Hi. Right now I should be updating my other stories, but I have had WAAAAAAY too much sugar recently, so I can't bring myself to write anything even moderately sane. This is what happens when people let me near sugar.

This story'll be a three-shot, and it's rated K Plus for crude humor, violence, and some mild language.

The screen is black. The screen is blue. Chris hates you. You sucker you!

Trent came spiraling through the blueness, yelling out 'nine' nine times per one ninth of a second. Otherwise known as one nine every eighty-ninth of a second. Then he was in a basement, listening to Harold's garage band. Or more accurately, basement band. Harold was the only band member, because nobody likes Harold. There was no audience, because nobody likes Harold. In fact, everyone within a two-hundred mile radius had moved away, because nobody likes Harold.


Right as Harold reached the word train, Thomas the Tank Engine crashed through the wall and obliterated him. Blood and guts flew everywhere, much to Trent's delight. "I think I can kill Harold, I think I can kill Harold, I think I can kill Harold, hell, I FRICKIN' KNOW I CAN!" yelled Thomas.

Cody leaned out the engine window and called "All aboard!" Trent got on and beat up Cody nine times for not having nine trains. Then he tried to beat Thomas up, but his fists exploded on the metal.

Meanwhile, somewhere else in Canada, Heather was dancing to music from the 1920s with Alejandro. Being as evil as always, Alejandro tripped her as he swirled her around. Somehow, she fell through the floor and into the level beneath, where Dakota was in the middle of getting changed.

The famous teen shrieked and quickly covered herself up as best she could. But Heather grabbed her hands and kept trying to dance to the jazz tunes. Dakota punched her in the face so hard she immediately got a concussion and died.

To make sure there were no witnesses to the murder, Dakota trapped Alejandro in a box and taped it up. She then walked to the post office, still nude, and shipped him off to Greenland. In Greenland, a polar bear adopted him and force-fed him tea for the rest of his life.

Back in Canada, Mr. Coconut was getting a cloud tan from a cloud. Then Owen appeared. Fearing he would be subjected to yet another crushing bear hug, the fruit rolled away as fast as he could. Thankfully, the fat boy collapsed after walking two steps due to weighing about infinity plus one pounds.

The coconut rolled right to the feet of Katie. She'd taken up a job us a dog catcher, but was fired because she couldn't tell the difference between dogs and humans. That had led to some uncomfortable situations.

So Katie had become a fruit catcher. She netted Mr. Coconut and took him to the Hatchet's Stray Fruit Shelter. There was all sorts of fruit in the cages there, including Cameron, who somehow counted as a fruit because his brain was shaped like a banana.

The place was owned by none other than Chef. One day he took out a pineapple and chopped it into tiny bits. Then he took a papaya and chopped it into tiny bits. Then he took Cameron and chopped him into tiny bits. Mr. Coconut was next, but he inexplicably chopped Chef into tiny bits and escaped. How this was accomplished has yet to be discovered.

Several hundred miles away, Ezekiel was stalking Bridgette. He'd read a Bridgezekiel fic online and wanted to see if it was prophetic. Bridgette noticed him hiding in a bush, ran to him, embraced him, and kissed him full on the lips.

"Zeke! I love you!"


"Hell no!" She slapped him. "I just wanted to see your reaction."


She picked him up and threw him through the air. He broke through some poor person's roof. That person was Scott. "What are you doing in my house, Ezekiel?" he growled.

"Decorating it for Halloween!" Zeke grabbed a coffin, sealed Scott in it, dug a hole in the carpet, and buried the coffin in it. "All done! Just needs one more little touch." The psycho homeschooler took a sledgehammer and smacked it repeatedly. "There!"

Are you insane yet? No? Keep trying. I'll update when I feel like it or when I'm on sugar-high again, whichever comes last.