Written by Inhopeless
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Monday, 21 March 2011

I still have to study. I called my friend, Lady Godiva. Apparently, she was in hospital.

"Don't worry," she said over the phone. "You'll do fine in your French writing exam!" When I asked her why she thought so, she then replied. "I can read the minds of people and their thoughts of the future! I know the examiner will give your work an 'A'!"

I was shocked. How did... what the...?

"I have powers too," I said quietly. I pressed a button. "Thanks to my new power, I can control technology. One of my powers is to absorb knowledge, and have an Awesometer. You're blinding!" I told her it meant she was really awesome. I said goodbye to her, and knew that I had my exam in the bag.

I thought the call was secure.

After accidentally running into some robbers while shopping in the Bullring for a new outfit, some nerd managed to obtain details of my phone calls.

Including one to Lady Godiva.

Quickly, I logged into the Spoof, and told the world the news about Vigilanteen. The media was in a frenzy about this. And who better to report about it than the guy himself?

The papers seemed to have glorified me. The right-wing papers have called me a terrible plight, whereas the Indy, the Guardian, and the red-tops have called me a 21st century hero.

I was worried about LG. But after a phone call, I had found out that the press and the FBI had spoke to her in her luxury New York penthouse. I think her mind reading powers got her that.

Mental note: teach LG about the ethics of superhuman ability.

She was fine luckily.

I still had to find Masterchev. He wasn't in New York. He must have destroyed his Blackberry, because he wasn't on Google Places any more.

Borrowing my father's car while he was at work - I drove to the airport. I needed to meet up with LG.

While listening to Radio Four, my car broke down. Great. Just great.

It couldn't get any worse, right?

Right?

Right?

Yes. It could.

I got out of the car, and it blew away like paper - crushing people, other cars.

Great. Not only would my dad be angry, but this week's Economist was in there, and so was my copy of the Guardian.

Looking up, I saw the form of a person. I didn't know who it was, because it all turned into nothingness.

The last thing I know is hearing the thud of van doors, and tyres squealing.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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