12 Procrastinating Months of Brian Powell and Co. (Comedy One-Shot) (Rated PG)
Once upon a time, there was a fanfic writer and member of serebiiforums.com named Brian Powell. He wrote a good amount of stories, usually about a small cute Pichu who gave a villainous group called Team Rocket such tormenting moments that even Tom and Jerry would be proud of. He wrote fics such as That Pesky Pichu, Comin’ To Getcha, and Dropping Away For The Holidays. Remember them? Probably not. Here’s a fic to describe what he’s been doing for the last twelve months since his last fic…
Brian and his so-called friends were around the kitchen inside his big mansion having breakfast. He noticed that old man Bill Fireman was scribbling something on a piece of cardboard. “Bill, what are you doing?” he asked, thinking that he was writing something stupid.
“I’m writing, Brian,” Bill replied enthusiastically.
“Yes… I see that you’re writing. But what are you writing and what is it for?”
“I’m writing to enter a competition to win a free box of cereal,” Bill said. “The box said to write down why we should get one in ten words.”
“Well, what have you got?” Brian asked… daring himself to know for the sake for his and the audience’s sanity.
Bill read the following words he wrote on the cardboard aloud. “Cereal, cereal, cereal… cereal, cereal, cereal… cereal, cereal, cereal…”
Brian let out a small sigh of arrogance and disgust. “Pathetic, you’re never gonna win,” he said.
“Why’s that?” Bill asked.
Brian opened his mouth and raised his finger up. He was about to give numerous errors to Bill’s poor attempt to win some free cereal. But knowing Bill’s lack of vocabulary and for a fact that he’s a hopeless case when it comes to common sense, he decided to say the obvious reason that everyone can understand. “You wrote down nine words,” he said.
“Cereal,” Bill said as he wrote down the last word.
"...My girlfriend left me for some fat man on Valentine's Day! My career's going down the drain! I'm going to get kicked out of my house! I'm on debts! I tried to do my best and I was doing fine I can until some idiot went and took of photo of me with some drunk woman who I was trying to help out! Now it's going all haywire, man! Please! Can you tell Brian that I need help! Please!"
That was a young rapper complaining to Tony. They were in the receptionist's office with Brian's office next door. Letting out a small sigh of annoyance, Tony got up from his chair and slowly walked over to the door before tapping on it a couple of times. "Yeah?" Brian's voice said, allowing the green dinosaur to come in.
He left the door open, allowing the rapper to see what was going on but he couldn't hear anything they said. A few seconds later, Tony walked of Brian's office and shut the door before sitting himself down to his desk. He looked up and said to the rapper. "Mr. Powell's busy," he growled.
"What!? He didn't look busy!" the rapper shouted angrily.
Tony was silent for a few seconds and then replied, "He's thinking."
"...My girlfriend left me for some fat man! My career's going down the drain! I'm going to get kicked out of my house! I'm on debts! I tried to do my best and I was doing fine I can until some idiot went and took of photo of me with some drunk woman who I was trying to help out! Now it's going all haywire, man! Please! Can you help me out, Brian!? Please!"
That was the same young rapper crying his heart out to his somewhat-of-a-friend Brian. He was trying to gain help for his professional, financial and personal problems from others but he didn't have the money.
"I mean what is wrong with me!?" he complained.
Brian looked at him with an uninterested look, staying silent for a few seconds. "You're very annoying," he said simply.
It was Brian's birthday and he had his friends around because he couldn't finish the big cake all by himself. He was about to blow away the lit up candles but...
"Why!? Why is everyone growing old!?" the young rapper cried emotionally before he screamed to heavens, "Why are you doing this to us!?"
"Why is he still here?" Brian asked in annoyance.
"You're the one who put him in this one-shot," Tony growled.
Believe it or not, Bill actually signed up to be... the president of some country or continent. We were backstage, getting him ready for a speech to outdo his opponent. “So, er… what are we doing here again?” he asked. For someone who wants to be president, I never thought that he’d stand a chance. I just thought I’d play along to pass the time until I thought of some fic to write up.
“Oh, you guys are just going to fight over some American supremacy, that’s all,” I said. “And the people get to vote the guy who should get the most money and control everything in America.
“Oh! Okay!” he said in an understanding way.
Conference time, and Bill was getting ready for his big shot while the opposition started his speech. “Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of America, as candidate for president, I…”
Well, I did write that Bill was getting for his big shot and I meant it. He shot his opponent in the head with a toy gun with a dart inside. “And pop goes the weasel! I win!” he shouted triumphantly. However, the audience wasn’t as noisy as he was. “What?”
One time this month, a relative of Brian’s asked him if he could look after her kids while she goes away. “Do I have a choice?” he asked.
“No.” That was her response.
Like most kids, they were very noisy. So much that he couldn’t focus on his thinking. Luckily…
“Quiet!” Brian yelled, finally getting the kids’ attention. “We’re going to play a game. It’s called ‘The Quiet Game’. Rule No.1: No talking. Rule No.2: No noise. Rule No.3…”
Brian snarled in frustration. That was mobile phone ringing, signalling that someone was calling him. He turned his back on the children and answered. “Powell,” he replied casually before hearing some sort of accusation and angrily said, “I told you! I’m not dating one of the Backstreet Boys! I’m suing you!”
He pressed the ‘hang up’ button on his phone and turned his attention back on the children… but they were no longer there. “The ringing on my phone doesn’t count!” he shouted.
It turned out that Brian’s relative wouldn’t be back home for another month, much to his annoyance. It was time for the children to go to sleep, but he had to tell them a story before that. The problem was that he was running of story ideas for children. Still, as typical as every child always were, demanded it. “Let’s see,” he said trying to think one up. “One day on a farm, it was Piggy the pig’s birthday and his friends got him some cake and balloons.”
The children were all smiles while they pictured this happy scenery. “But the pig couldn’t enjoy it because there was this butcher,” Brian said in an unbothered tone, speaking quickly. “He had this big knife and there was pork, sausages, ham, meat and blood everywhere…”
He then noticed that the children were getting scared and Brian had to finish it his story off. “But then Piggy’s friends saved him and they all had cake. The end,” he said quickly with a big grin on his face.
Jerry the Pichu, Patchy the Pachirisu, Tony the Tyranitar, Cookie-gatr the Feraligatr and Bill Fireman the old man and self-proclaimed Brian’s best friend, were riding inside a train heading towards a beach, far away from Brian’s place. Before that, they asked him where they should go for the summer holiday to which he replied, “As far away from me as possible.”
On the way there, they were testing out Jerry’s knowledge he gained from a book labelled ‘The Big Book of Everything’, with Tony reading the records at random.
“Okay, highest record for a guy eating the most marshmallows in one hour.”
“Ah-ha! 696 marshmallows, Tony Chivel, 1995, USA!”
“How about the world’s best chef 2007?”
“Luigi Swaksky, Italy!”
“The world’s biggest ass 2008?”
“Brian Powell, Great Britain!”
“Huh? It says ‘Jerry the Pichu’ here. But I think something’s crossed out.”
Tony was ordered by Brian to make him some ravioli for dinner. He had a TV in the kitchen switched and a cook was on it, as scheduled. “We’re going to make some fantastic ravioli today,” the cook said as he started doing so… at a fast pace. “Warm up cooker, pan, olive oil, spinach, garlic, salt, pepper…”
“Where is that frying pan!?” Tony complained as he searched the cupboards.
“Risotto, cream, parsley, coriander…” the cook continued as he quickly
“There you are, pan,” Tony said happily as he got the said item before looking at the TV. “What’s next?”
“Wrap them up, put them in pan, cook until nice and silky, plate, grated parmesan cheese, done.”
Showing an annoyed frown, he opened up another cupboard and took out a TIN of ravioli, opening it up and pouring them onto a plate. “I bet he doesn’t put the recipe on the net,” he complained.
Knock, knock, knock.
Brian walked over to the door of his mansion and opened it, seeing a bunch of kids wearing costumes that made look like ghosts, zombies, vampires and demons. “Trick or treat!?” the kids yelled.
Of course, it was Halloween and Brian, being a sourpuss that he was, gave the kids the answer that most people hate to give on this particular day.
“Treat,” he said, much to the kids’ surprise as he handed them some chocolate bars.
“I thought you’d never give out sweets,” one of the costumed kids said.
“Wouldn’t I?” Brian replied with a smile.
A few hours later, he was watching some TV before a news flash came on, interrupting the show. It was reported that several chocolate bars given to the children that night contained laxatives… much to his glee while his victims quickly headed for their bathrooms and stayed there for long hours.
Brian was getting himself ready to go out for the night… that was until he found Bill with a big smile on his face standing outside with a bunch of ‘fireworks’ upon opening the door. However, they all look VERY similar to army weapons, such as grenades and missiles. “I bought them on ebay,” Bill said proudly. “Tonight’s Bonfire Night, right?”
Brian quickly slammed the door. “Tony…” Brian said fearfully. “BOLT THE DOORS!!”
Cookie-gatr was using a laptop to send someone named Santa Claus an e-mail, to which Brain would say in response, “There’s only one big thing around who gets the presents and his name is not Santa.”
“Dear Santy Claus,” Cookie-gatr growled as he typed the following words. “Me have been very good this year. Me want nothing more than cookies. Me don’t care what kind of cookies you bring me. You surprise Cookie-gatr.”
He then stopped writing and then aloud. “Oh boy, me wonder what kind of cookies Santa will bring me?” he growled before looking at the key buttons. “Maybe… maybe he’d bring me some small cookies with raisins and cherries in them!”
In excitement, he ripped the buttons off the keyboard and started eating them noisily.
“Nom nom nom nom nom nom! Or maybe some big fortune cookie with delicious paper!”
He then started munching up the monitor that was showing a piece of paper.
“Nom nom nom nom nom nom! Or maybe some big dark chocolate cookie with some sweet liquorice!” he growled, still excited as he ate the rest of the laptop until he stopped when he realised something. “Um… where laptop?”
Soon, Brian Powell had him chained up so he couldn’t move… with cookies placed a distance away from him. Oh, the humanity.
So, there you have it. That’s the twelve months of Brian’s life, in case you were wondering. Any last words from him? Nah, he’s still procrastinating. Laziness could drive people crazy though, right kids?
Happy holidays and happy New Year, everybody!