Super Mix-A-Lot Mix-Up Fanfiction! (The Day You Regret Forever... Is Probably Not Today.)
Zenith was a young fellow, straight out of School of Snipe, when he overheard two guys talking. (Hey, look! A Dialogue Exchange-So-I-Don't-Have-To-Describe-Everything Sequence!)
"So, you guys think thats that brain thingses, ya knowses, the ones with the telepathic tendencies's and et ceteras, is gonsas workses?"
"Oh, yeah! That project, that'll end the wars between humankind, because OBVIOUSLY all wars are caused by not communicating very well."
"Yeseseseses, that'ses the ones!"
"Yeah, I think it's gonna work for like one day, then immediately kill 99% of the world's population. Well, at least JAPAN'S population."
"Yes's, that sounds like a compelling set-up for a video-gamses. They shoulds do'ses that!"
"Man, what's your problem, Goon Guy? You always got that word problem."
"Whats word prablehms, bawss?"
"You always gotta say things with an s at the end or with a really screwed-up Brooklyn accent."
"Oh yeahses, that words probehmls I goatse!
"... That's disgusting. Anyways, you didn't even pronounce problems correctly! Either that, or the author's trying to just blame his typos on characters..."
"Whatseses? How coulds that bayastahdses! I trusteds his!"
"Grammar, Goon Guy, grammar." After that stupidity was over, Zenith started worrying about his future. 'Man, what if I actually have to USE my sniping skills? I just planned on wasting tax-payers' money on teaching me a skill that can score me chicks!' he thought, right before immediately thinking about scantily-clad ladies for about half an hour. Then he got back on track. "Ok, ok. Gotta prepare for this apocalypse that is definitely gonna happen, because a random guy in an alley said it to his mentally-challenged friend." He said to himself, walking in to the gun store.
Seto and PF Chang's were investigating the murder. In an office. Boring paperwork stuff. ANYWAYS, EVERYBODY, I SAID IT GOES LIKE THIS: I was comin' Hom- I mean...
"So, have you found anything yet?"
"Not really. But I DID find this article on cranes, if that helps."
"... PF, making references to our game isn't gonna do anything. But making fun of it might." Seto and PF Chang's exchanged, then realizing that there's paperwork involved. "Oh, I mean... IT PUTS THE PAPERS IN THE BIN!" He then corrected, knowing that at any minute, AOO could unleash his semi-holy wrath upon him. PF Chang's didn't do anything,though, because she is an AI that needs his assistance to even move. "Oh, fine." Seto groaned, as he put the papers in the bin, like "IT" does. Then they proceeded like this for 3 weeks, until actual evidence was revealed.
"Why hello there, stranja! What're ya buyin'?" RE4 Merchant asked, opening his coat to reveal something Zenith wished he hadn't. "Oh, sh*t! That's the wrong side!" he shouted, quickly switching to his right-side A-Class Weapons Dealings. "Hey, it's hard being a merchant! So I skimp out on undergarments? It saves time, money, and I can make my worries go all away for 3 minutes!" he said, winking. "Ummm, can I go report you for sexual assault now?" Zenith said, his mouth unfortunately gaping wide. "Oh, I meant the reaction when people see my disturbingly-deformed ****! I hope that didn't send the wrong message or anything! Please, don't go!" Merchant exclaimed, chasing after Zenith. "Oh, alright. What're ya sellin'?" Zenith said, deciding that he'll probably get a 'Don't Tell The Leons' discount. "Oh, take this crappy sniper rifle! Or, for $20 dollars MOAR, you can get this magical zappy-gun that kills not only the common mind-controlling parasite, but ALSO 99.9% of those pesky, deadly germs!" Merchant said, holding each choice in his hands. His cold, disturbing hands. "As appealing as the zappy-gun is, I'm gonna have to go with the sniper rifle." Zenith decided, grabbing the rifle from poor Robert's hands, sealing his fate for life. (And yes, Goldfield is a freaking genius.)
"Uh, is this supposed to be here?" Seto asked, referring to the bloody knife in the briefcase. "Um, yes. Yes it is. Totally not the cops overlooking obvious details or anything..." said Mr. Yellow Cake, very reluctantly. "Who did this briefcase belong to previously?" Seto questioned. "I believe a 'Mr. Halen. Van, Halen." Mr. Yellowcake said, right before Sonic showed up and complimented his cakey-figure. "Wait, who!?" 3 hours later, they were at the mansion of Imaginary Eddie Van Halen. That is, the Eddie Van Halen who isn't entirely accurate to the real rock legend. "And what brings YOUR kind to this establishment?" the guards interrogated some random blob creature. "Remember? I'm the guest?" the thing said in his defense. "Yeah, nice try. Get lost." The guards replied, waving him off. "Oh, you'll RUE the day you ever denied Rob Ford into Eddie Van Halen's Mansion!" the thing said, skulking off as he pulled some white dust out of his pocket. Anyways, Seto was a bit worried that he would have to pull out his badge and all that jazz just to meet Imaginary Van Halen, and get some questions in while he was at it. And so he tried. And failed, spectacularly. EVERYBODY, I SAID IT- I mean...
"Yo, I'm a cop!"
"Go away."
"Damn."
OC Guy and Sir Mix-A-Lot were reviewing the present evidence and investigating the actual scene of the crime. "Ok, let's go over what we've got so far." OC Guy said, picking up the file. He read it aloud, and this is what it said:
"Victim: Adolf "The Bows" Jackson
Cause of Death: Suffocation
With: Rope
In: The Living Room
Wait, That's Clue Terms. Here's A Description Of The Murder Scene:
Mr. Scatman was on the ground, covered in a blanket. There was red marks on his throat, signaling either a great struggle, pointing towards murder, or an immense amount of pressure applied, which would probably mean suicide. The victim was on the floor, however, and had a blanket neatly covering his entire body, which would require a second party involved. The blanket was examined, revealing fingerprints of both Macklemore and (Beyonce), thus the accusation towards Ms. Knowles that she was involved in the murder of Master Gee Hendrix Carter."- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
OC Guy read, and then said, " ... What? Why does it list all these different names?" A fellow investigations officer turned and answered the question quickly. "Oh, we don't actually know his name, so we gave him a bunch of random ones." OC Guy then replied, "Well, why did you do THAT?" "Because we were bored, man! Don't you have a sense of humor?" the officer said, frowning, then returning to his work. Sir Mix-A-Lot wasn't even five seconds later to question the guy. "Hey, what are you doing over there? Can I check?" He said, to which the officer agreed to. "Hmm, why is there blood right there?" Sir Mix-A-Lot pointed out, which made the investigator blush. "Oh, er, umm... Uhh... Yeah. You found new evidence."
"Oh, how lovely. That actually is nice, you know, helping someone get out of-"
"You know that that could be even more incriminating to Beyonce than the fingerprints, right?"
"... sh*t."
"Yeah. Anyways, why are you even pointing that out?" Ok, dialogue-only sequence over. "Well, I'm a trained professional. Yes, that's right. I get people dancing with both awesome music AND innocent verdicts." Anthony said, pulling out a whip. "Hey, why you gotta' whip?" The officer quickly questioned, freaking out. "Oh, I guess that not every day is a Baby Got Back day. I carry it around for the sound effects." he said, putting it back in his magical Bag of Trix. "Why not just use that sampler you have on your back?" the CSS asked. "It's not the same!" he exclaimed, getting back to OC Guy's investigation.
Zenith walked out of a Best Buy, wearing some Beats by Dr. Dre. "Ok, now that the classic rock cloud isn't following anymore, and I now look more stylish, I think I can progress a little more in the ways of helping out Sting." he said, forgetting how long he stood in line for. And the terrible customer service. Not that real Best Buy's customer service is bad, just that totalitarian shops kinda suck. Sting was long gone, maybe dead, maybe alive... DEAD OR ALIIIIIVE! Zenith was alone again... ... ... ... Yep...
... ... ...
Alone...
... ... ...
That's it...
... ... ...
Simple as that...
... ... ... Oh yeah, and now he's looking for the one. That's right, this turned from simple plot resolution into How I Met Your Mother. END OF 3
"So, how 'bout that? Is it enough to atone for my sins of writing The Trans-Dimensional Apocalypse yet?" Hell no! We still got at least 17 chapters to go! "...Sh*t. Well then, I guess I better make this a bit better." No, no, it builds suspense. "Really? Does it really build suspense?" ... Chapter 3, everybody!