2. Gonna Get 'em All

WW squinted through the slits of his swollen pig face waiting for the first non-WW reader to appear. His swollen sausage fingers couldn't hit a single key on the keyboard without depressing at least two to three other keys and his mouse hand was in a plaster cast. Someone else had to navigate around the computer and the fact that he couldn't get comprehensible words out his mouth made it difficult to dictate things as usual. As such, WW was helpless and could only watch while other people used the computer and looked at things or did things he didn't want them to do. He couldn't even complain or move. He'd been propped up in this armchair the whole day and they wouldn't even take him to the toilet. Couldn't they tell his frantic gestures and noises were telling them they either had to give him a bottle to pee in or take him to the toilet? It was urgent. Urgent, I tell you!

Some friends. Just they wait. When he recovered from the beating they had given him and thought he'd forgiven and forgotten, he'd get his revenge. He was gonna get 'em all. Oh yes. Yes, indeed. He'd cling wrap the toilet, post self written and unedited chapters to embarrass them, make noises in the night outside their windows so they couldn't sleep, and fill their desks with polystyrene bean bag beads. Moreover, he'd also cut their pocket money, eat their share of sweets and leave his stinky socks on their pillows during the day. There were some pretty good perks to being the undisputed leader.

Little did WW know that while he was dreaming up what revenge he would take, his friends were actually watching the number of readers increase gradually on a different computer. They had purposely set up a mirror network, so that WW could anxiously watch an unchanging screen. On the other hand, they were watching reader rates sky rocket and it had only been a few days since they had finally published their 18,000 chapter web novel.

The number of comments - both good and bad - were increasing at a steady rate. It was good. This was good. Most comments had (O_O) type emoticons in response to the stupendous number of chapters that had been published in a row. WW had needed to explain how many years of work this was. It was good. Very good. Their work had not been utterly wasted.

In the meantime (with a total non-sequitur), the cheap discounted cobs of corn they had bought the other day had turned out to be as tasteless as cardboard, so someone had come up with the great idea of putting butter on the corn. Except with the way some people tended to do things on a whim, it had now turned into a buttery salted caramel sauce which really wasn't all that bad either, because a certain someone had to watch them enjoying their salted caramel fondue party while he drank corn milk through a straw. At the same time, WW had a discussion with the exclusion of their pig headed leader's input (in all senses of the pun).

What should be their next project and could anyone quit their hated day jobs yet? Had anyone caught all the 150 original Pokémon in any of the newer games? Was it worth buying a ceiling fan or a standing fan to replace the dead air conditioning unit until WW had saved up enough money to pay for it? Was a skirt that flashed underwear when you bent over considered too short? Why don't spots go with stripes? How was the smart Pokémon going to fight? Is it possible to shoot green turtle shells in such a way that you can knock out all the race leaders?

WW had to admit, with one person playing Pokémon on one side, another trying to get dressed for an evening party and another playing Mario Kart while rubbing his feet together over the rubbish bin to peel the layer of dirty dead skin off the heel of his foot, this meeting was not really getting anywhere. Every time a certain pig head made noise, they added more blended corn milk with caramel bits to his cup to keep him quiet.

The meeting only ended when the pig head started bawling and they realised he had peed not only in his pants but all over the absorbent armchair he was sitting in.

༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽

ಠ_ಠ

乁( ⁰͡ Ĺ̯ ⁰͡ ) ㄏ

⁄(⁄ ⁄•⁄-⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

As such, a new armchair was promptly added to WW's wishlist, while everyone made faces at the crying pigface. If he needed to go toilet, why hadn't he just told anyone? Sheesh. Did he have to be so dramatic? Had he no shame? What an embarrassment.

Thus the day ended with everyone helping pigface into the bathtub, where some stayed to help him bag his plaster casts and wash him, clothes and all, one went to a party, and one did not go wee, wee, wee all the way home. The stinky urine soaked armchair was manhandled into the back of a ute, ready to be dropped off at the rubbish tip the next day.

What they were going to talk about could be postponed to another day - if anyone remembered what they were going to talk about in the first place.