Ahhh, my first ever one shot. This is a comedy second person one shot based on the lovely writings of Saffire Persian who I thank very much for her help in writing this fanfiction.
So, have you ever had to go around selling chocolates/tickets/getting donations, ect? Was it a real pain in the buttocks? If you said yes, you will relate heavily with the main charachter in this fic (you), who is a Little Snicker Doodle struggling to sell her Triple Fudgy Wudgies
This one-shot is mainly practice, and I feel something weird about the ending so if you can give any critisism, I would be VERY thankful
Finally, after heavy debate, I decided to rate this PG-13 just to be on the safe side. There's one curse word, violence, and an instance of sexual innuendo
Well, happy reading!
“Please, no Growlithes…for the ever-evolving love of Darwin, no Growlithes… You think as you march up another granite driveway, to another horrible five minutes, to another potential customer.
Adjusting the chartreuse skirt of your uniform, you feign the cutest missing-front-teethed smile you can manage and stride toward that dreaded tan button, ready to fire open another gateway into Hell! Thirty seconds later, you press the dreaded button of doom and a beautiful melody rings in your ears.
Da Da Daa…Da Da Da Da… RUFF RUFF!
Figures.
There was a Growlithe.
On cue, a small creamy orange and red dog comes bolting from within the depths of the Hell and begins to slash at the door, barking madly with the lust to shred every strand of flesh from your tiny wittle bones. Groaning impatiently, your smile droops off like a slab of Fresh Miltank, and you continue to pout and look like a rather cranky camper when the door opens to your dull unawareness.
“Keep RUFF making that face, and it’ll RUFF stay that way, Kid!” A repulsive looking middle-aged man appeared in the doorway, dark bags fresh under his red-tinted eyes. You were quite scared of him: his hair was half-gray and uncombed; he wore nothing but a wife beater and boxers that clearly weren’t washed for weeks; and his arms resembled hairy hams that held his struggling Growlithe.
“Huh? Oh umm RUFF hi, Mister! My name is Sally-Sue Smith, and RUFF I am part of Troop 36A RUFF in the Little Snicker Doodles! We are RUFF currently selling Triple Fudgy Wudgies to raise money for our big RUFF camping trip in Mt. Ginormous! A Snack’em box is only RUFF RUFF RUFF,” You start saying in your cheery, rehearsed voice, quickly regaining your composure, but that darn Growlithe is getting in your way! “Umm, is this a bad time, Mister?”
“Oh, I’m sorry Little Girl, I’m on a diet. Can’t buy any junk food! Thanks for asking! You can go now!” he chuckles, placing a beefy hand over his Growlithe’s snarling mouth.
You can’t help but stare at him in utter disbelief: you pretend not to have noticed the about fifty or so bags of Cheesy Poofs lying around the ruins of what could be called a “house”. You can hear the television blaring with the laughter of a studio audience, and then eye the man’s great, round beer belly. Perhaps it WAS better that he didn’t buy your Triple Fudgy Wudgies.
“All right, Mister. I’m sorry for bugging you…” you mumble quietly without making eye contact before you scurry off, desperate to get away. You could have sworn you heard the words “friggin expensive” as a door slams in the distance.
A tiny sigh escapes your mouth as you continue to trudge down the sidewalks of the Goldenrod City Suburbs. This day alone, you’ve visited thirty houses and only two people bought Triple Fudgy Wudgies. And one was your mom. And the other was your dad. You were on your final block, Wisteria Lane. Your tiny Snicker Doodle legs can’t take anymore walking. What you would give just to lay sprawled on your couch…watching The Adventures of Loofah Rob Rectangle-Shirt all day long…eating fattening potato chips…drinking sodie pop…being a kid!
But no! You had a duty to fulfill! Being a Little Snicker Doodle is about more than learning how to tie a stupid knot and pleasing your mother who also one! It’s about the ties of friendship! It’s about the growth of a little girl! IT’S ABOUT BONDING WITH YOUR FELLOW GIRL AT MOUNT GINORMOUS! You and your sisters sell Triple Fudgy Wudgies for a reason! Each blister on your foot, each lame excuse you hear, each door slammed in your face, all the scars of a true Snicker Doodle!
The knowledge of your duty flaring within your heart, you march faster, determined more than ever to sell your last hundred dollars worth of Triple Fudgy Wudgies. You eye the next house and realize that this house will be the one. Whoever is inside WILL buy. No, they won’t consider buying; they won’t talk it over with their wife; THEY WILL BUY! Head held high, you sprint toward the house on the highest hill of Wisteria Lane and declare with all your might, “I CAN DO IT!”
“No, you can’t!” an obnoxious stranger boy cries as he zips past you on his bike.
“…YES I CAN!”
“Nuh-uh!!!” he responds as he speeds out of sight.
“YUH-UH!!”
Determined more than ever, you skip merrily up the next driveway, humming “Just Around the Riverbend.” Without even thinking of stupid Growlithes, you jab the doorbell squarely in the center, gleefully awaiting the next customer you can manipulate with your adorable smiles and (hopefully not) Little Snicker Doodle pocket knife. A few ruffless-minutes later, the door opens and a very attractive young woman appears. Her hair was rather frizzy, as if she had undergone some fierce exercise, and she wore a white bath robe very tightly, still tying the knot as she opened the door to greet you.
Without even taking a second look at the oddly frantic woman, you immediately begin your speech. “HI MA’AM! My name is Sally Sue-Smith, and I’m a member of Troop 36A of the Little Snicker Doodles! We are currently selling Triple Fudgy Wudgies for our trip to Mount Ginor—”
“Sorry little girl, you look cute and all, but I’m kind of busy right now…I’ll talk to you later, m’kay?” she says, eyeing an open door upstairs nervously. You honestly don’t give a pile of dog doo what she says. In fact, you could care less if there was a dying baby with a knife lodged in his chest up there; you need to sell your Fudgy Wudgies!
“A Snack’em box only costs twelve dollars, but I highly suggest getting the Super DeeDooper Package which holds over one hundred cookies for the price of only thirty two dollars! I know you would—”
“Sweetie, I’ll buy your cookies later. I pinky-promise! Now if you excuse me—hey! What are you playing at?” Her countenance changes from condescending to furious as soon as you jab your pink Dora the Explorer shoe in her doorway, preventing her from closing the door on you. Oh, the little doody-head was not about to slam the door on you.
“—LOVE A FAMILY PACKAGE WHICH HAS ENOUGH TRIPLE FUDGY WUDGIES TO LAST…” You continue onward with your speech, raising your voice several decibels over the shrieks of protest by the frantic woman who is now attempting to kick your lead foot out of the doorway.
“HONEY! WHAT’S GOING DOWN THERE! SEBASTIAN IS BEGINNING TO FALL !”
“GET…OUT!” With one final kick, the mean old lady manages to kick your shoe out of the doorway and slam it roughly in your face, locking it several times before storming back upstairs.
You pant heavily as you stare at the closed door in defeat. The smiling sun on the welcome mat taunts you with his bright happiness while you wallow in annoyance. They didn’t buy your Triple Fudgy Wudgies; you can’t help but feel a little down after your huge little mental proclamation. However, you did manage to put up a valiant struggle, as your sore foot can testify to. Grinning broadly, you turn back and skip away to the next house, knowing that this odd place was just practice. Out of nowhere, a loud shriek comes from within the depths of the house.
“AYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
In spite of yourself, you turn and look at the house once more, expecting for something to happen, but instead, it seems to go dead quiet. They must be playing Monopoly or something…
Quickly forgetting about the strange occurrences in the house, you skip along merrily down the driveway and take a deep breath as you absorb your setting. How could you have ever felt down? The sun was shining brightly; there wasn’t a cloud in the sky like a big apple pie! The Pidgey were chirping up in the sky, the Ratatta were….ratattaing back on Earth, and best of all, there were no little children outside because they were inside getting nice and plump watching their Saturday morning cartoons. Of course, you were one to talk being eight years old and all…but still!
Before you knew it, you were at the door of the next house ready to have another stab at selling your chocolate (metaphorically speaking, of course). Your bright grin still plastered onto your face, you prepare yourself for your same longwinded speech, but the woman who answers the door cuts you off before you even begin.
“Oh, I’m sorry little girl, but I have no money right now! I really wish I could buy from you, but my husband will get very mad…” she says in a high-pitched voice.
You don’t even attempt to mask your disbelief. This woman clearly has a five hundred dollar Honeycomb haircut, her nails were obviously done by the legendary Jin Pah-Song, and she wore more silver than could be found in a rapper’s mouth. Heck, there was a new Mercedes Benz in the driveway and very expensive flowers standing besides you. She may think you were some sort of idiot to not notice any of these things, but oh, was she wrong! First Fatty Bofatty expects you to believe he eats healthy and now this Richy….Witch expects you to believe she has no money? Face flushed with fury, you open your mouth to say something that will force this lady to buy your Triple Fudgy Wudgies.
“Umm, I’m sorry Ma’am, I’ll come another time.”
That was your great comeback? Oh come on, even your two-year old brother Jarred could come up with something better than that! And he can’t even talk! You jerk your head up to correct your mistake, but find the door already closed and another lost deal sealed. What happened? You were so confident but when push came to shove, you were shoved back into the mud where you belonged. You try but find yourself unable to restore your wounded ego.
What was wrong with you?
You were the only scout in Troop 36A to still be selling your Triple Fudgy Wudgies. Your mommy always did tell you that you were the cutest apple in the bunch, but she could have been lying! In fact, she probably shuddered at you when you didn’t look. Your hair was an ugly crimson; your glasses did make your eyes look rather big; and you’re sorry that you’re not a twig like that anne-oh-rex-ick Dakota Fanning! Maybe Betty-Lou Delong was right when she said that you should crawl back to the rock you were peeled off the under of? Oh, that made your blood boil. Betty-Lou Delong…your next door neighbor and the supreme Batty PeePee Queen of them all. All the mothers just loved her and lapped her phony goody- two shoes act up, but you know what she really was: a really really really big meanie-head.
While she always went “Hi Missus Smith, can I give you a biiig hug!” to your dear mommy in her dearest lisp, when no adults were looking, she shoved you into mud at every opportunity, calling you “Fart-Breath” to match. It was your heart’s greatest desire to take your sharp kiddy nails and gouge out Betty-Lou’s stunning blue eyes and stamp them until they were nothing but bloody goo and MORE bloody goo. But you’d probably get grounded.
The image of Betty Lou’s pug-like face snarling at you catapults into your mind like a big glob of gruel, and the broken pieces of your ego suddenly reattach once more. She was in the rival Little Crunchy Munchies selling her Quadruple Caramelly Jellies. Rumor had it that she sold nearly four hundred dollars worth of that processed crap with her old “I wub u” routine! A new goal suddenly set in your mind, you aren’t going to sell the required hundred dollars worth of candy, you’re going to beat Betty Lou or get severely injured trying! You didn’t quite want to die…
Holding your head high once more, you glared down Wisteria Lane, a pawn in your Chess game of rivalry. There were five houses remaining. Up to one hundred and fifty dollars of merchandise to sell! Five chances for glory! Five chances to overcome Betty Lou! Five lame excuses, each lamer than the former…
“My mommy BOW WOW and daddy BOW WOW aren’t here right now,” a buck-toothed four year old restraining a Snubbull says before her mother yells at her to finish up her grits.
“I’m sorry, I’m allergic to chocolate,” a businessman says with the smell of chocolate cake wafting from his kitchen.
“I sure will RUH RUH RUH buy from you, Honey! Just let RUH RUH RUH me get my money!” Thirty minutes later, and she’s still getting her money.
“Oh…umm…Sweety, I have a serious condition where…LOOK A HO-OH!” You turn around to see the most beautiful bird pokemon you had ever seen in your entire life flying through the air with golden and crimson wings, leaving a shining rainbow trail behind it. It moves with such grace that you can hardly take your eyes off of it; all the greed and sin from your heart seems to slowly melt away. You stand for several minutes in pure amazement; it was the most amazing thing you had ever seen in your life, and the chances of seeing such a rare pokemon were slimmer than Betty-Lou’s chicken legs! Not long after, the shock wears off, and you turn around to see the door closed.
The lust to conquer Betty-Lou Delong still ablaze in your mind you look up at the last house in hope. Who knows, whoever inside might just be feeling up for four-hundred dollars worth of chocolate…
The final house had a rather motherly feel to it. Creepy little lawn gnomes decorated the front and several wind chimes tinkling silently in the breeze…that second part didn’t sound right, did it? The house looked a lot like a small log cabin and a Christmas Wreath was still hung on the door despite it being March. Having a good feeling about this house, you ring the door bell.
An elderly woman with short, puffy white hair and chained glasses steps out, smiling jovially down at you. She looked like everyone’s typical grandmother: old, happy, and wearing a red knitted sweater. You can’t help but matching her smile, you have a good feeling about this lady.
“Hi Ma’am! My name is Sally-Sue Smith and I’m part of the Little Snicker Doodles in Troop-36A, and we are currently selling Triple Fudgy Wudgies…”
She is the first person to hear your entire speech out, nodding and flashing her brilliant white teeth at the end of your each sentence. She doesn’t rudely interrupt you and remains the nicest person you ever met. Finally, your speech ends, and you flash your biggest smile as your last resort. You’re so optimistic that for the first time you are not twirling your pocket knife secretly in your back pocket.
“Oh, I am very sorry, Darling! I would have been glad to buy your Fudgy Wudgies, but I’m afraid I already bought another cute little girl’s Caramelly Jellies. Around four-hundred dollars worth I believe. I believe her name was Bethany—“
“Betty-Lou Delong,” you mumble glumly.
“Yes, that’s the one. Such a cutey… I’m very sorry, I wish you the best in selling though!” she responds, truly sorry. She gives you a quick peck on the cheek before returning to her home.
You stood on her porch for a few minutes, staring blankly into defeat. This was it. You had to accept defeat. Now that Betty-Lou Delong was confirmed to be in the area, all the houses that would have bought from you would have already bought from her. Miracles do happen, though. If you believe.
OH WHO WERE YOU KIDDING? You weren’t going to sell any more chocolate, and you would never bond with your scout sisters in Mt. Ginormous. You were instead destined to be alone and friendless and end up becoming the creepy Meowth lady everyone stayed away from. If you couldn’t sell measly chocolate, how could you do anything in life? You were a failure. A big, dumb, red-haired failure. You would never be able to beat Betty-Lou or even Deaf-Mute Debby. Nothing would be able to ignite your confidence now; there was no point.
You quit.
You wouldn’t bother seeing what interesting people awaited you in other neighborhoods; he or she or he-she would reject you too. You throw aside your Triple Fudgy Wudgy Order Form aside and sit down on the curb, your money bag situated close to you. You watch blankly as the cars drive by, not giving a single care in the world for you. The cruel word was just mean, indifferent, and full of poopy-heads. There was a time when everyone was happy, generous, and had deep wallets, but now, all everyone cares about is money and keeping as much of it to themselves. Who cares if they produce a new generation of crazy Meowth ladies who never got to bond with their sisters at Mt. Ginormous as long as they get to buy their platinum televisions or iPod Infinitesimal or $800 dollar clothes that could be bought for $8 dollars at the Try and Save. What ever happened to the love in the world? What ever happened to the manipulative power of a cute girl? You knew your mommy wouldn’t approve of you saying it, but Mommy wasn’t around. People sucked!
You cross your arms, put them on your knees, place your head in your knees, and bawl. You cry and cry. You were tired of it, you just wanted to go back home. Your so-called duty really wasn’t worth all of this trouble. After a great while, you lift up your head to wipe your drenched arms free of your tears and continue to cry once more. What an unlucky girl you were…
“Four hundred dollars of chocolate, puh-lease…” You sniff, wiping the last of your tears from your puffed pink eyes. Enough tears had fallen from your eyes; it was time to go home. Numb to your failure, you stand up and walk for several feet with your head down until a rather ugly voice hits your ears.
“Well well well, looks like the wittle baby was cwying! How shad…”
Your head immediately jerks up at the awful, nasty voice of Betty-Lou Delong. Sure enough, standing there in front of you is Betty-Lou wearing her yellow and brown Crunchy Munchy uniform with two beefy henchgirls by her shoulders. She was the last person on the entire planet you wanted to be in front of right now. Well, except for maybe that Pallet town guy who ate children. Even Betty-Lou wasn’t worse than getting your flesh processed, put in an oven, and served for some creepozoid’s dinner.
“You…”
“Yes Crybaby, it’s me! So, how many of your Poop Sticks did you sell? Some of the houses told me that some little ugly girl came by, yet somehow I managed to milk them into buying my yummies,” Betty-Lou taunted, stepping forward and threatening to enter your No-No zone. From behind her, the two gorilla-like girls laugh hoarsely, kind of like a …horse. Come to think of it, perhaps getting eaten was better than being near this turd-bucket.
“Leave me alone Petty-Foo. I’m going home, and I don’t want to see your ugly mug. MOVE!” you snarl dangerously; you were really not in the mood for this.
“Aww? Is da angwy-baby mad? Is she going to spray her milk on me? Drinky little baabaa baby boo?” She entered your No-No zone now and was prodding her finger into your chest, glaring up at you. Though Betty-Lou was quite short for her age, her viciousness more than made up for it. Out of the corner of your eyes, you both eyed the same thing: a puddle of mud fresh from last night’s storm. You break eye contact with her temporarily to gaze up at the chunky henchgirls who started to crack their knuckles and spit onto the grass. You knew what they were preparing to do, but remained strong nether the less! Betty-Lou would NOT have the pleasure of getting you to grovel at her feet.
“I said GO! Don’t you have to go suck on someone’s mommy’s lollypop?” You riposte, taking a firm step backwards.
“I’ll go when I want to, Fart-Breath. Oh what do you know, you did manage to get some Washingtons for your pathetic candy! Probably only from your mommy and daddy…” She eyed your money bag now. A hard lump rose in your throat, what if she stole your money and made you start from scratch? Your mom would never believe that precious Betty-Lou did something atrocious; she would blame you for losing it. And you definitely did not want to tell her she was right about only your parents buying from you.
“Get her, girls!”
In a matter of seconds, the beefy henchgirls come from behind Betty-Lou and throw you face-first into the mud puddle and snatch your money bag easily from your tiny hands. Cackling madly, Betty-Lou comes and kicks you painfully in the side and stamps your head in a little deeper. For a few seconds, you lie in the mud, unable to process what had just happened. Then, you realized you were lying in mud. Slowly, you rise from your corporal punishment. Every inch of your uniform is drenched in thick, brown mud. Your face is no longer recognizable as it is painted with the thick gruel of mud. No matter how much you spit, you find yourself unable to completely remove the awful taste of mud.
You couldn’t believe it; all those slammed doors were more than enough Boo-Boos for you, getting pushed in the mud was just adding diss to owwie! HOW DARE THAT LITTLE BETTY-LOU THINK OF DOING IT? Rubbing off half the mud on your face onto your already poo-colored hands, you eye the trio not far ahead, laughing horribly at your misfortune. Those…stupid little cowards! Like they could ever take you on in a real fight!
Pure rage steamed inside of you; even a Torchic wing could be fried on your burning hot face. After everything you have gone through today, you were not about to let this unjust deed go without consequence. Without thinking about what you were doing, without thinking about the trouble it would cause, without thinking about the months without tellyvision you were about to go, you charge. Like an angry Tauros, you charge all the way up the block, as fast as your Dora the Explorer shoes could take you! Crying with all your might, Betty-Lou Delong turns in shock to see your blazing inferno of a face roaring at her before you tackle her into the ground.
“YOU LITTLE—DIE! DIE! DIE! DIEEEE!”
With each die, you land a successful punch onto her cute button nose. Betty-Lou cries for all her might (music to your ears!), begging her henchgirls to save her, but they simply look at each other dumb-founded, unable to think in such frantic situations. It didn’t even matter if they stopped you now, all that mattered was hurting Betty-Lou DeLong! You didn’t care about getting grounded now; all you wanted was nothing better than to rip the Batty PeePee Queen apart piece by piece and serve her remains to the crazy child-eating Professor Oak.
“HELP! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!” As soon as Betty-Lou cried this, her henchgirls went running in the opposite direction as fast as their doughnut-rife stomachs could take them.
“NO ONE WILL SAVE YOU NOW! TAKE THIS!” After exhausting yourself on her bloody nose, you stand up and stamp on her stomach with all your might. Betty-Lou gasps for air and soon stops crying; instead wailing with all her might. Her pearly blue eyes stream with tears and loud howls flee from her mouth. You were being incredibly sadistic, and didn’t care. Joy fills your heart with each tear running down the little slime ball’s chubby cheeks.
You decide she suffered enough for now and get off of her, panting heavily. She looks up at you in utter fright, and it would be more than your pleasure to take this to your advantage. Grabbing onto her red collar, you pull her up to your waist and look down at her with a malevolent smile. You say one word:
“Boo.”
“AHHHHHHH! P-PLEASE! N-NO MORE!”
“Say I’m better than you.”
“W-what? N-no!”
You raise your balled fist once more, and she immediately corrects her answer.
“Y-you're b-better than me!”
“SAY I’M SCUM!”
People are beginning to step out of their doors to find the source of the commotion now.
“I-I’m s-scum!”
“SAY I’M POOPY!”
“I-I-I’M P-POO-O-PY!” Betty-Lou wails, but she can’t take anymore. She falls down from your grip and begins sniveling at your feet, holding onto them and groveling. She’s desperate for freedom, perhaps she did go through enough?
Nah.
“Owww!”
You dig your sharp nails into Betty-Lou’s right ear and begin dragging her down the road while her legs flail ferociously in a failed attempt at freedom. It wasn’t even about Triple Fudgy Wudgies anymore, it was a personal vendetta! After this day, Betty-Lou Delong would never bully around another kid! As you make your long journey down the block, more and more people step out of their houses, staring astonished at you and your victim. You recognized half of their no-good faces, they were the ones that rejected you! You saw Fatty Bopatty, Monopoly Lady, Richy Witch, and everyone else, all staring in horror at what they thought was an innocent young girl beating another to a bloody pulp. They finally had grown to respect you, even if it wasn’t exactly how you wanted. Your malevolent smirk broadens to show your missing front teeth. Old Granny looked like she wanted to rush down and save Betty-Lou, but she also feared coming near you with a ten foot pole. Then again, if she had a ten foot pole, she could probably just jab you in the eye.
Finally, you reach the mud puddle in Old Granny’s lawn. No words are needed here; Betty-Lou knows what’s coming to her. She gives her most valiant struggle here and even manages to get out of your grip for a second before you lunge at her throat and force her face-first into dirty, icky mud. You plunge her head in there for a few seconds before releasing your hold, and she rises, wiping out as much of the thick layer of mud from her tear-soggy face as she can. You growl at her. She gets the message and runs to her Mommy, crying like the wittle baby she is.
Victory was sweet.
The residents of Wisteria Lane all gathered around Granny’s house to get a better look at the completed holocaust, ogling you like some rabid zoo animal. Finally jerking your eyes away from Betty-Lou, you instead glower at the adults who made you out to be some sort of fool. They knew your true colors now. What they saw was a 3’9”, 40 pound cranky camper, covered head to toe in dried mud. Oh but they also knew what you really were. You were a ruthless beast, ready to liquefy your enemies into Strawberry Frosty Slushies. You knew you had this beast inside all along; you just needed a silly thing like being pushed into mud to awaken it.
Not moving your glower from the closed-wallet jerks, you walk back to wear you originally ambushed Betty Lou and recover your money bag and return. You hear them muttering things to each other and laughing snidely, but it mattered not. Revenge was a platter finest provided cool, and you were about to receive it.
“BE QUIET!!!!!!!”
Immediately, the residents of Wisteria Line fall silent and turn their eyes to you, looking a bit more intimidated than before. Fatty Bopatty starts inching away slowly, probably to go get another bag of Cheesy Poofs. He would be your first victim.
“HEY FATTY BOPATTY! GET BACK HERE NOW! Diet my little anime-peach butt, you know you like eating this crap all day long. Buy a Family Deluxe box for $34 dollars NOW! And while you’re at it, put some clean clothes on and get that Growlithe put to sleep!”
“But—” Fatty Bopatty looks at you with puppy-Growlithe eyes, but you really didn’t care.
“NO BUTS! NOW! Hey, Monopoly-Playing Lady, whatever freaky things you and Sebastian or whatever is doing is over now. Buy my Triple Fudgy Wudgies!”
“Who’s Sebastia—ohhh.”
“Richy Witch, don’t give me that I have no money crap, you get to buy a hundred dollars worth! Now get out that check book your hiding beneath your shoes! As for the rest of you—“
And so, your tale soon traveled all across the Goldenrod Suburbs and you easily manage to raise one thousand and sixty dollars for the Triple Fudgy Wudgies that day. No one dared to cross you; no one dared to give you lame excuses. You return home particularly filthy, very exhausted, and the whole neighborhood fearing you as “that mentally disturbed child.” But the important thing is that you were loaded. You were NOT destined to become a crazy old Meowth lady after all.
Sure, you got kicked out the Little Snicker Doodles for violating the Snicker Doodle Ethic Code Paragraph 3 lines 8-10. Sure you had to give all the money back and apologize, so it was really worthless. Sure your parents were sued by the Delongs and had to pay nearly fifty-thousand dollars for poor Betty-Lou’s trauma. Sure you got sent to St. Agne’s Boarding School for Misfit Girls for two years of your life.
But it was worth it in the end!
You may not have gotten to bond with your sisters at Mount Ginormous, but you did bond with the most important sister of all: your soul. By raising all that money and pounding Betty-Lou Delong into a bloody pulp, you proved yourself to yourself, and you know that you can go anywhere in life by intimidation! The sky is the limit for you, heck you may even be the next president of the United States. The fact that that country is in an entirely parallel universe matters not, what matters is that in the end, you proved your point to the residents in Wisteria Lane:
Don’t fuck with a Little Snicker Doodle.
Dedicated in the memory of Belle: cat, animal, and friend. May you get frisky with Slyvester in Kitty Heaven!
So, have you ever had to go around selling chocolates/tickets/getting donations, ect? Was it a real pain in the buttocks? If you said yes, you will relate heavily with the main charachter in this fic (you), who is a Little Snicker Doodle struggling to sell her Triple Fudgy Wudgies
This one-shot is mainly practice, and I feel something weird about the ending so if you can give any critisism, I would be VERY thankful
Finally, after heavy debate, I decided to rate this PG-13 just to be on the safe side. There's one curse word, violence, and an instance of sexual innuendo
Well, happy reading!
~TALES OF A LITTLE SNICKER DOODLE~
“Please, no Growlithes…for the ever-evolving love of Darwin, no Growlithes… You think as you march up another granite driveway, to another horrible five minutes, to another potential customer.
Adjusting the chartreuse skirt of your uniform, you feign the cutest missing-front-teethed smile you can manage and stride toward that dreaded tan button, ready to fire open another gateway into Hell! Thirty seconds later, you press the dreaded button of doom and a beautiful melody rings in your ears.
Da Da Daa…Da Da Da Da… RUFF RUFF!
Figures.
There was a Growlithe.
On cue, a small creamy orange and red dog comes bolting from within the depths of the Hell and begins to slash at the door, barking madly with the lust to shred every strand of flesh from your tiny wittle bones. Groaning impatiently, your smile droops off like a slab of Fresh Miltank, and you continue to pout and look like a rather cranky camper when the door opens to your dull unawareness.
“Keep RUFF making that face, and it’ll RUFF stay that way, Kid!” A repulsive looking middle-aged man appeared in the doorway, dark bags fresh under his red-tinted eyes. You were quite scared of him: his hair was half-gray and uncombed; he wore nothing but a wife beater and boxers that clearly weren’t washed for weeks; and his arms resembled hairy hams that held his struggling Growlithe.
“Huh? Oh umm RUFF hi, Mister! My name is Sally-Sue Smith, and RUFF I am part of Troop 36A RUFF in the Little Snicker Doodles! We are RUFF currently selling Triple Fudgy Wudgies to raise money for our big RUFF camping trip in Mt. Ginormous! A Snack’em box is only RUFF RUFF RUFF,” You start saying in your cheery, rehearsed voice, quickly regaining your composure, but that darn Growlithe is getting in your way! “Umm, is this a bad time, Mister?”
“Oh, I’m sorry Little Girl, I’m on a diet. Can’t buy any junk food! Thanks for asking! You can go now!” he chuckles, placing a beefy hand over his Growlithe’s snarling mouth.
You can’t help but stare at him in utter disbelief: you pretend not to have noticed the about fifty or so bags of Cheesy Poofs lying around the ruins of what could be called a “house”. You can hear the television blaring with the laughter of a studio audience, and then eye the man’s great, round beer belly. Perhaps it WAS better that he didn’t buy your Triple Fudgy Wudgies.
“All right, Mister. I’m sorry for bugging you…” you mumble quietly without making eye contact before you scurry off, desperate to get away. You could have sworn you heard the words “friggin expensive” as a door slams in the distance.
A tiny sigh escapes your mouth as you continue to trudge down the sidewalks of the Goldenrod City Suburbs. This day alone, you’ve visited thirty houses and only two people bought Triple Fudgy Wudgies. And one was your mom. And the other was your dad. You were on your final block, Wisteria Lane. Your tiny Snicker Doodle legs can’t take anymore walking. What you would give just to lay sprawled on your couch…watching The Adventures of Loofah Rob Rectangle-Shirt all day long…eating fattening potato chips…drinking sodie pop…being a kid!
But no! You had a duty to fulfill! Being a Little Snicker Doodle is about more than learning how to tie a stupid knot and pleasing your mother who also one! It’s about the ties of friendship! It’s about the growth of a little girl! IT’S ABOUT BONDING WITH YOUR FELLOW GIRL AT MOUNT GINORMOUS! You and your sisters sell Triple Fudgy Wudgies for a reason! Each blister on your foot, each lame excuse you hear, each door slammed in your face, all the scars of a true Snicker Doodle!
The knowledge of your duty flaring within your heart, you march faster, determined more than ever to sell your last hundred dollars worth of Triple Fudgy Wudgies. You eye the next house and realize that this house will be the one. Whoever is inside WILL buy. No, they won’t consider buying; they won’t talk it over with their wife; THEY WILL BUY! Head held high, you sprint toward the house on the highest hill of Wisteria Lane and declare with all your might, “I CAN DO IT!”
“No, you can’t!” an obnoxious stranger boy cries as he zips past you on his bike.
“…YES I CAN!”
“Nuh-uh!!!” he responds as he speeds out of sight.
“YUH-UH!!”
Determined more than ever, you skip merrily up the next driveway, humming “Just Around the Riverbend.” Without even thinking of stupid Growlithes, you jab the doorbell squarely in the center, gleefully awaiting the next customer you can manipulate with your adorable smiles and (hopefully not) Little Snicker Doodle pocket knife. A few ruffless-minutes later, the door opens and a very attractive young woman appears. Her hair was rather frizzy, as if she had undergone some fierce exercise, and she wore a white bath robe very tightly, still tying the knot as she opened the door to greet you.
Without even taking a second look at the oddly frantic woman, you immediately begin your speech. “HI MA’AM! My name is Sally Sue-Smith, and I’m a member of Troop 36A of the Little Snicker Doodles! We are currently selling Triple Fudgy Wudgies for our trip to Mount Ginor—”
“Sorry little girl, you look cute and all, but I’m kind of busy right now…I’ll talk to you later, m’kay?” she says, eyeing an open door upstairs nervously. You honestly don’t give a pile of dog doo what she says. In fact, you could care less if there was a dying baby with a knife lodged in his chest up there; you need to sell your Fudgy Wudgies!
“A Snack’em box only costs twelve dollars, but I highly suggest getting the Super DeeDooper Package which holds over one hundred cookies for the price of only thirty two dollars! I know you would—”
“Sweetie, I’ll buy your cookies later. I pinky-promise! Now if you excuse me—hey! What are you playing at?” Her countenance changes from condescending to furious as soon as you jab your pink Dora the Explorer shoe in her doorway, preventing her from closing the door on you. Oh, the little doody-head was not about to slam the door on you.
“—LOVE A FAMILY PACKAGE WHICH HAS ENOUGH TRIPLE FUDGY WUDGIES TO LAST…” You continue onward with your speech, raising your voice several decibels over the shrieks of protest by the frantic woman who is now attempting to kick your lead foot out of the doorway.
“HONEY! WHAT’S GOING DOWN THERE! SEBASTIAN IS BEGINNING TO FALL !”
“GET…OUT!” With one final kick, the mean old lady manages to kick your shoe out of the doorway and slam it roughly in your face, locking it several times before storming back upstairs.
You pant heavily as you stare at the closed door in defeat. The smiling sun on the welcome mat taunts you with his bright happiness while you wallow in annoyance. They didn’t buy your Triple Fudgy Wudgies; you can’t help but feel a little down after your huge little mental proclamation. However, you did manage to put up a valiant struggle, as your sore foot can testify to. Grinning broadly, you turn back and skip away to the next house, knowing that this odd place was just practice. Out of nowhere, a loud shriek comes from within the depths of the house.
“AYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
In spite of yourself, you turn and look at the house once more, expecting for something to happen, but instead, it seems to go dead quiet. They must be playing Monopoly or something…
Quickly forgetting about the strange occurrences in the house, you skip along merrily down the driveway and take a deep breath as you absorb your setting. How could you have ever felt down? The sun was shining brightly; there wasn’t a cloud in the sky like a big apple pie! The Pidgey were chirping up in the sky, the Ratatta were….ratattaing back on Earth, and best of all, there were no little children outside because they were inside getting nice and plump watching their Saturday morning cartoons. Of course, you were one to talk being eight years old and all…but still!
Before you knew it, you were at the door of the next house ready to have another stab at selling your chocolate (metaphorically speaking, of course). Your bright grin still plastered onto your face, you prepare yourself for your same longwinded speech, but the woman who answers the door cuts you off before you even begin.
“Oh, I’m sorry little girl, but I have no money right now! I really wish I could buy from you, but my husband will get very mad…” she says in a high-pitched voice.
You don’t even attempt to mask your disbelief. This woman clearly has a five hundred dollar Honeycomb haircut, her nails were obviously done by the legendary Jin Pah-Song, and she wore more silver than could be found in a rapper’s mouth. Heck, there was a new Mercedes Benz in the driveway and very expensive flowers standing besides you. She may think you were some sort of idiot to not notice any of these things, but oh, was she wrong! First Fatty Bofatty expects you to believe he eats healthy and now this Richy….Witch expects you to believe she has no money? Face flushed with fury, you open your mouth to say something that will force this lady to buy your Triple Fudgy Wudgies.
“Umm, I’m sorry Ma’am, I’ll come another time.”
That was your great comeback? Oh come on, even your two-year old brother Jarred could come up with something better than that! And he can’t even talk! You jerk your head up to correct your mistake, but find the door already closed and another lost deal sealed. What happened? You were so confident but when push came to shove, you were shoved back into the mud where you belonged. You try but find yourself unable to restore your wounded ego.
What was wrong with you?
You were the only scout in Troop 36A to still be selling your Triple Fudgy Wudgies. Your mommy always did tell you that you were the cutest apple in the bunch, but she could have been lying! In fact, she probably shuddered at you when you didn’t look. Your hair was an ugly crimson; your glasses did make your eyes look rather big; and you’re sorry that you’re not a twig like that anne-oh-rex-ick Dakota Fanning! Maybe Betty-Lou Delong was right when she said that you should crawl back to the rock you were peeled off the under of? Oh, that made your blood boil. Betty-Lou Delong…your next door neighbor and the supreme Batty PeePee Queen of them all. All the mothers just loved her and lapped her phony goody- two shoes act up, but you know what she really was: a really really really big meanie-head.
While she always went “Hi Missus Smith, can I give you a biiig hug!” to your dear mommy in her dearest lisp, when no adults were looking, she shoved you into mud at every opportunity, calling you “Fart-Breath” to match. It was your heart’s greatest desire to take your sharp kiddy nails and gouge out Betty-Lou’s stunning blue eyes and stamp them until they were nothing but bloody goo and MORE bloody goo. But you’d probably get grounded.
The image of Betty Lou’s pug-like face snarling at you catapults into your mind like a big glob of gruel, and the broken pieces of your ego suddenly reattach once more. She was in the rival Little Crunchy Munchies selling her Quadruple Caramelly Jellies. Rumor had it that she sold nearly four hundred dollars worth of that processed crap with her old “I wub u” routine! A new goal suddenly set in your mind, you aren’t going to sell the required hundred dollars worth of candy, you’re going to beat Betty Lou or get severely injured trying! You didn’t quite want to die…
Holding your head high once more, you glared down Wisteria Lane, a pawn in your Chess game of rivalry. There were five houses remaining. Up to one hundred and fifty dollars of merchandise to sell! Five chances for glory! Five chances to overcome Betty Lou! Five lame excuses, each lamer than the former…
“My mommy BOW WOW and daddy BOW WOW aren’t here right now,” a buck-toothed four year old restraining a Snubbull says before her mother yells at her to finish up her grits.
“I’m sorry, I’m allergic to chocolate,” a businessman says with the smell of chocolate cake wafting from his kitchen.
“I sure will RUH RUH RUH buy from you, Honey! Just let RUH RUH RUH me get my money!” Thirty minutes later, and she’s still getting her money.
“Oh…umm…Sweety, I have a serious condition where…LOOK A HO-OH!” You turn around to see the most beautiful bird pokemon you had ever seen in your entire life flying through the air with golden and crimson wings, leaving a shining rainbow trail behind it. It moves with such grace that you can hardly take your eyes off of it; all the greed and sin from your heart seems to slowly melt away. You stand for several minutes in pure amazement; it was the most amazing thing you had ever seen in your life, and the chances of seeing such a rare pokemon were slimmer than Betty-Lou’s chicken legs! Not long after, the shock wears off, and you turn around to see the door closed.
The lust to conquer Betty-Lou Delong still ablaze in your mind you look up at the last house in hope. Who knows, whoever inside might just be feeling up for four-hundred dollars worth of chocolate…
The final house had a rather motherly feel to it. Creepy little lawn gnomes decorated the front and several wind chimes tinkling silently in the breeze…that second part didn’t sound right, did it? The house looked a lot like a small log cabin and a Christmas Wreath was still hung on the door despite it being March. Having a good feeling about this house, you ring the door bell.
An elderly woman with short, puffy white hair and chained glasses steps out, smiling jovially down at you. She looked like everyone’s typical grandmother: old, happy, and wearing a red knitted sweater. You can’t help but matching her smile, you have a good feeling about this lady.
“Hi Ma’am! My name is Sally-Sue Smith and I’m part of the Little Snicker Doodles in Troop-36A, and we are currently selling Triple Fudgy Wudgies…”
She is the first person to hear your entire speech out, nodding and flashing her brilliant white teeth at the end of your each sentence. She doesn’t rudely interrupt you and remains the nicest person you ever met. Finally, your speech ends, and you flash your biggest smile as your last resort. You’re so optimistic that for the first time you are not twirling your pocket knife secretly in your back pocket.
“Oh, I am very sorry, Darling! I would have been glad to buy your Fudgy Wudgies, but I’m afraid I already bought another cute little girl’s Caramelly Jellies. Around four-hundred dollars worth I believe. I believe her name was Bethany—“
“Betty-Lou Delong,” you mumble glumly.
“Yes, that’s the one. Such a cutey… I’m very sorry, I wish you the best in selling though!” she responds, truly sorry. She gives you a quick peck on the cheek before returning to her home.
You stood on her porch for a few minutes, staring blankly into defeat. This was it. You had to accept defeat. Now that Betty-Lou Delong was confirmed to be in the area, all the houses that would have bought from you would have already bought from her. Miracles do happen, though. If you believe.
OH WHO WERE YOU KIDDING? You weren’t going to sell any more chocolate, and you would never bond with your scout sisters in Mt. Ginormous. You were instead destined to be alone and friendless and end up becoming the creepy Meowth lady everyone stayed away from. If you couldn’t sell measly chocolate, how could you do anything in life? You were a failure. A big, dumb, red-haired failure. You would never be able to beat Betty-Lou or even Deaf-Mute Debby. Nothing would be able to ignite your confidence now; there was no point.
You quit.
You wouldn’t bother seeing what interesting people awaited you in other neighborhoods; he or she or he-she would reject you too. You throw aside your Triple Fudgy Wudgy Order Form aside and sit down on the curb, your money bag situated close to you. You watch blankly as the cars drive by, not giving a single care in the world for you. The cruel word was just mean, indifferent, and full of poopy-heads. There was a time when everyone was happy, generous, and had deep wallets, but now, all everyone cares about is money and keeping as much of it to themselves. Who cares if they produce a new generation of crazy Meowth ladies who never got to bond with their sisters at Mt. Ginormous as long as they get to buy their platinum televisions or iPod Infinitesimal or $800 dollar clothes that could be bought for $8 dollars at the Try and Save. What ever happened to the love in the world? What ever happened to the manipulative power of a cute girl? You knew your mommy wouldn’t approve of you saying it, but Mommy wasn’t around. People sucked!
You cross your arms, put them on your knees, place your head in your knees, and bawl. You cry and cry. You were tired of it, you just wanted to go back home. Your so-called duty really wasn’t worth all of this trouble. After a great while, you lift up your head to wipe your drenched arms free of your tears and continue to cry once more. What an unlucky girl you were…
“Four hundred dollars of chocolate, puh-lease…” You sniff, wiping the last of your tears from your puffed pink eyes. Enough tears had fallen from your eyes; it was time to go home. Numb to your failure, you stand up and walk for several feet with your head down until a rather ugly voice hits your ears.
“Well well well, looks like the wittle baby was cwying! How shad…”
Your head immediately jerks up at the awful, nasty voice of Betty-Lou Delong. Sure enough, standing there in front of you is Betty-Lou wearing her yellow and brown Crunchy Munchy uniform with two beefy henchgirls by her shoulders. She was the last person on the entire planet you wanted to be in front of right now. Well, except for maybe that Pallet town guy who ate children. Even Betty-Lou wasn’t worse than getting your flesh processed, put in an oven, and served for some creepozoid’s dinner.
“You…”
“Yes Crybaby, it’s me! So, how many of your Poop Sticks did you sell? Some of the houses told me that some little ugly girl came by, yet somehow I managed to milk them into buying my yummies,” Betty-Lou taunted, stepping forward and threatening to enter your No-No zone. From behind her, the two gorilla-like girls laugh hoarsely, kind of like a …horse. Come to think of it, perhaps getting eaten was better than being near this turd-bucket.
“Leave me alone Petty-Foo. I’m going home, and I don’t want to see your ugly mug. MOVE!” you snarl dangerously; you were really not in the mood for this.
“Aww? Is da angwy-baby mad? Is she going to spray her milk on me? Drinky little baabaa baby boo?” She entered your No-No zone now and was prodding her finger into your chest, glaring up at you. Though Betty-Lou was quite short for her age, her viciousness more than made up for it. Out of the corner of your eyes, you both eyed the same thing: a puddle of mud fresh from last night’s storm. You break eye contact with her temporarily to gaze up at the chunky henchgirls who started to crack their knuckles and spit onto the grass. You knew what they were preparing to do, but remained strong nether the less! Betty-Lou would NOT have the pleasure of getting you to grovel at her feet.
“I said GO! Don’t you have to go suck on someone’s mommy’s lollypop?” You riposte, taking a firm step backwards.
“I’ll go when I want to, Fart-Breath. Oh what do you know, you did manage to get some Washingtons for your pathetic candy! Probably only from your mommy and daddy…” She eyed your money bag now. A hard lump rose in your throat, what if she stole your money and made you start from scratch? Your mom would never believe that precious Betty-Lou did something atrocious; she would blame you for losing it. And you definitely did not want to tell her she was right about only your parents buying from you.
“Get her, girls!”
In a matter of seconds, the beefy henchgirls come from behind Betty-Lou and throw you face-first into the mud puddle and snatch your money bag easily from your tiny hands. Cackling madly, Betty-Lou comes and kicks you painfully in the side and stamps your head in a little deeper. For a few seconds, you lie in the mud, unable to process what had just happened. Then, you realized you were lying in mud. Slowly, you rise from your corporal punishment. Every inch of your uniform is drenched in thick, brown mud. Your face is no longer recognizable as it is painted with the thick gruel of mud. No matter how much you spit, you find yourself unable to completely remove the awful taste of mud.
You couldn’t believe it; all those slammed doors were more than enough Boo-Boos for you, getting pushed in the mud was just adding diss to owwie! HOW DARE THAT LITTLE BETTY-LOU THINK OF DOING IT? Rubbing off half the mud on your face onto your already poo-colored hands, you eye the trio not far ahead, laughing horribly at your misfortune. Those…stupid little cowards! Like they could ever take you on in a real fight!
Pure rage steamed inside of you; even a Torchic wing could be fried on your burning hot face. After everything you have gone through today, you were not about to let this unjust deed go without consequence. Without thinking about what you were doing, without thinking about the trouble it would cause, without thinking about the months without tellyvision you were about to go, you charge. Like an angry Tauros, you charge all the way up the block, as fast as your Dora the Explorer shoes could take you! Crying with all your might, Betty-Lou Delong turns in shock to see your blazing inferno of a face roaring at her before you tackle her into the ground.
“YOU LITTLE—DIE! DIE! DIE! DIEEEE!”
With each die, you land a successful punch onto her cute button nose. Betty-Lou cries for all her might (music to your ears!), begging her henchgirls to save her, but they simply look at each other dumb-founded, unable to think in such frantic situations. It didn’t even matter if they stopped you now, all that mattered was hurting Betty-Lou DeLong! You didn’t care about getting grounded now; all you wanted was nothing better than to rip the Batty PeePee Queen apart piece by piece and serve her remains to the crazy child-eating Professor Oak.
“HELP! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!” As soon as Betty-Lou cried this, her henchgirls went running in the opposite direction as fast as their doughnut-rife stomachs could take them.
“NO ONE WILL SAVE YOU NOW! TAKE THIS!” After exhausting yourself on her bloody nose, you stand up and stamp on her stomach with all your might. Betty-Lou gasps for air and soon stops crying; instead wailing with all her might. Her pearly blue eyes stream with tears and loud howls flee from her mouth. You were being incredibly sadistic, and didn’t care. Joy fills your heart with each tear running down the little slime ball’s chubby cheeks.
You decide she suffered enough for now and get off of her, panting heavily. She looks up at you in utter fright, and it would be more than your pleasure to take this to your advantage. Grabbing onto her red collar, you pull her up to your waist and look down at her with a malevolent smile. You say one word:
“Boo.”
“AHHHHHHH! P-PLEASE! N-NO MORE!”
“Say I’m better than you.”
“W-what? N-no!”
You raise your balled fist once more, and she immediately corrects her answer.
“Y-you're b-better than me!”
“SAY I’M SCUM!”
People are beginning to step out of their doors to find the source of the commotion now.
“I-I’m s-scum!”
“SAY I’M POOPY!”
“I-I-I’M P-POO-O-PY!” Betty-Lou wails, but she can’t take anymore. She falls down from your grip and begins sniveling at your feet, holding onto them and groveling. She’s desperate for freedom, perhaps she did go through enough?
Nah.
“Owww!”
You dig your sharp nails into Betty-Lou’s right ear and begin dragging her down the road while her legs flail ferociously in a failed attempt at freedom. It wasn’t even about Triple Fudgy Wudgies anymore, it was a personal vendetta! After this day, Betty-Lou Delong would never bully around another kid! As you make your long journey down the block, more and more people step out of their houses, staring astonished at you and your victim. You recognized half of their no-good faces, they were the ones that rejected you! You saw Fatty Bopatty, Monopoly Lady, Richy Witch, and everyone else, all staring in horror at what they thought was an innocent young girl beating another to a bloody pulp. They finally had grown to respect you, even if it wasn’t exactly how you wanted. Your malevolent smirk broadens to show your missing front teeth. Old Granny looked like she wanted to rush down and save Betty-Lou, but she also feared coming near you with a ten foot pole. Then again, if she had a ten foot pole, she could probably just jab you in the eye.
Finally, you reach the mud puddle in Old Granny’s lawn. No words are needed here; Betty-Lou knows what’s coming to her. She gives her most valiant struggle here and even manages to get out of your grip for a second before you lunge at her throat and force her face-first into dirty, icky mud. You plunge her head in there for a few seconds before releasing your hold, and she rises, wiping out as much of the thick layer of mud from her tear-soggy face as she can. You growl at her. She gets the message and runs to her Mommy, crying like the wittle baby she is.
Victory was sweet.
The residents of Wisteria Lane all gathered around Granny’s house to get a better look at the completed holocaust, ogling you like some rabid zoo animal. Finally jerking your eyes away from Betty-Lou, you instead glower at the adults who made you out to be some sort of fool. They knew your true colors now. What they saw was a 3’9”, 40 pound cranky camper, covered head to toe in dried mud. Oh but they also knew what you really were. You were a ruthless beast, ready to liquefy your enemies into Strawberry Frosty Slushies. You knew you had this beast inside all along; you just needed a silly thing like being pushed into mud to awaken it.
Not moving your glower from the closed-wallet jerks, you walk back to wear you originally ambushed Betty Lou and recover your money bag and return. You hear them muttering things to each other and laughing snidely, but it mattered not. Revenge was a platter finest provided cool, and you were about to receive it.
“BE QUIET!!!!!!!”
Immediately, the residents of Wisteria Line fall silent and turn their eyes to you, looking a bit more intimidated than before. Fatty Bopatty starts inching away slowly, probably to go get another bag of Cheesy Poofs. He would be your first victim.
“HEY FATTY BOPATTY! GET BACK HERE NOW! Diet my little anime-peach butt, you know you like eating this crap all day long. Buy a Family Deluxe box for $34 dollars NOW! And while you’re at it, put some clean clothes on and get that Growlithe put to sleep!”
“But—” Fatty Bopatty looks at you with puppy-Growlithe eyes, but you really didn’t care.
“NO BUTS! NOW! Hey, Monopoly-Playing Lady, whatever freaky things you and Sebastian or whatever is doing is over now. Buy my Triple Fudgy Wudgies!”
“Who’s Sebastia—ohhh.”
“Richy Witch, don’t give me that I have no money crap, you get to buy a hundred dollars worth! Now get out that check book your hiding beneath your shoes! As for the rest of you—“
*****
And so, your tale soon traveled all across the Goldenrod Suburbs and you easily manage to raise one thousand and sixty dollars for the Triple Fudgy Wudgies that day. No one dared to cross you; no one dared to give you lame excuses. You return home particularly filthy, very exhausted, and the whole neighborhood fearing you as “that mentally disturbed child.” But the important thing is that you were loaded. You were NOT destined to become a crazy old Meowth lady after all.
Sure, you got kicked out the Little Snicker Doodles for violating the Snicker Doodle Ethic Code Paragraph 3 lines 8-10. Sure you had to give all the money back and apologize, so it was really worthless. Sure your parents were sued by the Delongs and had to pay nearly fifty-thousand dollars for poor Betty-Lou’s trauma. Sure you got sent to St. Agne’s Boarding School for Misfit Girls for two years of your life.
But it was worth it in the end!
You may not have gotten to bond with your sisters at Mount Ginormous, but you did bond with the most important sister of all: your soul. By raising all that money and pounding Betty-Lou Delong into a bloody pulp, you proved yourself to yourself, and you know that you can go anywhere in life by intimidation! The sky is the limit for you, heck you may even be the next president of the United States. The fact that that country is in an entirely parallel universe matters not, what matters is that in the end, you proved your point to the residents in Wisteria Lane:
Don’t fuck with a Little Snicker Doodle.
Dedicated in the memory of Belle: cat, animal, and friend. May you get frisky with Slyvester in Kitty Heaven!
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I loved that part! I don't know why. I guess it's because she has to resolve to violence to sell stuff. I know; I'm sick. 
