Ben was very, very drunk. He'd gone to the party with Tim and two girls named Emma and Launie, and it was an experience.
Tim and Emma were all over each other all night, while Ben hardly had anything to say to Launie... at least at first. Launie seemed cold, almost frigid, but she was very intelligent and seemed to have a sharp sense of humor. She seemed just his type, so Ben found it difficult to make much headway with her. That is, until Launie began drinking.
After a few drinks, Launie loosened up immensely, pulling Ben onto the dance floor and making out with him right there. He may even have gone home with her after she propositioned him, if it wasn't for the fact that she three up three times in a row, the first time on his shoes. He ordered a cab and took Launie home, then went home alone. She left him his number, of course, but it was anybody's guess if she was into him at all when she wasn't drunk.
Now Ben, his head swimming, thought it would be the perfect time to continue his Metaman story.
Metaman flys real fast, all the way up to the sky. He uses his metavision and spots the black-clad metahumans somewhere else.
"You fuckin' bastards," he mutters, diving straight through the air at them from a hundred miles away, catching up to them in a jiff.
"Who wants a fight with Metaman?" he yells, surrounded by three of 'em.
The three laugh, one taking potshots at him while another distracts him. One of 'em says, "Were ya been, Metajerk?"
"I'm... I dunno. This story's shit. It's crap. Shitty crap, worse'n a Nowhereman story. I can't write this right now I suck."
Ben slid down to the floor next to his computer desk and fell fast asleep after meditating briefly on the word metafiction.
