A/N: Please don't shoot me for writing this. Its 3:01 AM, and I have NO idea where this came from, why I'm writing it, or if it makes sense. So yeah…I may take it down if I wake up and realize that it makes no sense at all.

Jon Larson owns you. Or at least he owns Rent.

So maybe what I'm doing to Roger is a little bit cruel.

And cruel is a strong, STRONG word too. I mean it was an unkind idea at most…maybe a tad bit brutal.

Okay, okay. It's downright vindictive messing with his head like this…But I can't help it! I need something worthy of documenting. Besides, I have to film something AMUSING! I've filmed countless homeless people. And they don't even like me! They're so incredibly rude to me on the street. People just don't understand that my documentaries really ARE filmed for the greater good. I'm such a misinterpreted artist.

Misinterpreted artist. Huh. I like that. It's...mysterious. Sexy, even. I wonder if Maureen's ever looked at me as a misinterpreted artist…

Shit. Here he comes!

"Close on Roger," I begin, wielding my camera, and recording him as he pads into the kitchen area groggily. "starting his day the Roger way, with-"

"A box of Cap'n Crunch…" He finishes my sentence, without even glancing in my direction. "Mark, why the fuck are you filming? It's like 9 o'clock in the morning. I just woke up…put that goddamn thing down." He demands, digging through the refrigerator for a carton of milk, which of course we don't have.

"Roger is bitter because he hasn't bathed yet and is forced to live with his own ungodly stench 24/7. Mr. Davis doesn't approve of being filmed before he's taken his shower, once he's nice and pretty." I continue, to his obvious dismay. He's reaching into the cabinet now. He sighs, slightly irritated.

"Whatever you say, Cohen…" He mumbles, still tired and somewhat unresponsive.

"We observe the Roger in his natural habitat. It's just awoken from its long period of hibernation and is on the prowl again, looking for some food to make up for the long period of time in which it fasted." I narrate, switching to Animal Planet mode. That's what Roger is in the morning anyway. An animal. A bigggggg, mean, grizzly bear.

He pours his cereal, still not noticing what's wrong here.

"But will the specimen fail to notice the alterations made to his environment?"

He looks over his shoulder at me, with a confused, disturbed look. I just shrug at him. He shakes his head and turns back around, bringing a cereal-filled spoon to his mouth, he stops abruptly.

"THESE ARE FUCKING FROOT LOOPS!"

"The specimen has noticed the first adjustment in his environment…"

"WHERE THE FUCK IS MY CAP'N CRUNCH? MARK COHEN, YOU ASSHOLE!"

"The Roger seems angered by this modification…"

"DAMN FUCKING SKIPPY, I'M ANGERED!"

"He's resorted to talking like an 80-year-old man."

"FUCK YOU!"

"With more profanities…"

"MARK! WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY CEREAL?"

"It is still uncertain how the creature will respond to the other developed changes that will conflict its routine."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN OTHER CHANGES? WHAT THE HELL ELSE DID YOU DO?"

"It seems that it is ready to strike an attack against its innocent victim…"

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

"The specimen is still in a state of shock."

"I WILL NOT BE YOUR TWISTED DISCOVERY CHANNEL DOCUMENTARY, COHEN!"

"Animal Planet."

"WHATEVER!" Roger exclaims. His face is reaching an almost tomato-esque shade of red in his rage. He looks around as if there might be something big and heavy that he could chuck at my head, but he doesn't seem to find anything. He takes a deep breath, "I will deal with you after I've had my coffee…" He says decidedly.

"The wild animal is tamed by the prospect of quenching its thirst…"

He grabs the coffee pot irritably and pours the contents into his mug. He tips it into his mouth, and proceeds to spit all over the floor of the loft.

As you may have guessed, that shit's not coffee.

"WHAT IS THIS?" he yells, pointing exaggeratedly at the cup, "SATAN'S PISS?!"

"The replacement of its regular daily nourishment with Green Tea seems to put off the Roger."

"GREEN TEA? That's low Scarf Boy…"

"It has sunk to the level of petty insults that it seems to think are clever."

The loft door slides open, and Mimi walks in. I wasn't expecting her, but I'm sure I can make her work to my advantage.

"It appears to be mating season!"

"What's he talking about?" She asks Roger confusedly, raising her eyebrows.

"I have no fucking clue! Did he change you too? To see if I'll throw a tantrum for the camera!? "

"I'm pretty sure I'm still me…" Mimi says uncertainly, strangely enough pulling a face as if trying to remember whether or not I'd altered her in any way. She is a smart one, that girl.

"He thinks I'm his fucking Meerkat today." Roger explains heatedly.

"Grizzly Bear." I correct him.

"What does that make me?" Mimi questions curiously.

"The female Grizzly Bear?" I suggest, considering what role Mimi is to play.

"Couldn't I be something in the Cat family?"

"Well, I'm not sure leopards and grizzly bears get along very well…"

"You're fucking INSANE! BOTH OF YOU!" He yells, "I'm going to get dressed!" He decides, walking off into his bedroom and slamming the door.

"What's his deal?" Mimi says once he's gone.

"Not everyone appreciates nature, Mimi."

"Truer words have never been spoken, Mark."

I nod, and open my mouth to start a conversation when I'm cut off by a blood-curdling scream from Roger's room.

"COHENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!"

"The specimen seems to have discovered what has been done to his plaid pants…"

A/N: Like I said, I don't know what I was doing here. So review if you like. I need to get to sleep. I get much too insane at this hour. Umm…yes review. That'd be cool. And I know it was crackish and random.

With kerplunks, kablams, and kerpows of doom,

ProngsLovesRent