sylvia
3rd December 2003, 16:49
Author: Sylvia
Rating: PG
Genre: Humour/Stupidity
Spoilers: Kinetic, Heat, Phoenix, Shattered, Asylum
Disclaimer: Yes, Smallville is mine. Muahahaha. No, wait -- it isn't. Oh well.
Author's Note: Lex is disturbingly OOC. You shouldn't take any of the seriously. At all. Thank you.
ANGSTAHOLICS ANONYMOUS
. . . . . . . . . .
TRANSCRIPT OF THE FIRST MEETING OF ANGSTAHOLICS ANONYMOUS
Date: 20 Nov. 2003
Time: 3.26 pm
Location: The Belle Rêve Sanatorium, Ward 562
Members Present: LL, CS
Members Absent: None
. . . . . . . . . .
LL: Life sucks.
CS: You can say that again.
LL: Life sucks.
There is a pause as LL and CS stare disconsolately at each other. After a few moments, CS breaks the silence.
CS: So... wanna trade sob stories?
LL: Okay, let's see... where do I start? I'm bald, crazy, my father drugged me, everyone's lying to me, nobody loves me, my mother died, my brother died, my last two wives tried to kill me, thereby causing me to have some quite serious trust issues, I have a guilt complex the size of Kansas, and I just smashed my fifteenth laptop of the season in a fit of pernicious rage. Aaaaand my father's Lionel Luthor.
CS: Sorry?
LL: (Snaps) I don't want your sympathy!
CS: I meant 'sorry' as in, 'I-beg-your-pardon, I-didn't-catch-the-full-diatribe-because-you-were-speaking-at-a-mile-a-minute'. Not 'sorry' as in, 'I-actually-care-what-happened-to-your-pretty-face'. Don't flatter yourself, Luthor.
LL: --oh. Well then.
Another pause.
LL: (Brightly) So! How about your story?
CS: (Hesitantly) Um... well...
LL: (Jovially) No need to be shy! We're all friends here.
CS: It's just -- it's just that, well... my story's nowhere near as impressive as yours is.
LL: Aww, that's okay. Tell you what. You tell me your sob story, and I'll let you have Helen Bryce. And I'll let you kill Nixon next time, if you want.
CS: There won't be a next time.
LL: (Gasps) You're leaving me? (Mournful eyes) Everyone leaves me. My parents, Nell, Whitney...
CS: Hey! Wrong LL! You're the bastard richboy who swears to protect me, and then runs off to join the dark side, remember?
LL: Lucas?
CS: (Annoyed) No, idiot -- 'bastard' as in the metaphorical sense of the word.
LL: Oh. Okay then.
CS: And stop being happy and compliant.
LL: (Pouts) Why not?
CS: (Stuffily, à la Padme Amidala) It makes me feel uncomfortable.
LL: "I don't like sand."
CS: Benjamin Franklin?
LL: (Surprised) No, Anakin Skywalker. He's the Star Wars version of me -- you know, the sweet little boy who, because of what they like to call Tragedy of Circumstance, grows up to become an evil misanthrope who's out to destroy the world. George Lucas says--
CS: There you go with the Lucas again!
LL: This is a different Lucas!
CS: Why are you being so - so -
LL: "Coarse and rough and irritating"?
CS: (Looks at LL as if he's insane, which he is.) Well, the last part, yes.
LL: Because... (tilts his head to one side, frowning adorably) ... it's not like here. Here everything’s soft... and smooth... and...
CS: Padded?
LL: (Stares at her chest pointedly) You don't say?!
CS: No, pervert! I was talking about the walls.
Seemingly noticing the cushioned walls of the strongroom they are in for the very first time, LL's eyes light up with undisguised fascination.
LL: Cool!
CS: (Dryly) Uh-huh.
LL wiggles, still bound in his straitjacket, over to the nearest wall, and taps his bald head experimentally on it. Boink, boink.
LL: Ooooh. These are kinda bouncy-like, aren't they?
CS: Uh-huh.
LL: (Tapping his head even more zealously) And it doesn't even hurt!
CS: Uh-huh.
LL: It's unbelievable! (Now bashing the side of his head as forcefully as possible against the wall. Boink, boink, boink...) Hey! D'you think if I hit it hard enough --
CS: --Lex! Nooooooo...!!
LL slumps heavily against the floor, clearly concussed. CS swallows nervously, and then begins whistling with apparent unconcern, as an obviously guilty person would do in a bad 60's comedy.
And in front of a video camera in the very next room, Malevolent Lionel watches the scene with a barely concealed amusement.
. . . . . . . . . .
END 1/?
Rating: PG
Genre: Humour/Stupidity
Spoilers: Kinetic, Heat, Phoenix, Shattered, Asylum
Disclaimer: Yes, Smallville is mine. Muahahaha. No, wait -- it isn't. Oh well.
Author's Note: Lex is disturbingly OOC. You shouldn't take any of the seriously. At all. Thank you.
ANGSTAHOLICS ANONYMOUS
. . . . . . . . . .
TRANSCRIPT OF THE FIRST MEETING OF ANGSTAHOLICS ANONYMOUS
Date: 20 Nov. 2003
Time: 3.26 pm
Location: The Belle Rêve Sanatorium, Ward 562
Members Present: LL, CS
Members Absent: None
. . . . . . . . . .
LL: Life sucks.
CS: You can say that again.
LL: Life sucks.
There is a pause as LL and CS stare disconsolately at each other. After a few moments, CS breaks the silence.
CS: So... wanna trade sob stories?
LL: Okay, let's see... where do I start? I'm bald, crazy, my father drugged me, everyone's lying to me, nobody loves me, my mother died, my brother died, my last two wives tried to kill me, thereby causing me to have some quite serious trust issues, I have a guilt complex the size of Kansas, and I just smashed my fifteenth laptop of the season in a fit of pernicious rage. Aaaaand my father's Lionel Luthor.
CS: Sorry?
LL: (Snaps) I don't want your sympathy!
CS: I meant 'sorry' as in, 'I-beg-your-pardon, I-didn't-catch-the-full-diatribe-because-you-were-speaking-at-a-mile-a-minute'. Not 'sorry' as in, 'I-actually-care-what-happened-to-your-pretty-face'. Don't flatter yourself, Luthor.
LL: --oh. Well then.
Another pause.
LL: (Brightly) So! How about your story?
CS: (Hesitantly) Um... well...
LL: (Jovially) No need to be shy! We're all friends here.
CS: It's just -- it's just that, well... my story's nowhere near as impressive as yours is.
LL: Aww, that's okay. Tell you what. You tell me your sob story, and I'll let you have Helen Bryce. And I'll let you kill Nixon next time, if you want.
CS: There won't be a next time.
LL: (Gasps) You're leaving me? (Mournful eyes) Everyone leaves me. My parents, Nell, Whitney...
CS: Hey! Wrong LL! You're the bastard richboy who swears to protect me, and then runs off to join the dark side, remember?
LL: Lucas?
CS: (Annoyed) No, idiot -- 'bastard' as in the metaphorical sense of the word.
LL: Oh. Okay then.
CS: And stop being happy and compliant.
LL: (Pouts) Why not?
CS: (Stuffily, à la Padme Amidala) It makes me feel uncomfortable.
LL: "I don't like sand."
CS: Benjamin Franklin?
LL: (Surprised) No, Anakin Skywalker. He's the Star Wars version of me -- you know, the sweet little boy who, because of what they like to call Tragedy of Circumstance, grows up to become an evil misanthrope who's out to destroy the world. George Lucas says--
CS: There you go with the Lucas again!
LL: This is a different Lucas!
CS: Why are you being so - so -
LL: "Coarse and rough and irritating"?
CS: (Looks at LL as if he's insane, which he is.) Well, the last part, yes.
LL: Because... (tilts his head to one side, frowning adorably) ... it's not like here. Here everything’s soft... and smooth... and...
CS: Padded?
LL: (Stares at her chest pointedly) You don't say?!
CS: No, pervert! I was talking about the walls.
Seemingly noticing the cushioned walls of the strongroom they are in for the very first time, LL's eyes light up with undisguised fascination.
LL: Cool!
CS: (Dryly) Uh-huh.
LL wiggles, still bound in his straitjacket, over to the nearest wall, and taps his bald head experimentally on it. Boink, boink.
LL: Ooooh. These are kinda bouncy-like, aren't they?
CS: Uh-huh.
LL: (Tapping his head even more zealously) And it doesn't even hurt!
CS: Uh-huh.
LL: It's unbelievable! (Now bashing the side of his head as forcefully as possible against the wall. Boink, boink, boink...) Hey! D'you think if I hit it hard enough --
CS: --Lex! Nooooooo...!!
LL slumps heavily against the floor, clearly concussed. CS swallows nervously, and then begins whistling with apparent unconcern, as an obviously guilty person would do in a bad 60's comedy.
And in front of a video camera in the very next room, Malevolent Lionel watches the scene with a barely concealed amusement.
. . . . . . . . . .
END 1/?