A/N: Broadcasting live from my living room at 1:12am. Now its 1:14am. I have to talk faster. 1:15. GODDAMN. Okay. So I'm gonna actually pay attention to this author's note for five seconds. And not pretend a minute just changed. I'm listening to MuggleCast. Is anyone else as much of a dork as I am? I listen to Harry Potter podcasts. And I'm talking to ProngsLovesRent. Who told me to post this. I wasn't gonna, it was just something I wrote for someone, which I'll talk more about at the end. So yeah, I wrote this in an hour without any access to anything Blues Clues related. Not my fault. They took it off OnDemand. Okay. On with the fic.

Disclamer: Rent belongs to Jonathan and Blue's Clues belongs to...Traci Paige Johnson, Todd Kessler, and Angela Santomero. That's right. I look up the creators of Blue's Clues JUST FOR YOU. And so I don't get sued.

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My life has been thoroughly uninteresting for the past...

Who the fuck am I kidding? I was born uninteresting and its always been that way. I have no life. All I do is sit and...sleep. And play guitar. I occasionally bother Mark. And fuck Mimi. Not to sound un-classy or anything. I like to spend some time with my bestest Collins friend too. Joanne and Angel are always fun to talk to. Maureen bothers the piss out of me (like literally, I have to pee when I see her) so I try to spend as less time with her as possible. So, I guess I have a lot to do. It's just the matter of: do I want to do it? I mean, I could actually try and work on a song. I could try and pull my old band back together. I could try not to have the urge to watch Maureen and Joanne do it. Which really has nothing to do with anything, but HOW THE FUCK DO LESBIANS HAVE SEX? But I won't get into that.

I just need something to fall out of the sky for me. Like...something for me to do. For just a day. Could someone GIVE ME A SIGN?! Jesus Christ, I sound like a stupid kid's show.

"ROGER!" shrieks Mark, sprinting into my bedroom.

Oh my god. Did he just come into my room? I think he just came into my room! Since when is he allowed to that? Is he suddenly allowed to do that? Didn't we make rules a really long time ago about this sort of thing? I swear, if he wants me to dress up as his girlfriend for his mother again...

But I won't get into that.

"Mark." I say as calmly as possible, putting my guitar down. I'm gonna try and be nice to the little shit, he probably forgot. "What did I say about running into my room without using the secret code knock that only a select few know? I am appalled that you would ever--"

"PHOEBE'S GONE!" Mark flails his arms wildly, his eyes wide and bulging behind his glasses.

What the fuck is Phoebe? "What the fuck is Phoebe? Is she like, your imaginary friend or something? Because you know, she is invisible..." I decide to humor him and I point to a random corner of the bedroom. "Look Mark, there she is! Oh, we found her! Phoebe, it's so nice to see you again! I told you we'd get Mark with that game of hide and seek...what? Oh, I know I'm brilliant." I don't know if she's nice, but who wouldn't be nice to me? I'm Roger Fucking Davis. Bitch.

"Roger, you stupid motherfucker, Phoebe ISN'T my imaginary friend! She's my fucking camera!"

Oh. Well then. I just talked to the fucking corner for nothing? I swear, if I'm being Punk'd or something and Ashton Kutcher jumps out of my closet going "WE GOT YOU TALKING TO THE WALL!" or some shit, I'm knocking the bastard out, then I'm killing Mark. "You named your camera?" Is really the only thing I can say. This twenty six year old man named his camera. An imaginary friend would have been less pathetic. Okay, not really, but at least you can't see it.

"THIS IS SERIOUS!" He's pretty hysterical at this point. If he had asthma, he'd be breathing into a bag. Can you picture it? "YOU NEED TO HELP ME FIND IT!" He grabs my arm and drags me out of my room.

I rip out of his grasp and back up from Rabid Mark. "Oh, are you kidding me? I'm not helping you look for your stupidass c--" I just had a stroke of brilliance. Holy shit. I'm a fucking genius. "Actually. I'll help you."

"You will?" Mark sighs in relief.

"Yeah." I nod. I look down. I'm wearing...plaid pants and a green sweatshirt. Close enough. I look at Mark seriously. "Okay, to play Roger's Clues we gotta find a..." Mark should know what to say here. He fucking lives with me.

"PAWPRINT!" screams Maureen, jumping out of the bathroom. I don't even know where the fuck she came from but she just gave me a fucking heart attack...but she's helping me.

"Right!" I praise her awkwardly. "'Cause that's the first..."

"CLUE!"

"A clue?" I ask, playing dumb. Mark's staring at us like we're insane, but this is gonna help. I would promise him, but I'm busy.

"A CLUE!" Maureen says excitedly.

"Yeah! And we put it in our..." Where does one find a notebook in this place?

Maureen searches around and runs over and grabs a book off the coffee table. "MARK'S DIARY!"

"HEY!" Mark says, reaching toward it. But I push him down in the chair. Doesn't he wanna find his camera? This is part of the process. And plus I've already read everything he's ever written in that godforsaken diary. Mark's even more boring then I am, for the record.

"'Cause they're Roger's Clues, Roger's Clues!" I sing, grabbing the diary from Maureen and digging around in my pocket for a pen. "We gotta find another paw print, that's the second clue. We put it in our Mark's Diary, 'cause they're whose clues? Roger's Clues!" I think I'm having to much fun with this then a grown man should, but hey, Mark asked me to help him and if he doesn't like my ways, then screw him, I'll just go help Collins find his...marijuana or something, I don't know.

"We gotta find the last paw print, that's the last clue. We put it in our Mark's Diary, 'cause they're whose clues? Roger's Clues. You know what to do!" I say, and Maureen nods seriously. "Sit down in our thinking chair and think..." I go over to my favoritest chair and sit. "Think...thiiiiiink." I hop up and walk over to Mark. He looks incredibly weirded out, but what else is new? "Cause when we use our minds and take a step at a time, we can do any thing, that we wanna do!" I finish with some fabulous jazz hands and pull Mark up off the couch.

"Okay Marky. We're gonna play Roger's Clues. Come with me." I start walking, then turn around and point to Maureen. "You too. You're my audience." She claps excitedly and prances over. Mark turns a little red. Sigh. We all know he's still into her. Blah blah blah, who even cares anymore? That's old news. But I won't get into that.

"Lalala. I'm oblivious to the world around meeeee..." I sing quietly, walking into the kitchen with Mark and Maureen following me. We must look like a train or something. Whatever. We're playing Roger's Clues, why not look like a train?

"A CLUE!" Maureen shouts in her shrill, shrill voice. She points at the hotplate. Sure, let's roll with it.

"I don't see any clues." Mark says flatly.

"Tough." I say back. "A shoe? Yes Maureen, I DO own shoes!" I say, turning to Maureen.

She sighs deeply, ever the diva, and puts her hands on her hips. "No! A CLUE!"

"Oh a clue? You found a clue? Where?" God, I must look like I'm blind. Oh wait, there's no clue. So I must just look insane. Which is perfectly okay.

"On the hotplate!" Maureen giggles.

I gasp in mock-excitement and jump on Mark. "This hotplate is our first clue!" I get off Mark and reach into my pocket. "You know what we need? Our handy dandy..."

"MARK'S DIARY!" Maureen supplies.

"Exactly!" I quickly open to a random page and draw a demented square thing with things that are supposed to look like heat waves but look more like my grandma's wrinkles on the paper. Okay, so that is so not the hotplate, but who gives a crap? This is my game!

"So. Where could Mark have left his camera that has something to do with a hotplate?" Maureen opens her mouth to answer, but I cut her off. "You know, I think we need to find more clues." Mo pouts angrily, but again, MY GAME.

Mimi suddenly walks in. "Hey guys, I wanted to know if I could borrow--"

"Oh look! It's Mimi!" I say jubilantly. "Mimi, Mark lost his camera! Can you help us find it?"

She shrugs. "Sure."

Mark slaps his hand against his abnormally large head. I put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's okay Marky, we'll find Lily soon."

"IT'S PHOEBE!"

"That's AWESOME. Let's move on." I grab Mimi's hand, kiss her quickly, and lead her onto the "train". "OH! THE MAIL'S HERE!" I do a quick little dance. Mostly because I can't remember the words to my mail song, but otherwise because Mark's being ungrateful and doesn't deserve to have me sing to him. "That was fun, wasn't it?"

Maureen and Mimi murmur in agreement, but Mark shakes his head. "Look man, I can find my camera on my own, you should just--"

"A CLUE, A CLUE!" Mimi boasts, pointing at a random thing. Scarfy. Mark's Scarfy. Kay. That works.

"Bless you." I say kindly.

"No! A CLUE!" Maureen repeats.

"A clue! DIARY TIME!" I quickly scribble down what looks more like a snake then a scarf and pocket the diary again.

"Hmm. Now what was our first clue?" I ask Mark. Even though I just found it like five seconds ago. Shhh.

He mumbles something unintelligible (even though it so is intelligible) and I proceed to bust his balls. "Huh?"

"THE HOTPLATE, YOU BASTARD."

"Right! What do hot plates and scarves have to do with each other?" I ask. Mimi opens her mouth to answer, but I cut her off. "WE'LL JUST HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL WE FIND THE NEXT CLUE!"

I scurry with my train into Mark's room. He halfheartedly protests, but this is payback for coming into my room. He gasps and says my name, but I will have no more of his bitching so I silence him. "Now. We only need one more clue. Let's look."

"A CLUE, A CLUE!" Maureen and Mimi scream together.

"You like the color blue? I prefer plaid." I say.

"No! A CLUE!"

"A CLUE!" I look at what they're pointing at. Mark. Sure. I sketch a huge head and a tiny body and draw some glasses on and WALAH! It's Markariffic.

Mark opens his mouth to protest, but I hurry my little team into the living room again and sit down in my chair. "So. I have a hotplate, Scarfy, and Mark." I think. How is that even possible? "Mark, your camera could not be found, I'm very sorry. Goodbye friends! It was so nice playing--"

The albino pumpkin head walks quickly out of the room while we sing the goodbye song to each other. Mark enters when we're done carrying his...camera. That fucker.

"It was on my bed, you asshole." He snorts and walks out of the loft, being sure to grab his diary and scarf first.

The three of us just stand there for another minute before Maureen shrugs and walks into the kitchen saying something about coffee, and Mimi walks into my room saying something about sex.

Ah. Another Roger's Clues mission completed. No animals were harmed in the making of this--

Did she say sex?

--

A/N: Hahaha, I was on a time schedule! I know it sucked. I had Spring Awakening to pull me through. I was only three minutes late of my deadline. 12:03 exactly I signed back on to AIM and Prongs was like "Eh, you aren't that late." So. I wanna say: This is for a person I care about very much that I haven't talked to in like a week due to a stupid fight that's all my fault. And thanks to ProngsLovesRent's guilt trip, I gave myself a deadline, got off AIM, and wrote this. I hope it isn't too horrible? And by the way, the whole "Punk'd" sentence provoked an hour long, hilarious, book-worthy conversation with Prongs. So I guess I did something right. Oh, and thank you RemusLovesRent for having that phone conversation with me where we talked about Roger playing Roger's Clues.

Review please. I haven't a new email all day.

Both author's notes finished at: 1:34am. I can't multi-task.