Disclaimer: I do not own The Pretender or anything related to it. The show, characters, etc. are owned by TNT, NBC, and Steve and Craig. I’m making no profit off of this.

Author’s Note: You know those stupid, endless lists that appear in your inbox every day? Well, here they are again, but with a humorous twist.

Summary: "I believe the two of you are taking the concept of sibling rivalry to new levels." Sydney has never been more correct in his life.
List Provided By: Tiffany.

Sibling Rivalry
by: chopsticks
p g

-----

A small crowd had gathered in front of Mr. Lyle's office. They were all murmuring quietly and pushing to read something posted on the wall. Occasionally, someone would laugh quietly and another would clamp a hand over the offender's mouth, for fear of startling Mr. Lyle, who was working in his office.

Suddenly, the door beside them swung open and Mr. Lyle stood in the doorway, looking quite pissed off at the crowd.

"What. Do. You. Want?" he ground out, carefully enunciating each word. The group looked panicked as one, and began to slowly retreat. Mr. Lyle huffed angrily and grabbed the nearest person by the elbow.

The person squeaked in dismay at having been caught by Mr. Lyle and began to tremble with fear. The others all turned and tore out of there, trying to get as far away from Lyle as possible. They felt bad for their friend, but there was no way any of them would speak up to the feared Mr. Lyle.

"Why are you suddenly so interested in the area around my office?" Lyle demanded of the underling, secretly overjoyed that the little cretin was trembling with fear.

"Th-that." The underling pointed to the wall beside Lyle's office door, on which a piece of paper was tacked up. Lyle let go of the underling to investigate what it was on his wall, and the sounds of the underling running away as fast as possible echoed throughout the hall.

Lyle ripped the sheet off of the wall and began to read.

Your Daily Moment of Zen (Modified to reflect contemporary wisdom):
1. Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me either. Just leave me the hell alone.
2. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a broken fan belt and a leaky tire.
3. It's always darkest before dawn. So if you're going to steal your neighbor's newspaper, that's the time to do it.
4. Sex is like air. It's not important unless you aren't getting any.
5. Don't be irreplaceable. If you can't be replaced, you can't be promoted.
6. No one is listening until you fart.
7. Always remember you're unique. Just like everyone else.
8. Never test the depth of the water with both feet.
9. If you think nobody cares if you're alive, try missing a couple of car payments.
10. Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes.
11. If at first you don't succeed, skydiving is not for you.
12. Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach him how to fish, and he will sit in a boat and drink beer all day.
13. If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again, it was probably worth it.
14. If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.
15. Some days you are the bug; some days you are the windshield.
16. Don't worry, it only seems kinky the first time.
17. Good judgment comes from bad experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment.
18. The quickest way to double your money is to fold it in half and put it back in your pocket.
19. A closed mouth gathers no foot.
20. Duct tape is like the Force. It has a light side and a dark side, and it holds the universe together.
21. There are two theories to arguing with women. Neither one works.
22. Generally speaking, you aren't learning much when your lips are moving.
23. Experience is something you don't get until just after you need it.
24. Never miss a good chance to shut up.
25. We are born naked, wet, and hungry, and get slapped on our ass. . .then things get worse.

He chuckled despite himself and crinkled up the paper. He knew exactly who did this: Miss Parker. This means war.

He quickly went back into his office and began to plot his retaliation.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: Heidi.

Sibling Rivalry II
by: chopsticks
g

-----

Lyle smiled evilly as he snuck around the corner. A piece of paper was clutched in his right hand, and several lines of writing were visible. He came to a stop in front of Miss Parker's office and glanced around, making sure nobody saw him. He looked up at the camera and waved. He knew Miss Parker would be looking for the tape from that camera once she found out what he was doing.

He smirked and pulled out a thumbtack, held the paper up to the wall, and tacked it up. Pretty soon, people would be milling about outside her office, just like they had been around his a few days ago. Revenge sure was sweet.

He casually walked away, noticing out of the corner of his eye a techie stop and read the paper. He smiled inwardly, knowing that soon Miss Parker would be extremely annoyed from the ruckus that was building outside her office.

The techie, who didn't notice Lyle walking away, motioned to one of her friends. He came over and looked at the paper, then began to giggle. Soon, others were coming to see what the fuss was about, including several sweepers. They all tried to keep their laughter down, so as not to disturb the Ice Queen within the walls. Somebody let out a loud giggle and instantly clamped a hand over his mouth, mortified beyond belief.

The door beside them whisked open and Miss Parker stepped out, looking extremely pissed off.

"What the hell are you all doing around my office?" she snarled at them, taking a menacing step forward. The crowd began to edge backwards and eventually dissipate, leaving a lone techie standing there.

"Broots!" Miss Parker shouted out to the man standing in the now empty corridor.

"Y-yes, Miss Parker?"

"What the hell is so damn funny?" she demanded, reaching out and grabbing him by the collar.

"Th-that," he replied, pointing to the sheet of paper next to her door. She released him and pivoted on her heel and leaned forward to read the paper.

Answering Machine at a Mental Hospital...

"Hello, and welcome to the mental health hotline..."
If you are obsessive-compulsive, press 1 repeatedly.
If you are co-dependent, please ask someone to press 2 for you.
If you have multiple personalities, press 3, 4, 5, and 6.
If you are paranoid, we know who you are and what you want. Stay on the line so we can trace your call.
If you are delusional, press 7 and your call will be transferred to the mother ship.
If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and your "Inner Sense" will tell you which number to press.
If you are a manic-depressive, it doesn't matter which number you press, no one will answer.
If you are dyslexic, press 9696969696969696.
If you have a nervous disorder, please fidget with the pound key until a representative comes on the line.
If you have amnesia, press 8 and state your name, address, telephone number, date of birth, social security number, and your mother's maiden name.
If you have post-traumatic stress disorder, s-l-o-w-l-y & c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y press 0 0 0.
If you have bi-polar disorder, please leave a message after the beep or before the beep or after the beep. Please wait for the beep.
If you have short-term memory loss, press 9. If you have short-term memory loss, press 9. If you have short-term memory loss, press 9. If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.
If you have low self-esteem, please hang up. All operators are too busy to talk to you.
Sis, if you are menopausal, hang up, turn on the fan, lay down and cry. You won't be crazy forever.
If you are blonde (or blonde at heart, like you, sis) don't press any buttons, you'll just mess it up.

A slight smile had twitched her lips at first, but as she began to read the personal jabs, that quickly turned into a scowl. She ripped the paper off the wall, sending the tack flying through the air.

"Lyle," she growled as she crumpled up the paper and threw her office door open. She stalked inside, muttering the entire time.

Broots quietly watched the tack fly through the air and land at his feet. He bent down to pick it up and wondered just what Miss Parker would do in retaliation. He stood and walked away, heading back to his hole.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: Unknown.

Sibling Rivalry III
by: chopsticks
g

-----

Broots scampered down the hall, constantly looking behind his shoulder. He didn't want to be doing this, but he knew better than to say "no" to his boss, Miss Parker. If he did, he'd never see the sun for a week, at the very least.

He stopped and took a deep breath when he was in sight of his target: Mr. Lyle's office. He twisted the paper he was holding because he was so nervous, and took another steadying breath. He sighed deeply and crept up to the wall next to Lyle's office.

‘It's now or my ass is grass,’ he thought, pulling out a silver thumbtack from his pocket. He held the paper up to the wall and positioned the tack over the upper portion of the paper. With a small push from his thumb, the tack slid easily into the wall.

With a sigh of relief, Broots scurried off, desperate not to be caught by Mr. Lyle.

As Broots ran off, a curious coworker that had been watching what the techie was doing ambled up to the wall and glanced at the paper. He began to chuckle softly, then remembered who was in the office and clamped a hand over his mouth.

Several others had, inevitably, noticed the first one and came to see what was so interesting. Soon a small crowd had amassed around the wall next to Mr. Lyle's office door. The very office door that was flung open to reveal Mr. Lyle himself, looking extremely peeved.

"What now?" he growled to all of them. The crowd stared in shock at him, then quickly retreated, many tripping over each other in their desperation to get away. Lyle smiled smugly at this, then returned his attention to what had drawn them there in the first place.

He ripped the white piece of paper off of the wall and began to read.

Things Lyle Does to Keep A Healthy Level of Insanity
1. At lunchtime, sit in your parked car with sunglasses on and point a hair dryer at passing cars. See if they slow down.
2. Page yourself over the intercom. Don't disguise your voice.
3. Every time someone asks you to do something, ask if they want fries with that.
4. Put your garbage can on your desk and label it "in."
5. Put decaf in the coffee maker for 3 weeks. Once everyone has gotten over their caffeine addictions, switch to espresso.
6. In the memo field of all your checks, write "for being healthy enough for me to eat".
7. Finish all your sentences with "in accordance with the scrolls."
8. Dont use any punctuation marks
9. As often as possible, skip rather than walk.
10. Ask people what sex they are. Laugh hysterically after they answer.
11. Specify that your drive-through order is "to go".
12. Sing along at the opera.
13. Go to a poetry recital and ask why the poems don't rhyme.
14. Put a small, brick wall around your work area. Play a tape of Chinese sex sounds all day.
15. Five days in advance, tell your friends you can't attend their party because you're not in the mood.
16. Have your coworkers address you by your wrestling name, Rock Hard Kim.
17. When the money comes out the ATM, scream "I won!", "I won! Third time this week!"
18. When leaving The Centre, start running towards the parking lot, yelling "Run for your lives, the amputee dwarves have escaped!"
19. Tell your Asian secretaries over dinner: "Due to the economy, one of you is going to have to be dinner."

He chuckled slightly, vaguely amused at some of the ideas for scaring people.

Even better, he thought to himself, make others do these things. I think Mr. Broots would love to be referred to as "Rock Hard Kim."

Lyle smirked at the thought and headed back into his office, already dreaming up ways to get Miss Parker back for this one.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: Mel.

Sibling Rivalry IV
by: chopsticks
p g

-----

Lyle smirked as he put the finishing touches on a piece of paper. This was going to be the best yet. The subtext in this one was perfect.

He sat back and admired his handiwork for a moment, then reached over and jabbed a button on his phone.

"Linda?"

"Yes, Mr. Lyle?" an Asian voice asked over the intercom.

"Could you come in here please."

"Yes, Mr. Lyle." He loved how he had trained her so well. All she ever said was: "Yes, Mr. Lyle," "Thank you, Mr. Lyle," and "Right away, Mr. Lyle." Nothing more, nothing less. She was the perfect secretary.

The door gently swooshed shut behind her as she entered. He beckoned her to come over, and she did exactly that, always at attention.

"Go tack this up outside Miss Parker’s office, please," Lyle said to her, handing the paper over.

"Right away, Mr. Lyle." She reached out and took the paper, briefly touching his hand. He felt a shudder go through him. Perhaps it was time for a new secretary for the infamous Mr. Lyle.

Linda walked down the hallway, never making eye contact with anyone. She knew better than to do that. Mr. Lyle had taught her well.

She came to a stop outside of Miss Parker’s office, and noticed the area where a paper had been previously. There was a scratch down the wall, obviously left by a tack. She fingered the one in her hand, and then held the paper up, shoving the tack through it and into the wall.

She knew she shouldn’t read the paper, but she couldn’t resist. After all, it was left right out in the open for everybody to see. She began to read, and then quietly started laughing. She knew Mr. Lyle would have her head if he found out, but she couldn’t help it. It was too funny.

Others noticed her standing there laughing, and they quickly headed over. By now they had figured out what was going on, and always looked forward to the posting of another list. Soon snickers could be heard emanating from the small crowd that had gathered around Miss Parker’s office.

Suddenly, the door snapped open sharply, and Sydney ambled out. Just when he was almost over the threshold, he stumbled forward slightly, obviously having been shoved. A feminine voice from within growled out after him, instructing him to find out what was going on.

The crowd stopped mumbling amongst themselves and turned to look at Sydney, much like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

Sydney cleared his throat and then asked, "May I ask what’s going on?"

The crowd’s eyes widened as one, and they all instantly scattered, leaving Linda to talk to Sydney.

Sydney suppressed a chuckle, then turned to the only remaining person in the hallway. "Linda, what’s going on?" Linda shakily pointed to the wall, where the paper was posted. Sydney turned to look at it, then looked back, only to find Linda gone. Yes, Mr. Lyle had trained her well.

Sydney gently tugged at the paper until it ripped loose, leaving the tack in the wall. He began to smile as he read, the subtext jumping out at him.

It Makes You Feel Good. . .
1. Falling in love with the man you‘re supposed to be hunting.
2. Laughing so hard your face hurts.
3. A hot shower, especially when you’re not alone.
4. No lines at the supermarket.
5. A special glance on a video from an old friend.
6. Getting mail from an old friend.
7. Taking a drive on a pretty road to get to a hotel containing an old friend.
8. Hearing your favorite song on the radio.
9. Lying in bed with an old friend listening to the rain outside.
10. Hot towels fresh out of the dryer.
11. Finding out that the sweater that you want is on sale for half price.
12. Chocolate milkshakes with an old friend, especially when the tongue is involved. (or vanilla or strawberry)
13. A long distance phone call from an old friend.
14. A bubble bath with an old friend.
15. Giggling.
16. A good conversation with an old friend.
17 The beach and a naked old friend.
18. Finding a 20 note in your coat from last winter.
19. Laughing at yourself.
20. Midnight phone calls that last for hours from an old friend.
21. Running through sprinklers.
22. Laughing for absolutely no reason at all.
23. Having someone tell you that you're beautiful, especially when angry.
24. Laughing at an inside joke.
25. Friends whom actually aren‘t afraid of you.
26. Accidentally overhearing someone say something nice about you, which is rare, so cherish it.
27. Waking up and realizing you still have a few hours left to sleep with an old friend.
28. Your first kiss with that old friend.
29. Making new friends or spending tons of bedroom time with old ones.
30. Playing with a new bunny.
31. Having someone play with your hair.
32. Sweet dreams of an old friend.
33. Hot chocolate.
34. Road trips with an old friend where you spend more time in the hotel than on the actual road.
35. Swinging on swings.
36. Wrapping presents under the Christmas tree while eating cookies and drinking your favorite liquor, happily getting drunk off your ass.
37. Song lyrics printed inside your new CD so you can sing along without feeling more stupid.
38. Going to a really good concert.
39. Making eye contact with a cute stranger whom happens to be that old friend in disguise.
40. Winning a really competitive game.
41. Making chocolate chip cookies.
42. Having your brother send you homemade cookies that aren‘t laced with rat poison.
43. Spending bedroom time with a close friend.
44. Seeing smiles and hearing laughter from your old friend in the middle of the night.
45. Holding hands with an old friend.
46. Running into an old friend and realizing that some things (good or bad) never change, especially in the bedroom.
47. Riding the best roller coasters over and over.
48. Watching the expression on someone's face as they open a much desired present from you. Namely, you.
49. Watching the sunrise with an old friend.
50. Getting out of bed every morning and being grateful that your brother has refrained from shooting you in your sleep.

Sydney shook his head and chuckled softly. Miss Parker was going to murder Lyle for this list, to say the very least.

He chuckled again and then headed back into the office. He couldn’t wait to see what Miss Parker would come up with. After all, what was more fun than watching a practical joke go spinning out of control to become even more humorous?

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

Disclaimer: I do not own the "Top 100 Things I'd Do if I Ever Became an Evil Overlord." It's the property of Peter Anspach.

List Provided By: Heidi.

Sibling Rivalry V
by: chopsticks
g

-----

Miss Parker grinned happily and clicked on the "print" button. This list was perfect for her revenge on Lyle. It fit him quite well, and he could learn a thing or two from it.

She grabbed the printout from the printer and scrawled a note across the top, suppressing laughter as she did so. Sydney looked up from the magazine he had been reading to gaze quizzically at her. He had stayed around after Miss Parker had seen Lyle's little list, just to insure that she wouldn't go and kill him.

"Parker?" he queried.

"Syd, do me a favor, would ya? Go post this outside Lyle's office," Miss Parker said, standing and circling her desk to be face to face with Sydney. She held out the paper to him, which he took. There was no way he was going to miss this. He needed some laughter in his life, and this rivalry between the two siblings was perfect. Perfectly hilarious, that is.

He smiled and Miss Parker and took the offered thumbtack, ambling out of the office and heading to Lyle's. He never got to do this. But from what Broots told him, it is quite the experience.

He finally arrived at Lyle's office and paused for a second to read over the list. He chuckled at how well it applied to Lyle. Sydney briefly thought that if Lyle bothered to follow this list, how much more of a pain in the ass he would be. This caused him to frown slightly, but his good humor soon returned. After all, it wasn't often that one got to take part in a sibling rivalry. . .especially if one wasn't even related!

A few techies were already gathering around him, anxious to see the new list. Sydney sighed and tacked the paper up, then pushed his way through the crowd that was forming. Laughter could be heard coming from many of them, only to be quickly stifled by another slapping their hand across the offender's mouth.

Suddenly, as if on cue, Mr. Lyle's door swung open and he stood there, glowering.

"What'd she tack up this time?" he growled, taking a step towards the crowd. They all took a collective step back, then turned and sprinted away in varying directions. Lyle smiled, then turned his attention to the list.

The Top 100 Things I'd Do if I Ever Became an Evil Overlord
(Hey, Lyle. Perhaps you should pay attention to this.)

- My Legions of Terror will have helmets with clear Plexiglas visors, not face-concealing ones.
- My ventilation ducts will be too small to crawl through.
- My noble half-brother, whose throne I usurped, will be killed, not kept anonymously imprisoned in a forgotten cell of my dungeon.
- Shooting is not too good for my enemies.
- The artifact, which is the source of my power, will not be kept on the Mountain of Despair beyond the River of Fire guarded by the Dragons of Eternity. It will be in my safe-deposit box. The same applies to the object that is my one weakness.
- I will not gloat over my enemies' predicament before killing them.
- When I've captured my adversary and he says, "Look, before you kill me, will you at least tell me what this is all about?" I'll say, "No." and shoot him. No, on second thought I'll shoot him then say "No."
- After I kidnap the beautiful princess, we will be married immediately in a quiet civil ceremony, not a lavish spectacle in three weeks' time during which the final phase of my plan will be carried out.
- I will not include a self-destruct mechanism unless absolutely necessary. If it is necessary, it will not be a large red button labeled "Danger: Do Not Push". The big red button marked "Do Not Push" will instead trigger a spray of bullets on anyone stupid enough to disregard it. Similarly, the ON/OFF switch will not clearly be labeled as such. - I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum -- a small hotel well outside my borders will work just as well.
- I will be secure in my superiority. Therefore, I will feel no need to prove it by leaving clues in the form of riddles or leaving my weaker enemies alive to show they pose no threat.
- One of my advisors will be an average five-year-old child. Any flaws in my plan that he is able to spot will be corrected before implementation.
- All slain enemies will be cremated, or at least have several rounds of ammunition emptied into them, not left for dead at the bottom of the cliff. The announcement of their deaths, as well as any accompanying celebration, will be deferred until after the aforementioned disposal.
- The hero is not entitled to a last kiss, a last cigarette, or any other form of last request.
- I will never employ any device with a digital countdown. If I find that such a device is absolutely unavoidable, I will set it to activate when the counter reaches 117 and the hero is just putting his plan into operation.
- I will never utter the sentence "But before I kill you, there's just one thing I want to know."
-When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice.
- I will not have a son. Although his laughably under-planned attempt to usurp power would easily fail, it would provide a fatal distraction at a crucial point in time.
- I will not have a daughter. She would be as beautiful as she was evil, but one look at the hero's rugged countenance and she'd betray her own father.
- Despite its proven stress-relieving effect, I will not indulge in maniacal laughter. When so occupied, it's too easy to miss unexpected developments that a more attentive individual could adjust to accordingly.
- I will hire a talented fashion designer to create original uniforms for my Legions of Terror, as opposed to some cheap knock-offs that make them look like Nazi Storm Troopers, Roman foot soldiers, or savage Mongol hordes. All were eventually defeated and I want my troops to have a more positive mind-set.
- No matter how tempted I am with the prospect of unlimited power, I will not consume any energy field bigger than my head.
- I will keep a special cache of low-tech weapons and train my troops in their use. That way -- even if the heroes manage to neutralize my power generator and/or render the standard-issue energy weapons useless -- my troops will not be overrun by a handful of savages armed with spears and rocks.
- I will maintain a realistic assessment of my strengths and weaknesses. Even though this takes some of the fun out of the job, at least I will never utter the line "No, this cannot be! I AM INVINCIBLE!" (After that, death is usually instantaneous.)
- No matter how well it would perform, I will never construct any sort of machinery that is completely indestructible except for one small and virtually inaccessible vulnerable spot.
- No matter how attractive certain members of the rebellion are, there is probably someone just as attractive who is not desperate to kill me. Therefore, I will think twice before ordering a prisoner sent to my bedchamber.
- I will never build only one of anything important. All-important systems will have redundant control panels and power supplies. For the same reason I will always carry at least two fully loaded weapons at all times.
- My pet monster will be kept in a secure cage from which it cannot escape and into which I could not accidentally stumble.
- I will dress in bright and cheery colors, and so throw my enemies into confusion.
- All bumbling conjurers, clumsy squires, no-talent bards, and cowardly thieves in the land will be preemptively put to death. My foes will surely give up and abandon their quest if they have no source of comic relief.
- All naive, busty tavern wenches in my realm will be replaced with surly, world-weary waitresses who will provide no unexpected reinforcement and/or romantic subplot for the hero or his sidekick.
- I will not fly into a rage and kill a messenger who brings me bad news just to illustrate how evil I really am. Good messengers are hard to come by.
- I won't require high-ranking female members of my organization to wear a stainless-steel bustier. Morale is better with a more casual dress code. Similarly, outfits made entirely from black leather will be reserved for formal occasions.
- I will not turn into a snake. It never helps.
- I will not grow a goatee. In the old days they made you look diabolic. Now they just make you look like a disaffected member of Generation X.
- I will not imprison members of the same party in the same cellblock, let alone the same cell. If they are important prisoners, I will keep the only key to the cell door on my person instead of handing out copies to every bottom-rung guard in the prison.
- If my trusted lieutenant tells me my Legions of Terror are losing a battle, I will believe him. After all, he's my trusted lieutenant.
- If an enemy I have just killed has a younger sibling or offspring anywhere, I will find them and have them killed immediately, instead of waiting for them to grow up harboring feelings of vengeance towards me in my old age.
- If I absolutely must ride into battle, I will certainly not ride at the forefront of my Legions of Terror, nor will I seek out my opposite number among his army.
- I will be neither chivalrous nor sporting. If I have an unstoppable super weapon, I will use it as early and as often as possible instead of keeping it in reserve.
- Once my power is secure, I will destroy all those pesky time-travel devices.
- When I capture the hero, I will make sure I also get his dog, monkey, ferret, or whatever sickeningly cute little animal capable of untying ropes and filching keys happens to follow him around.
- I will maintain a healthy amount of skepticism when I capture the beautiful rebel and she claims she is attracted to my power and good looks and will gladly betray her companions if I just let her in on my plans.
- I will only employ bounty hunters that work for money. Those who work for the pleasure of the hunt tend to do dumb things like even the odds to give the other guy a sporting chance.
- I will make sure I have a clear understanding of who is responsible for what in my organization. For example, if my general screws up I will not draw my weapon, point it at him, say "And here is the price for failure," then suddenly turn and kill some random underling.
- If an advisor says to me "My liege, he is but one man. What can one man possibly do?", I will reply "This." and kill the advisor.
- If I learn that a callow youth has begun a quest to destroy me, I will slay him while he is still a callow youth instead of waiting for him to mature.
- I will treat any beast that I control through magic or technology with respect and kindness. Thus if the control is ever broken, it will not immediately come after me for revenge.
- If I learn the whereabouts of the one artifact that can destroy me, I will not send all my troops out to seize it. Instead I will send them out to seize something else and quietly put a Want Ad in the local paper.
- My main computers will have their own special operating system that will be completely incompatible with standard IBM and Macintosh PowerBooks.
- If one of my dungeon guards begins expressing concern over the conditions in the beautiful princess' cell, I will immediately transfer him to a less people-oriented position.
- I will hire a team of board-certified architects and surveyors to examine my castle and inform me of any secret passages and abandoned tunnels that I might not know about.
- If the beautiful princess that I capture says "I'll never marry you! Never, do you hear me, NEVER!", I will say "Oh well" and kill her.
- I will not strike a bargain with a demonic being then attempt to double-cross it simply because I feel like being contrary.
- The deformed mutants and oddball psychotics will have their place in my Legions of Terror. However before I send them out on important covert missions that require tact and subtlety, I will first see if there is anyone else equally qualified who would attract less attention.
- My Legions of Terror will be trained in basic marksmanship. Any who cannot learn to hit a man-sized target at 10 meters will be used for target practice.
- Before employing any captured artifacts or machinery, I will carefully read the owner's manual.
If it becomes necessary to escape, I will never stop to pose dramatically and toss off a one-liner.
I will never build a sentient computer smarter than I am.
- My five-year-old child advisor will also be asked to decipher any code I am thinking of using. If he breaks the code in under 30 seconds, it will not be used. Note: this also applies to passwords.
- If my advisors ask "Why are you risking everything on such a mad scheme?", I will not proceed until I have a response that satisfies them.
- I will design fortress hallways with no alcoves or protruding structural supports which intruders could use for cover in a firefight.
- Bulk trash will be disposed of in incinerators, not compactors. And they will be kept hot, with none of that nonsense about flames going through accessible tunnels at predictable intervals.
- I will see a competent psychiatrist and get cured of all extremely unusual phobias and bizarre compulsive habits that could prove to be a disadvantage.
- If I must have computer systems with publicly available terminals, the maps they display of my complex will have a room clearly marked as the Main Control Room. That room will be the Execution Chamber. The actual main control room will be marked as Sewage Overflow Containment.
- My security keypad will actually be a fingerprint scanner. Anyone who watches someone press a sequence of buttons or dusts the pad for fingerprints then subsequently tries to enter by repeating that sequence will trigger the alarm system.
- No matter how many shorts we have in the system, my guards will be instructed to treat every surveillance camera malfunction as a full-scale emergency.
- I will spare someone who saved my life sometime in the past. This is only reasonable as it encourages others to do so. However, the offer is good one time only. If they want me to spare them again, they'd better save my life again.
- All midwives will be banned from the realm. All babies will be delivered at state-approved hospitals. Orphans will be placed in foster-homes, not abandoned in the woods to be raised by creatures of the wild.
- When my guards split up to search for intruders, they will always travel in groups of at least two. They will be trained so that if one of them disappears mysteriously while on patrol, the other will immediately initiate an alert and call for backup, instead of quizzically peering around a corner.
- If I decide to test a lieutenant's loyalty and see if he/she should be made a trusted lieutenant, I will have a crack squad of marksmen standing by in case the answer is no.
- If all the heroes are standing together around a strange device and begin to taunt me, I will pull out a conventional weapon instead of using my unstoppable super weapon on them.
- I will not agree to let the heroes go free if they win a rigged contest, even though my advisors assure me it is impossible for them to win.
- When I create a multimedia presentation of my plan designed so that my five-year-old advisor can easily understand the details, I will not label the disk "Project Overlord" and leave it lying on top of my desk.
- I will instruct my Legions of Terror to attack the hero en masse, instead of standing around waiting while members break off and attack one or two at a time.
- If the hero runs up to my roof, I will not run up after him and struggle with him in an attempt to push him over the edge. I will also not engage him at the edge of a cliff. (In the middle of a rope-bridge over a river of molten lava is not even worth considering.)
- If I have a fit of temporary insanity and decide to give the hero the chance to reject a job as my trusted lieutenant, I will retain enough sanity to wait until my current trusted lieutenant is out of earshot before making the offer.
- I will not tell my Legions of Terror "And he must be taken alive!" The command will be "And try to take him alive if it is reasonably practical."
- If my doomsday device happens to come with a reverse switch, as soon as it has been employed it will be melted down and made into limited-edition commemorative coins.
- If my weakest troops fail to eliminate a hero, I will send out my best troops instead of wasting time with progressively stronger ones as he gets closer and closer to my fortress.
- If I am fighting with the hero atop a moving platform, have disarmed him, and am about to finish him off and he glances behind me and drops flat, I too will drop flat instead of quizzically turning around to find out what he saw.
- I will not shoot at any of my enemies if they are standing in front of the crucial support beam to a heavy, dangerous, unbalanced structure.
- If I'm eating dinner with the hero, put poison in his goblet, then have to leave the table for any reason, I will order new drinks for both of us instead of trying to decide whether or not to switch with him.
- I will not have captives of one sex guarded by members of the opposite sex.
- I will not use any plan in which the final step is horribly complicated, e.g. "Align the 12 Stones of Power on the sacred altar then activate the medallion at the moment of total eclipse." Instead it will be more along the lines of "Push the button."
- I will make sure that my doomsday device is up to code and properly grounded.
- My vats of hazardous chemicals will be covered when not in use. Also, I will not construct walkways above them.
- If a group of henchmen fail miserably at a task, I will not berate them for incompetence then send the same group out to try the task again.
- After I captures the hero's super weapon, I will not immediately disband my legions and relax my guard because I believe whoever holds the weapon is unstoppable. After all, the hero held the weapon and I took it from him.
- I will not design my Main Control Room so that every workstation is facing away from the door.
- I will not ignore the messenger that stumbles in exhausted and obviously agitated until my personal grooming or current entertainment is finished. It might actually be important.
- If I ever talk to the hero on the phone, I will not taunt him. Instead I will say this his dogged perseverance has given me new insight on the futility of my evil ways and that if he leaves me alone for a few months of quiet contemplation I will likely return to the path of righteousness. (Heroes are incredibly gullible in this regard.)
- If I decide to hold a double execution of the hero and an underling who failed or betrayed me, I will see to it that the hero is scheduled to go first.
- When arresting prisoners, my guards will not allow them to stop and grab a useless trinket of purely sentimental value.
- My dungeon will have its own qualified medical staff complete with bodyguards. That way if a prisoner becomes sick and his cellmate tells the guard it's an emergency, the guard will fetch a trauma team instead of opening up the cell for a look.
- My door mechanisms will be designed so that blasting the control panel on the outside seals the door and blasting the control panel on the inside opens the door, not vice versa.
- My dungeon cells will not be furnished with objects that contain reflective surfaces or anything that can be unraveled.
- If an attractive young couple enters my realm, I will carefully monitor their activities. If I find they are happy and affectionate, I will ignore them. However if circumstance have forced them together against their will and they spend all their time bickering and criticizing each other except during the intermittent occasions when they are saving each others' lives at which point there are hints of sexual tension, I will immediately order their execution.
- Any data file of crucial importance will be padded to 1.45Mb in size.
- Finally, to keep my subjects permanently locked in a mindless trance, I will provide each of them with free unlimited Internet access.

Lyle laughed out loud at several of the items on the list, and silently thanked his sister. He would have to keep this list in mind, especially while searching for his revenge.

Yes, this list was going to make him a force to be reckoned with. His first act as the new overlord would be to find a suitable list to torture Miss Parker with.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: Jackie.

Sibling Rivalry VI
by: chopsticks
p g

-----

Lyle smiled evilly as he pulled the freshly printed paper out of the printer. This list was too perfect. He had no idea where it came from, except for the cryptic e-mail address of headshrinker@shrinkers.com.

It was just as well, he figured. If Miss Parker ever found out who wrote the list, she’d murder the person in several heinous ways. Several dozen, that is.

Lyle grinned at the image his previous thought conjured up, and swung open his door, nearly hitting Broots in the process.

"Mr. Broots!" Lyle called out loudly, capturing the attention of the techie who was staring in slight apprehension at the door that had nearly struck him.

"Y-yes, Mr. Lyle?"

"Do me a favor, would ya?" Lyle asked, putting on his best charming smile. "Tack this up outside Sis’s door." Lyle handed the piece of paper and a tack over to Broots, who looked like he’d rather melt into the floor and be trampled upon all day than post up another list.

Broots shakily took the paper and said nothing, simply staring at it.

"Now, Mr. Broots!" Lyle boomed, causing the balding man to jump in fright and scurry away, quietly mumbling, "Yes, Mr. Lyle."

On his way to Miss Parker’s office, or, to be more accurate, the wall next to her office door, Broots contemplated his options. He could post the list and incur the vengeful wrath of Miss Parker or he could not post it and incur the cannibalistic wrath of Mr. Lyle. Neither option was looking to good for him, though he figured being murdered and keeping all his organs was certainly better than being murdered and loosing his liver.

So it was decided. He would post the list and hopefully manage to disappear into the woodwork, though whenever he wanted that to happen, it never did.

He finally came to a halt outside Miss Parker’s office. A few curious workers began to gather around him, as they had learned by now that whenever someone stood there staring at either Miss Parker’s or Mr. Lyle’s wall, it most certainly meant a new list was on the way.

Broots nervously tacked it up, and the crowd began to shove him out of the way until he ended up in the back of it all. He quickly turned around and scurried towards his hole, his ear hearing the growing crowd’s clamor increase each millisecond.

The crowd was, per usual, trying to keep the laughter to a minimum. Many had to clamp their hands over each other’s mouths in order to prevent early discovery.

The entire scene played out just like it always did. Miss Parker swung open her door and the crowd scattered quickly, everyone running or tripping over the other to get away.

Miss Parker glowered and ripped the piece of paper off the wall and read it quietly, her anger building each second.

Things PMS Actually Stands For

Parker Might Shoot
Pass My Semi-automatic
Parker's Mood Swing
Parker's Mad Season
Parker's Mood Shift
People Must Suffer
Parker Moody Syndrome
Parker's Monthly Shootout
Parker's Midol Season
Pardon My Screaming
Actually. . . That's your normal behavior, Parker!

Lyle was going to pay, and he was going to pay dearly, Miss Parker decided.

She was going to exact revenge on him, and she was going to do it in the most perfect way: with another list, of course. What else?

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: Unknown

Sibling Rivalry VII
Part One
by: chopsticks
g

-----

Miss Parker ducked around the corner quietly, remaining completely unseen. She had been shadowing Mr. Lyle’s secretary, and now that the girl was off to lunch, it was Parker’s perfect chance.

"Linda," Miss Parker said coldly, startling the young woman.

"Oh, Miss Parker! I did not see you-"

"Cut the chitchat. I have a request for you," Miss Parker said, waving a dismissing hand.

"Yes, ma’am?" Linda inquired meekly. If there was one thing she had learned while being at The Centre, it was to never, ever talk back to Miss Parker.

"I know that your boss had Broots post the last list outside my door. I could smell the horrendous cologne he wears all over the paper. Now, I want you to post this." Miss Parker shoved a piece of paper in Linda’s hand and stalked off, leaving the younger woman vaguely disoriented.

Linda blinked several times and the swirling mass that was the cafeteria slowly righted itself. One could never be prepared for a confrontation with the Ice Queen herself.

Linda decided that this could actually be rather fun, and it would be a great way to get back at Lyle for all those leering looks he’d been sending her way. They gave her the chills up and down her spine every single time.

She began the trek back to Mr. Lyle’s office, reading along the way.

Lyle--
I know you do many of these already (especially the last one), but I figured even you could use a few tips.

33 Ways to Annoy People
1. Sing the Batman theme incessantly.
2. In the memo field of all your checks, write "for sensual massage".
3. Specify that your drive-through order is "to go".
4. Learn Morse code, and have conversations with friends in public consisting entirely of "Beeeep Bip Bip Beeeep Bip..."
5. If you have a glass eye, tap on it occasionally with your pen while talking to others.
6. Amuse yourself for endless hours by hooking a camcorder to your TV and then pointing it at the screen.
7. Speak only in a "robot" voice.
8. Push all the flat Lego pieces together tightly.
9. Start each meal by conspicuously licking all your food, and announce that this is so no one will "swipe your grub".
10. Leave the copy machine set to reduce 200%, extra dark, 17-inch paper, 99 copies.
11. Stomp on little plastic ketchup packets.
12. Sniffle incessantly.
13. Leave your turn signal on for fifty miles.
14. Name your dog "Dog".
15. Insist on keeping your car windshield wipers running in all weather conditions "to keep them tuned up."
16. Reply to everything someone says with: "That's what YOU think."
17. Claim that you must always wear a bicycle helmet as part of your "astronaut training".
18. Declare your apartment an independent nation, and sue your neighbors upstairs for "violating your airspace."
19. Forget the punch line to a long joke, but assure the listener it was a "real hoot."
20. Follow a few paces behind someone, spraying everything they touch with a can of Lysol.
21. Practice making fax and modem noises.
22. Highlight irrelevant information in scientific papers and copy them to your boss.
23. Make beeping noises when a large person backs up.
24. Invent nonsense computer jargon in conversations, and see if people play along to avoid the appearance of ignorance.
25. Erect an elaborate network of ropes in your backyard, and tell the neighbors you are a "spider person".
26. Finish all your sentences with the words: ". . .in accordance with prophecy."
27. Wear a special hip holster for your remote control.
28. Do not add any inflection to the end of your sentences, producing awkward silences with the impression that you'll be saying more any moment.
29. Signal that a conversation is over by clamping your hands over your ears.
30. Disassemble your pen and "accidentally" flip the ink cartridge across the room.
31. Give a play-by-play account of a person's every action in a nasal Howard Cossell voice.
32. Holler random numbers while someone is counting.
33. Staple all your papers in the middle of your paper.

Linda had to keep from doubling-over in laughter. She had seen Lyle do a various number of the above things, and, as was noted above the list, especially the last one. She couldn’t even begin to count how many times she’d had to dig out the staples from the middle and re-staple the entire lot.

She paused outside her superior’s door and fumbled with the tack she had grabbed off her desk. After finally situating it correctly, she stuck the piece of paper on the wall and spun around, letting out a small gasp at the sight before her.

At least a dozen people had already congregated around the area, and they were obviously straining to see past her to the sheet of paper. Linda quickly moved out of the way and returned to the cafeteria. She could hear the muffled giggles of the group as she continued down the hall, encountering several people that were heading for the area.

As more and more people began to gather, the door slammed open once again, and there stood Mr. Lyle. This time, though, instead of saying anything, he simply grabbed the nearest person by the elbow and the piece of paper off the wall. He dragged the poor soul into his office and slammed the door shut, leaving the stunned crowd to scatter as they saw fit.

The crowd slowly broke apart, each person mumbling about how awful the poor soul must be doing in there with Mr. Lyle. . .

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: Unknown.

Sibling Rivalry VII
Part Two
by: chopsticks
p g - 1 3

-----

The underling, a South African transferred to The Centre because of her excellent tracking skills, stood stock-straight and tried not to cry. She had been dragged into Mr. Lyle’s office by Lyle himself, and she was doing everything she could think of to remain invisible. So, she didn’t move and scarcely breathed, for fear that Mr. Lyle might make her disappear, just like all his secretaries. She nearly shuddered at the thought, but held it back.

Mr. Lyle, for his part, was doing an admirable job of ignoring her. After pulling her into his office and slamming the door, sending any lingering observers scattering, he began pacing and reading the list. He knew retaliation had been coming, so he had planned ahead. As he read the list, he knew that he did a few of those things, and everyone seemed to take him seriously. He had quite a bit of fun annoying people, but it almost never seemed to get an immediate rise out of them. He sighed inwardly and decided that, to keep up appearances, he had to make it look like he was angry.

So, he grabbed the nearest thing, an Asian metal paperweight, and hurled it out the window, sending glass everywhere. The woman behind him squeaked in surprise, and a dull thud was heard soon after. Lyle whipped around to find the "poor soul" he had grabbed from the hallway on the floor, unconscious.

He turned back to the window and instantly regretted sending the paperweight on the journey of its lifetime. For one thing, he forgot that it was winter. So, of course, it was bitingly cold out and snowing. Secondly, a car alarm was blaring from below and he could hear at least one sweeper swearing loudly at the "damn, fucking alarm."

Lyle growled angrily. His good mood had been thoroughly soured, so he stalked over to where the woman was lying prone on the floor. He kicked her in the side violently enough to flip her over, and she quickly woke up and screamed.

"Oh, for the love of. . ." Lyle grumbled, then walked back over to his desk and grabbed a piece of paper off of its surface. The woman had by then stood up and composed herself, though she looked like she was going to start sobbing at any moment.

"Here," Lyle bit out, shoving a piece of paper underneath the woman’s nose. "Go stick this up outside Miss Parker’s office. Get a tack from Linda." The woman quickly scurried from the room, a sob escaping her mouth. Lyle rolled his eyes and reached for his phone, watching as a particularly strong wind gust blew his papers all over the office.

He sighed and dialed the number for maintenance. Today was going to be a long day.

Meanwhile, the woman had stopped off at Linda’s desk and retrieved the needed tack, plus a few tissues and some consoling words. After finally composing herself, she headed off in the direction of Miss Parker’s office, reading the paper along the way.

Phrases You Wish You Could Say at Work
- Ahhh. . .I see the fucked-up fairy has visited us again. . .
- I don't know what your problem is, but I'll bet it's hard to pronounce.
- How about never? Is never good for you?
- I see you've set aside this special time to humiliate yourself in public.
- I'm really easy to get along with once you people learn to worship me.
- I'll try being nicer if you'll try being smarter.
- I'm out of my mind, but feel free to leave a message. . .
- I don't work here. I'm a consultant.
- It sounds like English, but I can't understand a word you're saying.
- I can see your point, but I still think you're full of shit.
- I like you. You remind me of when I was young and stupid.
- You are validating my inherent mistrust of strangers.
- I have plenty of talent and vision. I just don't give a damn.
- I'm already visualizing the duct tape over your mouth.
- I will always cherish the initial misconceptions I had about you.
- Thank you. We're all refreshed and challenged by your unique point of view.
- The fact that no one understands you doesn't mean you're an artist.
- Any connection between your reality and mine is purely coincidental.
- What am I? Flypaper for freaks?
- I'm not being rude. You're just insignificant.
- It's a thankless job, but I've got a lot of Karma to burn off.
- Yes, I am an agent of Satan, but my duties are largely ceremonial.
- No, my powers can only be used for good.
- You sound reasonable. . . Time to up the medication.
- Who, me? I just wander from room to room.
- And your crybaby whiny-butt opinion would be. . .?
- Do I look like a people person?
- This isn't an office. It's Hell with fluorescent lighting.
- I started out with nothing and still have most of it left.
- You! Off my planet!
- Does your train of thought have a caboose?
- Errors have been made. Others will be blamed.
- A PBS mind in an MTV world.
- Allow me to introduce my selves.
- Whatever kind of look you were going for, you missed.
- Well, this day was a total waste of makeup.
- Not all men are annoying. Some are dead.
- I'm trying to imagine you with a personality.
- A cubicle is just a padded cell without a door.
- Stress is when you wake up screaming and you realize you haven't fallen asleep yet.
- Can I trade this job for what's behind door one?
- Too many freaks, not enough circuses.
- Nice perfume. Must you marinate in it?
- Chaos, panic, and disorder. . . My work here is done.
- How do I set a laser printer to stun?
- I thought I wanted a career, turns out I just wanted the paychecks.
- If I throw a stick, will you leave?
- Sarcasm is just one more service we offer.

The woman laughed quietly to herself as she walked down the hallway. This, of course, hurt her aching ribs, as well as tipped others off that another list was on its way. A small crowd began to gather behind her as she stopped in front of Miss Parker’s office. She took a deep breath and put the paper up against the wall, swiftly tacking it there.

The crowd began to push against her to see better, and she soon realized that she was trapped up against the wall. A few uproarious giggles emerged from somewhere in the crowd, and the door slammed open. The group dispersed, allowing her to step back from the wall she had just so intimately become acquainted with.

Miss Parker, having not said one word yet, glared at her, then hissed out, "You. Come with me. And take that damn paper down." She then turned on her heel and headed back into her office, leaving the door open.

The woman meekly acquiesced and headed into the office. So much for the idea of going to the infirmary.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: Heidi.

Sibling Rivalry VIII
by: chopsticks
p g

-----

Miss Parker fumed in her office, muttering incoherently and pacing back and forth. Why Lyle insisted on continuing this childish game, she did not know. All she knew was that she had to get him back, and get him back good.

She grinned evilly as she snatched the freshly printed paper out of the printer. This would surely piss Lyle off, and that was the ultimate goal of all this, wasn’t it?

She spun on her three-inch stiletto heels and faced the doorway to her office, where the woman she had snatched from the hallway now stood, obviously attempting to make herself invisible. She grinned and the woman seemed to shrink back even more, eventually running into the doorway.

"Do me a favor. . ." Miss Parker paused, realizing she didn’t know the employee’s name.

"Stacey," the woman supplied helpfully, then wished she didn’t.

"Stacey. Be a dear and post this up outside my dear brother’s office," Miss Parker said, an evil smile creeping onto her face.

She handed the paper and a tack to Stacey, who glanced warily at the paper and then back to Miss Parker. Miss Parker arched one well-manicured eyebrow at the woman’s indecision. Stacey sighed quietly and grabbed the paper and tack, then slipped out the door and into the hallway. She could only hope that she wouldn’t end up being caught by Mr. Lyle once again. Her ribs couldn’t withstand another meeting with him.

She began the trek down to Mr. Lyle’s office, reading the list as she went along.

Fifty Things a Man Should Not Know
(Too bad you already know most of these, eh Lyle?)
1. How to say anything in Klingon.
2. How to say anything in Elvlish.
3. What Britney Spear's head looks like when pasted onto somebody else's naked body.
4. Where to buy an "authentic" bolo tie.
5. The details of their wife's first sexual encounter.
6. The difference between a double axel and a triple Lutz.
7. A Vegan.
8. The date on which the Olsen twins become legal.
9. Tucker Carlson's email address.
10. The sassiest things Star Jones said today on "The View."
11. Tobey Maguire's middle name.
12. Cher's real age.
13. The names of the ten "American Idol" finalists.
14. His favorite stripper's phone number.
15. His best friend's salary.
16. The Goggle results for his high school girlfriend.
17. The latest book in Kelly Ripa's book club.
18. That Kelly Ripa has a book club.
19. The placement of "While You Were Sleeping" on E!'s Rank: 25 Best Date Movies.
20. That the female long-eared groundhog is an animal most likely to engage in lesbian behavior, including complicated acts of oral sex.
21. The chicken dance.
22. How to make one mean ambrosia salad.
23. His favorite "Far Side" comic.
24. Where to pick up the perfect inspirational desk calendar.
25. James Van Der Beek's filmography.
26. The meaning of the words: bunting, wainscoting and espadrilles.
27. How to mix a slippery nipple, a screaming orgasm, or a sloe comfortable screw.
28. How to carve tofurkey.
29. A single lyric from any song ever sung by O-Town.
30. A single line from any book ever written by Elizabeth Wurtzel.
31. A fair price for a pedicure.
32. The slugging percentage of that journeyman left-fielder whom the Braves just traded to the Rockies and who may be a nice pickup for his fantasy baseball team.
33. What it is like to walk around the city wearing a velvet pea coat.
34. The melody to the theme song from "Little House on the Prairie."
35. The local priest's boxer or brief predilection.
36. The name of Rue McClanahan's character on "The Golden Girls."
37. What happens to the little cows before they become the delicious veal on his plate.
38. More than two lines from the film "Fletch."
39. How to play a James Taylor song on the guitar.
40. Any 900 numbers by heart.
41. How to mail order a bride.
42. His bra cup size.
43. The current cast members of "Mamma Mia!"
44. His parents' favorite sexual position.
45. The price of John Wayne Gacy's clown paintings on eBay.
46. How to manufacture napalm.
47. What it sounds like if you put a microphone in front of a megaphone.
48. How to cross-stitch.
49. The cost of a white belt or a pair of chaps (any color).
50. The ingredients of a Ballpark Frank.

Stacey did everything she could to hold back her laughter, but a few giggles escaped at the very image of Mr. Lyle performing the chicken dance. That mental image was priceless.

Unfortunately for her, someone noticed her giggling and immediately realized that a new list was coming. Soon a small group of people was following behind her, anxious for a peek at the new list. When Stacey finally came to a stop in front of Mr. Lyle’s office, where the sounds of hammers and drills could be heard from within, a small crowd was pushing against her, trying to see over her shoulder. She sighed again and tacked the list up, then managed to squeeze her way out of the crowd. She was going to the infirmary, and nobody was going to stop her.

The only good thing that came from Mr. Lyle’s window being broken was that he wasn’t in his office at the time the new list was posted, so many people laughed out loud with no repercussions. Unfortunately, he came back right as the largest crowd had formed.

A person in the back glanced over his shoulder for no particular reason, but was greeted with the sight of an angry Mr. Lyle glaring at them. The person frantically tugged on the sleeve of the person next to him, alerting her to the danger. She then tugged on the sleeve of the person next to her, and so on through the crowd, until they were all looking back at Mr. Lyle. He blinked at them, and they scattered quickly, heading in different directions and tripping over each other.

Mr. Lyle grinned in amusement at their antics, his sour mood forgotten for the moment. Then he remembered why they had all been there and stalked forward to his wall, snatching the list from its comfortable position on the wall.

As he read through the list, he realized two things. One, Miss Parker was right and he did know some of these things. Two, he was going to make her pay.

He stalked into his office, a few papers flying out the door because a strong wind gust had once again raced through his office. He turned around and, with some effort, managed to close the door against the wind.

Nobody ever noticed Sydney sitting a little ways away, quietly taking notes on the whole situation. . .

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: Tiffany

Sibling Rivalry IX
by: chopsticks
p g - 1 3

-----

After attempting to remain stationary at his desk while the wind whistled throughout the room, Mr. Lyle finally gave up and, as a way to vent his anger at not being able to retrieve a list, swore violently at the carpenters that were installing his new plate-glass window.

This did not go over well.

Many of the obscenities Lyle hurled at the burly men were about their mothers and alluded to inbreeding, which never goes over well with the big, burly type of man. So, obviously, they were significantly pissed and decided that, since Lyle was able to vent his rage on them, they could vent their rage on him.

Their first move was to toss the $500 plate-glass window Mr. Lyle had just bought out the window. This glass, of course, succumbed to gravity and went careening down the side of the building and smashed into, yes, another parked car.

A string of obscenities could be heard coming from the sweepers that had been standing near the car, all along the lines of: "You fucking morons! How fucking inbred are you?" Mr. Lyle, too, got in on the action, swearing at them again, this time in more than one language and in far more derogatory terms.

The carpenters, whose names were Bob and Bubba, fittingly, decided to deal with Mr. Lyle first and then find a way to hurt the sweepers. After all, this was The Centre and things like that were never questioned here.

So, against Mr. Lyle’s vehement protestations, Bob and Bubba lifted him up by the seat of his pants and hurled him through his glass doors. They had, of course, failed to take into account the law of well, something. It has to do with different pressures and, well, you know what happens when a plane cabin depressurizes? Yeah, that’s what happened here. The higher pressure area, in this case, Mr. Lyle’s office, attempted to balance out with the lower pressure area, the hallway, resulting in a vacuum-esque occurrence.

Needless to say, the glass and the wall directly across from Mr. Lyle’s doors got revenge for him. He laughed quite hard when Bob and Bubba kissed the wall, then slumped to the ground in a stupor.

This, of course, did not fully quell his anger over not having retrieved a suitable list to annoy Miss Parker with. His only option was, now that his office was certainly out of commission for a while (his papers and other objects were spread out throughout the hallway), to go and visit Mr. Broots in his hole.

Mr. Lyle got up and dusted himself off, checking all the cuts he had suffered during his journey through the window. He would have to remember to buy some antiseptic on his way home, but otherwise he was fine.

His journey to what the techies referred to as "The Hole" was uneventful, so Mr. Lyle was considering how to convince Mr. Broots to work against his mistress. That, of course, wouldn’t be hard, as he’d had Broots run errands against Miss Parker’s will before, but Broots seemed to be screwing up the courage to at least partially defy him.

That was not good.

Oh well, he’d have to find a way to threaten Debbie. That always worked.

The door slid open to reveal the cubicles the techies virtually, and for some, literally, lived in. Mr. Lyle instantly spotted Mr. Broots, as he appeared to be attempting to hunker down as to remain invisible. Lyle strode briskly over, uprooting several of the techies’ papers, leaving quivering people in his wake.

"Mr. Broots!" Lyle barked out, catching the attention of the balding man and causing him to jerk in surprise, banging his knee against his desktop.

"Owww," he complained, rubbing his knee. Mr. Lyle just looked on in disdain, and Broots instantly shut up.

"I need you to do something. Can you find me a list to post outside Miss Parker’s office." The question came out more as a statement, which clearly meant to Broots that he had better find something or awful things would start happening.

"Wh-hy?" Broots inquired meekly, not screwing up the courage to look his superior in the eyes.

"Because I said so," Lyle replied sternly, then his tone softened and he queried, "How is Debbie, by the way?"

Broots visibly paled and instantaneously began typing.

"F-fine."

"Good to hear. I hope she stays that way." With that, Lyle perched himself on Broots’ desk and waited for Broots to find something.

"I found something!" Broots shouted triumphantly after several minutes of searching. The deafening sound of applause filled the room and Lyle looked around to see all the techies applauding their coworker’s success. He glared at them, and the applause instantly died down as the techies slithered back into their seats, trying desperately to avoid Lyle’s wrath.

Lyle grinned and then turned to Broots. "What did you find?"

"The perfect list," Broots responded, grinning from ear to ear. Mr. Lyle quickly skimmed over the list, a slight smile lighting his features on occasion.

"It’s. . .adequate. Print it off and post it outside Miss Parker’s office, would ya." Lyle once again turned what a normal person would view as a question into a simple statement. "Do it or die," was the message he communicated through his glare.

Broots’ smile slid off his face and he stared dejectedly at the computer screen. He didn’t even notice that Mr. Lyle had finally left. Instead, he considered how much trouble he would get in if he did or didn’t post the list.

I post the list, Miss Parker kills me. But, then again, I got away with it last time. . . I don’t post the list, Mr. Lyle kills me and likely Debbie as well. He blinked, then thought, I’m posting the damn list!

He quickly clicked the "print" button and sprinted over to the printer to retrieve his prize. He grabbed a thumbtack off a nearby desk and headed out the door, failing to notice the heads shoot up around the cubicles, much like a ground hog pops up out of its hole. They knew another list was coming, and they began to make their way to Miss Parker’s office, anxious for a read.

Mr. Broots did not take notice of the large crowd of people that had formed behind him. He simply concentrated on his task. He stopped in front of Miss Parker’s office and twisted the thumbtack around in his hand.

"Ouch!" he shouted suddenly, glaring at the place where the thumbtack had punctured his thumb. "Lousy, friggin’. . ." he mumbled, sticking the paper up to the wall and jamming the tack through it.

The crowd had pressed closer upon seeing the actual paper on the wall. Broots was almost trapped, except at the last second he managed to press himself to the wall and squeeze out of the crowd. He quickly scampered away, remembering the last time he had posted a list. Besides, he had hurt his thumb and needed a band-aid, and the only place allowed to have band-aids was the Infirmary.

The crowd didn’t notice Broots make his quick exit, instead pressing in further until people were shoved against the wall and unable to move. Several squawks could be heard coming from those who were unlucky enough to be in the front.

The squawks were enough to get Miss Parker out of her office, for suddenly the door swung open and she stood there, looking immaculate in a tailored suit. She glared at them, and the majority ran for the hills, or, in this case, elevators. The minority was those that had been pressed against the wall and now suffered from some kind of nasal bleeding, and those that had fainted from claustrophobia, which, not surprisingly, there seemed to be an unusual number of.

Miss Parker arched an eyebrow at the sight before her, but made no sound. She picked her way around the fallen and bleeding, eventually reaching the list and ripping it down. She wondered what Lyle had come up with in retaliation and began to read.

Alcohol Warning Labels
Due to increasing product liability litigation, American liquor manufacturers have accepted the FDA's suggestion that the following warning labels be placed immediately on all alcoholic beverage containers:
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may leave you wondering what the hell happened to your bra.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may make you think you are whispering when you are not.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol is a major factor in dancing like a retard.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may cause you to tell your friends over and over again that you love them.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may cause you to think you can sing.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may lead you to believe that ex-lovers are really dying for you to telephone them at four in the morning.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may make you think you can logically converse with other members of the opposite sex without spitting.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may make you think you have mystical Kung Fu powers, resulting in you getting your ass kicked.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may cause you to roll over in the morning and see something really scary.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol is the leading cause of inexplicable rug burns on the forehead, knees and lower back.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may create the illusion that you are tougher, smarter, faster and better looking than most people.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may give you, and only you, the impression that every little thought that enters your mind is absolutely brilliant and worth sharing and repeating several times throughout the evening.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may lead you to believe you are invisible.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may lead you to think people are laughing WITH you.

Miss Parker’s lips twitched in amusement at a few, but the hilarity soon died away when she realized that she had done all of these things at one time or another.

And Lyle knew.

She began fuming, smoke almost literally coming out of her ears. He was going to pay dearly. She would make sure of that.

She stormed back into her office, slamming the door and almost breaking the glass. It was a good thing she didn’t though, because Bob and Bubba wouldn’t be back on the job for at least two days, and they were the only resident carpenters.

Sydney smiled from the other side of the rotunda, jotting down a few notes on his notepad. He grinned and disappeared into the shadows, heading to his office to compile this recent data.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: RRP

Sibling Rivalry X
by: chopsticks
p g

-----

Miss Parker tapped her long, acrylic nails on her polished desk. The computer system was being excruciatingly slow today. Was it so much to ask that a simple search take less than two seconds? Really, technology was not all it was hyped up to be.

She perked up instantly when the search finished and the results appeared on her screen. She quickly scrolled through the short list, dismissing several ideas as completely irrelevant.

"Aha!" she shouted to the empty room, standing up so fast her chair went flying away from her, towards the plate-glass window behind her. Under normal circumstances, the glass would have placidly taken the minor beating. But not this time.

Miss Parker wheeled around in surprise when she heard the distinctive crack of glass breaking.

"Oh, sh-" she began, just as half of the window fell outwardly. It continued its descent down the building, this time avoiding the nearby-parked car. Instead, the glass landed squarely on top of a sweeper’s head. His partner’s distinctive swearing could be heard all the way in the heart of Blue Cove, causing people to look around in wonder in the town square.

Miss Parker stepped up to the window and, after barking a few choice words down at the sweeper, examined the partially intact glass. The first thing she noticed was that the glass had broken in a perfectly straight line. The second thing she noticed was that there was no caulk left in the frame to hold that portion of the glass in the flimsy frame, but it was still evident on the undamaged side. Now, she may not be a Pretender, but she knew damn well what this was.

"Sabotage," she breathed, her fury building. She whirled around and clicked the "print" button on her desktop. "Lyle is going to pay," she hissed as she snatched the paper out of the printer tray.

Just as she was about to swoop out the door and exact phase one of her revenge, a clanging in the ductwork caught her attention. Suddenly, an idea struck her that was too good to pass up.

"Angelo? Is that you?" she called out sweetly, approaching the grill covering the air vent. She crouched down and met the soft eyes of the resident empath.

"Daughter," his soft voice crooned and he quickly removed the grating.

"How are you?"

"Daughter. . .mission. . .Angelo. . .complete?" He looked up at her quizzically, not fully understanding the words he had just uttered.

"Yes, Angelo. I need you to do something for me. Post this outside of Lyle’s office, okay?" Miss Parker gently handed over the paper and a thumbtack. Angelo stared at her in bewilderment for a moment, then scurried away, entering back through the vents. Miss Parker replaced the grating and then went about finding a way to get her window fixed, preferably before Lyle’s.

Angelo continued his slow crawl through the vents, cautiously making his way to Mr. Lyle’s office. He didn’t understand why Miss Parker had him doing this, but he was going to do it all the same, simply because somewhere in his subconscious he wanted to stick it to Mr. Lyle. Really, really stick it to him.

Angelo dropped down in the hallway outside the office and looked at all the papers strewn about. He briefly wondered what had happened, then heard the breeze rustle the papers still left inside the room. He may have gotten electro-shock therapy that fried his brain, but he wasn’t stupid, so he instantly figured out what happened.

He reached up against the wall and carefully jammed the thumbtack through the wall, stepping back and shooting a lopsided grin at his handiwork. His sensitive ears heard footsteps coming, so he quickly scrambled back into the ductwork, pulling the grating closed behind him. He scampered off, not wanting to be around for the finale.

The footsteps stopped in the hallway outside the office. His nose twitched at all the papers strewn about and he huffed indignantly. He would make a mental note to clean it all up later. He glanced around the hallway, his eyes instantly drawn to the piece of paper on the wall.

Lyle let out a soft growl and reached out, tearing the paper off of the wall. He caught sight of movement in his peripheral vision, but whatever it was moved to quickly and scampered off around the corner, heading for the elevators.

Mr. Lyle let out a small sigh of gratitude. There wasn’t a soul that had seen this yet, otherwise a crowd would have gathered. He began to read the list, a look of pure evil taking over his handsome features.

The following are purportedly a sampling of Mr. Lyle’s real answers to the driving test after he was sentenced to retake Driver’s Ed. after his car blew up.

Do you yield when a blind pedestrian is crossing the road?
What for? He can't see my license plate.

Who has the right of way when four cars approach a four-way stop at the same time?
Me with my black car and a bumper sticker saying, "Guns don't kill people. I do."

What are the important safety tips to remember when backing your car?
Ignore all screams.

When driving through fog, what should you use?
Your car.

What problems would you face if you were arrested for drunk driving?
I'd probably lose my buzz a lot faster.

What changes would occur in your lifestyle if you could no longer drive lawfully?
I would be forced to drive unlawfully.

What are some points to remember when passing or being passed?
How to run them off the road once they’re halfway past, then see if I can get away with murder again.

What is the difference between a flashing red traffic light and a flashing yellow traffic light?
The color.

How do you deal with heavy traffic?
Road rage.

What can you do to help ease a heavy traffic problem?
Carry loaded weapons.

Mr. Lyle twitched violently. He wanted to know how Miss Parker had managed to find this. It was a complete outrage! He was going to make her pay dearly. Dearly, indeed.

He reached towards his office door, encountering a shard of broken glass instead. He blinked at the gash that now sliced across his palm and remembered that his office was unusable at the moment. If this continued, he’d have to displace someone to have a place to work.

He growled and spun on his heel, heading down the hallway to The Hole once again. But this time, something on the wall caught his eye. He stopped and stared at the piece of paper that hung there placidly, a single piece of tape holding it upright.

He blinked in slight surprise when he saw it was a copy of the list that was by his office door.

Oh, no, he thought, dread filling him. I bet there are copies of this throughout the whole building. She. Will. Die.

And with that final thought, he stalked off towards The Hole, hell bent on exacting the perfect revenge.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com

List Provided By: Pologetix

Sibling Rivalry XI
by: chopsticks
p g - 1 3

-----

Mr. Lyle growled again as he ripped down yet another list. He was getting tired of finding lists posted every two feet. How on Earth Parker had managed to find enough manpower to post this many lists was beyond him. He had been through every section of The Centre, and found papers all the way in Renewal Wing and even on SL-27 in the ruins. It was unbelievable.

He shoved another handful into the nearest waste receptacle, otherwise known as trash can, and stepped up to the elevator. He pushed the call button and waited patiently. The elevator finally arrived and the doors opened. Mr. Lyle let out a strangled gasp when he saw what was inside.

"Oh my fucking God," he began, then went off into several other languages, violently degrading Miss Parker and anybody affiliated with Miss Parker. He stepped into the elevator and glanced around. Every single wall was covered in papers, all of which contained the list. The only exception was the door.

Lyle began to rip down the papers, which was rather difficult because they were all taped up with separate pieces of tape. Then, when he finally got rid of most of the papers, he had a horrifying thought. What if all the other elevators in The Centre were covered like this? He would have to find each and every elevator and remove the papers. This was worse than what he found in the stairwell!

For the next several hours, Mr. Lyle went from elevator to elevator, removing each and every list from within. He wasn’t tall enough to reach the very top (the ceiling was covered as well), so he had to lug a ladder around all day. He received many strange looks for going into an elevator with a ladder.

Finally, he finished getting rid of all the lists in The Centre.

He resumed his original heading of The Hole and had every intention of finding an awful list to use on Miss Parker.

When he finally arrived in the Technical Department, he noticed that nearly every single techie had gone home by then, with the minor exclusion of the ones that lived in their cubicles. Mr. Lyle sat down at the nearest computer and, confidant that no one would bother him, entered into his e-mail account.

He was hoping that a certain someone had responded to his previous e-mail, and he was not disappointed. He grinned malevolently and highlighted the block of text he needed and clicked "print."

His next stop would be the copy room. Oh, yes indeed. Miss Parker was going to rue the day she posted a list throughout the entire building.

On his way back from the copy room, Mr. Lyle ran into a janitor. An idea suddenly struck him, as did the handle of the mop that janitor was using.

"Motherfu-" Mr. Lyle shouted, jumping back from the janitor.

"Oh, I’m sorry!" the janitor cried out, spinning around and coming face-to-face with Mr. Lyle. "So sorry."

"Mmph," was Mr. Lyle’s only response. Then, "Would you and your partners be willing to do something for me?"

"Um, I guess so, sir. What is it?"

"As you clean, would you mind posting these up every foot on the walls? You can make more copies, which you’ll obviously need." Mr. Lyle dropped a giant stack of papers into the outstretched janitor’s arms, who promptly fell over under the weight.

"Oomph, yes, sir."

"Excellent! Oh, and be sure to cover the elevators completely in them, hmm?" Mr. Lyle called back over his shoulder, not waiting around for the answer. He darted out of the building, anxiously awaiting what his dear sister would be screaming loudly, and profanely, in the morning.

-----

The next morning, Miss Parker walked into The Centre, an hour early, per usual. She didn’t notice anything off at first, but then again, she hadn’t had her morning coffee yet. A large group of people congregated all around the walls registered on Miss Parker’s brain after a few moments. Then, she noticed what they were all looking at.

Miss Parker’s eyes widened in horror as she noted the pieces of paper plastered over every single wall. She looked up, hoping against hope that what she suspected wasn’t true. She was in for a letdown. The entire domed ceiling was covered in papers too, gently rustling in the gusts from the air conditioner.

"Holy Jesus mother-" A round of expletives previously unknown to man burst from Miss Parker’s red-painted mouth. Eyes instantly darted to where she stood in the middle of the rotunda. Instantly, people scattered everywhere.

"Morning, Park. . ." Sydney drifted off, taking stock of what was around him. He blinked as Miss Parker stalked over to the nearest wall, her heels clicking angrily, and snatched a piece of paper off of the wall.

She began to twitch ever so slightly as she read through what was posted all around them.

Sixteen Ways to Confuse Your Roommate
(Parker, your old college roommate was quite helpful. She provided all this lovely information for me. By the way, she hates you.)

1.Sit up. Say, "Time to make the donuts." Leave. Do this often.
2.Every five minutes, get up, open the door, peek out, close the door and look relieved.
3.Express an extreme fear of sunlight. Move away from and flinch at areas of the room that are sunny.
4.Pick up the phone every five minutes and say, "hello." Look confused and hang up.
5.Unwrap a candy bar. Eat the wrapper and throw the chocolate away.
6.When listening to the radio, sing along with different lyrics and a different tune.
7.Address your roommate by a different name every time you talk to him or her.
8.Constantly drink from an empty glass.
9.Every time you handle something of your roommate's, use a tissue or gloves.
10.While unlocking your door with the key, complain that the engine won't start.
11.Name your animal crackers. Mourn for them after you eat them.
12.Get a pet rabbit. At a designated time every day, take the rabbit into the bathroom and engage in loud shouting matches. If your roommate inquires, refuse to discuss the situation.
13.Keep a hamster as a pet. Buy a blender, and make a milkshake every day. Then, one day, give the hamster to a friend. Make a shake using a lot of ketchup. When your roommate comes in, look at the shake, look at the empty hamster cage, and say, "I was curious."
14.Try to make meals using your roommate's electric blanket.
15.Put black tape over the eyes of the people in your roommate's pictures. Complain that they were staring at you. 16.Everytime your roommate falls asleep, wait ten minutes, wake him or her up and say, "it's time to go to bed now."

Miss Parker did not say a word, instead shoving the piece of paper she had been holding into Sydney’s hands. He caught it just before it fluttered to the ground and turned to follow his boss.

"He’s going to die," she stated resolutely, making her way to the elevators. The doors opened and Sydney could hear her sharp intake of breath at the sight before her. She closed her eyes for a brief second to hold in the rage, then stepped into the elevator and allowed the cold, nonplussed façade to take its rightful place on her delicate features.

"Now, Parker, is that really the answer to this?" Sydney inquired from beside her, gazing at her out of the corner of his eyes.

"Yes." The coldness of her voice was unmistakable. She had once again become the Ice Queen, through and through. It had been a long time since Sydney had seen this side of her.

"Are you sure you can’t think up some other proper retaliation?" Sydney’s soothing voice intoned, slowly calming her frayed nerves.

Suddenly, an idea struck Miss Parker. Her eyes lit up at the very thought of what she’d do to get Lyle back. "Yes, yes I can." As they stepped off the elevator, Sydney didn’t notice the Cheshire cat grin plastered on her face.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: Tiffany.

Sibling Rivalry XII
by: chopsticks
p g - 1 3

-----

Miss Parker entered her starkly lit office and nodded politely to the carpenters, Bob and Bubba. They had finally recuperated enough to start fixing all the things that had been broken in the few days they were out injured. Miss Parker was sure to be kind to them, because she remembered what had happened to Mr. Lyle’s office. Or what was formerly Mr. Lyle’s office.

Things had been so trashed in there that it was decided that it would be easier to start from scratch. So, everything had been ripped out of his office and put in boxes for safekeeping, and Mr. Lyle was transferred to a smaller office for the time being.

She had managed to ditch Sydney back by the elevators, soothing him with the idea that she wasn’t going to do anything too awful to her "dear" brother. Yeah, right.

She quickly sat down at her desk and booted her computer up. As she waited for it to load, Bob and Bubba began installing the new window for her office. She was glad it was a clear, sunny, calm day. There was very little chance for any accidents to happen while installing her new window.

Her computer having finally loaded, Miss Parker began to do a search for things to torture Lyle with. The incessant banging coming from right behind her was giving her a headache and making her search difficult. Thankfully, though, her e-mail provided some inspiration.

She printed off a copy of the list she had received from some little unknown person, and began to make changes to it. Another idea struck her, and she knew just how to get Lyle back this time around. She grabbed her phone and made a quick phone call, placing her order and asking that it be done immediately. She needed to have this done before Lyle left for the day.

An hour and a half and several headache pills later, Miss Parker’s phone rang. She answered with her customary curt "What?" The person on the other end gave her the best news she’d heard in a long time.

"Excellent," she said out loud after replacing the handset. The evil look on her face was one that could rival Montgomery Burns’, it was that devious.

At that point, Bob and Bubba had finally finished replacing her window and were wiping it down for her, the paper towel squeaking loudly with each movement across the glass. She arched one dark eyebrow as another idea came to her.

"Boys," she said, not bothering to turn to look at them.

"Yes, Miss Parker?" they asked in unison, stopping their shining of the window.

"I have a proposal for you. . ." she began, turning and grinning evilly at them. As she explained her idea, both men smiled evilly, relishing in the idea of extracting revenge on Mr. Lyle. When she finished explaining her idea, both men nodded briskly and took the pieces of paper she proffered to them.

They quickly retreated, anxious to begin their mission.

"And don’t forget the second part of the plan!" Miss Parker called out after their retreating backs.

"We won’t!" they hollered back, devious grins crossing their bloated features. "We most certainly won’t."

Bob and Bubba headed down the hall to the elevators. Their goal was the main rotunda of The Centre. This was one of the best ideas Miss Parker had ever had, in their opinion.

They each took a portion of the stack of papers and a roll of Scotch tape. They had brought their ladders along with them, so they began to stick the list up as high as possible, slowly working their way down in strips.

This constant movement up and down the ladders did not go unnoticed by the exiting personnel, as it had taken them several hours to put most of the lists up and it was late afternoon now. Crowds began to gather all along the walls, each one laughing loudly at the list and what it implied about Mr. Lyle.

Bob and Bubba finally finished posting the lists and made a hasty exit, hoping that the very loud ruckus would not attract Mr. Lyle in time to see them darting away, ladders in hand. It was time for them to do the second part of the project, but first there was a special delivery that needed to be made.

Bubba grinned and held the last piece of paper with the list in his hand. They had ditched the ladders and were now heading to pick up the final key to the whole shebang. He stopped and turned to his compatriot, effectively stopping Bob in his tracks as well.

"You go get the supplies and I’ll meet you out there. I have a special delivery to make to Mr. Lyle’s office," Bubba said, waving the piece of paper for effect. Bob grinned wickedly and nodded, then headed in the direction they had been going. Bubba turned and headed towards the nearest bank of elevators.

-----

Mr. Lyle was sitting at his temporary desk in his temporary office finish up some paperwork for the day. He had every intention of getting home early tonight, for he had a special something waiting for him at home. He grinned at the memory of what was waiting for him, and he was positive he would be having a good meal tonight.

Just as he began to pack up his briefcase, a piece of paper slid underneath the frosted glass door, and a figure could be seen walking away. He hurried to the door and pulled it open, looking both ways down the hall. There was no one in sight. He shrugged nonchalantly and closed the door.

He looked down by his feet to the plain white piece of paper. There was obviously something printed on the other side, so he snatched it up and began to read.

Mr. Lyle’s Self-Descriptive Bumper Stickers
(As seen on his car.)

1. Jesus loves me. . . Everyone else thinks I’m an asshole.
2. Impotence: Nature's way of saying "No hard feelings."
3. The proctologist called, they found my head.
4. Everyone has a photographic memory; some just don't have film.
5. I have to save my breath. . . I'll need it to blow up my date!
6. Some people are only alive because it is illegal to shoot them.
7. I used to have a handle on life, but it broke.
8. WANTED: Meaningful overnight relationship.
9. Hang up and drive.
10. If you can read this, I can slam on my brakes and sue you!
11. Heart Attacks. . . God's Revenge For Eating His Asian Friends
12. My ridiculous little opinion has been noted.
13. I try not to let my mind wander. It is too small to be out by itself.
14. Some people just don't know how to drive. I call these people "Everybody But Me."
15. Don't like my driving? Then quit watching me.
16. Just because I act like one doesn’t mean I have one.

Mr. Lyle ground his teeth loudly, attempting to contain his rage. The only positive he could find was that it had been personally delivered to him, meaning that, more than likely, it hadn’t been posted everywhere yet. He closed his eyes and did a few breathing exercises. He finally calmed enough to make a decision regarding this whole mess.

He would go home and deal with all this in the morning. He didn’t have the energy to come up with something truly malevolent tonight. Besides, he was looking forward to his dinner tonight. Staying later would spoil all the fun and throw off his timetable. When it comes to his special dinners, time is of the essence if the meal is to be properly prepared.

He finished packing his briefcase and snatched it off of the pine desk that he had been allotted and headed out of the office. He looked down as many halls as possible, noting that there were no pieces of paper stuck to any of the walls. He was exceptionally pleased that there were no lists located within the elevator he was in.

The elevator came to a stop on the ground floor, and he got out, following the main hallway to the rotunda. He nearly dropped his briefcase upon entering the rotunda. Excited chatter emanated from all areas around the perimeter; everyone was clustered around reading the various pieces of paper that now substituted as wallpaper.

Mr. Lyle cleared his throat loudly, and nearly one hundred sets of eyes fell on him. The conversations instantly stopped, and an eerie quiet descended over the whole bunch. Approximately three seconds later, everyone that had been in the rotunda fled out the main doors, creating quite an amusing stampede. After it was all over, there were a few unlucky souls that were lying on the ground, obviously having been trampled over.

Mr. Lyle grinned at the chaos that had ensued. He loved doing that kind of thing. He walked briskly across the rotunda, accosting a janitor that was still there, scrubbing the floor.

"Clean this up," he demanded to the janitor, motioning to all the paper.

"Yes, sir," the janitor replied, then went back to his scrubbing.

Lyle went out one of the side entrances that led into the parking garage, where he suspected many of those that had fled earlier would be forced to come back into. He hit the button on his remote to unlock the doors and start the engine. He didn’t notice anything amiss with his car until he got up close to it.

His entire car was plastered in bumper stickers, excluding the windows, of course. And the bumper stickers all read exactly what the list did.

Mr. Lyle fumed. He kicked his driver’s side door rather violently, creating a large dent in the stickers.

"Goddamn motherfucking stupid whore!" he swore loudly, the sound reverberating throughout the entire parking garage. He was on the brink of finding Miss Parker and murdering her when he suddenly got an idea.

He grinned evilly and pried his door open, hopping in. He knew just how to get her back. She would rue the day she messed with his car.

And he wouldn’t miss dinner either.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: Unknown.

Sibling Rivalry XIII
by: chopsticks
p g

-----

Mr. Lyle whipped out his cell phone, pressing the speed dial as he sped out of The Centre’s parking garage. His car, while covered in bumper stickers, was still as functional as ever. All anyone standing on the side of the road saw was a multicolored blur as he sped past at a breakneck speed.

"Hello, this is Lyle," Mr. Lyle said into his slim, black cell phone. He jerked the wheel quickly with his left hand, his tires protesting loudly as he flew around a corner.

The person on the other end said something, but Lyle cut him off with a simple order. "Come to my house immediately. I will have two jobs for you." He snapped the phone shut and threw it into the passenger seat, grinning malevolently as he increased his speed.

Five minutes later and several terrified drivers later, Mr. Lyle arrived at his sterile apartment. He pulled into the parking lot and hurriedly climbed out of his car, attempting to turn his car alarm on with the remote. After several attempts, he figured out that it was either no longer installed or did not work. Either way, he knew exactly who to blame.

"Bitch," he hissed, turning on his heel and heading for the stairs. After a quick ascent, Mr. Lyle came to his apartment, where a man wearing a blaze orange suit was waiting for him. Mr. Lyle groaned in disgust, then approached the visitor.

"Subtle," he commented dryly, looking the man’s attire up and down.

"What?" the man questioned, putting his hands up in the typical gesture of confusion and innocence. The only things that gave him away were his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. Mr. Lyle just rolled his eyes, then began to speak.

"I need you to do two things for me. One, get those goddamn bumper stickers off of my car," Mr. Lyle hissed, motioning towards his car, which was shining in varying colors in the parking lot. "The second thing I need you to do can only be explained inside." Mr. Lyle reached for his keys and jammed them into the lock, swiftly unlocking the door.

The scent that only extreme cleanliness can create wafted out of the apartment, nearly sending both of the men back on their asses. Mr. Lyle inhaled deeply and seemed to calm down instantly, while the mystery man looked like he was going to retch.

"Come in," Mr. Lyle demanded, leading the way into the Spartan apartment. The man in blaze orange followed, holding his breath to prevent becoming overwhelmed with the vile smell of ammonia and other cleaning compounds.

"You’ll need this for the second task," Lyle said, grabbing a piece of paper off of his desk and handing it to the man. The man began to read, but was cut off by Lyle.

"Now, this is what I need you to do. . ."

-----

The next morning, Miss Parker was driving down the road, on her way to The Centre for another day of work and taunting Lyle. She had a grim mood about her. She knew full well that Mr. Lyle would get her back sometime today, though she figured she was safe until at least ten, simply because she had gotten him right before he left work.

Boy, was she wrong.

As she drove down the road, she noticed the first of the many billboards that appeared along this particular stretch. She’d often wondered why there were nearly twenty billboards all along the road here, but, despite her best efforts, she’d been unable to find an answer. So, she merely resigned herself to the bombardment of ads that came each morning and night.

This morning, though, things were a little different. The first thing that attracted her to the first billboard was her picture—not a very good one either—pasted up, taking up nearly half of the billboard. The second thing was the title that ran alongside her picture.

Miss Parker’s Rules of Life
A.K.A. Things That Have Actually Happened to Her

Miss Parker’s brow furrowed in confusion for a moment, then realization dawned on her with the next billboard.

1. Follow your dream! Unless it's the one where you're at The Centre in your underwear during a fire drill.

"Lyle," she hissed out violently, her grip increasing on the steering wheel, turning her knuckles a pretty shade of pale.

She continued on, each billboard holding another "rule of life," increasing her anger exponentially.

2. Always take time to stop and smell the roses and sooner or later, you'll inhale a bee.

3. Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me, either, just leave me alone.

4. If you don't like my driving, don't call anyone. Just take another road. That's why the highway department made so many of them.

5. If a motorist cuts you off, just turn the other cheek. Nothing gets the message across like a good mooning.

6. When I'm feeling down, I like to whistle. It makes the neighbor's dog run to the end of his chain and gag himself.

7. It's always darkest before the dawn. So if you're going to steal the neighbor's newspaper, that's the time to do it.

8. A handy telephone tip: Keep a small chalkboard near the phone. That way, when a salesman calls, you can hold the receiver up to it and run your fingernails across it until he hangs up.

9. Each day I try to enjoy something from each of the four food groups: the bonbon group, the salty-snack group, the caffeine group and the "What-ever-the-thing-in-the-tinfoil-in-the-back-of-the-fridge-is" group.

10. Into every life some rain must fall. Usually when your car windows are down.

11. Just remember: You gotta break some eggs to make a real mess on the neighbor's car!

12. When you find yourself getting irritated with someone, try to remember that all men are sissies and just give them a noogie or an Indian burn.

13. This morning I woke up to the unmistakable scent of pigs in a blanket. That's the price you pay for letting the relatives stay over.

14. It's a small world. So you gotta use your elbows a lot.

15. Keep your nose to the grindstone and your shoulder to the wheel, it's a lot cheaper than plastic surgery.

16. This land is your land. This land is my land. So stay on your land.

17. Sex is like a roller coaster: When it's good you don't want to get off, and when it isn't you can't wait to throw up.

By the time Miss Parker had arrived at The Centre, she was so angry that she nearly took out the guard station and the guard within. She sped off and parked rather haphazardly in the parking garage, taking up four spaces with only one side in the parking area, the other in the driving lane.

She stormed up to her office and, outside, there was a mass of people. Everyone was laughing loudly, worry-free because the Ice Queen hadn’t come in quite yet. The angry click of her heels reverberated throughout the hallway, and suddenly all eyes were on her. She narrowed her eyes and they took off, leaving tiny dust clouds behind. A few had slammed into each other in their haste to escape, so they were lying on the floor, rubbing their heads and mumbling incoherently.

Miss Parker walked up to the wall beside her office door and primly took the list off of the wall, then strolled in her office, slamming the door behind her.

She had the perfect idea for how to get Mr. Lyle back. Her darling brother was going to pay.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com

List Provided By: Heidi.

Sibling Rivalry XIV
by: chopsticks
p g - 1 3

-----

Miss Parker grinned triumphantly as she slammed the phone down. This had been one hell of a morning for her, but by ten she had fixed every little problem. She had called the city council and complained rather loudly and irately about the billboards. The entire list was being taken down as she sat there, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

To put an even better spin on things, she had found the perfect list for Mr. Lyle. Her grin became a full-blown smile as she thought about how she was going to post this one.

"Broots!" she bellowed loudly, the sound echoing throughout the empty rotunda beyond her office. A secretary immediately headed off to the elevators, where several people were waiting patiently in front of the doors.

"Miss Parker wants to see Mr. Broots," she said curtly to all whom stood there. She continued on her way, never bothering to look back at the people.

As one, the people waiting for the elevator blinked. At that same moment, the elevator itself dinged loudly to announce its presence. Their gazes shifted to the elevator and they got on. The elevator stopped and the techies got off, heading to their respective stations. On their way, they passed Jessica, another computer programmer.

"Miss Parker wants to see Mr. Broots," they relayed. Jessica nodded and turned herself so she was facing all of the cubicles.

"Broots!" she bellowed loudly, her voice sound remarkably like Miss Parker’s. Jessica was the only one that could pull off a credible imitation of Miss Parker, something the other techies, and she herself, had abused to no end.

Broots’ bald head instantly popped up from behind a cubicle wall, and he looked around for the source of the shouting. As soon as his eyes landed on Jessica, he understood and quickly scurried away.

Five minutes later, he was standing in Miss Parker’s office.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked meekly, ducking his head when she looked up at him.

"Yes." She paused, causing him to look up. She instantly made eye contact with him, and he knew he was not going to like whatever it was she wanted him to do. But then again, when did he ever like what she wanted him to do?

"Broots," Miss Parker began sweetly, "would you please post this up on the announcement system for me?" He blinked at her, and took the proffered piece of paper. "Now," she said coldly, her blue eyes staring daggers into him.

"Y-yes, Miss Parker." With that, Broots scurried out of the room and headed back to his hole.

Once there, sitting safely behind his computer terminal, he began to add the list to the announcements, giggling slightly as he did so. He had even come up with is own modifications for it, which only made his giggling that much more insistent.

The person in the cubicle next to him peeked over the edge and instantly understood what Broots was doing. He sat back down quickly, typing out a fast e-mail to everyone but Miss Parker, Mr. Lyle, and anyone that could potentially kill any of them with one word. In other words, management never saw said e-mail.

Instantly, people began checking the daily announcements on their computers. A sort of mass hysteria began to sweep through The Centre, as people whispered the news to others in the hallway. The hallways were a mess of files, broken coffee cups, and other various debris, and it was this sight that Mr. Lyle came upon.

He blinked, very slowly and deliberately, when he saw people instantly scatter when coming anywhere near another. The spilt coffee was beginning to form a small layer in the hallways; in some places it was even a quarter of an inch deep.

A random person passed by him, and leaned in close, whispering, "There’s a new list on the announcements!" The random person then continued on, obviously oblivious that she had given the news to the very person they were trying to avoid giving it to: Mr. Lyle.

Lyle’s eyes narrowed dangerous, and he stomped towards his temporary office. Stomping down the halls proved to be a bad idea, because coffee tended to splash up when met with extreme force. So, as a result, Mr. Lyle stormed into his office, swearing violently about coffee and ruined pants. (It was extremely unfortunate that he had decided to wear a white suit that day.)

Mr. Lyle sat down heavily at his desk, still swearing, and booted up his computer. He had it set so the daily announcements automatically appeared when his computer was turned on. This was the sight he was met with:

Things Mr. Lyle Does At Wal-Mart
(As seen on surveillance cameras from Wal-Mart.)

1. Gets boxes of condoms & randomly put them in peoples' carts when they aren't looking.
2. Sets all the alarm clocks to go off at 10-minute intervals.
3. Makes a trail of orange juice on the floor to the rest rooms.
4. Walks up to an employee and tells him/her in an official tone, "I think we have a code 3 in House Wares," to see what happens.
5. Puts some M&M's on layaway.
6. Moves CAUTION: WET FLOOR signs to carpet areas.
7. Sets up a tent in the camping department, tells others he'll only invite them in if they bring pillows from the bedding department.
8. When someone asks if they can help him, he begins to cry and ask, "Why won't you people leave me alone."
9. Looks right into the security camera and uses it as a mirror while he pick his nose.
10. Darts around suspiciously while humming the theme from 'Mission Impossible.'
11. While handling guns in the hunting department, he asks the clerk if he knows where the anti-depressants are.
12. In the auto department, he practices his Madonna look using different size funnels.
13. Hides in the clothing rack and when people browse through whispers "PICK ME! PICK ME!"
14. When an announcement comes over the loud speaker he assumes the fetal position and screams "NO! NO! It's those voices again!"
15. Goes to the fitting rooms and yells real loud, "Hey we're out of toilet paper in here!"

Mr. Lyle was furious. Not only was the list extremely degrading, but also there were pictures. Actual surveillance photos of him doing all these things!

His jaw twitched slightly and he had to remind himself that hurling something through the window was not the solution. He had proven that in his own office.

He closed his eyes and quietly focused his thoughts, hell bent on one thing: revenge. Miss Parker was going to get it, and she was going to get it good.

An evil smile crossed Lyle’s features as he thought of what he was going to do to Miss Parker.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: Heidi.

Sibling Rivalry XV
by: chopsticks
p g

-----

"Broots!" Mr. Lyle bellowed into his intercom, knowing full well his secretary would react promptly.

"I'll get him for you," her sweet voice chimed over the intercom. Lyle grinned slightly, allowing that voice to carry his mind far away from the situation.

Five minutes later, Broots knocked on the door and, receiving no answer, entered into Mr. Lyle's temporary office. He was met with the sight of Lyle sitting with his feet propped up, dark brown coffee stains marring the pristine white of his pant legs.

"Ahem. You wanted me, Mr. Lyle, sir?"

Lyle jumped slightly, then glared in annoyance at Broots. "Didn't they ever teach you to knock?"

"Um, I-I did and. . ." Broots trailed off, scared by the evil look Lyle was giving him. "Y-yes, sir. . .they did."

Lyle narrowed his eyes but said nothing. After several minutes of intense scrutiny of Broots' squirming, Lyle finally spoke.

"I need you to do something for me." If it was possible, Broots became several shades paler than before. Fortunately for him, he was already as pale as he could get, so Lyle never noticed any more whiteness in his features.

"Okay. . ." Broots tugged at his collar nervously, hoping it didn't have anything to do with Mr. Lyle's and Miss Parker's ongoing feud.

"I need you to keep my darling sister away from her office for the afternoon." Damn, it was just his luck.

"How?"

"I don't know. Say you have a lead on Jarod in Montana or something." With that, Lyle turned back to his temporary computer station, already working on the list he would use against his sister.

"But. . .how do I do that?" Broots inquired meekly. When he received no response, he tried again. "Mr. Lyle?"

"You're still here?" Lyle turned in his seat and eyed him with something resembling amazement.

"No. I'm going, I'm going." Broots muttered as he slipped out the door. Mr. Lyle never noticed him leaving, instead typing intently on his computer.

-----

Several hours later, Mr. Lyle clicked the "send" button in his e-mail program and allowed a small, evil smile to grace his handsome features. The e-mail contained a list and a request that needed to be filled by two o'clock.

Mr. Lyle grinned cruelly as he printed off the list he had just compiled. It was absolutely perfect, in his mind, since he also had actual evidence for the list. He smiled brilliantly and called his secretary, who was still stationed outside his old office.

"Linda?"

"Yes, Mr. Lyle?" her voice rang out through the intercom.

"Will you bring those two carpenters over here?"

"Yes, Mr. Lyle." With that, the intercom clicked off and Lyle was left waiting for the two carpenters that were currently working on repairing his stripped office. It was not a very long wait, for a mere three minutes later, Bob and Bubba came charging into his makeshift office, not even bothering to knock. Mr. Lyle arched his eyebrow at this, but wisely decided to keep his mouth shut.

"What do you want?" they growled in unison. If it had been anyone other than Mr. Lyle, the sight of two burly carpenters speaking in unison would have been unnerving, like something straight out of a Stephen King novel. But, as it was, Mr. Lyle was not bothered by two grown men speaking in unison. Spending time in a Tibetan monastery would do that to a person.

"I need you two to do something for me," Lyle began. He swiftly explained his plan to the two standing before him and gave them his timetable. Bob and Bubba grinned evilly, happy to become a part of the little feud between the twins.

-----

"Broots," Miss Parker said wearily, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I don't know what you think you found, but it's been three hours now. And the lead you said you had leads to five different places in Montana. . .all in the same hour. Tell me, exactly, how Jarod managed to be in five different places at the same time when they're all nearly one hundred miles apart!"

"I. . .don't know, Miss Parker," Broots said nervously, looking to Sydney for help. Sydney simply arched an eyebrow at him, as if he were studying the younger man. Broots, more unnerved than before, sighed in resignation. "I guess he duped us again, Miss Parker."

"So it would seem," she said through gritted teeth. "I'll be in my office, catching up on the work I could have had finished by now." She spun on her four-inch heel and marched off, her entire body radiating anger. Broots and Sydney exchanged a glance before Sydney headed off after his errant boss.

"Parker!" he called after her, picking up his pace a bit to catch up with her. "Parker!" By now he was at a half-jog. "Parker!" he said loudly, catching her attention as she waited for an elevator. She spun around and blinked in slight surprise as Sydney came to a stop in front of her, breathing heavily.

"Did you need something?" she inquired, eyeing him suspiciously.

"No," he panted, sucking in huge gulps of hair. "I just. . .wanted. . .to. . .talk. . .to. . .you." He leaned over and placed his hands on his knees, sucking in lungfuls of air.

"You know, hitting the gym on occasion might not be such a bad idea for you, Syd," Miss Parker noted, grinning slightly.

"So my. . .doctor. . .tells me." He let out a giant breath of air and stood up, his breathing having slowed a bit. The elevator dinged and they boarded it.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"I think you need a vacation, Parker," Sydney said, his breathing returning to normal.

"You always say that," she noted, observing her reflection in the elevator doors.

"And I'm always right."

"That's a bit arrogant, even for a shrink," she said, turning toward him. Sydney simply shrugged.

"I know you mean well, but I don't need to be. . .shrunk. . .today."

"Okay, Parker." Miss Parker glanced sideways at him, surprised by his agreeable attitude.

"Okay, then." The elevator dinged once again and the doors swooshed open, revealing the rotunda and her office door on the other side. Sydney's eyebrows shot up in surprise and Miss Parker let out a strangled gasp. Her entire door was covered in bumper stickers, all of varying colors and shades.

She marched out of the elevator and walked numbly up to her door, shoving the people that had congregated out of the way. They, of course, after noticing Miss Parker had arrived, ran off in several directions, many getting hurt in the process. Miss Parker inadvertently whacked one of the injured with her pointy shoe, causing the unfortunate underling to go rolling a small distance and bump into the wall.

When she got closer, Miss Parker noticed there was a heading above her door. She began to read it and the bumper stickers, feeling her face growing redder with each successive sticker.

Actual Self-Descriptive Bumper Stickers Miss Parker Has

Horn broken. Watch for finger.
Your kid may be an honors student, but you're still an idiot.
All generalizations are false.
Cover me. I'm changing lanes.
I brake for no apparent reason.
Learn from my parents' mistakes - use birth control.
I'm not as think as you drunk I am.
Forget about World Peace...Visualize using your turn signal.
We have enough youth, how about a fountain of Smart?
He who laughs last thinks slowest.
Lottery: A tax on people who are bad at math.
It IS as bad as you think, and they ARE out to get you.
Auntie Em, Hate you, hate Kansas, taking the dog. Dorothy.
Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine.
Time is what keeps everything from happening at once.
Out of my mind. Back in five minutes.
Forget the Joneses, I keep us up with "The Simpsons."
Born free...Taxed to death.
The more people I meet, the more I like my rabbit.
Laugh alone and the world thinks you're an idiot.
Rehab is for quitters.
I get enough exercise just pushing my luck.
Sometimes I wake up grumpy; Other times I let him sleep.
All men are idiots, and I fucked their King.
Jack Kevorkian for White House Physician.
Work is for people who don't know how to fish.
Montana -- At least our cows are sane!
I didn't fight my way to the top of the food chain to be a vegetarian.
Women who seek to be equal to men lack ambition.
If you don't like the news, go out and make some.
When you do a good deed, get a receipt--in case heaven is like the IRS.
Sorry, I don't date outside my species.
No radio - Already stolen.
Reality is a crutch for people who can't handle drugs.
Real women don't have hot flashes, they have power surges.
I took an IQ test and the results were negative.
Where there's a will, I want to be in it.
Okay, who stopped payment on my reality check?
Few women admit their age; Fewer men act it.
I don't suffer from insanity, I enjoy every minute of it.
Hard work has a future payoff. Murder pays off NOW.
IRS: We've got what it takes to take what you've got.
Time is the best teacher; unfortunately it kills all its students.
It's lonely at the top, but you eat better.
According to my calculations, the problem doesn't exist.
Some people are only alive because my clip is empty.
Pride is what we have. Vanity is what others have.
A bartender is just a pharmacist with a limited inventory.
Reality? Is that where the pizza delivery guy comes from?
How can I miss you if you won't go away?
Warning: Dates in Calendar are closer than they appear.
Give me ambiguity or give me something else.
We are born naked, wet, and hungry. Then we find out the hot boss is our twin.
Make it idiot-proof and someone will make a better idiot.
Always remember you're unique, just like everyone else.
Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies.
Very funny, Scotty, now beam down my clothes.
Puritanism: The haunting fear that someone, somewhere may be happy.
Consciousness: That annoying time between naps.
I souport publik edekashun.
Be nice to your kids. They'll choose your nursing home.
Beauty is in the eye of the beer holder.
There are three kinds of people: those who can count and those who can't.
Why is 'abbreviation' such a long word?
Ever stop to think and forget to start again?
Keep honking...I'm reloading.
Caution: I drive like you do.

"Lyle," she hissed angrily, balling her hands up into fists.

"Parker. . ." Sydney said warningly, coming to stand next to her.

"He will pay, she hissed, glaring at her door. She walked up and attempted to open it, but found that all the bumper stickers made an effective sealant. What she needed right now was a drink, which happened to be contained in her office, which was currently inaccessible because of the bumper stickers sealing it shut.

"Find someone to clean this up," she ordered Sydney, heading back the way she came. She would need Broots' help to get her brother back for this.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: Heidi.

Sibling Rivalry XVI
by: chopsticks
p g

-----

A very angry Miss Parker marched into what is known amongst all the techies as "The Hole." Upon her entrance, techies began to scramble back to their stations and look busy, hoping the daughter of Mr. Parker wouldn't report their slacking.

"Broots," she bellowed, ignoring the commotion surrounding her. Broots, knowing what would expand his life expectancy by another day, instantly appeared at her side.

"Yes, Miss Parker?" he said, startling her.

She narrowed her eyes at him, then responded, "I need a list."

"Oh, god. . ." He placed his hand on his forehead, rubbing gently. Miss Parker just glared at him.

"Make sure it has something to do with elevators," she said, the corners of her mouth turning upward slightly.

"Yes, Miss Parker." With that, she spun on her heel and left the Hole, much to the relief of all but one techie.

-----

"Parker!" Sydney called out, ambushing her by the elevators.

"Yes, Sydney?"

"What are you planning," he asked, walking beside her on her way back to her office.

"Nothing too evil," she replied. "I see you got the carpenters to take off all those damn stickers."

"Yes, they are waiting for you in your office," Sydney responded as they approached her office doors.

"Good, because I have a job for them." With that, she slammed one of her doors in Sydney's face.

-----

Mr. Lyle sighed and closed his briefcase. His only hope was that Parker wouldn't get him back before he left the building. He was not in the mood to deal with that at all.

As he approached the elevators, he noticed a large crowd was gathered around them.

"What the. . ." he mumbled, approaching the crowd. A random person in the back of the crowd glanced behind herself and quickly noticed Mr. Lyle. This caused the chain reaction that had been witnessed so many times before, only this time the crowd managed to disperse with fewer casualties than normal. Mr. Lyle rolled his eyes in the typical "whatever" fashion and stepped up to the doors.

The elevator dinged loudly, the sound echoing throughout the barren hallway, and Lyle stepped on. Immediately, the sound system switched on, as it was set to do, only this time it wasn't playing music. Instead, it was someone speaking. Lyle began to listen, interested in what had been put in the elevators instead.

Things Mr. Lyle Does in Elevators

1. Makes racecar noises when anyone gets on or off.
2. Blows his nose and offers to show the contents of his Kleenex.
3. Grimaces painfully while smacking his forehead and muttering: "Shut up, dammit, all of you just SHUT UP!"
4. Whistles the first seven notes of "It's a Small World" incessantly.
5. Sells Girl Scout Cookies.
6. On a long ride, sways side to side at the natural frequency of the elevator.
7. Shaves.
8. Cracks open his briefcase and, while peering inside, asks, "Got enough air in there?"
9. Offers name tags to everyone getting on the elevator and wears his upside down.
10. Stands silent and motionless in the corner, facing the wall without getting off.
11. When arriving at his floor, grunts and strains to yank the doors open, then acts embarrassed when they open by themselves.
12. Leans over to another passenger and whispers, "Noogie patrol coming!"
13. Greets everyone getting on the elevator with a warm handshake and asks them to call him Admiral.
14. One word: Flatulence!
15. On the highest floor, holds the door open and demands that it stay open until he hears the penny he dropped down the shaft go "plink" at the bottom.
16. Does Tai Chi exercises.
17. Stares, grinning at another passenger for a while, and then announces, "I've got new socks on!"
18. When at least eight people have boarded, he moans from the back, "Oh, not now, damn motion sickness!"
19. Gives religious tracts to each passenger.
20. Meows occasionally.
21. Bets the other passengers that he can fit a quarter in his nose.
22. Frowns and mutters, "Gotta go, gotta go," then sighs and says, "Oops!"
23. Shows other passengers a wound and asks if it looks infected.
24. Sings, "Mary Had A Little Lamb" while continually pushing buttons.
25. Hollers, "Chutes Away!" whenever the elevator descends.
26. Walks on with a cooler that says, "Human Liver" on the side.
27. Stares at another passenger for a while, then announces, "You're one of THEM!" and moves to the far corner of the elevator.
28. Burps and then says, "Mmmmmm. . .tasty!"
29. Leaves a box between the doors.
30. Asks each passenger getting on if he can push the button for them.
31. Wears a puppet on his hand and talks to other passengers "through" it.
32. Starts a sing-along.
33. When the elevator is silent, he looks around and asks, "Is that your beeper?"
34. Plays the harmonica.
35. Shadow boxes.
36. Says, "Ding!" at each floor.
37. Leans against the button panel.
38. Says, "I wonder what all these do?" and pushes the red button.
39. Listens to the elevator walls with a stethoscope.
40. Draws a little square on the floor with chalk and announces to the other passengers that this is his "personal space."
41. Brings a chair along.
42. Takes a bite of a sandwich and asks another passenger, "Wanna see wha in muh mouf?"
43. Blows spit bubbles.
44. Pulls his gum out of his mouth in long strings.
45. Announces in a demonic voice, "I must find a more suitable host body."
46. Carries a blanket and clutches it protectively.
47. Makes explosion noises when anyone presses a button.
48. Wears X-ray specs and leers suggestively at other passengers.
49. Stares at his missing thumb and says, "I think it's growing back."
50. If anyone brushes against him, he recoils and hollers, "Bad touch!"
Variation on Number 24 is: "I Just Called To Say I Love You" while playing the buttons as if they were a phone pad.

By the time the bottom of the list was reached, Lyle was seething. He had instantly recognized the voices reading the list as that of the carpenters, Bob and Bubba. He had a nagging fear that this list was being played in every single elevator in The Centre.

"Parker!" he hissed, slamming a fist against the wall of the elevator. Now his night was completely ruined, as he'd have to spend it plotting how to make Miss Parker pay for this little stunt.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: Lizz

Sibling Rivalry XVII
by: chopsticks
g

-----

Lyle gritted his teeth as he headed down to the Computer Core, where the music for the elevators originated. He slammed open the door, scaring the security guard that was stationed there out of his dreamy sleep. Lyle immediately turned to where the music was being looped, only to have a restraining hand placed on his arm.

"Sir, only authorized personnel are allowed in here."

Lyle glared at the man restraining him, a murderous rage beginning to coalesce within him. The guard seemed to notice this and quickly grew pale, the hand on Lyle's arm growing damp with sweat.

Ewwwww. . . Lyle thought crossly, mentally attempting to will the guard's sweaty hand away from his designer suit.

"But, for you, sir, I'm sure we can make an exception." Blissfully, the sweat-drenched hand was removed from Lyle's suit. As soon as the guard turned around, Lyle furiously attempted to brush it off with his sleeve, not willing to get the guard's sweat on his own hand for fear of contamination. This having failed, Lyle stealthily glanced around the room on his way to the stereo system.

"We?" he muttered quietly to himself. "There's no one else here. . ." He cast a quick glance back at the guard, who had resumed his usual dozing, and pondered the sanity of the guard. This inattention caused Lyle to bump into the counter with the stereo system on it, which caused a loud screech to be heard throughout all the elevators in The Centre.

"Oops," he mumbled nonchalantly, quickly flicking off the music. He pulled out the CD that was in the player and replaced it with the correct one, which he found on the counter.

That done, he pulled out the list he had procured earlier in the evening and headed over to the announcement ticker, which was located in the bar in the lunchroom. He thought it would be a fitting place for this particular list. He used his administrative access and deleted the messages that were currently scrolling across the screen, not thinking that perhaps the message labeled: "IMPORTANT: Psychotic Serial Killer Escaped Infirmary. If Spotted, Please RUN AWAY VERY, VERY QUICKLY and REPORT IT to Security." might just be rather important to leave up.

He replaced the deleted information with the list. This was the best idea he'd had yet!

His task finished, Lyle passed the snoozing security guard and called an elevator. When it arrived, he noted that there were three people lying unconscious on the carpeted floor. He quickly ascertained that their unconscious state had probably been caused by the screech he had accidentally created earlier. He filed that away in his mind for later, considering it valuable information to use for one of his special meals. He carefully stepped over their bodies, not wishing to dirty his designer shoes with the dirt of the underlings, and punched the button for his floor, an evil grin plastered upon his handsome face.

He never thought he'd be so grateful to hear the elevator music playing.

-----

Miss Parker sighed in loud annoyance upon noticing that her mini-bar was empty once again. How she managed to go through so much alcohol in only three days she would never know, though she suspected Broots might be stealing some. Or perhaps Sydney was, using it for an experiment like, "How Much Damage to a Patient Can A Drunken Psychiatrist Do?"

She shook her head sadly, resigning herself to having to go to The Centre's bar in the lunchroom, which happened to be open all day, but got the best business in the morning. She didn't expect there to be too many people there at this time of night anyway.

She glided into the lunchroom, her high heels announcing her presence for her. She immediately noticed the large crowd that had gathered around the bar, all laughing at something she couldn't see quite yet. She moved closer, trying to see what the ruckus was all about. A woman giggling in the back noticed Miss Parker's approach and dropped her glass of brandy. It made a pretty tinkling noise as the glass shattered upon contact with the floor, sending the brown liquid gushing across the floor.

This, of course, as Miss Parker had come to expect, started a chain reaction among the crowd. Soon, the floor was covered in alcohol (much to the janitor's chagrin, who was standing in the corner, shaking her head and mumbling to herself), revealing the people that had passed out on the counter (whom the bartender was poking with the handle of a broom and giggling madly every time one moved a bit) and the announcement ticker.

Her attention was captured by the appearance of her name, and she began to read.

Things Miss Parker Has Learned...
SYMPTOM: Feet cold and wet.
FAULT: Glass being held at incorrect angle.
ACTION: Rotate glass so that open end points toward ceiling.

SYMPTOM: Feet warm and wet.
FAULT: Improper bladder control.
ACTION: Stand next to nearest dog, complain about house training.

SYMPTOM: Beer unusually pale and tasteless.
FAULT: Glass empty.
ACTION: Get someone to buy you another beer.

SYMPTOM: Opposite wall covered with fluorescent lights.
FAULT: You have fallen over backward.
ACTION: Have yourself chained to bar.

SYMPTOM: Mouth contains cigarette butts.
FAULT: You have fallen forward.
ACTION: See above.

SYMPTOM: Beer tasteless, front of your shirt is wet.
FAULT: Mouth not open, or glass applied to wrong part of face.
ACTION: Retire to restroom, practice in mirror.

SYMPTOM: Floor blurred.
FAULT: You are looking through bottom of empty glass.
ACTION: Get someone to buy you another beer.

SYMPTOM: Floor moving.
FAULT: You are being carried out.
ACTION: Find out if you are being taken to another bar.

SYMPTOM: Room seems unusually dark.
FAULT: Bar has closed.
ACTION: Confirm home address with bartender, take taxi home.

SYMPTOM: Room suddenly takes on colorful aspect and textures.
FAULT: Beer consumption has exceeded personal limitations.
ACTION: Cover mouth, seek toilet.

SYMPTOM: Everyone looks up to you and smiles.
FAULT: You are dancing on the table.
ACTION: Fall on somebody cushy-looking.

SYMPTOM: Beer is crystal-clear.
FAULT: It's water. Somebody is trying to sober you up.
ACTION: Punch him.

SYMPTOM: Hands hurt, nose hurts, mind unusually clear.
FAULT: You have been in a fight.
ACTION: Apologize to everyone you see, just in case it was them.

SYMPTOM: Don't recognize anyone, don't recognize the room you're in.
FAULT: You've wandered into the wrong party.
ACTION: See if they have free beer.

SYMPTOM: Your singing sounds distorted.
FAULT: The beer is too weak, or insufficient consumption.
ACTION: Have more beer until your voice improves.

SYMPTOM: Don't remember the words to the song.
FAULT: Beer is just right.
ACTION: Play air guitar.

"Lyle," she hissed coldly, turning on her heel and marching out of the lunchroom, all thoughts of a drink banished from her mind.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: Unknown.

Sibling Rivalry XVIII
by: chopsticks
p g

-----

This was, undoubtedly, the best plan she had ever had in her entire life. Well, at least in the past day. She allowed a cruel smile to grace her features, reveling in the sheer brilliance of her idea. Lyle would flip out when he saw what she was about to do, but she didn't care. That little stunt in the lunchroom bar had been the last straw, as far as she was concerned.

Now, she just needed to figure out how to execute it. Which was why Broots now sat across from her, bug-eyed at the smile on her face. In his experience, whenever Miss Parker smiled like that, it meant very bad news, especially for him.

"Broots," she said slowly, letting the name roll off of her tongue. He swallowed audibly, bringing his eyes back to their regular size, or as close to it as he could manage. "I need you to find me some painters."

"Painters?" he stuttered, confused by her request.

"Yes, Broots. The people with the brushes, the ladders, and the paint." she quipped sarcastically.

"You know, I really don't appreciate. . ." She glared at him, and he trailed off, the remark left unfinished. "I'll go see about getting some painters. . ." And with that, he slid out of the chair and slipped out of the room quietly. She often wondered how he managed to blend in so well sometimes. If she hadn't been watching him, she would have never known he had left.

She dismissed the thought and began to daydream about what Lyle's face would look when he saw her latest scheme. Oh, it was going to be good.

----

Broots scurried, as he was apt to do, down the halls of The Centre. He wasn't entirely sure where he was going, or even how he was going to find some painters, but he knew that failure was not an option he was willing to consider, especially with Miss Parker being at her most devious today.

It was while he was embroiled in these thoughts that he ran headlong into Mr. Lyle's office door, which now had windows in it. In fact, Broots considered, the doors looked like they had been completely replaced after Lyle's little scuffle with the carpenters. He thought it was pretty ironic that the carpenters that had caused half the damage in the first place (spurred on by several comments from the foul mouth of his superior) were now the ones repairing it. Broots opened the door a crack and was instantly overwhelmed with the strong scent of fresh paint. Fresh, wet paint.

Broots grinned slightly, glad that today Lady Luck was on his side for once. He opened the door a bit wider and nearly choked on the scent emanating from the room. Make that fresh, wet, odiferous paint.

"Whoa. . ." Broots mumbled, inhaling another whiff. He vaguely remembered that it was entirely possible to get high off of paint fumes and he wondered if that was what was happening to him now.

"What the. . .?" two surprised voices called out as a sudden burst of air was sucked from the room, just as it had happened when Lyle went through the glass.

"Oh, um, sorry," Broots said, entering the room and letting the door click shut behind him. He noted that the new window was now capable of being opened to let the breeze in. The painters were presumably using it to vent the room, but it seemed to be having very little effect.

"It's okay, don't worry about it. Nothing was hurt," one of the painters, a tall fellow with wispy black hair, replied through a facemask.

"Yeah, we're just getting started anyway, so it wouldn't have mattered," the other painter, shorter and with blond hair, said.

"Oh, that's good. It's looking nice," Broots said conversationally, glancing around the room and trying not to breathe more than possible.

"Thanks. Did you need something?" the dark-haired one said.

"Actually, um, I was wondering if. . .you could take a break. . .because my, um, superior wants to see you." Broots glanced nervously at both of them, hoping he hadn't made a complete ass of himself once again.

The painters looked at each other for a moment, then shrugged. "Yeah, sure, what the hell. The paint fumes are starting to get to me," the blond said, descending his ladder.

"Yeah, me too," the dark-haired one said, descending as well.

"Oh, well, that. . .that's good. Um, follow me, I guess."

-----

The instant she heard the timid knocking on her door, she knew it was Broots. He was the only one that didn't have balls enough to knock like a normal person.

"What?" she said harshly, looking up from her paperwork and toward the closed door.

"Um, Miss Parker?" Broots asked, poking his head in the door. It was a rather comical sight, and she might have been amused had it not been for the fact that she was chest-deep in backlogged paperwork.

"Yes, Broots," she said crossly, as if being disturbed by him was the last thing she wanted. Secretly, she was glad for the interruption, because she really loathed paperwork.

"I-I found some painters. . ." With that, her eyes lit up and she gesticulated to him that he bring the painters inside. Her best plan all day was about to be put into motion, and she couldn't be happier.

-----

Mr. Parker was coming back from a late-lunch business meeting and was feeling relatively mellow. Perhaps it had been the turkey he had; or the mindless business chatter that he had been listening to for the past hour and a half; or the three martinis he'd had. Whichever one it was (or perhaps a combination of all three), he was definitely in a very amicable mood.

So, when he walked into the main rotunda, carrying his briefcase and being generally congenial, he wasn't the least bit fazed by the painting that was going on. In fact, he barely noticed until the smell nearly knocked him unconscious. He looked up then and noticed that the painters were using a very dark shade for the new paint, which struck him as odd. The Centre preferred to project the image of stark cleanliness, and somehow royal purple paint just didn't seem to be the right choice. He wondered how the Tower had ever approved something like this, when he noticed that the painters seemed to be just randomly placing lines and arcs of paint all over the place, not really covering the surface. It was still in the preliminary stages, and in his state of mind he didn't notice that the painters were making letters, not random lines and arcs.

He blinked and shook his head slightly. It was then that he noticed his daughter standing at the opposite side, watching the painters work and occasionally shouting out directions. He made his way over to her, careful not to fall on the tarp that had been placed on the floor. She seemed slightly surprised at his appearance, but quickly masked it.

"Hi, Daddy," she said, giving him a quick hug.

"Hello, Angel," he replied. He looked up toward the painters once again, still befuddled at their random painting that wasn't really as random as he thought it was.

The duo stood in silence for a minute, and Miss Parker cast a worried look at her father, hoping he wouldn't put the kibosh on her fun.

"You know," he finally said, his words coming out slower than normal, "those painters are really doing a very poor job. They're just making random lines all over the place. Where did we find these people?"

Miss Parker blinked in surprise at her father, glad that he wasn't angry, but worried about his odd behavior. "I'm not really sure, Daddy," she replied, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Hmm. . . Well, find out for me, Angel. I'd like to have a talk with their employers." And with that final comment, he ambled off, leaving Miss Parker to her thoughts.

"That was. . .surreal," she said to herself. She decided to concern herself with it later and went back to supervising the painters.

-----

Lyle sighed for what seemed like the millionth time that day and shifted his suitcase to the opposite hand. The Tower was demanding that all paperwork be turned in by the end of the month, and that was now only six days away. He would be working well into the night just get to the stack he had stuffed into his briefcase done tonight. Five more stacks waited for him on his makeshift desk. He hated the end of the month.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the strong, overpowering smell of fresh paint. He wondered why it would be this close to the entrance, because as far as he knew, no remodeling was being done in that area until mid-summer.

It was only when he actually came into the main rotunda and noticed the mass of people that were standing there that he figured out why the area smelled like paint.

"Son of a fucking-" he began, dropping his briefcase (which was heavy enough to dent the floor slightly). The uproar this caused within the rotunda is indescribable, but many people were lying on the ground when it was all done, moaning in pain and some bleeding. Lyle ignored all of this and made his way to the middle of the rotunda, occasionally kicking one of the people on the ground, causing he or she to scream in pain. Somewhere deep within his mind, Lyle took pleasure in that noise.

But, what he was really concerned with was the writing that was painted—fucking painted!—on the walls. He began to read, having to spin in a circle to read all of it.

Fifteen Pieces of Advice When Dealing With Mr. Lyle

1.Don't imagine you can change Lyle. . .unless he happens to be wearing his weekend diapers.
2.What do you do if he walks out? You shut the door with the correct timing to hit him in the ass.
3.If they put a man on the moon, they should be able to stick Lyle up there as well. Maybe with a cannon of some sort.
4.Never let your Lyle's mind wander. It's too little to be out alone.
5.Go for younger cannibals. They're more attractive than Lyle is and you're bound to get eaten anyway.
6.Men are all the same. They just have different faces so that you can tell them apart.
7.Definition of a bachelor: a man who has missed the opportunity to make some woman miserable, instead choosing to eat her.
8.Women don't make fools of Mr. Lyle. He's the do-it-yourself type.
9. The best way to get a man to do something is to suggest that he is too old for it.
10.Love is blind, but marriage to Lyle is enough to make any woman gay.
11.If you want a committed man, look no further than Mr. Lyle in five years when he's confined at a mental hospital.
12.The children of Israel wandered around the desert for forty years. Even in biblical times, men wouldn't ask for directions.
13.If Lyle asks what sort of books you're interested in, tell him anything that keeps your liver intact and in your body.
14.Remember, a sense of humor does not mean that you tell him jokes, it means that you laugh at his.
15.Sadly, all men are created equal. . .and Mr. Lyle is the quintessential idiotic male.

After having spun in a circle, Lyle felt rather queasy and quite dizzy. The only thing that kept him from falling over was the intense rage he was feeling right then. As soon as he regained his balance and the world decided it liked being right-side up rather than sideways and at all sorts of funny angles, he stalked over to where his briefcase sat, kicking several bodies on the way, and snatched it up, the sheer weight of it forgotten.

He needed to plan something big against his sister, but he wasn't quite sure what it would be. At least, not yet.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: Jamie.

Sibling Rivalry XIX
by: chopsticks
p g

-----

Lyle had not done his paperwork. In fact, he had spent much of his night trying to come up with a good retaliation against his sister for her latest stunt.

He had slowly (and somewhat painfully, as he discovered that coffee is a rather hot substance) realized that he was running out of ideas. In fact, he was fresh out.

This was not good.

But, ten hours later, he now had a plan. It was not very original, but, by his count, this would be the twentieth list posted. Surely Miss Parker had to be running out of ideas as well. There weren't that many ways to post lists!

So, Lyle set off to find the painters that were still working on his office, since they had spent all of the day before painting the rotunda and had only managed to finish half of a wall.

Unfortunately for Lyle, the rotunda had yet to be repainted, even though Raines had ordered it repainted three hours ago. In fact, the painters had not been seen since they finished in the rotunda the day before. So, every time he walked down the hallway, people would start to laugh at him. To their credit, they did it as discreetly as possible, but he still noticed. By now, Lyle had learned that death threats wouldn't stop the laughter, and, besides, there wasn't enough time in the year to kill all the people he had threatened. Well, to kill them well, at least.

So, while everyone he passed on his way to his old office snickered quite obviously, he simply ground his teeth and tried to keep from "accidentally" lashing out.

Inside his office, the painters had just started to paint where they had left off the previous day. Lyle narrowed his eyes and scrutinized their work, making sure everything was the way it was supposed to be. Basic white. They were doing an absolutely perfect job with it as well.

"Gentlemen," he said loudly, startling the painters and making one nearly fall of his ladder.

"Whoa. . ." the blond one muttered, grabbing onto the ladder and leaning the opposite way, a little bit freaked out.

"I have another job for you," Lyle announced, a malevolent grin appearing on his face. The painters gulped simultaneously, but knew better than to say "no" to Mr. Lyle.

-----

Lyle grinned in amusement as the painters did what they do best: paint! As far as he was concerned, the fuchsia on neon green looked lovely, especially since he knew his sister despised bright colors.

A few minutes later, out of the corner of his eye, Mr. Lyle noticed his supposed father approaching and look around. Lyle continued to watch Mr. Parker out of the corner of his eye, as the older man looked around for a bit, obviously trying to understand the paint job. He soon spotted Lyle and headed over, and Lyle immediately tensed up. He didn't need to get his ass handed to him over this, of all things. He could only hope that he wouldn't be blamed for Miss Parker's little paint job earlier.

"They're doing the funny squiggly lines thing again. . ." Mr. Parker said, coming to stand beside Lyle.

Lyle glanced sideways at Mr. Parker, confused as to what the older man was talking about. "Um, yeah. . .they are?"

"Mm-hmm. You know, we really should hire different painters. These ones are giving me a migraine, especially with the colors!"

"I think that might be the paint fumes."

"Oh, right. Well, carry on. . .or something. . ." And with that, Mr. Parker ambled off, quite obviously high off of the paint fumes. Lyle could only hope that he wouldn't remember any of this when he came down again, and was very glad he'd had the presence of mind to go to the medical ward and get an injection so he wouldn't get high off the fumes.

Lyle went back to watching the painters, an evil grin gracing his features the entire time.

-----

Miss Parker stood up and stretched, trying to work the cricks out of her back. She had been working on paperwork for the past twelve hours, and her fingers and the rest of her body ached from it.

As far as she was concerned, she was finished, and it was time to go home to her waiting bottle of vodka. She began to feel better just thinking about it, sitting there in its clear bottle, happily awaiting her arrival.

She was going to have a very nice night.

She flipped the lights off in her office and walked out, not noticing the figure lurking in the shadows. She continued on her way, heading straight out of The Centre to the parking garage.

Little did she know she was being followed.

When she reached the rotunda, she immediately noticed the crowd of people standing around, spinning in a slow circle. She immediately assumed they were still reading the list she had painted up there, so she didn't think anything of it. It was only when she noticed some movement out of the corner of her eye near the wall, that she saw that the walls were now neon green. And there was fuchsia painted on top of that.

"What the. . ." she mumbled, looking up. Immediately, she recognized her name painted on the wall.

"Oh, son of a bitch!" she shouted. Immediately, people scattered, and the figure that had been following her was nearly trampled in the hasty exit made by the crowd. Miss Parker ignored all this, instead intent on reading what was painted on the walls.

Miss Parker's Deep Thoughts
(As transcribed by Angelo)

- A flying saucer results when a nudist spills her coffee.
- They say when nature calls you should answer it, I say let the answering machine get it.
- Never knock on Death's door. Ring the doorbell and run, he hates that!
- Statistics are like bikinis. What they conceal is more important than what they reveal.
- Time flies when you're in a coma.
- Yes, I work for Satan, but my duties are largely ceremonial.
- We are born naked, wet and hungry. Then things get worse.
- People who love sausage and respect the law should never watch either of them being made.
- This isn't Burger King, you can't have it your way, but you can have it my way.

"That bastard!" she shouted again. It was just her luck that she would now have to clean up the mess she had intended for her brother.

She stalked out of the rotunda, her night completely ruined and villainous revenge schemes flitting through her head.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

List Provided By: Tiffany.

Sibling Rivalry XX
by: chopsticks
p g - 1 3

-----

Miss Parker, after nearly running down several dozen pedestrians, was now comfortably at home and had severely attacked the bottle of vodka that she found happily waiting for her to come home.

But, instead of relaxing, she was thinking about everything that had happened to Lyle over his tenure on the Retrieval Team. And, to her surprise, quite a lot had. Jarod seemed to have fun playing with Lyle, especially when it was just Lyle going out to check out a lair. She, of course, had always been extremely pissed off at her brother for running off on his own to check out a lair, but each time he came back with some new humiliation and she always ended up being glad she didn't go.

So far, though, she had only managed to come up with twelve things for her list. "And twelve things does not a good list make!" she exclaimed drunkenly, taking a hit straight out of the bottle. The light from the computer monitor made the clear liquid look like it was being warped, and she happily played around with the bottle for several minutes. She was, without a doubt, completely trashed. Which is why it took her all of four and two-fifths minutes to remember that Broots would know several things for her list, as he had been dragged along nearly all the time.

It took her another eleven and ten-elevenths minutes to remember that he was on her speed dial.

After finally figuring out how exactly the speed dial worked on her phone (another six and five-sixteenths minutes), she waited for Broots to pick up, not realizing that it was after midnight and he, being the normal person that he was, was probably asleep right then. "Hello?" he said sleepily after the ninth ring. Thankfully, his answering machine was currently out of commission, as Debbie had "accidentally" taken a baseball bat to it when her ex-boyfriend last called.

"Broots!" she exclaimed loudly, missing the glass she had been pouring the vodka into. It spilled all over her desk, but she only shrugged at the accident and placed the glass where it was dripping off of the desk.

"Miss Parker?" Broots asked in confusion. Scrambling could be heard through the line as Broots attempted to look at his alarm clock while tied to the phone cord. Finally getting a glimpse of the clock, he spoke into the phone again, "Is everything all right? It's after midnight!"

"Is it?" Miss Parker inquired, slurring slightly. She glanced at the clock on her computer, a look of surprise passing across her features. "Oh! So it is! Did I wake you?"

"Um, just a bit. What did you need?" Broots asked, irritated at being awoken by a drunk Miss Parker in the middle of the night. Only figures it would happen on the day that he had a meeting at seven the next morning.

"I need you to. . . Umm. . ." She blinked several times, trying to remember what it was she called him about. A quick glance at her computer screen reminded her right away. "Oh, right! I need your help with a list!"

"Oh, God. . ." he mumbled on the other end, placing his forehead on one of his hands. "Now?" he asked, desperately hoping she'd let it go until the morning.

"Yes, now, Broots! You saw what he did to me in that rotunda!" she protested, shouting loudly.

Broots, of course, clearly remembered the rotunda business. He restrained his laughter for fear that Miss Parker would fire him in her drunken delirium.

"All right, all right," he soothed, flipping on the lamp next to him, his laughter under control. "What do you need?"

"I need some ideas for things that my dear brother has learned from trying to capture Jarod." She took another hit off of the bottle, giving up on the glass for the moment.

"Oh, well that's easy enough. I can think of several right off the top of my head."

"Excellent!" she proclaimed, sitting up straighter and poised to type. "Do tell!"

And did he. He told her so many stories it made her head spin, but she diligently recorded the lessons Lyle learned each time. When she thought she had enough, she told Broots what her, as she referred to it as, Grand, Super-Master Plan was.

"That's not too hard," he said, his mind already spinning on the different ways to do what she asked.

"Good! Glad to hear it!"

"Just send it to me via e-mail. I'll go and do it now," he said, standing up and shuffling toward his computer terminal.

"Excellent! Broots, I'm sending the e-mail to you now," she said, clicking the send button in her e-mail program. "Now, don't forget to do exactly what I told you." And with that final declaration, she hung up and slammed the remaining vodka in her glass. She leaned back and stretched out happily.

Tonight was definitely a good night.

-----

Mr. Lyle, who was still up at this late hour, was shopping for a new wife online.

No, really. He was.

In fact, he was right in the midst of a rather. . .erotic fantasy when his e-mail alert popped up on screen.

"Damn it," he mumbled, annoyed at the interruption. He was just getting to the best part too. He clicked on it, nearly jamming his finger onto the button, sending a resonating click throughout the sterile apartment.

He didn't recognize the e-mail address, but the subject line caught his eye:

Things Mr. Lyle Has Learned From His Ill-Fated Attempts to Capture Jarod

"Oh, no fucking way!" he exclaimed, glancing at the clock. It was after one in the morning. There was no way she was getting him back this late! He opened the e-mail and was proven totally and completely wrong.

Things Mr. Lyle Has Learned From His Ill-Fated Attempts to Capture Jarod:
1. A king size waterbed holds enough water to fill a 2000 sq. ft. house 4 inches deep.
2. If you spray hairspray on dust bunnies and run over them with roller blades, they can ignite.
3. A 3-year-old’s voice is louder than 200 adults’ in a crowded restaurant.
4. If you hook a dog leash over a ceiling fan, the motor is not strong enough to rotate a 42-pound boy wearing Batman underwear and a Superman cape. It is strong enough, however, if tied to a paint can, to spread paint on all four walls of a 20x20-ft. room.
5. You should not throw baseballs up when the ceiling fan is on. When using a ceiling fan as a bat you have to throw the ball up a few times before you get a hit. A ceiling fan can hit a baseball a long way.
6. The glass in windows (even double-pane) doesn't stop a baseball hit by a ceiling fan.
7. When you hear the toilet flush and the words "uh oh," it's already too late.
8. Brake fluid mixed with Clorox makes smoke, and lots of it.
9 A six-year old can start a fire with a flint rock even though a 36-year old man says they can only do it in the movies.
10. Certain Lego's will pass through the digestive tract of a 4-year-old.
11. Play dough and microwave should not be used in the same sentence.
12. Super glue is forever.
13. No matter how much Jell-O you put in a swimming pool you still can't walk on water.
14. Pool filters do not like Jell-O.
15. VCR's do not eject PB&J sandwiches even though TV commercials show they do.
16. Garbage bags do not make good parachutes.
17. Marbles in gas tanks make lots of noise when driving.
18. You probably do not want to know what that odor is.
19. Always look in the oven before you turn it on. Plastic toys do not like ovens.
20. The fire department in Austin, TX has a 5-minute response time.
21. The spin cycle on the washing machine does not make earthworms dizzy.
22. It will, however, make cats dizzy.
23. Cats throw up twice their body weight when dizzy.

"Well, this isn't so bad. . ." he said to no one in particular. It was then that he noticed the list of people it had been sent to. Or rather, the fact that it was quite possibly every single person that had an e-mail account anywhere in the world.

"Oh. . .my. . .God. . ." he said slowly, trying to give his mind time to wrap around what he had just seen. "No, no, no, no, no! Not happening!"

If what he was reading was right, this list, along with a picture of him and contact information (How the hell did she figure out what my real home phone number is? he wondered to himself.), was sent to every single person that had an e-mail address in the entire world. That included every single country that was currently in existence and allowed the use of the Internet.

He was, at the moment, far too stunned to even be remotely angry.

And this, he thought wryly to himself, is why I hate computers.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

Author's Note: The end! The end! /sound of champagne bottle shattering/ Okay, this is only part one of the end, but still. Woo-hoo!
List Provided By: Unknown.

Summary: Miss Parker and Lyle finally discover who started it all. Now it's time for revenge!

Sibling Rivalry XXI
Part One
by: chopsticks
p g - 1 3

-----

When Lyle walked into The Centre that morning, there were two things that he noticed immediately. The first of which was that there was a wide variety of dead bodies lying about, most of them janitors. The second was that everyone was snickering at him. It was this that concerned him the most, and not just because they were laughing while sweepers were carrying around body bags.

Grinding his teeth, Lyle made his way through the mass of bodies and extremities that choked the fine marble floors, trying to resist all murderous impulses for only a few minutes more. He was quite angry with his sister, and had every intention of mentioning it to her. This had just gone too far, as far as he was concerned. E-mailing the entire planet about him was probably the straw that broke the camel's back, but that's only speculation.

On the elevator ride up, he considered what he would say to his sister. In truth, he hadn't the slightest clue. He hadn't even been able to sleep last night, he'd been so angry. So, now he was tired, cranky, and angry. Quite frankly, he didn't have the mental capacity at the moment to come up with something to say to her ahead of time. So, he decided he would simply fly by the seat of his pants, so to speak.

So, when the elevator doors opened and he spied his sister standing in the middle of the rotunda that was in front of her office, he took a deep breath to prepare himself. After all, he couldn't exactly start screaming at her in the middle of The Centre. That would not go over well with the Tower to be sure. So, after a few calming seconds, he began to walk out of the elevator, his narrowed eyes never leaving the sight of his sister. Unfortunately for him, he walked straight into the closing elevator doors. They quickly retreated, obviously aware that they had aroused the anger of Mr. Lyle. Either that or they were functioning properly and simply following the rudimentary program that ran them.

Lyle preferred to think it was the former, because that meant they had retreated just to spite him so he couldn't get a good solid hit in.

"Son of a bitch!" he cried out, obviously in slight pain. There was a small trickle of blood running from his nose, and he quickly wiped it away. He had managed to completely blow his quiet entrance, so he decided to completely scrap it and walked up to his sister, anger radiating in a heat wave from him. People scurried away, including Mr. Broots, whom she had been having a pleasant conversation with.

"Parker," he barked out, regaining her attention from her fleeting companion.

"Lyle," she acknowledged, a cool eyebrow raised in silent, unspoken, but certainly evident contempt. She had a feeling that he would do something completely idiotic this morning, and it appears she was right. As it was, she had a rather large migraine pounding behind her eyes, possibly looking for escape from her head, which she would consider a welcome relief if it weren't for the fact that she would need to sacrifice her eyeballs in order to allow it to escape.

"I am not happy," he declared, glowering at her.

"Obviously," she replied, resisting the childish urge to roll her eyes. Whenever she was around her maniacal brother, she always seemed to have the urge to do that. She just couldn't imagine why that would be.

"Why the fuck did you send this to every-fucking-body on the bloody planet?" he demanded, waving a printout of the e-mail in her face.

"Why the fuck did you set up a billboard display down one of the major highways in Delaware?" she demanded of him, standing up straighter, her heels and her sudden rigid form causing her to appear taller than him, if only by a little bit.

This only angered Lyle more.

"Why did you have the entire main rotunda repainted?"

"Why did you have the entire main rotunda repainted?"

"Because you did first! Why did you send that goddamn list to me in the first place?" Lyle demanded, a smug look crossing his features. He couldn't think of a single reason for her to have posted that first original list a few weeks back.

"What?" Miss Parker asked, confusion lacing her voice. "You posted the first list outside my door!"

"I did not! You posted first!" He crossed his arms, his expression becoming more childish every second.

"No, I can quite clearly recall that you posted the first list outside my door with no provocation whatsoever," Miss Parker replied in a slightly more regal manner, matching his crossed arms but not his attitude.

"Really? Because the first list that was ever exchanged between us came from you, Parker! Don't try to act the victim here, it won't work!" he snapped back, narrowing his eyes at her.

"'Act the victim?' When have I ever. . ." she argued, glaring at him. But he was suddenly distracted when he noticed Sydney lurking behind one of the columns, a small notepad that Lyle recognized as the one he used when observing an experiment. Sydney was busily writing in his notepad, and it was quite clear from the quick glances he was sending the twins' way, he was observing them. It was at that point that inspiration struck, and Lyle knew who was really behind this whole mess.

". . .and the last time I checked, you're the one who always-"

"Parker," Lyle interrupted, earning a death glare from his hung over sibling. "Let's move this out of such a public forum, hmm?"

Miss Parker looked around, noticing the people that had congregated in the rotunda, though they were attempting to make themselves look busy, which was rather hard since they were all standing in a large circle around the duo.

"Yes. . ." she said slowly, "Let's." She spun on her heel (her trademark move, which had taken nearly a year to perfect), and marched toward her office, Lyle following in his wake and planning slow deaths for all those that were watching them.

The door whished shut behind them, the hydraulics doing an excellent job. In fact, they did such a good job that they had earned an "Employee of the Month" award several times in the past few years, generally after Mr. Parker endured a lunch meeting where the champagne was free flowing.

Miss Parker opened her mouth to begin berating her brother once again, but was cut off by him raising a hand, signaling she should stop. She glared indignantly at him, but did as he requested.

"I know who's behind this entire fucked-up situation."

"Really? And who might that be?" she asked sarcastically, crossing her arms again in an annoyed manner.

"Sydney." If Miss Parker had been drinking something, she most certainly would have spit it out right then, and probably all over Lyle. It took a few seconds for this to penetrate her addled brain, and then a few more for it to make itself into something coherent, and then a few more for her to understand it.

"Syd-ney," she said meditatively, trying to understand her brother's (probably illogical) reasoning.

"Yes, Sydney," he said patiently, as if explaining this concept of a person named "Sydney" to a small child.

"And what is your reasoning for this?" she demanded, regaining her wits.

"I saw him taking notes as we were arguing just out there," he replied, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. "And, it explains why we both think that the other was the first to start this little war. He obviously posted the first list outside my door, knowing I'd react by assuming it was you-"

"Yes, and why would you immediately assume it was me?" she interjected, but he ignored her and continued on.

"-and serving up some kind of retaliation. Quite frankly, I think it we must be involuntary subjects in one of his little experiments. He's obviously bored with zapping people's food for his twisted experiments."

"Okay, you might be right about this. Surprisingly." Lyle glared, but said nothing. "So, what should we do in response to this little 'experiment?'"

Lyle stared at her as if the answer was obvious (which, of course, it really was quite obvious). "Post a list."

-----

Lyle marched down the hallway, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He and his sister did, on occasion, make a really good team. They had managed to combine their efforts with minimal quarreling and compiled the list he was now carrying, built upon all the wondrous advice Sydney had imparted to them over the years.

She had left the matter of posting it up to him, as he had been the most recent recipient of a list in this long, now-proven-unnecessary war. And he had the perfect idea for how to thoroughly embarrass Sydney, though it would never quite equal out, since Lyle and Miss Parker had received the majority of the ego-bruising and embarrassing blows.

Honestly, there wasn't much left to do by the way of posting a list and Lyle liked to fancy himself as a creative person. (Apparently, to him, creative meant being entirely incapable of even drawing an adequate stick figure and knowing only insulting adjectives.)

But this idea was truly original. So original that it would go down in the annals of entirely irrelevant and pointless list wars, if there even was such a thing. Nevertheless, Lyle was extremely proud of his idea.

He only needed to find the one person that might actually benefit from this list. This, of course, was not a hard task, as a serial killer can always easily manage to find a serial killer. Must be the smell.

-----

Sydney was happily typing away at his computer, a device he barely understood but nonetheless took great pleasure in using. He had, as the whispers amongst The Centre's employees theorized, gone peculiar with Jarod no longer around.

It was during his "Happy Time of Clicking" that the P.A. system shuddered into life, obviously a little worn from terminal non-usage. A metallic squeal echoed throughout his office, and he glanced worriedly at his computer. Nothing seemed to be amiss on his screen, but that wasn't necessary very reliable, as was proven when his computer had caught on fire. The monitor was working perfectly well, showing everything being in tip-top shape, though the leaping flames coming from the plastic casing of the computer had quite a convincing argument for the opposite idea.

He stared suspiciously at his computer, trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong. It was then that a voice began speaking, and Sydney nearly flew out of his seat, shock written across his features.

At this point, it seemed to him that his computer was actually speaking. Though, for some reason, it found saying, "Testing. . . One. . .two. . .three. . .four. Onetwothreefour!" extremely hilarious, as evidenced by the exuberant giggles emanating from it.

After his brain had a few seconds to process this information, a part of his brain that was still sane smacked the part that was insane upside its head, telling it in no uncertain terms that, "Damnit all, it's just the bloody P.A. system!" and then proceeding to swear in a few languages.

"Oh," Sydney said out loud, just as a voice could be heard floating throughout the office and adjoining Sim Lab. It was after the title of the marvelous little piece this person—the serial killer that had escaped but no one actually knew about, since Mr. Lyle had deleted that important bit of information from the announcements—read across the entire system, that Sydney realized the jig was up. Or, in this case, the experiment had elapsed and it was time to give them all their checks and shove them out the door, back into the world, which would no doubt react unfavorably to their re-entry.

Sydney's Words of Wisdom

- Talk is cheap because supply exceeds demand.
- Stupidity got us into this mess — why can't it get us out?
- Even if you are on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there.
- There is always death and taxes; however death doesn't get worse every year.
- People will accept your ideas much more readily if you tell them that Benjamin Franklin said it first.
- It's easier to fight for one's principles than to live up to them.
- I don't mind going nowhere as long as it's an interesting path.
- It hurts to be on the cutting edge.
- If it ain't broke, fix it till it is.
- I am a nutritional overachiever.
- My inferiority complex is not as good as yours.
- I am having an out of money experience.
- Not afraid of heights — afraid of widths.
- Practice safe eating — always use condiments.
- Life is an endless struggle full of frustrations and challenges, but eventually you find a hair stylist you like.
- You're getting old when you get the same sensation from a rocking chair that you once got from a roller coaster.
- It's frustrating when you know all the answers, but nobody bothers to ask you the questions.
- The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing at the right time, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment.
- Brain cells come and brain cells go, but fat cells live forever.
- Life not only begins at forty, it begins to show.

"Damn," Sydney muttered, quite unhappy that the little experiment had to end. On the plus side, this was proving fascinating in itself, and he might be able to use it. It was quite obvious that this one was from Lyle, as he would be the only person in the entire complex capable of finding the serial killer. (Though why no one thought of this when hunting the guy down didn't really make a lot of sense, but when did anything The Centre do make sense?)

Sydney anticipated that there would be one coming from Miss Parker as well, and tried to figure out what it might be, notebook out and pen poised to take more notes.

-----

to be continued.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

Author's Note: The end! Woo-hoo! This has been a really, really long journey. . . I hope it proved amusing for all those still reading this! :D But now it's done. Whee!
List Provided By: Unknown.

Sibling Rivalry XXI
Part Two
by: chopsticks
p g

-----

Sydney's hunch was indeed correct. Even while listening with half an ear to the first list being recited by the escaped serial killer (who broke down in tears and sobbingly turned himself in at the end of the entire production), Miss Parker was creating yet another list that she would post, though as of yet she wasn't quite sure how.

She didn't want to cause another big commotion, but it seemed that all her ideas for posting the list would cause just that. So what would be the best, non-commotion-inspiring way to post the list?

Genius struck a few minutes later, as did a bolt of lightning in the parking lot, making a group of sweepers' car start on fire.

As Miss Parker made her way out of her office, she thought she heard voices yelling a litany of swear words, but it might have been her imagination. After all, she was hung over.

-----

Sydney, who had decided to take a stroll around The Centre for no readily apparent reason, made his way back to his office. The very first thing he noticed was that it seemed to be a little bit louder outside his office than normal, in that there was actual sound echoing in the hallway rather than the dead silence he was so accustomed to.

The second thing he noticed was the large crowd gathered around his office door. Or, more accurately, the wall next to his office door. Sydney instantly knew what was happening, but kept his approach quiet. He made his way to the back of the crowd and craned his head, trying to see what the list said. He accidentally bumped into the person next to him, who whipped his head around in surprise to look at the man that had crept up on him.

"Oh! Sydney!" the man exclaimed, instantly recognizing the psychiatrist. He placed a hand over his heart and took a deep breath, bending over slightly. "You gave me such a fright!"

"I apologize. What's the list say up there?" Sydney asked, gesturing toward the wall.

"Oh, I haven't a clue. I haven't been able to get close enough to read it. But, now that you're here, I bet we could get closer to it!"

"Yes, I suppose we could." And with that, the duo began to move forward in the crowd, gently pushing their way to the front, apologizing the entire way. Since it was only Sydney, and not, for instance, Miss Parker or Mr. Lyle, the crowd did not run off in a fright, instead accepting the gracious apologies and moving out of the way. It really does pay to be a nice person sometimes, even at The Centre.

Sydney gently removed the list from the wall, taking care in removing the thumbtack so it wouldn't leave an obvious mark. This seemed to end the fun for the crowd, and it slowly began to dissipate, while Sydney and his newfound companion read the list in silence, punctuated by the occasional bit of laughter on both their parts.

Words Created By Sydney
(From personal experience.)

AQUADEXTROUS (ak wa deks' trus) adj. Possessing the ability to turn the bathtub faucet on and off with your toes.
CARPERPETUATION (kar' pur pet u a shun) n. The act, when vacuuming, of running over a string or a piece of lint at least a dozen times, reaching over and picking it up, examining it, then putting it back down to give the vacuum one more chance.
DISCONFECT (dis kon fekt') v. To sterilize the piece of candy you dropped on the floor by blowing on it, assuming this will somehow remove' all the germs.
ELBONICS (el bon' iks) n. The actions of two people maneuvering for one armrest in a movie theater.
FRUST (frust) n. The small line of debris that refuses to be swept onto the dust pan and keeps backing a person across the room until he finally decides to give up and sweep it under the rug.
LACTOMANGULATION (lak' to man gyu lay' shun) n. Manhandling the "open here" spout on a milk container so badly that one has to resort to the illegal' side.
PEPPIER (pehp ee ay') n. The waiter at a fancy restaurant whose sole purpose seems to be walking around asking diners if they want ground pepper.
PHONESIA (fo nee' zhuh) n. The affliction of dialing a phone number and forgetting whom you were calling just as they answer.
PUPKUS (pup' kus) n. The moist residue left on a window after a dog presses its nose to it.
TELECRASTINATION (tel e kras tin ay' shun) n. The act of always letting the phone ring at least twice before you pick it up, even when you're only six inches away.

Sydney laughed at the last one the most, knowing he always did that. One thing the twins did not think of when posting the lists to Sydney was that he was quite hard to anger, and it could really only be done by Mr. Raines. (And, thankfully for all of them, he was on vacation in Siberia.)

"Have a good day," Sydney said cheerily to his companion, who was taking his leave now that he saw the list.

"You too!" the man called back, then disappeared around a bend in the hallway. Sydney, still chuckling, entered his office and was confront with the sight of Miss Parker sitting in his chair and Lyle sitting on the desk next to her.

"Hello, Sydney," Lyle practically sneered, glaring at the older man.

"Lyle," Sydney acknowledged. "Miss Parker. What brings you two to my office today?"

"You know why we're here," Miss Parker said, cold chilling her voice.

"Yes, I believe I do," Sydney said, settling himself into a chair across the desk from Miss Parker.

"Why'd you post that first list to me, Syd?" Lyle asked, anger cutting across his features. He obviously wasn't happy that he had been the first one to be chosen, though he did understand why.

"I was bored, and you were the most likely to react immediately to it."

A few moments of shocked silence from the twins, which Sydney relished. It wasn't often he could shock two of the most powerful figures in The Centre.

"You. Were. Bored," Miss Parker said, as if saying it slower would help her to understand it. Lyle, on the other hand, had no trouble comprehending this.

"See! I was right!" he exclaimed, swelling with pride.

"We're eight again?" Miss Parker bit back, glaring at Lyle for his childish behavior. Had Lyle been an eight-year-old, he would have pouted. But, since he was now an adult, he bit back the urge and just smirked cruelly instead.

"So this entire thing was because you were bored and needed something to do?" Lyle asked incredulously.

"Yes, though I didn't expect it to get quite so out of hand. I must admit, though, it will make a very intriguing paper."

"Paper?" Miss Parker asked, obviously not liking that idea.

"Yes. I think it'll be published in several different mediums. I look forward to writing it. I mean, the way something that is considered to be a phase in children still exists and can be easily brought out in adulthood is rather fascinating, don't you agree?"

"Yes, it's all very fascinating," Lyle hissed, standing up and walking to the other side of the desk to stand in front of Sydney. "But, you can't publish anything without our permission, correct? Well, I'm not giving you mine. In fact, no word of this little experiment will ever be breathed again. Got it, Syd?"

Sydney looked from Lyle to Miss Parker and back again, slowly realizing that his weeks-long experiment would end up being for naught. Oh well. He'd just have to try something else.

"I understand. I won't publish it."

"Good," Miss Parker said, standing up and walking out the door. Lyle glared at Sydney for a few seconds more, then exited behind his sister, closing the door behind him.

Sydney grinned to himself after they had left. He had the perfect idea for his next experiment, though the twins would probably hate it. Pity he had to wait a while until they stopped wondering what he was going to do next. Until then, he'd just have to dig through the bottom of the gene pool for some more research subjects that were in dire need of a little shock therapy.

-----

the end.

really.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.