The Most Popular Book in the Whole World (xlormp) wrote,
The Most Popular Book in the Whole World
xlormp

Chapter Thirty-Four, "Christopher and I Develop a Master Plan"

The Most Incredible Work of Literature in the Entire Cosmos

Chapter 34, "Christopher and I Develop a Master Plan"

The Blobbersons' visit was two days away and everyone had gone crazy making last-minute preparations. Xlormp had been sent once more to try and convince Mr. Leader that Wemjox were awesome dudes and that it would not be detrimental in the slightest for he and Schmeertz to come hang out with them every once in a while, particularly in two days when the Blobbersons were scheduled to arrive. I hadn't been invited on this trip, because apparently Wemjox didn't want to be away from me for so long with the Big Day just around the corner.

It bummed me out, because I couldn't test our theory again, the theory that said I am make of awesomesauce and Wemjox is made out of something lame. Like horseradish or tartar sauce. Or both.

This situation pissed me off, but Christopher seemed to feel confident about it. “If they can't even send you away on a simple trip with Xlormp, how the heck are they going to send you with the Blobbersons, who live halfway across the galaxy?”

She chomped adorably on her salad (we'd made Tabitha pick up some salad stuff on her last trip to the store, because in case you were wondering, the fridge proved to in fact be void of any salad), and grinned triumphantly at me.

“I don't know,” I admitted unknowingly. Because I didn't. Know, that is.

“I'll tell you how,” she said, waving her fork at my face. “They can't, that's how. You'll just have to stay here with us.”

I shrugged, chomping on a particularly succulent tomato. That Tabitha, she sure knew her produce. “Well if I'm staying here, then how are we going to get Lou's pets back? Won't the Blobbersons be pretty pissed if they don't get anything in trade?”

Christopher giggled girlishly. “That's when we jump in and offer to trade Wemjox. It's perfect. Yes! It's perfect!” She jumped up, abandoning her salad, as if the perfection of this idea negated her necessity to enjoy leafy goodness (which it probably did). “That's our plan, Frig! That's our master plan! When the Blobbersons find out they can't take you with them, we'll just jump up all cool and be like, 'Hey, listen, if you still wish to trade, you're more than welcome to take this useless two-headed-alien-not-so-much-a-baby-anymore-thing.' It can't fail!”

I looked at her. The plan sounded good and everything, but I wondered something. “Christopher,” I said wondrously, “I wonder something. Is this the way you plan all of your bad ass day-saving things? By jumping up and going, 'ooh, ooh, this is the plan!' all of a sudden?”

She shrugged. “Duh. Why?”

I shook my head. “I don't know. It just kind of makes it all a little less bad ass.”

She grumbled at me, and sat back down with her salad. “Fine,” she said, “you can save your own ass this time. We don't have to use my plan.”

“No,” I protested, “it's a good plan and everything, I guess, as far as spur of the moment master plans go. Although I think it might result in some serious hardcore smack down, don't you think?”

Christopher stirred her greens noncommittally. “I've got a whole freaking stockpile of weapons, where is the problem?”

I supposed I didn't see the problem, and I voiced my supposition to her. Then I realized my own salad grew ever more soggy and I decided I didn't want it anymore, so I threw it in the trash with disgusted hatred. The disgusted hatred I was currently not allowed to aim at my children. Aiming it at the salad seemed a fair replacement for the time being.

There came a knock at the door, and my ears perked up at the sound. “Come in!” I called cheerily.

Hector 2.0 opened said door, and appeared truly pleased to see me. His face lights all flashed in a speedy, happy-looking pattern.

“Hello, Frig!” he spoke in his robotic timbre. “I love you and I need to speak to Christopher for a moment!”

Christopher crossed her arms in front of her. “You can speak in front of Frig,” she said.

“Order processed!” Hector 2.0 exclaimed. “Wemjox wishes for you to help father with a project he has been given.”

“Why?” Christopher asked. “Dad's back to thinking I suck. Why would Wemjox think us working together is a good idea?”

Hector 2.0 managed to shrug his metallic shoulders. I may never know how. “Why does Wemjox keep assigning me to projects with Lexington when I clearly love Frig? The inner workings of their minds are a mystery.”

“Wow, Hector!” I said in spite of myself. “That was an impressively complex sentence!”

He smiled his robot smile at me. “Thank you. I have tweaked my speech programs to include subtleties, nuance and metaphor. Do you like it?”

I nodded. I mean, I didn't want him to get the wrong impression, as I was a one alien girl, but the way he continued to upgrade himself did indeed impress me.

“But back to business,” he continued, “to answer your question, Christopher, Wemjox thinks your skill with weapons will be a boon to father's project.”

Christopher looked skeptical. “Why is Wemjox working on a weapon?”

“I don't know!” Hector 2.0 professed. “Always good to have weapons on hand, I suppose.”

Christopher nodded. “True,” she said. I guess even she could not deny the logic behind having plenty of weapons.

Hector 2.0 left the room, but not before telling me he loved me one more time.

“Don't forget about our master plan,” Christopher reminded me as she, too, left the room.

Leaving me once more to be alone and pissy. Something I considered myself particularly good at.

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