More popcorn ventures! This case was starting to look like a real dead-end. I couldn't get much of many information out of the popcorned citizens of Townsville. I mean, Hogwarts, and nothing relative to the Powerpuff Girls. Anyway, not besides the fact that the popcorning was totally random, and people's memories tended to be swiss cheese-ified once they were turned into such.
Hey, look, it was Steve Carell.
I mean, what? Okay, focus, Veronica. Earth to Mars! Hello! Steve Carell is not inside of your little castle. Well, not little. But definitely castle-like.
God, brain, work.
"Hey, G-dog, what's the haps?" I asked with a cock of my head, offering the Westside sign to the poor guy. Apparently, I am now a ghetto-ass bitch, y'allz. Yes, imagine that said in a totally deadpan, white girl voice. I grabbed at my bag strap and frowned slightly. Seriously, he looked totally bummed. "Someone you know get popped?"
Michael's eyes fluttered open enough so he could see the girl standing above him. G-dog? Oh, right. "Guano, someone's talking to you. Say hi." He nudged the lumpy little dog, who did nothing but begin to snore loudly, his tongue poking further out of his mouth and dripping a few drops of G-dog drool onto the floor.
He sighed loudly, closing his eyes once again. "Yes, someone I know got popped." His tone was both despondent and impatient. "Tinky Winky is GOOOOOOOONNNNNNNEEEEE, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" One hand moved to cover his eyes as Michael continued to moan.
...Not that I had been talking to the dog. The dog was cute, sure, albeit it buggy-eyed, but I made a point not to talk to animals. Backup excluded from said ban on animal-talking, naturally. ...Hey, a girl needed somebody who would listen to all of her problems. And Backup was QUITE good at not judging.
Oh, wow. He was more worse off than I thought. I grimaced slightly in wake of the moment, glancing from the guy to the dog and back and furrowing my eyebrows. "I'm... sorry," I replied in a slow voice, rubbing at the back of my neck. "Tinky... Winky, was it?" That sounded like something from PBS. "Was," he? She? It? "Were... THEY... some... friend? Significant other?" Sorry, mourner, but I needed info, pronto.
"Tinky Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinky!" Michael sobbed. "He was my fiancé and my lover even though he hadn't deflowered me yet because we were going to wait until after the wedding, ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Now I have to run the chaw bar alone and raise Guano by myself and he'll probably die because there is no Tubby Tustard and every time I look at Crystal Light powder I think of hiiiiiiiiiiim!"
Whoa! Back up and erase? Kay, thanks, bye! My eyes widened a bit at, ah, maybe around the 'deflowering' statement, as I blinked my way away from the guy on the ground and more off to the side. Okay! Too much information. "Guano's... the dog. Right?" I offered weakly, and dug around in my messenger bag. This called for extreme measures. "We should... clear the castle of the Crystal Light, huh? No more lemonade for the people!" ...Okay, that was lame. I held out a package of tissues instead, letting my shoulders sag a little.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Michael wailed. "We can't just forGET him!" The thought of wiping away all traces of Tinky Winky was deplorable - and it also fed into Michael's deep-seated fear that people would forget him when he himself was dead. "EVERYone must have lemonade and sunrise classic orange! That's the only way we'll reMEMber the amAZing person Tinky Winky was!"
Hey, look, it was Steve Carell.
I mean, what? Okay, focus, Veronica. Earth to Mars! Hello! Steve Carell is not inside of your little castle. Well, not little. But definitely castle-like.
God, brain, work.
"Hey, G-dog, what's the haps?" I asked with a cock of my head, offering the Westside sign to the poor guy. Apparently, I am now a ghetto-ass bitch, y'allz. Yes, imagine that said in a totally deadpan, white girl voice. I grabbed at my bag strap and frowned slightly. Seriously, he looked totally bummed. "Someone you know get popped?"
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He sighed loudly, closing his eyes once again. "Yes, someone I know got popped." His tone was both despondent and impatient. "Tinky Winky is GOOOOOOOONNNNNNNEEEEE, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" One hand moved to cover his eyes as Michael continued to moan.
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Oh, wow. He was more worse off than I thought. I grimaced slightly in wake of the moment, glancing from the guy to the dog and back and furrowing my eyebrows. "I'm... sorry," I replied in a slow voice, rubbing at the back of my neck. "Tinky... Winky, was it?" That sounded like something from PBS. "Was," he? She? It? "Were... THEY... some... friend? Significant other?" Sorry, mourner, but I needed info, pronto.
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