Babysitting for Mama Petrelli

Well, it seems we finally found out the true origin of Gabriel Gray. Someone that vile and disgusting could only have been the test tube love child of Angela Petrelli and a crazy snow globe collector. How exactly Mrs. Gray and Mrs. Petrelli created him, I really don’t care to know. I’m sure it was despicable.

Regardless, Mrs. Petrelli now has a third son, as if the two others weren’t enough trouble. We all remember what happened when I tried to bag and tag her eldest.

“Those stupid-looking pajama bottoms make your butt look big.”

And Peter has always been nothing but trouble: whining about how we shouldn’t kill ants because they too have souls, crying over spilled milk, complaining about being bitten by ants, whimpering over ants having drank all the spilled milk. His cry-baby tantrums are incessant.

But I have to say, the newest addition to the Petrelli Brats is by far the worst. I can put up with the cross-dressing. I can put up with the murdering. I can even put up with the Aqua music he plays constantly. But I can’t overlook what he did to my Claire Bear!

That’s why I was really upset that Angela tasked me with keeping an eye on her little baby.

“Oh, Bennet, he’s just misguided,” she insisted. “He never had the chance to suck at my teat of motherly love.”


Holding back vomit, I said, “I’ll catch these villains, but you have to never say anything like that again.”

She agreed and the mission had begun.

Sylar ran out to my car in a lovely pink dress. “Let’s, like, do it to it or whatever!” he cheered.

“Yeah, um,” I responded, “first we’ve got to get you out of those clothes.”

“Ooh, Mr. Glasses! I’m not that kind of girl! This is only our first mission,” he explained.

“And there won’t be a second,” I assured him.

“Well, if you’re going to be like that then, I am that kind of girl!” Sylar turned his back to me. “Care to unzip me?”

I pulled down his zipper. He excitedly spun back around, but before he could finish his puckering, I tossed a suit at him. “Put this on. We’re doing this Men in Black style.”

“Aw,” he whined. “I don’t like suits. Can I at least be Will Smith?”

“No.”

Moments later we were at the bank. “Stay here and be on your best behavior,” I commanded. Sylar mumbled insults under his breath as I made my way into the bank.

I had the situation under control, as you can see.


But before I could judo chop the bad guys into oblivion, Sylar ran inside shouting, “Brains!”

The villains attacked us, one at a time. He telekinetically caught the first with his right hand, then force choked the second with his left hand. The third began to get to his feet when Sylar panicked, “I’m, like, totally out of hands lol!”

Seeing that my padawan was in trouble, I decided to help him out by shooting the other guy myself.

“Not bad, Gabriel,” I commented as we gathered up the villains. “You didn’t eat a single brain. I’m proud of you.”

I walked outside and suddenly the doors slammed shut. Sylar threw Jesse against the wall with his mind powers and began to cut his skull open.

“Don’t do it!” I yelled at him.

“But his baldness…it’s so appetizing,” he replied.

“If you wait, we’ll go to Olive Garden,” I offered.


Apparently he wasn’t in the mood for Italian.

  • Oh Mr. Glasses, we’ll be BFFs for life!

  • Would you mind not mentioning my Mother’s teats.

    Thank you

  • Sylar: I don’t know what BFF is, but I don’t like it.

    Senator Petrelli: Your mother’s teats are just two of the horrors of being a paper salesman. I’m just glad Maury Parkman isn’t in charge.

  • What was he in the mood for, Dad?

  • You could suck on MY teat of motherly love… well, I’m neither motherly nor loving, but you know what I mean. 🙂

  • Familiar-looking boy: I don’t know. I think Jesse might be Mexican. Mexicanish, maybe?

    Tracy: I only suck teat if the mission calls for it.

  • All of you! Leave my teats out of this! I paid good money for them.

    And which one of my children is listening to Aqua? PETER???