Author's Note: Okay, so it's been a while since I updated. I've been at camp for the past two weeks. Anyway, thanks for all the reviews. Over one hundred! Yay! To celebrate, I have written perhaps the strangest chapter in this strange tale. It's also long. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd, Pride and Prejudice, Three's Company, A Place in the Sun, or Raintree County.

Scene Eleven: It's Sort of Like Pride and Prejudice, But Stupid

(Seconds later, Mrs. Lovett sits in the barber chair while Sweeney holds a razor to her throat.)

Sweeney: WE ALL DESERVE TO DIE!

Mrs. Lovett: You mean that rhetorically, right?

Sweeney: Shut up! I'm trying to tell you about my new mission in life!

Mrs. Lovett: Which is…?

Sweeney: Killing everyone.

Mrs. Lovett: May I ask why?

Sweeney: I just told you. We all deserve to die. Even you, Mrs. Lovett. Even I.

Mrs. Lovett: If you don't mind me making a suggestion…

Sweeney: (hurt) What? Don't you like my plan?

Mrs. Lovett: It's a wonderful plan, Mr. T. It's just that, if you kill yourself, you won't be able to kill anyone else.

Sweeney: True…

Mrs. Lovett: And if you kill me, the building will go to my sexy cousin, aka the Relative OC, and you'll have to deal with her.

Sweeney: You mean, kill her? I can do that!

Mrs. Lovett: Oh, no, Mr. T. The author wouldn't allow that. Instead, you'd be forced to fall in love with her!

Sweeney: (lifting razor from Mrs. Lovett's throat) But…but…that's horrible! Who is this "author" you speak of?

Mrs. Lovett: (holding a flashlight under her chin, campfire-style) No one knows!

(Sweeney screams. Mrs. Lovett giggles.)

Mrs. Lovett: It's really quite terrifying. You see, at first you'd be a taciturn asshole to her, just like you are to everyone else. As a result, she'd dislike you. Then you'd find yourself drawn to her sexiness and spunky personality. Then she'd find herself drawn to your mysteriousness, or some other such bullshit. Then you two would trade tragic past stories, which would help you understand each other. Then she'd find out that you killed me, but she'd forgive you because you're so damn sexy. It's sort of like Pride and Prejudice, but stupid.

Sweeney: Well, we can't have that. I'll just find somewhere else to live after I kill you.

Mrs. Lovett: Good luck with that. (Pause.) I have news for you, Mr. Todd: the real estate bubble has burst. The only way you'll find another place is if you pretend to be gay and move in with two single girls. Comic misunderstandings and homophobia-based humor will ensue!

Sweeney: But I'm so used to tragic misunderstandings and murder-based humor! I could never adjust to that kind of life!

Mrs. Lovett: It's not a buyer's market, Mr. T.

Sweeney: (sighing) I guess I can't kill you, then. It's really a shame, since I kind of planned my whole day around it.

Mrs. Lovett: What?

Sweeney: (taking out day planner) Oh, you know the drill. (Reading from day planner) Eight o' clock, stare listlessly at breakfast. Nine o' clock to twelve o' clock, brood. One o' clock, stare listlessly at lunch. Two o' clock to five o' clock, pace and plot revenge. (Glancing at Mrs. Lovett) I call that multi-tasking. (Returning to planner) Five o' clock, threaten to kill Mrs. Lovett. Six o' clock, kill Mrs. Lovett. Six-fifteen, take a snack break. Six-thirty, dispose of the body. Seven o' clock, dance around the house in my underwear. (Closes planner.) As you can see, you've upset a lot of plans. Now what am I supposed to do?

Mrs. Lovett: You could always make sweet, sweet love to me by the fire. The fire in the bake house oven, I mean.

Sweeney: That's icky. Think of something better.

Mrs. Lovett: Humph.

Sweeney: Please?

Mrs. Lovett: Well…you could always have a fantasy sequence.

Sweeney: Yes. I think I'll do that. (Sticks razor in pocket.) Don't wait up. This might take a while.

Mrs. Lovett: Have fun.

(She takes a magazine from her cleavage and begins to read. Sweeney teleports himself outside and brandishes his razor.)

Sweeney: Bourgeois scum! I shall kill you all! Yes, you, with your silky top hats and pimp canes! Fear me, for I am…SWEENEY TODD! MWA-HA-HA!

(Two gentlemen watch him.)

First Gentleman: (rolling his eyes) He just had to become a serial killer. God forbid he become a Communist or write polemical novels.

Second Gentleman: Yeah! Why doesn't he accidentally-on-purpose drown his pregnant girlfriend in a rowboat like normal people?

First Gentleman: Dude. That's not normal.

Second Gentleman: It is for me.

First Gentleman: What the hell is wrong with you?

(Sweeney notices the gentleman chatting.)

Sweeney: Shut up! (Pause.) Hey, you aren't supposed to be able to see or hear me. I'm having a fantasy sequence!

First Gentleman: If you don't mind me saying so, sir, you were being rather loud.

Second Gentleman: And behaving rather oddly.

First Gentleman: And looking rather freakish.

Sweeney: That's kind of my thing.

Second Gentleman: Well, our thing is dipping snuff and repressing our sexualities, but you don't see us shouting about it.

First Gentleman: Yeah! So, if you wouldn't mind, sir…

Sweeney: (interrupting) THE ROAD I WALK IS PAVED WITH BLOOD!

Second Gentleman: Maybe we should leave?

First Gentleman: Yes, let's.

(The gentlemen leave.)

Sweeney: (calling after them) Yeah, you better run!

(Pirelli enters. He is now a zombie.)

Sweeney: Holy shit! Are you…are you…?

Zombie Pirelli: Zombie Pirelli? Yeah, that's me.

Sweeney: This is kind of awkward for me, seeing as I killed you.

Zombie Pirelli: You feel bad about it?

Sweeney: Nah, not really. My heart, libido, and guilt-bone shriveled up many years ago, so I'm pretty much incapable of feeling most things.

Zombie Pirelli: That's too bad.

Sweeney: You have no idea. I feel so…numb inside.

Zombie Pirelli: Isn't the point of numbness that you don't feel anything?

Sweeney: What?

Zombie Pirelli: Nothing. Hey, you wanna race?

Sweeney: Are you challenging me to…a contest?

Zombie Pirelli: Yep.

Sweeney: OH, IT'S ON!

(Sweeney and Zombie Pirelli begin to strip off their jackets in preparation for the race. Beadle Bamford enters.)

Beadle: Hey, guys. What're you doing?

Sweeney: Well, I'm about to kick Zombie Pirelli's ass in racing. Does that answer your question?

Beadle: Yes. Yes, it does. (Pause.) Hey, how about we make this a little more interesting?

Zombie Pirelli: How?

Beadle: Drinking contest! (Whispering to Sweeney) Don't worry! I've rigged it!

Sweeney: What?

Beadle: I replaced your bourbon with iced tea.

Sweeney: Damn. I could've really used a drink right now.

Beadle: You may have a point. Anyway, it'll be easier for me to seduce you if your vision is blurred. (Pause.) Of course, I tried that on sailor boy. Didn't work out so well. Turns out he's a crying drunk. He kept whining about how hard it is to be the prettiest sailor on a ship full of men who haven't seen a woman since God knows when. (Shakes his head indulgently.) Kids today! They don't know how good they've got it! Let me tell you, I would have given my left-

Sweeney: (interrupting) How about that bourbon?

(Tomfoolery ensues. Sweeney and Zombie Pirelli get drunk and break some furniture while attempting gymnastics. Finally, they race. Sweeney wins. Anthony appears and crowns his head with a wreath of laurels, which promptly falls off because it is terrified of his hair.)

Sweeney: Shit!

Anthony: Never stop searching for the Raintree, Johnny!

Sweeney: What? Who's Johnny? What's the Raintree? What the hell are you talking about?

(Anthony shrugs. Sweeney teleports himself into his shop. Mrs. Lovett glances at him over her magazine.)

Mrs. Lovett: Did you have a good time?

Sweeney: I found out something today, Mrs. Lovett. My head is a batshit insane place, and no one should ever go there again. Ever. Also, I should never listen to your advice.

Mrs. Lovett: That's too bad.

Sweeney: Why?

Mrs. Lovett: I just had a great idea.

Sweeney: For the last time, Mrs. Lovett, we are not going to start our own chapter of the Babysitters' Club.

Mrs. Lovett: Better than that! (Pause.) You know how you were planning to kill everyone?

Sweeney: Go on.

Mrs. Lovett: Well, what if I took your victims' corpses and made them into pies?

(Silence.)

Mrs. Lovett: Or, you know, not.

Sweeney: Finally! Someone who understands my ideals!

Mrs. Lovett: Your ideals?

Sweeney: You know, killing. Butchering the rich to feed the poor. Butchering the poor to feed the poor. Et cetera.

Mrs. Lovett: I'm really just in it for the financial gain. And your approval.

Sweeney: Baby, I don't care. Come, let us spend the evening making puns and filling the heads of Sweenett shippers with beautiful dreams that can never come true!

Author's Note: If you have written a story that features a Relative OC, please believe me when I say that I don't mean to offend you. I'm sure that your story is well-written and does not feature a scene where the Relative OC says, "Yeah, whatever," in response to the discovery that Sweeney Todd has killed her (apparently beloved sister/cousin/aunt/etc. If it does, I'm sorry.