Note from Tabitha (which may be replaced by a disclaimer once AK gets back and reads it ^^;) - This fic is a "what-might-have-happened" bit of humor concerning timing of cosplay, which I can happily say DID NOT HAPPEN! Hah! Take that, anatomy. *blows raspberries*

Needless to say, the title indicates something rather tasteless. I, however, find it quite funny. Warnings for language and very extreme, frightening OOC. ^^ - Tabitha


by Anime Kitty

With a mumbled grunt, Sei-Lan shoved more ice cream into his mouth. The cold, creamy feeling slid over his tongue and throat soothingly, but did little to help his actual pain. Cramps are murder.

And as misery loves company, beside him on couch sat Marcel who was digging his own spoon into a tub of cookie dough. Mouth still half full, he turned to speak, "Sei-chan?"

"What?" he almost barked back.

"Can we watch a movie? Like 'How Stella Got Her Groove Back'? I need a chick flick." He almost whined, a side-effect of waiting for the Midol to kick in.

Sei-Lan gave him a disgruntled glare, "Hell no. Dude, the last thing I want to watch when I'm ragging is something fluffy. I want to watch 'Blade Runner.'"

"Awwwww... Sei-chan, you're mean!" Marcel pouted, violet eyes watering.

Still wearing a scowl, he replied, "I'm mean? Tell that to Mother-Fucking-Nature. I spent last week PMSing and now I'm DMSing."

Crestfallen, the blonde returned to his snack. "Come on, man. I even let you borrow a pair of sweatpants."

Sei-Lan muttered something under his breath and gained a chokehold on the remote. He flipped though the channels aimlessly before settling on some cartoon. "There. A happy medium."

Marcel felt a little better but incomplete. "I haven't watched cartoons sober in the longest time... Hey, those guys sound like their constipated." He giggled playfully.

Slowly a tiny smile peeked out, "Yah, they do... are they gonna fight or just keep taunting each other?"

"I dunno, man, but that guy with the sword kinda looks like you. Only beefed up and stuff."

His eyes screwed up as he compared himself to the figure on the screen, "I guess... Hey, I think that Pickle guy is gonna kick some ass..."

"I thought it was Piccolo." Marcel spoke through the cookie dough.

"Nah. That's a pussy name. That guy isn't a pussy." He shook his head, violet locks failing back and forth.

"Yah, you know all about pussy names..."

The scowl returned with a vengeance, "What's that supposed to mean, Mister-Name-Like-A-Back-Street-Boys-Fan-Girl?"

"Hey! Just 'cause my name isn't tough doesn't mean I canít take you!" Marcel stood up, trying to look like road-hardened biker but only managing the type of tough one sees in an angry rabbit.

"You really want a piece of me?" Sei-Lan got up as well, making sure to place his ice cream down carefully.

Suddenly, both of them felt their cramps return to kick both their scrawny, pale asses. Moaning they both sat back down on the couch and returned to food and TV.

"So," Marcel began sheepishly, "we still buds?"

Sei-Lan rolled his eyes, "Only if you give me some cookie dough."

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