| fictionsuit! |
[Apr. 28th, 2008|09:21 pm] |
(Chad approaches a mansion in New York on Graymalkin Lane and rings the doorbell. A man in a wheelchair who bears a curious resemblence to Patrick Stewart, named Charles Xavier, answers the door.)
CHARLES: Yes?
ME: Hi, Professor Xavier? I'm a tourist who's just passing through and I know you don't know me, but...well...you only have to read my mind to know how little luck I've had with online personals.
CHARLES: Hm, yes. Have you ever tried e-Harmony? Hank McCoy has had great success with that service. He says it's the only time he's found women who weren't furries.
ME: Well, see...
CHARLES: Oh, yes. They're not exactly inclusive toward your...preferences, are they?
ME: Exactly. So I was in the area and thought it couldn't hurt to ask...could I use Cerebra to go...uh...
CHARLES: The phrase "ass-fishing" appears to be on the tip of your mind.
ME: Yes! Ass-fishing! I mean, you can appreciate that, right? In fact, I always thought you were one of those people who would have a profile on Match.com and never admit it.
CHARLES: ...
ME: Your username is something like BUFFNBALD, am I right?
CHARLES: May we please go back to your original question?
ME: Oh, right. So I figured Cerebra would be the ultimate online personals search. Want someone who lives nearby who's in good shape, is at least literate, has good taste in movies, and is lonely or desperate enough to go out with me? Bang! There he is! And I gleam enough info right from the source to set up an 'accidental meeting.' Plus...well, just between you and me, I can drop a tiny little thought that he should maybe go out and try to meet someone.
CHARLES: Beyond the questionable ethics of using Cerebra to obtain a romantic partner in such a manner, you should know, since you possess so much knowledge of my affairs, that only telepaths can use Cerebra without...how do I put this?...going completely insane.
ME: Dammit. I forgot about all that. So how about you doing a little search for me? I'll settle for a reasonably attractive guy who knows that a 'peninsula' isn't a drug.
CHARLES: Tell you what? Let's not and say we did.
ME: Fine, fine. Some freakin' humanitarian you are. You know, I bet it's not like you've never used it to get some action.
CHARLES: I never have - not just because, unlike you, I have a moral code, but also because I never needed to. *ahem* Will anyone here who has slept more than once with an intergalactic empire's young, nubile head of state, please raise their hand?
(Charles raises his hand and radiates smugness.)
ME: Oh, go win a dance-off.
(Charles slams the door.
(By the way, this post is canonical!) |
|
|
| Comments: |
Whatever, man.
I was high as a kite on peninsula.
All weekend.
Is there any way I can convince you that I have a rare, terminal illness that can only be cured by sex?
Hey, as long as it's not contagious.
Thanks! I already have an idea for another of these forming...
I'm personally proud of telling Professor Xavier to win a dance-off.
And you should be sir, you should be.
I see you got ahold of the script for X-Men 4.
If only! Of course, if I did write "X-Men 4", the fans would track me down like Frankenstein's monster.
Dude, never trust anyone who claims they have a girlfriend that lives in outer space. They're always like, "Yeah, my outer space girlfriend is so pretty. I can't wait til she saves up enough money to move down here." But you know if you ask to see a photo, they either show you some picture they cut out of a magazine or they claim that there's some sort of taboo about photographing people on their planet.
HA! I guess it can happen from too much exposure to fanboys. | |
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}