Fear and Loathing and Insanity
FANDOM: Avenged Sevenfold x Harry Potter
TITLE:Fear and Loathing and Insanity
CHAPTER:Ch. 1 - We Let Jimmy Sullivan Loose in Las Vegas and Lived to Tell the Tale
AUTHOR: Kendra Plague (kendraxplague)
RATING: R, I suppose. Adult themes, but nothing explicit.
WARNINGS: Some slash, Language, mentions of sex, stupidity, and pornstars.
PAIRINGS: Matt/Draco, Jimmy/Kendra, Zacky/Amy. Mentions of Matt/Val, Jimmy/Leana, Brian/Various.
SUMMARY: A crackfic that shamelessly steals ideas and lines from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, characters from Harry Potter and Avenged Sevenfold, and includes far too much ridiculousness (is that even a word?) to be true.
NOTES: This was written for my friend Amy, who started the whole thing (blame her!) by telling me she wanted a story in which she dated Zacky, and I dated Jimmy. Since I already had a character based off of me made up, I just had to pick an Amy-character ... and this is what came out. Really, it's very silly. Don't read it if you don't like silliness.
FEAR AND LOATHING AND INSANITY
A strange and terrible crackfic saga
Starring:
Matt C. Sanders
Jimmy O. Sullivan
Brian E. Haner Jr
Zacky J. Baker
Johnny L. Seward
Kendra S. Heslep
Amy C. Good
Draco A. Malfoy
Ichabod C. Vengeance
And in Minor Roles:
The Teen Topanga
JK Rowling
Valary DiBenedetto
A Toy Car
The Police
Generic Skanks A, B, C, D, and E
The Stop Potter Porn! Myspace Group
A Machete
CHAPTER ONE: We Let Jimmy Sullivan Loose in Las Vegas and Lived to Tell the Tale
"What the hell are you doing?" Jimmy shouts from the backseat, and Brian glances at him in absolute bewilderment. We have stopped at a gas station not far from the oh-so-faux glamourous, shining, and extremely depraved city of Las Vegas, and our fucking drummer is already losing his head. Bet he'll get married to some stupid stripper in a drive-thru church and wake up in the morning wih no recollection of what he's done. "We can't stop here! This is--"
"No it's not," Johnny points out in some confusion. "It's a gas station."
"With bats," Jimmy says, attempting to hide behind Zacky, who looks thoroughly amused. "This is bat country!"
"Of course. Bats are fuckin' everywhere," Zacky says, and I'm starting to get the vague impression that he's trying to freak him out so badly that he'll be using that damn hot pink flyswatter all fucking night. And I swear, if he touches me with that thing, I'll knock his face in, best friend or not.
There is arguing going on in the backseat again, and it's giving me a headache.
"They're fucking everywhere, man," Jimmy moans, and Zacky is trying his very hardest not to burst into sudden maniacal laughter. Ichabod's sitting on his lap, looking for all the world like the King of the Fucking Universe. And hey, as long as he doesn't keep chewing on all my shoes, I'll be happy. "Everywhere!"
"Last I heard, this wasn't a Hunter S. Thompson novel," I say with a derisive snort. "Get a hold of yourself."
The attendant is taking forever with Brian's credit card, and I have half a mind to leave without it.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" Synyster exclaims. "Did you drink all of this?!"
Every head in the car turns to look at him, and we stare at the totally empty bottle of Grey Goose Vodka he's holding.
"...might've..." Jimmy responds, looking shifty.
"I thought we agreed on not drinking until we got there," I say with a groan. Yeah. Definitely feeling that migraine…
"...I got bored." Jimmy is slurring, and everyone is simply hoping that he's not going to puke his guts out on any of our laps.
"We can see that," I say, very dryly. Jimmy doesn't seem to catch my sarcasm, and begins waving that fucking flyswatter around. It narrowly misses Johnny's nose.
Brian shakes his head, chucking the empty bottle into the backseat, and Johnny catches it. He turns back around to the front seat, and for the first time, sees the price of gas per gallon.
"Christ!" He yelps, taking off his sunglasses and rubbing his eyes once, then twice, then three times. "...I must be fucking hallucinating, too," he says grimly, and I snigger. "And the fact that I just forked over my credit card was a hallucination too."
"Of course," I say, the picture of innocence -- or ... not. I don't think I've ever managed to get that down quite right. That's Jimmy's forte.
“Can we just get to Vegas?” Johnny whines from the back. “Jimmy’s trying to stick the end of his stupid flyswatter up my nose.”
By the way Zacky’s cackling back there, I know it’s true. “Jimmy, will you stop it? You’re the oldest out of all of us, and you’re acting like a three-year-old.”
I can feel Jimmy scowling at the back of my head, and suddenly, I feel something floppy hit my head. Jimmy sniggers and Ichabod barks, and I simply sigh.
God, it’s going to be a long car ride.
*****
We get there at half-past nine, and we only drop our things off in the hotel room before letting ourselves loose in the craziest fucking place in the world, apart from Amsterdam, that is.
Zacky, Johnny, Brian, and the dog have gone out on their own, and I’m left to baby-sit Jimmy, who should know better by now than to drink an entire bottle of vodka before going to a club and drinking more.
Predictably, we gravitate towards the strip clubs. We both have girlfriends, but mine’s in Huntington Beach, and Jimmy’s is a porn star and cheats on him regularly for her job, so we both find it completely fitting to go and get ourselves completely drunk and get a cheap lapdance from hot girls.
Yeah, it sounds like a pretty good deal to me.
And so we’re at some hole-in-the wall strip club, and Jimmy’s downing shot after shot of vodka. I want to tell him to stop, but girls keep coming over and asking me to sign their chests, so … hey, I can’t help but be a little distracted.
It’s only when I hear a high-pitched voice say, “Jimmy!” that I start to get worried.
God, not her.
Porn star or not, Leana is not my favourite person, nor will she ever become a girl I even remotely like. She’s remarkably ditzy, and thinks of nothing other than sex. And for some people, that might be okay, but believe it or not, I actually like my girlfriends to have something between their ears - a little thing called a brain.
Jimmy’s never gone for those, really. I don’t think he even knows what a brain is. I’d be surprised if he had one.
“Hey, Leana,” Jimmy slurs, and he’s practically incomprehensible. I inch away, so I’m far enough away that she won’t bother me, but unfortunately close enough so that I can hear every word they say.
“Sweetie, I didn’t know you’d be here,” she coos, and I’m entertaining thoughts of strangling her with the thong that’s hanging out of her … hang on, is she even wearing anything over it? Oh. Oh wait. There’s a skirt, if you can call it that - I think, to be perfectly honest, that my belt is larger than that fucking strip of hot pink cloth.
Not to mention, for Christ’s sake, it’s hot pink.
What Jimmy sees in her, I’ll never know.
“’M in Vegas,” he says, as though this weren’t painfully obvious by now. “Havin’ a blast. ‘Cept for all the bats. There’re bats everywhere.” He says this with some difficulty, and Leana keeps running her hot pink fingernails over his chest, unbuttoning the pinstriped shirt he’s wearing and - Christ, please tell me they’re not going to have public sex.
Jimmy might be my best friend, but I am not watching him fuck some stupid whore (who is regrettably sticking around until she makes a mistake that simply cannot be rectified) right in front of me. This place might be a strip club, and a rather dodgy one at that, but even having sex in here is just disgusting.
Even for Jimmy.
They’re talking, and Leana is trying to give him a hint that she wants to fuck, but Jimmy’s babbling on about bats and monkeys and hot pink fly swatters - god, what is with that colour today, anyway? - to really notice what she’s saying at all.
“And then I saw this great big one, I swear, it must have been a -- a transformed vampire bat or somethin’-“
“You know, Pete said I was the skankiest porn star to come in his studio for over five years! Gosh, I was so flattered-“
“Fuck, its teeth were so pointy, I thought it might evis - eviscapate … no, wait, that’s wrong-“
“And Kieran Van Dick said that I look exactly like a teen! And I said, ‘Wow, Kieran, that’s so funny, because my nickname is the Teen Topanga’, and he was so impressed-“
“Eviscalate - no, no, thass not right, either…”
“…I’m so hot, aren’t I? Look at this stomach. Have you ever seen anything flatter than this stomach? I mean, c’mon, babycakes. You know it, my fans know it … they love me---“
“Evasturbate. That’s - fuck, no … er … ebiterate? Ah-“
“Kieran also says I look like a twelve-year-old trying to be an eighteen-year-old. And you know, what? That’s exactly the look I’m going for, ‘cause I’m twenty-four years old with nothing better to do than pretend to be eighteen, and … god, I’m so hot, I think I need a portable fan near me at all times-“
“Evaculate … Eversitate…”
“And oh, baby, you look so hot in pinstripes, but you’d look so much hotter without them. Maybe we can fuck now? God, I’ve only had sex six times in the past three hours but I’m so horny, especially for you in those pinstripes, baby…”
And while Jimmy’s ranting, and Leana’s telling him just how hot he looks in pinstripes, Jimmy does something that no man ever wants to be caught doing.
Jimmy promptly throws up in her lap. Even as I'm sitting there, trying my very hardest not to either gag or laugh, she giggles.
“Oh, that was so cute,” the Teen Topanga fawns over him, even with a pile of puke sitting in her lap, and both of us look at each other, completely horrified. “Do that again.”
We jump up and flee the club without any regrets whatsoever.
*****
“God,” I complain.
“Yes?” Jimmy slurs, and I contemplate smacking him on the back of the head, but I figure he’s so drunk he’ll just puke again.
“I wasn’t talking about you,” I retort, wrinkling my nose at him. “I can’t believe you’re dating her. She’s so…”
“Weird,” Jimmy supplies, and for once in my life, I wholeheartedly agree with him on a matter to do with Leana.
“Why’s she here, anyway?” I ask, groaning.
“Dunno. She di’n’t say.” He’s staggering around by now, and we finally sit on the steps of a drive-through church, most likely run by an Elvis impersonator or something of that nature.
I snort. “Knowing our luck, she probably wants to marry you here.”
He blinks. “Ah, yeah. She mention’d somethin’ ‘bout that…”
I stare. He stares back.
“Do you … you don’t have a ring, do you?” I manage, and he shrugs, delving into his pocket, and out comes a small black velvet jewelry box that looks suspiciously like it’s made for a ring. An engagement ring, perhaps.
“Huh.” Jimmy’s staring at it, perplexed. “Seems I do. Funny, that. I was going to get a cigarette.” He shrugs. “Ah well.”
“You can’t seriously be thinking of marrying her!” I exclaim, and I know my face must be absolutely comical by now. “No way, Jimmy Sullivan. No way. You just threw up on her and she liked it. That must draw some sort of a line, even for you.”
Jimmy frowns, considering this. “Hm. Well, no, I guess not. That’s kinda gross.”
“Agreed.”
“Although,” he says, sighing, looking at the ring sadly, “It’d be a pity to waste such an expensive ring…”
“You could sell it?” I say hopefully, but Jimmy doesn’t seem to be listening.
“Maybe I c’n get someone else to marry me,” he decides, and I stare at him. I seem to be doing that a lot.
“You do realise how ridiculous that sounds,” I finally say, after several versions of Have you gone crazy? and Fuck you, moron have gone through my head. “You go to get a cigarette, and a ring randomly pops up in your pants’ pocket, and now you feel like you have to marry someone to get rid of it. Do you realise how crazy that is?”
“Yeah,” Jimmy says, nodding sagely. “But … y’know, maybe s’a sign.”
I just shake my head slowly. “A sign from who? Satan? God?”
“Nah, just the author,” he says with a shrug. “I think she wants ta marry me or somethin’.”
“So marry the author!” I shout in exasperation.
“I dunno where she is, or how to propose to someone who’s writing us on paper,” Jimmy counters, and it sounds like the drunkenness is starting to fade, if only slightly. “Anyway, I think I just hafta marry somethin’. This ring prolly cost a tonnnnn of cash.”
“Jimmy, it just appeared in your pocket. You probably didn’t even pay for it.” But my attempts are futile, I know this already. Jimmy has a determined, drunken glint in his eye, and there’s nothing I can do. My best friend has officially lost his mind.
I mean, we figured he would ages ago - we all have bets on it of course. I’m just a little pissed because if he’d just waited off for another three days, I wouldn’t have to pay Johnny fifteen bucks.
“So?”
Yeah, there’s no convincing him. “Fine,” I say, throwing up my hands. “Just don’t marry a ditz.” And this is where I figure I’ll be a good friend and stick around to save him from the clutches of evil, crazy, middle-aged women who might want to marry him. At least I’ll get some amusement out of this whole stupid thing.
We wander (or stumble, in Jimmy’s case) around Las Vegas, and Jimmy keeps bumping into random women. Before he can ask them, I steer him away, and he curses me out, like I’m keeping him from an absolutely glorious lifetime with an eighty-year-old woman with a set of rotten dentures.
“Oh, shut up,” I mutter irritably, but Jimmy simply keeps ranting until we get to the outskirts of Vegas, and he sinks down next to a trash can, looking rather despondent. “Now what’s wrong?”
“No one wants to marry me,” he mumbles, and he actually looks sad. Oh god, what is the world coming to?
“I don’t blame them,” I say unsympathetically. “You’re piss drunk.”
“Go ‘way,” Jimmy retorts, and I shrug, going far enough away from him that he can’t see me, but I can see him in case he decides to get all suicidal on me and jump in front of a moving car or something terrible like that.
There’s a toy car next to him, painted a vibrant, fire-truck red, kind of like one of those Barbie cars that little girls always pretend they can drive in. It doesn’t look like it works, and Jimmy, to my absolute horror, starts talking to it.
Great. There’s no doubt about it. Jimmy’s gone barking mad, and there’s no way I can pretend that he hasn’t. Johnny’s going to get my money either way. Damn.
“S’not fair,” he’s complaining to the car. “No one wants to marry me. Me. I’m hot. Who doesn’t wanna marry a gorgeous fuckin’ rockstar?”
The car, predictably, does not answer.
“I even have this real pretty ring right here,” Jimmy continues, absolutely oblivious. “And no one wants it!”
The car is still very silent and also very inanimate, and I have this striking moment of disbelief when I realise what Jimmy’s going to do, just before he actually does it.
“Hey!” He says, brightening. “You’ll marry me, won’t you?”
Oh god. His wife will be a car. A very masculine looking toy car. Hm. I’m not exactly certain if even Vegas will marry a couple comprised of a human and an inanimate object, but it’s so terribly amusing to watch that I don’t want to say anything to him.
“Oh, I knew you would!” he goes on happily, and I realise that although he isn’t slurring as much anymore, he’s still completely inebriated. “We’ll be the best couple ever.”
I let out a snort of laughter when he opens the box to show a very, very expensive looking ring with a black diamond in the centre. Hm. Well, at least it was a Jimmy-esque ring.
Before Jimmy can do something even more embarrassing, like trying to kiss the damn thing, an amused, feminine voice asks him, “Where’ll you put the ring?”
We both glance up, and see a rather short, dark-haired girl standing several feet away from Jimmy. She isn’t remarkably good-looking or anything, but compared to everyone else he’s gone up to, she’s the most amazing person I’ve ever seen. I find myself wanting to kiss her, if only because she might have just gotten Jimmy out of the worst mess in the world.
Jimmy seems caught off guard. “The … ring?” He blinks. He hasn’t thought of this, apparently. “Er … the … the steering wheel.”
She arches her eyebrows, trying hard not to laugh. I already am. “I don’t think that’s going to work,” she says with a slight smirk.
Jimmy glares at her. “Yeah?” he asks in annoyance, trying to fit it on, but apparently, no one ever told Jimmy that putting a ring on a steering wheel four times its size cannot work.
“Look, it isn’t going to work.”
“Yes it will!” Jimmy insists, and continues trying until the girl leans against the wall and asks casually,
“How will you have sex with a toy car, anyway?”
Jimmy stops in the middle of his fitting session, and his blue eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. It appears he hasn’t thought of this yet, which surprises me. Sex is usually all he thinks about.
“Er…”
The girl gives him a look that clearly says duh, and Jimmy’s expression suddenly turns crafty. Oh no, no … not this again…
“So, I have this ring…” he says shiftily. “And … er, you know, I also have this … church.”
She looks vaguely amused. “What, exactly, is your point?”
Jimmy smirks. “me, you, elvis impersonator in a church, fifteen minutes. We can practise our vows.”
Both of us stare at him. I have a vague idea of what he’s trying to ask, but … why the hell does he have to say it like that?
“Er … you want a threesome with an Elvis impersonator in a church?” she inquires, looking at him strangely.
He blinks. “No!” he says exasperatedly. “Will you marry me?”
She blinks back at him. “Oh,” she says. “Well, you could have just said that to begin with.”
“I was trying to be smooth!”
“It’s hard to be smooth when you’re slurring every other word,” she points out. “And in any case, that was the shoddiest pick-up line I’ve ever heard.”
Jimmy glares at her. “I’m Jimmy Sullivan! Marry me, dammit!”
Her eyes widen momentarily. “Are you really?” She stares at him. “I’ve been obsessed with you for years.”
Oh, dear lord. And here I was, thinking she was normal. But no, she’s been fawning over Jimmy for years. My opinion of her has just gone down several notches.
“Have you?” Jimmy looks up hopefully.
“Yes,” she says, flushing, and Jimmy grins. Aha. He has the upper hand now, and I don’t even want to know what he’s going to do.
But he’s getting down on one knee and holding out the ring, and I’m thinking oh, fuck, I should probably stop this, but I find myself unable to really move.
“Will you marry me, then?”
“Look, you hardly know me. You’ll just want a divorce in the morning…” Unfortunately, both Jimmy and I can tell this is a last ditch effort to get herself out of something that she obviously wants.
“Not if the sex is good,” Jimmy points out. I choke.
She ponders this. “Fair point,” she says, and Jimmy slides the ring on her finger.
Fuck, he’s going to kill me in the morning.
“Oy, Matt!” Jimmy calls over. “You’ll be my best man, right?”
I flee the scene as fast as my legs can take me.
Author's Note: I'm well aware that retarded doesn't even begin to cover this story. I don't particularly care. xD If you don't like it, you don't like it. It's meant to be funny, and since it's for my friend (who's already read the two chapters I have written, and thinks it's funny) I don't really care whether you think it's stupid or not xD.
TITLE:Fear and Loathing and Insanity
CHAPTER:Ch. 1 - We Let Jimmy Sullivan Loose in Las Vegas and Lived to Tell the Tale
AUTHOR: Kendra Plague (kendraxplague)
RATING: R, I suppose. Adult themes, but nothing explicit.
WARNINGS: Some slash, Language, mentions of sex, stupidity, and pornstars.
PAIRINGS: Matt/Draco, Jimmy/Kendra, Zacky/Amy. Mentions of Matt/Val, Jimmy/Leana, Brian/Various.
SUMMARY: A crackfic that shamelessly steals ideas and lines from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, characters from Harry Potter and Avenged Sevenfold, and includes far too much ridiculousness (is that even a word?) to be true.
NOTES: This was written for my friend Amy, who started the whole thing (blame her!) by telling me she wanted a story in which she dated Zacky, and I dated Jimmy. Since I already had a character based off of me made up, I just had to pick an Amy-character ... and this is what came out. Really, it's very silly. Don't read it if you don't like silliness.
FEAR AND LOATHING AND INSANITY
A strange and terrible crackfic saga
Starring:
Matt C. Sanders
Jimmy O. Sullivan
Brian E. Haner Jr
Zacky J. Baker
Johnny L. Seward
Kendra S. Heslep
Amy C. Good
Draco A. Malfoy
Ichabod C. Vengeance
And in Minor Roles:
The Teen Topanga
JK Rowling
Valary DiBenedetto
A Toy Car
The Police
Generic Skanks A, B, C, D, and E
The Stop Potter Porn! Myspace Group
A Machete
CHAPTER ONE: We Let Jimmy Sullivan Loose in Las Vegas and Lived to Tell the Tale
"What the hell are you doing?" Jimmy shouts from the backseat, and Brian glances at him in absolute bewilderment. We have stopped at a gas station not far from the oh-so-faux glamourous, shining, and extremely depraved city of Las Vegas, and our fucking drummer is already losing his head. Bet he'll get married to some stupid stripper in a drive-thru church and wake up in the morning wih no recollection of what he's done. "We can't stop here! This is--"
"No it's not," Johnny points out in some confusion. "It's a gas station."
"With bats," Jimmy says, attempting to hide behind Zacky, who looks thoroughly amused. "This is bat country!"
"Of course. Bats are fuckin' everywhere," Zacky says, and I'm starting to get the vague impression that he's trying to freak him out so badly that he'll be using that damn hot pink flyswatter all fucking night. And I swear, if he touches me with that thing, I'll knock his face in, best friend or not.
There is arguing going on in the backseat again, and it's giving me a headache.
"They're fucking everywhere, man," Jimmy moans, and Zacky is trying his very hardest not to burst into sudden maniacal laughter. Ichabod's sitting on his lap, looking for all the world like the King of the Fucking Universe. And hey, as long as he doesn't keep chewing on all my shoes, I'll be happy. "Everywhere!"
"Last I heard, this wasn't a Hunter S. Thompson novel," I say with a derisive snort. "Get a hold of yourself."
The attendant is taking forever with Brian's credit card, and I have half a mind to leave without it.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" Synyster exclaims. "Did you drink all of this?!"
Every head in the car turns to look at him, and we stare at the totally empty bottle of Grey Goose Vodka he's holding.
"...might've..." Jimmy responds, looking shifty.
"I thought we agreed on not drinking until we got there," I say with a groan. Yeah. Definitely feeling that migraine…
"...I got bored." Jimmy is slurring, and everyone is simply hoping that he's not going to puke his guts out on any of our laps.
"We can see that," I say, very dryly. Jimmy doesn't seem to catch my sarcasm, and begins waving that fucking flyswatter around. It narrowly misses Johnny's nose.
Brian shakes his head, chucking the empty bottle into the backseat, and Johnny catches it. He turns back around to the front seat, and for the first time, sees the price of gas per gallon.
"Christ!" He yelps, taking off his sunglasses and rubbing his eyes once, then twice, then three times. "...I must be fucking hallucinating, too," he says grimly, and I snigger. "And the fact that I just forked over my credit card was a hallucination too."
"Of course," I say, the picture of innocence -- or ... not. I don't think I've ever managed to get that down quite right. That's Jimmy's forte.
“Can we just get to Vegas?” Johnny whines from the back. “Jimmy’s trying to stick the end of his stupid flyswatter up my nose.”
By the way Zacky’s cackling back there, I know it’s true. “Jimmy, will you stop it? You’re the oldest out of all of us, and you’re acting like a three-year-old.”
I can feel Jimmy scowling at the back of my head, and suddenly, I feel something floppy hit my head. Jimmy sniggers and Ichabod barks, and I simply sigh.
God, it’s going to be a long car ride.
*****
We get there at half-past nine, and we only drop our things off in the hotel room before letting ourselves loose in the craziest fucking place in the world, apart from Amsterdam, that is.
Zacky, Johnny, Brian, and the dog have gone out on their own, and I’m left to baby-sit Jimmy, who should know better by now than to drink an entire bottle of vodka before going to a club and drinking more.
Predictably, we gravitate towards the strip clubs. We both have girlfriends, but mine’s in Huntington Beach, and Jimmy’s is a porn star and cheats on him regularly for her job, so we both find it completely fitting to go and get ourselves completely drunk and get a cheap lapdance from hot girls.
Yeah, it sounds like a pretty good deal to me.
And so we’re at some hole-in-the wall strip club, and Jimmy’s downing shot after shot of vodka. I want to tell him to stop, but girls keep coming over and asking me to sign their chests, so … hey, I can’t help but be a little distracted.
It’s only when I hear a high-pitched voice say, “Jimmy!” that I start to get worried.
God, not her.
Porn star or not, Leana is not my favourite person, nor will she ever become a girl I even remotely like. She’s remarkably ditzy, and thinks of nothing other than sex. And for some people, that might be okay, but believe it or not, I actually like my girlfriends to have something between their ears - a little thing called a brain.
Jimmy’s never gone for those, really. I don’t think he even knows what a brain is. I’d be surprised if he had one.
“Hey, Leana,” Jimmy slurs, and he’s practically incomprehensible. I inch away, so I’m far enough away that she won’t bother me, but unfortunately close enough so that I can hear every word they say.
“Sweetie, I didn’t know you’d be here,” she coos, and I’m entertaining thoughts of strangling her with the thong that’s hanging out of her … hang on, is she even wearing anything over it? Oh. Oh wait. There’s a skirt, if you can call it that - I think, to be perfectly honest, that my belt is larger than that fucking strip of hot pink cloth.
Not to mention, for Christ’s sake, it’s hot pink.
What Jimmy sees in her, I’ll never know.
“’M in Vegas,” he says, as though this weren’t painfully obvious by now. “Havin’ a blast. ‘Cept for all the bats. There’re bats everywhere.” He says this with some difficulty, and Leana keeps running her hot pink fingernails over his chest, unbuttoning the pinstriped shirt he’s wearing and - Christ, please tell me they’re not going to have public sex.
Jimmy might be my best friend, but I am not watching him fuck some stupid whore (who is regrettably sticking around until she makes a mistake that simply cannot be rectified) right in front of me. This place might be a strip club, and a rather dodgy one at that, but even having sex in here is just disgusting.
Even for Jimmy.
They’re talking, and Leana is trying to give him a hint that she wants to fuck, but Jimmy’s babbling on about bats and monkeys and hot pink fly swatters - god, what is with that colour today, anyway? - to really notice what she’s saying at all.
“And then I saw this great big one, I swear, it must have been a -- a transformed vampire bat or somethin’-“
“You know, Pete said I was the skankiest porn star to come in his studio for over five years! Gosh, I was so flattered-“
“Fuck, its teeth were so pointy, I thought it might evis - eviscapate … no, wait, that’s wrong-“
“And Kieran Van Dick said that I look exactly like a teen! And I said, ‘Wow, Kieran, that’s so funny, because my nickname is the Teen Topanga’, and he was so impressed-“
“Eviscalate - no, no, thass not right, either…”
“…I’m so hot, aren’t I? Look at this stomach. Have you ever seen anything flatter than this stomach? I mean, c’mon, babycakes. You know it, my fans know it … they love me---“
“Evasturbate. That’s - fuck, no … er … ebiterate? Ah-“
“Kieran also says I look like a twelve-year-old trying to be an eighteen-year-old. And you know, what? That’s exactly the look I’m going for, ‘cause I’m twenty-four years old with nothing better to do than pretend to be eighteen, and … god, I’m so hot, I think I need a portable fan near me at all times-“
“Evaculate … Eversitate…”
“And oh, baby, you look so hot in pinstripes, but you’d look so much hotter without them. Maybe we can fuck now? God, I’ve only had sex six times in the past three hours but I’m so horny, especially for you in those pinstripes, baby…”
And while Jimmy’s ranting, and Leana’s telling him just how hot he looks in pinstripes, Jimmy does something that no man ever wants to be caught doing.
Jimmy promptly throws up in her lap. Even as I'm sitting there, trying my very hardest not to either gag or laugh, she giggles.
“Oh, that was so cute,” the Teen Topanga fawns over him, even with a pile of puke sitting in her lap, and both of us look at each other, completely horrified. “Do that again.”
We jump up and flee the club without any regrets whatsoever.
*****
“God,” I complain.
“Yes?” Jimmy slurs, and I contemplate smacking him on the back of the head, but I figure he’s so drunk he’ll just puke again.
“I wasn’t talking about you,” I retort, wrinkling my nose at him. “I can’t believe you’re dating her. She’s so…”
“Weird,” Jimmy supplies, and for once in my life, I wholeheartedly agree with him on a matter to do with Leana.
“Why’s she here, anyway?” I ask, groaning.
“Dunno. She di’n’t say.” He’s staggering around by now, and we finally sit on the steps of a drive-through church, most likely run by an Elvis impersonator or something of that nature.
I snort. “Knowing our luck, she probably wants to marry you here.”
He blinks. “Ah, yeah. She mention’d somethin’ ‘bout that…”
I stare. He stares back.
“Do you … you don’t have a ring, do you?” I manage, and he shrugs, delving into his pocket, and out comes a small black velvet jewelry box that looks suspiciously like it’s made for a ring. An engagement ring, perhaps.
“Huh.” Jimmy’s staring at it, perplexed. “Seems I do. Funny, that. I was going to get a cigarette.” He shrugs. “Ah well.”
“You can’t seriously be thinking of marrying her!” I exclaim, and I know my face must be absolutely comical by now. “No way, Jimmy Sullivan. No way. You just threw up on her and she liked it. That must draw some sort of a line, even for you.”
Jimmy frowns, considering this. “Hm. Well, no, I guess not. That’s kinda gross.”
“Agreed.”
“Although,” he says, sighing, looking at the ring sadly, “It’d be a pity to waste such an expensive ring…”
“You could sell it?” I say hopefully, but Jimmy doesn’t seem to be listening.
“Maybe I c’n get someone else to marry me,” he decides, and I stare at him. I seem to be doing that a lot.
“You do realise how ridiculous that sounds,” I finally say, after several versions of Have you gone crazy? and Fuck you, moron have gone through my head. “You go to get a cigarette, and a ring randomly pops up in your pants’ pocket, and now you feel like you have to marry someone to get rid of it. Do you realise how crazy that is?”
“Yeah,” Jimmy says, nodding sagely. “But … y’know, maybe s’a sign.”
I just shake my head slowly. “A sign from who? Satan? God?”
“Nah, just the author,” he says with a shrug. “I think she wants ta marry me or somethin’.”
“So marry the author!” I shout in exasperation.
“I dunno where she is, or how to propose to someone who’s writing us on paper,” Jimmy counters, and it sounds like the drunkenness is starting to fade, if only slightly. “Anyway, I think I just hafta marry somethin’. This ring prolly cost a tonnnnn of cash.”
“Jimmy, it just appeared in your pocket. You probably didn’t even pay for it.” But my attempts are futile, I know this already. Jimmy has a determined, drunken glint in his eye, and there’s nothing I can do. My best friend has officially lost his mind.
I mean, we figured he would ages ago - we all have bets on it of course. I’m just a little pissed because if he’d just waited off for another three days, I wouldn’t have to pay Johnny fifteen bucks.
“So?”
Yeah, there’s no convincing him. “Fine,” I say, throwing up my hands. “Just don’t marry a ditz.” And this is where I figure I’ll be a good friend and stick around to save him from the clutches of evil, crazy, middle-aged women who might want to marry him. At least I’ll get some amusement out of this whole stupid thing.
We wander (or stumble, in Jimmy’s case) around Las Vegas, and Jimmy keeps bumping into random women. Before he can ask them, I steer him away, and he curses me out, like I’m keeping him from an absolutely glorious lifetime with an eighty-year-old woman with a set of rotten dentures.
“Oh, shut up,” I mutter irritably, but Jimmy simply keeps ranting until we get to the outskirts of Vegas, and he sinks down next to a trash can, looking rather despondent. “Now what’s wrong?”
“No one wants to marry me,” he mumbles, and he actually looks sad. Oh god, what is the world coming to?
“I don’t blame them,” I say unsympathetically. “You’re piss drunk.”
“Go ‘way,” Jimmy retorts, and I shrug, going far enough away from him that he can’t see me, but I can see him in case he decides to get all suicidal on me and jump in front of a moving car or something terrible like that.
There’s a toy car next to him, painted a vibrant, fire-truck red, kind of like one of those Barbie cars that little girls always pretend they can drive in. It doesn’t look like it works, and Jimmy, to my absolute horror, starts talking to it.
Great. There’s no doubt about it. Jimmy’s gone barking mad, and there’s no way I can pretend that he hasn’t. Johnny’s going to get my money either way. Damn.
“S’not fair,” he’s complaining to the car. “No one wants to marry me. Me. I’m hot. Who doesn’t wanna marry a gorgeous fuckin’ rockstar?”
The car, predictably, does not answer.
“I even have this real pretty ring right here,” Jimmy continues, absolutely oblivious. “And no one wants it!”
The car is still very silent and also very inanimate, and I have this striking moment of disbelief when I realise what Jimmy’s going to do, just before he actually does it.
“Hey!” He says, brightening. “You’ll marry me, won’t you?”
Oh god. His wife will be a car. A very masculine looking toy car. Hm. I’m not exactly certain if even Vegas will marry a couple comprised of a human and an inanimate object, but it’s so terribly amusing to watch that I don’t want to say anything to him.
“Oh, I knew you would!” he goes on happily, and I realise that although he isn’t slurring as much anymore, he’s still completely inebriated. “We’ll be the best couple ever.”
I let out a snort of laughter when he opens the box to show a very, very expensive looking ring with a black diamond in the centre. Hm. Well, at least it was a Jimmy-esque ring.
Before Jimmy can do something even more embarrassing, like trying to kiss the damn thing, an amused, feminine voice asks him, “Where’ll you put the ring?”
We both glance up, and see a rather short, dark-haired girl standing several feet away from Jimmy. She isn’t remarkably good-looking or anything, but compared to everyone else he’s gone up to, she’s the most amazing person I’ve ever seen. I find myself wanting to kiss her, if only because she might have just gotten Jimmy out of the worst mess in the world.
Jimmy seems caught off guard. “The … ring?” He blinks. He hasn’t thought of this, apparently. “Er … the … the steering wheel.”
She arches her eyebrows, trying hard not to laugh. I already am. “I don’t think that’s going to work,” she says with a slight smirk.
Jimmy glares at her. “Yeah?” he asks in annoyance, trying to fit it on, but apparently, no one ever told Jimmy that putting a ring on a steering wheel four times its size cannot work.
“Look, it isn’t going to work.”
“Yes it will!” Jimmy insists, and continues trying until the girl leans against the wall and asks casually,
“How will you have sex with a toy car, anyway?”
Jimmy stops in the middle of his fitting session, and his blue eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. It appears he hasn’t thought of this yet, which surprises me. Sex is usually all he thinks about.
“Er…”
The girl gives him a look that clearly says duh, and Jimmy’s expression suddenly turns crafty. Oh no, no … not this again…
“So, I have this ring…” he says shiftily. “And … er, you know, I also have this … church.”
She looks vaguely amused. “What, exactly, is your point?”
Jimmy smirks. “me, you, elvis impersonator in a church, fifteen minutes. We can practise our vows.”
Both of us stare at him. I have a vague idea of what he’s trying to ask, but … why the hell does he have to say it like that?
“Er … you want a threesome with an Elvis impersonator in a church?” she inquires, looking at him strangely.
He blinks. “No!” he says exasperatedly. “Will you marry me?”
She blinks back at him. “Oh,” she says. “Well, you could have just said that to begin with.”
“I was trying to be smooth!”
“It’s hard to be smooth when you’re slurring every other word,” she points out. “And in any case, that was the shoddiest pick-up line I’ve ever heard.”
Jimmy glares at her. “I’m Jimmy Sullivan! Marry me, dammit!”
Her eyes widen momentarily. “Are you really?” She stares at him. “I’ve been obsessed with you for years.”
Oh, dear lord. And here I was, thinking she was normal. But no, she’s been fawning over Jimmy for years. My opinion of her has just gone down several notches.
“Have you?” Jimmy looks up hopefully.
“Yes,” she says, flushing, and Jimmy grins. Aha. He has the upper hand now, and I don’t even want to know what he’s going to do.
But he’s getting down on one knee and holding out the ring, and I’m thinking oh, fuck, I should probably stop this, but I find myself unable to really move.
“Will you marry me, then?”
“Look, you hardly know me. You’ll just want a divorce in the morning…” Unfortunately, both Jimmy and I can tell this is a last ditch effort to get herself out of something that she obviously wants.
“Not if the sex is good,” Jimmy points out. I choke.
She ponders this. “Fair point,” she says, and Jimmy slides the ring on her finger.
Fuck, he’s going to kill me in the morning.
“Oy, Matt!” Jimmy calls over. “You’ll be my best man, right?”
I flee the scene as fast as my legs can take me.
Author's Note: I'm well aware that retarded doesn't even begin to cover this story. I don't particularly care. xD If you don't like it, you don't like it. It's meant to be funny, and since it's for my friend (who's already read the two chapters I have written, and thinks it's funny) I don't really care whether you think it's stupid or not xD.