It should be appearent that this is my first attempt at fiction, so don't tell me how it sucks. I know.
The birth of a Hansonite and an Antihansonite
Jason was sitting on the couch, clicking through the channels…
"Wait!" in a loud shrill voice. "Go back!" his younger sister said. "Go back, go back, go back!".
He sighed, "Fine…".
He said, squinting at the television, "What is this?".
"(Ahem), what is this cr-"
She glared back "It's Hanson!"
He watched, momentarily stunned by this bizarre video, and even more bizarre band.
"That keyboardist is awfully flat-chested." he thought.
Not for days later did he find out why. And from MAD Magazine of all places.
He stared vacantly at his room's barren wall, as he listened to the faint mutterings of what seemed to be a conversation with no one, coming from his sister's room. Listening for what he later found to be an hour and twenty five minutes. Completely mezmorized by his sister's imagination, and stamina in carrying on this imaginary conversation. Then, he heard a recognizable word… "zac"… His eyes widened, and he'd hoped he'd heard wrong.
On his way to the bathroom the next morning, the phone rang abruptly, his sis bolted out of her room without closing her door. Almost flattening her brother's foot in the process.
He stumbled onto his right foot to catch his balance, but also caught a glimpse at the contents of his sister's room - and into her new mentality as well. He tried to focus his eyes through their usual morning blurryness. And to his dismay, what he'd seen had only reenforced what he thought he'd heard the night before… The walls, completely lined with Hanson posters, and a stack of teeny-mags on the bed. He wondered where she could've even gotten so many damn posters.
And, as abruptly as the phone rang, a wave of nausea enveloped him, and he continued to the bathroom. After wretching uncontrolably several painful times, with nothing to show for it, not so much as bile, he began thinking once again of his sis' room.
He'd never seen her behave in this way, and obsess over something this way before. There was a loud screeching sound: his sister's side of the phone conversation had gotten louder. Sheesh, she sounded happy - that can't be good.
She said her goodbyes, and slammed the phone down. The walls reverberated with her unintelligible chattering. He lapsed in consciousness for a moment, and realized that he'd been mumbling "Shut up, shut up, shut up!".
He waited for a few moments in the hall, hoping that her bus would arrive, and he wouldn't have to hear her screech from close range.
He had breakfast in the relatively quiet house, and tried to forget the recent annoyances.
That evening, it was revealed what the phonecall was about.
Hanson was on a publicity raid, and were in the city just north of theirs.
"Please, c'mon! You have got to drive me there!"
"I don't _have to_ drive you anywhere. Can't you ask someone else to drive you there?"
"The only other person I know who can, wouldn't, she doesn't like Hanson."
"Well, I don't like 'em either! Can't mom or da-"
"No, they're busy, damnit!"
"But… C'mon, I…"
"Jason, this might be my only chance. Please?"
Feeling tired and weary that this argument might never end, he shrugged and half-heartedly agreed to. And mumbling something as he walked towards his room.
"Thank you so much!" she shouted in his direction.
He had no idea that annoying band could become such a nuisance.
POUND! POUND! POUND!
"It's time, it's time!"
She said outside the his door.
"But it's only…eh… oh… (damnit)"
The morning was not his friend.
He indifferently, and robotically prepared for the trip. Which she'd been awake, and prepared for for at least an hour earlier.
He was silent the entire trip. She said nothing intelligible, letting out only the occasional eep, in excitement.
"There they are!" she said, her voice cracking, not meaning to shout.
"I think I'll just wait in the car."
He peered through the windshield at the crowd, and the band - "They still look like girls.".
He started to wonder again about his sister's room, and the extent that this has infected her mind. "Does she have a shrine to them?" "Does she talk to sock puppets of them?". Then started feeling resentful. That this crap has gotten into his life too. He didn't like the way these dinks were strutting around like they're not just a gimick, and dayreamed of their violent and graphic demise.
It was then that he remembered that obnoxious song of theirs, and resented them more for poisoning his mind… but it was too late, the song was as insidious as germ warfare.
The trip home was even worse.
"This is just - it's the most - I mean the most exciting day of my entire life!" She said.
She continued to ramble on about this, but he couldn't care less, and it shown in his expression; but she was oblivious.
This torment was compounded by that damn song he'd remembered earlier, fading in and out of his conscious mind. Forcing his brain to play the most obnoxious parts over and over. With every - mmmbop - he lost focus on the road - da dooey - and this song was now actually becoming a danger - doo wap -.
By luck, they arrived home safely, no thanks to Hanson.
She rushed to the phone, which she would undoubtedly occupy for several hours.
He snatched a stack of her teeny-mags from her room, switched on the computer, and started Photoshop…