3Author's Note: This is a horrible parody. I felt dirty just writing it. Seriously.
I'd also like to dedicate this to a man I like to call "Mr. J" – you know who you are.
So, that being said...
Ream away.
Disclaimer: I'm sorry, but I hated the last Spiderman movie. HATED it. This is a crack-fic – purely for kicks and not to be taken seriously. Oh, and I don't own it. Thank God…
"G'bye, Sandy!" Peter was crying (again), his manliner running in rivulets down his baby-smooth cheeks as he watched the Sandman dematerialize and slowly, beautifully, and just epically filter in with the breeze, mingling with the freshness of the wind as he left them alone on the rooftop.
"I'm going to miss him!" Peter was crying (still) into his shirtsleeve, the flannel fabric drenched with his snotty tears of pain and anguish. MJ was crying as well, realizing that now she never had a chance with Harry. He was so much more manly than Peter. And he had a house. A really, really big house…and a pond that had ducks in it…and a marble bust of his late father in the living room. God, what a sexy beast…
"Harry, you can't die! I…I…" her voice broke as she attempted to comfort him, wanting to tell him the truth, but not having the strength to as Peter was clawing at her arm, looking endearingly up at her with large bloodshot eyes full of dejection and pain the likes of which their world had never known. That and she was too emotionally drained from all the screaming she had just done and the not-fainting and not-dying, which probably would've been nice. She fell silent, petting his pretty hair while Peter turned to jabbing fingers and sticks into his seeping wounds.
"Hey, blood!"
"Sweet merciful crackers!" Harry's head reeled, dizzy with the pressure deficit as more blood gushed from his body, "Stop it!"
"But it is so cool! Yeah!"
MJ let out another obnoxiously loud wail amidst her dry blubbering, her petting becoming more and more aggressive.
"MJ, I've loved you since kindergarten," Harry croaked, finally ready to give up his life, "And Peter…"
"Why, ye –"
Before Peter could properly respond, MJ had her hand over his face, pushing him away like a stray cat looking for a handout.
"YES, my sweet Harry Berry! I love you! I have always loved you!"
"But, I thought you loved me?" whispered Peter, his fresh application of black eyeliner going to pot as he sniffled, sobs starting anew. What a horrible life he led! Nobody loved him. Nobody cared…
"Peter, I thought you knew I didn't like girls."
"More tissue for cry, Peter?" Patrick Warburton stared deeply into Peter's eyes, the emo boy and his pouty lips trembling uncertainly before accepting the offered hanky. Patrick Warburton is here for no good reason at all, except that it'd be so cool to hear him say that.
Meanwhile, several thousand yards away, alarms are wailing through the downtown city streets, citizens running amok in horrific terror as the Sandman breaks into the First National Bank…in broad daylight…on the second Friday of the month.
The End.
:)