I…don't actually know why I'm doing another spoof. They're just so fun, guys. And by the way, I used zero pronouns for Jean Valjean's name, because Jean Valjean's name is just so fun to type/speak/spell/crack jokes about. However, Jean Valjean does go by aliases such as the Decrepit Figure, Monsieur le Maire, Crazy Old Fauchelevent, and Madeline. And I'm making this different from the Improv Version by Moi! This one is book-based, featuring Hugo Tangents™! And also Pocketjolras. Don't know who Pocketjolras is? READ AND FIND OUT, MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. And Tinyferre. Pocketjolras and Tinyferre. So yeah. I'm sorry to do this to you…again. But seriously, Pocketjolras and Tinyferre are awesome! And also Enjolras (not Pocketjolras) says "please help me I don't want to read this" to Combeferre (not Tinyferre), but sadly HE HAS NO CHOICE IN THE MATTER. Poor revolutionary leader…he really is tired of my making jokes about Ramin Noodles (GEDDIT? GEDDIT? ENJOLRAS? RAMIN KARIMLOO? RAMEN NOODLES? RAMIN NOODLES?) So yeah. Also featuring Cosette the Mean Girl, Wimpy Marius, and Javerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt.

-Marseillaise Who Is Taking A Break From Angst To Relieve Her Tear Ducts

Disclaimer: Victor Hugo is in my closet. (Don't ask. Enjolras, Jean Prouvaire, and Sydney Carton are in there too.) So I'm not him. Or anyone else other that Marseillaise, alias Monsieur Jacques Lefebvre, chevalier de les crêpes du chêne, alias [no, I'm not telling you my real name. Sorry.], alias the Constipated Leprechaun (which is an extremely long story involving waaaaaay too much candy and also an Irish accent that only Om will get), alias….You know, this really isn't helping me prove a point at all. I'm not a dead French guy. I'm an alive (hopefully…) American girl. Yeah. *le Tom Petty starts playing* She was…an American girl… No, totally don't have that on my iPod. Well yes I do. So shoot me. JK JK JK DON'T SHOOT ME. Unless it's like, barricade era and I'm on a barricade with Les Amis. And you're a National Guardsman of France. Then you may have a point. But…I'm going off on tangents again. On to the story.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away….JK WRONG STORY.

Once upon a time, there was a bishop. He was a very nice guy. Like, I mean, he was SUPER AMAZINGLY NICE. Really. I'M TELLIN' YOU GUYS, HE WAS SPECTACULAR. And French. And named M. Myriel. And he also had lots of very interesting cheeses, but that Hugo-tangent™ is later! Firstly, we must tell you how awesome this guy is.

For instance, one time, he went to the Olympics and won the gymnastics gold medal for France and also the 200 meter dash silver medal for France. He also ran marathons. And threw javelins. And then, he went to Nice, where it is nice, and got a tan. And then…Sorry, that was a lie. He avoided Nice at all costs because one time a seagull pooped on his head. But he was a good guy. He went around being kind and goodly and honorable and candlesticky. He also got this silver, but Dear Vicky won't tell me how, so I am forced to draw my conclusions from the large amount of Incredibly Accurate information I happen to know.

So M. Myriel was walking on his daily walk, when All of a Sudden, a fiacre flew by and snatched this pretty foreign princess that happened to be wandering in the French countryside. Being a noble man, and also very fit from his time at the Olympics, he immediately raced after said fiacre. As they passed through Avignon, the fiacre started to pull ahead. But M. Myriel was not defeated just yet! As they rounded a bend, he quickly grabbed a tree branch. Throwing it like a javelin, he managed to hit the wheel of the fiacre and it stopped!

Out came a man dressed in cowboy boots, a plaid shirt, polka-dot pants, and a bandana. He also had a gun.

"My friend, please let the lady go!" cried the bishop heroically.

"No!" growled the gunslinger.

"May I ask why?"

"Because," said the fearsome looking man with no fashion sense, "she-she made fun of my polka-dotted pants!"

The bishop knew at this point that he had to tread carefully, lest he accidentally criticize them as well. "I-er-um-love your pants, though!" he said.

"Really?!"

"Um…Yes!"

The other man threw down his gun and started smiling. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me! Here, have these candlesticks I happen to have. They're vintage."

"Ooh, cool. Thanks!"

"Any day. Keep in touch, okay? I live in Texas."

"Um…I live in Digne." And that's very far from Texas…

"Digging? What?"

"Not digging, Digne," said the exasperated bishop.

"Whatever! Cheerio!"

"Au revoir!" called the bishop. Then-"WAIT! WHAT ABOUT THAT DAMSEL IN DISTRESS?"

"She insulted my pants! SHE DESERVES TO DIE."

"Um..."

"Ask her! Foreign princess lady, speak!"

"Jed etest ayvot repanta lon!"

"SEE? She just said, 'je détesté votre pantalon! I hate your pants!'"

But the bishop was well versed in Ancient Weird Languages. "No," he said, "that's just Brotessian for 'My father can sue you for this!'"

"Oh…Sorry, foreign princess lady! You may go!"

"Yoos uck," replied the lady.

"DID SHE JUST SAY I SUCK?"

"NO! She said thank you."

"Okay."

After this, the bishop was feeling very good about himself. He went home, and did stuff. (good stuff.)