Title: Suppress It
E-mail: [email protected]
Archive: You want it, you ask, and you got it.
Summary: This was designed as a release for the author from obligations of quality. Saitou and Sanosuke have fun with big words and other. . . big. . . things.
Warnings: sexuality; mentions of sex; no weeping during sex; no actual sex; language (specifically English); blatant anachronisms; misrepresentation of the realistic percentage of homosexual males in early Meiji era Japan; Sanosuke sounding smart and stupid at the same time; some structural damage to the fourth wall; ten words where one would suffice solely for the sake of comedy; humourous verbosity; a certain je ne sais quoi; sarcasm par excellence; que sera sera; misappropriation of French terminology; gratuitous use of dashes, semicolons, and parentheses; more quotation marks than you can shake a stick at; stick-shaking; lam-basting; cod-walloping; pole-jacking; enough double-entendres to stun a wildebeest; few, if any, wildebeests; absolutely no llamas; maybe a weevil or two scattered about; hopefully no voles; the occasional mouse; an armadillo whose presence in my deckchair was proceeded by a lengthy adventure involving at least six hamsters and an over-excited trout but whose presence in this story will be reduced due to time constraints although he actually figured quite heavily in the whole affair but being a shy creature is not quite adverse to the role-reduction and is actually rather pleased with the state of affairs at the moment; six geese; and a very long warning.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Watsuki-sensei; I hope he never finds out what I've done to his boys. And if anyone catches the Monty Python, Simpsons, or Princess Bride references, I don't own those either.
Life can be crazy.
I was kicking back at Tae's--scoring free food after escorting a couple of rowdy dickheads out of the establishment--when I accidentally listened in on a conversation and found out that Tokyo's resident underground newspaper guy--my friend Katsu--had been kidnapped. Rumour had it he dug up the wrong incriminating dirt on the wrong greasy politician at the wrong inspection time. Oops.
Normally, I am a calm, sensible, level-headed guy. I would never do anything without thinking about it first, considering the consequences, and weighing the possibilities. Sometimes I have been accused of being too cautious and considerate (as well as too blindingly handsome though there isn't time to speak of that now). But I don't like people messing with my friends. At all. In fact, one might go as far as saying I have severe childhood trauma at the core of this dislike. In other words, I wanted to kick serious ass after hearing about Katsu's abduction. Unfortunately, when I tried to jog the gossiper's memory for more details, he went inexplicably unconscious.
I also tried interrogating several other people (one might call them "innocent bystanders"), but to no avail. The trouble is, my usual source of information on matters like these is the currently extremely-difficult-to-locate Tsukioka Katsuhiro. Damn, eh?
Finding no stool pigeons among the individuals at hand, I figured the cops might be more helpful.
Fortunately, there were already several cops present at what came to be known as "the scene of the crime." They were there to stop the "rampage" of a "violent maniac" who was "terrorizing" the "innocent citizens" in a "frothing rage." I personally thought I was more foaming than frothing, but arguing semantics doesn't get you high marks with the authorities.
All right, so I was pissed and crazy. Did I mention I hate people messing with my friends?
I got lucky though. I managed to get one of the officers guarding my cell--he was a fresh-faced little twit, to be sure--to talk about the Tsukioka case, which turned out to be big news.
Too much inside info /was/ the problem, my original source got that much right, but it had nothing to do with a politician. Turns out Katsu came by the info when he stumbled across the private documents of a mob boss in a special investigator's files. In over his head, Katsu tried to duck out of town, but some lackeys on their way to take care of the same private documents--the hapless investigator having already been skewered in his mistress's bed--spotted him leaving the building and followed him, just in case. When he skipped town like a frightened rabbit, they knew he'd found something and their boss sent them to pick him up.
The (dare I say?) "less than ept" lawmen didn't exactly find this out on their own, of course--they had an inside source. Thank Buddha for "Deep Throats," no?
Katsu isn't dead, though. Evidently, the mob boss knows his work, likes his work, consequently likes him, and is possibly iffy about knocking him off. By the time I arrived on the scene, the coppers were pretty sure that Katsu was holed up in a secret house in Hokkaido with some guys trying to figure out how much he knew and whether or not it was enough, but nobody on the whole damn Japanese police force had any idea of where the house was or how much Katsu had found out.
It gets better.
When my friendly neighbourhood copper gave me the name "Bunya Benjiro" (Mr. All-Powerful, Dirty-Dealing, Friend-napping mob boss), I nearly died. Benji is an old friend and customer of mine, from back when he was starting out and used freelance hands to make himself as much appreciated outside the organization as in. A queer little turd, but he paid on time.
He asked me to join his outfit a couple times, but it wasn't my cup of tea. He asked me to join him in bed too, a shock from which I have never quite recovered and an uncleanliness that has never quite washed from my skin. A /nice/ guy, but not a face you'd want to wake up to. Well, that, and I'm not gay, of course.
I haven't seen the crusty bastard in over a year. He packed up and out of Tokyo after the heat got cranked up about his activities. And I haven't exactly had a reason to look him up, since I got out of the biz. But I still remember a few things about him--beyond his chronic halitosis--such as his brother-in-law's remote villa up outside a random pimple of a town in Hokkaido. A nice little, fortified little, private little place that Benji has used, on occasion, for delicate matters like damming up possible leaks.
The cops were only a little nicer after I dropped that succulent tidbit, but it did get me out of the cramped holding cell and into a cozy interrogation room. Who needs sunlight and fresh air anyhow?
Their fervour was understandable though--considering the Tsukioka debacle could blow their whole investigation and their lead detective had already been reassigned to the underworld. But lucky for them, I could get them on the inside track about Katsu--once they started playing nice--and as for a new top investigator, the heavens had been kind enough to bestow upon them the crankiest, meanest, snootiest, and most effective special agent in the whole damn country. Fujita Gorou, come on down: you're the next aggravation on Sano's Life Sucks!
He got my info out of me faster than I thought I could talk (I will figure out how he did it, but until then, I'm just impressed and pissed), but also acceded to my demand that I go along for the rescue. Apparently, he didn't trust my word-for-word directions and thought I'd be a tool better used if he could bring me along for reference. Of course, the smarmy ass never said that to my face. It was my chatty buddy-in-blue jail guard who gave me the scoop on El Dicko's motives, as well as his address. His own, that is, not Saitou's.
By the way, do I have "Look at me, I'm flaming and I want desperately for you to sweep me off my feet and have your passionate way with my willing body!" written on my back? No? That's what I thought.
Anyway, after firing my talkative friend as an information leak (they have a lot of difficulties with those, don't'cha know), ol' Cricket Face nicely provided some mouldy rice and stark, grey, rat-infested accommodations for me, while he went off to his own opulent palace for a meal of the finest food in Japan stuffed with the second finest, and then to his slumber in the arms of a beautiful geisha (I'm assuming). And after that injustice, he had the nerve to yank me out of my well-earned rest at the disgusting hour of seven in the morning so he could drag me out of town in one of his damned carriages. He didn't even let me ride on the roof, the spoilsport.
Chaffing under his persistently aggravating manner, I began to yearn for the previous day, which, though boring at times, had at least provided ample fisticuffs to satisfy any man. On a related note, don't ever throw a punch at Saitou Hajime, no matter what levels of contention his smirking face drives you to. The bastard just doesn't fight fair. Don't insult his ancestors either--the unconsciousness never lasts as long as the vicious sting does.
So far, we've been travelling for one week. We abandoned the carriage after a while, to avoid being conspicuous. Of course, Mantis-Breath changed out of his police uniform (and into something else, you pervert!), but I hung onto my preferred vestments. I don't give a flying rat's ass about how much I stand out in a crowd--I wear what's comfortable. Besides, in the numerous little fights we've had, he's come out on top for almost all of them; Saitou is almost as bad as a woman when it comes to sly foxiness. I take my victories where I can find them, even if it means wearing these clothes until I die. Unfortunately, the huge prick does have one major trophy right now, dangling over my head.
His favourite pastime--besides coming up with synonyms for "idiot" and "Roosterhead"--is confusing the hell out of me until I don't know my ass from my face. He's worse than a woman, really. All day he glowers, glares, grumps, insults me, ignores me, asks me questions in a patronizing manner, throws small stones at my head when I'm not looking and then acts all innocent, sucks down cigarettes like they were his mother's nipple, menaces various ill-starred schmucks, pouts because he can't find someone evil enough to kill, calls me "feckless," and smirks when I try to get him to tell me what the hell "feckless" means. But at night, he tries to fuck me.
I should stop wearing pants. It seems that it would make a lot of people happy.
His advances began the very first night. We were sharing a room to save money, and in the middle of a very nice dream involving lots of free alcohol, I woke to find a usually very withheld and obnoxious man lying on top of me. Not right on top--his legs were kind of straddling my waist--but his chest was against mine and, more importantly, his face was extremely close to my own. His tongue, however, was close to--not my tongue, as would suit the trend--but my ear. Very close, in fact. One might go as far as to say "in."
And let's not go into where his hand was headed. Suffice it to say, the direction was significantly more Kyushu-bound then we were supposed to be going.
I, of course, addressed the situation with dignity and a calm but firm demeanor. Kind of. My dick was pretty firm, held its head up high, as well; but the rest of me didn't even throw a punch. I was stupefied.
He stopped suddenly, got up, and went back to his own bed. The fucker threw me for a loop that lasted the whole night, and gave me a stiff that didn't last a minute after I realized what had happened.
And it keeps happening, every night. I fall asleep, he wakes me up, molests me to various degrees, and then leaves before I get the presence of mind to sock him in the jaw. The last few times I've tried to knee him in the groin, but he always moves right before I land it. It's quite irritating.
By day, nothing has changed--that's the most infuriating part. It's not enough for him to victimize me in my innocent slumber, he won't even leer at me in public so I know I'm not totally bonkers. I tried hinting at it, but he has "obtuse and condescending" down to a fine science. Not that I can't prove any of it happened--I've got a bite mark and six hickeys at the very least that say I can--but it's confusing. He's hot, he's cold, he slices and dices, and he can insult you in three different languages (I have no idea where he picked up English and French and I don't understand what he says, but he certainly makes it sound insulting): Saitou Hajime, the man I can't figure out and would like very much to pound into the dirt. Or something like that.
I know I've bitched a lot about guys coming onto me, but this past week, I've started getting ideas. After all, my body seems to think everything is hunky-dory. All systems are go, if you know what I mean.
Basically, I'm wondering if there might not be something to the ass-fucking thing after all. There has to be some reason Bug-Face keeps his stick lodged so far up his butt--maybe it feels good.
Besides, despite being a top-notch asshole, the Super Samurai Shithead does have an "I'm too sexy for my shirt" thing going on.
Hell, it might just be frustration talking. I'm not exactly one for prolonged anticipation, and this whole nefarious scheme of "unwholesome activities in the dark of night followed by not-exactly-wholesome-but-at-least-not-involving-gratuitous-fondling-and-biting activities during the day in order to drive a feckless, but blindingly attractive and buff young man out of his fucking mind" is wearing thin. I'm dying for him to bend me over and "plough my furrow" already, just so I can find out what all the fuss is about.
It isn't as if he's going to be totally opposed to the idea, considering he's been nibbling on my neck for the last few seconds.
Damn, how did he get so good with his hands?
Okay, this is it--my big moment. I'll grab him, tell him the jig is up, he'll succumb to my big, fluttering eyelashes, we'll have wild hot monkey sex, and then I'll get to sleep undisturbed for the rest of the night.
And hey, if it turns out to be cool, maybe I'll engage in a little of my own midnight molestation.
Okay, here I go. I'm waiting, I'm waiting, here's the lunge and--
"What exactly do you think you're doing, Roosterhead?"
"Hopefully you, in the next few seconds."
I wasn't quite able to get my arms around his waist because the bastard moves like he's a greased pig, so I'm latched onto his leg instead.
"You pounced on me and woke me up in order to have sex?"
Woke him up?
"Woke you up?"
"Yes, idiot, as in I am no longer sleeping because you decided it was time to fondle my kneecap."
"The hell? You're the one who's been fuckin' wakin' me up every night with your own damn fondlin'!"
"Don't be stupid. I wouldn't fondle someone who squawks like you."
"Bastard, I'll get you for that!"
Okay, so by now I should know that trying to jump this slanty slickster only gets me tossed across the room into solid objects (like I just was), but I don't think too well when I'm pissed. Where does he get off saying I woke him up when he was obviously the one waking me up?
"Are you calm now, or shall I smack some more sense into that spike-riddled head of yours?"
Four more flights into the wall later:
"What, had enough, old man? Can't take the punishment?"
"Idiot. You haven't laid a hand on me."
"Yeah, but I'm pretty heavy--I'll bet you threw out your hip pummelin' my ass."
I'm slumped against the wall, catching my breath. I'd like to attack him again, but if I have trouble handling one Saitou, there's no way I can beat the three wavering in my vision.
He is looking a bit confused though. Maybe I did land a hit.
"What's wrong, old fart? Can't remember where you left your false teeth?"
"Shut up before you choke on your tongue."
The nerve of that asshole! If the room weren't moving so quickly, I'd wallop his shriveled ass all the way to China, then dance on his pointy--
"Why am I on your side of the room?"
"Stop staring at my ass and answer the question."
"I wasn't starin' at nothin', you--"
And I'm back against the wall. The ceiling looks awfully different from this angle.
"Just answer the question, idiot."
"I already told you! You were gropin' me. You gotta be on my side of the room to do that. Now stop messin' around and let's fuck!"
He's just standing there, sucking on his filthy cigarette--the fool! He could be sucking on me and then we could both go back to bed.
I'm waving my hand in front of his face, but he's totally out of it, contemplating deep thoughts while his bangs waggle around like dashboard hula girls.
"Oi, Saitou. This ain't complicated. I got slot B--"
I pat my ass.
"You got tab A."
I try to grab Bug-Britch's crotch and am thwarted mightily.
Trying not to cough up blood, I lean against my familiar dent in the wall and finish my explanation:
"We stick'em together, and presto!"
Squint-Fuck is giving me a look. It is, unfortunately, not a smoldering, "jump onto my cock right now you sexy beast of a sex god, you" kind of look. More like a "if you touch me again I will ram your testicles so far up your ass they will dangle out of your nostrils" look.
I've always enjoyed a challenge.
"Damn it, bastard, you're going to screw me if it's the last thing you do!"
"You can't even stand upright, you moron. How do you expect to convince me to sodomize you?"
"You didn't need much convincing a few minutes ago, asshole. Not when you were grabbin' my ass!"
"Feh. I did no such thing."
"The hell you didn't! That, and nibbling on every part of my body you could get your mouth on. Lookit this!"
I point out one of my numerous hickies.
"Had a tumble with a barmaid and now you're trying to use is as leverage against me? I hadn't realized you were so sex-starved."
"You had better hope that isn't a load-bearing wall, idiot. Your thick skull is close to knocking it down."
"Damn you, then stop throwin' me into it!"
Waiting again for the multiple smoking Saitous to coalesce back into one. . . There we go.
Sagara Sanosuke always bounces back.
"I got more than just that one--you haven't let me outta your sight long enough for all of them to be barmaids."
I yank off my jacket and bandages in one glorious motion, revealing my veritable multitude of bruises and bitemarks. Sword-Boy seems impressed with my collection. Perhaps I should charge admission.
And contemplates some fucking more.
I lose my patience.
Preparing to sally forth into the fray once more, I ready my fist and--
"Perhaps I was sleep-walking."
Sleep-walking? Oh no. No, no, no, no--
"No fuckin' way! You ain't gettin' off that light. Even if you were asleep, it's still you responsibility. You made it, you take care of it!"
"Take care of what?"
I rip off my pants.
He gapes. Only a little, but he gapes. Then groans and shakes his head.
"Only a stone-stupid Roosterhead like you could maintain an erection through several blows to the head."
"Heh, I'm a teenager who never gets laid--I can keep the Little Zanbatou goin' though almost anythin'. And I ain't gettin' quite enough 'blows to the head' at the moment, if you catch my drift."
I wiggle my hips a little to entice him, but he proves stalwart in the face of cock. He is glaring at me and muttering though, so it looks like we're getting somewhere.
"There is a possibility I inadvertently molested you, but as it was unintentional, I am not about to solve the issue by obeying your ridiculous libido. Go to sleep and--"
"No way, that ain't good enough. This is your fuckin' mess!"
"What do you want me to say, Sanosuke? All right, just bend over so I can **** your tight little **** with my big dripping **** until you ****ing ****? There isn't time for your stupid-- What is it now?"
I'm gesturing frantically for him to shut up and turn around.
He wishes he hadn't.
Sometime during his disturbingly vulgar and deliciously erotic tirade (it all sounded good to me--this homo stuff really isn't so bad once you get used to the idea), this little old lady came wandering in. A very nice, very sweet, very old looking little old lady. The kind who's /everybody's/ grandma, you can just tell.
We can only hope she's also deaf.
"Would you nice boys mind being a little quieter? It doesn't do for anyone to be up this late at night."
We both nod. You know, I never would have thought that stick insects could blush I wasn't seeing it for myself.
"Thank you so much. You're sweet boys. Good night, dears!"
The little old lady smiles again and totters off.
"Happy, Roosterhead? Your heedless crowing has embarrassed us both."
"Oi, I wasn't the one with the potty mouth. You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy."
He's still grumbling and shooting me the evil eye, like all of this is my fault. Oh, and now he thinks he's going back to sleep. Yeah right, buddy.
Like a majestic lion, stalking his prey through the dusty savannah, I circle his bed. It will take all of my cunning to make this kill--the mighty Aku Soku Zantelope is an elusive beast. If threatened, it violently defends itself by smirking and being an insufferable asshole.
Hoping to catch the Aku Soku Zantelope unaware, I move downwind and stop cracking my knuckles. I think I might have a medical problem--whenever I crack my knuckles it sounds like I'm beating someone to death with a bag of oranges.
Uh, but I digress.
"Too drunk to find your bed, idiot? Or too stupid?"
Curses, I've been detected.
"Damn it, Sagara! Get off now."
The time for witty seduction techniques is past.
Now if that doesn't woo him, I haven't a clue what will.
"Not if you were the last Roosterhead on earth."
"Why the hell not? You were horny enough before!"
"I was asleep, moron. Likely in the throes of a nightmare."
"Fuck that. You just been suppressin' you ragin' desire for me for so long it popped up in your dreams. Now stop fightin' it before I kick your sorry ass, you wrinkled old fag!"
"Aw, c'mon man. Just do me already. I'm fuckin' curious as hell here."
"What, not up to the job? Havin' problems 'erectin' the temple'? Can't get the sword out of its sheath? Buddha's little helper not so jolly?"
More snorting. Sounds like Saitou's having sinus problems.
"Get your mind off my genitals and go to sleep, featherbrain."
"You feelin' sick? Tired? Gassy? Is it gas?"
"Yes, that is exactly it. I have gas. Now let go and go away. We're out here to save your stupid friend, remember?"
"A little nookie ain't gonna kill Katsu. Just one screw and we get it out of our systems! C'mon Saitou, why not? Is it because of your wife?"
Whoops, he actually looks startled.
"Who told you I have a wife?"
Yep, definitely struck gold.
"Misao. You know, the weasel girl. She said you sent this little kid to stay with your wife after Kenshin saved his village from Shishio."
"Of course. Yes, it is because of my wife. Go away."
Man, I thought his face was sour before, but that pales in comparison to the puss he's got on now. Hm, it makes me wonder. . .
"Oi, you don't actually have a wife, do you?"
"Of course I do. Why would I lie?"
"Uh, because you're tryin' to get out of fuckin' me? C'mon, if that was your reason, why didn't you say so before?"
"Damn it, Saitou! I know you don't have a wife, so I ain't gonna stop buggin' you anyway!"
He scowls and mutters darkly about stupid weasel-girls and stupid Roosterheads.
Hah. I win.
"Why'd you say you're married in the first place?"
"The boy Himura saved was too close to the situation with Shishio. It was a confidentiality issue. I needed to get him into government hands without Himura throwing a hissy fit."
"You didn't off the kid, didja?"
"Don't be an idiot."
That didn't really answer my question.
"So, uh, why'd you pick Tokio anyway?"
"Kioto would have been too obvious."
"All right, back to business."
I'm trying to burrow under his covers, but the bastard is still being reluctant.
"Damn it! If it's not sickness or bein' married, then why won't you fuck me?"
"Because you are a whiny, idiotic child."
"If you fuck me I'll shut up for the rest of the trip."
"You'd never manage it."
"I won't tell Kenshin you lied about that Eiji kid."
"Himura's too weak to bother me."
"If you don't screw me in the next few seconds, then the minute I get back to Tokyo I'm tellin' Kaoru that ever since you first saw her you been harbourin' a deep and passionate lust for her body and her cookin'."
"She would never believe it."
"You gonna take that chance?"
I've got him now.
"Oh, fine. Roll over."
Sagara Sanosuke triumphs again, yee haw!
Whoa! What's that hand doing? Oh! Oh. Oooohhhh.
Lots of bumping, grinding, slamming, thrusting, pounding, thumping, groping, grabbing, squeezing, stretching, gasping, groaning, moaning, squealing, panting, pleading, grunting, stroking, whacking, jacking, nipping, biting, sucking, licking, pinching, poking, rocking, sliding, sweating, writhing, ejaculating, and narrative-skipping later:
"Quite. Now go away."
"Not yet. You're comfy."
"Wonderful, a cuddler. I despise freshly-plucked virgins."
"Heh, guess I really ain't a virgin no more. Damn, that felt weird though. Like takin' a shit backwards.
"Go to sleep."
"Don't take offense or nothin'. I don't mean it didn't feel good. Weird, but really good too. Even if, you know."
"Even if what?"
"Well, I was kinda expectin' more."
"More what? Rabbits, flowers, fireworks?"
"Nah, I mean I thought a guy like you would have a bigger thing, that's all."
"How many penises have you seen, idiot? I'm above average."
"Well, yeah, but I figured a guy like you would be really, really, really hung."
"A guy like me?"
"Yeah, you know, a cocky prick."
"Listen, moron-- Stop that!"
If there's anything I can do better than anything else, it's be all sweet and innocent.
"Stop flapping your eyelashes like an idiot and take your hand off my dick before I stick it in you in a way you won't like."
"How about we try it and see how much I like it?"
"It is not humanly possible for you to still be horny."
"Whaddya mean? That was just round one!"
"It was round three if anything. It's already morning, twit."
"Huh. No kiddin'. Then it'll have to be a quickie. C'mon, you old ass, where's your stamina?"
"Party pooper. Let's see if I can wake it up."
"Sanosuke, put your tongue back where it belongs before I bite it off."
"You sound like a crotchety old lady."
"Get your ass out of my face now, Roosterhead. We have work to do today, or have you forgotten?"
"'Course I haven't, but one little blowjob ain't gonna matter much. We're already up early."
"If I have to put my mouth on your dick one more time, I will have it for breakfast."
"Heh heh. That was the idea. Oh, hey Broomhead."
"Hiya, Roosterhead. Boss. Looks like yer having some fun there."
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"I was s'pposed to letcha know that that Katsu kid got hisself loose and was back in Tokyo just after y'all left, but I guess that don't matter now. Had a heckuva time catching up to ya, boss, but it looks like y'all had a good time anyhow, so it don't matter!"
"You hear that, Bug-Butt? Katsu's been fine all along. So much for your bitchin'. Now suck me off already."
"Shut up and get dressed."
"Hey, Roosterhead, I always figgered Boss here'd be hung like a horse. 'Zat true?"
"Yeah, I thought so too. The truth is--"
"You, shut up. You, get out. Now."
Chou rarely sees a sword he doesn't like, but when one is pointed right at his neck by an angry naked man, he knows enough to get lost.
"I am going back to Kyoto now. Alone. If you ever happen to stumble back in that direction and our paths cross, I will use your scrotum to clean my sword."
Pfft, drama queen.
Okay, so now he's gone too.
Well, this turned out to be a fairly successful venture. I got my ass screwed, rocks off, curiosity satisfied, and Saitou Hajime's most embarrassing moment firmly imprinted in my memory.
Oh, and my best friend didn't die. I'll admit, I got a little sidetracked form that, but it was only one night. I blame His Pointyness.
And as for that slant-eyed, bug-brained son of a bitch, and his little scrotum comment?
I've always enjoyed a challenge.
Feedback: Should I have wasted my time on this? Did you laugh at all? Was it lacking in llamas? Do you hate writing in first person present as much as I do? Are you wondering why I keep using first person present if I hate it so much? What was your favourite nickname for Saitou? Do you actually read the feedback section, or just ignore it and hope I'm too glad to have a review to notice that no one is answering my questions? If I said "goose goose goose goose goose goose" would you be angry? Are you planning to ask me to enter this in a fic contest? Do you use one space between sentences, or two? Have you read Ender's Game, by Orson Scott Card? Can you believe I've thought up this many questions? Did you know it only took me a few minutes to write this many questions? Do you trust me? How many questions are there in total? Are you sure you don't mind the lack of llamas? Do you know what feckless means? How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? Was that last one too clichéd? Does anybody have a Kleenex? If you were a bean, what bean would you be? What did you get me for Christmas? Have you ever eaten so much of one kind of food that it made you sick and unable to eat that food ever again? Does one letter of the alphabet look particularly appetizing to you? What is your biggest fanfiction pet peeve? If I ever write a fic so totally pointless again, will you slap me? What are the five fruits in Five Alive? Are you tired? What's that smell? Does anyone actually want to know how the armadillo got into my deckchair?