A/N: Nope. Couldn't have thought of anything else. Nope-nee-nope-nope. And Cerulean and Genius-626, my faithful reviewers! AN INFINITY OF COOKIES FOR YOU BOTH!

"Pointless Agent Insanity! Part XII:

And the Award for the World's Shortest Chappie Goes To...

The Guy who makes up the Ridiculously Long Titles for these Chappies, but
He's at Work Right Now, so I Gotta Think of Something Myself, which is Cool, but I Mean, my Brain is Fucking Fried Today, and I Don't Mean Fried like that Kentucky Fried Chicken you had Yesterday and got Food Poisoning from 'Cause it Wasn't Fried all the Way, 'Cause
That's just Weak, I Mean Fuckin' Fried Like French Fries Fried, Mothafuckas!"

Their faces were worn with the salt and grit of the Wild, Wild West. The sun-filled sky burned orange over their heads. From the desert fire burning in their eyes, it was clear some great red river had to be shed to lift the drought of the enemy.

Agents Brown and Jones approached one another, the spurs in their heels clicking heavily in the sunlit dust.

A tumbleweed passed between their silence. Their eyes narrowed in the shadows of their weary, snarling faces; their hands tightened over their revolvers.

"This town ain't big enough for the two of us," said Brown.

They squatted in a Lego town the size of a shoebox.

Jones slapped Brown with a plastic toy pistol he had retrieved from a dying G.I. Joe comrade. Brown, in retaliation, threw a Lincoln Log at Jones.

"Ow," stated Jones.

"Ow," replied Brown.

"Ow."

"Ow."

"Ow."

"Ow."

"Ow."

"Ow."

"Ow."

"Ow."

"Ow."

Suffice to say, it was a horrific tragedy and many Lego civilians were killed.

Meanwhile, Smith sniffed from the downstairs living room couch watching his favorite daytime soap opera, General Animal Hospital.

Mr. Booger-Mooger the stuffed animal kitten was in the ICU, apparently shot in the head by Miss Sparkly Unicorn for the millions he had earned investing stock in the ball-of-string industry; she had seduced him he was in the throes of her trap when—

"Where is the money?" Miss Sparkly Unicorn asked, batting her eyelashes seductively.

"Don't do it!" Smith screamed, biting his nails. Then, realizing he had already bit his nails during his comrades' let's go 100-foot bungee cord jumping off a 50-foot cliff experience last Tuesday, he seized his sleeping landlord's nails and began biting them instead. "Don't tell her you—"

"Why, I spent it all on Fancy Feast, my dear," said the kitten.

Thus, a smoldering Miss Sparkly Unicorn whipped out a spray-bottle filled with water and shot Mr. Booger-Mooger in the head: "No dough? Bad kitty! Bad KITTY!"

So now he was in the hospital.

A horde of stuffed animal friends surrounded the wounded kitten to offer their griefs and consolations, filling the quiet, white hospital room with sniffles and sobs; but somewhere in the distance sat an orchestra, ready and ever-waiting...therefore, every time one of them tried to speak, it was drowned out by a dramatic musical score—namely, the sad, slow Italian opera version of the Super Mario Bros. theme song.

The teddy bear left the room for a drink of water.

"I'm—" said the giraffe.

The blaring dramatic music played again, to which the teddy bear ran back into the room, took out a double barrel shotgun and blew the orchestra composer away.

The heart monitor flatlined; Mr. Booger-Mooger died from an acute onset of overblinking. The credits rolled and Smith cried, stuffing his sleeping landlord's chewed-up hand in the wastebasket along with the dirty Cleenexes.

Two minutes later a Coca-Cola commercial came on, lasting the span of a hummingbird's heartbeat—Hey, kids! Check this out! Wanna grow up to be an important and influential person in the world? Drink this can of magic that comes out of a chemical vat and will someday kill you! YAY CAPITALISM!—and Smith realized that he had, in actuality, been watching the Super Bowl all this time.

TO BE CONTINUED IN OUR VERY NEXT ISSUE...HEHEHE, JUST LIKE SUPERMAN!

A/N: We actually have a cat named Booger-Mooger. My cousin named it that...*facepalm*