Jammy Hock yawned and opened his eyes. He wasn't sure why every time anyone referenced his name, Jammy Hock, they included his surname. Surely it would be more efficient to just call him Jammy Hock, but without the Hock?
Nah, that would be ridiculous, Jammy Hock decided. Like Superman without his "man", or Batman without his "man", Jammy Hock could not live without his Hock.
Since his last smash-hit story, Jammy Hock found he had become quite genre-aware. The fact that a constant sort of narration now permeated the otherwise meaningless void of his life could only mean one thing: Jammy Hock was going to become something decidedly not Jammy Hock.
The only variable was how it would begin, and when. He decided that the most rational course of action was that of the meta-commentary, in which he would thrust himself into increasingly meaningless tales of transformation, such that perhaps, some day, he could escape the bounds of his own canon and reach a sort of shitty apotheosis.
It was thus that morning, lying in bed, Jammy Hock decided to become Princess Celestia. But, of course, to truly become the Princess of the Day, one must leave bed. Jammy Hock felt that this might pose something of an issue, as, despite his desire for ascension, he didn't particularly want to get out of bed. The narrative goddess, however, begged to differ, and Jammy rolled out of bed and immediately began to dress himself in an orange polo shirt and purple shorts. Jammy Hock had learned about complimentary colours last year in school, and had dressed himself accordingly ever since, never quite realizing that orange and purple were not, in fact, complimentary.
Nevertheless, having clothed himself, Jammy Hock picked his cellular telephone off of his trusty bedside table, and stepped out of his room, casually scrolling his feed on FAMFACTION.NET, to see what had gone on during the night. Judging by the massive amount of notifications, at least three new stories had been written about him, Jammy Hock, and had been posted to half the groups on the site. This was good, Jammy Hock felt. The more Jammy Hock stories were written, the more likely that the goddess of the narrative would become distracted and ignore him, allowing him to breach canon with ease.
Unfortunately for Jammy Hock, I am not that easily driven away. Nor am I particularly fond of those stories, to be honest.
Ignoring the sarcastic commentary of the goddess, Jammy Hock walked down the hall and into the kitchen, where he poured himself a cup of black coffee. The coffee immediately vanished, however, as the goddess was in an ironically puritanical mood, and was not willing to allow Jammy Hock to get addicted to caffeine. Jammy Hock frowned into his empty mug, before shrugging. He figured he might as well go out to school early today, and so he put on his coat and stepped out the door into the bright early morning sunlight.
Contrary to popular belief, the sun is not a giant ball of gas. Some will tell you that it is in fact plasma, but they would also be wrong. It can be safely assumed that the sun does not have blood, and thus cannot contain plasma. In reality, the sun is powered by the sum awesomeness of the universe. Due to this, people often bumped into things in the dark before Jammy Hock was born, as the sun was a great deal less bright. Jammy contemplated this as he made his way towards school. People really didn't pay him enough respect, despite the fact that it was his awesomeness that made agriculture a meaningful endeavor. He had once considered starting a cult, with himself as the god of the sun, but later decided against it, feeling that it might detract from his reputation as the premier TRANSMOGRIFICATION EXPATRIATE.
Lost in thought, Jammy Hock nearly walked straight into the gates of his school. The goddess would like to clarify that it wasn't his school in that Jammy Hock attended the school (though he did), but that the school was in fact his private property, and accordingly named the JAMMY HOCK ACADEMY OF TRANSMOGRIFICATION EXPERTISE. He unlocked the gate, stepped inside, and locked it again behind him. One of his first acts as the principal of the illustrious JAMMY HOCK ACADEMY OF TRANSMOGRIFICATION EXPERTISE was to expel all the worst students, so they didn't drag their betters down with them. Given that Jammy Hock was, of course, the best student, in addition to being all the teachers and the principal, necessitated expelling all of the peasant-students.
Jammy Hock made his way to the office of the principal of the JAMMY HOCK ACADEMY OF TRANSMOGRIFICATION EXPERTISE, where he assigned himself his natural grades. A+, across the board. Having had a highly fulfilling day at school, Jammy Hock turned around and left, figuring he could probably finish up his degree in quantum physics tomorrow. Today, however, he had to pursue the goal of apotheosis.
Steeling his resolve, Jammy Hock struck a dramatic pose and screamed to the sky.
"I, Jammy Hock, am the TRANSMOGRIFICATION EXPATRIATE, and I will become Princess Celestia, just you wait!"
Author's Note
im writing this whole fic in notepad and no i will not indent my paragraphs mom
Jammy Hock posed and strutted and shouted about his status as the TRANSMOGRIFICATION EXPATRIATE for another good hour and a half. A protagonist must be dramatic, of course, and a TRANSMOGRIFICATION EXPATRIATE doubly so. In any other school, the students or teachers might have complained about the raving lunatic running and shouting through the halls of the building, but in this school, such slander would mean immediate expulsion, were anyone else present. Such were the perks of being the only student and all of the administrative staff in your school, Jammy Hock supposed.
The author, he knew, was always watching. Ever present. Jammy Hock likened the whole thing to an observer effect, rather similar to the double slit experiment. Mind you, despite having given himself the better part of a degree in Quantum Physics, Jammy did not actually understand the double slit experiment, and completely misunderstood what "observe" meant in that context. Indeed, Jammy was possessed of the false belief that that particularly bit of research had somehow proven consciousness defined reality, when in fact "observe" would be better replaced with "measure", and indeed the whole thing could be done with computers whilst one goes on a vacation in the bahamas, for the computerized measurements constitute enough of an "observer" for the experiment to function, on account of the whole thing having absolutely nothing to do with consciousness. Indeed, if Jammy Hock bothered to so much as google such things, he would not be possessed of such delusions, but years of falling for odd pseudo-mysticism on the internet had rendered his critical thinking and research skills inert.
This lack of reasoning ability was ultimately for the best, of course, as it would have taken up valuable energy that could be better used to hone Jammy Hock's already prodigious abilities of TRANSMOGRIFICATION EXPATRIATION, a noble and significant post whose precise responsibilities and capacities shall not be detailed, and instead left as an excercise to the reader.
Jammy Hock always hated it when the author did that, leaving things "as an excercise to the reader". He suspected it was in part due to laziness and an unwilling to put actual effort into detailing his character, but the gaps in canonical lore were in fact quite troublesome, as, without the author to detail his abilities, Jammy Hock was unable to utilize or contemplate his abilities. He knew he had power, of course, such a thing had been established in canon, but the specifics or even broad details had not. This was his primary reason for wanting to transcend canonical limitations, thereby granting him the ability to define his own powers. He would of course give himself all of them, and establish himself as a HIGH TRANSMOGRIFICATION EXPATRIATE among men.
By this point, Jammy Hock's ranting and raging and contemplating and running had led him into the cafeteria, where his growling stomach reminded him he was in fact quite peckish. He sprinted over to the counter, still shouting at the top of his lungs about his own greatness and the powers of the TRANSMOGRIFICATION EXPATRIATE (it is a strange feeling to shout information you don't possess). He made his selections, which comprised all of the food, and paid the six hundred and forty dollars payment required. Jammy Hock could of course afford such steep fees, due to a rather cunning scheme he had established. Three years ago, Jammy Hock had taken out a small loan of six million dollars from the bank, and every month since, he took out a slightly larger loan to cover his debts and expenses. In this way, he reckoned, he would never actually have to pay any money for anything, provided he could keep finding new banks to take loans from. More recently, he had been considering running a front company to conceal his economic activities from the increasingly suspicious banks, perhaps some sort of research society relating to metallurgy. He isn't certain of yet.
Regardless, Jammy Hock thinks, as he bites into one of his cookies, it would be prudent to devise some sort of plan regarding how to distract the goddess. As previously noted, his apotheosis requires that he be unobserved. Suddenly, it hits him. The goddess is a lazy one, and a poor author at that. She cannot be trusted to adequately detail a given scene or character.
All Jammy Hock needs to do is
Author's Note
yay
