"I think I'm pregnant."

Alvin blinked exactly three times before dragging his eyes from the television. He stared at his company slouched beside him, rolling his gaze off the pale face, the lanky shoulders, down the WHERE'S THE BEEF t-shirt, over the faded jeans, and came to a stop at the red converses. The munk then retraced his steps to blink up at the worried brown eyes.

Once more, Alvin blinked.

Toby made a miserable sound. "You think so too, don't you?"

Alvin snorted. "No offense to that individuality of yours, Tobester..." He eyed the human's clothes. "But even if that was possible, you may have just a little trouble finding a girl that would, ah-" He squinted at the overly bold, overly bright scrawl across Toby's narrow chest. "Locate your beef."

Toby glared and shifted on the couch, shuffling across the couch uncomfortably. "...your face is hard to locate..."

Alvin stared at his cousin a moment longer before turning his gaze up to the ceiling. "Why are you breathing my air?" he wondered, shaking his head miserably.

Toby made another face, strangely reminding Alvin of a puffer fish tasting lemons for the first time.

The pair surfed through infomercials for another few minutes. When Alvin paused on an advertisement of an intimidating blender, Toby cut the exuberant host off by blurting, "But seriously. I think somethings up."

"With what?" Alvin asked, his tone laced with clear annoyance. "Your beefy fetus?"

Now it was Toby's turn to roll his eyes. "If male seahorses can find away to birth over like, four hundred babies out of their belly buttons-and I'll say it again...BELLY BUTTONS-then I'm pretty sure dudes can find a way to have just one kid."

"Whatever, bro," Alvin sighed, meshing his clawed toe against the remote to switch over to the jewelry channel. "Brittany probably just put some laxatives in those brownies last night," he added lightly, biting back a smirk as Toby's eyes went perfectly round. "I'm sure you'll be fine," he added quickly. "Unless you ate over... like... a bite or two."

Toby turned an interesting shade of green. Alvin let his smirk come out to play. "But anyways," he grinned. "What's up?"

The elder's color faded back slightly at the change of topic. He even cracked a lop-sided smile. "Well apparently," he drawled. "Our author lady has made it big time."

At that, Alvin let out a shameless laugh. "Yeah, right! And I'm a singing chipmunk. Get real."

"No, really!" Toby insisted, nodding furiously. "I.. wait, what?"

Alvin acted as if he were explaining the most obvious thing in the world. "You honestly believe our author has brought in the big bucks by writing a rule book on how to live with singing rodents? Doubt it!"

Toby made a noise of frustration. "Okay, maybe she hasn't made it big time yet, BUT she was nominated for an award!"

Now the munk's ears perked up in slight interest. "You mean like an actual award?"

"Well... y... no."

"Thought so." Alvin replied smugly.

"But she was nominated for something! Admit it, it's awesome! And she will win, if she get's votes!"

"So she hasn't even won the award that's not an actual award-?"

"Just listen!" Toby snapped. "The only way she can win this thing is by getting the most votes!" Toby leaned in too close for Alvin's comfort. "And if she wins, do you know what that could mean for us?" he exclaimed in a frantic whisper.

Alvin raised his eyeridges. "Uh, nothing?"

Toby stared and thought for a moment, then back off with a shrug. "Well, okay, maybe that's true, but it'll make our author happy."

The munk have a long, drawn out sigh. "I dunno," he said thoughtfully. "It seems like a lot of effort to vote for someone if I'm not getting anything in return."

Toby shrugged. "Even if she does win, she'll still be grateful that she was even nominated for something like this."

Alvin made a face. "Well... I guess when you put it like that..."

Toby hid a grin.

"What do they have to do? Is is easy?"

The human snorted. "Dude, I could do it on like, an Expert Level of Left 4 Dead up against a horde of boomer zombies with nothing but a frying pan and a shot of adrenaline."

"...so it's easy then?"

"Duh."

Alvin tilted his head. "What are these guys even voting for?"

Toby reached into his back pocket and unfolded a piece of crumbled paper. "Here, read this. It's from the author." He blushed slightly. "Or, try to read it. It got washed about seven times, so..."

"Of course," Alvin sighed, spreading his arms wide to hold the sides of the paper. He narrowed his eyes at the words and attempted to read.

Guidelines to Chipmunks and Chipettes has been nominated for best Humor Fic! If you feel like this story deserves the win and you have no idea how to go about voting for this insane piece of literature, then don't trip. Just go to my profile and click on the link I have all ready for you. Just put your vote in as a review and vote the Guidelines as best Humor Fic! Voting ends on April 15, 2012. Only three anonymous votes are counted per nominee, so please take the five seconds it takes to log into your account and vote that way. Even if I don't win, I'll be grateful for being nominated and getting any votes. I can't thank you guys enough just for reading my stories, little on reviewing them and voting for them in a way like this. So, if you think this story deserves it, go to my profile and click that link! You know you wanna! ;D