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02 September 2003 @ 05:58 pm
Stupidest Story Ever, Part 1  
Well it's the heirarchy of fandom - or humanity when you get right down to it. Everybody likes having someone to point to who is lesser than themselves. So most people point at fanficcers, fanficcers point at slash, slash points at RPS, RPS points at mpreg, mpreg points at chan and so on and so forth until you find somebody who wrote a Justin Timberlake/Spike crossover where Justin's pregnant, Spike's 8 and they both turn into catpeople. This latter person then has to shrug and go "Hey, at least I'm not wasting my time watching football."

http://www.livejournal.com/users/thebratqueen/315288.html

Justin Timberlake died at just the right time. He was thirty-eight years old when he contracted a weird new sexually transmitted disease that ripped apart people's immune systems almost overnight and left them regretting that one last shag, wherever and however it was, such as standing upright in Club Head's last stall with a vid promoter named Tynna while the DJ played history's forty-third remix of "I Love the Nightlife." When he took his last breath, they popped him into the cryogenic chamber at once. "Like a pop-tart into a toaster," JC said as he stood by the hospital bed, feeling sad despite the innate Michael Jacksonian freakiness of Justin's disposition. He thought it was a good turn of phrase and repeated it several times, wishing he could share it but knowing he'd get more horrified looks.

When Justin woke up he was still thirty-eight. A hundred years had passed, and it was just like waking up into one of those bad Japanese movies made in the distant past about the distant future. They'd gotten everything right. The furniture was white and egg-shaped and the walls were freckled with little round lights. Bland nurses with crew-cuts and blue, spray-on gloves attended him and made him eat Jello. Two days later he found out he was still a very rich man and that there only a billion people in the world.

He held a press conference attended by one earnest reporter and five bored ones who'd apparently had nothing better to do, and who left immediately afterward. The only person to interview him was the earnest reporter, Skip Pei, who'd monopolized the event while the others half-listened and drank complimentary mimosas and grew progressively louder and more giggly. Justin suspected that if Skip hadn't questioned him, no one would have.

After a night of drinking, Skip was a fast friend who helped Justin find an apartment and nodded in all the right places for the next several weeks after that.

"So this whole green-skinned, devil-horned fashion look," Justin said vaguely one day, gesturing at Skip. "What's that about?" After a startled look, Skip explained. "Damn," Justin said. "Damn, that's...wow."

Skip of course felt obliged to take Justin to a few demon bars to shake his shock loose, which was where Justin met the crabby vampire. He'd nudged his way up against the bar and was waiting for a drink, and when he turned sideways he saw the guy, looked like an ordinary guy. A bit like Billy Idol, actually. He was slumped over his drink sulking at it and possibly contemplating murder. It was a dark, dire glower that might set his high-test vodka on fire at any moment.

"Fuck off," the guy said without looking at him. Justin turned away, but that merely allowed the guy to stare at him for a minute. And then he snorted.

Justin challenged him aggressively. "What? What the fuck is your problem?"

"Going to sing us a song, nancy boy?" When Justin didn't reply, the guy seemed to assume he was confused. "It's amateur talent night, y'know."

"You know who I am," Justin said. This creep was the first person who knew who he was, and he wasn't even a fan.




And now someone else has to continue this in their LJ. Please? Remember, you're trying to get (1) Justin pregnant, (2) regress Spike to the age of eight, and (3) make them both into cat-people. Come on. It's a noble cause, people.

ETA: See this post for more parts. Call dibs there if you want a part.
 
 
 
I Blame the Dutchmpoetess on September 2nd, 2003 06:07 pm (UTC)
Wait, we have to *regress* Spike to the age of eight? Current level of mental and emotional maturity doesn't count? ;-)
Brassy Hagmiggy on September 2nd, 2003 06:24 pm (UTC)
Ha!

Bwhahaha.

I'd take up the baton if not for the fact that friends-locking it would sort of defeat the point.
Tuesday Has No Phonesthebratqueen on September 2nd, 2003 06:40 pm (UTC)
Yoink!
I call part two!
Anna S.eliade on September 2nd, 2003 06:43 pm (UTC)
Re: Yoink!
Eep. I think rosenho got it already...
lexcorp_hope on September 2nd, 2003 06:43 pm (UTC)
*weep* Oh dude, Ididn't know we were calling parts. Should I pull mine?
Tuesday Has No Phonesthebratqueen on September 2nd, 2003 06:45 pm (UTC)
No worries. I can do 3 =)
Pet: jurentboyapetslife on September 2nd, 2003 07:06 pm (UTC)
*grin* Can I do part 4?
Anna S.eliade on September 2nd, 2003 07:49 pm (UTC)
I see you nabbed it--go, you! :>D
lexcorp_hope on September 2nd, 2003 06:41 pm (UTC)
I couldn't help myself. I got Spike 8 years old! *giggle*

http://www.livejournal.com/users/rosenho/146573.html?mode=reply
Jimmy Petstore: slash - buffysnoopypez on September 2nd, 2003 07:42 pm (UTC)
That's brilliance. :D Only one with your kind of talent could pull that off so.. interestingly. heh. I especially liked - He thought it was a good turn of phrase and repeated it several times, wishing he could share it but knowing he'd get more horrified looks. :D
needfireneedfire on September 2nd, 2003 07:55 pm (UTC)
Hey give me a number, i'm up for getting that wee twat pregnant.
Anna S.eliade on September 2nd, 2003 08:04 pm (UTC)
You got it. Take the next bit. *g*
needfireneedfire on September 2nd, 2003 08:08 pm (UTC)
Is that part four or five love? Do you want me to wait until apetslife gets done?
Anna S.eliade on September 2nd, 2003 08:12 pm (UTC)
Five, yes, sorry! :) After Pet gets done.
needfireneedfire on September 2nd, 2003 08:14 pm (UTC)
No bother gives me time to enjoy the fact that i'm realy doing this at 4am. I do worry some times
the whole slip shod shebangethrosdemon on September 2nd, 2003 08:03 pm (UTC)
Holy Viggo. See, this was well written. That's the really scary part. This was supposed to be crackfic. How come it's good? *world tilts sideways* I think I need shock therapy.
thetrinity on September 3rd, 2003 05:10 am (UTC)
Me too. I'm enjoying it a lot more than some of the schmucky, mopey, moralizing fanfics that around. This is so fabulous. And grammatically correct! Oh god, I'm reading Spustin crackfic.