Curse of the Missing Cursor

A/N: Welcome to the world of Mary Sues and stereotypes! I find these fun to write, as humor stories. ShadowTaco and I will be poking fun at cliche. Okay, okay. There's a disclaimer in here somewhere... Aha! DISCLAIMER: Don't own any real life products/references. No copyright infringement intended.

—Candidus

Introduction

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Brittany Princesca rolled her eyes at her screen and giggled at the not-even humorous email she had just opened. Her irritatingly flawless, sparkly pink manicured hand was placed delicately over her mouth to hide her also perfect teeth as she resisted ungirlish chuckles.

A single gorgeously done finger came down onto the sleek screen of her newest toy, the newest iPod touch model. She smiled slinkily and began to type a not-so witty reply before she dropped the iPod in horror. Her hand flew up again, this time covering her raw shock and horror.

"What... I don't..." She squeaked. The dramatic blonde was overcome by a fresh wave of hysteria, panic sending her in a frenzy to her phone.

She tapped out a quick text, outlining her predicament and only slightly exaggerating. Sending it to her gorgeous, popular boyfriend, she sat back and waited.

Thirty seconds passed, and hysteria peaked and crested. She was then in a trance of extreme fear, gaze darting up at every second.

Five seconds afterwards, she was scrambling to her phone to see if her boyfriend, Aiden, had responded. When she saw that she hadn't, her expression of fear quickly turned to a hybrid of a scowl and a pout, a very sulky expression.

Boyfriends were supposed to respond to their girlfriend's texts in a maximum of thirty seconds, in Brittany's opinion. Even twenty-five was pushing it. She scowled again, but quickly resumed what she thought to be an adorable pout.

Forty-five seconds, and Brittany became extremely pissed off. She still patiently waited for his text, a (fake) cute pout still plastered onto her face.

A minute, and she was seething with fury. Just as she was about to slam the phone down, dial his number, and actually talk to him, she felt the vibration of her phone, alerting her to a new text message. She smiled. She had him hook, line, and sinker, and the school's golden boy made for a damn good connection.

She glanced at the screen of her phone, and slowly both her anger and joy melted away. The only thing she could feel was hatred. The text message came from the smartest girl in Brittany's grade, and possibly even the school. Brittany frowned. What did she want? It dawned upon her. The previous week, she and Aiden had threatened to shove Ms. Nerdy Natalia into the pool, along with her homework and textbooks, if she didn't do Aiden's, Brittany's, and a few other thugs' homework. That must have been it.

The text read,

"Hi Bratney, your homework is finished and Aiden is picking it up for you. Have a most delightful day. Cheers, Brat!" Fake joy and sarcasm dripped from every letter of the text message, fake joy and sarcasm that Brittany was totally oblivious to. She didn't bother to respond.

Brittany still didn't know why Aiden wasn't responding to her. She smoldered slowly, and began to vent her anger on a fluffy pillow. Afterwards, she furiously sent him several panicky texts, exaggerating again. The last read,

"Please hel-"

And nothing more. Hopefully, Aiden would think her to be dying. She sighed, and smiled in a dreamlike state, fantasizing about being rescued by her prince charming.

Her wandering mind snapped back to attention. Aiden.

She texted him again, enraged.

He sent her one reply. One short reply, barely even twenty words! Or maybe fifteen, Brittany thought as she suspiciously eyed the word count. She didn't trust numbers, she couldn't count to eleven. Her maid usually did all the counting for her.

Lounging on her plush white couch, Brittany slowly read the text.

"Sry hun cant rite now dealing wit hax0rs on vid bbl ily"

Brittany's feeble mind slowly picked through the text, deciphering the sloppily thrown together abbreviations and reassembling it into something even she could understand.

From what she understood, he was saying no. And that infuriated her. Pacing back and forth, throwing her phone back onto the feathery couch cushions, she decided what to do.

She would save her cursor herself.

What did one do to save their cursor...? Brittany mused as she meandered through her closet (it happened to be the size of a large master bedroom).

Oh, that was right. When you rescued something, you took things to hit people with.

Frowning, Brittany scoured her closet for weapons. As she scrounged around, she came up with a single vacant coat hanger and an unmatched, teal, seven inch stiletto. "No... I need better weapons. Weapons with... What are they called... Oh, yes, blades!" Brittany muttered to herself.

Smiling triumphantly, she tucked a fake I.D. and a few thousand dollars in hundred dollar bills into her hand.

She wondered to herself what one wore to go weapons shopping. More importantly, how did one seduce a weapons store owner?

Her eyes turned to a long shelf full of various wallets. And what kind of wallet did you take to a weapons store?

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