DM666: Hello people! I'm here talking to you from Cyborgrockstar's story! A small argument happened and we (me and other friends of Cybrgrkstr) decided she needs a happy story (that includes no romance) to lighten up all those depressing ones she loves to write. To help her get an idea for comedy (without romance) I'm here to help with a tinny tiny small bit of co authoring. (lets face it, if I'd written it myself it wouldn't of gotten as many readers as it deserves and my description is worth crap) Here's a comedy featuring every one's favorite team, the Demolition Boys!
CyRS: Konnichiwa, folks! It is I, aforementioned angst writer! Mwa! Yes, my friends do think I need to write non-romantical-though-giddy-happy-cheery-dotty stories…thus, this is born! Mr. DM thought up the storyline and I wrote the description and yadda yadda…you get the point. :) Hope you all enjoy!
DISCLAIMER (so we don't get sued—though who's so desperate for cash they go preying on adolescents they can sue because they have not disclaimed ownership of TV shows? ): DM666-san and CyborgRockStar-san do NOT own Beyblade, though they do own the odd random stuff that oddly and randomly appears in this storyline that is non-Beyblade…yeah.
Chapter One: Cheeriness
Cheery—it's a fine word. Sounds like cherry, and cherries are pleasant, ne? Unless you're an apple, then you don't like cherries because they rival you in sweetness and goodness. More people probably like apples better than cherries. A good poll topic for that random person out there who has no social life, doesn't want one, imagines themselves making out with someone from Star Trek (The poor Trekkies are always the targets—don't feel bad, Trekkies, you're cool. Teach me Klingon?), and makes a dumb website twenty-thousand bored-out-of-their-wits people visit. Yeah…. But back to the point: Cheery. Who doesn't like it? Well, if you don't, I suggest you get moving.
Go on, now, shoo.
Yes, you in the corner brooding, you too.
So now, here we all are—cheery-lovers. And perhaps cherry-lovers. Cherry, cheery—similar. Anyway, cheery: That's what this story shall be.
And cheery stories have cheery beginnings.
And cheery beginnings have cheery settings.
Thus, our story starts in the ever-so-cheerful universe. Earth, more specifically. Europe, more more specifically. Russia, more more more specifically. Moscow, more more more more specifically. Balkov Abbey, more more more more more more specifically.
Wait…do Balkov Abbey and cheery go together in the same sentence at all? Well, in this story, yes. The Demolition Boys are about to have a very cheerful experience….
(WARNING: FOLLOWING CONTENT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. THAT IS WHY THEY MUST STAY AND READ THIS. HA…HA.)
A rather ugly and unusually cheerful middle-aged guy stood outside of a room, blocked from view by a decaying wooden door. "Boys, I've been noticing that you haven't been performing at tip-top shape...so I have something special for you."
"Birth control pills for Tala?" guessed our favorite psycho, Bryan, eagerly. (No peeps, not YAOI or hints of it!)
"No, even better!"—Boris obviously found his trainee's remark quite in-the-ordinary.—"Your very own medieval torture chamber!" He swung open the door flamboyantly (it fell off its hinges with a noisy clatter and shattered into thousands of dead wood splinters) only to reveal…
"A room filled with old torture machines?" inquired Bryan, stunned.
"That's right! Now you can get taller on the rack, feel all the pain you want, and have thrilling near death experiences with the swinging pendulum of doom!"
For a moment the entire team was silent. Then all hell broke loose.
"Out of the way people! I need to get some height!" Ian shouted. (Such truth…)
"Pain, pain, pain, pain everywhere!" chorused Bryan, cackling madly. (Yes, our favorite psycho indeed…)
"I call the pendulum!" Spencer exclaimed cheerily. (Ha! Cheerily strikes again!)
After much fighting and shoving and cussing, all of them had a machine of torture… except Tala, who stood in the doorway and looked at them like they were all psychotic. And no one's really doubting that….
"Owwwwwww! (pants) Pain! Come on, Tala, don't you want to feel some?" Bryan said, licking his lips.
"Not only is that suicide,"—his captain sounded disgusted—"but it would ruin the hotness that is me."—more disgusted—"I'd lose all my fan girls (flicks bangs back)."
"Like you even want fan girls," Bryan taunted, rolling his lilac eyes.
"They may be annoying and sissyish but they make me feel popular, which of course I am."
"I'm popular and I don't need any fans." Bry sounded rather smug.
Tala examined his teammate carefully then. Bryan was sprawled on the crude form of a rack, with little pins peppered over it. Sweat was pouring down his face and he was grinning maniacally because of the pain.
"No girl would want to be your fan."
Whatever reply Bryan made was cut off by a scream from across the room.
"Ian," Boris was saying to the short kid as Bryan and Tala looked their way, "really…this isn't too good for your health and you may get seriously injured."
"Since when have you cared about my freakin' health? Keep turning, man!" snapped Ian, looking desperate.
"Ian, I don't think the rack is going to help you—"
"What do you freakin' care! Turn the wheel man, turn! What's gotten into you?"
"What has gotten into me?" Boris gazed wonderingly at the dirty ceiling, absentmindedly observing a large spider as hairy as his chest weave a web. "Is this what parental emotions are? I don't like them!"
He randomly took a hammer off a table that randomly appeared next to him, and he started beating his head with it shouting, "Out, parental feelings, out!"
Awkward silence descended as the D Boys watched their distressed mentor. Finally, Boris seemingly recovered and started turning the wheel on the rack, laughing like the maniac he was.
Then…in a random movement of action (wow, doesn't that make sense) the door burst open and police officers dashed in.
Now, readers…picture that. Some random dudes who appeared out of nowhere (out of nowhere—my favorite place) see this purple-haired, goggles-wearing freakazoid old dude turning the wheel on a rack that is stretching out one short kid—then they see this somewhat girlish and "hot" boy standing in front of a lilac-haired kid inflicting himself with pain for fun—and then they see this blonde dude getting whapped over the head with a very heavy swinging pendulum of doom.
Now…picture what the authorities are thinking.
Ooh…I think some folks might get sent to the mental ward…or a farm…somewhere where they ain't gonna be so cheery anymore….
End Chapter One!
DM666: YAY randomness! Hope you all like Cyrbrgrckstr's story and thought it was funny. Next Chapter you can look forward too: more randomness (yay!), the team trying to get Bryan into a mental facility, me babbling some more, and the D boys getting a new gaurdian.
CyRS: Oh, the joy:) Please review, peeps! And have a great day!
