OK, the usual disclaimer, I do not own Johnny The Homicidal Maniac, nor do
I own Squee, nor Invader ZIM and Gir. yada yada yada. If you like, I can
write others, as I am a very big Vasquez fan. This is a crossover.
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As usual, the screams coming from the scary neighbor man's house kept young Squee up most of the night, but he did not care as much anymore. He was more afraid of going to sleep after watching "A Nightmare On Elm Street." Squee's Dreams usually were odd, sick, twisted, and demented to say the very least, but now he just downright feared for his life. He went downstairs to get a glass of milk, and brought his beloved teddy bear, Shmee.
"Mommy, can I have a glass of milk?" he said to the lifeless form on the couch.
"NNNUUNNGGGHHH! Who are you, get out of my living room!"
"Mommy, it's your son, Todd. Shmee and I need a glass o-" he was cut off by the sounds of horrible doom retching. So, he decided to ask his father.
"No, Shmee, mommy isn't going to die. Daddy says that's just her way of coping with stress. Now why is that a bad thing? They do love me, Shmee, I know they do. No, Shmee, disemboweling them will not get you a glass of milk. Ha ha, you and your crazy jokes."
He went into the study where his father dwelled, but could see that his daddy was busy writing. Still, he needed a glass of milk, and could not reach up to the top of the fridge unless he had the chair, and the chair, as Shmee has told him several times, hates him.
"Daddy, can you get me a glass of milk?"
"Not now son. I'm wallowing in my own self pity. Go ask your mother."
"But, daddy, she's coping."
"You ruined my life." And with that, he drank a shot of Vodka and passed out at the computer.
"Well, I guess I'll have to use the chair. What? Well, maybe this time the chair won't fall over and try to kill me, Shmee." He pulled the rickety chair of death into position, and proceeded to scale it. At the summit, Shmee started to slip, and began falling. Squee caught him, but in turn started to plummet, until...
BONK!
But, it was not a bad bonk. It was an even worse bonk. Squee looked up at his criminal saviour, his next door neighbor (I rhyme!), Johnny C., also known as NNY, The Homicidal Maniac.
"You better be more careful next time, Squee, you wouldn't want to fall to your untimely, gruesome, horrible, bloody, gut-wrenching death. Hi Shmee!"
"I guess you're right, but all I wanted was some milk."
"Milk? Well, if that's your thing." Johnny fixed him a glass of Milk, then helped himself to some orange juice. "So, having nightmares still?
"I haven't been sleeping much. Too much noise."
"Oh, sorry, I guess that's my fault. This girl was walking past me. She had on these nerdy type glasses and braces. I figured she was a tortured, alone misfit like myself, so I smiled. She then proceeded to mock me, so I followed the Emo to a dark alley, and brought her to my house to 'play,' and I won!"
Squee shifted in his seat uncomfortably. All of a sudden, a loud rush of noise filled the room, and a glowing light emenated from next door.
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As usual, the screams coming from the scary neighbor man's house kept young Squee up most of the night, but he did not care as much anymore. He was more afraid of going to sleep after watching "A Nightmare On Elm Street." Squee's Dreams usually were odd, sick, twisted, and demented to say the very least, but now he just downright feared for his life. He went downstairs to get a glass of milk, and brought his beloved teddy bear, Shmee.
"Mommy, can I have a glass of milk?" he said to the lifeless form on the couch.
"NNNUUNNGGGHHH! Who are you, get out of my living room!"
"Mommy, it's your son, Todd. Shmee and I need a glass o-" he was cut off by the sounds of horrible doom retching. So, he decided to ask his father.
"No, Shmee, mommy isn't going to die. Daddy says that's just her way of coping with stress. Now why is that a bad thing? They do love me, Shmee, I know they do. No, Shmee, disemboweling them will not get you a glass of milk. Ha ha, you and your crazy jokes."
He went into the study where his father dwelled, but could see that his daddy was busy writing. Still, he needed a glass of milk, and could not reach up to the top of the fridge unless he had the chair, and the chair, as Shmee has told him several times, hates him.
"Daddy, can you get me a glass of milk?"
"Not now son. I'm wallowing in my own self pity. Go ask your mother."
"But, daddy, she's coping."
"You ruined my life." And with that, he drank a shot of Vodka and passed out at the computer.
"Well, I guess I'll have to use the chair. What? Well, maybe this time the chair won't fall over and try to kill me, Shmee." He pulled the rickety chair of death into position, and proceeded to scale it. At the summit, Shmee started to slip, and began falling. Squee caught him, but in turn started to plummet, until...
BONK!
But, it was not a bad bonk. It was an even worse bonk. Squee looked up at his criminal saviour, his next door neighbor (I rhyme!), Johnny C., also known as NNY, The Homicidal Maniac.
"You better be more careful next time, Squee, you wouldn't want to fall to your untimely, gruesome, horrible, bloody, gut-wrenching death. Hi Shmee!"
"I guess you're right, but all I wanted was some milk."
"Milk? Well, if that's your thing." Johnny fixed him a glass of Milk, then helped himself to some orange juice. "So, having nightmares still?
"I haven't been sleeping much. Too much noise."
"Oh, sorry, I guess that's my fault. This girl was walking past me. She had on these nerdy type glasses and braces. I figured she was a tortured, alone misfit like myself, so I smiled. She then proceeded to mock me, so I followed the Emo to a dark alley, and brought her to my house to 'play,' and I won!"
Squee shifted in his seat uncomfortably. All of a sudden, a loud rush of noise filled the room, and a glowing light emenated from next door.