you're happy and you know it, leave a review!
Heed the song.
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias, J.J. Abrams does, Touchstone does and Bad Robot does. Blah blah blah, shoot me!
Distribution: (Chaosti is caught off guard and looks at the audience with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look) Uhh, sure? Just tell me when, where, for how long and how much potato salad will be involved in the process. Never did trust potato salad.
Proceed at your own risk.
The Dangers Of Boredom ch 2
(Somewhere in Tahiti)
Sydney was enjoying herself. She was currently sprawled out on a towel on the sandy beach outside of the hotel, soaking up the sun. Somewhere nearby, her boyfriend was grabbing them some much-needed alcohol, because really, who would want to be in Tahiti on a vacation like this and not have a drink? She spots Vaughn coming towards her, two huge titty glasses full of who-knows-what kind of liquor.
Sydney (sitting up and accepting one of the drinks from Vaughn): What the hell kind of drink is this? I thought we agreed when we got here, all margaritas all the time.
Vaughn: Well, I was standing in line and the person in front of me ordered one of these babies and it just sounded so good that I had to grab a couple. They're called "Sacrificial Virgins."
Syd: "Sacrificial Virgins?" What's in 'em?
Vaughn: Well apparently enough alcohol to make you forget you're about to be tossed into a volcano. (Takes a test sip, and immediately starts coughing.) Oh man!
Sydney (in the same situation as Vaughn): Damn! That stuff should come with a warning label or something.
Vaughn: Syd, alcohol does come with a warning label. You know how when you're standing in line at the ABC store and you have nothing to read so you glance at the back of the bottle and see this little paragraph featuring the words, "surgeon general," "should not consume" and "pregnant?" You know what I'm talking about. Syd: Michael, no one loves a smart ass. Except for me, apparently, and we all know that I can't make any claims at sanity. But damn if these things aren't good. (She takes another sip.) You know, a few more of these and I could maybe be lured up to a hotel room with a married man. Now how horrible would that be?
Vaughn (gathering up Syd, towel and all, and heading in the direction of the hotel): Not horrible at all. In fact, I've been meaning to talk to you about the whole "married" thing...
(Back in Los Angeles)
Jack unlocks the door to his apartment and staggers in, drunk off his ass. He manages to make it into the living room without tripping over anything and stumbles over to the couch to pass out. The last thing that registers in his brain before he passes out is the fact that his couch is lumpier, softer and a hell of a lot more active than it was this morning.
(The next morning)
Jack was dreaming. In the dream he was standing outside under a bunch of trees, hugging Pamela Anderson, who was some kind of superhero. He looked up into the trees and saw a bunch of shadowy figures. He yelled for Pam to get down, and she squealed and spun on her heel to run in the other direction, and in doing so, knocked Jack out when one of her swinging boobs hit him smack dab upside the head. So, when the ninja midgets dropped from the tree branches above his head, he wasn't able to defend himself or Pam from their attack.
Jack: Pam! Get away from the ninja midgets! Use your Laser Boob to knock them out and then fly away and get help.
Unfortunately for Pam, the ninja midgets were just too many in number, and easily overpowered her. Jack decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.
Jack: All right you assholes! I didn't want it to come to this, but it looks as though I have no choice! If you don't release Ms. Anderson, I'm afraid I'll have to put you through a torture technique the likes of which no man has ever come back sane from. That's right, I'm going to subject you to a Barney Marathon!
The ninja midgets started screaming so loud that Jack was sure they could be heard in the middle of a Linkin Park concert. They immediately released Pam and started running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Pam ran to Jack as soon as they released her. To anyone watching, the picture of the pair running towards each other would remind them of the opening credits of Baywatch in which Pam is running down the beach in slow motion. Except that Jack is there running towards her and is in slow motion as well.
Jack (once he reached her): Pam, you're safe! Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you ever again.
Pamela Anderson: Oh Jackie, I was so frightened! I thought that those ninja midgets were going to kill me and I would never see you again. It was the most terrifying two minutes of my entire life! Hold me!
And with that she flung herself into Jack Bristow's waiting arms. However, it seems that fate was not done making her suffer. She had thrown herself at him with such force that she accidentally deflated her boobs, and they got smaller and smaller until they were no longer the size of soccer balls and were now the size of ping-pong balls.
Pamela Anderson: NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! Not my boobs! Those things cost me thousands of dollars in plastic surgery! And I'm supposed to start filming a television show next week. How am I ever going to get an appointment under the knife and recover in only five days flat! Oh Jack! You have to help me. You could use your super secret agent contacts and find me a doctor pronto. And while you're at it, a damn good makeup artist. Oh, and call my agent and tell him it's a code red! He'll know what it means. He's dealt with this before, he'll know what to do.
Jack's head is beginning to spin with all of Pam's chatter. Not to mention the fact that she has her hand clenched around his upper arm in a death grip, and he's quite certain that if she doesn't release him from her tourniquet- like grip, he'll have to have it removed from lack of oxygen to the blood.
Jack: Pam, you have to calm down! And let go!
The actress's rising inane chatter overwhelms Jack. He starts to sway back and forth, out of sheer dizziness. He is beginning to feel like he usually does after a night of drinking and being mysterious, (which really does take more effort then one would think.) Just as he thinks that the ground is about to open up and swallow him whole he hears a disembodied voice calling to him.
Disembodied Voice: Jack! Jack! Jack! Wake up, Jack!
Slowly, everything goes out of focus, and eventually fades to black. When he comes around again, he finds that he is still on the couch he collapsed on last night. There's just one difference, though. His ears pick up the sound of bacon frying in the kitchen, and the sweet smell of fresh coffee wafts into the living room.
Jack (walking into the kitchen): Who's there?
He rounds the corner into his kitchen and comes to a complete halt. Because standing there making breakfast is the last person he would ever expect to see in a domestic setting.
Jack (completely floored): What are you doing here?
Tbc...
Well, I know that most people detest cliffhangers, I do too. But I've got to at least make an attempt at drawing attention to my fic. If you or anyone you know likes funny S/V Alias fics, please spread the word.
Let's sing a song:
If you're happy and you know it, leave a review! If you're happy and you know it, leave a review! If you're happy and you know it, oh dear god won't you please show it! If you're happy and you know it, leave a review!
Heed the song.