AN: Hello again, everyone. I'm back. Sorry my updates have been getting fewer and farther in between. I've just been running around, trying to do everything and get everything done and…I can sum it up in one rating-appropriate word. ARGH!!
Now that we've gotten that out of the way, on with the chapter. If you are male, please don't be offended. It's not personal. I'm just female. I don't own DBZ, I don't own The Man Song (of which I advise you to read the lyrics carefully grinz), and I don't own any frying pans. I consider myself extremely lucky to have my little saucepan with which I make Ramen Noodles and mac 'n' cheese. -;;
Chapter Twenty-Two—FPSGAWMA
A gentle tap on the door alerted those within the small room to another arrival. One person, a short man with black hair and no nose, rose and eased the door open a crack. He peered out before opening the door wide open and gesturing for the person outside to enter. "Welcome, friend."
The newcomer—Yamcha—nodded and wordlessly walked into the room and sat down in a vacant chair near the front. He stared at a spot on the wall straight ahead of him and did not say a word to anyone.
There were a few other people in the room already. They sat in chairs arranged in semi-straight lines around the room. At the front of the room was a very small stage, set up with a podium, complete with microphone. It was a cozy little setup for what could turn out to be a very unpleasant meeting.
A glance at his watch told Gohan that it was almost meeting time. He did a very quick head count, trying to remember if anyone was missing. Let's see…Yamcha, Oolong, Vegeta, Krillen, Trunks, Goten, me, and Master Roshi. Dad's dead, Chaot-zu couldn't make it because of that mime competition, and Piccolo said he wouldn't come if his life depended on it. So who are we missing?
As if in answer to his thoughts, there was another knock on the door. He opened it and smiled. "Ah, you've arrived. Welcome, friend."
Tien stepped past the chibi and into the room. He looked more than a little nervous as he sat down behind Yamcha; his three eyes glanced around furtively, as though he was frightened of something.
Son Gohan glanced at his watch again. It was now meeting time, and everyone was here. He decided that it was time to begin this all-important meeting.
Gohan climbed the stairs onto the small stage and walked over to the podium. Once behind the podium, he climbed up onto a chair so he could actually see over the podium. His tail swished through the air behind him as the small amount of chatter in the room died. "Good afternoon, my friends. Welcome to the first meeting of the Frying Pan Support Group and Whipped Men Anonymous. Let us begin by reciting our most sacred oath, the Man's Prayer."
The assembly of males clasped their hands and bowed their heads in the utmost revery as they recited a prayer that held true for men everywhere.
I am a man
But I can change
If I have to
I guess
That done, they lifted their heads and looked at their fearless leader expectantly. Now the meeting could really begin. They were all anxious to be able to share what was going on with the women in their lives, and the frying pans that made them live in utter terror.
"Thank you. We have asserted once again that we are men, and a man has to do what a man ahs to do. Does anyone have a story to share with us today?" Gohan asked, looking around at his assembled friends, family, and tormenters. "Anyone? Anyone?"
Much to his surprise, a short man with black, flame-shaped hair sitting near the back rose to his feet and moved towards the front. He had figured it would take a little more time for that particular male to come forward and tell his story. But Gohan moved aside and surrendered the podium and the audience's attention to the first speaker of the meeting.
"Hello, my name is Vegeta, and I am a whipped man," the short man growled into the microphone at the podium. He looked a little worried about being there.
Everyone in the room chimed in, "Hi, Vegeta!"
The Saiyan Prince took a deep breath and told his sad story. "Well, I live to train. That is what I do. I am a martial artist. So I spend a great deal of my time in the Gravity Room the woman built for me. But sometimes, in the course of my training, I blow up parts of the room, and the woman gets angry because she has to repair it. But yesterday, she got so angry that she just up and smacked me with that Kami-damned frying pan of hers!" The entire room winced and nodded sympathetically. "And then she had the nerve to tell me that she wasn't going to fix my Gravity Room for a week, and that I could spend that week sleeping on the couch, thinking about what I would do without her! The nerve of that woman…" His words slurred into nonintelligible muttering.
"Now, now, Vegeta," Gohan rose from his chair and patted the Saiyan's arm in a comforting gesture. "Let's keep ourselves under control. Remember, this is a support group. We all understand how you feel, and we are here to help you."
Vegeta took a deep breath and nodded his understanding before returning to his seat.
"I also have a frying pan story to share," Gohan himself took the podium once again after Vegeta had sat down. "My mother in quite fond of the frying pan as a method of punishment for me, my father before me, and my brother after or at the same time as me. Last week, my mother discovered that I had somehow managed to hide a comic book within the pages of one of my textbooks, and as such was not doing my schoolwork. She pulled out her frying pan, and…I don't think I need to tell you what happened next, my friends." The other nodded fervently, and Gohan bowed. "Thank you. Have we any other stories to share?" No one moved. "Come now, we're all understanding males. Everyone here is in the same boat. Please, feel free to share your stories and your feelings."
Finally, Tien stood and moved to the stage. Gohan once again stepped away to allow the new speaker to take the podium and tell his sad, tragic tale.
"Hello, my name is Tien, and I am a whipped male," he said softly. He looked nervous.
"Hi, Tien!" everyone else replied, almost a little too cheerfully for the mood of the speaker.
"Lunch and I were enjoying dinner one night when she sneezed. As many of you know, when she sneezes, she…she changes. She becomes an entirely different person. She looked around and went ballistic! Naturally, I tried to calm her down, and she turned on me. She called me a pervert and all sorts of other names, and then she chased me into the kitchen. There—there was a frying pan on the counter. She grabbed it, and then she…she…" He half-turned away from the podium and put his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, I just can't continue. I'm sorry."
"It's all right, Tien," Gohan said soothingly. "We all feel your pain. Trunks, would you give Tien a 'reassurance hug?'" The lavender-haired chibi darted forward and tightly embraced the three-eyed man. Then they both returned to their seats as the rest of the assembly applauded politely.
"Anyone else?" Gohan asked, looking around. No one else moved. He sighed. "Very well, then I have an exercise for us all to partake in, to help us in our conquest of our fears, so that we may escape from the terror of the pan."
Gohan retreated out of sight, behind the stage; everyone whispered to each other, curious as to what the chibified son of Goku had planned. He emerged a moment later, carrying the most terrifying thing one could show to a group of whipped males such as these.
He held, in his hands, an actual frying pan. A solid, real, not-fake frying pan.
The men in the room recoiled in fear; a few leapfrogged over chairs or other people in their frantic efforts to put as much distance between themselves and the horrid thing that was cast-iron cooking implement. No one could believe that anyone would dare bring such a thing here. The horror…the horror!!
Gohan remained still, holding the terrifying instrument in both hands. "Now, this is what we need to work on. The frying pan itself is not our enemy. The frying pan itself will not hurt us. It is only when this thing is wielded by crazed wives, mothers, and basically any female that it becomes something to be feared and avoided. Remember—the frying pan is our friend. It cooks our food for us. Repeat that with me.
"The frying pan is our friend. The frying pan is our friend," the men intoned. Yamcha and Oolong actually climbed down from their hiding spot in the rafters, where they had scrambled to whilst trying to get as far away from the item in Gohan's hands as possible. "The frying pan is our friend."
"We love frying pans," Gohan said gently. "Say it with me."
They all chimed monotonously, "We love frying pans. We love frying pans…"
"Now, lay your hands on the pan and keep repeating that," Gohan held out the object that was the cause of so much fear and terror for these men and continued to instruct them in his kindest 'talking to small children' voice what to say.
"We love frying pans. The pan is our friend," Master Roshi muttered, placing one pale, wrinkled hand on the pan's handle. His eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but Gohan had the impression that they were probably wide with fear.
One by one, they all touched the pan, still chanting their mantra of 'the pan is our friend' and 'we love the pan.' Many winced in fear as their fingers brushed the cool cast-iron surface, but soon all had made physical contact with the object of their nightmares. They returned to their seats.
"Now do we all feel better?" Gohan asked. "Liberated, perhaps?" Everyone nodded. "Good. Today's meeting is adjourned. We will reconvene next week. Same time, same place. Please bring your stories of frying pan terror, and don't forget to pay dues so that we can have pie and punch next week. Thank you very much. I hereby adjourn this meeting of the Frying Pan Support Group and Whipped Men Anonymous. Go in peace, my friends."
The assembled men rose from their chairs and exited one by one, leaving this sanctuary, where they felt understood and welcomed, and returned to their lives of being dominated by their frying pan-wielding wives, mothers, and just females in general.
AN: I guess I should add that the Man's Prayer belongs to Red Green. All hail duct tape.
I've been wanting to do this for a while, and since I'm going completely braindead for what I was going to do for this chapter, I just decided to go for it. Hope everyone likey. In case you didn't get it, the title of the chapters (FPSGAWMA) stands for "Frying Pan Support Group and Whipped Men Anonymous."
I don't know how often I'll be updating from now on. I am in college, and homework has to come first. Yuck. But bear with me, and I'll try to make the chapters worth the wait. Promise. And if you have any ideas or anything you'd like to see happen in this fic, please feel free to let me know. I have a few more things I need to put in here, and then I'll probably have to wrap this up for lack of ideas. So any suggestions are extremely welcome!!
And guess what else?! With this chapter, I have finally done it. For the first time ever, I have topped fifty-thousand words in one fanfic!! In only twenty-two chapters, no less!! YAY!! I'm sooooo happy!!
Until next time, Ja ne!