March is the best season for madness. REEEE-HE-HE-HA! You asked for this, cuz. This really suck for you. You'd better realize that I CAN CRANKOUT A (oops I was on caps lock) a lot of words in 15 minutes. Fuckk - I have been training for htsi my whole life. (unscramble that. It can be "this" or "shit")

So, what do you think? Have I gone fully crazy or am I just trolling you right now?

Okay, let's give you a good option for the other side, huh?

Here's a fun little poem for you to think about:

*ahem*

"I think that birds can fly sometimes.

(random blank spot as poems do)

Why is jaywalking a crime?

Askew, babu, bamboo."

*RAUCOUS APPLAUSE*

Thank you, thank you. HEY! Wanna hear a Ted-Ed? NarraTED by ✨MOI✨!

"Hello there, my name is Ur Mom and I'm to speak with you today about the mind-numbing effects of paperwork. Who here has ever thought: "Man, I hate taxes. They stink like the shrunken head of a baby that was left underwater for the past ten years and in space for the past ten years before that."? Well, I have a solution for all of you sad, decrepit, forgettable losers! Ready?

Just. Don't. Do. It.

BOOM! Problems? Solved.

TedTalk over, mic drop, sayonara, goodbye, ciao.

Sorry about that, you asked for it.

(PURELY FICTIONAL!!!!)

"Jesus, Flint." I walk into our apartment to find it trashed, tables overturned, our couch flipped and pillows everywhere. "You masturbate too much."

No answer comes. I'm used to my on-and-off boyfriend ignoring me, but trashing my flat and then ignoring me is unusual, even for him.

"Flint?" I call. "You here?"

He comes out of the bedroom, scampering on all fours, eyes bloodshot, and clothes twisted and drenched in sweat. I sigh, slapping my forehead.

"We talked about this!" I hiss angrily. "You're not supposed to have drugs this late."

He stands up, panting like a dog. "I -- I- I."

I roll my eyes. "Don't try that on me. You're not getting any sympathy from this gal."

Suddenly a well-dressed man walks out of the bedroom, smoothing down his hair. I shoot a glare at Flint.

"You're cheating on me?" I look back up at the man. "With him? I thought you were straight!"

"Ma'am, nothing was going on." The man says.

Tears drench my eyes. "And YOU! Leave this loser. You wouldn't want him anyway."

I walk over and kick Flint in the side. "That was my bed!"

The man looks confused, "No, you see, I was attempting to murder your boyfriend. There's nothing for you to be worried about."

"Oh he's not my boyfriend. Not anymore!" I yank my Double-Action Only Revolver Pistol out from under my jacket, and both men flinch away.

"What the fuck, lady?!?!" The man in the tux screams.

"In fact, I'll kill him for you!" I fire off a round in his direction, screaming profanities as I do.

After they're both dead, I feel a sharp pain in my side and see that a small shard of porcelain wedged in my stomach, it must've been hit by a bullet and bounced up there. I calmly remove it and bandage it before continuing with my life.

"Okay." I laugh humorlessly, spinning back to my co-workers, jabbing my sausage-y finger at them. (The middle one). "Who the fuck took my pudding."

The people at the office look up from their cubicles at me, standing on my wheelie chair.

Angelina, the secretary looks nervous. "Do you need your meds?"

"Are you talking back to me, slave?!" I screech.

"T'was I!" Paul says from the back. I snap my gaze to him before realizing that he's just attention-grabbing again.

"Shut the fuck up Paul." I yell. "Whoever took the pudding better confess in ten seconds or you're all FIRED!"

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA

"Excuse me, sir?"

"No, time." I say, quickly, sniffing the air for missing truffles. "I'm busy."

"Sir, I am a police officer." The disjointed voice says. Jangly. That's how I would describe it.

"And what?" I ask scornfully. "Ya' eating a donut too?" I look him up and down, clicking my tongue like sonar. "Actually a donut would be nice, can I have one?"

"We don't perpetuate that stereotype at the precinct." The narc says, chompin' on a pink one with sprinkles.

I snatch it from his hand and lick it obsessively, then shove it up my ass, ready to answer more questions.

"Ew." The man says, then shakes his head. "You were speeding."

"What? You're not going to ask about the straitjacket?" I mutter.

"Um. You're not wearing a straitjacket. Should you be?"

I glance down at my hands which are frantically digging in the glovebox. "Oh. Right."

"License and registration, please." The man demands. "And we're going to need to do a drug test on you."

"What is this?" I scoff. "Canada? You can't just ask stuff like that from me. Land of the free, homeslice." I glance him up and down, pulling my sunglasses down. "You can't force me to do anything. Fourteenth Amendment, baby."

"This is Australia, mate." The officer says. "And the fourteenth amendment allows all people born or naturalized in the USA to become citizens."

"So now you're going to patronize me because I didn't go to college?"

"Sir, I need your license and registration immediately."

"Sir?" I echo. "So now you're assuming my gender?" I grip my forehead to ward off the headache. "Misogynistic much?"

"Sir?" The officer clears his throat. "Um... ma'am?"

"No, I'm male." I say. "I just didn't like that you didn't ask."

"Do I need to take you down to the station?"

"I wouldn't mind if you took me down to your station." I smile slyly.

The officer plants his palm in his forehead. "Alright, you're coming with me."

"Score!" I hold out my hands to be cuffed.

The man sighs. "Get over here."

"Please, officer. I know," I gesture to myself. "Who wouldn't want to? But you can take me home."

The officer sighs. "And where is home?"

"Whoa!" I gasp. "You're tryna take me back home?" I snicker. "Redweed asylum."

"As in insane asylum?" The man asks.

I look away, biting my lip. "That's not very nice."

"Dude, who do you like better? Paulo Dybala or Joao Felix?"

"Felix, duh."

"Really?"

"I don't know who either of those people are."

"But you saw Felix at the Euros,"

"Do you want to play Fortnite instead?"

"No, seriously. How dumb do you have to be to forget Joao miss the penalty?"

"I don't like watching you play FIFA. I want to play Fortnite."

"Just let me finish this game."

"Okay."

In my opinion, if you want to be a hero, you should (as a general rule of thumb) have a power that you can use.

My power isn't anything cool or flashy. It's quite boring, actually.

I have the power of total self-sustenance.

Yay me. I don't have to sleep. I'm living a toddler's dream. I do't need to excrete, eat or even drink.

Wow. Really strikes fear into the heart of a villain, doesn't it?

I've been practicing Martial Arts since I could walk, so I guess that's a plus. Most popped think that my power is super-reflexes, but its really not.

Against a super-villain with long-distance powers I'm helpless.

But who are we if not risk-takers.

People's whole lives are wrought with challenges and they don't quit. It's been my dream since I knew what a super-hero was and I can't just quit because I don't have the most flashy power, and I'm not the handsomest hero, and I'm not really the smartest either. I have perseverance, and I know I can do this.

Plus I can work the night shift.

"Why won't you give up?"

Not invincible, but brave.

No one can stop me.

The word limit was not full so I wrote this part.

"You're worthless, Red." Mother spits at me, "You got kicked out of another school?! Are you kidding? You throw away your future like an idiot!"

I stand in front of her, my cheeks reddening with fury, "That is not my fault! Bad luck just follows me everywhere!"

"Oh sure! Get the hell out of here. If you won't get your shit together then get out of my house, you little leech."

"You want me gone?" I ask, "I'll go to Grandma's house. At least she gives a shit about me."

I spin and turn fast so Mother can't see the tears welling in my eyes.

"The slums of Fiaba are no place for a young woman like you." I look up to see a hooded man towering above me. I try to walk around him but he blocks me, "Scared?"

"Get out of my way, old man!" I yell. Yelling helps. Nobody can hear the quiver of my voice when I am yelling.

He tugs on my red hood, "You really don't know what you're doing. Let me help you." His voice turns gentle, "I knew another little girl, many years ago who almost got killed wandering the streets alone. She was quite similar to you."

It's like a spell is cast over my brain, slowing my heartbeat and turning the fight in my limbs to dust, "Thank you." I gulp.

"But of course," He drawls.

I show him the way to grandmother's house, something is clearly wrong. The door is open. The house is cold and dark and empty.

"Grandma?" I call out, "It's me, Red."

I turn around and the hooded man is standing right in front of my face.

My blood freezes in my veins.

He's got a gun.

"Never trust strangers, sweetheart."

I squeeze my eyes shut at the same time a deafening bang claps though my ears.

A dull thump penetrates through the ringing.

I turn around to see a dead Werewolf at my feet with a bloody hole torn through him.