6. What disbanding?

WW sat on the couch, head in hands. On the coffee table, a big bowl of chips sat beside a huge tub of ice cream that was starting to melt. Pizza crumbs in pizza boxes littered the floor. A handful of party mix lollies swam in a sea of chocolate fondue, keeping the half submerged fruit 'bergs' company in the thick liquid. Crackers and other types of biscuits were scattered across the table, keeping toasted tortilla skins and toasted bread fingers company, in preparing to be dipped in the cheese fondue or one of the other dips. A tray of untouched vegetable sticks lay forlornly oxidising with the air.

Vegetables? What vegetables? What were they? There was no such noun in many people's vocabularies. Nobody cared, except maybe for a certain tigress and that person with haemorrhoidal constipation who tried not to let anyone know about his health condition, but tended to scream whenever he finally managed to finally make a deposit into the 'bank'.

It wasn't that WW was having a party. Nor was it that WW's food was off and stale - for once, it was relatively fresh and didn't have that musty taste. It was that WW was in the midst of the meeting and the BIG topic that they had gathered to discuss had loomed so large in their eyes that they had lost their appetite. Besides, the mixture of cheese and chocolate smells for some reason had inexplicably reminded them of a certain pig's crotch smell. They hadn't sniffed on purpose. Honest. It was just that while a certain someone had required assistance with all his personal activities of daily living that they had all become quite intimate with this smell. It was depressing how quickly a person began to stink after a shower. Bathing them in liquor was too expensive. According to the one being bathed, it also stung a bit. In some opinions, it was still better than the alternative of allowing crotch cheese to build up and make them all puke.

Some people were just disgusting.

The ice cream hadn't been a bad idea until they had discovered someone had actually eaten most of it and refilled the tub with ice, leaving a thin layer of ice cream on the top to make it look like it had been untouched. WW didn't know who had done it. Scratch that. WW did know who had done it, but everyone was too lazy to call that person out or say anything, since they weren't the only person who did things like that.

The chocolate fondue had initially been the go to until someone started double dipping their pizza slices in it, someone else had chucked all the lollies and fruit pieces in there and then a couple of large blow flies that had been chasing after pizza slices had inadvertently dive bombed into the sticky mix. Now no one could tell what lump was what. No one wanted to lucky dip to find out either.

The cheese fondue had also been a hit when it was first melted. Again, until the same double dipper started dipping their pizza slices in it and more dive bombing flies had become lucky dip lumps suspended in warm yellow goo.

The silence that filled the lounge room was so loud that WW couldn't hear himself think. WW's thoughts were so loud that they filled the air with stuffy tension and the wiffy farter's gas bombs could be heard.

A rush to open all the windows and doors ensued and WW contemplated the double edged blade that toilet style jokes made. It may be amusing for the few, but it had a tendency to chase the majority away. Toilet jokes aside, this meeting was important. This meeting had been held because WW was considering the BIG QUESTION.

Should WW disband? Should all the random stories and all the hard work they had been putting effort into in between their day jobs be discontinued?

WW didn't want to stop, but reality was depressing. This time, it had come in the form of parents slapping the faces of children who in word were grown up and independent, but actually still sent all their bills home to be paid. Not to mention stole food from their parent's pantries, took their laundry home to be washed and basically leeched off their parents' savings in the name of missing home and wanting to see their parents. Some parents were too smart for their children and had cut off any further financial assistance if their overgrown spoilt brats didn't pull up their own socks and find proper full time jobs.

In the wake of the disaster left behind by Blue Suede Shoes, Aunty Lynn's kindly but heart stabbing advice and the fact that all the writing WW did didn't pay, WW was faced with the problem of Real Life. It seemed that imagining other worlds and stories didn't actualise edible food into the fridge and onto the table. Nor did their creative outputs grow money trees. WW had actually tried this once when they were young. It had become a ritual to water that empty flower pot every day as a hopeful prayer, but WW guessed that it was unlikely to ever sprout. For all they knew, one of them might have stolen the coins and notes that had been planted in a moment of desperation. They might be watering an empty pot of soil for nothing. Even so, they were sure that their faith in a miracle wouldn't be void if they continued to believe.

After the cloud of poison gas had been dispelled and watching more flies drown themselves in the contaminated chocolate and cheese fondues, the silence was broken by a good question.

"Does disbanding and discontinuing our current work mean that we will never get back together again? The Latin dis- prefix means the following word is broken asunder or utterly done away with, but in the current colloquial usage, it doesn't necessarily mean it is broken for good and can never be put back together. So why should we call it that and make it sound so negative?"

"That's right! What we are largely lacking in is time and money."

"And reputation."

"So rather than saying we are disbanding or discontinuing, how about we say we are going on vacation?"

"That's right! Take a break! Go on a holiday! Woo!"

"A working holiday. We are all going to take a break from WW business. Although our webnovel hasn't had the greatest reviews, we can all still accumulate creative ideas and plans for our next collective masterpiece. We will gather the cash and money we need and save up."

"We'll finally become more normal and find girlfriends. We all need to get girlfriends. Except for you. You need a boyfriend and to get laid. Then when we come back together, you won't be so uptight."

"Want to repeat that again?"

"Nothing! Nothing! Said nothing! Saw nothing... did nothing... you probably wouldn't be able to find a boyfriend anyway. You're more a man than a girl."

"At least I know how to be more manly than you. You won't ever find a girlfriend because you're a prissy sissy with no muscles. Any girl or guy who looks at you would know that you'd never be able to get it up and if you could, it wouldn't be any use because you're so small."

"Oof."

"Ouch."

"Hey!"

"You're such a wimp, you can't even win in an argument against your two year old sister."

"Don't bring my sister into this. I can't help it if she's a genius."

"If she's a genius at two years old, what are you?"

"Guys, I have a question."

"Shoot. It's better than hearing them bicker."

"When we upload this, how will anyone know who is talking without any indicators on who is talking? Isn't talking about WW as a singular male confusing when there are so many of us and not all of us are male?"

"She's a male. She definitely counts as a - YOWCH!"

"Isn't it what we agreed on in the beginning? We should proceed with what we decided for continuity's sake."

"But we haven't been consistent."

"Never mind. They always say that entertainers and other creatives tend to underestimate their audience's intelligence. It'll be something for them to work out themselves."

"But most readers don't want to have to think so hard."

"It's because we're a fast food generation now. Everyone wants to be spoon fed and not have to think so much. People want to be lazy and just sit around. That's why their brains wind down so quickly and they get dementia so early on. It's because they don't use their brains enough. The bread and cheese is on the shelf. If they want more, they can get it themself."

"Dude, that's controversial. There's no evidence that you'll get dementia early if you're lazy and eat fast food. People might get mad if you talk about this stuff. It's almost as bad as saying that sweet or savoury tofu pudding-"

"Stop it right there. We are not going to start debates."

"That's right! Woo! Start a debate! Make a massive bonfire! Yeah!"

Like this, WW ended up getting into a debate about the pros and cons of debates and bonfires. Later the discussion turned to barbecues and food. Seeing as nobody was willing to eat the food on the coffee table anymore, WW dumped it all in the rubbish bin and decided to go out to Maccas for lunch. They could charge the credit card someone's mother had given them for emergency use.

Hungry tummies were an emergency. They could have a debate about it. If that aunty wasn't happy, they could always clean her house, mow her lawn and massage her legs and shoulders. It always worked.

What disbanding? Why discontinue their hard work? They'd just go on a break. A working holiday.

That's what they were doing now in between studies and work anyway, right? Right. In that way, nothing would really change and they could continue what they had always been doing.

Yep.

Hmmm.

Or so WW hoped.