AN: Ok. Yes. I like Ron White. Hee. I realize that Johnny is slipping out of character, despite my white-knuckled hold on him. I don't mean for it to happen. And I won't allow Jhonen to fall in love. It is not a love story, it is not a romance novel. It is a story about the creator of a comic meeting his character. As far as Nny being slightly out of character, I try not to do that. I try to keep him in character to the best of my abilities. However, I do not plan these stories out. I just kind of get on here and wing it, so to speak. So I don't really see it until I read it over again, and by that time theres nothing, really, that I can do about it. The plot had been set. I thought it looked weird...But I was hoping no one else would pick up on it...Hehe..So if you would be so kind, loyal readers, please do me a favor and point out exactly what it is that is making him out of character. Please! All your advice and encouragement has been greatly appreciated. Oh, and by the way, I think I forgo this in the other chapters - I don't own JtHM, Invader Zim, or Jhonen himself. Lets all hope Jhonens not someones man-slave. That would not only suck, but be an incredibly weird fetish in itself.
Thanks,
-The Management
Summer Colors:
ChApTeR fOuR: Pins And Needles:
Jhonen sat on the couch of Nny's house, watching television. Kaz had fallen asleep.
Jhonen.
What?
Jhonen, look at yourself.
What do you want?
You're cuddled on the couch with a girl.
And?
Are you in love with her?
I told you. I'm not looking for "love". I'm looking for a connection with someone who sticks out in the ocean of color-whisps that are the faces of the people I meet.
Hm. Sure.
What? What are you implying?
Only that she could be a little more than a 'connection', Jhonen. You're being an asshole if you don't poke her.
He huffed. Stop suggesting that because I'm not going to. I'm going to take her back to her residence tomorrow morning. I just wanted to talk to her.
So you DID like her?
...You're being an asshole now.
What! How am I the one being an asshole! You're not making sense. Ok, your exact words before, Mr. Intellegence, were 'I don't like her. She's just another face in a blurry sea.' And then you rescued her from those purely venomous creatures, those vile little cheerleaders, and then at your own complete and total discretion, decided to ask JOHNNY, of all people, if you could take her back to his house - A house YOU created, that you should have TOTAL and COMPLETE control over the happenings in it, mind you - and now you're sitting on a couch, with this 'Kaz' curled around your arm!
She's curled around my arm? When did that happen? He looked down. Sure enough, the small-framed girl was wrapped around his arm.
See...Are you going to start believing me?
No. Not a chance in hell. I only saved her from the park because it was conveinent and she didn't bubble over in the quaint little trait of idiocy when I spoke to her.
For a grand total of 10 seconds.
It was more than ten seconds when I asked her for the time!
Ok. A minute.
I have a pretty good judge of character, thank you.
You're sweet naivety will be your downfall someday, but for the time being it's quite amusing.
What the hell is wrong with you?
What's wrong with ME! What the hell is wrong with YOU? You're the one who can't stand to be around people, can't take a complicated relationship with anyone, and just wants to draw little man-child style pictures in a book, and sell your little soap-box thoughts on whatever comes to mind.
I think it's just fine. It's allegedly a free country. I think one of our amendments lied to us and told us our government will let us write and say whatever we want.
Now you're a 'we'? Five seconds ago you were just an 'I'.
Oh, shut the hell up, would you? The point is, I do it, I get paid for it, and I like it.
Why?
Why what?
...Moron...Why do you LIKE it?
Because I can freely write what I wish to. My thoughts and so on. And its kind of fun. Its the whole 'insanity' part of it. I make a living drawing a story line on people who talk to themselves, eerily much like I'm doing now.
Oh, don't even get me started on your way of thinking. You're a hypocrite. Your comics and art targets one specific group of people. A particular age group, with a particular mindset. And I'm sorry to say that some of the very people with the skull buckle boots and the white make up on bad skin read your work in an effort to be just another of the people you are sickened and hold a certain animosity, even though you swear you don't, towards. My dear Jhonen, I'm afraid you've started...Dare I say it?...A FAD! AHHH! Oh, no! You're actually...hehe...You're actually adding to the problem of the infestation of assholes! THE IRONY IS TOO GREAT! Now a bunch of people with Johnny, Squee, and Devi's haircut and your point of view are running around! They wear your MERCHENDISE thinking that they're someone, and you can't live without them because they pay for your electric, your power, your groceries. Oh, sweet Jesus. I think irony is possibly the greatest phenomenon ever to occur. But then there ARE the real ones...The ones who stumbled upon these comics themselves without some friend who told them and they decided that Johnny was 'really hawt, ohmigawsh' and ran out and bought it. And, to tell the truth, I'm AMAZED your ass hasn't been sued yet! Should just one of those comics fall into the hands of the wrong person, should those words written ever be read by the eyes of someone they shouldn't...It would be over for you. You'd be in a mental institution, or have cell-block number and a shower daddy and, depending on which state you're in, possibly get married, or maybe, if you got off easy, you'd be in debt and someone would be walking around with a new wardrobe. Do you really want to find out if what they say about dropping the soap is TRUE?
I put disclaimers inside the cover page.
That doesn't mean they'll mind them! There ARE people out there who don't even READ the inside cover! They don't usually read for YOU, y'know, they read for the STORY LINE. Wake up and smell the supeonas, Jhonen.
Shut up.
Ok. Defense mechanism goes up. 'Shut up' will really get me to stop. You're a pathetic mess, Jhonen. Do you even remember you own mothers birthday?
Shut the hell up. My mother has nothing to do with this.
Ooh. Sensitive spot. Mommy dearest beat you or something when you were young? Or the opposite - you're mommy's little boy?
Aren't you supposed to know the answers to those questions if you ARE me?
What's wrong? No answer?
Where's Nny?
Alright. Change the subject, but I suppose you'll bring this up later, anyway, when you have a rebuttle statement prepared. And I have no idea where Nny is.
Shouldn't you know?
I guess. How do I get up without waking her up?
Why are you concerned about waking her up?
Because it's kind of rude, and not only that but its slightly hard to go looking for him and just to leave her here on the couch by herself. But I can't just go and drag her through the house of a thousand corpses and possibly cause irreversible damage.
Ooooh, you're concerned about her?
Why not? I'm not an asshole.
Ok...Answering a question with a question...Classic sign of guilt.
Jhonen was becoming increasingly angry. This was a game of cat and mouse now. Incessent train of thought...YOU'RE IMPOSSIBLE!
...My, my. What a temper. Why so hostile?
Shut up! What about that is so hard to grasp!
I'll grasp your sentences and questions when you grasp mine.
...Ugh, God. I do not have the patience for you. I really don't!
Ok, just answer my questions honestly, and you'll soon figure yourself out. How does that sound?
Like a shit plan if you ask me.
No one asked you.
Lest I go on and on like I do. And actually, you did ask me.
Alright. Fair enough.
Jhonen decided that finding Johnny was a better idea than just letting him stalk around the house because there was a stranger in it. He slipped his arm out of the grip of the girl, and gently walked down the stairs. He looked around, in shadows and what not. For all he knew, Nny could be asleep in his room, though he doubted it, especially with Kaz on his property. He checked various shadows and rooms, and around corners. People who were bound by something gave him pleading, demanding eyes to free them. No one was going through real pain, anyway. They were just cartoons. Pictures.
Weren't they?
Johnny came to mind. And a section he'd done in the second comic, called 'Things That Make Noise'
"Such amusing fiction, these stories they tell. It always comes to this. If they really had a desire to live, they would've been more aware of how easy it is to die, would've chosen their actions more wisely. In these moment, you can tell they're not regretting having hurt you. They regret doing it to your face."
How he remembered those black and white pages, the ink and paper coming alive in his mind...The words he wrote...
"They make so much noise. I try to wait until I'm out of the room before I start laughing."
They seemed so vivid now...These people...Wait, since when are they 'people'? He had to keep in mind they were only cartoons...But still, they played, invading his thoughts...
"A blur..."
He could only see flashes of the frames he'd made of them...It was insane...All this for an attempt to find Johnny!
"...Of sweating..."
They zapped the back of his eyes now, like lightning...
"...Screaming..."
He reached for the wall as the stone flight of stairs flashed for a nano-second into focus, but all he felt was his fingernails break and scrape against the stone...
"...Crying..."
His face hit the steps, scraping and peeling away at least two layers of his flesh, it stung, and still those incessent frames haunted him...
"...Human..."
He tumbled, already feeling the foresaken pain of bruises forming on his thin body...
"...Drama..."
Why did he make the staircase so...Long? To increase dramatic tension. Thats right...
"But every once in awhile, they say things that sound like words. They make me think about what I'm doing. The noises make me uncomfortable."
This was...Unexplainable...Utterly and without a doubt the scariest thing he'd ever experienced.
"So uncomfortable that..."
He could almost feel the axe coming down on him with each stair he hit, the knife driving into his chest cavity, the hammer slamming down and crushing his face and knocking out teeth...
"Sometimes..."
The razor slicing through him...
"I wonder..."
The butcher knife, the blade dripping blood, shining and slicked...
"Why I just don't get myself a pair of earplugs."
AN: I'm aware that this is slightly short but that just seemed like a good place to end it. I guess Zim and Dib and Gaz will be in the next episode. Ttfn, ta ta for now.