Once there was a guy named Af Liction. He sucked at life, but nobody cared.
Af had a girlfriend named Lan Gwish, whose older sister was uber-goth and used to be a cheerleader, the lying-poser-stupid-fucking-shlrubinflarginmarmarglarbgah-
None of that mattered, because Lan sucked at life, just like Af, and they were emo/happy together, which was better than emo/sad, because that usually ended in cutting or writing bad poetry.
Bad poetry is like cutting other people. Don't.
So on one very emo day, when there were big, sad rain clouds in the sky making big, sad raindrops fall oh-so-emo-ly to the ground and make big, sad, emo-puddles, Lan and Af put on their 'Flummox Youth' T-shirts, their bondage pants with far too many chains, and a gratuitous amount of black eyeliner, and went for a very, very slow walk.
You don't walk fast in the rain when you're emo. Goth people sometimes run through bright sunlight or carry umbrellas, but emo kids were impervious to climate change. They and cockroaches would probably be the only thing to survive nuclear fall-out.
Anyway, Lan and Af were hungry, but they were very concerned with looking frail and feeling depressed, and their lethargy made it impossible to prepare their own food, so they struggled over to the bus stop.
"I don't know if I want to formulate an opinion about this," Af said very emo-ly.
Wait, is that possible? Can you talk emo? Well, anyway, Af was doing that with his mouth-parts, which was making the other people at the bus stop mildly nauseas, so most of them left.
One of them threw up everywhere. Squirrels ran over to eat. The guy, not the vomit; squirrels have standards.
"Yeah, so opinion time, maybe," Af continued, unable to feel any more depressed about some guy who'd just gotten sick being eaten alive by squirrels because the rest of his existence was just so depressing. "I was considering thinking about possibly doing something that might look like an activity."
"Oh," Lan replied. She blinked. Riveting.
"We could go sit at a café and pretend we're going to do more than listen to music and stir our tea," said Af.
The bus pulled up, but upon seeing the only two people at the stop were emo, he kept driving. Buses are not fun when there are emo people onboard; you can't get away, and the squirrels know it. Plus the bus zombies can't feed on them; they're like zombie kryptonite, so you have to start feeding them people who could possibly contribute to society in some pathetic way to appease them, or face endless zombie bitching.
I have no idea what zombies talk about. Probably dead people, or politics. Or brains, I guess.
"Let's do something that requires we look totally emo and therefore cool," Lan finally said after they'd stood in the rain for another ten minutes.
They weren't waiting for the bus anymore. They were just standing there, being emo, getting wet. That was a very emo thing to do, after all, as such deliciously depressing days were getting hard to come by thanks to global warming, which was also very depressing.
A small child walked by and died immediately when is stepped into emo-range. It was very depressing.
A squirrel that had been feasting on the vomiting guy went to chew the brains of the small child, but became infected with emo upon contacting the child, and died. It was very depressing.
The rain stopped. It was very depressing, but not emo, so it was even more depressing.
"I'm depressed," Af sighed.
"That's very depressing," Lan sighed.
"I can't stop sighing," Af sighed.
"That's very emo, and therefore depressing," Lan sighed.
They stood in a deep, emo-puddle, waiting for the bus again.
Somehow, making the internal distinction between not waiting for the bus, thereby having none arrive, and deciding to wait for the bus, caused a bus to pull up.
This bus had a fifth wheel on the roof, which was partially deflated, and therefore very emo. This was their bus. They got on it. Everyone onboard was emo. There was an emo puddle in the bus, for effect.
…How is there a puddle on the bus? I don't know. Somehow, the collective inner depression and tears from all these emo people constantly tormenting the same transportation unit had caused it to somehow become emo as well, and therefore had its own little emo tear puddle it just couldn't shed. Besides, how the hell could you make a bus look emo? I guess it could listen to Death Cab for Cutie, but that would be a ridiculous pun, which I am above employing.
"I'd be glad we were on the bus, but that's not very emo, is it?" Lan asked. She had not been emo for very long. She was like an emo Padawan, except her ability to frighten off others was unintentional.
"If I wasn't so busy being emo, I'd talk about being emo," Af sighed.
He's losing air again. Fuck. Eventually he's going to expel a lung if he keeps losing air like that. Do bloody puddles count as emo? Maybe? Then we're cool. Sigh away, depressingly-depressed emo-guy.
"I think I will," Af said to the narrator.
Which you should never do. Because the narrator will kill you. Every time. Especially if the sound of your voice causes her to be eaten alive by squirrels. Which may or may not occur, thanks to canon.
"I think the narrator is angry," said a fat emo chick wearing a guy's T-shirt from the local Toasty Business outlet that had a picture of some abused fish and a ridiculous pun screened painfully across a standard-issue black background.
Just then, the bus got wherever it was going and stopped. The bus was very sad about this, because it knew all the people would be getting off, and that it would be all alone in the rain-soaked world, with nobody to love it or listen to its whiny-ass problems, and that a ten-minute eternity of sad, Linkin-Park induced depression was all it had to look forward to.
Unfortunately, the bus had no wrists or sharp stabby things, or anything with which to write about its bus-y feelings with, so nothing happened.
"That's very depressing," Lan sighed.
Stop fucking reading the narration, Expendable Original Character. I will kill you.
"That's also very depressing," the fat emo chick with the bad T-shirt added.
"I think we should all jiggle like de-boned fish to a moderately up-tempo emo song," suggested a gangly, pale-complexioned young man with a painful amount of black clothing on. "I like 'My Attraction to Drugs' the best."
"That's weak soup," contradicted another similarly gangly, equally pale guy wearing a 'Flummox Youth' T-shirt identical to Lan's and Af's. "You should listen to 'Consider Becoming Alarmed!in the Super Club'."
"Yeah, and maybe I'll become motivated to do something besides wallow in emo-juice," Lan laughed. "Everyone knows 'Random Weekday' is the best."
"Yeah, says the person who might be a girl wearing a 'Flummox Youth' shirt," said a pudgey girl stuffed into an over-tight pair of bootleg jeans with bracelets running form her wrists to her shoulders. "Anyone who wants to call themselves emo knows that AICB, 'An Indoor Controlled Blaze', is the greatest."
Emo people, especially when wet, begin to give off smoke as they heat up from argument, or any strain, actually. Thus, a large cloud of acrid emo fumes was beginning to spread over the crowd of people they somehow had been teleported into for the purposes of this telling, and bodies began to drop left and right, writhing in pain as Foamy the Squirrel and his legion of flesh-eating minions feasted and died right along with them.
The emo people stopped fighting. They all turned. Slowly. The fighting had really taken it out of them. They looked at the dying people, doing all sorts of dying-people stuff, like lying really still and looking all not-good, and they became so emo it started to rain again.
"That's very depressing," all the emo people said together, sending their Super Emo Blast resonating across the land.
Ooooh boy, you should have seen it. But then you'd be dead. Because everybody who heard it died really fast. I mean, blindingly fast, which only added to the emo-ness of it all, which was crushing. Crushing. These people were destroying the world with their gratuitous use of the words "depress" and "rain," their excessive bastardization of the color black, their love of Japanese anime and boy-love, and hair that covered half their faces and spiked on the other side.
What the hell is wrong with your face that you've got to keep it covered? Is this some sort of modern-day Phantom of the Opera cos-play? The worst part is watching emo people constantly twitching their head to clear the hair from their faces, only to have it fall back in place, when they were the ones who put it there to begin with.
There's a glorious tool made up of blades that could change these peoples' lives in a positive way; it's called 'scissors.'
"That's really mean, and therefore depressing," chorused all the emo people.
"Really, really depressing," sighed Af.
Oops, there's the lung. Yup, just stuff it back down there, Af. There's a good boy.
Fuck, squirrels- run!
"Oh dear, cacophonous dookie-monsters!" screamed some random guy wearing glasses. The glasses just make him look cool and give him a distinguishing trait that I can describe him with. He's not important. Or is he…?
…Nope, he's not. The squirrels just got him. MORE PLOT! WOOOO! It smacks of gratuity!
Then Nny showed up and killed them all. Except Af, because the whole I-spit-lungs-at-you thing kinda freaked him out. Hey, everybody's got their limits. If Nny's freaked by projectile lungs, then so be it. I just needed to wrap that up and qualify the piece. Yah rly.
"That's really depressing," Af sighed, lung-chunking at Nny again.
STOP READING THE FUCKING NARRATION, Mr. Liction, or I WILL kill you. Srsly. Rly.
So a fucking roflcopter swooped down and took poor Af away from all the blood and carnage and emo so that government scientists could perform horrible tests on him to keep such a tragedy from ever happening again. Emo music and all things related were made illegal, and everyone suffering from depression got cute little brain-altering sweat bands that changed color to match their moods, make them look super-trendy, and let the government keep constant watch over them.
And Nny killed more people. Yay, go him, etcetera.
I need an Icee…