The following story was written by I3ubblez, so thanks! :) If you want to email her, her address is I3izkitI3ubblez@aol.com Once again, thank you! :)
~in Wes' kitchen. Heather went out with some friends for the early celebration. the cupboards are all
painted a sunny yellow and the counter is a contrasting shade of midnight blue. a beautiful portrait of
Wes's bunny Lucy hangs above the butcher block table. our lovable Wes is sitting at the breakfast
bar with a bowl of ben and jerry's coffee toffee ice cream. the scrumdiddlyumptious treat appears to
have been dished out long ago as it's begun to take on a rather more liquid form than its usual solid
form. Wes' hand has left his spoon and has become a support for his head since watching Dick Clark
all night has bored the schizznattz out of him. he's beginning to hear the phrase "we'll be right back
America and we're __ much closer to the next millenium" overlap in his head and he's wondering if
maybe... he took too many... no no, wait... nevermind. he shakes his head and disgustedly flips off
the tv. ah no, flips it back on. our hero becomes involved in his own battle of turning the tv off and on
until finally the phone rings and it scares him so badly he hits his head on the railing above the
breakfast bar.~
WES: ~picking up the cordless phone at his elbow and rubbing his head~Hail-low?
~it's Fred Durst. oh boy Wes just about jumps for joy... yeah maybe next millenium.~
FRED: Fuck man, I'm so sick of listenin to this Dick Clark bullshit. What the fuck is that shit
anyway? Damn I mean what they really oughtta do is just nail us by the fuckin ears to a damn
telephone pole and make us watch the damn Backstreet Boys fight the *NSYNC fags. This is
sickening, all this "this is your millenium, America" bullshit and this "let's all ring it in for Y2K,
America" sissy shit. Are you watchin this shit Wes?
WES: ~wincing and wondering if he'll ever get his eardrum back again~ Yay-us. I turned it off
though... and then on and... well I turned it off. You know Fred you can just turn it off if you don't
want to watch it.
FRED: Yeah no shit. What are you doin anyway man? I thought you were goin to Heather's parents'
house?
WES: ~presses his lips together, remembering the little fib that he'd told Fred so that he would not
have to attend another of his raunchy stripperfest new year's eve shindigs~ Way-ull... it was
cancelled. Last minute you know.
FRED: Uh huh well why don't you and Heather come on over and we'll pound back a few ol hits on
the nasty side of drunken street before this "millennium" thing happens.
WES: Okay okay. Well it'll just be me. Heather's out with some o' her lil friends pretendin to have
fun.
FRED: Cool, that's the shit man.
WES: Yayuh, later. ~he hangs up the cordless and makes a face at it in his hand. he doesn't truly
want to go to Fred's place. Fred is a neat freak and does not like it when he gets into battles with the
pillows on his couch. Fred also doesn't like it when he tries to see how much of his gourmet popcorn
he can pop in his handheld popping gadget. he is not any fun at all. but he also did not want to sit in
his kitchen watchin Dick Clark all night either. and Fred had lots of booze for sure. wes went to his
little closet and took out his black shoes and put them on. he put on his little leather jacket and took
his little keys and locked the door after kissing his bunny goodbye. then he cruised over to Fred's in
his little Toyota and got obsessed with the word little on the way. he muttered little about everything
in his own little way. until he got to Fred's little house. then he pulled into the little driveway and
promptly upset the little lawn ornament that Fred kept there.~Damn it! ~he grinned evilly and ran up
the walkway, getting ready to fly into the door with his shoulder and scare the shit out of the
unsuspecting Durst. but instead, as he got to the door Fred was opening it to let somebody out and
Wes took a tumble right into Durst's entryway.~
FRED: Wes! What the fuck are you tryin to do?
WES: ~shakin the cobwebs out of his head~ Ah... well ah was tryin to scare the livin shit outta you
Fred but dangit you ruined it.
FRED: Oh well thanks a lot. ~waves to the person leaving~
WES: ~curiously nudging Fred outta the way~ Who's that?
FRED: Don't worry about it dude. Hey you wanna cold one? ~ushers Wes into his lush living room
where his coffee table has become quite a barfull~
WES: Ya gotta Corona? ~plops down on the couch. deciding it was much too fun to do only once,
he stands and does it again. and again. and aga--~
FRED: WES! Yeah I've gotta Corona. ~pops open a mini fridge and surfs out a Corona gold for
Wes. he pops the top and hands it to him.~
WES: ~takes a swig and sits down again, wondering if he was going to get yelled at by Fred this
time~ No strippers?
FRED: ~snickering~ They all left early. Afraid of the Y2K thing.
WES: ~looking around for a clock~ Isn't it almost midnight?
FRED: It's damn near.
WES: Okay. We should count down. You know, 10, 9, 8... ~makes a violent gesturing with his
hands, causing a bottle of vodka to topple onto the marble tiled floor~ Whoops.
FRED: Shit! ~grabs a towel, handy under the coffeetable, and mops it up quickly~ Shit Wes, watch
out!
WES: ~watching him, not enjoying himself~ I'm just going to go home Fred. I gotta see if Heather's
home yet anyway.
FRED: ~disappearing into another room and calling out to him~ Okay okay fine fine. Damn it Wes,
you really need to watch what you're...
~Fred's words are lost on Wes as he's making his way to his toyota again. he ventures back home
and flips on the light in his little geetar room. it is 11:59. he gets very excited and, jumping on his little
couch he knocks over three piles of duct tape. he gives a hearty "woo la la" when the clock flips over
to 12:00. abruptly, the lights go out and there is no sound of the previously buzzing clock. he falls
over several piles of more duct tape until he finds his matches and his candle and lights it. stupid
candle, it won't light. he tries to light it seventy five times before he wonders what time it must be. he
wanders out into the house and makes his way to the kitchen. realizing the power went out and that
the fridge went out with it, he made a deal with himself to eat every single thing that could go bad in
the fridge. so he cleaned out the fridge and made sure to eat everything, especially the coffee toffee.
and the caramel apples. and the fudge. it was scrumdiddlyumptious. until hours afterward when he
felt his stomach yell at him. he was lying on the kitchen floor amidst many containers that were once
aplenty with his favorite sugary concoctions. suddenly the lights went on and the phone came to life
with a jump enducing ring. he jumped up and grabbed it~ Hail-low?
~it's FRED: What the fuck was that Wes did you see that? All the lights fucken went off and shit and
that was the fucking shit man did you see that?
WES: ~stompin his foot, ready to pound Fred for scarin him so much with the dang phone~ Yay-us.
I did.
FRED: This is the shittiest New Year--
WES: ~cutting him off~ Well mine was just superlicious!!! ~satisfied, he hangs up the cordless and
greets his bunny with a hello kiss on the bunny nose. then he flips on the tv to watch the rest of the
Dick Clark thing on the tv. then he flips the tv off again... and on... and... well, you get the picture.~
