Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly. I have never claimed to own iCarly. In fact I actively disclaim ownership right here and right now.
I always knew Sam could go to great lengths in our little games of oneupmanship, and April Fool's day seemed to act as a catalyst. I hated it. Every year she has an excuse to prank me to hell and back, as if she needs encouragement in the first place. Last year was bad enough. I still haven't the slightest idea where she got a smoke grenade from, to place in my school bag nor do I know how she managed to edit the iCarly website to show only pictures of me, with a toilet pan photodocked where my head should be, without any knowledge of html.
I do know that there shall be no editing of the iCarly website by Sam this year. Carly and I have already set up a little joke where it takes visitors to a page saying that has been shut down. Nothing massively original, but it's just a little something for the fans. I do know that Sam will definitely try something, I'll have to be alert.
Little did Fredward Benson know, his nemesis had started her work early. As usual he awoke groggily, his alarm clock warning him that his mother would soon be hassling him if he didn't move. He rolled over, trying the turn the repeating beep off, but found he was unable to reach over with his right arm. In his confused, just woken state he assumed that he had simply slept on his arm in a funny position and was feeling the effects of reduced blood flow. He reached with his left and hammered the off button.
He then stumbled, still in his Galaxy Wars pyjamas, into the bathroom. He followed as surprisingly large amount of his normal morning routine in the bathroom, using the toilet, brushing his teeth, inverted to using his left hand. The fog had yet to clear from his sleepy head, obstructing the major question he should have thought, "Why can't I use my right arm?". Had he been inspired to look at his right arm at any point he would have found out. Alas, it was not until his autopilot directed him to combing his hair that he looked in the mirror and had his unasked query answered.
Freddie was greeted with an image of himself with his hand on the crown of his head. He wondered why it was there. He tried the obvious thing to do in that situation, move the hand.
The hand did not move.
Something clicked. His brain sped through several thoughts at once. Sam, April the first, super glue and hand to head. The early bird had apparently caught the worm.
Freddie's mom had nothing about the house that might remove the glue. He was stuck like that for at least a day. He assumed that Sam would think that was enough. He was truly a fool.
He struggled through the breakfast his mom had cooked. He was unable to use both knife and fork and the house was mysteriously empty of cereal. Whoever had taken the cereal had also taken the ham. As he struggled through eating one piece of food at a time, his blonde rival had sneaked into his bathroom, and began her execution of a classic. Cellophane over the toilet, with her own personal twist.
In the Benson kitchen, something big was happening. And it was threatening to happen in Freddie's underwear. A great rumbling emanated from his bowels. His breakfast was travelling through him far too quickly. He knew he must have been drugged with laxatives, and he knew who the culprit was. He didn't know that she was sitting on his fire escape, waiting for the ensuing chaos.
He rushed forth into the white-tiled room. He raced his digestive tract, desperately fumbling his belt buckle with his left hand. The unfamiliar action cost him time, so he dived onto the throne with no thought spared to inspection.
He had a big mess to clean up. Made worse by the fact he had only his weaker hand to do it with.
Freddie somehow survived the day at school, despite all the jeers that come when your hand is glued to your head. Despite the laxatives that were still in his system, preventing him from eating the smallest piece of food. Sam had strenuously denied any involvement.
He had arrived home, famished. He ate some toast, in the hope that the laxatives were finally flushed from his body. Five minutes on the toilet told him they weren't. He was feeling a little weak when he received the text message from Carly. It read simply, "We have something to tell you. Come up to the studio." In the supreme off-chance that it was a declaration of love, Freddie went to the apartment across the hall.
In the studio he was greeted by Carly and Sam holding hands, each appearing quite nervous. He looked at Sam with spite. She would have killed him if this were the other way round. Carly spoke first.
"Freddie, you're our friend and we thought we should tell you first." she said. He raised a hungry eyebrow. "It's just that, well.." she hesitated. "You know that Sam and I have been good friends for a long time now... and... well," she continued, Sam smiled at her. He took a wild guess at where this was heading. It was definitely not heading towards her declaring undying love for him. It did appear, however, that not a declaration of love, but more of a notification of her love for someone else, was on the horizon. If it was to who he thought it might be, he was going to have some awkward fantasies about his two best friends from now on.
"We're gay, we're dating and having hot steamy lesbian sex," Sam bluntly interrupted the bumbling Carly. Whether through his lack of food, or extreme attraction to the idea of two teenage girls engaging in passionate, hot and steamy lesbian sex, he gave out the slightest of moans. Then fainted.
Sam turned to her best friend, having just watched a hungry Freddie, with one hand glued to his head fall face first to the floor. "Told you he would. We didn't even have to kiss." She stated, grinning gleefully as Carly stood there, quietly astonished at what Freddie had just done at the mention of lesbians.
"Do guys really find it that exciting?" Carly questioned.
"By the looks of it. God knows why, he'll never get to join in."
"Did you have to go so far with the glue and laxatives?"
"Of course I did. Don't forget, you owe me ten bucks."
I awoke on the third in hospital, apparently suffering from slight malnutrition. At least the doctor said that. I wonder just how I could manage to be malnourished with my overbearing mother when I remember April Fool's day. Laxatives were the answer. Luckily my arm was no longer secured to my head, but my overbearing mother was by my bedside and managing to overbear in a very aggressive way. I begin to focus on my hatred of Samantha Puckett when I remember the very last thing to happen on that day. I can only think of intertwined bodies, black hair cascading over blonde and lot's of steam.
My mom interrupts my thoughts, asking "What's wrong Fredward? Why are you moaning?"
Written completely in the early hours of April Fool's day where I'm from. I just had the sudden urge to write this quick thing, rather than upload the next chapter of iHate sport, but it will be along soon. I tried to make each sentence funny. This was meant entirely as a comedy, and I will do anything for laughs. God knows where the idea of glueing his hand to his head came from, but the laxatives were because I thought the old cling film on the toilet would only work if the victim were rushing or blind and I couldn't well have Sam blinding Freddie. As for the bet? I always read Cam fics and think that Freddie's reaction, as a teenage boy is rarely handled realistically. I dare say he'd either be ecstatic or rushing to the nearest bathroom to relieve himself, shall we say. It just sort of spiralled from a desire to portray a comedic reaction to the Cam pairing into them making a bet. My first idea was that they would kiss as part of the bet, but not be a couple but I felt that Carly was already a little OOC, i.e not caring enough for Freddie, and that having her fake being gay for a bet was a little too far. Freddie's moaning was inspired by a scene in Catch-22. Anyone who has read it should know the one, I really wanted to steal that idea and incorporate it into a fic and I've finally done it.