Setting: A hick town

Time Period: 2020, take any liberties you'd like

Characters: (Choose at least THREE of the following)
Pacifist!Morris
Narcoleptic!Jack
Raver!Snitch
FortuneTeller!Snitch
Teenybopper!Specs
OldManStuckInALittleBoy'sBody!Les
Kneepads!Blink
Dominatrix!Mush

You MUST use/mention at least SEVEN of the following:

White Cheddar Popcorn
The movie "Deep Impact"
A tree stump
The song from "Happy Days"
Pigtails
Devil Horns
tissues
A water bottle
Deoderant

The following lines MUST be said:

"So THAT'S what happens when you mix an acid and a base!"

"Carry the banner!"
"What banner?"

"Dude! Let's, like, strike!"

"If I had a dollar for every time someone called me Pulitzer, I'd be as rich as him"

"So, like, what are you doing tonight again?" Specs Jameson asked into his hot-pink phone. It rested against his shoulder as his hands were busy pulling his dark brown hair into short pigtails. They were the fashion of that day and age, and Specs loved his fashion, even though he was stuck in this goddam hick town. Morgantown, West Virginia. What's a place like that still doing on the map in 2020 C.E.?

"We're supposed to do that science project Ms. Larkson gave us…"

"I thought that, like, you were doing that for me, sweetheart." Specs responded, carefully applying his mascara.

"Why should I?"

"Because!" Specs shrieked into the phone. "Tonight's, like, the big concert! You know, like, the one I've had tickets to for, like, forever!"

"The one for the Banner?"

Specs released a high-pitched squeal. "Only, like, complete duh! I've been counting down the hours for, like, two months!"

"Specs, you're obsessed."

"It's called, like, religion, dearie."

"We really have to work on this science project, Specs…"

"I say we, like, just don't do it."

"What?"

"You know, like, not do it? If we don't do it, what's she going to do?"

"Um… fail us?"

"Oh, Racey, you're just, like, too uptight!"

"No, I just can't fail this class again."

"Dude! Let's, like, strike!"

"No!" Specs's partner paused. "So that's what happens when you mix an acid and a base…" he mused.

"I'm not working on that project when I could, like, be in the same room as, like, Mush Meyers and Kid Blink Ballatt!" He released a fluttering sigh that made his science partner wince in disgust.

"Specs… okay, fine. I'll do the project all by my lonesome." Race sighed. "But you gotta promise me that-"

"Oh, of course I'll try to, like, get an autograph for you, Race." Specs grinned into the mirror, checking to see if his hot pink lipstick really was the same color as his low-rise jeans after all. He decided it was, then, not listening to Race's protests, he hung up the phone. Studying himself in the mirror, he decided he looked as perfect as he was going to look. He checked the clock and smiled. Time to leave! Towne Center was a good two hour fly from Morgantown, so Specs grabbed his silver-clasped purse and headed for the garage, whistling the Happy Days theme over the creak of the moldy wood floor beneath him.

Specs couldn't help but shriek with delight as he stepped out of his mauve-colored hovercraft and saw the holographic banners proclaiming 'The Banner! Tonight! 6:00p!' He danced about on his six-inch high black shoes, then realized how much he looked like a fool and stopped. If Race had been here, he would have said something to the effect of 'You always look like a fool', but Specs pushed that thought from his mind.

He bought a water bottle off a street vendor, then started to walk towards the stadium, struggling to keep his balance on such high shoes. Mentally, he cursed them, then waved to another street vendor, who was selling devil horns reminiscent of the ones Spot Conlon wore on-stage. "Carry the banner!" He cried flirtatiously, rejoicing in the sound of The Banner's motto on his tongue.

"What banner?" The vendor replied, his voice gruff and annoyed. Specs lowered his hand and quickly walked forward, wishing he had a hoverboard or something to get to the stadium faster.

Comparing the parking lot to the inside of the stadium was like comparing the deserts of Africa (which had long ago lost its population to New York) to New York (which easily housed a quarter of the world's population). There were all kinds of people selling all kinds of things, from Caramel Apples to White Cheddar Popcorn, from Pale White Goths dressed in midnight black to colorful Hip-hop loving Asians. Specs was instantly drawn to a booth decked in violet velvet and golden baubles. A woman wearing what appeared to be acres of scarlet robes had her back turned to Specs, while a young man slept in the corner, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Specs cleared his throat, and was revolted by the masculine sound, but at least the scarlet-clad woman turned around. Specs's eyes widened when he got a good look at the "woman" from the front and realized that, besides the feminine clothing, the gypsy with chocolate on her face was not a her at all, but rather, a he.

The scarlet-robed man grinned sheepishly and rubbed the chocolate from his face using the back of his boxy hands. "Guten tag!" He said cheerily, ignoring the confused look on Specs's face from the use of an unknown language. "I am Snitch, ze Fortune Teller of ze Future! 'Ow vill I be 'elping you today?"

The sleeping boy in the corner opened is eyes and sat up. "Hey, man-whore!" He shouted, making Snitch scowl. "Did you eat that chocolate?"

"Nein! You do not trust me, waise dumm!"

"You did so eat it, don't you 'nein' me!"

"Fick dich!"

"Same to you!"

"Schlampe…" Snitch muttered before looking back at Specs and forcing his large-toothed grin to return. "Ich entschuldige mich. I sorry. Now! You need 'elp, ja?"

"Um… first of all, like, who's he?" Specs pointed to the dark-haired boy who was sulking in the corner.

"Zat is yust my assistant, Yack."

"Its Jack, numbskull." The boy barked.

"Zat is vat I say! Yack!" Snitch whined. "You is alvays correcting my English, ven you know I is new to zis country!"

"Yeah, ten years new."

"Blödes Arschloch." Snitch grumbled, pointing an accusing finger at Jack. As he did so, the dark-haired boy instantly slumped over, his head rolling onto his shoulder. A roaring snore escaped him and Specs jumped.

"Like, What did you do to him?" He insisted, his voice high-pitched.

"Nothink." Snitch shrugged. "He has ze sleeping disease. Ja?"

"Oh…" Specs shrugged as well.

"Now, 'ow vill I be 'elping you today?"

"Why are you, like, dressed like a woman?"

"Vhy are you?"

Specs jumped.

"Now, can I 'elp you or vill you yust be insulting my attire?"

"I was wondering…" Specs said, a slow grin spreading onto his face. "Is there, like, a chance that I might, like, be able to sneak backstage and, like, meet the Banner?"

Snitch blinked at Specs, then elegantly brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. "Zere is a chance, lieb. Zere is alvays a chance."

Specs squealed like a little girl. "Oh, like, thank you, like, thank you!" He cried.

"You are wery velcome." Snitch replied. "Now, my payment…" A phone rang from somewhere behind the booth and Snitch let out a shriek of his own. "Skittery! Mein Liebe!" He forgot all about his flaming customer and his narcoleptic assistant and ran to the back of the booth, nearly killing himself. Specs stared at the scarlet curtain that hid the gypsy-man and listened to Jack's snores and Snitch's German screeches, wondering hypocritically how anyone could stand to listen to such a thing. He waited a full ten minutes before deciding that the German screeches were German dirty-talk and he better leave before he had to pay for his fortune.

"If I had a dollar for every time someone called me Pulitzer/ I'd be as rich as him!" Was Spot Conlon's ringing cry.

"And the money would be what I need/ To satisfy my every whim," Dutchy Schyuler responded.

Specs let out another girlish shriek, enjoying himself visibly, and not just by the fact that he was shrieking. The Banner always sent him into what felt like an oven, and that was why he often carried an extra stick of deodorant in his purse. Especially Dutchy. Oh yeah.

There were girls squawking all around him, and a couple other boys in outfits that made him wince. One group of girls was so happy to be in the stadium with The Banner that they were sobbing desperately, passing a green box of Kleenex tissues around their circle of neon-colored baby-tees.

Specs watched them for a moment, then gladly returned his attention to the stage as baby-faced Mush did a back flip before singing his solo. Race would have quoted that old musical Chicago after seeing that kind of performance: 'What if your hinges all are rusting/ What if, in fact, you're just disgusting?/ Razzle-dazzle 'em, and they'll never catch wise!'. Specs snorted. Race was an idiot. How could anyone resist boys of such caliber as Spot Conlon, Kid Blink Ballatt, Mush Meyers and, oh-good-God-the-man-is-sexy-Dutchy Schyuler?

Specs forced all thoughts of Race from his mind. Tonight was his night! He was here with The Banner! And he was going to have a damn good time!

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

A complete and total PWP-randomness story.

LOL. ^_^ Thanks to Shortie for the challenge to write it.

Pointless. I love it. XD

Now I'm going to go work on one of my WIP stories.