For GirlyGeek, who asked for something Monty Python related a while back, but I just now figured out how I wanted to spin it.
The First Something Completely Different.
"Are you serious?" Throttle asked in disbeleif.
"Absolutely," Charley answered.
"...really?"
"Yes," she said sternly.
"So we really have to go register our-what did you call it again?"
"Your Martian strut, which is different from badass strut and cocky strut, I've already told you," she said in exasperation. "You have to register your strut at the Ministry of Silly Walks sometime today."
"And...why exactly do we have to register?" Throttle asked.
"Medical billing."
"Medical billing?" he asked in surprise.
"Of course," she said in a tone of voice that clearly implied 'duh'. "If Vinnie ever thows out a hip doing that Martian strut of his, and he's been setting himself up for that for a while now from the look of it, having his strut on file will help any doctor figure out just what the man did to himself instead of trying to reconstruct it from scratch. It would help determine what kind of physical therapy he'd need, too. It just saves time all around," she said sternly. Her mouth suddenly twitched. "So how close are you to actually buying this?"
Throttle stared for a moment and then burst into laughter. "Haha, you almost had me for a minute there! Hahaha!"
"Good," she said with a grin. "If it almost got you, then do you think it will work on anyone else?"
Throttle arched an eyebrow. "Who do you have in mind? Vinnie?"
"Bingo!" she laughed.
"Oh, I'm in," he said with a grin. "Now we just have to pick someplace to be the Misty-Misery-what did you call it again?"
"The Ministry of Silly Walks," she said. "And I've got the perfect place in mind. The gynecologist's office on East Street doesn't have a sign out front, but it looks like a professional building. I'll tell Vinnie that I've already called ahead to get his appointment, so all he has to do is sign in."
Throttle blinked, then howled in laughter. "Hahaha! Oh gods, he'll be traumitized for life! We have to get Modo in on this!"
Three hours later, a very twitchy Vincent Van Wham rolled back into the garage. None of the other three could look at him, for fear they would burst out laughing. The white mouse just walked in front of the tan and grey mice that couldn't stop snickering, and with two sharp uppercuts to the chin, sent both of them flying across the room to crash into the wall. He then turned to Charlene, his eyebrow twitching badly at her grin. "Have fun at the doctor's, Vinnie?" she asked sweetly.
He just glared. "Of course you know," he said grimly, "this means war."
She grinned. "Bring it on."
