Well. Here we are again. Yup. New story...should be better than the old one. That's not saying much though. It generally takes place in the third person. I took Firefox Rocco's advice and sorta un-Mary-Sue-ed it. So if that makes it any better...whatever. This time I would like some reviews. You know, an initiative to keep writing? Bastards. Here you go.

-Italics inside dashes represent thought.-

FuriAmeriKuri, Chapter 1- Nazi Sporks and Deranged Vespas

-Nothing ever happens here. Everything is ordinary in this stupid little suburban town of Bluetree, Indiana. It's not so quiet recently, though. We're getting craploads of big company names. Wal-Mart, Starbucks, Home Depot... The most exciting thing to happen was about a week ago, the government finished their bigass new factory slash military base thing, codename Medmech. It's shaped like a giant iron. All the adults started celebrating, You know, getting drunk, tipping cows, murdering kittens, tipping hobos, the usual crap in my town.-

-Adults are really stupid.-

-For one thing, why the hell would you build a friggin' factory slash military base in the shape of an iron? Jeez, why not a blender? Blenders are friggin' AWESOME! Anyways, back to the stupid iron thing. It spews out this white foggy crap at the same time every day. It covers everything, as if it's shutting us off from the rest of the world. Like it's saying "Yeah right stupid ass. You're not going anywhere." -

Andrew groaned. He groaned because it was a damn school day. He'd like to go back in time, find the retarded moron who thought up the idea of wasting kid's youthfulness by putting them in a room and teaching them "TWO PLUS TWO EQUALS EIGHT, RETARDS!". He'd like to find that man and stab him with a plunger many, many times. Andrew groaned again and crawled out of bed. He lethargically got dressed and walked down the stairs. He looked out the back door, but his view was blocked because one of the kittens was climbing on the screen door again.

"No kitty, get off the door."

"...meow?"

"NO, kitty, get off the friggin' door."

"...meow?"

"NO KITTY THAT'S A BAD GODDAMN KITTY GET OFF THE FRIGGIN' DOOR OR I'M GONNA KICK YOUR KITTY ASS!"

"...meow?"

"Whatever."

Andrew's argument with the cat had made him hungry. He ate a pop-tart. Pop-tarts were good. Sugar goooood. He walked out the door without saying goodbye to his parents. Why? Because his parents, along with his little brother, were somewhere in Florida. Andrew dislikes hot temperatures, so his mother figured he was old enough to stay home by himself for a while. Ho-hum. Andrew continued on his merry way, walking to school. He wasn't on the bus because there was a little incident the year before concerning the exhaust pipe, a match, and a very stupid second grader. So he walked. It wasn't a particularly bad walk, except for the fact that A) He was walking to school and B) When he was turning the corner out of his neighborhood, someone zoomed past him on a yellow moped, driving through a puddle and soaking him. This thoroughly pissed him off. Andrew had a strong urge to throw a pastry at it. But he had no such fruit filled breadlike object, so he turned to the now speeding away moped thing.

"OY! BITCH! GET BACK HERE AND APOLOGIZE TO ME THIS GODDAMN INSTANT!"

The figure on the moped turned around and flipped him off. Andrew sighed and continued walking. -Well that's just friggin' great. Damn adults. They get on our cases, trying to get us polite, and there are people like that driving around.-

Andrew arrived at school, soaked and pissed off. He scurried to his first class to avoid being late. He had perfect attendance since kindergarten and no asshole moped-driving retard was going to change that. His first class was FCS, which stood for 'Family Consumer Sciences'. The school called it that because Home Ec or Cooking would drive most of the male students away. Not that they had a choice. It was mandatory. Goddamn schoolboard bastards. Andrew didn't mind, because he got to relax for the most part. He had a few friends in the class. I won't go into great detail with all the classes because that would take too damn long. He got out of FCS, went to Study Hall, then lunch, Algebra, (-Bastard Algebra teacher trying to confuse me by asking what zero divided by eight is. He asked the kid behind me, and his head imploded due to too much thought, or lack thereof.-), then Gym. Andrew collapsed approximately seventy five point five times in gym. Andrew is a nerd, and proud of it. Andrew is to gym class what Michael Jackson is to a daycare. BAD. No es bueno. He finished off the day with Language Arts, which doesn't totally suck. Andrew likes to read. With school done, Andrew begins to walk home.

"Sheesh...I feel like someone's watching me...HA! YOU THINK I DON'T SEE YA BACK THERE, DO YA? NAZI SPORK BASTARDS!"

Andrew points to a bush. The random pedestrians look at him like he's insane (he is), then continue on their pedestrian-y business.

BUT!

Back in the shadows, behind the bush, a spork with a Nazi wristband is panicking and talking into an imaginary walkie talkie.

"ACH! ZEE BOY HAS DEESCOVERED OUR PLAN TO REVIVE ZEE GREAT HITLAH BY STEELING ALL THE WHALD'S MAILBOXES! ABOHT! ABOHT! WHEN I DIE, ONE THOUSAND MORE SHALL RISE! HAIL HITLAH!"

The spork then self-destructs. Let us have a moment of silence. Moment's up. Andrew continued to his house, -Where's my mailbox...?-walked in the door, grabbed a bag of Doritos and a Vanilla Coke, and sits down to watch T.V. His oh-so-precious screen watching is interruped by knock on the door. He ignores it, and continues to stare at the boob tube (heh. i said boob.) Then the person at the door rings the doorbell several times. Andrew continues to igore it. Then an explosion with more earth-shattering properties than Oprah's voice is heard. Andrew scoots to the hallway, to see that the door has been blown off it's hinges. He can see the silhouette of someone in the doorway.

"JUST WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? JESUS-TAP-DANCING-CHRIST!"

Andrew bellows at the figure as he approaches the doorway. He would have spewed more rudeness, but a guitar came swinging out of nowhere, smashing into Andrew's forehead and knocking him out. The figure steps into the house, revealing another, shorter person on the lawn. Silhouette number one kicks Andrew in the head.

"Tch. This kid's worse than you, Ta-Kun. One hit and he's unconscious."

The figure in the yard, aka Silhouette number two, shrugs and Silhouette number one walks further into the house, dragging Andrew with it.

Well? Much better, yes? Review, or face the wrath of the suicidal Nazi spork!