Hello, everyone! Time for another chapitre of mah ficcie I just wanna thank every1 that left me so many onderful reviews! I got so many emails! I'm so glad that so many of you like this story! Thanks so much for reading! Love, me!

xxxXXXxxx

In the dark, sad abyss that constituted the Luchadores' lair, one dark, sad, lesbian luchadore scribbled away. Now, if said luchadore were to interrupt right now, she would tell us, "It's luchadorA, chingados, LUCHADORA! Do I look like some idiot oppressive man? Me cago en tu puta madre!"(1) But honestly, who goes to a lesbian luchadore for grammar lessons? But the point is that she scribbled, and this is what she was scribbling:

Death and sadness.

. . . . .Cruel torments envelop me like diseased nectarines.

. . . . . . . . . . . I taste the flesh of cockroaches.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . I seduce the gentle chrysanthemum.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I am misery incarnate.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . ... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . Man, this poem blows.

With a sad, appropriately emo sigh, the emo-est luchadore shut her black notebook of secret bad poetry. God, it was so hard to be a lesbian luchadore. I mean, she had to fight teenage girls in short skirts, which was totally hot, she had to wear totally gross tights, she had three heads, and the whole world was just so FULL of death and pain. People just walked by all the death and pain. There would be, like, a little dead mosquito on the windowsill and they'd scrape it off like that precious, bloodsucking life had never existed. And that was wrong. Because that mosquito had feelings, and more importantly, it had a SOUL.

Or something like that.

Besides, she had a TERRIBLE secret. She wasn't really a lesbian luchadore.

She was a bisexual luchadore.

Her Lesbian Luchadore Overlords had told her that bisexual luchadores were just being greedy, but she wasn't so sure. I mean, men could be hot too. Like, with their lip hair and stuff, that was hot. Of course, she had more lip hair than the average biker, but that was beside the point. She had no actual idea what the point was.

Time to write more poetry.

I am poisoned.

... --- ... Dark urges

... --- ... ... ---... trip through

...---... ...---... ...---... my black

... --- ... ... --- ... ... --- ... ... --- ... night soul.

Poisoned blood.

... --- ... My blood

... --- ... ... --- ... looks and

... --- ... ... --- ... ... --- ... smells like

... --- ... ... --- ... ... --- ... ... --- ... cat pee.

I am blood bound.

... --- ... it's really

... --- ... ... --- ...edgy to

... --- ... ... --- ... ... --- ... write poems

... --- ... ... --- ... ... --- ... ... --- ... like this.

Well. That might be her best effort yet.

Changing her music from Death Cab for Cutie to My Chemical Romance (My Chemical Romance was SO DEEP, and their lyrics resonated in her soiled soul), she sat and contemplated her pathetic existence.

What was she good for, if not defeating hot girls in miniature skirts? What was the meaning of life, anyway? Was it to die? Maybe the whole point of life was, like, death. Maybe that poor mosquito had found its purpose in lying on that windowsill.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey," she snapped, turning around, "I was contemplating the meaning of life here!"

The other luchadore rolled her eyes. "You know, you think you're so emo, but you're really not."

"OMG," and she really did say "Oh-Em-Gee," gentle reader, "I am so emo. See?"

She showed the other luchadore five of her arms, which all had various phrases written in them, such as, "Crying blood tears," "Suffering is inevitable," and "pick up dry cleaning."

"That is SO not emo," the other luchadore told her. "You want to know what emo is? She turned around and showed the emo-est luchadore where she'd carved her autobiography (now with more death and suffering!)

"I never wear colors other than black and red," the emo-est luchadore told her quickly.

"Red? You emo pussy. I once took a cheese grater to my stomach!"

"Yeah? Well, I ripped one of my arms out of its socket and beat myself with it!"

"Loser," the meanest luchadore sneered. "You totally put it back. If you were really emo, you'd have left it out and made a shrine out of it." She pointed to one of her hollow leg sockets, then to a shrine that made great use of vanilla votives and dead roses.

"I once poured gasoline in my vagina and then smoked a carton of Marlboros!"

The meanest luchadore paused, then said, "You know, this fight is really dumb." Which was sekrit lesbian lucadore code for 'okay, you win.' "You wanna go have lesbian sex and camwhore for our Myspaces?"

"Sure!" There was no greater joy in life than camwhoring for her Myspace.

Except finding out she had 3000 new Myspace friends the next day. Although they all felt her black lipstick was a bit much.

It gave that emo-est luchadore an idea.

When the luchadores attacked, all of the senshi were conveniently hanging out about two minutes away from where the luchadores began their assault. It was pretty obvious that there was an attack, as everyone in Tokyo could spot a lesbian from a hundred meters away.

"Let's go, guys!" Rei called out, eager to go...battle, yeah, that's right...with the luchadores.

"MOON CRYSTAL POWER!"

"MERCURY STAR POWER!"

Truncated, because transformations are boring as shit, but they all transformed.

"SATURN STAR POWER!"

They all ran to where the attack was taking place. It looked like a cross the Battle of Gettsyburg and an orgy. Although some say the two don't look all that different.

"Guys!" Sailor Pluto called out. "We must all attack!"

"Mercury Aqua Rhapsody!"

"Mars Flame Sniper!"

Truncated because this is also boring as shit.

"Starlight honeymoon therapy kiss!" Moon cried out.

"And WE'RE the lesbians?" one of the lesbian luchadore minions muttered. "That is the gayest gay attack, EVAH."

"No no, 'star gentle uterus' definitely takes that prize," another pointed out.

"Point," the first lesbian luchadore minion conceded.

"Luchadoras," the emo-est luchadore screamed, "we must unleash the secret weapon!"

All the luchadores grinned evilly.

Immediately strains of "Untitled" by Simple Plan began to play out, as if by magic, or iPod speaker.

"How could this happen to me?" the music crooned emo-ly. "I've made my mistakes, got nowhere to run, and life goes on as I'm fading away..."

All of the senshi screamed out, falling to the ground and covering their ears.

"NO!" Moon screamed. "Must...resist...urge...to...cut...self..."

"Fight it!" Neptune screamed, but she couldn't help but remember all those songs she wrote when she was 14...the ones where she poured her soul on paper...the ones she literally wrote in her own blood...

Just as Uranus was about to take the Space Sword to her wrists, a rose flew by, turning off the music.

"You have poisoned this life!" Tuxedo Kamen yelled out, getting into speech mode. "Burning on just like a match you strike to incinerate the lives of everyone you know! And what's the worst you take from every heart you break? And like the blade you stain! Well I've been holding on tonight...because I, Tuxedo Kamen, will not stand for this travesty!

"I think he steals his speeches from My Chemical Romance songs," Moon commented.

"You just noticed?" Jupiter cackled.

"He quotes them in bed, too."

"Ew," the senshi all said at once.

"And so I say to you," Tuxedo Kamen finished with a dramatic flourish, "Cheer up, emo luchadores!"

"LUCHADORAS!" They screamed out.

Now the terror began in earnest.

"I have something special for you," the emo-est luchadore told them.

She began to read:

"My heart is a dead worm.

I live in a shadow beehive.

They swarm around my honey like bears..."

"You know," Mercury remarked as they listened, "if the Dark Kingdom had just read amateur poetry in the first place, we'd all have personally volunteered to serve Metallia."

"Whatever," Moon replied. "You wanna go have lesbian sex and camwhore for our Myspaces?"

"Sounds good to me," Mercury agreed. Besides, Mars and Venus were already making out in back. Something about blocking out the emo-vibe. As for what Uranus and Neptune were doing...well, it was best to just not look.

As it was said, so was it posted on the Internets.

That night, Ami gained 9000 friends. She'd never felt more popular in all her life. And popularity made her feel loved. And that the power of love could, like, totally save the world and stuff.

Just as soon as she recovered from the vibrating spiked-metal strap-on.

(1)I shit in your whore mother!