The Xavier Mansion Diaries: Jubilation Lee

by Troll Princess


DAY ONE

Am going to *kill* Bobby Drake, preferably with something slow and painful like the last season of "Buffy".

As Professor and Jean have gone off to Washington, Frosty the SnowDork officially on rampage to ruin my life. Step one: stopping Scott's incredibly accurate "Risky Business" impression by reminding him that rest of us young, impressionable kids still in mansion. Big dumb nerfherder.

May have been worth it to see Scott sprint back to his room to put pants on, but have now changed mind. Death too kind to the stupid walking ice chest.

So, have replaced his shampoo with entire bottle of Nair. Let's see if he notices *that*.

DAY TWO

Hmm. Bobby still in possession of "I want to be on Lance Bass's head when I grow up" hairdo. May bring bottle of Nair back to CVS for full refund.

Also, v. bad news, as linen closet filled to brim with tapioca pudding. That abominable jackass!

Just watch, as teachers and maid sure to blame this idiotic dessert snack stunt of Bobby's on me.

LATER

See?! Have been blamed for pudding in linen closet! Well, not to my face, but only possible explanation for new contents of underwear drawer.

Also, overheard maid pretending not to speak English to the Professor. Hope he wasn't actually buying it, as I could have sworn she called him a "odding-say imrod-nay".

DAY THREE

New contents of underwear drawer now new contents of *Drake's* underwear drawer. Go, me!

In other news, sexy unconscious stranger carted into med-lab by Scott and Storm in middle of the night. Also brought home jumpy runaway girl, but who cares with tasty Canadian goodness spread out half-naked in the med-lab?

Have to go talk to Jean, like, yesterday, as I plan to be first on list of volunteers to give new mutant daily sponge baths. Long, slow ...

OW!

Hey! How the heck does she *do* that?

DAY FOUR

Storm looking for apology out of me, but have no idea what for. Can only think to apologize for fugly, unconditioned hairdo, but since it's not my fault, cannot possibly be blamed for that one. Whew!

DAY FIVE

Ugh. Guys hitting on Rogue in class today. *Again*. Considering trying to make out with her about as likely to succeed as make-out attempt with ravenous barracuda, am starting to believe evil mutant secretly sucking the intelligence from every boy in school.

Can't help but think that any attempt to use zapped intelligence from this crowd bound to result in all-night Cheetos-and-Mountain-Dew bender during world's longest Adam Sandler film fest.

DAY SIX

Argh! Am officially cheesed off, as boys in this school have gone *insane*. None of them apparently smart enough to figure out that if actual act of making out with overly dressed new chick doesn't kill them, insane hottie with metal claws will probably have a go at it.

Am hoping that John makes the first move on her, as the galatically lame moron was the idiot who melted my signed David Boreanaz photo. Dick.

As for Bobby, hope he didn't plan on keeping those Playboys of his, as Kitty all too happy to stick 'em in the walls of the boys's room. Go, me! (And Kitty. But mostly me.)

DAY SEVEN

Ugh! V.v. bad news, as icky, smelly, ankle-deep mess now all over the upstairs. Apparently, boys's closets now throwing up condiments in great nasty waves all over the place. All right, *definitely* have an alibi for this one, as was stealing all of the maple syrup from the kitchen to dump over Bobby's head.

...

Okay, so maybe I *don't* have an alibi.

DAY EIGHT

All right, that's it! Am under firm belief that that incredible twittering skank of a maid was behind the Xavier School's Great Rodeo Cheeseburger Geyser Disaster of 2003. Bogus story about interdimensional holes spitting tasty sandwich toppings only works in Bugs Bunny cartoons, for cripes's sake.

Must get decidedly abstract revenge on her, as is obviously a moral imperative. Also, if heroes of Kitty's goofy "Mutant X" fanfics can do it, then so can I.

DAY NINE

After declaring truce between me and highly mopey missing-sorta-girlfriend Bobby, have started organizing plans to torture maid into submission. So far, have figured out that what we need most are a llama, a fifty-gallon tub of peanut butter, every string of Christmas lights we can get, and quality diversion tactic to get teachers out--

Hey, what's that sound?

FIVE MINUTES LATER

Ack! Teachers leaving on plane! All of them! Perfect opportunity to toy with annoying British maid slipping through our fingers due to lack of adequate warning! Can't help but think of what the two of us could have done with an hour's worth of warning, a platinum card, and directions to the nearest Sam's Club.

Okay, onto plan B where we grab what we can and go inspirational with rousing round of zen vandalism. Can't be all that hard to improvise, as Bobby and I have seen more episodes of "Whose Line is It Anyway?" than Drew Carey and Ryan Stiles combined.

DAY TEN

V. good news, as expected grounding for Bobby and I in regards to Maidapalooza called off due to "extraordinarily overwrought position we children were placed in." Yeah, right. Obviously, wailing sobs and clutching frantically at Storm's feet were the right touch. Go, Bobby!

Also, Rogue now back in mansion with Storm-wannabe streak job and major attitude adjustment. Caught the selfish geek making a grab for Jean's ass. Not even about to think what powers she'd get from touching *that*.

DAY ELEVEN

Logan gone to Canada for beer and hooker run with Rogue, never to return. Hooray!

Oh, come on! I can dream, can't I?

DAY THIRTEEN

Storm's accent gone without a trace. Have helpfully put up a reward poster in the cafeteria. Good plan!

DAY FOURTEEN

Ack! Wasn't wavering accent Storm dropped, but my total history grade. If calculations are correct, would have to get 793% on my next history test just to get an F.

Uh-oh. Have reread that last sentence. May be failing math, too.

Okay, life definitely unf--

Hey, is Storm wearing a wig?

Oh, my God! Storm's wearing a --

OW!

TEN MINUTES LATER

Have been pelted in head repeatedly by specifically aimed rain of toads. Now smell like pond full of frogs.

Okay, so maybe it's *not* a wig.

DAY TWENTY-NINE

Have gone on field trip to museum with rest of class to enjoy fun group learning experience.

Wish Artie would stop telling me I smell like toads.

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER

All right, have got seventy-five dollars left of my savings. At five bucks a pop, means I can afford to have fifteen more strangers harass Storm. May start in on new line of questioning about whether or not Adrien Brody's a good kiss--

...

Uh-oh. Have been busted by furious accent-free history teacher. So much for surviving long enough to find out who's the next American Idol.

DAY THIRTY

V. bad news, as have been washing pots and pans for the past four hours. Okay, for the past twenty-seven minutes, but sounds so much more pathetic when expressed in the time on Neptune.

Right now, would rather see my bed than almost anything else on the planet, even a hot fudge sundae with lots of sprinkles or Heath Ledger.

Hmm. On second thought, no reason why having all three not possible --

OW!

Man, when's she's irritated, Jean can be a real --

OW!

Okay, that's it! As being pelted by dinner salad and mysteriously appearing toads not my idea of a good time, am going to bed early.

DAY THIRTY-ONE

Help! Have been abducted in the middle of the night by mysterious soldiers. Cannot understand why they'd take *me*, unless soldiers planning Fourth of July festivites early or just in need of really good "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon" player.

LATER

Oh, come *on*! Cannot possibly expect me to believe G.I. Joke and minions are real soldiers. Head soldier obviously bad guy from "The Ring," while could have sworn I saw second-in-command on a "Dead Zone" rerun last week.

Am in a horrible mood now. Rogue gets abducted by Magneto, and I get taken by pissy secondary character actors. No wonder Bobby's got the hots for the blubbering wench.

DAY THIRTY-TWO

Yay! Have been rescued from drippy, gross holding cell by Storm and freaky tattooed monkey-thingy.

Unfortunately, anatomy teacher now fish food at bottom of Alkali Lake. However, since anatomy homework hasn't been done since January, honestly can't complain all *that* much.

DAY THIRTY-THREE

School back on. World saved. Everybody home. Okay, Jean's still at the bottom of a lake in Canada counting fish, but *still*.

Huh. Wonder who's knocking at my door.

FIVE MINUTES LATER

Uh-oh. Scott and Logan standing outside dorm room doused in pudding and looking way pissed. As such, have retreated to much safer, less lethal hiding place.

FIVE MORE MINUTES LATER

Um, how long am I supposed to hang onto the window ledge with my fingertips? Can't be sure, but think I might be about to ... to ...

ACHOO!

Uh, ow? Somebody? Ow ...

Troll Princess Flavor of the Moment (http://flavor_of_the_moment.blogspot.com) -- Because sometimes, leaving your brain at home is a good thing. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ "If Edgar Allan Poe were alive today, his agent would be constantly slapping him upside the head with tightly rolled copies of his brilliant short stories and novelettes, yelling, 'Full-length novels, you moron! Pay attention! What's the matter with you -- are you shooting heroin or something? Write for the market! No more of this midlength 'Fall of the House of Usher' crap" -- Dean Koontz