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Ganondorf's Diary Part 1Link is mean.
Like the meanest meanie.
It makes my soul,
Like if a Goron
Sat on my
He always wins.
It makes me want
But then he would win.
Link always gets the girl.
It's not fair.
Princess Zelda has no idea,
What goes on
At Lon Lon Ranch.
Is not involved.
As I know.
And Princess Zelda
Still doesn't like me,
Even though I am
My soul cry.
But not even
Tears of Light
Can clear away the twilight
On my heart.
The pain on my soul
Like a Sharpie
That scribbled blackness
On my Soul.
Link made fun of me today
But this time
He called me
And insulted me
For my Gingerhood.
And said I didn't
But I d0 have a soul.
And now I have soul-pain.
Because of Link.
And his words.
Today I saw another
Her name was
But Link is already
Vegeta and Goku on Facebook 3At that moment Goku swore to himself, he would conquer this "Facebook", whatever it was, and show Vegeta who was the most powerful Saiyan, once and for all!!!!!
Then he got hungry.
Vegeta composed himself after his moment of evil, noticing that Kakarot had abandoned his rage and was now rummaging through the cupboards. He returned to Gohan's computer and smirked as he saw Kakarot's bustier photo had appeared on the page. His eyes flicked to the right of the screen, and his heart almost stopped.
"Kakarot!" he shrieked. He paused for a moment, then corrected himself. "Kakarot!" he yelled, in a deep voice.
Goku whirled around from the cupboard, crumbs now embedded in the lace of his bustier and all over his face. "What is it, Vegeta?"
"Look!" Vegeta said, turning Gohan's laptop so Goku could see the screen. "There is an event coming up it is called Kill the Z Fighters and Destroy the World!"
Vegeta clicked on the event. "102 in attendance!!??" He glanced over the list of atten
Vegeta and Goku on Facebook 2Goku gasped wildly for a moment, before realizing he had no idea what Facebook was.
Vegeta glared as Goku's face transitioned from fear to ignorance.
"Do you not see the problem, Kakarot!?" Vegeta shouted.
"What's a Facebook?" Goku asked blankly.
"You fool, what century do you live in?" Vegeta demanded. "Even Piccolo has one!"
Vegeta dragged Goku by the straps of his bustier over to the computer on the table, no doubt belonging to Gohan, before going to his profile page.
"Curses!" he shouted as he looked at his news feed. He saw that Piccolo had uploaded and tagged Vegeta in a photo of him in the pink shirt that Bulma so often forced him to wear. Piccolo had threatened he would do this if Vegeta poked him again.
"Curse the Nameks and their sneaky iPhone photography," Vegeta grumbled.
Goku giggled inanely as he looked at the ridiculous photo. Vegeta scowled at him.
"Perhaps you think this is funny, Kakarot? Well soon I shall have the last laugh. Take this!!!!" Vegeta whipped out his bla
Vegeta and Goku on Facebook"Kakarot!" Vegeta shouted, pounding on the door of Goku and Chi-chi's house.
Stupid Kakarot, Vegeta thought, doesn't he know Saiyans are supposed to be punctual?
"Vegeta!" Goku said happily as he answered the door.
"Is that a... bustier?" Vegeta asked suspiciously, surveying Goku's outfit.
Goku looked down at his lingerie. "Chi-chi said she got it just for me!" He poked at the empty padded cups that rested over his chest. "I don't think she got the right size though."
"You fool, those undergarments are for women!" Vegeta exclaimed before pushing his way into the house. "You're a Saiyan, not a Victoria's Secret model!"
"What's a Victoria's Secret?" Goku asked, confused.
"Hush, Kakarot. I don't have time for your stupid games." Vegeta said seriously. "We have a problem."
Goku's eyes widened. "What is it, Vegeta??"
Vegeta took a deep breath before beginning. "Majin Buu friended me on Facebook."
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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