Hey guys! It's been a really, really long time. But the thing is, I only got one review on this story and none on the other! I know what I said before, but I need something to push me forward. ANd sadly enough, the only person who did review on her ewas, like, my bestest buddy, CoLoRz!

Wooh! Thanks Crayon! (My nickname for CoLoRz.) So anyways, thanks everybody who viewed this and added this to their alerts list, which evidently wasn't many, but you are still the world's epicest peepz!

-Chucks cookies at them-

Yayz! COOKEH PAHRTY! WOOP!

Kay, enough of that. On with teh storykins!

Fang POV:

I woke up feeling better than Rebecca Black seeing Jessie Slaughter was more hated on the web than her. I leapt, yes, leapt out of bed and spent about twenty minutes messing up my hair and gelling it with Soft Freeze by Lorreal. I put some of my guyliner on and spent a moment or two... hundred and seventy three posing in the mirror, then updated my Twitter account and posed some more.

After three hours of my normal preperation, I realized, "Hey Fangles, why not hit the downstairs with some waffles that Iggy is most likely making to drown out his sorrows!"

"NUDGE! OFF MY COMPUTER! NOW!"

The mocha-skinned girl giggled and scrambled out of my room. I quietly scanned the scrren to see if she had come across any of my "private" profiles or my Shower Max pics. I almost left out a breath of relief when I saw that my history was just as she left it except for... My word document about my life and how much it sucks...

I sucked in my breath. What did she touch on there? What exactly did she see?

Finally manning up enough to read what she had replaced my own words I murmured them to myself under my breath.

"Let's see here... Rebbecca Black? Who the heck... Hair gel? I do not use gel. And what the heck is Twitter?" I murmured to myself in bemusement.

Iggy burst through the door. "Dude, stop touching your self and eat your freaggin' breakfast."

I narrowed my eyes in response. "If I'm the one who touches myself, then what was that Playboy Magazine I found underneath your bed last week from?"

Iggy's pale skin tainted pinkish and he stormed out, grumbling something about no respect for the cook. I rolled my eyes, he was once again being melodramatic for no good reason.

I slipped downstairs in m seat next to Max, who was contently stuffing bits of savory pancakes down her throat. She smiled at me. That kind of ticked me off because of how she smiled. Like she hadn't sat theere and watched the rest of my traitor flock beat me senselessly with metal-butter-pillow thingers.

Despite myself, I nodded back and picked up my fork. I plunged a couple pancakes into my mouth, not really caring about my table manners. What? You can't really blame me if you hear my slightly depressing backstory.

Gazzy clapped a hand over his lips and parted his fingers slightly. "I'm Maaaaxxxx... Fang is soooooo dreamy and adorable and his hair is emo in such a sexy way that I just want to lick his six pack. He's sooo hot I can fry eggs o him, I bet."

Max dropped her fork and glared at me. I shrugged. Max shot a pissy gaze over her flock. "Who did that?" She demanded. The rest of the flock blinked and looked up at her innocently. She finally noticed Gazzy who was cracking up in the corner.

Max grabbed him by his shirt collar and lugged him into the hallway, probably to lecture him about the manners we don't have and never will.

I couldn't help but chuckle. She would never learn, would she?

Unfortunately I looked like, and sounded like, I was choking because of the delicious pancakes that were attempting to make their way down to my abnormally sized stomach.

Nudge noticed, not waiting to grab a thick broom and slapped me hard on the back, knocking me to the ground. I coughed and sputtered out the chewed bits of breakfast on the floor. "Oops," She muttered and blushed and giggled sheepishly. Apparently, she stil hadn't learned her own strength. Ladies and gentlemen, The Incredible Chatterbox!

She bent down and gritted her teeth, expecting to be screamed at. I shot her a glare. I just got out of the hospital, and they try to put me back in? Great. Just freaking great.

I got up. "What the hell?" I grinded my jaw together. She shrugged.

"I thought that you were like, choking or something."

I threw my hands up, exasperated. "I was laughing! Is that so freaking bad?"

I heard Iggy mumble to himself, "No wonder he doesn't ever laugh in front of us. He sounded like a dieing llama."

I growled at them, and stumbled upstairs. I really hated them. I made my way to my laptop and scanned the previous article by Nudge. I should probably look some of these things up. What if she was learning about inapropiate things on the internet and I didn't know? That really wouldn't be accepted by Oprah at all.

First of all... Who the heck is Rebecca Black? I typed her name in and waited for the computer to load.

"Friday..." I clicked on the Google search and a video popped up with the caption, "Worst song ever!" Pop music started to play, and I began to listen patiently, but not for long until my eyes were wide with horror.

"It's Friday, Friday, Gotta get down on Friday! Everybody's looking forward to te weekend! Patying, Partying! YEAH!"

Before my head expolded, I slammed it shut and winced at the memories.

"You know what?" I said to myself. "I think I'm gonna stay out of teenage life for a while." With that, I fell back, pondering if people actually liked that these days.