Oh, Bugger!
or Why Do I Never Get Flowers Unless I'm In the Hospital?
It has come to my attention that I am what is commonly known as 'accident prone'. I came to this wisdom after realizing that I had (all in seperate incidents), broken my right ankle (pins and screws, and a permanent limp), left hip (plate and screws, and another limp), both arms, and had cracked three vertebrae in my back. Why I'm still even marginally mobile and of relatively sound mind (shut up, I know people could debate this, especially given the stories I'm including here)At some point (I believe while I was still recuperating from the hip) I started writing humorous MarySues as emotional therapy. Nothing kicks depression out the window like grabbing a group of your favorite media characters and getting buck wild-crazy. I've realized how many of these I've written, so I've decided to classify them as a series, and I'm moving them here.
Welcome to my insanity. Please check all sense of reality at the door... you won't be needing it.
Kissin' Up
Strife is in deep Dutch for facilitating Scribe's broken him, and now he has to make it up to her.
'Round the Dial With Xena
Scribe and TW have gatecrashers at their boobtube party.
Spinnin' the Dial Again
After Scribe has another one of her accidents, TW and Strife decide to cheer her up with another television party.
Again?
I broke my left arm a month ago--after breaking my right arm last summer, and my left hip last winter... This story is sort of therapy. In the Scribeverse, blame for my accident is being laid on Strife, and he's determined to prove his innocense... *snort* Well, innocense of this, anyway.
