Dark Temptation

Ok so, I'm going freaking insane right now. It's 3am my time, and I just watched the sun rise from Vancouver airport. But the good news? You get a chapter from the airport! I wrote a large proportion of this on a 3 1/2 hour bus ride from Canberra to Sydney on Wednesday, and then the amazing Leelan Oleander managed to turn this around in record time for you so that I could post from Canada. It's like the 3rd thing I've done since I got here (first two being Tim Hortons Coffee and cigarette, in that order).

I am told that this chapter is incredibly politically incorrect, and it is. I can't help it if... well you'll see, it's all Peter's fault anyways.

And for those who were confused with the last chapter - the "Bella?" was coming from her phone. I guess maybe I didn't express that super well. I'm learning as I go here

WOOOOOOO CANADA!

This story is rated M for language, adult themes, and some smexin'.

Disclaimer: I wanted to say something witty about how I don't own twilight… but then I realised, who reads this shit anyway?

Dark Temptation

Chapter 8

JPOV

Walking home from Electric Mud, I'm not sure I really registered anything going on around me. I was so lost in thought about the clusterfuck that was Bella Swan that I couldn't even tell you if I had been walking at a human pace.

What was it about this girl, no, woman, that let her get under my skin in such a manner in which so few had ever managed. I couldn't figure out what to make of her. My impression of the shy, naïve little girl who followed Edward around in Forks was clearly no longer accurate, and I was beginning to wonder whether it ever was. She wasn't anything like I thought she would be, she was assertive, she was incredibly intelligent, she was self-confident and un-assumingly sensual, she was sexual and oh god so tight.

Standing in my kitchen staring at the box of popsicles in my freezer, I felt my pants grown uncomfortably tight as I recalled the feel of my cock sliding between her hot, wet, tight lips. My right hand found its way into my pants as I remembered the sensation of pounding into her as she lay across her desk beneath me.

God, she was Edward's little Bella, and I took her like an animal. I tried to summon even one ounce of regret for betraying Edward and Alice in such a way - by defiling their little human, but I couldn't bring myself to regret spilling my seed deep inside of her and feeling her walls pulsating around me as her orgasm swept over her. No, as much as I probably shouldn't have done it, I couldn't regret experiencing that. We were adults, unlike the freaky mindfuck twins, and we could make our own decisions.

My erection swiftly died as I wondered whether Alice had seen us. Moving into my bedroom, I sat on the edge of my bed holding my head in my hands, I wondered whether Edward had seen the vision in her head. Had they told the family? I grimaced, finally feeling some shame at the thought of Emmett and Rose's reaction. Emmett would be furious that I 'took advantage' of his baby sister, and Rose would be disappointed that I let the human drive another wedge between the members of her family.

I didn't know whether Alice was still looking into my future or Bella's. I knew that Edward had asked Alice not to look for Bella, but Alice doesn't always listen. I felt dread overwhelm me at the thought of facing the family in consequence of my actions. Swiftly moving to my feet, I realised that it would be best not to be around, just in case they did show up. I flashed quickly around the house, opening all the windows hoping to dissipate the remnants of Bella's scent that lingered in the living room. I rushed to my bedroom, grabbed a small duffle with some clothes, and dashed out the back door.

I wasn't terribly concerned about someone breaking into the house, I had security screens and nothing of any importance was stored here. My neighbours were wary of me and would not likely approach the house anyways, but I left my truck in the driveway to deter burglars. Replacing things was a hassle and despite-or perhaps as a result of-my years with Alice, I found shopping to be an unpleasant experience. I hopped onto my Harley,strapping my bag in and pealed out of the driveway, tires squealing as I pulled onto the street.

Without consciously thinking about my destination, I found myself on the highway headed north. I was delayed by a necessary stop for refuelling and the purchase of a foul smelling cup of coffee as cover when I was forced off the road to avoid one of the rare stretches of uninterrupted sunshine. As the clouds moved back in, I found myself back on the road and quickly approaching the Canadian border. I showed the border guard my ID and flashed him a brilliant smile which seemed to cause him a certain amount of unease. Unwilling to spend any more time than absolutely necessary with what his subconscious was telling him was his natural predator; he hastily waved me though, having barely checked out my false identification. I continued my journey towards some destination that I had not consciously embraced yet.

Some part of my subconscious must have wanted to seek out the man whom Bella had married. Bella as a married woman seemed unlikely to me, as I had previously heard her air her views on many occasions to Edward about marriage. Much to Edward's dismay she claimed no particular affinity for the institution of marriage, likely discouraged by the dissolution of her parents' marriage and its impact upon her life. I couldn't help but want to evaluate the man who had changed her views.

I considered the possibility of a shotgun wedding- though Bella might not feel obligated; I imagined that Chief Swan would have had some very strong views on his grandchild being born out of wedlock. I had seen her naked body though, and I had registered none of the obvious signs I understood to suggest that a female had given birth, there were no stretch marks, her stomach was firm and toned, her breasts were heavenly, but did not demonstrate the pendulousness that arose from having been full with milk. I was also given to believe that natural childbirth loosened the vaginal canal, and that certainly had been tight.

This husband of hers must have captured her attention, and her heart, in a way that Edward never had. I could feel her love for him as they spoke over the phone, yet there must be something I was missing because she felt no remorse or guilt about conversing with him wearing nothing but a pair of heels while my seed trickled down her thighs.

Curiouser and curioser. For some reason, I felt like I needed to understand the strange dynamics of their relationship. This is probably why I found myself cruising through the streets of old Montreal, looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack when I knew nothing about the needle aside from the fact that it existed, and that it was supposedly somewhere in this particular haystack.

Growing frustrated with the impossibility of the situation that I found myself in, I made my way over to the area of Peel St and St. Catherine's and checked myself into the first hotel I came across. Carrying my meagre duffle bag into my suite, I soon found myself resuming my previous position on the edge of an unfamiliar bed with my head in my hands.

What was wrong with me? Why did I care? Why did I want to follow Bella to Forks and fuck her and fight her, and yell and scream and hold her close. Why did this stupid, beautiful, infuriating, amazing woman have the power to completely up-heave my life for the second time? Why did I have this burning need to find this husband of hers and rip him limb from limb? I wanted to congratulate him for claiming her heart, and beg him to tell me what he did that I couldn't do.

Wait, what?

Shaking my head, I launched myself from the bed and walked into the bathroom. I turned on the water in the shower and stripped off my clothes as steam began to fill the small room. I stepped under the water, which would have been scalding to a human and sighed as I let the tension wash out of my body. I let all of the aggravation and stress swirl down the drain as if the water was actually capable of washing away all of my unanswered questions. I methodically washed my hair, and I lathered up my hands and passed them across my body.

Up one arm and down the other, I scrubbed myself, across the broad expanse of my chest and down my abdomen, the slick feeling of the soap provided a pleasant contrast against the textured surface of my skin which was mottled with thousands of crescent shaped scars. Battle wounds, an ugly reminder of the monster that constantly seethed just beneath the surface. In some ways, my disfigurement could be seen as a display of my badges of honour, but it struck fear into the hearts of most.

My hand moved further down my torso and firmly grasped my erection for what felt like the hundredth time that day. I urgently ran my hand up and down my straining length, the slippery lubricant of the soap guiding my hand to glide faster, harder, tighter. Desperately seeking the friction, the warmth I was craving, my motions continued. One hand was splayed against the wall of the shower as my hips began to move in contrasting rhythm with my other hand. So. Fucking. Close.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back, imaging that as the stream of water was hitting my chest it was washing away my sins. Sinful, sexual, brown eyes stared back at me from behind my closed lids, causing me to let out a feral roar as I came with an unexpected force into my hand.

Sighing, I rinsed myself off and stepped out of the shower, wrapping my body in a towel and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Fuck, I needed a distraction. Thankfully, some part of my brain finally decided to start working and suggests that I get out of the hotel. Maybe I'll check out that strip club that Peter used to talk about. Club Super Sex, that's where I'll go. I'll find a nice little human girl without brown eyes that could destroy your soul, or sinful lips that just invited you in, and I would fantasize about her instead.

I quickly dried myself off and dressed in some ripped jeans and a blue and grey plaid button down. I slipped into my boots and grabbing my wallet and key, I strode out the door and made my way down to the lobby. I considered asking the concierge for directions, but I didn't relish being the lone man asking for directions to a notorious strip club at midnight. Sighing, I stepped out to the curb and resigned myself to the frustration of a ride in a foul smelling cab with what was sure to be a surly, sweaty, bald, middle-aged French Canadian man.

I was pleasantly surprised to see the cab that stopped in front of me was being driven by a gorgeous South American woman in her early thirties. I made idle small talk with her, and she didn't seem terribly surprised or shocked at my destination, but I suppose as a taxi driver you must meet all kinds. As we pulled up into the parking lot of the establishment, I thanked her and gave her a generous tip before wandering inside.

I was instantly overloaded by the heady combination of lust and drunkenness, the smells of liquor and body odours, even bodily fluids –which I really didn't want to dwell on–and the deep throbbing bass of the music that was being blasted throughout the club. I made my way between the crowds and grinned as I saw a familiar figure sitting dead centre at pervert's row. I could feel his lust and mischievousness rolling off of him in waves as he kicked out the chair next to him, never taking his eyes off of the voluptuous blond who was writhing around the pole on stage.

"Major," he acknowledged as I sat down beside him. I could see a shit-eating grin playing across his face from my peripheral vision. I found myself too preoccupied to really look over at him as the rhythmic gyrations of the dancer on stage completely captivated me. She was untying her top while suspended upside-down from the pole with her hair hanging down almost to the ground and her breasts gently swaying nearly hypnotically with her movements. I was being hypnotised by a pair of tits.

"Fucker," I greeted in reply as I pulled a strangely coloured $50 bill from my wallet and waved it at the dancer. Fucking Canadians and their fucking Monopoly money. The pinkish hue seemed to attract her attention though, so I supposed there was some bonus.

"So I see you've finally decided to take a break from attempting the record for most self-induced orgasms in one day to spend some time with your brother." I looked down at my watch and noted that it was now just after midnight. I grinned at him and responded in kind.

"Well, it is a new day, just thought I could use some inspiration to help me achieve my goals. Now, as the reigning champion, do you have any advice?"

Peter barked out a short laugh and turned to me. "Lubricant. Now, if you're getting lonely I could always loan you my wife. I'm sure she'd be happy for you to throw her across a table and have at it. I mean, you could never compare to me and the purple people eater," he grinned as he grabbed his junk, "but still, variety is nice."

"Fuck your wife, punk," I shot back, shoving my bill into the dancer's thong as she undulated her body, waving her delicious ass in front of my face. Mmm, she smells like peaches. My grin widened as I leaned back in my seat, appreciating the fine specimen of ass that was currently bouncing up and down practically in my lap.

"You would, too." Peter grumbled, and I felt a brief flicker of irritation and protectiveness emanating from him before he covered it with his usual cocky attitude.

"…besides, as fine as your woman is, Char's not my type." I finished, slightly disturbed by Peter's reaction.

Peter's cocky grin shifted into one of his all knowing smirks that said that he knew something that I didn't. "So tell me, Jasper, what is your type these days? Freaky midget cunts? You got a hankerin' to hand your balls over to another controlling bitch?"

"Don't act like Char doesn't keep your balls in a jar on the mantle, fucker." Peter grinned in response and tapped his package as the music changed and another dancer came out on to the stage.

~o_o~

Peter and I enjoyed more than a few glasses of scotch as dancer after dancer paraded across the stage. I definitely had acquired quite a bit of inspiration for the spank bank. While I don't in any way, shape or form miss my bitch of an ex-wife, I do miss the feel of sliding my cock into something other than my fist.

Fucking Bella had been a very, very nice departure from the monotony of masturbation, but I was wary of using that memory as fuel for fucking my hand in the future. It seemed wrong somehow, and I couldn't even begin to fathom what would happen if Edward ever 'heard' me fantasizing about his little innocent and pure Bella Swan. Fucking martyr didn't even know what he was missing. No, it was better to find some new material.

Some time around six or seven in the morning, the emotional atmosphere shifted. The small crowd slowly turned over as many left with feelings of disgust, revulsion, and more than an undertone of judgement. Others filed in to take their place, with feelings of giddiness, lust, amusement and in a few cases, guilt.

I nudged Peter with my elbow and raised a questioning eyebrow. It felt like a completely different type of crowd had settled in, and my brain was too foggy - from a combination of the alcohol that I had drank and the general levels of drunkenness permeating the establishment - to be able to figure it out.

"Oh yeah, since this is a pretty slow time for them, they get some of the freakier acts to come out. Fetish stuff, you know?" Peter explained to me. His grin grew bigger as he waved over a server for another round of drinks.

The scantily clad woman approached our spot in perverts row and began clearing out empty drinks, while Peter leaned over and whispered conspiratorially to her, "Is it true that the next act is a … little person?" She nodded at him disinterestedly and wandered off to get us some fresh drinks.

"Holy shit Jasper! Do you know how long I've been waiting to see a midget stripper? How the fuck old am I, because that's how long. An honest to god midget, Jasper. Fuckin' A! I knew tonight was gonna be big … err, little." He kept rambling on excitedly, practically bouncing in his seat with enthusiasm. I struggled not to jump up and down from the giddiness and anticipation that he was emitting.

I allowed myself to crack a small smile while I contemplated whether my venom had caused him some sort of permanent brain damage. Maybe he had just taken one too many smacks to the back of the head from Char. They were both pretty strong possibilities, but could vampires get brain damage?

"Pocket sized fun, Jasper! You can put 'em in a backpack and carry 'em around for later! You'd pay 'em to go up on you!" Peter's litany of tasteless midget jokes was thankfully interrupted by the return of our server with our drinks. She eyed Peter up and down wearily and paused as if trying to decide whether to say something or not. Her emotions were cycling between disgust, amusement, irritation, and boredom so I sent her a little extra boost of irritation just because I wanted to see her start bitching at Peter.

"I am giving you the warning," she started, with her heavy French Canadian accent. "It is not polite to make the jokes of the little people. I know it is the… how you say, rarity, uh, attraction, like at the circus, the midget stripper, but you should not be the rude man. Our manager, he does not take kindly to the mocking of his dancers." With the end of her little speech, she twirled around with a huff and stormed off towards the bar as Peter shot me an unimpressed glare. I grinned at him and shrugged my shoulders.

"Thanks, asshole." His irritation with me was swiftly overshadowed by his excitement about seeing a real live midget stripper. I could sense his struggle to keep from continuing his filthy, yet admittedly amusing, string of jokes.

"Shit, I fucking wish the wife was here. She's gonna go ballistic when she finds out what she's missing." I eyed Peter strangely. I'm fairly certain that Char would not, in fact, share his joy at the prospect of a midget stripper. Despite all her natural kinkiness, she had never shown any interest in seeing strippers of any kind.

Truthfully, I remember her being so disgusted when Pete and I had gone to see a donkey show in Tijuana that she had actually turned the hose on us. She refused to allow us into her house smelling like "whore on a donkey." She then stormed back into her home, slamming the door so hard it cracked and muttering to herself about how her husband was a fucking ass.

Of course, dumbshit had piped in with "No sweetheart, the fucking ass was the show!" Needless to say, Charlotte was not impressed and Peter was not getting laid for a long while.

That incident in mind, I couldn't understand why Char would have wanted to see a midget stripper. I was brought out of my thoughts by the dimming of the lights around the stage. A booming voice cut in over the music announcing Tiny Tina who had a special surprise in store for all of us.

Peter's excitement went through the roof and I had to grip my chair tightly in my hands to keep from bouncing up and down in my seat as I absorbed his frenzy of enthusiasm. As the first few notes of music hit our ears, however, his enthusiasm shifted into dread so fast it nearly have me whiplash.

Peter put his head in his hands and started shaking it back and forth, muttering to himself. "No, no, no, nooooooo…" he chanted as the familiar strains of the Imperial March sounded throughout the club.

"No, no, no…I swear to all that is holy, please no. I will stop stealing my wife's panties, will stop hitting on her servers, I will fucking eat animals. Just no, please, no…"

I chuckled under my breath at Peter's obvious distress and then nearly fell out of my chair as I looked up at the stage.

"Oh, for the love of—"

"That is just fucking wrong!"

Standing there on the stage directly in front of us, wearing face paint and what can only be described as some sort of furry belt-slash-underwear thing was Tiny Tina. The word felkin flashed across the back of my consciousness, and I shuddered at the fact that there even was a word to describe all of the wrongness of that outfit. It was a midget stripper, dressed up as an –

"EWOK!" Peter shrieked as he jumped to his feet, sending his chair flying backwards.

He was right; she was dressed up as an Ewok. There is no word for how wrong that was, or for how much I was enjoying Peter's obvious discomfort. Fun fact: despite his reputation as a badass, fearless vampire soldier, he was fucking terrified of Ewoks. It was kind of ironic, really, that a man with the nickname Yoda would have a pathological fear of a race of fuzzy little bear-like creatures from the same movies.

"Why! Why would you do that! You're a fucking Ewok! All I wanted to see was a midget take her clothes off, and you've ruined it for me, you tiny little pocket-sized freak!" He was screaming hysterically at the poor stripper as everyone else in the club seemed frozen in shock. I was double over my chair, laughing hysterically; if I was capable of producing tears they would probably be running down my face.

Unsure of what to do, Tiny Tina took a step towards him, which was apparently the wrong thing to do. Peter ripped his jacket off and threw it at the poor girl, screaming at her to put it on and 'hide her shame'. What the fuck, Peter?

As his hysterical (in both senses) tirade continued, the crowd began to grow uneasy, and security finally sprang into action. I knew they were going to try and drag him outside, and I also knew that in his state he'd probably resist and potentially hurt the humans, so I sent him a huge dose of lethargy. Peter's ranting finally came to a stop and he swayed unsteadily on his feet as the two burly bouncers reached him. They easily mistook his swaying and incoherency as signs of drunkenness, and promptly dragged him outside into the parking lot, yelling at me to follow. Surprise, surprise, they called the cops on us.

Peter was still shaken from the combination of the Ewok-stripper, his outburst and the lingering effects of the lethargy I had dosed him with. The bouncers forced him face down on to the ground and told me to sit down and shut the fuck up until the cops showed. Peter was feeling panic and disgust, as well as irritation and betrayal. Oops, I sent him a wave of apology by way of making up for the fact that I was still laughing at him.

"Fuck, they've called the cops. You had better call Char." Peter slurred out, presumably trying to play off his earlier outburst as the result of all the alcohol we had consumed. Sure, we were a little buzzed, but I'm not sure a vampire could actually get that drunk. Consuming large quantities of alcohol gave us a pleasant, relaxed feeling but we didn't get the disorientation and loss of motor function that humans seemed to experience.

I patted down my pockets, looking for my cell phone and came up empty.

"Fuck, I must have left my phone at the hotel."

I looked over at the remaining bouncer who was leaning over Peter's prone form with one knee pressing into his back, attempting to keep Peter face down and immobile in the parking lot. Of course, it wouldn't actually stop Peter if he wanted to get away, but the bouncer couldn't have known that.

"Uh, could I use his phone to call his wife?" I asked of the body-builder wannabe. He gruffly nodded and began patting down Peter's ass, presumably looking for his phone.

"Front left pocket" muttered Peter, and I laughed even harder as he began to grow increasingly more uncomfortable. I sent the bouncer a little wave of lust and Peter growled at me when the bouncer's hand seemed to linger in any one spot for too long.

I caught the phone as the bouncer flung it at me, he was feeling pissed off, confused and embarrassed now that my influence had been removed. Flipping the phone open, I laughed at Peter's background which was a close-up of a nipple. I pulled up the recent call log, figuring that was the fasted way to get to Char's number. The first name on the log was "Wifey" so I quickly selected it and hit send.

The phone rang a few times, and then it was answered with a few muffled noises in the background followed by an incredibly unexpected voice flowing out of the speaker.

"Hey babe, miss me already?"

I gasped in shock as I registered who the voice belonged to. "Bella?"

"Oh, shitballs" I heard Bella and Peter simultaneously mutter before I heard a clattering noise coming through the speaker on the phone.

"What the fuck, Peter?" I roared, ignoring the shouting of the police officers who had just arrived on the scene. Peter was feeling pissed off and scared, and I could hear a fearful hitch in Bella's breath as I held the phone out and waved it at Peter accusingly.

"Look Jasper, calm down, there's an explanation for all of this," he pleaded with me, sensing that I was about to flip my shit on him.

"An explanation, really, well then do enlighten me as to why the fuck my Bella is in your phone under 'Wifey'" I shouted, spitting venom into his face as I knelt down to his level. I shocked myself a bit by calling her my Bella, but I would have to file that away for later.

"Because I am his wife," I heard Bella responding with anger lacing her tone. Peter glared at me for my use of the possessive when referring to Bella.

"Now, I assume you're calling me for a reason, Jasper, so stop with all the fucking shouting and get on with it, because I'm hungover as fuck and I'm at the grocery store with my brother. I'm assuming that Peter has gotten you guys arrested?"

Brother, huh? What the fuck? A police officer was now grabbing onto my shoulders and attempting to pull me back from my position of kneeling in front of Peter.

"Uh yeah, looks like."

"Monsieur, Sir, please hang up your phone," the cop behind me politely pleaded. Canadians are nothing if not polite.

"Do you know what station they are taking you to?" I relayed the question to the cop who was beginning to grow impatient with me.

"Uh, Cité Central apparently,"

"Ok, I'll arrange to have bail posted for you both. What the fuck did he do this time?"

I was still caught off-guard by her casual use of profanity and her easy acceptance of the fact that her husband was being arrested, apparently not for the first time since she met him. Of course, this was Peter, so being arrested wasn't particularly unusual.

"There was an incident at a strip club." I scratched the back of my neck, feeling inexplicably uncomfortable about the prospect of telling Bella that we had been staring at naked women for the last seven hours. It seemed kind of pathetic and creepy.

"Oooh! Were you at Club Super Sex? I love that place," she squealed through the phone. I shot a quizzical look over at Peter, wondering if he had been talking about Bella when he said his wife would go ballistic about missing out on the midget stripper. He was still radiating anger at me, but he managed a smirk as the police dragged him to his feet. His hands had been cuffed behind his back and they were leading him towards the backseat of a cruiser.

"Yeah, we were. So, there was this midget stripper, and…"

"Aaaagh! I missed a midget stripper! Seth, Peter got to see a midget stripper in Montreal!" She sounded almost like she was hyperventilating and I was glad I couldn't' feel her emotions over the phone because I think her excitement would probably rival Peter's.

"Calm down sugar, you didn't miss anything worthwile, well except for Peter flipping his shit when she came out dressed as an Ewok."

"Eww, that's sick!" She paused and took a breath, "is he alright?" She sounded genuinely concerned and it made me wonder how long they had known each other that she knew these kind of details, it wasn't the kind of thing he usually advertised.

"Sir, you need to get off your phone and come with me." The police officer tried to interrupt me again, and I growled deeply at the disruption.

"Listen, darlin', they want to read me my rights. Can you arrange bail?"

"Yeah, sure," she responded quietly and then hung up on me.

~O-o~

I soon found myself handcuffed and mirandized in the back of a police cruiser beside my brother of sorts. He turned his head to look at me, emanating a strange combination of apprehension, anger and frustration.

"I thought I told you to call Charlotte, not my wife!" he exclaimed at me. The cop in the passenger seat clanged his flashlights against the grill separating the front seats from the back and told us to shut the fuck up.

The rest of the ride passed in relative silence as I stewed over this new information. Bella and Peter were married. What about Char? I can't see Peter ever abandoning his mate, actually I don't think it's even possible for a vampire to abandon their mate.

If Peter was Bella's husband, it had been him on the phone at the bar. I realised that he had also been the one to pick her up from my house. Why hadn't I recognized his voice either time, and why hadn't I noticed that Bella was wearing a wedding ring?

"Peter?"

"Hmm…" I could feel his anger and irritation with me bubbling under the surface, but I just couldn't help myself.

"I had sex with your wife."

"I know." He frowned at me.

"I didn't know she was your wife."

"I know."

"Why didn't I notice her wearing a wedding ring?"

"I think you should worry more about what else you aren't noticing," he replied and his anger spilled over as he head-butted me in the face at vampire speed so the police wouldn't notice.

"Mother of fuck," I swore as I felt my cheekbone crack from the impact.

"This isn't over" Peter muttered, just as the police pulled up at the station.

So, no cliffy this time (yay?), and hopefully you've got a bit more of an idea of what's going on here. As for the whole Ewok-midget-stripper thing... I believe that stitch_cat is to blame for that... she sent me a challenge to include a felkin (there is a photo) in my next chapter, and so... I took it a little further than expected.

Things I googled for this chapter:
Streets in Montreal (This was a really sad thing to have to google, but really, I just wanted to look at google streetview of Montreal b/c its an awesome city)

Actually, yeah I think that's all I googled.

And about the monopoly money comment on the canadian money. I'm Canadian, I'm allowed to make fun of it. Plus, in Australia, their money is both colourful AND waterproof... so yeah. Canada seems a bit less lame now, right?

Will update on Twiwrite (dot) net and Fresh Squeezed Lemons tomorrow, today I require more coffee and cigarettes.