Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I profiting from Pokémon or Avatar: The Last Airbender, please don't sue me!

And yeah, I know I'm not funny. Amy Schumer humor should die, me along with it. Seriously, don't hurt yourself by reading this, it's not too late to turn back.

Sorry in advance for all the run-on sentences and my misuse of the semi-colon too. Writing isn't a linear process, it's 90% scrapping, editing, re-organizing. And this crack fiction sure as hell ain't that. 'Specially since it's from my teenage years of unfunny sex jokes. Not that you could say that I'm funny now, but :P blah. Enjoy.

A/N: It's 5AM and I'm writing crack so that I can send my friends gay porn about our other friends in good vengeance.

The conversation with the traitor who never replied to me when I was in my most insecure state:

7/30/14

(7:49 PM) Fuck, I think my tampon just went AWOL.

(7:51 PM) Brooke: I don't even know what to say about that.

(7:51 PM) You could say, "don't worry Jane, it's not your fault that you have a wide-set vagina!"

(7:56 PM) …

(7:57 PM) ….

(7:57 PM) IT'S REALLY NOT MY FAULT YOU KNOW

(7:57 PM) THERE IS NO SUPER-XX SIZE FOR TAMPONS, I ALREADY BOUGHT THE BIGGEST ONES

(7:59 PM) If you don't reply to me I will send you gay porn starring Eric and Christian

(7:59 PM) …

(7:59 PM) ….

(7:59 PM) …..

(8:00 PM) Brooke: Nooooooo

Eric had always yearned for Christian's smooth, sun-kissed skin to slide frictiously against his own, contrasting pale body; for it was he who hath captivated the poor whiteboi's kokoro.

But alas, there was a wedge separating the two from ever becoming one.

"Angela Mozzarella," Eric hissed, like a wild bulbasaur.

Speaking of whom, the aforementioned wedge had just arrived through the gates of Berknah Academy.

Eric, upon hearing her giggle uncontrollably from afar, nearly gave himself whiplash from snapping his head back to watch the source of his irritation p̶a̶i̶n̶f̶u̶l̶l̶y̶ playfully punch HIS l̶o̶v̶e̶r̶ crush in the arm as Neopanties and Jane cringed from what they knew to be a painful blow.

Christian fell to his knees in grievous pain, clutching his wounded arm in agony as he asked the gods, looking up to the skies, what he did to deserve such abuse. Neopanties and Jane had the sense to back away from the scene as the raging Mexican woman swore in rapid-fire spanish and gave another dangerous swipe, aimed at absolutely nothing in particular.

Eric was beyond infuriated. How. Dare. She. How dare that violent, war-mongering, barbaric, boorish woman—looking like a rejected extra from a 90's skater song—touch his lover, when he has always been longing to caress those luscious curlicue locks in the same way?! That! Shit-bathing, cum-guzzling, cock-shining, teletubby-lookin-bitch should watch who the hell she's touching because Eric never had no problems fucking up a hoe and cutting off their tits and hanging them off of the headlights of his old honda just because some scum-sucking-road-whore had the gall to touch his man.

Other students, terrified of the hissing whiteboi, ran for their lives and cowered in fear. For Eric had begun to chant ancient curses, unearthed from who knows where, like a mantra. Ripping off his clothes, he danced naked around a boiling cauldron in the narrow hallway of Berknah Academy, reciting hexes and conjuring demons, calling upon his white ancestors to once again wreak havoc upon the unassuming minorities who made up most of the population at the public school, in order to put that hoe in her place.

Not knowing what the everloving fuck was going on, the security guard stationed on the first floor could only stare at the monitor in his office; not registering the images across his screen. And maybe, he was just a wee bit turned on.

Eric continued to prance around like a deranged drunkard on LSD that had passed out at a sleazy bar the previous night and had gotten himself fucked up the ass by an elephant dick, limping and whatnot. His spell was almost complete. He gave out one final shriek of pure spite before passionately dragging his ass all over the dirty floor. He couldn't help it, he was just too mad.

Finally, Eric slumped against the shitty school's sickeningly green tiles, eyes fluttering closed.

Apparently, teasing Angela had gone out of hand.

Easily amused, she could not stop laughing at even the slightest of teasings, and suffered a heart attack after unlocking a brand new move: the infinity giggle.

Paramedics, flown in by the local hospital chopper, jumped out of their aircrafts and rappelled down 40 feet of rope to Angela's rescue, breaking through the all-glass ceiling. By this time, she had already stopped breathing. In order to resuscitate her, they performed CPR, or Chest Punching Restoration, on her. Aiming for the solar plexus, the best place to punch when performing CPR, they beat her bloodied and into a comatose state. Half-dead and arm hanging out of its socket at a weird angle, they hauled her off on a gurney to the clinic.

Even from E-Hall, you could still hear her wheezing out her used-to-be giggle.

Jane, feeling guilty, followed them while Christian and Neopanties carried on to their first period class together.

Eric, feeling refreshed after humping the hallway, picked himself off of the floor and continued his eternal yearning for his beloved and beautiful Christian, failing to notice that his ancient Mayan chant had caused Angela to suffer from blood clotting or the fact that he was still au naturel, much to the excitement of the police officer on the first floor.

Unfortunately, he had not exactly recovered; glancing down, Eric realized that he had another problem down there (WAO, MUCH ERECTION).

He hurriedly entered the restroom to relieve himself by using thoughts of his beloved and briefly questioned the lack of urinals.

Christian and Neopanties were both strolling along the halls peacefully.

Suddenly, as they were walking through a patch of green tiles, they encountered a very, very naked Eric-Bulbasaur that was being harassed by some freshmen girls outside a girl's bathroom.

"Pervert!" one of them shrieked.

The meeting was inevitable just like any other encounter in a Pokémon game.

Neopanties' eyes dramatically trailed down an expanse of pale skin, before the accursed image was burned into her head, branding itself onto her brain, forever. She brought her hands up to her bleeding eyes, unable to assuage herself from revolting scene.

Startled by the appearance of the Eric-Bulbasaur, Christian-kov, the Russian Pokémon trainer from Italy, called upon his extremely rare Neon-Chu to the field.

Neopanties suddenly disappeared in a white gleaming light and in her place a humanoid caricature of a mouse sat before him.

Christian-kov points at their opponent, bringing his arm up from his side in one fluid movement as the camera pans out to capture a different angle with Neon-Chu sitting at his knees, ready to attack the offending Eric-Bulbasaur.

"Neon-Chu, use thunder bolt!"

Eric-Bulbasaur dodges her attack and uses poison to render her unable to move, "Fuck off, thunder cunt."

It is extremely effective!

Neon-Chu, powerless, is unable to attack.

This allows the naked Eric-Bulbasaur to use his naked vine whip and snap Neo-Chu out of her euphoria.

Yet again, by seeing Eric's saggy fucking ass, Neopanties gags, her insides coiling in so much disgust that it creates a despicable pain; the muscles of her flesh contracting, crushing her organs, and twisting them like how a closet-gay bully gives his also gay victim a purple nurple.

Unfortunately, Neopanties had backed away too far and fell over the railing of the 42,069th floor, 420,069 feet or 69 miles from the bottom floor, about a 5 minute fall until inevitable decimation.

Falling feet-first at comet speed, Neopanties winced slightly as the friction from the wind slashed at her skin as she plummeted towards her death.

As she fell, gravity had the effect of making blood rush up inside the body; first gushing from her legs, moving towards her stomach, then up her throat and into her mouth, before spilling from her nose, eyes, ears, and to her brain.

It wasn't a wonder why she couldn't think straight, let alone devise a plan to land safely with what images were going through her head. She sighed, resigned, choking on a little of the blood with a cynical look in her eyes. Not only did she have the pleasure of seeing Eric's pale and pasty ass, but his two-inch boner as well. She shuddered at the memory. It had flopped around, reminiscent of the Johnny Depp dance at the end of that Alice in Wonderland movie, the futterwacken, except more vigorous and less pleasing to the eye. It was probably the most disgusting thing that she had ever bore witness to, she thought. As if it wasn't already bad enough that she was being up-skirted. At least her panties were cute. Purple lace.

Looking to her left at the green lockers lining the hallways beyond the balconies, she guessed she was near the fifteenth-hundred-and-twenty-something floor. 5 minutes sure took a long time if you were nearing death.

As all the blood went to her head, Neopanties played with the idea that maybe her legs would be bloodless and numb enough to not feel them snap when she hits the ground. She contemplated the idea, one leg crossed over the other, still falling. It was her legs taking the impact after all.

But she had no such luck.

She felt something snap at the small of her back as she met ground-level.

Falling like a meteor, her impact to the ground had made a crater and even track marks in the Earth. Her feet had skid across the concrete even with no spine to support her flimsy upper body, the rubber soles of her shoes diminished as if by acid, and the palms of her feet scraped by the rough, coarse cement, eroding away her skin and eventually raw muscle. She only had her ankles by the time she stopped, bone hanging from out of them. Paramedics were too late to save her. Eyes open and rolled to the back of her head, blood gushing out from all openings, and urine running down her thighs—a common reaction the body has to death—Neopanties was declared dead by the EMTs present at the scene. They had known she was falling and waited for her to reach them, sipping their jamba juices instead of realizing they were sans an safety net before it was too late.

Her death created a rip in between two dimensions, twisting space and gravity to affect the flow of time proportionally within the space-time continuum, distorting all and any concept of it. Nobody noticed that anything was amiss, but two parallel universes, one still stuck in the past, have now merged into one.

177um1nat1 years ago on the planet DR177M9A55...

Long ago, six nations lived together in harmony. Then, everything changed when Eric Ragingboob attacked. But I believe… that Brookie Cookie can save the world…

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Christian Bonerfuck looked down from his perch on the 42,069th floor, where he had helplessly watched Neopanties fall to her untimely death. Anguished, he sobbed into the naked Eric's chest, where he was surprisingly pink in his areolas. All the coffee-colored nippled people howl in jealousy. Eric delightfully wraps his arms around Christian and gently brushes some stray raven hairs out of his face. Christian, soothed by these gestures, is suddenly conscious of something hard pressing against his thigh.

Eric, unfazed by his sudden awareness, locks Christian inside of his arms and grabs his wrist to guide the raven-haired boy's hand towards his hard cock.

"E-Eric..."

Christian was uncertain of the sudden development, but Eric couldn't wait any longer. He almost came when Christian palmed him.

"SHHH. Just let it happe-"

Suddenly, Eric was thrown across the hallway.

"BIAA—TCH. Get your nasty ass hands away from me."

Christian had bitch-slapped the shit out of Eric. I guess he wanted to stay in character to the very end…

Eric slumped against the lockers, defeated, with a bleeding nose and a broken-heart. Damn… that Christian sure knows how to throw a punch…

"I'm glad he was the one I fell in love with…"

"...I guess I'll just live with the memory of touching him and use it to jerk off for the rest of my life… damn, if I had know it'd end like this, I would've groped his dick too."

Eric pondered these thoughts bittersweetly. With such an anticlimactic ending to his long-time love and the satisfaction of having received closure, Eric didn't notice someone creeping up behind him…

Out of nowhere, two hands came out from behind him as one cupped his balls and the other tweaked a nipple.

"Wha—let me go!"

Eric struggled in a futile attempt to get away from his assailant.

"No!"

Eric valiantly continued to fight against his attacker, but to no avail, the offender was stronger and seemed to be wearing... a security guard uniform…? Recognizing this as the man who patrolled the first floor, he did anything and everything he could to get away, not noticing the lockers shivering slightly from the sudden tremor that had cut through the air. Both Eric and the officer look to their left to see a rip in the atmosphere, where Brookie Cookie emerged from the void.

"Hey."

Walking down the hallway in all of her sexy glory, leather jacket and all, hands in her pockets and her boots clunking with each step, Brooke pulls out a Magnum F92 and shoots the police man's dick off, narrowly missing the globe of Eric's ass.

"No means no, you know."

And she was about to walk away, until Jane, the author of this story, appeared before her. Pulling out an AK47, Jane pulls the trigger; the barrel of the rifle chucking out cartridges as a dozen bullets, fired in rapid succession, embed themselves into the target, sending Brookie Cookie straight into Hell.

"And that's what happens when you leave a bitch on read."

A/N: Remember kids! Consent is sexy. ;)

I don't even know. This is what happens when I start writing in the middle of the night.

So, I didn't actually want to write about my friends having sex and ended up only writing softcore porn. Sorry that this was half-assed, I couldn't make myself suffer such brain-bleach inducing thoughts. But wow, I wrote this 4 years ago, when I was 15. My writing still hasn't changed at all and is still as shitty as hell. I'm sorry you had to read this middle-school-humored, pile of donkey shit.

Shout out to my friends! They're all dumpsterfires and I hate them more than anything in the whole world. Especially you, Neondra, you cockjuggling piece of shit. You assclown. You butt monkey. You're a pencil. A swizzle stick. A jizz tissue. Angela… I honestly don't know what to say. If we were standing on a cliff, I'd push you over the edge. You'd probably laugh on your way down. Don't worry, though. You're cute like that. Like an oblivious little corgi puppy who's nice to anyone and everyone. Most of the time. Sometimes you're an ass. Christian… HI. I don't hate you or love you. Eric, I never talked to you and I probably never will. If you somehow found your way here and read this… you deserve it for recommending us hentai that one time. Brooke, I think you're as sexy as hell and sometimes I'm not sure if I want to punch you for it or if I'm turned on. Dying is what you get. I'm not sorry. Fuck you all.

Edit: it has been brought to my attention that the dumb bitch that heckled me to finish and post this for her because she was "really hurt that she was the only one who didn't get to read it" (even though I originally wrote this as a joke and only meant to send this to one person, who then shared it) flamed my writing abilities.

I don't think I have any "writing ability" but I do have an ego that's big enough to get bruised so. Angela. Angie. You sweet summer child. I've always hated you. Enia, Neondra, Brooke, and all of us. We've only ever tolerated you. Everything you say sounds like it belongs in a Disney Channel Original Movie. I actively cringe when other people overhear you talking and see me and think to associate me with you. I remember you once giving me shit for the rips in my jeans looking "manufactured" and for wearing converse, saying that I look like "white trash."

Yeah, biking to school every morning in my sister's jeggings, hitting the curb, scraping my knees, pedaling like I'm doing fucking high-knee lunges, and making the hole in my jeans rip even more is just nouveau fashion, I guess. Nordstrom gonna use me as the next prototype model for their working class collection. I remember thinking it was real ironic considering you look like a fucking hipster with your oversized glasses, red lipstick, red tipped hair, and your indigenous crossbody shoulder bag, looking like a fucking clown. I used to be the type of person that thought negatively commenting on one's appearance invalidates their entire argument but after burning out and letting myself go, I let go of those principles too. Your toxicity certainly didn't help. It was seriously so draining to be around you. You'd shit on other girls and force me to listen to your ghetto ass music, blasting Cardi B while saying that I had bad taste, Jesus.

And that time when we were jogging on the trails and you said "what the fuck, YO" I wanted to walk straight the fuck away from you and just walk home. Christ. Whenever you would curse it would sound so unnatural and cringey like you were saying something foreign to your own tongue. I guess you could say the same about me but I'm an angry asshole and it's an outlet for me so I'm gonna keep doing it. Besides, between the two of us, I think you take the cake for how annoying someone could possibly be.

It's really fucking funny that you felt the need to tell me off about all my "foul language" when all you could talk about was your fucking sex life even when we didn't ask. Confiding was one thing, but you droned on about it every single time that we met up, holding me captive in your car, regaling me with your fucking sex escapades. In the group-chat too, just talking about it all the damn time. Listening to you reiterate in graphic detail contributed a lot. It felt like I was humoring you. Maybe if you hadn't illustrated it in such juvenile fashion, it would've been less grating on the nerves. Then again if you were capable of such a thing, I would've been more inclined to hang around you.

And you were flexing super weird about it too, saying shit like "sex is so much better than masturbation," those were actual words that came out of your mouth. Lmfao okay? As if that's not a given? Tell the whole world why don't you? You don't need to advertise it to me, hoe. This bitch told everybody except her parents. She wants everyone to know she's not boring. You really acted like you knew everything too, saying that I got "more comfortable with myself" lmao what even. Aren't you talking about yourself? In high school, you were the meek one. The loose link of the group. The doormat. So don't get cocky, bitch. Telling ME I need to chill? I'm the one rolling with your stinky ass, doing stupid shit to make people laugh and having a good time, while you kill everyone's vibe.

If anyone's a buzzkill, it's you. With your noisy fucking ass, always trying to be the "sane one" or the straight man in a double act or the mother hen of the group, scolding us whenever we do something, acting like it was so crazy, yelling and shit. Then you would talk with this patronizing tone, acting like you were the wisest of us, and I dunno if it was because you were older or what but honey, you're not qualified to be acting like you're somebody's big sister lmao. So, tell me who here is the buzzkill, huh? You, with your fucking blaccent.

Do you know who you are, Angela? You're that moldy loaf of wonder bread, the cash-me-outside girl. You're Becky Buckwild. You're one of those bitches who suddenly starts talking like they're black. Straight out of the trailer park is what you are. And you try too hard. Trying hard is not a bad thing, but you're not the gangster you try to be, you're a bitch that puts condoms on the floor of the passenger's seat side so that people will think that you have game. You don't have game. You're a sperm dumpster that people will stop by to use, only for their release, and then they'll be on their merry way. Sometimes I'll tell you exactly what I think of you and you'll giggle yourself to death and laugh uncontrollably like I'm playing with you. I look like wannabe trash? Because the rips in my jeans "don't look like real rips?" Do you know what jeggings are, bitch? You sound like ignorant wannabe trash. And you look like wannabe white trash too with your dyed hair, glasses, and lipstick and pierce the veil. You're a poser.

I don't get how you wanted to be a player and a mother hen at the same time.

You were always saying that you were a bad bitch when the real badass around here was Brooke. I remember saying it too as we were walking up to Walmart before I worked there and you literally fucking screamed, "WHATCHU MEAN, JANE?" I mean that people actually enjoy Brooke's company and will take her out on a date just to fuck her, unlike you who gets their dick from guys who are whispering behind your back, sharing stories about you and saying that you're a thottie. And you knew it too, which is still cool and all, as long as you don't regret it, which you did. I remember you saying "NO, JANE, I want the ADVANTAGE!" to something that I suggested or whatever. Wow. You so clearly have the advantage. If you don't wanna be treated as the workplace cum bucket then don't be a slut in the workplace. You're not a player. A player knows they're a slut and they're proud of it too, to be getting that dick/pussy. The type of cool cat that gets around and is really smooth and doesn't get all mad like you do when they get rejected; they'll shrug and move on to the next guy. They don't flex because they know that they got it.

Listen to Corey Finesse.

And I'd tease you sometimes, half-meaning it, and I guess that's what you meant by buzzkill but you'd laugh yourself to death at the time, thinking I was playing with you. Yeah, such a bad bitch. A bad bitch who will honk at the car in front of us only to piss them off because they ain't scared of you and then get braked on by said car and not follow through with what you started. Yeah, smooth as hell.

And apparently you've never read metafiction in your life either. I sincerely doubt you could even write anything remotely better than my unedited first drafts, considering your dumb ass. You're welcome for the 80 that I got us for that sophomore English project we had to do too. I feel sorry for you, being as unaware as you are. Everyone who has ever ridden shotgun of your car with you knows what it's like to be held captive as you advertise your sex life to the whole world. And I solemnly pray for whoever has taken my place and is sitting in that seat now.

Looking back, maybe I was a little harsh. It would be a lie to say that I completely hated you otherwise I wouldn't have hung around you for so long. It was 99% annoyance and 1% fondness. Oh and also out of necessity since you were kind of my wallet and my ride around town. I stole all your weed, by the way. I still have it too. Unblock or PM me here if you wanna hear more about what is it about you that annoys me.

Oh yeah, tell that bitch Mireya that she's got a weird superiority complex she should go see the doctor for and stop subjecting people to.