A Galvean White Day

Whee! Today is... not 14th of March! Because that was yesterday! Nyahahaha!

And you know what that means? It's been exactly a month since Galvean Valentine (15th of February), which means today is.....

GALVEAN WHITE DAY! Whoa, how unexpectedly unexpected! Who would have guessed from the title, huh?

Will there be an actual love story this time? Will the main characters remain inexplicably nameless? Will there be random crazy rapping eskimo ninjas?! HELL YEAH!

~Prologue~

Once upon a time, Galvea wrote a maybe sort-of Valentine crackfic thingy on the 15th of February. This made a lot of people very upset because a) she had gotten the date wrong, b) there wasn't any fluffy waffy romance in it, c) the story made as much sense as a rabbit with a waffle on its head and d) they were convinced Galvea was hoarding crack and not sharing, which was, liek, sooooo selfiish mmmmkay.

Galvea is very pleased and promises that the sequel will follow the time-honoured tradition of being incredibly insipid, inane, and generally just a lot worse than the original.

I'm STILL Gonna Beat the Shit out of You
~A Galvean Sequel~

"What daaaaaaaay is todaaaaaaaay?" sang the Male Lead(TM) while twirling his fork and spoon about like a retarded conductor from hell.

She didn't bother looking up from the horoscope section of her newspaper. "If you don't shut up it'll be your funeral."

"But it's Whiiiiiiiiiiiiite Daaaaaaaaaay!" he whined as he brought his fork and spoon down upon the table with a loud clatter. "White day!" -thump- "White day!" -thump- "White--" -thump- "--DAY!"

The gene pool needs a lifeguard, thought the heroine sullenly as she resisted the urge to stab the moron repeatedly with a butter knife. She tried to focus on her horoscope for the day instead, which, to her suprise, consisted of only one sentence:

"GALVEA HAS PLANS FOR YOU."

She frowned and squinted. There seemed to be a post-script after it, written in ridiculously itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny font.

"P.S. Haha, made you look! Stu-pid!"

She snapped the newspaper shut, ripped it to shreds and stomped on it.

"Muh mwong?" said the Male Lead(TM) in between mouthfuls of bacon and egg.

"Don't talk while you're eati-- WHY ARE YOU EATING MY BREAKFAST?!" she yelled.

He blinked, and carefully swallowed his mouthful. "Because... I'm hungry?"

She was just about to bash him over the head with the breakfast table when the doorbell rang, which was quite the surprise since it had been repeatedly stated in the original that everyone else had, y'know, spontaneously combusted and all. Why she even bothered to have a doorbell installed in the first place was a question she couldn't answer. Either she had been extremely unsober when designing the castle or the aliens did it. Maybe both -- she had vague memories of blue-skinned afro'd aliens arriving at her doorstep with cases of beer.

The doorbell rang again. And again. And again and again and again. And again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and aga--

"STOP THAT!!" She yelled as she flung the door open, effectively crushing one of her visitors flat against the wall. How unfortunate.

There, on the porch of her marvelous interdimensional-time-warping-logic-defying chocolate castle, stood 4 eskimo ninjas. Technically, there was one more behind the door, but she very much doubt he was still fine and dandy and decided that it was only logical not to count him in.

One of the eskimo ninjas stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Are you the heroine of this story?"

She folded her arms and appraised him with a critical eye. He wore shades -- no, all of them wore shades. The ultra uber super cool kind that might self-destruct at any moment. "Will I regret answering that question?"

He ignored her. "We have come," he said in all seriousness, "to rap."

The 4 eskimo ninjas spread out around her. The right arm peeking out from behind the door waved in a sprightly manner and took control of a turntable that had mysteriously appeared out of some absolutely logical place.

"I say a hip hop, the hippie, the hippie to the hip hip hop, a you don't stop the rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat!"

The only double-X chromosome being in this god forsaken story stared agape at the eskimo ninjas rapping, breakdancing and generally just creating a huge racket on her porch. Ignoring the incredibly disturbing disembodied hand thingy controlling the turntables, she concentrated instead on preventing her sanity from packing up and moving to Alaska.

The Male Lead(TM) sauntered up behind her, chewing on the last of her breakfast. "Are those... eskimo ninjas?"

"Yes, I should think so."

"Why are they dancing on your front porch?"

"I, uh, I'm not quite sure about that."

There was a brief pause.

"...What does this have to do with White Day?"

She clutched her head as the beginnings of a migraine pranced it's way from the turntables into her head, thus occupying the space her sanity had just put up for rent. "What does this have to do with ANYTHING?"

"We have finished," the eskimo ninja leader said in all seriousness, "our rap." The hand behind the door gave a thumbs up and fell limp.

"We will now," he continued in all seriousness, "magically disappear in a puff of logic."

And they did. Hands, turntables, shades and all. Unfortunately, the special effects department was rather lacking in funds, and thus could not come up with the huge explosions, great balls of fire and Dolby Surround Sound to go with the scene. Instead, badly disguised set ninjas ran about throwing Invisibility Cloaks over all the stuff that had to be gone.

"...This is hands down the most pointless White Day crackfic ever."

"I agree."

"I didn't even do anything this time around!"

"Oh. Well shucks to you then. I got to eat breakfast."

"My breakfast, you mean. First you eat my castle, then you eat my breakfast. I'm starting to see a trend here."

There was an awkward moment as the heroine chewed on her bottom lip, glaring and seething at no one in particular. In one of his incredibly rare moments of Good Thinking, the Male Lead(TM) wisely deduced this was A Potentially Bad Moment and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. It only made him conspicuously inconspicuous, of course, but let's just give the poor boy some credit here.

"You know, you're actually not a bad person." She paused. "Just really stupid. And moronic. And completely unreliable. Which makes you a really, frickin' annoying guy."

He wasn't sure where this was going, but it didn't look good.

"Plus," she narrowed her eyes, "you seem to have some sort of innate talent at making life ridiculously difficult for me."

Uh-oh, he thought.

And that was how our heroine beat the living daylights out of our Male Lead(TM). Again. Needless to say, Logic is still hanging out with hot babes and sipping cocktail on the sparkling beaches of Hawaii, which probably explains the complete lack of sense in this sorry excuse of a sequel.

~THE END~

Wooo. Still no sign of any fluffy waffy romance on the horizon. But I did promise you random crazy rapping eskimo ninjas, and well, you got 'em. Be grateful, you ingrate.

Advice for writers:

It is generally not a good idea to come up with a story at 2am in the morning. It is also not a good idea to write when you're hungry -- you won't believe the crap you can come up with. I should know. I just wrote a few pages worth of it. You should know too, since you must've read all of it if you're reading this right now.

Remember kids -- unless someone eats your chocolate castle and steals your breakfast, violence is NEVER the answer!

How to Challenge Fate

Sick of life throwing lemons at you? Tired of having to make lemon juice out of the damn lemons? Then you've come to the riiiiiiiight place! Because, c'mon, who drinks lemon juice anyway?!

How to Challenge Fate
~A Galveanstyle Exclusive~

1. The first thing you should do upon waking up is to fling open your bedroom window* and shout "TO HELL WITH YOU, FATE!!!" while shaking your fist at the world. Should it start to feel repetitive, exercise your creativity -- any variations involving the word "screw", "damn" and other such lovely four letter words are very much encouraged. Be sure to shout, yell and holler; being civil with Fate will not do at all. RAGE AGAINST FATE!!! RAWR!!!

*If you do not have a bedroom window, it is a sign that somewhere out there, Fate is having fun taking the mickey out of you while sipping champagne in a massage parlour. Run, don't walk, to the nearest available chainsaw and CREATE A BEDROOM WINDOW RIGHT NOW. Nevermind that your bedroom is right smack in the middle of the house and a window would mean having a view of the shared bathroom -- EVERYONE likes a big gaping hole in the wall!

2. If, upon looking into the mirror, you see Medusa looking right back at you, DO NOT PANIC! It's probably just yourself*. Don't waste any time trying to figure out how you've just turned into an ogre overnight, because there is now a 95% chance that today is A Very Important Day -- you're scheduled for a meeting with an important client, you're holding a press conference, you're going for a date with that hot hunk/babe/person of indeterminate gender you met yesterday, etc etc. Should it turn out that nothing of the sort is scheduled for today, don't worry, the ever sinister Fate will take care of that. Expect to run into random hot hunks today or emerge as a shining hero/really evil person/big meanie/total retard/asylum escapist on the evening news. In any case, there is nothing you can do to stop The Medusa Effect. No amount of makeup or hairbrushing is going to make you look remotely human again. RAGE AGAINST FATE!!! The best thing to do is to COSPLAY AS MEDUSA**. Hey, if you've got it, flaunt it!

*In the exceptionally rare case of having a real Medusa lurking in your mirror, it is generally agreed that the best course of action would be to panic, scream, panic some more, and then chuck your mirror out of your bedroom window. See, this is why you absolutely need a bedroom window!

**If, by any chance, cosplaying as Medusa is a complete impossibility, consider the following alternatives:

a) Wear a (fashionable) paper bag over your head. Be sure to give out the impression that what you're doing is a very, very serious and significant matter. If someone giggles or right-out laughs in your face, grab him by the shoulder (don't let him escape!) and say, in a very sombre tone: "You think this is funny? Did you know that 318 years ago, on this very day, thousands of people in my native country -- Slatqweikasdjei'dsa -- were slaughtered for wearing a paper bag over their heads? The great war, Teiuiwlajs, was initiated by our leader, Piuejalkgj on that day against the Woeirklas clan..." etc etc. Continue in this manner until you've completely lost him. Alternatively, if you're not in the mood for talking, drag him into a secluded corner, pull a paper bag (an unfashionable one) over his head and then punch the living crap out of him. All in a day's work against Fate.

b) Call up your work place or whoever you're supposed to meet today, tell them terrorists have just kidnapped your family/pets/neighbours/garden plants and no, you don't think you'll be going anywhere today. Hang up, eat some chocolate ice-cream, and go back to bed. Fate - 0, You - 1.

3. You head to your kitchen for some breakfast, but you've run out of your favourite food! AAAAAHHHHHH!!!! There's some lemon juice and leftover fruit cake from either last Christmas or last last Christmas or the Christmas you were born (you can never remember), but who the hell eats those?! RAGE AGAINST FATE!! Destroy all un-delicious and un-tasty food in sight and go to the nearest McD's/Pizza Hut/KFC/Really-Classy-Restaurant-That-Costs-A-Bomb-But-It's-Okay-Since-You're-Using-Your-Mom's-Credit-Card. Once there, consume everything that looks remotely edible. Eat your heart out, Fate!

4. You're surfing the net, killing random people online while reading the Almighty Galveanstyle, and BAM! Someone comes along and tells you to stop wasting your time and go study/work/kidnap garden plants/do something productive because tests are coming/your wallet's getting tight/you're not pulling your weight in the garden plant smuggling syndicate/"I say so!". RAGE AGAINST FATE!! Now, this one is really tricky, so pay attention. Ready? You sure? Okay. Don't do whatever they tell you to do. They want you to study? PLAY SOME MORE GAMES! They want you to work? GO WATCH A MOVIE! They want you to kidnap garden plants? SET UP A GARDEN PLANT ADOPTION CENTRE! They want you to do something productive? READ GALVEANSTYLE*!

*It is generally agreed by Really Influential People worldwide that Galveanstyle is the epitome of Unproductivity. Galveanstyle is not amused, and has repeatedly and very annoyingly persisted in appealing to be considered as the epitome of Random Insanity instead. As of today, the battle between G-Style and RIP is still ongoing.

5. If, while drinking from a glass and contemplating the eccentricities of life, you realize that the glass is now either half full or half empty, RAGE AGAINST FATE!! Break that stupid glass and go drink from a water fountain, which can never be a) half full, b) half empty, or c) remotely tasty.

In short, if things are not going well for you, make sure you're not going well for them things either.* If life throws you lemons, pick 'em up and trade them with a passing fool for a watermelon. Watermelon juice >>>>> Lemon juice. RAGE AGAINST FATE!!

*This sentence may or may not make sense, depending on whether the glass is half full or half empty.