A/N: I'm sorry! I know I said I'd update Mystery Diagnosis next, but I think I just needed to get this out of my system. The title of this story may be an indicator of what I'm doing. It's also kind of like that one Spongebob episode.
Now that I have this off my chest, perhaps it'll be easier to finish up on the next chapters of MD and Valentine.
I'm also doing some spot editing on MD. It's nothing major; just eighty pages worth of grammatical errors and poop smear. :D Don't think that I won't finish it. I can't promise when I'll get it done, but I will finish it eventually. I will never leave a story unfinished!


Disclaimer: FMA belongs to Hiromu Arakawa. Not me.

In case you can't already tell, this story is incredibly stupid. It's also unbeta'd. O.O;

Written by Hyperthia

Edward sat on the edge of the cot, his butt getting more and more numb with each passing second. He was currently in his dorm, staring down at a blank sheet of paper that sat innocuously on his desk. He should get started on that report for Mustang—the bastard wanted it by four, which was only two hours away—but Ed couldn't bring himself to get started on it.

"Damn," he muttered. He had already said that at least a dozen times in the past ten minutes; Al seemed annoyed by this.

"Do you want something from the mess hall, Brother?" he asked.

Ed assumed that Al just wanted to escape from him. He thought about it though, and decided that if he had food, he could take a break from trying to write his report. That would be nice; maybe he'd be able to actually write something if he had a full stomach. His belly seconded this idea by giving off a loud growl.

"Now that you mention it," he said, "I am a little hungry. Get me as much food as you can!"

Al made an exasperated sound before walking out the door, leaving Edward alone in the cramped dorm. Edward picked up his pencil and tapped it on the blank sheet of paper.

Mustang always tells me to use pen, he thought. What a stupid rule! I mean, what if I make a mistake? Sure pen may be easier to read, but what's the point when my handwriting sucks anyway?

"Mustang should get glasses," he said to himself. "Maybe he already wears glasses… like, in secret or something."

But why would he wear glasses in secret? Ed thought. Maybe Mustang looks like a complete dork in glasses. Ed closed his eyes and imagined Mustang in glasses, and yes, he did indeed look like a dumb ass.

"Damn!" Ed grunted, returning his attention back to the paper, where he had absentmindedly doodled a crude image of Mustang in glasses. He rubbed the eraser end of his pencil over it and got rid of most of the doodle. However, when Ed cleared away the eraser shavings, there was still a faint imprint leftover. He couldn't let Mustang see that! In a panic, Ed gripped the pencil and scrubbed harder at the paper's surface until—Snap!

"Crap!" Ed looked at the broken pencil in his hand. This was bad! If Ed didn't have a writing utensil, then how was he supposed to write a report? Maybe it just wasn't meant to be.

Ed groaned; now he was just making excuses. He had plenty of other pencils in his desk. Tossing the broken pencil into the garbage bin, Edward shuffled toward the desk and threw the drawer open. He sifted through the little shoebox filled with pencils, trying to find the perfect pencil. It had to have a sharp point and a good, soft eraser. Not one of those cruddy, old erasers that had hardened into useless nubs.

Eventually, Ed found a pencil with the most perfect, sharp point; it was the one. But, of course, it had a shitty eraser. That just would not do! Ed looked back into the drawer, and then he saw a large pile of erasers behind the shoebox.

"Whoa, that's a lot of erasers," he said, grabbing a handful and dropping them onto the desktop. "Why do I have so many erasers? I should count these, and maybe I'll go downtown and donate some of them to charity." Edward nodded to himself at his brilliant idea. There were needy people who needed these erasers so much more than he did!

Edward had counted up to fifty-six erasers when the phone suddenly rang. He jumped, sending about ten erasers flying off the desk, and he cursed. What could be so important, that they had to call and make him lose count? Grumbling about this, Edward answered the phone and held it up to his ear.

"Edward speaking," he sourly greeted into the handset.

"Fullmetal, it's Mustang." Edward's eyes widened and darted to his not-even-started report. He swallowed hard and looked away from the blank paper before he spoke in what he hoped was a confident sounding voice.

"Wha-what do you want?" he asked.

"I'm calling about your report—"

Edward slammed the phone down on its cradle and held it there as if it was a wild animal trying to get free. When it rang again, Edward lunged forward and yanked the phone line out of the port. When he was sure that he was safe, he slowly backed away from the phone.

He knows! He knows! Oh crap, he knows! How does he know? Is he watching me? Edward glanced, panicked, at the walls around him. Ed couldn't spot any surveillance cameras, nor could he find any potential peepholes. The bastard must have had some other method.

Then Edward remembered something that he had read in a comic book not too long ago. It was about the military teaming up with an army of aliens, and they read people's minds before they eventually killed them and used their brains for research! Then, once the brains were useless to the military, the aliens would eat the brains! It gave Ed nightmares for almost a whole week.

What if… Ed let his imagination run wild. Sure, it seemed a far-fetched idea, but perhaps there was a way to use alchemy to infiltrate the mind of another person. As much as Edward hated to admit it, Mustang was rather smart. He was almost as smart as Ed—though not quite as smart. He definitely wasn't smart enough to keep his mind-reading ability from Ed for very long!

There was only one way to outsmart a mind infiltrator; Edward remembered it from that comic book. He slinked over to the tiny kitchenette, moving fast so he could dodge Mustang's mind rays. He opened a small cupboard and reached in, feeling around for the long, square box. Once he found it, he quickly pulled it out and tore off a long sheet of aluminum foil. He wrapped it around the top of his head twice before molding it to fit. He finished it off with a long antenna, designed to attract and trap mind rays.

Feeling ever so confident, Edward strutted to the phone, plugged it back in and dialed Mustang. The phone rang twice, and before Mustang could even say 'hello,' Edward shouted.

"I'm on to you, Mustang!" he slammed the phone down and unplugged it once more.


Ed shrieked and whirled around, promptly getting into a fighting position. Alphonse stood in the doorway, holding a large tray that was practically spilling over with food.

"What are you doing?" he asked. Edward stood silently, for a moment, before he finally mustered up some sort of explanation.

"Well, you see," Ed began, "I was here, minding my own business, when I was suddenly confronted by evidence which leads me to believe that Mustang is a mind reader with an evil plot to hijack my mind, cut out my brain, and use it for research before feeding it to the aliens."

"Cool story, Bro," Alphonse said, setting the tray down on the desk. "Now quit playing around and eat. Have you started your report yet?"

"Oh dammit!" Ed yelled, tearing off his headgear and picking up the still-blank sheet of paper. He had completely forgotten!

"Maybe if you just eat something, it'll be easier for you to think," Alphonse suggested. Edward sighed and sat down at the desk.

"I guess," he responded sulkily. He used his right hand to dig into a bowl of chili, while he positioned his left hand over the paper.

While he had no trouble shoveling food into his face, his left hand remained still over the paper, unwilling to write. Once he had devoured the entire bowl of chili along with most of the other food on the tray, he glanced over his shoulder to find that Alphonse had disappeared from the room again.

He turned his attention back to the paper, scratched his head, and shifted in his seat. A bit of sweat dotted his brow, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand.

"Getting kinda hot," he said to himself.

He sighed and pulled his shirt off, throwing it on his bed. It was still too hot, though, and he decided to take off his pants as well. After all, he was always forty percent happier without pants on. Finally, he sat at his desk in just boxers. Much better!

But still not good enough.

Edward looked over his shoulder, at the closed door. Alphonse didn't say where he was going, but Ed assumed it would be some time before Alphonse came back. Edward took a deep breath, and within two seconds, his boxers joined his other clothing on the bed.

"I'm naked," said Edward, grinning widely. "Naked in my room."

This is awesome! Why have I never thought to do this before? Edward sat back and stretched before leaning back over the paper. I should do this more often. It gets so stuffy in here, no wonder I couldn't think straight. Mustang's office is pretty stuffy too. I wonder if Mustang ever does this… I hope not; I bet he's all wrinkly and has grey… hair. Edward had a minor heart attack. Ew! Why am I thinking of that?

He looked down at the blank paper, and scowled.

"Damn," he said. "This is all Mustang's fault. If he hadn't sent me on that mission, I wouldn't have to write this report. You know what, Mustang? I fart on your stupid report!"

That actually sounds like fun. Edward grinned and picked up the paper. Mustang would never know; Edward could hand in his farted-upon report and laugh about it later. And after all of that chili, Edward felt a little gassy.

Without a second thought, Edward slid the paper between his ass and the chair. He waited patiently for his body to do the rest of the work; it wouldn't be long before he'd be able to rip a big one.

"Brother!" Edward stopped grinning and sheepishly looked over his shoulder at Alphonse, who stood in the doorway. Alphonse quickly turned around and shut the door so that no one would see his naked brother.

"What are you doing?" he asked, baffled by the image before him. "Are you sitting on your report?"

Edward turned red and reached down to free the paper from his ass. He placed it on his desk and twiddled his thumbs.

"Brother, what were you doing to your report?" Alphonse asked, approaching Edward.

"I wasn't gonna do anything," Ed replied.

"Did you even start it?" Al looked over Ed's shoulder and made an irritated sound when he saw that is was still blank. "Brother, you know you only have an hour left to write this."

"What?" Ed looked at the clock, and sure enough, he had wasted all that time doing nothing. "Al, what am I gonna do? I don't know what to write!"

"Why don't you just write about what happened during the mission?" said Alphonse.

Edward's jaw dropped, and he stared disbelievingly at Alphonse.

"Alphonse, you're a genius!" Edward turned back around in his seat, picked up the pencil, and began to write!

"First we got off the train… then I ate some bad food… then I got food poisoning… then a building blew up, and it wasn't my fault… then I fought some lady, and accidentally touched her boob…"

Edward listed off the numerous events that had occurred during that trip, and by the time he was done, he practically glowed from his own success. This report was perfect! It was, by far, the most beautiful pile of shit he had ever written!

"It's done!" Edward cheered. He looked at the clock and saw that he had three minutes to get to Roy's office. "I gotta go now!"

"Brother!" Alphonse yelled, making Edward halt in his steps.


"Put some clothes on."


Mustang stepped out into the lobby, his joints popping from under-use. In a way, he was glad that the brat had unplugged his phone; it gave Roy an excuse to leave the office for a bit.

He smiled and winked at the cute receptionist as he walked past the front desk; she smiled back and gave a small wave. Roy was just about to stop to flirt for a while when something small and blond suddenly collided into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

Once he had caught his breath, Mustang composed himself and looked down at Edward, who stood, panting, in front of him. He must have run all the way from his dorm, because he was red in the face, sweating, and still trying to catch his breath.

"Fancy meeting you here, Fullmetal. I was just coming over to see—"

"Here!" Edward held up what Mustang assumed was his report. He had a proud grin on his face, like a kid showing his father the A+ he had gotten on his school assignment.

"I finished it on time," said Edward. "Just like you ordered."

Well, that's a first. Mustang had to admit, that was quite impressive for Edward. But…

"Fullmetal, the reason I tried to call you earlier is because the mayor from the town you were in called me. He gave me all the information I needed, and I don't need your report anymore."

Edward stared up at Mustang, his grin slowly slipping away until he only held a look of complete and utter shock. Then his expression changed again, and he looked as though someone had died.

Suddenly, much to Mustang's surprise – and annoyance -, Edward collapsed and laid facedown at Mustang's feet. He remained silent for a while, and Mustang began to think the kid had passed out, but then his back began to heave and he made a long sorrowful sound. Mustang sighed; the brat just had to make a scene about it. He should have known.

Mustang heard someone clear their throat, and he looked up to see that every single person in the room was staring at him. He grinned sheepishly and waved at them, hoping that they would lose interest and leave. But they didn't; they all continued to stare at him, clearly unimpressed by the way he handled his subordinate.

"Fullmetal, that's enough," Mustang said, using his boot to lightly tap Edward's arm, but the kid remained unresponsive.

"Edward, get up," he ordered, but Edward didn't budge.

Everyone continued to stare, and Mustang could hear some muttering about "child abuse" and "that poor kid." He glanced at the receptionist, who he had wanted to flirt with, and she glared back at him. Well, there went any chance he had with that one.

Mustang looked back down at the pitiful heap in front of him, and he sighed.

"Fine," he said, bending down and helping the kid to his feet. He took the report out of Edward's hands and guided him out of the room. "Come with me to my office, and we'll go over your report."

Edward, satisfied that his act had worked, beamed happily as he followed Mustang toward the elevators.

He also made a mental note not to tell Mustang about how he had sat his naked butt on the report.

The End

A/N: Sorry for wasting your time… D: