Here's a cute little oneshot. I understand there's some other oneshots revolving around this idea of the Freddie Benson Master Plan, I mixed it up a bit by incorporating Sam's master plan. If it bares any resemblance to a story of yours, it is not intentional and I'm sorry. Hope you like it!
This is based mainly on my hilarious friend's life plan. When I heard it, I cracked up.
Sam Puckett's Master Plan
I stepped in the house, fuming. How dare that dork Freddie Benson make a list of what he wanted to accomplish in his life (The Freddie Benson Master Plan) and exclude me completely?
Rather than give him a piece of my mind like I wanted to (or rather, a piece of my fist), I decided that my ultimate Sam Puckett revenge would be to make a similar plan, but better. And not as dorky as his.
Grinning at the brilliance of my idea, I picked up a pencil and tried to think of what to write.
Being Sam Puckett, I hardly ever wrote except when I was required to for school.
Finally, I began to write.
The Sam Puckett Master Plan
First, try to graduate from high school. (Threaten Gibby to do my homework? Write more answers to tests on my belly?)
Second, become a hobo because hobos are awesome and don't have cable! If I need money, ask my mom… I guess, she doesn't like giving me money. Or Carly, she always seems to have money.
Third, marry a rich guy so that I get money. Make sure said rich guy is cute, has a mansion, and has no kids (or want any, I can't handle that). Also make sure he has no reason to dislike ham, bacon or fried chicken, I cannot live without these!
Fourth, divorce that rich guy so that I get even more of his money all for myself.
Fifth, once I run out of money, come crawling back to him and ask him to take me back. (No way he'd ever pick another girl after being with me!)
Sixth, once he dies (and that'll be soon, knowing me) collect all his money.
Seventh….no idea, we'll see how it goes from there. Make sure I stay in contact with Carls during all of this; she's the only one I care about keeping in my life. Make sure to get Freddork out of my life because I can't stand that nub any longer than my needed 6 years (6-12th grade). Gibby? Doesn't matter to me, but probably he won't stick around any longer than he has to.
Satisfied, I folded up that paper, put it at the bottom of my drawer and decided to take it to school the next day and rub it in that dork's face.
However, I forgot about it, and it just lay there for quite a while…
SPMP SPMP SPMP
I didn't rediscover that brilliant piece of writing until my senior year of high school.
Cracking up, I read over the thoughts that ran through my thirteen-year-old head. I'd actually believed that this was the way my life would turn out.
Too bad I didn't expect a little twist in my life.
My boyfriend of one year banged on my door. "Sam, hurry up!"
"You can't rush perfection, Freddork!" I yelled, shoving the list into my bag and running out the door, almost crashing into him.
"Late for a date?" He teased.
"If you could call it that," I retorted.
He rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sam. We've gotta meet Carls and Gibby at the Groovy Smoothie in," he looked down at his watch, "approximately twenty minutes."
I snorted. "Honestly, Fredly? Approximately? How do you expect me to stop making fun of you if you use words like that? And, besides, since when have I ever been on time?"
"Since you started dating me," Freddie smirked, obviously pleased with his response.
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, sure, believe whatever you want, kid. But I'll have you know that me dating me just makes me have more of a tendency to be later, because I don't have as much of a… should I say 'incentive' to be there on time."
"You're so mean," Freddie pouted.
I laughed, taking his hand (not gently, I haven't softened up a bit) in my own. "Anyone who thinks I'm not is sadly misled. Besides, did you ever expect me not to be mean to you?"
"True," he said thoughtfully.
"Anyway," I continued. "Guess what I found today?"
"What?" he asked me. He was forever interested in what I was up to, the epitome of the perfect boyfriend.
I pulled the crumpled up list out of my bag and thrust it at him. "This."
Frowning, he scanned over it quickly, and then cracked up. Through his unceasing laughter, he wondered, "Sam, how old were you when you wrote this?"
"Of course it wasn't recently, idiot," I smacked his shoulder, not letting up a bit even though we were going out. He cringed, so with a satisfied smirk I continued. "I was thirteen. You know, it was when we first started iCarly and you made that retarded Freddie Benson Master Plan. For some reason, I decided it would be better to make a similar one and shove it in your face. Then I forgot about it and it got shoved in a drawer until now."
"So, you're just dating me for the money?" Freddie pouted.
I gave him an are-you-crazy stare. "What money?"
"The money I give you when we go on dates, the money I give you whenever you need to by stuff, the money I give you…" he continued to go on and on.
I cut him off. "All right, all right, I get the point. No need to go on and on, Fredstupid. Anyway, if I was dating you for the money we would have broken up by now. I could've definitely gotten someone richer. Hm, that's a good idea to consider."
He shot me a horrified look. "Sam!"
"Joking, joking," I snickered. "Lighten up, loser."
He rolled his eyes. "I can't believe you even considered all of that stuff."
"Look who's talking, Mr. I'll Be Carly's Second Husband," I teased.
He smiled a little, obviously reminiscing. "Yeah, and no one can prove what happens to the first one."
"Yeah, I don't think that would've ever happened," I told him, poking his (now rock-hard) chest. "You don't have the guts."
"Neither do you," he retorted.
I shrugged. "It takes a whole lot of guts to kill a person, Fredly."
"And you would know how?" He asked me. "Is there something I need to know?"
"Nah, you'd end up vomiting, Mr. Weak Stomach," I smirked. "Anyway, come on, let's go get some smoothies."
"Sure," He grinned and began to walk off. As soon as he was a few feet ahead, I grabbed the list and shredded it up into little pieces before throwing it above my head like snowflakes.
I'd never been happier that neither of us had followed our "Master Plan".
Hope you liked that! I don't own iCarly!
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