Most of this chapter was beta-read by Akio the Dragon Master! Thanks:)

There's a mime eating pancakes in Ryou's kitchen, Jim Bob.

Last night I had a dream. It made me think… about mimes. Here's what happened in my dream:

It all looked like something out of Final Fantasy Tactics. I was standing in front of the Kame Game Shop, where Yugi's grandfather works, and I had a pitchfork and an angry mob that increased my attack strength 50+. Suddenly my enemy appeared. It was Yugi's grandpa, and he, gamboled and gallivanted around like the Six Flags guy. Then he whipped out a Keyblade from behind him and swung it, and my angry mob disappeared and I suffered 2 points of damage—I know because the numbers floated in front of my eyes. Then I woke up.

It was strange.

Anyhoo, so now Strings is eating all my pancakes. -.- Just like last night, he ate all my fries!

Our food had finally arrived, and Shelly darted away from us as if we were poison, or infected with the T-Virus. If I were poison, I would want a scorpion tail, and eight glowing, flame-spewing spider eyes (because Ryou told me spiders can spit fire out of their eyes), and an arm in the middle of my chest to grab people with. That way, I could hold them down while I stung them over and over with my cool tail. Although maybe I should make the tail detachable. …Is there a Duel Monsters card like that? There should be.

So, yeah, Shelly left us, and we sat there, quietly eating our food. (I was eating my food quietly because talking with food in your mouth is disgusting, and is actually against the Tomb Robber's Code; Strings was eating quietly because he's a freakin' mime.) I didn't think that the fries were salted enough, so I kept putting salt on them. But then when I ate them, they were saltless! O.o

So I thought the cows had gotten to my fries. (You thought I'd forgotten about the cows, didn't you Jim Bob? Oh no. An elephant never forgets… and neither do, um, tomb robbers.) But then, halfway through our meal, I realized it was Strings. Here's what was happening: I would salt my food, fry by fry. But he would grab the fry I'd salted, and so I'd grab an unsalted fry, thinking it was salted, and eat it! Then I would with bubble with rage (RAGE I say!) at the tastelessness of the fry!

Why I was salting only one fry at a time, I don't know. That's not very efficient. And I should've known it wasn't TESMU OCAOT TAPID; they would've tried to save their hamburger brethren.

I glared at Strings. I had a good mind to tell him to stop eating all my fries.

"Stop eating all my fries!!!" I said that with that exact number of exclamation marks, somehow. "What have you got to say for your sorry self!?" Heh, I called him sorry. …But what if he isn't sorry? Is it still an insult?

"…" Strings blinked at me. Darn him and his mime-ness.

I gave him a Glare™. "Unless you're blinking in Morse code, and are apologizing, I'm going to kill you. Say something."

Strings grabbed the napkin, which was full of his earlier writing, and grabbed my pen (which is mine. Grr). Then he wrote:

It's rude to talk when you have food in your mouth. It's against the Mime's

Then he ran out of room. Maybe he meant to add "Code" at the end, but I still think he was about to write about nuclear tests, or African-American literacy statistics, or even something completely unrelated to mimes.

"Isn't talking against the Mime's Code anyway?" I asked. He nodded. So I growled: "Just don't touch my fries again." He nodded again. That's when I realized I didn't have any fries left at all. "The cows must have gotten the rest of them!" I swore, rising to my feet. Strings blinked at me curiously. Since he didn't have anymore room on the napkin, he wrote on his hand.

What

"Everybody freeze!" The police entered the diner. And I thought, crud, I won't get desert. Or is it dessert? Either way, I like both kinds. But not together. What was I writing about—oh yeah. The police. Oh, wait a minute, Jim Bob. I have to switch to present tense for a sec.

- - -

"Don't use all the syrup!" I yell at Strings. "I'm not the only one that lives here, you know, and my roomie-slash-vessel will be angry if you finish off the syrup!"

Strings doesn't look like he cares. I kick him. Then he glares at me, and slathers even more syrup on his—my—pancakes. This guy's a schmuck.

Anyway, back to last night—wait, it wasn't night. But it was getting darkish. So I guess it was dusk—aw, who cares anymore? Anyhoo; the police said they were looking for an escaped cattle rustler.

"We are looking for an escaped cattle rustler!" one policeman said.

Another guy, flailing his limbs around, screamed "stay calm" in what was probably the shrillest voice in this prefecture. …Domino City has/is a prefecture, right? I don't know.

BUT I KNOW EVERYTHING ELSE!

"Cattle rustlers? In Japan?" Shelly asked incredulously, sounding very Tea-like. It was scary.

All I can think of is, "Cattle rustler?? That's me!" So I jump to my feet and grab Strings by the wrist. (Not by the hand. Who do you think I am… Pegasus?

…Shut up, Jim Bob.) Then I dragged him out of the diner, tripping him several times for fun, before I realize that I'm not a cattle rustler, I'm only a mime-kidnapper and golf cart-stealer. (Cattle rustler sounds cooler, though; I'll put in on my list of things to do.)

Anyhoozle, since I ran away, the cops thought that I was a cattle rustler, and they were chasing after me in the parking lot.

"Look at that ugly cow he has with him!" a young cop shouted. Strings gave him a dirty look.

"That's a man, Leon," an older cop informed him.

Leon's looked crushed. "Oh," he said, embarrassed. I mean, what a loser!

"Don't worry about it, Kennedy, it's your first day on the force," another cop said. "Just hope that the city doesn't get overrun by zombies and that years later you'll go to Spain to search for the President's daughter among cultists who for some reason speak Mexican Spanish instead of Spain Spanish."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Strings hopped into the backseat, and I jumped up front, and we lit out of there like a… man who ate beefy burritos at the beef bonanza, lighting his farts on fire. …Beef BONANZA! That sounds cool. I wonder what time it's at. (Author's note: COUGH s-x o'clock…. Sorry about that. You wouldn't understand my history homework…)

The police ran for their cruisers, which spontaneously combusted.

"That'll teach 'em," said an honest-looking chap perched on a heifer that we passed by.

Anyhoot, we were speeding along at the stupendous speed of 15 miles per hour. At a stoplight I slammed on the breaks and Strings fell into the front passenger seat—well, most of him did. His forehead actually connected with the windshield. Accident. Really.

Strings reached for you, Jim Bob, and I snapped at him. "You can't write in this," I said. I protected you from a mime. :) 'Cuz I just love you thaaaat much.

Mr. Mime (HAH! That a perfect name for him) looked POed, and sunk back into his seat. After we ran over a cat, however, (yes! First casualty of the day!) he checked his pockets and found a short length of white ribbon, which he proceeded to ruin by writing on.

I wanted dessert, he wrote. Well, THAT totally made my weekend: I had a whiny mime on my hands. And then he added, I am getting paid for this, right? which used up his entire ribbon.

About this time I'd caught sight of Joey and was trying to run him over with the golf cart. I thought, stupid mutt, Trix are for… kids! I gotta say, it was like playing a video game or something. But when a clown grabbed Joey and dragged him into the sewers I gave up.

"Let's go to Bastin Robbins!" said a voice that sounded like it had just sucked out all the helium in a balloon the size of the Goodyear Blimp. (Will doing that kill you? And how do I know what the Goodyear Blimp is? I wonder…) Anyway, I had no idea who had said that, and it spooked me so bad I crashed the cart. Then I realized it was Strings, who was miming nervous laughter, however that is possible.

Glaring at him the entire way, we walked to Baskin Robbins.

"Welcome to Baskin Robbins!" said Tristan cheerfully.

…

If I had known he worked at Baskin Robbins, I would've sworn off ice cream for Lent. …But Lent is over now, right?

…

When the heck is Lent, anyway?

Strings held up one finger, then he pointed to where the dutch chocolate ice cream lay.

"Coming up!" said Tristan, as if he dealt with mutes everyday. Oh, excuse me… faux-mutes. Grr.

I didn't order anything, since buying dairy products gives money to TESMU OCAOT TAPID, just like purchasing gasoline from that one gas station gives money to drug lords/warmongers in that Latin American country.

"Thanks for visiting Baskin Robbins! Come again!" Tristan shouts cheerfully as we exit. He didn't even notice me; what a dummy. And he said every little thing in the same tone, wearing the same expression. …Wait! Ah! o.o;

o.o;

o.o;

o.o;

o.o; Tristan is actually a robot! (How did you like my shocked faces, Jim Bob?)

After Baskin Robbins, we walked home, Strings devouring his ice cream, and me trying to look like a TOed mobster. (Which is hard, because I just end up looking like a woman in a good mood. …If women HAVE good moods. Maybe Megan has good moods.)

"You sure her name is Megan?" I asked. No answer except for gross sounds that sounded like those parasite-infested dogs from Resident Evil 4 trying to eat Leon Kennedy's face off. "Hey, you've got ice cream on your lip ring. …And your eyebrow ring, too. How'd you do that?"

No answer. I sighed. I was in a pretty lousy mood. So I went and bought cool clothes. Strings went with me. Shopping always improves my mood. :) Strings even bought a pair of leather pants. :(

And then we walked home and fell asleep (I made him sleep on the floor, remember) and woke up and made pancakes which he's eating and I'm not, and that's where this cussed entry started!

Strings will post pictures of himself in those tight leather pants on the Internet if you don't review! o.o Hurry, review like the WIND!