This, I had a ball making. It was too long for one chapter, though, so I'll post that later. Peace out.

Scene Three

Who Are These Eccentric People Asking For Money and Why Are They Calling Me "Manager?"

(Andre and Firmin are in their office, reading a paper and answering their mail.)

Andre: (going through mail) Water bill, gas bill, ooh, sweepstakes! (beat) Another bill, another bill, another bill....

Firmin: Lookie, lookie, lookie, we're in the paper! (reading) "The Opera House's Salute to the Fat Americans was utterly tasteless, crass, lewd, but filled with great acting and lots of sparkly things." Well, that's not totally bad.....Sparkly things are great for publicity.

Andre: (yelling) Damn, this sucks!

Firmin: (confused) Why are you yelling?

Andre: (howling) I don't know! It's like I'm purposely trying to raise my blood pressure....I'm trying to kill myself via yelling!

Firmin: Oh, don't let me interrupt.

Andre: (picking up PTO's letter) Hey, another sweepstakes. Ooh, no, it's not, it's a letter.

Firmin: About what? I told them, this is my real hair, I don't need to join any stupid club.

Andre: Oh, shut up, everyone knows it looks like a brown bathroom mat, you don't have to go about lying. (opens the letter) Good Lord, another damn chain letter.

Firmin: That's not a chain letter, that's a threat letter!

Andre: It's a threat letter that could make a great chain letter.

Firmin: Just read it, Sr. Fopsalot.

Andre: (reading) Dear Chip and Dale....

Firmin: Which one am I?

Andre: It doesn't matter, there isn't a difference.

Firmin: Andre! There's certainly a difference! Could I be Dale? He's more laid-back, goofy, eccentric...and he wears Hawaiian shirts. You're more like Chip...you know...most likely to die of a heart attack.

Andre: (exasperated) Okay, fine! (continues) Salute to the Fat Americans was passable, but only because my chick was in it.

Phantom's Voice: (taking over) Somebody should feed your dancers, they look like Auschwitz throwbacks--

Andre: Hey! Phantom! Down here!

Phantom: (looks down)

Andre: Okay, you have ENOUGH lines in this stupid play, okay?!?!?! Don't take mine!!!! That's just not fair!!!!

Phantom: (crossly) Fine, be that way! (gets up from behind a couch in the room and walks out, but not before sticking his tongue out at Andre) I'm keeping the staples! (tries to slam the door shut but finds out it's one of those funny air-hinge ones that closes slowly so he just gets mad, curses at it, and storms off)

Firmin: (raises his eyebrows)

Andre: Whatever. As I was saying before Ego-Man bust in (continues) somebody should feed your dancers, they look like Auschwitz throwbacks or very tired Q-Tips. All those people dressed like pop wannabes at that TRL concert were a great touch.

Firmin: I should've been allowed to be Carson Daily.

Andre: Yeah, you would've been good if you could act.

Firmin: (scowls)

Andre: (continues) By the way, did someone slap you with a stupid stick or am I just crazy? I used to get paid in this joint. It's okay, though: My therapist says I've got to learn to count to ten before getting angry. For the last twenty minutes, I've counted to 1,938,908,890,283,098 and I'm still pretty mad at you. So just put my dough in this envelope and I'll pick it up after terrorizing some stage hands, dropping something off at the post office, and getting a Kit Kat bar. Keep it real: O G.

Firmin: (smiling) Well, I most certainly keep it real.

Andre: (screaming) WHAT KIND OF MIXED-UP INSANITY IS THIS?! I'M NOT PAYING THIS KIT KAT-EATING WHACK JOB! HE STOLE MY STAPLES!

Firmin: Inside voice, please.

Andre: This is *really* immature. And what kind of name is "O G"? It sounds like a ghetto rapper.

Firmin: (thinking) Well, online, "O M G" means "oh my God." Maybe "O G" means "oh God."

Andre: Why would he write "oh God"?

Firmin: Maybe he let the cat out by accident or got a paper cut or let the bath run too long.

Andre: But wouldn't he *say* "Oh God!" instead of *writing* it?

Firmin: Hey, I didn't hear you think of any suggestions.

(Raoul attempts to dramatically open the door, but discovers it's one of those air-hinge doors that opens slowly.)

Andre: It's not one of those kind of doors, you have to wait ten seconds because of the hinges.

Raoul: (still trapped behind the door) Where's my buttercup?!

Firmin: I didn't think you wanted those wildflowers anymore, they were getting kind of stale, so I threw them out.

Raoul: I meant Christine! Where is she?

Andre: Hmm. (pause) Don't know, don't care. How else can I help you?

Raoul: Well, if you don't care so much (enters) how come I got this threat letter?

Firmin: Good Lord! It really does make a great chain letter!

Andre: Yeah, it would, Firmin, but we didn't send it. Someone else did.

Raoul: You didn't?

Firmin: No!

Andre: We just got it three seconds ago.

Raoul: So, you don't know where my sugar cookie is?

Firmin: I'm sorry, you had so many other cookies, I didn't think you'd miss the sugar cookie with the pink and yellow sprinkles----

Andre: He meant Miss Daae!

Firmin: What, that Weight-Watchers "Before" model? God, no.

Andre: We haven't seen her jiggling around in a day!

Raoul: So, you didn't send me this letter?

Firmin: Good LORD, kid? In how many ways do we have to answer??!?!?! We've already said "no" about nine times!!!

Andre: (reading) Hey, this is a different letter. (reads aloud) Dear Village Idiot, Keep your mitts off my chick. Very sincerely hoping you fall into traffic on your little rich butt, O G.

Raoul: Yeah, I think I have his CD. O G is a great rapper.

Andre/Firmin: (roll eyes) They don't pay us enough.

(Carlotta attempts to flounce in by thrusting open the door but discovers that it's one of those funny air-hinge doors so just flounders like a whale for a few minutes.)

Firmin: (patiently) No, ma'am, it's not one of those kind of doors, it's funny, you have to----

Carlotta: (busts in) Nothing stops a Spaniard!

Andre: Carlotta! We hoped, um sorry, no, thought (yes, thought) you had...um...died.

Carlotta: Oh, I never die. I just get pushed around a lot.

Firmin: Ooh, like Flubber?

Carlotta: (scowling) Where's that brat of yours, the one paying for all of this stuff?!

Andre: He's right (looks where Raoul was). Oh dear, he was here a minute ago. The medication must have worn off. He's probably chasing a balloon or something, he'll be right back.

Carlotta: I need to speak with him!!

Andre: Um, you might not want to do that....

Firmin: He's kind of stupid....

Andre: Don't ask him anything hard....

Firmin: Anything he can't answer with a "yes", "no", or "ziggaziggAAAA".

Andre: (looks at a sheepish Firmin incredulously)

Raoul: (jumping in) I'm baaaack!

Firmin: Oh good.

Raoul: This place really needs a jungle gym. It's not as much fun to climb on all the chandeliers as I thought.

Firmin: Mind if I not ask?

Raoul: Okie doke.

Carlotta: WHY DID YOU GIVE ME THIS THREAT-LETTER?!?!

Firmin/Andre: (crack up)

Carlotta/Raoul: What?

Andre: (snickering) Do you realize who you're talking to?! This is Raoul!

Firmin: C'mon, Carlotta, he can't even spell his own name, how could he write you a letter?!

Raoul: (proudly) A real man has his maid write his letters.

Carlotta: (screeching) It's that kind of talk that's going to keep women under the glass ceiling!

Piangi: (entering) Hey, chica, when are we going home so you can cook me five dinners?

Carlotta: (cooing) In a secy-wecond, angel fluffernutter sweetie crumpet.

Andre: (muttering) Whack job.

(Madame Giry and Meg enter...and the door actually works.)

Firmin: (sarcastically) Oh great.

Giry: Sorry we were late, Meg had to get fitted for her IV tube.

Andre: That's okay.

Giry: Oh yeah. Christine's back.

Andre: Could we talk about something else? This is getting boring.

Firmin: Why isn't she at work, lazy ditz?

Giry: Like I care. She was whining about being tired. Yeah, she needs rest like I need a tube top.

Firmin: (doing the visuals) Ew, good point.

Meg: She really needs a treadmill...and a bike...and a diet...and plastic surgery....and a hair cut....

Raoul: Woohoo! Party at Christine's house!

Giry: Um, she's kind of out of it, I wouldn't go over there.

Meg: She's up fifty pounds. Something inaudible about ice cream and toppings and a whole fridge of Ben and Jerry's, I dunno.

Giry: Oh yeah, (holds up letter) anyone else get one of these? It's a new one from O G.

Everyone else: GIVE IT TO ME, YOU OLD BAG!!!!!! I WANNA READ OUT LOUD!!!!!

Andre: (taking letters) Oh, come on, guys. This is my one part in the entire play: reading letters. Do your own gimmicks. (ominous music as he reads) Dear Assembled Rejects: I really hate you all. Really. I mean, I hope you all die in really horrible ways involving Tommy guns, machetes, goat uprisings, or rabid ferrets. Okay, let me start off by saying I own this place now. My way or Broadway, you got it? So here's what I want. I gave you back my chick. She can sing the pants off of that Holstein Carlotta. So there. In our new production of Albert Hitchcock's The Birds: A Musical, I want her to play the lead role. Carlotta can be the person that gets blown up at the gas station. Ha ha haha ha. I want to watch it in Box 5. Stop poisoning the peanuts in there, I'm not going away. So there. If you don't do what I want, I'm kicking your asses, you got it? Peace out. Sincerely.......hoping you don't screw this up: O G. PS: Please inform everyone that I am not a rapper.