Push Hard

“Hanson, where the hell are you?” the Lieutenant screamed into his phone.

“You’re not going to believe this, chief,” I replied into mine. “I went to guard presidential candidate Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator like you asked, but then we went to South Dakota and rode a giant terrorist airship towards Area 52 until he and I brought it down. Pretty wild day.”

“I don’t care about your day. I don’t care if your paper boy brought you a hot fudge sundae with extra fudge!” he howled back. “I’ve got a job for you, you need to get to the Pookatoomi Building in Los Angeles, there’s a Die Hard situation going on there.”

“A Die Hard situation? Aw geez.” It seems like since that movie came out way back when, whenever a cop is in another city and some little trouble starts brewing, he immediately takes off his shoes and heads into the air ducts. “Can’t you send Agent Johnson?”

“Agent Johnson, Smith, Jones, and Shivolski are all on assignment, you’re the best of what we’ve got left Hanson,” he growled. “Don’t screw this up.”

“But what about catching Sylar?” I asked. “This is the Sicko Psycho Serial Killer Task Force, after all.”

“Don’t get me started on that Sylar crap. You’re still on my list about that crazy game show, losing to some guy in granny glasses and a soup bowl haircut. Now get to that Pookatoomi Building and take care of that situation!”

I said yes sir and quickly made my way to my new destination. The Pookatoomi Chocolate Company is a gigantic multinational candy conglomerate that started somewhere in Japan. I stalked up to what appeared to be the highest ranking local cop there and asked for a sitrep.

“There’s half a dozen terrorists keeping the people hostage,” he explained. “We have a man inside, John McStane, we’ve been talking to him over the radio.”

“Gimme that,” I took the radio from his hand. “Officer, this is Agent Audrey Hanson, FBI. I am here to negotiate the release of the chocolate hostages. What are you doing up there?”

“Who me? I just came here to drop the kids off at the pool,” he wisecracked back over the radio.

“Officer, what are you talking about?” I replied. “Do you have excrement for brains?”

“No, I brought my two kids here to swim in the condo pool,” he replied. “After I left them there, I noticed a guy with a machine gun and European shoes. Naturally I deduced that he was a European terrorist and I was right. So I dropped some mud on him.”

“You what?”

“There were a bunch of giant planters in the hallway here,” he replied. “I knocked him out with one and then I took his gun, took off my shoes, and went to the air ducts to get the others.”

“Listen here, Mister,” I barked into the radio. “We can’t have you going all poop crazy on us in there. My priority is to get those hostages out of there and safe. We can’t have you squeezing one out every time you see a terrorist. They’ll find you and then you’ll be up poop creek.”

“Hold on, I see one taking a steamer,” he replied. “Don’t worry, I got him, I dropped some logs on him.”

“You what?” I screamed. I looked at the police sergeant who just shrugged.

“He was walking through the steam room and I knocked him out with a giant tub of Lincoln Logs,” he explained. “There’s another in the bakery pinching a loaf of bread.”

“McStane!” I yelled.

“Don’t worry, I squirted Hershey’s syrup all over him and then knocked him out.”

“Dammit McStane, I need you out of there now!” I yelled.

“Oh my God,” he replied. “They’ve got a mule in there. They’re burning the mule! I repeat they’re burning a mule!”

“Why would they---?” My thought trailed off as I saw the flaming beast come running out the front door. Before anyone could react, the poor creature exploded right in front of the door, sending a SWAT team flying in all directions. “What kind of a maniac would burn a mule in an office lobby like that?”

“I don’t know,” the police sergeant shrugged. “Those guys in there must be nuts.”

“Wait a minute, the Sea Pickle!” McStane called over the radio.

“What?”

“The S.S. Sea Pickle is docked at the building next door,” he explained. “These guys burned the mule over here so they can take the service tunnel over to the dock to float away in the Sea Pickle.”

“Sergeant, send the SWAT team over to the dock,” I ordered. “Have them stop the Sea Pickle!”

A squad of police rushed over to the next building. There were a few quick bursts of gunfire then things grew quiet.

“We got ‘em,” the SWAT leader announced on the radio. “The remaining terrorists are now in our custody.

“Wow, that was some fancy deducing,” I complemented McStane. “How’d you figure that all out?”

“Just lucky I guess,” he replied. “I’m just an analog cop in a digital world.”

“Well, you’re all right in my book,” I answered? “In fact, you’re number one. No, better make that Number two.”

Wedded Bliss

Everyone thinks they know everything there is to know about me. They don't. As previously established, they know nothing. I however, know everything.

In as much, from time to time I may find it in my blackened and dead heart to enlighten the few souls who stumble across my wretched page here on BTD looking for a good laugh at my expense. I am tickled pink to have the chance to shatter your pre conceived image about me. I have all summer to do it. That way, come September, with all of this soul sharing, hopefully you won't want to look at me and throw up in your mouth.

Unlike my children.

But I digress...

As some of you may or may not know, I was a teenaged runaway bride. I knew it all, and Arthur was a lucky bastard. (A play on words, of course.) We were young, gifted, and in love! An impulsive craving for pancakes with real maple syrup, as opposed to that dreck you get in New York diners, led these two young "G's" crusin' up the east coast," and before I know it, I'm a child bride, about to wed be at this special and sacred place...



It was perfect, one stop shopping. The cherry on the cake would have been if I didn't have to get out of the car. But we all know that proper drive thru weddings are in Vegas, and that Daniel wouldn't have been happy to set the tone for shot gun weddings for generations to come with in our kind. From what I have heard from the Primatech grapevine, Niki Sanders and D.L. Hawkins nuptial at the Pink Church of Elvis and what have you was bad enough. Nothing says true love more than Daisy Dukes, red platform shoes, and trucker hats. Not that Arthur and I were ones to talk, but we certainly didn't mean to start a trend.

I have spared my sons the details of my DAAAAAAYYYYYY; my camouflage inspired dress, bouquet of dandelions picked right from the store parking lot, their father's "I HITCHED MY HUSSY AT HUSSEY'S" t-shirt, which he proudly wore until it stank so badly I finally suggested he let it burn as an offering to any God that would listen to us in forty years time.

The fine folks at Hussey's were kind enough to throw us an impromptu shower that I will never forget. It was small and simple, just desert...



and drinks...

.

All in all, it was a lovely day. Of course, when we returned home my parents were furious. Certainly what we did was the opposite of keeping up with the Jonses'. But Arthur and I didn't care. Screw the Jonses', their powerless souls served us no purpose. It was a new era, and it was going to be keeping up with the Petrelli's time! I simply handed my parents their ding dongs in a paper bag and told them to give me my heir loomed pearls! I was leaving with my husband!!

Forty years later, here we are.



Yes, that was the plan alllll along, "putting the FUN in dysfunctional." Now, please pass me my can of Schlitz and my package of white powered sugar Little Debbie Donut Gems. I have the memory of a blissful marriage to celebrate.

Bitter? No, not me. Not at all!

Fnu wiht teh Ladeis

Bieng snigle now has been graet. Btu I hvaen't had a cahnce to raelly ejnoy it, waht wiht all teh wolrd-svaing I do.

Mhoinder wsa agianst me dtaing. He siad I shuold hlod uot for Jnaice. Btu I tihnk he raelly jsut wnats me fro himslef. He's a jaeluos parnet.

Smoe of yuo may hvae ntoiced taht I hvae dylesxai. I'm aslo a bit on teh haevy side. Tihs has awlays mdae it hrad fro me to meet grils. Tehy dno't wnat a huksy retrad. Ecxept fro Jnaice. Seh loved me fro woh I am.

Btu seh's gnoe now. I hda to mvoe on. So, I called Jnaice to get dtaing avdice.

"Why wuold I hlep yuo pikc up women?" she aksed.

"I'm lonley, ho so lonley," I repleid, plyaing no her haert stirngs.

Fnially seh caved. She sgugetsed taht I tyr using Mloly to meet grils. "Tehy lvoe a flamiy man," she siad.

So, I derssed up nicley and haeded out on teh twon whit my apodted duahgter.

"Slime at teh pretty ladeis, Mloly" I tlod her.

"Gha! I'm nto Mloly. Spot tuoching me. I wnat to go hmoe."

Tehn, I ntoiced an atraratcive flemae looking my way. I aslo ntoiced taht tihs little gril I bourght whit me wsan't Mloly. "Waht's yuor name?" I aksed.

"Sammi! Lte me go!"

Teh atraratcive flemae was aporapching. I hdan't time to fnid Mloly. Sammi wuold hvae to do. "Slime adn be ncie adn I'll buy yuo ice craem."

"KO!"

As teh lady wakled up to me, I piotned at Sammi and siad, "Hye, look. Tihs is my kid. Yep, I'm a flamiy man, a flamiy man all teh way. Lvoe me teh kids, yep. So much fnu, chlidern. I'm snigle too, by teh way. Wnat to dtae me? Plaese, dtae me! Plaese!"

Teh lady garbbed Sammi by teh hnad. "Cmoe no, sweety. Lte's get away form teh creepy man."

"Btu Mom!" seh wihned, "he pormised me ice craem."

She tehn hit me whit her pruse. "Ncie one, sikco! Rael ogirnal. Saty away form my duahgter!"

Confessions of a shamless shoplifter.

Please allow me to reintroduce myself. I'm Angela Petrelli. As you may recall, some time ago I was arrested for shoplifting a pair of socks. Of course Nathan was mortified when he came for my release. "What could I possibly need so bad that I had to steal it?" This is what he wants to know. Not WHY would I steal, but WHAT.

I had two replies to him:
#1: I believe the correct question is, 'What could I possibly need so BADLY that I had to steal it?" Did I raise a troglodyte? Did he skip English class before my very eyes? Not the sharpest tack in the box. But the ladies claim he's "ripped," and he can fly. I can sleep better at night knowing that he's got that going for him.
#2: The answer to his question is Socks!

Yes, socks! It's the cheap thrill of the five finger discount of lightly lifting the perfect and divine foot shroud. Have a look at it from these old, tired eyes. I married at 16 to be married for 41 years to an emotionally stunted man who left me widowed at his own hands at 57. At least I wasn't left intestate. (That means with out a will, you perverts.)

At this age, clearly I'm not going to don a bobby top and hot pants to slut my way through the latest watering hole to make it in this month's issue of Time Out New York. I need to get my ya-ya's too. My drug of choice; a foot fetish which manifests in pair after pair of luscious socks. All of which are neatly tucked away in my Chanel clutch as I sashay out the door past the store "securite."

I'd like to take this moment to share some of my favorite finds with you. Call me a voyeur. What can I say?

These were an obvious choice to add to my collection. Part of the beauty of these is that they actually came as a three pack. More so, I got them at Daffy's. Pret a Porter in the slum? Classic! They had to come home to Momma.

You are looking at the infamous socks of said shoplifting arrest. The fringed trimmed yarn alone makes them worth the trouble. How was I to know the other lady planning on shoplifting them for herself would turn me in to get even. Women are so catty, no? I may have went to jail, but I got my socks. As for my traitor, clearly there were other socks to be stolen, so she is no longer with us.

Look at this delightful sock. I had to have it. Simply had to. I didn't care if there was only one! That little runt wasn't too eager to part with it, even with all of the "suggesting" that I did. She too, is no longer with us. As for the sock, it is on my perfectly pedicured tootsie as I type.

How do I love these socks? Let me count the ways! Perhaps tenfold, one for each toe. Or perhaps its because they say "HO," and I like to wear them in front of Nathan whilst he's on his monthly extortion call to that bleach blonde hussy of a baby momma in Texas.

What's that you say? Christmas spirit? Do I seem like a woman who has time for such things? I'm busy too making and breaking lives...and stealing socks.

I managed to get Victoria Pratt to embrace the glory that socks can bring to our empty, hollow souls. Her striped ones are very fitting for her. But mine are better. They say "JUICY!"

These were stolen from my grandchild Claire. Any one who doesn't appreciate the fact that they've just discovered that they come from old money, and is getting a free trip to Paris on top of it, does not deserves classic Argyle socks.

Finally, these are my crowning glory. I feel they bring me good chi; like imported incense at a Shinto Shrine. I find they are the most inspiring when worn to make those hard core choices that impact not only my immediate family, but the world as well. Fleeing town while everyone chars like weenies on a beach grill was a wise choice made whilst wearing my bunny socks. When the chips are down, bunny socks are a moral imperative . One cannot rely on their friends, any of the 11 of them. But one can ALWAYS rely on their bunny socks.

Yours in cashmere covered foot goodness,
Mrs. Angela Petrelli

Mission Accomplished

"Sylar has been defeated. Primatech Paper Company is victorious!"

The crowd cheered. As I made my way down from the podium I shook the hands of several young paper enthusiasts. They shouted out to me, "Great job, Mr. Bennet!" and "Four more years!"

Clearly my decision to participate in Sylar's Bachelor was the right one, even if I didn't capture the world's most dangerous brain-eater.

"What do you mean you didn't capture him, Noah?" Bob asked.

"He got away," I explained thoroughly.

"What do you mean he got away, Noah?"

"He escaped," I added.

"But what about your mission accomplished speech, Noah?" he asked.

It was clear that my boss was going to require more details. I decided to start from the beginning...



I told him about Ron Paul stealing my luggage, my date with Sarah Michelle Gellar, my boy band, Samuel L. Jackson being eaten by a shark, making a fruit salad out of Richard Simmons, talking to Mother Gray's ghost, Samuel L. Jackson cutting his way out of the shark with a lightsaber, and finally how an FBI agent and I made it to the final two.

Primatech teaches us that people manipulation is the key to any good paper sale. Also, we tend to work in pairs. So, naturally, I teamed up with and used Agent Hanson to ensure my capture of Sylar.

"But you failed to capture him, Noah," King Midas rudely interrupted.

Unfortunately, a manipulator is only as good as the weak-minded fools he has at his disposal, and my fool apparently got her FBI badge from a cereal box and affirmative action.

I specifically told her to wait outside the window with a butterfly net. Everyone knows that Sylars can't use their magic inside a butterfly net.

By using my own son (by marriage) as a decoy, I managed to get the jump on Sylar, scaring him out the window after being shot in the kidney with mind bullets. (That's telekinesis, Kyle...Lyle...whatever his name is. He was dead, so my explanation fell on death ears.)

Trusting that Agent Hanson had the fugitive entangled in her entomological trap, I decided to look after my wound. I had some leftover Adam blood in my pocket.

"Looks like there's only enough for two," I said to my son, recently turned corpse. "I better take it all just to be on the safe side."

The blood healed me perfectly, or so I thought. On my way downstairs to check on Agent Hanson, I had to stop to pee thirty-seven times! My kidney was still in bad shape, but I could take care of that later.

I walked outside and found my partner crawling aimlessly away. In the half hour since Sylar leaped out of the window, she managed to crawl approximately two and a half feet. She had failed me. Sylar was gone, despite her bold-fisted determination to continue crawling after him.

I called The Haitian who arrived quickly and mind-zapped her.

Before heading back in to the office, I remembered I had a present waiting for me upstairs. I went back into Sylar's bedroom and opened the brain box. There was a note.

Brain-Eating Instructions

Step One: Eat Brain

Love,
Sylar

I stared at George Clooney's encephelon, and the frontal lobe eyed me back without ever blinking. Probably due to the lack of eyelids.

After a couple minutes, I picked up the brain and took a bite. "Holy Cerebellum Supper, Batman. This is delicious! Oh, brother where art thou been all my life?" At that moment, I understood why Sylar killed. Unlike me, he didn't do it for sport or pleasure or paranoia or to make paper sales. No, he did it for the divine taste of evolved brain. I finished my meal and left the mansion.



They were everywhere! As soon as I stepped outside, I was surrounded. I could barely get to my Nissan. It must have been the Clooney brains. I gained the power of fame.

"Yeah, about that, Noah," Bob again interrupted. "We're going to need to remove the ability from you. Fame isn't ideal for a Primatech agent, Noah."

"But how can I slip back into anonymity? I didn't eat Stephen Baldwin brains, ya know."

"Simple, Noah. We stage a drunken foible, then say you checked into rehab."

It was a good a plan, but I really had to pee. "Can we hurry this up? I really need to pee."

"Oh, yeah, Noah," Bob said. "Your kidney. Should we try some Claire blood?"

"Doesn't work."

"Well," he tossed the vial at me, "take it for Lyle, Noah."

"Lyle?"

"Your son, Noah."

I was about to toss it back to him when I had a great idea. If I heal Lyle, then trick him into thinking we share a father-son bond, maybe I could convince him to give me his kidney. Then, after the surgery, I could lock him out of my life forever.

"Thanks," I said.

"We still have a problem, Noah. Sylar is still out there. He is a threat, a growing threat, to all of humanity, Noah."

He was right, of course. There was that. But I had also won the competition. Sure, it may seem like an arbitrary victory, but it's still a victory.

Bob berated me for a few minutes, then realized that essentially he's blackmailing me into working for him, so he backed off. Beggars can't be performance-based evaluators.

Sylar's on the loose. My son is temporarily dead. Samuel L. Jackson killed a shark. And I am Sylar's Bachelor!

Mission accomplished enough.

Agent Audrey Hanson, FBI. So this is how it all happened...

“You what?” the chief bellowed.

“It’s all right there in the after action report, sir.” I indicated to the paperwork. “That’s exactly how it went down.”

“No no no no no, Hanson,” he replied gruffly. “Explain it all to me. Explain it all nice and slow so when I go home tonight and kiss my wife and pet my dog and my wife says to me ‘Hey honey, how was your day?’ I don’t have to answer that I kicked a deranged lunatic out of my office on her white, pasty tushie!”

“That’s what happened,” I insisted.

“Just… explain it,” he growled on the verge of exasperation.

“OK, this is what happened,” I began. I thought back to my actions of the past several months and what went down at the end of the Sylar’s Bachelor show. “As you know, I was one of twelve contestants. It was a tough competition, much tougher than when I was shot putting in college.”

“Get to it.”

“I worked my way through all the competitors, and it was a… an unusual bunch I have to tell you,” I continued. “There were little girls and 500 year old men and some kind of space vampire or something. Anyway, there was one guy with these goofy glasses who looked pretty straight up to me. In fact, he almost looked like a fed himself but I knew he wasn’t because all he freaking talked about was paper. Paper this and stationery that. He went on and on, I tell you.

“He’s the only guy there that I determined was even remotely trustworthy,” I explained. “I knew that when it came time to take Sylar down, we’d only have minutes to act, so I recruited him to help me. I loaned him my gun—”

“You just gave him your piece?” Chief asked furiously.

“Not my issued handgun, one of my extras,” I clarified. “So I work my way through the competition, and it was something I tell you. I had dinner with his dead mother, I dated Carla Gallo (which was pretty hot, I admit), and I made the greatest all girl boy band evah!”

“Ever?”

“Ev-ah!” I said. “We get down to the last two contestants and guess who it turns out to be after all? The goofball in the glasses and me. At this point, I am dismayed to report that he won, but despite that, I knew it was my duty to get to Sylar. So we have our plan: Bennet flushes Sylar out and then we take him down.”

“Bennet?”

“Yeah, that was the glasses guy’s name,” I shrugged. “Noah Bennet, I believe.”

“Noah Bennet…” The Chief scratched his chin as if he was trying to remember something.

“Do you know him?”

“Nope, never met him. Go on.”

“So I’m all decked out and ready to go and I’m standing outside under the window waiting for Bennet’s signal when all of a sudden something comes flying out of it and lands right on top of me. It turns out that Bennet went rogue on the op and it was Sylar who flew out the window. The impact fractured my spleen and sprained my thighs.”

“Fractured your spleen,” the chief repeated.

“Yeah, I almost died from Spleenal Contusion,” I added. “You know SC.”

“The silent killer,” my boss replied under his breath.

“I think Sylar’s legs broke from the fall, so he crawls off and I can’t stand so crawl right after him. Did you know that I won best low crawler back in Langley?” I asked.

“I am aware of your record.”

“So I crawled right after him yelling ‘Freeze FBI!’ in a loud, clear voice so he could hear me.”

“That’s procedure,” he admitted.

“I was close to him, so close.” I balled up my fist and clenched my jaw at the thought. “I was right on top of him when all of a sudden, everything went black.”

“Everything went black,” the chief repeated.

“Next thing I know, I’m in the middle of the desert,” I said. “I mean, in the middle of nowhere wearing nothing but this burlap sack of a dress and no Sylar to be found anywhere. So I looked up to the heavens and I called out ‘I’ll get you Sylar! I’ll get you if I have to chase you across the globe or into space or on Sylar’s Bachelor 2! And when I do, I’m going to grab that ruggedly handsome yet disconcertingly creepy face of yours and I’m going to bring it to justice for the crimes you’ve committed, you crazy, special person who just wants to be held, lol!’”

The chief looked at me.

“That’s what happened,” I said. “That’s everything.”

The chief looked at me in silence for a moment.

“Get the hell out of my office!” he roared.

“But what abou—”

“Just get out! I don’t want to hear any more!”

Sylar's Bachelor: And The Winner Is...

It's like, finally over! You've all sent in your votes and the decision has been made! Now, it's time to inform the winner of his/her victory!

I like, sat up in my room in Sylar's Mansion, completely naked, laying on my bed. There were like, scented candles, satin sheets, and a brain in a cooler in the corner of the room with instructions on how to give yourself powers lol.

I had sent a note to the winner that they like, won, and I was waiting for them to get their winning butt up to the winner's circle of winning. And by winner's circle I meant my bed. And by winning, I meant sex.

The door creaked open. I waited with anticipation, when a masculine, muscular figure emerged.

"Agent Hanson?" I asked, inquisitionally (I'm smart enough to use big words like that lol), "You're not supposed to be here!"

"No, Gabriel, it's me, your old pal, Mr. Glasses, the winner. I've come to um...you know...the birds and bees, but with some equipment missing."

"Oh Mr. Glasses! You look especially manly tonight! Anyways, the way I look at it is that we have like, extra equipment!"

Mr. Glasses shuddered. "Well, Gabriel, I'm happy to say, that we won't be doing any of that," he pulled out a gun.

Ooooh, sex toys!, I thought! But before I could drop my pants, Mr. Glasses like, totally shot me in the head, and I fell into our catered dinner, dead!

Lol, just kidding. I'm way too smart for that! I thought ahead! I sent an agent of like, deception and shadow to find out the intentions of these two finalists, and when I found out they were working against me, I sent him as my replacement! And, seeing as how this was my like, former nemesis Richard Simmons, him being murdered and saving me from being murdered killed like, two stones with one bird!

So, as Mr. Glasses kneeled over the afroed corpse, totally confused to find that it wasn't so sexy after all, I lept into the room with the grace of a gazelle, and starting like, chopping off his head! I cracked his glasses halfway through!



"My horned rims!" Mr. Glasses shouted as I tore off his skull lol. He fell to the ground, dead. As he hit the ground, his broken glasses fell off. As they did, I noticed something. That totally wasn't Mr. Glasses!

"So, Sylar, it appears my overestimating of you paid off. What are the odds?" I heard a voice from behind me. I turned to see Mr. Glasses' sexy face, pointing a gun at me. "Using what's his name as bait worked perfectly, even if I had to break a pair of my favorite glasses, it was worth it."

"Uh, you like, got your son killed for this trap? Lol that's kinda funny, sounds like somethin I would do, Mr. Glasses!"

"Yeah, well, we have Claire's blood to use on him if she doesn't mind getting pricked."

"Flyboy West seems to get away with it."

"Lol," said Mr. Glasses. He smiled at me, and I smiled back at him and said "ROFL." "ROFLMAO!" he responded, and then shot at me.

Using my sloth-like reflexes, I caught the bullet with my mind trick! With tears in my eyes, I asked, "Why? Mr. Glasses? We were sharing a laugh, and you use my moment of weakness and love to take advantage of me and try to kill me! I loved you, but you smashed my love, smashed it like a knife slicing bread!"

Then I mind-threw the bullet at him, and it like, hit him in the side, lol. He winced, and yelled, "NOOooOOOcooOOoOOO! I've been pwned! Pwned worse than a Counterstrike n00b!"

"Don't worry, I'm like, not going to kill you," I said. "I'm going to punish you much worse than that! I'm going to spare you, so that you know that you blew your one chance on being with a sexy guy like me, that I'm still out there, but you can never have me. That, and I mind-trick shot you in the kidney so you'll have to get it removed and need to pee like, all the time, hehe, I'm so cruel."

I turned away from him. "Goodbye, Mr. Glasses, and remember me as the one that got away." And with that, I jumped out the fourth story window! Halfway through my fall I remembered that only Future Sylar had the power to fly, not lil ol' me, so I regretted my sexy decision when I hit the ground and broke both of my legs lol.

Luckily, though, something broke my fall, or it may have been a lot worse! Whatever it was had blonde hair and an FBI badge. Hmmm, I guess the mystery with never ever be solved! As I crawled away in pain, I yelled, "I'll be back! I'll force someone to love me or they'll die! On Sylar's Bachelor 2! Lol!"

Meanwhile, Mr. Glasses was crying about losing me up in my bedroom. "Where's West? He needs to stop pricking my daughter and start pricking me!"