Thanks everyone for reviewing in such a timely manner. - So, I've written this faster than I would have… much faster than I would have. I'm glad everyone liked the last chapter! Heh. Enjoy this little present as school begins and we are all plunged into the academic abyss once again…

So, we arrived home, and I died a little inside. But, Jim Bob, the night is still young! I'm gonna go get a phone book! But, because Ryou's been a… well, a jerk, I took over his body. Now there's just one of us. But I'm in control. H-hehehe…

So, I got changed dramatically. The disappointing thing is that I couldn't find my hat. And my cape ripped when I tripped over it. So I changed into all black clothes. I looked like a hawt goth dud3. Yes, hawt. I'm a tomb robber. Spelling isn't something I need to be too concerned about… but how to you spell 'Colton' in Japanese? With katakana?

"Was Colton his last name?" Ryou asks me through our mind link. "Or his first? It'll make a big difference whether you're searching for Colton Smith, or Smith, Colton."

"His last name is Smith?"

"No, I was just using an example. And you said he was a kid? He might be under his parents' names instead of his."

Aw, screw it. Maybe I'll just wander around town until I see her, or that kid she was with. It could work, right? Never mind it's around 10 at night now. So I sneak outside unseen.

"Get off my lawn!"

Well, almost unseen. The neighbor's back, Jim Bob. I think he's wondering where that dent on his car came from. Ryou sends a flash of guilt my way, and I book it down the street.

MUCHO LATERISH!

I just had to confirm that it is, in fact, mucho laterish. (Does this phrase make me sound Spanish? …I doubt it.) I'm back in Mimetown. I figure maybe she'll come back. At 10 at night. To a place she expressed disgust with. I look around… Everything looks like it's in black and white. They could really ameliorate the tourist attractions of this place with some nice pastels. Or free food. Whichever. As long as the food wasn't black and white. That might be kind of weird, depending on what kind of food it is. I don't eat white apples, or black strawberry smoothies. I do eat charred peanuts though, even though my host claims that's disgusting, and those are black as a mole on your backside… although you are a notebook, Jim Bob, and light blue pocket spirals do not have moles. They don't have backsides, either. Maybe I'll draw one in sharpie on your back cover when I get home.

Anyway, looking for the girl that Colton guy was with…

So, I stride through the monochrome setting with a certain aplomb that us hawt goth dud3s can stride with. I have two goals: one, I have to find that girl. Second, I have to buy some noshies and soda. –Er, I meant steal! 'Cuz I'm thirsty. And us hawt goth dud3s gonna drink when we be thirsty. (Does this phrase make me sound ignorant? …Nah, not really. Lots of people talk that way…)

The noshies and soda, I decide, come first. I see a Texaco—what? So what if I'm in Japan! There's a black-and-white Texaco in Mimetown, okay Jim Bob? Sheesh. …Are you doubting me?

…Anyway, so I go inside. Luckily these people don't look like mimes. In fact, some bombastic-looking manager is talking to some callow-looking boy with bright green hair behind the register. Is that… it is!

Weevil Underwood. In living flesh. And color! He had to be the only colorful thing in this whole section of town! Still, that doesn't make him pretty to look at.

"It's not my fault the moths were stuck in the Icee machine!" Weevil avers, Ewww. Just how obsessed with bugs is this guy? "I love bugs! I would never want to drink them!" Bugs taste gooey… Er, I mean…

I think this guy needs a super hawt goth dud3-given wedgie. But first, the soda.

While bugbutt is arguing with the—ok, Jim Bob, I know, bugbutt is a lame insult. But whatever.

3rd person P.O.V., babeh

The self-proclaimed hawt goth dud3 inched over towards the aisle, where frosty freezers housed oodles of insect-free soda, just waiting to be sipped. Bakura waited until Weevil was spouting out a very steady tirade of drivel before opening up the door. A blast of cold air hit him, and this was the very epitome of surprise. Meaning—

CRASH!

Bakura fell to the ground and hit a stack of cans of strained peas. Why they were selling strained peas in Texaco, our hero—er, SUPERvillain—did not know, but they were, and the cans crashed to the ground.

"And another thing!" Weevil screamed. "I don't know why you keep those strained peas in the middle of the aisle like that! That guy just tripped over them!"

The manager's face paled. "They're… they're placed there to exhort people to buy the—sir, are you okay?"

Bakura's P.O.V.!

Jim Bob, I think my brain is exposed…

Some guy is coming up to me! I must act as if I didn't steal the soda! …Oh wait, I haven't yet… But this man is coming to kick me out of the shop, with his ex officio powers! EX OFFICIO POWERS! FEAR THEM, JIM BOB!

"He's talking to you, snob!" Weevil turns his nose up at me. The manager squints at me a bit more. He has a tight black ponytail, and eyes that appear to be just two tiny dots. Weird. Maybe he's on something.

"Sir?" He pokes my shoulder. EEK! He's infringing on my privacy! HE TOUCHED MY BODY! I FEEL VIOLATED!

"DON'T VIOLATE ME!" I scream like something primal, leaping up and forming a clawing position with my hands. The manager blinks at me.

"Erm, sir? I wasn't trying to…"

"GET OUT OF MY FACE AND LET ME SHOP!" I roar. Roar, Jim Bob, roar! Yes! I am fearless! Primal! I am Tarzan! I don't need a loincloth to be brave! I…. wait, that doesn't make a whole lot of sense. And, maybe if I were Tarzan, I would keep the loincloth.

The manager dud3 seems totemo confused. He backs away, raising his hands up, palms toward me in submission. "S-Sorry," he stammers.

Weevil is apoplectic (boy, is that an impressive word). "Why are you being nice to him?" he screams at his employer. "Now I have to restack all these cans!"

The store manager stares at Weevil like he's an interloper. (Another good word! I'm on a roll! …Or maybe a croissant. Mm. Yummy.) Then he says these great, great, great words of wisdom:

"…Yes. Yes, you do."

Weevil angry. Weevil smash. Weevil hurt hand on strained pea can.

I guess Weevil isn't an ingratiating kiss-up like Rex or Yugi. Ah well. His eyes are bugging out. Maybe if I take a picture of it, he'll pay me for it. After all, his intrinsic passion for all things insectual (ooh, see what I did there! I made him look bad, Jim Bob. He he) will always come out.

"You stupid idiot!" Bugboy inveighs against me. "Now I have to clean up all these cans of strained peas! …UGH!"

Bugspit fakes lassitude as he practically drags himself across the store to where I am, Jim Bob. He's ignoring me. I grab my head and pretend to be in great pain. I let out an Oscar-worthy groan to show how ouchy my boo-boo is. Still he ignores me. He even kicks my foot out of his way. He squats down, his pressed pants crinkling… oh how he deserves a wedgie…

"That isn't nice," Ryou tells me from deep inside his soul room.

"Bugger off," I say to Ryou and to Weevil. That way I can feel Ryou getting miffed, and watch Weevil's eyes bug out to about the size of Yugi's normal eyes. (Maybe Yugi's the one who's on something, then?)

"WHAT DID YOU SAY!" the green-haired boy explodes. "I should bugger off? I work here!"

"Gasp! Ex officio powers! Oh no! Not a lowly register boy!"

Weevil glares at me. Yay!

"Keep stacking those cans," I say as I get up. My chest hurts. The Millennium Ring pressed against my skin when I fell down and it hurt, Jim Bob. But I won't cry! I… am… a man!

…My lesser half is laughing at me. That's it. He's not getting his body back for awhile. Hmph.

I glower at the manager, trying to get him to back off because of my hawt goth dud3n3ss. He blinks at me. Man, he has tiny eyes. Did I mention that already? They are like… the opposite of Yugi's eyes…

"Sir, you are welcome to a free soda," he said.

"An cult soda?" I like being difficult.

"Er… what? The club sodas are over there…" He blinks again. Darn beady eyes.

"The cult soda," I repeat. "You know, like 'Killer' soda and that."

"…That's sick and unfunny."

"But the taste is so great!"

"Sir, can I ask you to leave?" The manager eyes me warily. Ok, quoting things from Scary Movie was a bit over the top… stop looking at me like I'm a rapist, Jim Bob! Dang!

"Sure." I open the door to the freezer again, grab a Pepsi, (because I have been paid to endorse this product,) and leave. The door closes automatically behind me.

I pop open the can and take a loud sip.

And glaaaaaaance to the left.

And glaaaaaaance to the right.

Ok. Nobody saw me not steal that soda. Man, that would have been embarrassing if I'd been bought not stealing something. I take another loud sip. Mmm. Tastes like… Pepsi. (Who has paid me to endorse their product!) Almost as good as a stolen product. Hooray.

………..Soooooooooo… that was pointless, eh, Jim Bob? No, Jim Bob, I am not Canadian.

"WATCH OUT!"

EVEN MORE LATERISH!

…Why is there a dead fish on my head? Ewwwww! The… wetness—juices?—from the fish are permeating my hair! Where did I learn that word? AND WHO'S THIS GUY STARING AT ME?

"Hi! My name is Mako!" says… Fred? Did he say his name was Fred? It sounds familiar. "Are you okay?"

I sit up, but my head is swimming. Everything feels painful. I think I see purple eyeballs precipitating from the sky and a fat lady in the clouds in a towel. Ewww.

…Owwwwy, my head huuuuurts…

"Why does my head hurt?" I snap. I bet Fred's wondering why I'm writing everything down in you while I'm talking. I'm sorry if the handwriting's messy, Jim Bob. My head hurt-es. …Shoot! I spilled a bit of Pepsi on you! Luckily it just dampened one of your corners a bit.

"A guy on a skateboard hit you in the head," Fred says. That explains the wheel marks on my face. And the pain. Did I mention the pain? It hurts! I bet the punk who hit me worked for TESMU OCAOT TAPID. Maybe it was a cow. Do cows skateboard?

"Cows do not skateboard," Ryou tells me. Bah. I bet he's wrong.

"You need a place to stay?" Fred asks. I ask why he asks. He asks why I asked why he asked, and I reply that I want to know why he asked why I asked why he asked, and he asks about that, and then I just ask why he asked in the first place.

He points to my pants and shoes. "You look like a hobo. Maybe a shower? You can take one at my place."

"Suuuuuuure," I say sarcastically… Very sarcastically… He's still looking at me with concern… I don't think this Fred guy gets it. He pulls me to his feet—er, my feet—um, I can't really tell, and then leads me down the street, while—get this—still holding my hand.

"My hand," I say. He looks at me weird, then drops the contact.

"Sorry. I thought you might try to run away."

"…Were you planning on chasing me if I did? Where are you taking me?" I demand. He looks at me weird.

"My apartement," Fred says.

"You just said apartment with two 'e's. It's not spelled that way," I correct. He shrugs. "There's an 'a,' I say," I say. Lookies, Jim Bob, I rhymed again!

"There's two 'a's in apartement, not three."

"You just said it with an extra 'e' again," I point out.

"Apartment. How can you tell? Anyway, it's not exactly a mansion, but it's home."

"Of course it's not a mansion. You said it was an apartment."

"Whatever. Let's go."

"I have a place of my own, Fred."

Fred pauses and looks at me. This would be about the time I realized he wasn't wearing a shirt. I look like a hobo? "Uhm… you're just barely hobbling along right now."

"Not true."

"Uh, yeah it is." He points once again to my pants. "I mean, look at that."

"Just because my pants happen to have a large amount of blood on them, where I probably fell down and scraped my knees, doesn't mean I can't wa—" Oof. Hit the lamppost. The sucker just jumped out at me, I swear.

…Why is there two of you, Jim Bob? Everything's so blurry…

"Just go with him!" Ryou screams in my ear, exasperated. Dang, for someone with no corporeal form right now, he sure is loud…

"Are you coming?"

"Ok, ok…"

This sucks. At least I'm bloody, though. Blood rocks. I'd draw a big smiley face here, with a large grin and a Mohawk, if my hand wasn't shaking. Uhm… Was did I just slosh through? A red puddle?

Oh poo. Is that mine?