Author's Note: I have some advice for you poor suckers - it's alright, admit it, we're all poor suckers deep down inside – but it's not very interesting. I find that my author's notes rarely are. But if you had better things to do with your time, you wouldn't be reading fanfiction! So pucker up!

I have come to this conclusion: "Fuck."

Stifle that sigh. Fuck is the meaning of life and the bearer of death, the proof of god's existence and nonexistence, the root of all happiness and evil. Fuck is just fucking fuck, and there's really not much you can do about it.

So my advice to you, and take this as you will, is to go Fuck yourself while you still have the chance.

Now read my fanfiction. Suckers.

The Countdown to Imminent Doom: Ganondorf's Story
Chapter Ten

A wrinkled old man garbed in robes sat before the fire that is in no way, shape, or form related to Ganondorf's soul. He sat in silence, in darkness, in a place that was really quite boring and cliché. But that didn't bother him. He was entranced by the fire.

It danced for him.

"I now have a hint," Ganondorf stroked his chin. "A clue. A lead. I can wrap my little fingers around it until it sputters out its last breath and then I will step on it because I like stepping on things. And then I will lift my foot and see the glory that I will see. And I will see it well, because it will guide me to my precious Snargles."

Ganondorf threw his face into the ground. Hard.

The grass complained about how things weren't like the old days, where lovers would have picnics on grass and children would fly kites. No, nowadays green people were shoving their noses where they don't belong. No respect, they agreed, no respect at all. But their day would come. Very soon. Very soon indeed.

Ganondorf didn't move a muscle for a couple minutes. Then he quickly exhaled through his nose and stood. "I see."

He moved forward slowly.

The grass whispered in the breeze, because it was not confident nobody was around to hear. It had to keep its voice low so no secrets were revealed prematurely. Word had spread that there were four key figures in the way of the Legion of the Land ("LoL")'s plans, and the leaders were not happy.

In fact, the leaders were unhappy for a number of reasons. First, Lord Drogmor bellowed, only two of the four Enemies' locations were known (though the third had been spotted and the matter was being investigated, a random underling added). Second, progress on the master plan codenamed Red-Orange Foot Locker ("ROFL") was behind schedule even before these four Enemies showed up. And THIRD, he fumed, HIS ARMIES WERE BEING TRAMPLED.

"Not just killed!" he shrieked, "But overrun mercilessly! Like they were no more than bugs!"

"My Lord," the underling bowed, "we're still not quite sure whose army it is that has been raining death upon our forces. They showed so suddenly and... Well, it was very dark."

"I don't want your excuses! IT WAS DAYTIME!" Lord Drogmor was sweating a bit. He had been exerting a lot of energy yelling at these people.

"The matter is being investigated, sir. If it pleases the Lord, we have found the name of the most recently found Enemy."

Lord Drogmor paused and waited for a minute. "Are you waiting for me to ask 'what?'"

"It's 'Ganondorf Dragmire,' Sir."

The Lord was pleased, and yet still so very angry. "Why haven't we caught him yet!"

We just need a bit more time."

"More? You want more?"

"Yes, please sir. I'm hungry."

"I- Well, I..." the Lord paused. "Yes, well, go on then. Dismissed."

The underling scurried off with a skip in his step and a smile on his face and inevitably died of a heart attack the next morning. Lord Drogmor was uncomfortable. "It is true that we have not seen sunlight for quite some time now," he mused, "it is disturbing. The men are starting to lose motivation. Some have started losing their color. Poor Scooter was already white as a bone when the scouting party finally caught up to him. I wonder what he saw... What did he know..."

Snargles danced. It wasn't a particularly happy dance, because Snargles was not particularly happy. He wasn't dancing because he was happy, or scared, or because she heard a phat beat. He just had nothing else to do. So she danced.

It reminded him a song. If she were still in his prime, she would have burst into song... But those days were past, and Snargles had better things to do. Unfortunately, escape was not one of them. It was still rather dark and rather quiet, so he had shut her eyes so as not to strain them by trying to see in total darkness. It didn't work; he still couldn't see anything.

It had probably been over an hour now, and there had been many attempts at a breakout of the black dark blackness. But it was hard, as it was really quite impossible to even tell which way was out. Up, down, left, right, maw, meow, none of it made any difference.

So dancing was really the only thing left anyway.

A young Kokiri woke up in a hospital bed feeling rather angry. Perhaps his shoes were too tight, or his heart was a few sizes too small.

But the author will let you in on a secret: it was neither. In fact, he wasn't wearing anything, and Kokiri don't have hearts or blood or anything like that. They're sub-human. Slaves. Animals. Lower than beasts and fit only to serve the white man – or so say the Ancient Hyrulian Texts. Unfortunately, there was some debate as to who was whiter: the Zora or the Hylians. Of course, the Zora say the Hylians are hardly fit to rule over themselves let along a whole 'nother race, and the Hylians tell them they're really more blue than white and ew it smells like fish so shut your legs.

It's really a sad, sad story. Long story short, that's why the Kokiri hide out in their forest now, where the white man can't get to them.

But this waking Kokiri didn't hate the white man. He was actually fairly good-natured (at least compared to most Kokiri, who are really rather obnoxious) and forgiving. But this time was different. It wasn't the white man that was bringing him down and stabbing him in the face, throwing him in bushes, and leaving him for dead. No.

It was that green man. And he was going to pay.

Knives woke up in a dark place. His eyes hurt. His throat hurt. His thighs hurt. His fingers were kinda sore, but he wasn't sure if he put them in the "hurt" category just yet. He moved them around a bit and quickly decided they did indeed hurt. Knives was a rational man most of the time, and when he wasn't trying to end all human life, he liked to breathe once in a while. When he found that he couldn't because his throat was so dry, he reached over and gulped down the freshly-made water Ganondorf had prepared for him before leaving.

Knives was quite obviously in a dungeon. A top-of-the-line dungeon, no doubt, but a dark and dank place nonetheless. And being trapped in dungeons just wasn't his thing.

Normally it would take very little effort for him to blow the living fuck out of the walls around him and escape. But he quickly discovered that the walls weren't going anywhere. Not because they were particularly strong walls, he told himself, but because for some reason all his powers were gone. Although he couldn't quite admit it to himself yet, he was about as powerful as the average mortal. Except much, much angrier and vengeful.

Knives, like any good character trapped in a dungeon, crafted a lockpick out of whatever resources he had available (because he didn't have any hairpins at the time, he settled for using the water bottle) and busted out. When he reached the top of the stairs and burst out into freedom and daylight again, he prettied himself up in a mirror before going out to seek revenge.

"Fucker died my hair?" he wondered to himself as he dusted off his clothes and inspected himself.
It was a bit darker than usual.

The shadowy thing was unhappy again. It had been a rather good day until a couple hours ago, where he had the displeasure of consuming an unbathed child whole. Screwy parenting these days, he remorsed, letting filthy children waddle around in their own dirt, letting unsuspecting monsters just up and eat their disgusting little limbs without even so much as a "hey, wait, he's dirty."

Such disrespect these days. A couple decades back, people knew their place. The shadowy thing sighed. "It is a most unfortunate quality of the new age that is coming upon this land." He noticed he was hungry again, and wondered if he was hungry enough to risk eating another villager – he hoped most others had cleanlier habits.

His thoughts turned to the man who had demanded the magic book of him a while back. Through the information he had sapped from his victims' brains, the man's named was Ganondwarf. It was this man, shadowy thing knew, that was ushering in this new age of Hyrule. It was he who was responsible for these unwashed children running amuck when a monster is trying to collect a decent meal.

He had to go. Immediately. Painfully.

Shadowy Thing stood up. There was no time for eating now. He had a mission.

Ganondorf found himself in Hyrule Field a small distance away from the entrance to Kokiri Forest. He scratched his head and looked around. Sure, he had been Lost a few minutes ago, but he hadn't been this Lost. "Though I would have noticed if I hit the edge of the forest," he mumbled.

He blinked a few times and decided he never liked forests anyway. He would continue his mission elsewhere. He was in no hurry anyway. He knew fate was on his side, and the tiny pink doom-bringer would appear at his side once more when the time came.

But he wept anyway. Because no man like Ganondorf could last long without his faithful fuzzy companion. He sucked in a tear. "My wittle Snargles..."

Chapter Ten: End

Note: Really short this time, but it had been long enough since I last updated! I'll try to kick it up a notch for chapter 11.
I hope those of you who've been reading since the beginning aren't growing bored. ;)