Why Evil and Talk Shows Don't Mix
Summary: Lambert discovers the hidden joys of public access television.
Author's Note: This can be seen as a sequel to Why Evil and Writing Don't Mix, but it stands alone. Enjoy! This might be a two-shot, or I might continue it. Don't know, this is a rather frivolous fic.
Disclaimer: I do not own the sexy man beast that is Lambert. Grrrr….
oOoOoOoOoOo
Part I: Getting Ready"Gorgeous, voluptuous. Downright delectable. Grr you secksay man beast, grr!" Said Lambert into the mirror, his hand curled like a tiger's paw as he continued to purr at his terribly attractive appearance.
He sat in his dark robe of evil, his dark hair of evil carefully sculpted (plastered with hair gel) around his face, beautifully framing his chiseled features…of evil. It was his normal ritual to spend at least an hour or so primping himself everyday, but today was special. Especially special. Super special. Special to the nth power.
Today was the day that he hosted his very first talk show on public access television.
A sharp knock on the door disturbed Lambert's hour of self-appreciation. He slowly tore his gaze away from his ethereal visage to the dingy, half-rotting wooden door that the irritating noise was coming from. He squinted at the door, hoping that whoever was on the other side could feel the intensity of his gaze and would run away crying for their mother. That trick always worked on Stanton, after all.
Instead the knocking increased in speed and intensity, "Lambey-poo, are you in here?" Came the voice that could only belong to one person, his rather hot but sometimes rather dumb girlfriend, Aura.
"This is private time!" Lambert cried, and as an afterthought added, "I thought I told you that if you called me Lambey-poo one more time I would make you feast on your own entrails!"
The door opened and Aura walked in, chomping vigorously on a piece of bubble gum, "Oh Lambey-poo, don't be so melodramatic!" She stated. Aura raised an eyebrow when she looked at her hubby. He was sitting on a crate of sawdust and was surrounded by brooms and smelly mops. In his right fist he clutched an ornate hand mirror, "Um Lambchops, are you feeling alright? Why are you in a janitor's closet?"
"It's my dressing room!" He pouted, jutting out his lower lip.
She placed her hands on her hips, in confusion, "But the sign on the door says that this is the-"
"It does not! If you took the time to look, you would have seen that I artistically crossed out 'Janitor's Closet' and wrote 'Evil, Awesome and Totally Diabolical Lambert's Chamber of Doom and Eternal Peril' in magic marker!"
Aura scratched her head, and once again looked at the outside of the door, "Um, it looks like it just says 'Janitor's Closet' to me."
"Does not!"
"Does too!"
"Does not!"
"Does too!"
"Not!"
"Does!"
"Not!"
"Does!"
"Not!"
"Does!"
"Not!"
"Does!"
"Not!"
Aura smiled, "Not!"
Lambert, worked up into a blind fury, fell right into her carefully planned ruse, "Does! Does does does does does! DOES INFINITY PLUS ONE NO TAKE BACKS!" He paused as he realized what he just said, "Damn you! You conniving wench!"
Aura said nothing but crossed her arms over her chest and smirked indignantly as Lambert went on a temper tantrum, kicking over the various buckets in the Janitor's Closet. It took him a few moments to get rid of his fury that he had over being thwarted yet again.
He plopped back onto the crate and sighed pitifully, cradling his face in his hand, "Why did you come here in the first place?" He muttered.
Aura flashed a million dollar smile and picked up a box, "I came to talk to you about your makeup and wardrobe."
Lambert looked at the carefully selected black robe he always wore, "What's wrong with my wardrobe?"
Aura rolled her eyes, "Hun, the thing looks like a dress."
His face fell, "It's a robe! A ro-obe!"
"Dress." She shook her head, "Besides, the black cloak of doom went out of style centuries ago."
Lambert's eyes widened, "Are you saying I'm not trendy?"
"Sorry Lambey-poo."
"But the black is slimming!" He protested.
She sighed, reaching into the box and pulling out a periwinkle blue tee shirt, "Here, I picked this up at the mall before I came over, it's your size."
Lambert looked at the shirt in disgust, "But it's periwinkle."
"So?"
"So? So! Periwinkle does not scream future tyrant of the cosmos!"
"Hmm…well I've got a lilac colored shirt if you'd prefer that." Aura replied, digging out a lovely lilac shirt with some Bedazzled! sequins. The graphic on the front depicted Orlando Bloom riding a unicorn inside a big pink heart.
"Give me the stupid shirt." Lambert bit out, snatching the periwinkle shirt away from Aura and examining it. At the front of the shirt there was a picture of a rather comical looking fellow with a phony grin and odd facial hair. Underneath the picture was a large message in big block letters. "Jesus Is My Homeboy." Lambert read slowly, squinting at it, "What is that even supposed to mean?"
Aura twirled a piece of her hair around her finger, and shrugged, "Who cares, it's trendy."
"The easily corruptible youth of today's society wear such things?" Lambert asked in wonder.
"Like duh." Aura responded.
Lambert sighed and pulled the periwinkle shirt over his head on top of his robes. He looked once again to the hand mirror, "Oh! Now I look fat! Thanks a lot." He mumbled to himself.
Aura smiled and withdrew some more of her 'supplies', "Lambchops, I really think that we should put some stage makeup on you to-"
"Absolutely not!" Lambert cried, waving her away.
"But honeybuns, while your skin tone is a lovely shade of alabaster, your um," Aura paused trying to find a diplomatic word for 'pallid' or 'ghastly', "ashenness might draw away from your other severely handsome features."
While it appeared that Aura was complimenting her somewhat diabolical boyfriend, she really just wanted an excuse to put lipstick on an Incinti member. Who wouldn't?
"But I'm a guy," Lambert protested, "Guys do not wear makeup."
"Sure they do! Johnny Depp did!" Aura folded her hands under her chin and sighed dreamily, lost in a Pirates of the Caribbean fantasy, she let out a girlish giggle, "Soooo dreamy…"
Lambert's jaw hung open in amazement and confusion, "Who?"
"Like Johnny Depp! The hunkiest hunkster of them all!" Aura threw up her arms in exasperation. However, at seeing Lambert's lovely ashen face darken she cleared her throat, "Except you hun."
He sighed and shook his head, "Jamie Derp or not, I absolutely shall not be wearing any makeup. It's girly. It's wussy. Makeup makes me think of teddy bears. Gross."
"Teddy bears are adorable! Don't you want to be adorable?" Aura prodded, batting her eyelashes.
He paused, considering being 'adorable'. Then he snapped into reality and stomped his foot on the ground, "I put my foot down in manly firmness at the idea." He declared and crossed his arms in the pompous manner that he had perfected over the centuries.
Aura's lower lip began to quiver, "But Lambey-poo bear-"
"Manly firmness!" He repeated, stomping his foot again for dramatic emphasis.
Aura's lip stopped quivering, and Lambert assumed he had won that victory. A smug look crossed his features. Manly firmness always wins out. He thought to himself.
His vainglorious thoughts were interrupted when he heard a snort that sounded oddly reminiscent of a bull about to charge. He slowly turned his head to look at Aura. She was bright red in the face, her hands akimbo, and she kept patting her foot against the floor.
In her hand was coral lipstick.
"A-a-aura honey," Lambert coaxed, slowly backing up towards the door, "Let's rethink this, shall we?"
She said nothing, but moved forward, her eyeballs were starting to bug out. Weird.
"I'll scream!" Lambert said, switching from compromising to threatening, "The janitor will come looking for me!"
Her acrylic fingernails wrapped around Lambert's forearm, digging into his skin.
"Ow! Ow! Owie!" He pouted, "You're drawing blood!"
She slowly popped the top off of the lipstick…
"Don't do it Aura! Do not succumb to the madness!" Lambert pleaded.
She rolled the top of the lipstick up…
"Think of our future children!"
She brought the lipstick to his face…
.o.
Tymmie walked slowly down the hallway, looking for the Janitor's Closet, or Lambert's Dressing Rooms. He had under his arms a cardboard box filled with microphones, all that tech stuff that Lambert would have to put on for his new talk show, 'The Daily Chat With Lambert'. Also in the box were a dozen or so beige tee-shirts, that Lambert had made. The shirts said 'Mornings With Lambert' and had a picture of him holding a coffee mug. He had made every staff member of the show, aka his Minions, wear the shirts. Tymmie felt very lame in it.
"Stupid Lambert shirts," Tymmie mumbled.
He finally reached the outside of the Janitor's Office (which was indeed crossed out with magic marker), and he carefully adjusted the box to nestle closely against his hip. He smoothed his non-existent hair, and rose his hand to knock on the door-
"RAAAAPPPPPPEEEEE!" Came the shrill voice…of Lambert, "RAPE! RAPE! RAPE! SAVE ME JANITOR! THE PERIWINKLE! OH GODS THE PERIWINKLE!"
There was a pause as Tymmie leaned against the door, pressing his ear against it.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT? THAT DOESN'T GO THERE! NOT THERE! NOT THERE! MY EYE!"
Yes, it was definitely Lambert.
Tymmie brought his hand down, set the box on the ground, and ran away very quickly.
-tee hee-
that's all for now, next chap will be up shortly Part Two: The Show. This is for all you who enjoyed Why Evil and Writing Don't Mix. Hot damn is Lambert cool.
bye bye
!nym!