bad day

Lance was having a Bad Day. No, it what had happened went beyond just a bad day. 'Bad day' didn't even begin to sum up just how crappy the last forty-eight hours were. 'Bad day' implies that the badness would end at some point. It hadn't ended. Oh no, the badness was still there. After all, he'd been having a bad week. A bad month. A bad year. A bad century, even.

It--the century/year/day/whatever--hadn't started off bad. In fact, when Lance had arrived at the campus, things had looked pretty darn peachy. He hadn't minded that his roommate, Sven, had a Swedish accent even though he was from Minnesota and had a insatiable appetite for anchovies; or that Sven was quickly gaining the reputation as the campus slut and slept around with anything with a pulse--although with the rumors he'd been hearing from the med-students, Lance was willing to amend that--and Lance was forced to spend more time outside their room than in it. He hadn't even minded that he'd had to spend the night in Hunk's room, even though it smelled like old socks and tomato soup and the freakish man-child that perched in the corner and wouldn't stop staring at him.

No, it was when the police busted Hunk for child pornography that finally pushed him over the edge from good into pure soul-sucking evil. Well, as evil as one can get when one is wearing light-up suspenders and a bow-tie that twirled.

Still, Lance had determined that he was evil and that was why he was now crouched over a hastily copied page of a book, trying to figure out how to summon a demon to wreck havoc on the world. Although, after he figured out that the incantation was merely the pig-latin form of 'I am the Walrus' by the Beatles, Lance was beginning to have his doubts about the reliability of this entire project.

But it had taken the better part of five minutes to draw the diagram on the floor, and his mother had always told him that if he was going to do something, not to do half-assed (which he had taken to heart even if wondering how something could be done with half of an ass was a question that had plagued Lance throughout all of his childhood).

He supposed that there should be a blood sacrifice at some point, but Lance was a wee bit squeamish and the mice he had caught hadn't properly appreciated their honorable position in his grand plans to take over the world and had escaped even though he had specifically told the not to. The closest thing he had come up with was a slice of cheese pizza, sans cheese. Reciting the incantation as solemnly as he could (quite a feat when one considers that he was saying "I-ay am-ay he-tay alrus-way") Lance waited for the demon to appear.

And appear it did, in a puff of smoke and flame and dark shadows and all the other nifty things that come with Minions of the Underworld. Lance gave an inarticulate cry and fell back, scrambling away from the column of smoke in fear. His mind was filled with strange twittering noises, a hundred voices trying to be heard all at once. Then one voice rose above the chattering multitude, one voice and one name and that name was--


The column of smoke began coughing and the thick plume slowly dispersed, reveling a rather disheveled young man with a pair of plastic horns that were in danger of falling off. He looked down at Lance and coughed again, before speaking. "Yeah. Keith. You have a problem with that?"