Googled
Googled
Sydney Alexis
[.028 Children]
Gus was a child of the Google generation.
Whereas children before were forced through the horrors of talking to their parents and listening to often long and dull explanations, children of Gus' cohort happily logged on and looked up all the important answers to life's questions:
--No. Microsoft won't send checks for spamming forwarding the message.
--No. Badness will not befall the person or loved ones of those that don't spam forward that chain letter.
--Yes. Jennifer Aniston wanted to have teh babies.
--No. Men cannot get pregnant. (Unless, of course, they are being mind-controlled by very young, pre-pubescent girls.)
And so, when Gus was 17 years, 10 months, and 6 days old (the months were important because he was almost an adult!), he began his great Google search.
His fathers barely batted an eye when Gus started religiously printing and organizing papers because, as mentioned before, Gus was 17 and therefore beyond all explanation.
In fact, his father thought nothing of any of Gus' actions until the day that an envelope arrived from the state of Pennsylvania.
Justin eyed it suspiciously. "Maybe it's from the parole board," he quipped.
Brian was not amused.
Gus, of course, had an easy answer; he needed to get his US driver's license, and, to do that, he'd need a birth certificate.
"And won't it be easier to have a copy here in the Pitts just in case?"
And oh how Gus was so smooth! In fact, he passed the written test on the first try and only had to take the actual driving part twice. (That train came out of nowhere!)
And, like all horrendously bad teenage drivers, Gus was a force to be reckoned with. At least, that's what his dads said when they refused to ride with him...
To celebrate Gus' license, Brian bought him a totally 'sexy' Volvo.
"It's got a good safety rating," Brian explained as he handed over the keys. To be honest, Brian was more than happy that Gus was listed on his mothers' insurance...not that he mentioned that to his kid or the Mommies.
Of course, Gus' dads were too blinded by caution that old people get to see how wise Gus was to cram as much as possible into a car ride. (Read: talking on his cell while fixing his hair and eating take-out Chinese with chopsticks.)
And so, a Google empowered Gus waited, bid his time until he turned the big 1-8.
That morning, he awoke super early (read: 2pm), drove down to the courthouse (while talking on his cell, dippidty dooing his hair, and eating pizza), went straight into the appropriate office to find THE form, filled it out, and completed his Super Cool Plan.
After paying his fee and signing his name a couple million times, he left with a big, stupid grin on his face. ('Cause he was 18 and therefore an A-D-U-L-T. Sweet!)
The first envelope Gus explained. The second one, he didn't.
Brian looked nervously from the state of Pennsylvania's envelope to Gus and back. Maybe Justin had been right.
"So. I'm 18," Gus started lamely. "And I can do anything I want..."
Brian pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering not for the first time what Deb had mentioned about karma biting him in the ass. He couldn't have been this annoying at Gus' age, could he?
Shaking his head, he repeated Justin's words from a lifetime (read: 17 years) ago.
"You can vote, get married, and join the army. So which was it, Sonny Boy?"
Rolling his eyes at his dad for ruining his perfectly prepared speech, Gus handed the letter over.
Brian read it three times before he comprehended what his kid has done.
"Your moms are gonna kill you," he said.
"What did he do?" Justin asked, snagging the letter from Brian's laxed hand and began reading it aloud, voice rising higher as he hit the key part:
"...your request for a name change has been granted. Congratulations, Mr. Kinney," Justin said, stopping to lower the letter and stare Gus down.
"He's right; your moms are gonna kill you."
"That would be illegal. This, however, wasn't."
Laughing, Gus took his letter back and ran upstairs, contemplating faxing it to Mel's office in the morning. It was, after all, the Kinney thing to do.
A/N: I can only blame this one on too much Christmas 'spirit.' :P
fanfic100: 28/100
Sydney Alexis
[.028 Children]
Gus was a child of the Google generation.
Whereas children before were forced through the horrors of talking to their parents and listening to often long and dull explanations, children of Gus' cohort happily logged on and looked up all the important answers to life's questions:
--No. Microsoft won't send checks for spamming forwarding the message.
--No. Badness will not befall the person or loved ones of those that don't spam forward that chain letter.
--Yes. Jennifer Aniston wanted to have teh babies.
--No. Men cannot get pregnant. (Unless, of course, they are being mind-controlled by very young, pre-pubescent girls.)
And so, when Gus was 17 years, 10 months, and 6 days old (the months were important because he was almost an adult!), he began his great Google search.
His fathers barely batted an eye when Gus started religiously printing and organizing papers because, as mentioned before, Gus was 17 and therefore beyond all explanation.
In fact, his father thought nothing of any of Gus' actions until the day that an envelope arrived from the state of Pennsylvania.
Justin eyed it suspiciously. "Maybe it's from the parole board," he quipped.
Brian was not amused.
Gus, of course, had an easy answer; he needed to get his US driver's license, and, to do that, he'd need a birth certificate.
"And won't it be easier to have a copy here in the Pitts just in case?"
And oh how Gus was so smooth! In fact, he passed the written test on the first try and only had to take the actual driving part twice. (That train came out of nowhere!)
And, like all horrendously bad teenage drivers, Gus was a force to be reckoned with. At least, that's what his dads said when they refused to ride with him...
To celebrate Gus' license, Brian bought him a totally 'sexy' Volvo.
"It's got a good safety rating," Brian explained as he handed over the keys. To be honest, Brian was more than happy that Gus was listed on his mothers' insurance...not that he mentioned that to his kid or the Mommies.
Of course, Gus' dads were too blinded by caution that old people get to see how wise Gus was to cram as much as possible into a car ride. (Read: talking on his cell while fixing his hair and eating take-out Chinese with chopsticks.)
And so, a Google empowered Gus waited, bid his time until he turned the big 1-8.
That morning, he awoke super early (read: 2pm), drove down to the courthouse (while talking on his cell, dippidty dooing his hair, and eating pizza), went straight into the appropriate office to find THE form, filled it out, and completed his Super Cool Plan.
After paying his fee and signing his name a couple million times, he left with a big, stupid grin on his face. ('Cause he was 18 and therefore an A-D-U-L-T. Sweet!)
The first envelope Gus explained. The second one, he didn't.
Brian looked nervously from the state of Pennsylvania's envelope to Gus and back. Maybe Justin had been right.
"So. I'm 18," Gus started lamely. "And I can do anything I want..."
Brian pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering not for the first time what Deb had mentioned about karma biting him in the ass. He couldn't have been this annoying at Gus' age, could he?
Shaking his head, he repeated Justin's words from a lifetime (read: 17 years) ago.
"You can vote, get married, and join the army. So which was it, Sonny Boy?"
Rolling his eyes at his dad for ruining his perfectly prepared speech, Gus handed the letter over.
Brian read it three times before he comprehended what his kid has done.
"Your moms are gonna kill you," he said.
"What did he do?" Justin asked, snagging the letter from Brian's laxed hand and began reading it aloud, voice rising higher as he hit the key part:
"...your request for a name change has been granted. Congratulations, Mr. Kinney," Justin said, stopping to lower the letter and stare Gus down.
"He's right; your moms are gonna kill you."
"That would be illegal. This, however, wasn't."
Laughing, Gus took his letter back and ran upstairs, contemplating faxing it to Mel's office in the morning. It was, after all, the Kinney thing to do.
A/N: I can only blame this one on too much Christmas 'spirit.' :P
fanfic100: 28/100