Note: This story by no means intends to disrespect people with AIDS, nor
make light of the AIDS epidemic. It is a terrible thing; my friend has AIDS
and I am terrified that one day I'll loose him. I am only making AIDS seem
light for the purpose of the story. Please don't be offended, or if you are
then don't come and flame me. Just read the story and later on I'll put it
in the serious context that the disease deserves. And if you dissect this
story, you will see that I never actually make light of the AIDS epidemic
itself, I talk about that very seriously and I make jokes about other
things around it that happen to pertain to it.
I also mean no offense to gay people. I am gay and I have a lot of fun pretending to be the stereotypical fashion-designing lisping gay man to scare people away. I am just now playing Javert in a production of Les Mis and me and some of my friends decided that Javert was so totally a flaming homosexual. So this is that story, as well as Les Mis, Phantom, and Rent.
Here is the Story.
The year was 1998; the setting, a large prison based in France. The head prison guard, Javert, was making his rounds through the galleys, inspecting each prisoner's work as they chopped up boulders using nothing but toothpicks. He stopped in front of a woman whose black and white striped shirt read "24601". Javert frowned and played with his goatee. He shifted his stick which he used to beat people with to his left hand and held the palm of his right hand up to his face.
"I knew I wrote something about this woman on here," he murmured as he pulled his sleeve up, looking for a note he wrote on his skin in purple pen. Purple was his favorite color.
He made his way up his arm, pulling his sleeve up as he went. When he got up to his shoulder he unbuttoned his shirt and prisoner 24601 spun around and stared lustfully and yet uselessly. He would never go for her. She wasn't his type. She though it odd to fall for her prison guard, but after all, he was stunning and irresistibly attractive.
After a few seconds he found the note which was written on his perfectly shaped pectoral muscle, and he read it out loud.
"Give prisoner 24601 her yellow ticket of leave," he read, and then looked up at the woman who was now clenching her jaw with lust..or was it love?.either way, it's irrelevant. They don't get together, in case you were wondering.
Javert reached into his pocket and took out a pink blowtorch (the secret of French prisons is that all their prison guards carry around pink blowtorches). He ordered prisoner 24601 to hold out her arms, which were chained to the floor.
"My name is Joanne," prisoner 24601 said indignantly.
"And I am.," Javert said, leaving a big space to provide an air of suspense, "JAVERT! Do not forget my name!"
At that moment, another stunning and irresistibly attractive prison guard made his way past Javert and brushed up against his backside.
"You'll be screaming it later!" Javert yelled, calling out to the prison guard. "24601!" he finished, directing his attention back to Joanne. He lit the blowtorch and held it to the chains binding her arms. After a few minutes the strongest part of the chain melted and she was free.
Joanne stood there and stared at him. After nineteen years of work in the galleys, she was now free? She asked this of Javert.
"No, you stupid twit," he answered, like this was the most obvious answer in the world. "It means you get your yellow ticket of leave! You are a thief! Or is it thiefette? What's politically correct?"
Joanne ignored this.
"I stole some AZT!"
"You robbed a CVS!"
"I broke.a window pane!" (catching the Javert Syndrome, Joanne decided to leave a large gap between the verb and the direct object). "My sister was dying! She had AIDS!"
Javert considered this. AIDS was a serious thing. He knew it; his previous boyfriend had had it, before he dumped him for another prison guard. That bitch.
"Well.still.." he stammered, unsure of what to say, "just..get out of here, okay?"
He gave her a pat on the ass. He never knew how to act in this sort of situation. It always made him feel uncomfortable.
"Just learn the meaning of the law," he suddenly burst out, remembering his duty.
"I know the meaning of.what the hell is a yellow ticket of leave, anyway?" Joanne asked. That whole conversation had passed and she didn't even know what had happened.
Javert rolled his eyes.
"You stupid twit. A yellow ticket of leave is what I give you which means that you're free."
"So I am free?"
Javert caught his mistake and mentally kicked himself.
"No, not free, per se, but free as in, you no longer have to cut boulders up into tiny bits using toothpicks."
"You mean now I can use a screwdriver?"
"No, no, no, it means you can leave, get outta here. Gone from this place. Live your own life now."
"So why isn't that free?"
Javert thought about this for a while, then shrugged.
"I have no idea," he said. " Oh, but you have to wear this."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a neon yellow emblem that had a cherub holding a harp in one hand and a toothpick in another behind bars, the official seal of their prison. Also written on it were the words, "Hey, yo, I'm an ex-convict so watch out!" He peeled off the back and stuck the sticker on Joanne's forehead.
"So this is what defines freedom and 'yellow ticket of leave'," Joanne suggested.
"I suppose you could say that," Javert agreed, making sexual movements with his tongue to the same prison guard who now passed in the opposite direction.
"I'll be seeing you later," he whispered at Joanne, hardly glancing at her as he rushed off after the prison guard to the lounge, excitedly trembling.
I also mean no offense to gay people. I am gay and I have a lot of fun pretending to be the stereotypical fashion-designing lisping gay man to scare people away. I am just now playing Javert in a production of Les Mis and me and some of my friends decided that Javert was so totally a flaming homosexual. So this is that story, as well as Les Mis, Phantom, and Rent.
Here is the Story.
The year was 1998; the setting, a large prison based in France. The head prison guard, Javert, was making his rounds through the galleys, inspecting each prisoner's work as they chopped up boulders using nothing but toothpicks. He stopped in front of a woman whose black and white striped shirt read "24601". Javert frowned and played with his goatee. He shifted his stick which he used to beat people with to his left hand and held the palm of his right hand up to his face.
"I knew I wrote something about this woman on here," he murmured as he pulled his sleeve up, looking for a note he wrote on his skin in purple pen. Purple was his favorite color.
He made his way up his arm, pulling his sleeve up as he went. When he got up to his shoulder he unbuttoned his shirt and prisoner 24601 spun around and stared lustfully and yet uselessly. He would never go for her. She wasn't his type. She though it odd to fall for her prison guard, but after all, he was stunning and irresistibly attractive.
After a few seconds he found the note which was written on his perfectly shaped pectoral muscle, and he read it out loud.
"Give prisoner 24601 her yellow ticket of leave," he read, and then looked up at the woman who was now clenching her jaw with lust..or was it love?.either way, it's irrelevant. They don't get together, in case you were wondering.
Javert reached into his pocket and took out a pink blowtorch (the secret of French prisons is that all their prison guards carry around pink blowtorches). He ordered prisoner 24601 to hold out her arms, which were chained to the floor.
"My name is Joanne," prisoner 24601 said indignantly.
"And I am.," Javert said, leaving a big space to provide an air of suspense, "JAVERT! Do not forget my name!"
At that moment, another stunning and irresistibly attractive prison guard made his way past Javert and brushed up against his backside.
"You'll be screaming it later!" Javert yelled, calling out to the prison guard. "24601!" he finished, directing his attention back to Joanne. He lit the blowtorch and held it to the chains binding her arms. After a few minutes the strongest part of the chain melted and she was free.
Joanne stood there and stared at him. After nineteen years of work in the galleys, she was now free? She asked this of Javert.
"No, you stupid twit," he answered, like this was the most obvious answer in the world. "It means you get your yellow ticket of leave! You are a thief! Or is it thiefette? What's politically correct?"
Joanne ignored this.
"I stole some AZT!"
"You robbed a CVS!"
"I broke.a window pane!" (catching the Javert Syndrome, Joanne decided to leave a large gap between the verb and the direct object). "My sister was dying! She had AIDS!"
Javert considered this. AIDS was a serious thing. He knew it; his previous boyfriend had had it, before he dumped him for another prison guard. That bitch.
"Well.still.." he stammered, unsure of what to say, "just..get out of here, okay?"
He gave her a pat on the ass. He never knew how to act in this sort of situation. It always made him feel uncomfortable.
"Just learn the meaning of the law," he suddenly burst out, remembering his duty.
"I know the meaning of.what the hell is a yellow ticket of leave, anyway?" Joanne asked. That whole conversation had passed and she didn't even know what had happened.
Javert rolled his eyes.
"You stupid twit. A yellow ticket of leave is what I give you which means that you're free."
"So I am free?"
Javert caught his mistake and mentally kicked himself.
"No, not free, per se, but free as in, you no longer have to cut boulders up into tiny bits using toothpicks."
"You mean now I can use a screwdriver?"
"No, no, no, it means you can leave, get outta here. Gone from this place. Live your own life now."
"So why isn't that free?"
Javert thought about this for a while, then shrugged.
"I have no idea," he said. " Oh, but you have to wear this."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a neon yellow emblem that had a cherub holding a harp in one hand and a toothpick in another behind bars, the official seal of their prison. Also written on it were the words, "Hey, yo, I'm an ex-convict so watch out!" He peeled off the back and stuck the sticker on Joanne's forehead.
"So this is what defines freedom and 'yellow ticket of leave'," Joanne suggested.
"I suppose you could say that," Javert agreed, making sexual movements with his tongue to the same prison guard who now passed in the opposite direction.
"I'll be seeing you later," he whispered at Joanne, hardly glancing at her as he rushed off after the prison guard to the lounge, excitedly trembling.