A NEW GENRE OF FANFIC BY HOUSE, XIY, AND MEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

THE ADVENTURES OF MC AND SBL

EPISODE 1: THE 50^TH LATIN CONVENTION

 PART 1 OF 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,008.

THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

WRITTEN BY MOMO WITH SPECIAL HELP/INSPIRATION/EDITING POWER BY HOUSE AND XIY.

THE END.

JUST KIDDING.

 THE STORY’S ABOUT TO START! ARE YOU READY? OKAY. HERE WE GO!!!!

Old and crippled (and bald), MC hobbled weakly into ballroom E of the basement of the Ramada Inn on 4900 Sinclair Road, I-71 and Morse Road Columbus, OH 43229 USA.

          MC’s 12,178^th round of Certamen was coming to a close. The pressure was on. Although MC was 62 years old, he never gave up his lust for Certamen and would play indefinitely for his whole life. With just a little make up (maybe it’s Maybelline..?) and a silent oxygen tank, MC could play Certamen without the judges ever noticing his age.

Anyway.

The judge prepared to ask the final question. The other players had already fallen asleep, seeing as MC was the only one who answered anyway, but he was preying on his buzzer like a lion mauling a baby puppy.

The question-asking-dude began. “What,” he said, “was,” he continued, “the,” he itched his left nostril, “first,” he looked up, “time,” he explored the other nostril, “Pupienus,” he giggled a little, “said his first wor—”

He was unable to finish the question because at that very moment, MC ferociously pounced onto his buzzer. WHAAAAAM. The entire earth shook a little bit.

“165 C.E.” proclaimed the great and almighty MC.

The room fell dead silent.

Everyone forgot to breathe. Everybody.

“I—” the question-asking-dude began to sweat profusely. Drops of perspiration dripped down his nose. “That’s wrong.”

MC fell to the floor, convulsing like an epileptic fish out of water. He had never EVER EVER EVER EVER EVERRR gotten a question wrong.

“The correct answer is 164 C.E. I suppose this means that Summit Country Day wins, since they have one member still conscious.”

“But we still have more points!” MC whimpered from the floor.

“Oh,” the question-asking-dude replied, “You didn’t hear? There’s new rule that if someone gets the last question wrong, the team with the most points (excluding the team who answered) automatically wins.”

MC faded to unconscious.

Everyone else left to get ready for the eighth-grade mixer (obviously). They assumed that MC had fallen asleep like old men often do.

          MC awoke from his unconsciousness approximately 42 minutes later. He blinked his eyes as he took in the surroundings: sketchy looking furniture, the smell of old cigarettes, and nasty looking carpet. He was in his hotel room. Home sweet home!

          Before MC could fully comprehend what had happened, he felt the sharp stinging pain of a slap being delivered across his cheek.

          Zomg it's SBL!

          Despite the agony (and the disturbing thought of his make up being messed up), MC smiled. Above his head was the most beautiful face of all faces, the one of his wife, SBL. Her luscious, honey-colored hair flowed gently across her shoulder. Her wrinkle-less face shone, even in the poorly lit hotel room. Everything was so perfect until MC saw her eyes. SBL’s normally shining brown eyes had turned into those of a cobra. A cobra that was about to murder something slowly, relishing in its death. They glared at MC’s wrinkled skin. MC tried to sit up, but SBL pinned him down.

          “I know what you did,” SBL growled.

          “I—I didn’t mean to, darling dearest!” MC whimpered, “It was a silly mistake. Let’s just forget about it. I already feel bad enough.”

          “FORGET ABOUT IT!” SBL roared, “Oh-ho-ho no, mister. This relationship is over. How am I supposed to run my Latin Immersion School for Preschoolers Through 12^th Grade if I have a husband that knows NOTHING about the classics? That question was probably one of the easiest questions ever! It’s over, MC.”

          MC buried his head in the pillow as he watched his wife disappear into the corridor. The last thing he saw was SBL being embraced by the immortal, immaculate, glowing Mrs. Troha.

          By the time MC was done crying (about 3 hours later), the eighth grade mixer had already probably died down (you know how crazy it gets up in there [which is dangerous for a 62-year-old]). MC figured that he might as well stop in to sign some autographs or something.

          After eating a nasty ice cream sandwich in the corner, MC prepared to leave. Having stood up), MC noticed a golden light shining from across the deserted room. Standing with a mascara-smudged face was SBL. MC hobbled over, his mascara also smudging.

          “I’m so sorry, MC!!” SBL cried as she embrace his frail body in her still youthful arms.

          “I’m sorry, too!” MC wailed, “I shouldn’t have gotten that question wrong.”

          “It’s okay. I realized that not everyone is perfect like me. Also, maybe Summit needed a chance at victory for once.”

          “Are we still together?” MC whispered.

          “Yes. Also, I wanted to tell you sooner, but I’m preg—“

THE END

*The judges did in fact notice that a 62 year old man was playing, but who can turn down that victorious smile on a student’s (er…old man’s) face when they win that last question and claim another trophy for his team?