A/N: As I said before in the summary, this is beyond any kind of weird. My sisters and my brother and I thought it up and it makes no sense, but we're strange people so we find it hilarious. I just hope you enjoy it!

A pair of wide eyes slowly peeked above the duct-taped couch. It was time.

The skinny figure leaped over the couch in one bound and shrieked, "IT IS TIME, MR. GINGY!"

A frazzled-looking cat jumped away and looked down, trembling before the fourteen-year-old girl with spiky pink hair that seemed to have been cut with a dull pair of scissors in the dark.

Actually, it had.

After the Hair Incident, her father had resolved to hide the scissors from her, but no such luck. Claire was quite adept at finding sharp things, which is why all the bedroom doors were locked at night. But back to the cat.

Mr. Gingy climbed up to a safer place from the deranged scissor-user, balancing precariously on top of a pyramid fashioned out of Oreo cookie boxes. Though it was safer from Claire, it wasn't safer from gravity, and the poor cat scrambled from her outstretched hands as the box mountain collapsed. Once Mr. Gingy had escaped, Claire stood up and strolled to her bedroom as though nothing had occurred.

On her way there, she passed her brother Francisco, who was nibbling on an unopened tuna can. He nodded to her, and she threw a few stray cat hairs in his face in response. He watched them flutter to the floor before asking, "Mr. Gingy evaded capture once again?" He spoke with a thick British accent and stroked an imaginary mustache.

"This time, tuna licker, but not again! I WILL CONQUER THE ORANGE FELINE!" Claire screamed her last sentence and shook her fist in the air.

Francisco nodded again and threw his dented can of tuna to the floor. "Where's Ima?" he asked. "She ate a balloon about half an hour ago and I want to know if she's made any flight progress."

"WHY MUST YOU PESTER ME WITH SUCH TRIVIALITIES?!" Claire shrieked again, then ran to her room, slamming the door when she was safely inside her smelly domain. Francisco accepted her answer with another fake mustache stroke and wandered off to find his youngest sister.

But in fact, Ima was not in the house. She was perched in the banana bush outside, eating bugs and shooing the fruit away.

Yeah, you read that right.

Mr. Fracas sipped from his cracked coffee mug and cast a wary eye around the room. He wasn't sure why, but coffee was spilling into his lap. It seemed to be coming from the cup...

He discarded this vague realization and took another sip, listening with growing irritation to the banging sound coming from his eldest daughter's room. "Hey! Keep it down, Claire!" he yelled.

The noise increased.

"That's better."

Mr. Fracas stood up and shuffled to the door in his tattered brown bathrobe and Hello Kitty slippers. He went down to the kitchen, where his youngest son Francisco sat, surrounded by dented tuna cans. "Where's Ima?" Francisco asked through his mouthful of can.

His father motioned out the kitchen window to the banana bush. "In the banana tree."

"It's a bush, Dad."

"Whatever." Mr. Fracas sipped his coffee again and made a face. "There's not enough salt in this coffee. I didn't mistake the sugar for the salt again, did I?"

"No. Claire switched them. Again." Francisco tossed his can away.

Mr. Fracas tossed the cup into the sink and didn't wince when it shattered. "Could you lose the accent? It gets irritating after a while."

Francisco looked shocked. "Father! I could never! The British are my kin and I strive to imitate their flawless ways."

The 'British' boy's father didn't respond except to ask, "Did Dave go shopping yet?"

"No. And I'm starving," Francisco complained.

"How about you eat that tuna?"

"There's no chocolate syrup. Claire ate it all when she cleared out the Pop-Tarts." Francisco wore a look of pure disgust.

"Oh. Go eat a banana, then," Mr. Fracas suggested.

"Ima threw them all over the neighbor's fence."

"Now you're just making excuses." After making this statement, Mr. Fracas made his way to the living room, where Oreo boxes littered the floor. The family cat, Mr. Gingy, was shivering in the fireplace behind a sizable log.

I wonder... Mr. Fracas thought, his hand hovering above the matches.

Nah. The neighbors might notice if the cat happened to catch on fire.

Dave Fracas was on a mission.

Not really a mission, actually. Okay, it was more of an excursion, really. And he was positive that the all-seeing Claire would notice if he left, so secrecy wouldn't be worth it...But secret missions were fun.

Oh, fine. No mission. But he would use his theme song.

"Dun dun duuun..." Dave ran out the door, glancing left and right. No witnesses in sight. "Dun dun dun! Dun dun DUN dun!"

He walked normally across the street when Mrs. Perpluxy came out to walk her chihuahua. But once she disappeared around the corner, he crawled across the street ninja-style.

There! Mission accomplished! Destination reached!

"So do you have any...lemonade?" he asked the girl running the lemonade stand.

She stared at him. "Yeeees...this being a lemonade stand, that's what I sell. Do you want some?"

Dave looked from side to side. "I would, but I'm being watched," he whispered, leaning in closely to the girl.

She leaned back. "By who?"


She leaned back even farther, until she had nearly toppled off her chair. "Do you want any lemonade or not?" the girl asked impatiently, and with a touch of fear.

"Yes, but alas, I cannot."

"Why not?" she asked curiously.

"I dunno," Dave shrugged.

Then he snatched up the pitcher of lemonade and ran back to his house.

"Hey!" the girl shrieked, running after him. "You didn't pay! Come back here!"

He only cackled in response, and soon the door slammed behind him. The girl stood, dumbfounded, in the middle of the road, then trudged back to her house to make more lemonade.

Francisco discarded the last can of tuna and hopped off the kitchen chair. He'd just remembered; they had bread in the house, and even though Dave still hadn't gone shopping, he could make toast. Francisco uncovered the toaster from below the pile of Weirdo Weekly magazines and retrieved the bread from under the sink. He tried to shove the bread in the toaster with it laying flat, instead of sideways, the way normal people do it. But then again, the Fracas family isn't exactly normal, is it?

"Oh! I've got it!" Francisco cried aloud. "Toast Issues. The perfect name for this story, don't you think?"

Shut up, Francisco. You're not supposed to know you're in a story. But that is a good name.

"Ha, of course it is. I made it up. And you'd have to be stupid not to notice we're in a story. We can hear you narrating," Francisco pointed out.

Wellllll, good point. Maybe I should end it here? Even though it's short. But with you're ruining it by interjecting when you're not supposed to.

"Oh, fine. I'll be quiet. Hey, what are you doing, I didn't even get to eat my toast yet-"

A/N: Told you it was weird! What did you think of Francisco breaking the fourth wall? Tell me what you thought of that -of EVERYTHING- in a review!