Okay, this is just a random fic filled with randomness... each chapter will be dedicated to a different comedy, including such shows as-
Blackadder And many more...so i hope you enjoy this random fic full of randomness...
Monty Python
Little Britain
This first chapter is a dedication of Blackadder. For those who don't know, Blackadder is a 'series' done by the BBC (British Broadcasting Center) which shows a funnier side of history, including the Elizabethan times and even World War Two. It stars stars like Rowan Atkinson, Tony robinson, Sir Stephen Fry, Hugh Laurie and Tim McInnery; such a funny bunch...
And this chapter's stars are...
The Majestics...
The little line breakers symbolize a totally new 'story'.
All was almost silent in the Giancarlo mansion in mainland Italy, or if you want to get technical, 'Rome'. The four Majestics, a beyblading team, a team that beybladed, were walking down one of the long corridors that was very long. They were stopped, however, by Enrique's personal butler.
"Master Enrique," He addressed the young Italian.
"Ah, Piddlesworth. I hope you are feeling better."
"Yes, thank you sir. I would like to request a short stay off, though, for the heart operation has taken a lot out of me…"
"Well, that's for your boss to decide and I must say, if he denies you, he must be bleating mad." Enrique replied.
Piddlesworth blinked. "But, sir, you are my boss."
"Well…?"
Piddlesworth sighed. "May I have a short stay off to recuperate?"
"Certainly not."
"Thank you sir."
"Baaaaaaaah!" Enrique called back as he walked down the corridor, leaving the Majestics puzzled and staring after him…
"Hey Enrique, I need your help with something."
"What with, Johnny?"
"Right, tonight, I'm having a drinking competition and-
"Oh-oh, no way-hosey, mister. You are not having a drinking competition!"
"Oh, why not!" Johnny whined.
"Because everytime you have even a drop of alcohol, you start singing about some little goblin!"
"But this is what I need your help with. W- Wait a moment! I do not!"
"How do you know? You're drunk everytime you start singing. Oh and just to let you know, I use 'singing' in a broad tense."
"Bastard…" Johnny muttered. "But hear me out. When I ask for my 'extremely strong ale', you pass me an ale bottle containing water."
"That is cheating, mon ami." Oliver said as he walked in, obviously having heard the conversation. "But just do it, Enrique. I do not want to hear his 'singing' one more time…"
"So will you do it?" Johnny asked as Enrique sat there with a thinking face on.
"So…" He paused. "So… so when you ask for your 'extremely strong ale'… I pass water! I get it!"
As Enrique walked away, Johnny realised what the Italian had said.
"Wait! Enrique, wait!"
(Later that night)
Many people, mostly teens, had turned up at the Giancarlo mansion in 'Rome'. These teens were mostly old blading rival teams, but were now (or they assured were now) friends. Currently sitting in a circle, they were looking expectantly at Johnny, as if waiting for him to break into song; which was ironically what they were waiting for.
"Hey Enrique!" Johnny called out. "Get me my extremely strong ale, will you?"
Gasps went round the room as Enrique walked in, carrying an ale bottle with the words 'Ye extremeli storong allle' printed on the side. Enrique glanced at Oliver and Robert, before winking. They groaned and ran out. Enrique handed the bottle to Johnny, who then took a swig.
"Now!" He proclaimed. "Who said I couldn't…er…"
He never finished because he fell backwards. Enrique fell into a fit of laughter as everyone sweatdropped. But they all stopped as Johnny sat up suddenly, a demented look on his face… he started to sing…
"See the little gob-lin,
See his little feet,
See his little nosey-wosey,
Isn't the goblin sweet?"
"Hurrah!" everyone shouted, clanging beer bottles.
Once again, all four Majestics were seated in the main room, but were playing eye spy… what? The rich folk have fun too.
Although, Robert wasn't joining in, preferring to read a novel/book; whatever you want to call it.
"I spy with my little eye…" Johnny said, looking around the room for something; he caught sight of a mug, "something beginning with 'M'."
"Erm…" Enrique wondered out loud.
"Mmmmm…" Johnny encouraged.
"Erm…"
"Mmmmm…"
"Erm…"
"Mmmmm…"
Robert slammed the book shut in frustration. "Mug!"
"Oh, I say. Well done. Your turn." Johnny replied.
"I spy with my bored little eye, something beginning with 'T'."
"Breakfast!" Enrique shouted out.
"…What?"
"My breakfast always begins with tea, and I have a little sausage, and a egg with some little soldiers." Enrique replied.
"Enrique," Robert answered, "when I said it begins with 'T', I meant a letter."
"Nah. The postman don't come till 10:30."
"I can't go on with this. Oliver, take over."
"Alright… Erm… I spy with my little eye, something beginning with 'R'."
"Army!"
"For God's sake, Enrique!" Robert shouted. "Army begins with an 'A'. He wants something beginning with 'R'. Rrrrrrrrrrrr!"
"Motorbike!"
"What!"
"A motorbike begins with a 'Rrrrrrrrrrrr! Rrrrrrrrrrrr!'."
"Alright, alright, right, right, right. My turn again. What begins with Come here' and ends with Ow'?"
Enrique shrugged. "I dunno."
"Come here."
Enrique stood and moved over to Robert, whom then punched him squarely on the nose.
"Ow…"
"Well done."
"Oh, um… You missed a bit, Enrique." Johnny muttered.
"Oh!" Enrique plunged his hand into his pocket and rummaged around, eventually pulling out a tiny brush. He scrubbed away the 'dirt' and smiled. "There."
"Oh, crap." Came a curse from the doorway.
Both teens looked over to see Oliver and Robert. They grinned and waved.
"Good lord, what happened to the furniture?"
Quite right, Robert. What had happened to the furniture… the once grand room that had been filled to the brim with furniture was… now not grand at all. Nothing, apart from one sofa, was in the room.
Oliver sighed. "Please don't tell me your friends are coming over. You know, the actors?"
"Well, too bad, cos they are!"
"Well, I'm leaving then."
"…what? Why?"
"The last time your 'friends' came over, they tried to get me in one of their stances. Legs so wide apart it looked like they were riding an extremely fat, invisible horse; arms looking like they were trying to hug the empire state building; shoulders thrust so far out, you'd swear they were attached to a pair of charging elephants; and roaring like a pair of lions in mating season!"
"Oh please stay!" Enrique begged. "If they show up and it's only us, we'll never get a part in their play!" (Like they need the money…)
They all stared at the French boy. "Fine!" He said, throwing his hands in the air. "I'll stay. But…"
"We know. No stances." The two wanna-be actors chanted.
Oliver sighed and slid down the nearby wall, Robert following suit. Silence reigned the room with it's evil ways and sorcery and- sorry, caught up in the moment.
Enrique broke the silence. "You know, the actors remind me of something."
"What? You?" Oliver joked.
"No. No. My uncle was in a film once."
"Really?" Johnny asked; he had obviously not known this. "What was the film called?"
"I think it was called 'Macbeth'."
"What did he play?"
"Second codpiece. Macbeth used him in the fight scenes…"
"Oh," Robert replied, "so he was a stunt codpiece."
"…" Internally, Oliver was smirking, but outside his face was blank. "Did he have a large part?"
Enrique paused to think. He shrugged. "Depends on who's playing Macbeth."
"Oh, incidentally, Enrique - actors are very superstitious. On no account mention the word 'Macbeth' this evening, alright?" Oliver said.
"Huh? Why not?"
"It brings them bad luck and makes them very unhappy."
"Oh, so you aren't going to mention either?"
"No…" Oliver turned to Robert and whispered- "Well… not very often…"
(later that night)
Knocks.
Pauses.
More knocks…
Getting more impatient.
Robert kept glancing at Oliver to see if the boy would go get the door (since he was in charge of getting the door). Oliver was casually flicking through a magazine, oblivious to the knocking.
"Hey, Oli! Get the door, will ya?" Enrique's voice drifted in from somewhere.
Oliver sighed and stood, walking over to the door. "You should've knocked." He said to two middle-aged men.
"Our knocks, impertinent boy, were loud enough to wake the hounds of hell!" One of them said. They gave Oliver their hats.
"Lead on, Mc Duff." One said.
"I shall, Mossop."
Oliver frowned and dumped the hats on the floor, kicking them outside in one sweep.
"…lest you continue in your quotations and mention the 'Scottish Play'." Mc Duff said to Mossop.
"By the 'Scottish Play' I assume you mean 'Macbeth'." Oliver said.
"Ah! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends!" They chanted, doing actions with their hands that can be called 'pat-a-cake'. At the end they pinched each other's noses and yelled in pain.
"…What was that?" Oliver asked, wierded out.
"We were exorcising evil spirits." Mossop retorted. "Being but a mere butler-" Oliver puffed his cheeks out, "-you will not know the great theatre tradition that one does 'never' speak the name of the 'Scottish Play'."
"What, 'Macbeth'?"
"Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, plucks to make amends. Ohhh!"
"Good lord, you mean you have to do 'that' every time I say Macbeth'?"
"Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwww!"
"Will you please stop saying 'that'! Always call it the 'Scottish Play'." Mc Duff insisted.
"So you want me to say the 'Scottish Play'?" Oliver replied.
"YES!"
"…Rather than 'Macbeth'?"
"Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwwwww!"
Just at that moment, Johnny and Enrique entered.
"For heaven's sake," Johnny yelled, "what is all this hullabaloo, all this shouting and screaming and yelling blue murder? Why... it's like that play we might be in, what is it called... umm.."
"'Macbeth'?" Offered Oliver.
"Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwwwww!" The actors chanted.
"No, no, it's called Julius Caesar." Enrique replied.
"Ah yes, of course. 'Julius Caesar'." Robert said, knowing too well what Oliver was going to say.
"... not 'Macbeth'." Oliver finished.
"Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwwwww!"
Johnny and Enrique were looking wierded out; Oliver and Robert are looking plainly amused. Such a contrast between close friends…
Oliver turned to Johnny and Enrique. "Are you sure you want them to stay?" he asked them.
"Erm…"
"No, not really, no." Johnny said.
"But how will we get rid of them?" Robert asked.
Oliver grinned…
(a few minutes later)
"I have never been in a house so evil!" Mc Duff said, as they walked out, sporting very red noses.
"Never have I heard the name 'Macbeth' mentioned so many- oh Piddlesworth." Mossop cursed as he treaded in a doggy-doo… oh and the fact that he said Mac- you-know-what.
"Yes?" The elderly butler appeared.
"Oh shut up and leave us to die."
"Gladly…"
Oliver slammed his book shut in a fit of fury. A fit of fury so bad it was fury-fied. A fury-fied fit so fury-fied it-
"Enrique, what the HELL are you doing out here in the corridor at 2 AM?"
The blonde looked up from his position on the floor. "What does it look like?"
"You're carving something on a lump of lead."
"Yes, but correction; it's a bullet."
"Ah hah, and what are you carving on that bullet?"
"I'm carving, 'Enrique'."
Oliver blinked. "And why are you carving 'Enrique' on that bullet?"
"Well, it's a clever plan actually." Enrique said, standing up. "See, you know that they say that there's a bullet out there with your name on it?"
"…Yes?"
"Well, I thought that if I owned the bullet, I won't ever get hit by it, cos I won't ever shoot myself."
"Oh shame."
"And the chances of there being two bullets with my name on them are very small indeed."
Oliver raised an eyebrow. "That's not the only thing 'very small indeed'. You brain, for example, is so small that if a hungry cannibal cracked your head open, there wouldn't be enough brains inside to cover a small biscuit the size of an atom."
Just then, Johnny decided to come out of his bedroom, for no apparent reason; just a random appearance; you know how they are…
"Tally-ho pip-pip and Bernard's your uncle." He greeted them.
The other two teens stared blankly; Enrique wandered off somewhere, as per usual.
"In English," Oliver said, "we say, 'Good Morning'."
Johnny paid no heed. "Look what I found." He handed Oliver a rolled up magazine. "It's the latest issue of 'Blading arts'. Oh, damn inspiring stuff; the magazine that tells everyone the truth about beyblading."
Oliver flicked through the magazine. "Or alternatively, the greatest work of fiction since vows of fidelity were included in the marriage service." The French boy replied.
"Oh, come now, Oliver." Johnny laughed. "You have to admit that this is good for the stature of all professional beybladers."
"Certainly not," Oliver admitted, handing the magazine back to Johnny, "I just think more could be achieved by giving the urchins down the alley some real toilet paper."
"Not with you at all, Oliver." Johnny frowned. "What could anyone have against this magnificent mag?"
"Apart from their bottom?"
"Yes."
"Well, I mean look at it!" He snatched the magazine back. "All this stuff is about as convincing as your defence lawyer! All beybladers are portrayed as being 6 foot 6 with biceps the size of Bonn!"
"Thoroughly inspiring stuff…"
Oliver just stared blankly at his friend. "Okay, what were you smoking last night?"
"Nothing."
"Well then; that gives me an excuse to do… this!" Oliver smacked the Scot around the head with the rolled up magazine. "Get a life, Jonathon and while you're at it; buy a gun so Enrique can shoot himself with his engraved bullet. Then we can all live in peace; like all the other teams..."
Naha! There's the Majestics... who's nexton the slaughtering- i mean, stage?
Just a note: What i am doing, is looking at the scripts for each comedy and picking out a few best bits and eating them up, chewing and regurgitating a nice, goowy wadge of beyblade humour. The original scripts don't belong to me, but this story does, since i have changed the best bits to fit into teh story, ultimately changing them drastically; so no taky-taky or stealy-stealy, okies? Or i'll set Johnny and his little goblin on you!
Anywho review!