I luv reviews! Thank you for being so encouraging! Now, to answer a few questions. . .

Trivette Lover Heather:

1)You'll find out where Trapper is at the very beginning of the story.

2)No, Vicky will NOT fall for anyone, that is unless, people want her to. If that's so, then you will have to tell me.

I luv getting emails! Feel free to email me! Ideas still welcome!

Now, on with the story! Be prepared for language and insanity. You have been warned!

Quote of the Day:

P.A: Due to conditions beyond our control, we regret to inform you that lunch will now be served.

What The Hell Is Going On?

Chapter 3

More explanations, A food fight, and one crazy Granny

I tried to find some kind of explanation in my head but I constantly drew up blanks. It was then I noticed that Trapper (THE Trapper!!) was being unusually quiet. I looked over at him and saw why. He was busy stuffing his face with my Granny's cookin' (A/N: There ya go!).

But then, so was everyone else. I hadn't noticed, but everyone had piled their plates up with tons of Granny's chicken and cornbread and mash potatoes and stuff. It was like they hadn't eaten in months.

Then again, I reminded myself that the only thing they had been eating was the food served at the unit, which was never praised highly (not counting very few occasions).

And now everyone was staring at me, waiting for an explanation. I suddenly thought about lying. Maybe I could say. . . No, that wouldn't work. . . Lying wouldn't be any good.

Besides, the truth is always best, right?

Right?

I was about to start explaining, when I noticed something very frightening.

There was a fly, on the bowl of mashed potatoes.

Now, your probably thinking, 'What the fuck? Why the hell should you be scared of a damn fly?' but remember back to when I explained how Granny dressed in khaki hunting.

Remember now?

"DUCK AND COVER!" I shouted. I grabbed my plate and shoved my chair as far away from the table as I could. I knew what was gonna happen.

For a split second, the MASH gang looked at me like I had gone nuts.

Then came the distinct call of the She-Thing (aka Granny).

"KI-KI-KI-KIIIIIIIIIIIIYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Granny screeched as she came down from out of know where (khaki hunting clothes and all), wielding her almighty. . . fly swatter.

"DIE, DEMON LION! YOU WICKED SPAWN OF SATAN!" My grandmother roared as she wacked furiously at the mash potatoes, the fly long gone.

And this whole time, I'm over there thinking, Why me? Why did God hate me so much? What had I done that was so wrong?

"Oh dear. . ." Father Mulchay murmured as he (and everyone else) watched in horrified fascination as the little, completely mad woman that was my grandmother furiously spray potatoes everywhere.

(A/N: At this point, the author would like to say that she is sincerely sorry if the 'wicked spawn of satan' part offended anyone. It was just something Vicky's grandmother would say.)

I motioned for everyone to follow me, and we exited the now quickly soiling dining room (I noticed that most of them brought their plates along.). I led them to the living room, where Pop was sitting in his recliner, as predicted, reading the paper.

"Ethel have another looney-attack?" He asked without looking up. "Yup," I mumbled. I turned to our guest with a forced smile on.

"Please, do take a seat, make yourself at home!" I said through gritted teeth. Everyone sat on either the worn out couch or the torn leather loveseat. To say the least, they appeared to be rather squished (and Ferret Face looked disgusted—he was sandwiched between Klinger and Radar. They were enlisted men, after all.)

Since I had no where else to sit, I sat cross legged on the floor. I scratched nervously at the back of my head.

"So. . . uh. . . Guess you want a explanation now, huh?" I asked meekly. Everyone nodded.

We heard a distinct, "KIIIIIIIYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" and a very wet sounding splat. I winced.

"Right," I started. "Well. . ." I looked around the room desperately. I saw the VCR. I smiled.

"Be right back, don't move a muscle!" I called over my shoulder as I jumped up and ran to my room. I grabbed a tape which I had recorded several of the first MASH episodes, and ran downstairs (when I passed the kitchen, Granny called "Look out for lions, Kiara!" Often when she has these fits, she changes my name.).

When I reentered the room, I immediately noticed that Hawkeye and Trapper were being their usual goofy selves—apparently, when I had said, 'Don't move a muscle', they took it literally.

Hawkeye was sitting with his fork half way into his mouth, while Trapper was bending over his plate, neither moving.

"Smart alecks. . ." I muttered. They laughed and went back to eating. Pop grunted and turned to the next page of his paper. I cleared my throat, getting the MASH gang's attention.

"Well," I began. "I can't exactly explain it, since I'll probably end up confusing you even more, so instead, I'll show you how I know who you are."

I went over and popped the video in. I fast forwarded through the credits and stuff (blocking the TV from their view with my body). Then I turned to them.

"Be prepared for a big time shock," I warned grimly. I hit play, and backed away. At first, there was complete silence. Eventually, Pop left, muttering something about constipation, but I think he was too scared to see (or hear) their reactions.

About the time the first episode was halfway over, Henry muttered quietly, "Does this mean what I think it means?"

I stood and stopped the tape, then turned to him. I chose my words carefully.

"Well. . . If you think this means that you guys are characters of a TV show, a GOOD TV show may I add, then yeah, it means what you think it means, Henry."

"Garbage," Frank muttered. I turned to him, eyes flashing (I think, I don't really know if my eyes flash, but I like the expression).

"Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Well how 'bout this, Ferret Face?! I can prove to you that it's a TV show!" I snapped. I motioned for them to follow me. They did so, and while I led them down the hall and into the game room (where my Playstation, computer, and other beloved things were), I muttered quite a few obscene things under my breath.

"Stupid, mother fucking, ass wipe. . ."

"What did you say?!" Frank all but screamed.

"None of your business, bub!" I shouted back. I shoved the game room door open and made a bee line straight for the computer.

"What's that?" Margaret asked, her voice snappy.

"It's a computer. One of the smartest things mankind ever created, save the Playstation." I muttered, accessing the internet.

"Playstation?" Father Mulchay asked, puzzled.

"A game machine that rots my brain," I muttered absently. I typed in MASH on the computer and clicked search. A bunch of sites came up, and I clicked on one that looked promising. Sure enough, it had a bunch of good pictures of merchandise on MASH.

I turned to everyone, smiling triumphantly.

"I give you proof!" I said extravagantly, moving away so they could see the screen.

"Wow. . . "Radar gasped.

"Holy Toledo!" Klinger exclaimed.

"Amazing. . ." Father Mulchay breathed.

Yep. I think they believed me. I looked at everyone else. Henry was just shaking his head, muttering about needing a belt, and Trapper and Hawkeye. . . were no where near the computer and were instead MESSING WITH MY PLAYSTATION!!!!!!!!

"DON'T DO THAT!!!" I thundered. They jumped away. I rushed over to check if my baby was hurt.

"What is that?" Hawkeye asked, looking confused.

"It's my Playstation. You know how you two love drinking so much?"

They nodded.

"Well, I love this thing just as much you two love drinking. . . maybe more! Don't touch this unless I'm watching you two!" I said sternly.

"I still don't believe this," Frank's annoying voice somehow made my migraine worse than it already was. I groaned.

"Oh, Frank, just shut up!" I snapped.

"You watch your mouth!" Margaret yelled at me.

"Don't tell me what to do woman! You ain't my momma!" I screamed back.

"Is there any trouble over here?" the good Father asked, looking worried.

"EVERYTHING'S FINE!!!!!!!!!" We both shouted at him.

I rubbed my temples. I needed sleep. That, or some strong-as-hell headache medicine. My paper could wait.

"Alright," I sighed. "In the hallway, there's a closet. Inside, there's blankets, pillows and things. You can sleep anywhere, the living room the kitchen, a spare bedroom, hell—sorry Father—you can sleep in the bathroom for all I care! But you cannot, I repeat, CANNOT sleep in my room. You do and I'll make sure none of you can have children! Good night!"

And with that, I stormed up to my bedroom, where I collapsed and fell asleep in 10 seconds.

'NOT IN VICKY'S POV'

"There is something seriously wrong with that girl," Henry said as soon as Vicky left.

"No, she's just extremely worn out." A deep, gravelly voice rumbled.

Everyone jumped. They turned and saw it was Vicky's grandfather, Mortimer.

"No, she's crazy!" Frank spat. Mortimer eyed him sternly.

"Watch your mouth boy." Mortimer hissed. "You wait. Tomorrow she'll be different. How would you react when a bunch of TV characters are dropped into your house?" With that, he turned and walked away.

"He's got a point you know," Father Mulchay said eventually. Henry merely shook his head.

"We'll see, we'll see. . . "he muttered. And with that, everyone exited the room to get blankets and to go to sleep.

It had, after all, been a long and unusual day.

Yay! Done! Review and tell me what you think!