August, 2003.
Chateau D'If
Cell #34.
The author, meanwhile, decided it was necessary to escape. She had been stuck ina straightjacket for over half the story, with no opportunity to get to a keyboard. Her characters (or rather Disney's) were running around having romances with inanimate objects, and severe lack of Mary Sueish-ness in Shawna made her depressed. Characters running around on their own without a strong, firm, guiding hand caused problems . . . or maybe that was teenagers. In either case she had to escape.
Suddenly a young, rather hairy man poked his head through a hole in the wall which hitherto had been unseen. "Salut," he remarked.
"Are you speaking . . . Freedom?" inquired the Author. "Parlay-voo angle- sahs?"
"Tai toi! Your accent offends me, cherie! Je speak Francais."
"Parlez-vous Francais tres badly," retorted the author in a grammatically incorrect form of "Freedom." "Je suis Angelique."
"Je suis Edmund."
"Edmund? That's such a stupid name!"
"You English types-a have no manners!"
"French pig!"
"We French-"
"You French don't even know how to spell we, how can you even begin to say it with a straight face?!"
"We French spell oui perfectly correct!"
"No you don't!"
"Oui we do!"
"No!"
"Oui!"
"No!"
"Oui, we-"
"Could you just go wee-wee?"
"Je-What?"
"What?"
Thus the conversation ended. But it started up again.
"So," said the author slowly. "Edmund, could you possibly get this straight jacket off?"
"Oui, I could. But will I? Me, I am not a fool, I know you will put me into the jacket."
"Why?"
"Because you are American. America has never helped France."
"So?! France has never helped America, either!"
"No. But since I am French and Frace always helps, I w/ill et you, the ungrateful American pigdog, out of the straight jacket."
The author snorted disdainfully, but let Edmund undo the jacket all the same, and slapped him for his efforts as soon as her hands were free.
Edmund and the author looked at each other for a while.
"You need to shave," declared the author at length. "Seriously. You need to shave."
"You said that twice. Me, I am French, I will not shave!" But a razor was supplied by the author and Edmund shaved. "I hate you," Edmund remarked to the author.
"The feeling is mutual. I-"
But the French/American relations were cut off by John Kerry, leather jacket and all, storming into the cell.
"By the power rested in me by my almighty ambition I declare you free!" he announced.
"All two Americans such as you?" asked Edmund, forgetting his command of the English language in his shock.
"No, hopefully not, or you are in trouble," replied the author.
Edumund stuck his nose in the air and walked towards the hole in the wall. "I don't need your help in getting free." But he tripped over his shoelaces. "Could you give me a hand up?" he asked the author.
"Stupid French git, I'd never help you." But she did anyway, he slapped her for her effort.
"Hey! That's not nice," observed Kerry intelligently. "Please stop beating the lady up, Mr. Frenchman."
Edmund slapped Kerry.
"Don't, please!"
Slap.
"Stop!"
Slap.
"Stop!"
Slap.
"Stop!"
Slap.
"Stop!"
Slap.
The author left.
August, 2003. Island of Death.
While this last chapter was happening, Jack had put himself in the middle of the den of pirates after assuring Norrington and Swann that he would lure all the pirates out to see them. He didn't say how.
"Hey!" he called to Barbosa. "I'm back, and I gotta deal for you."
"You're not going to be making deals with us unless you put your eyeliner back on!"
"But I don't have any eyeliner! My makeup crew went on strike."
"Why the hell would a makeup crew go on strike?" demanded Barbosa.
"Because eof an issue of cruelty to cells," Jack said emotionlessly.
"Cruelty to cells?" Barbosa repeated in a dazed voice.
"Yes. You see, some scientists place cells in blenders and grind them apart in a cruel process called fractionation."
"And your makeup crew went on a strike to stop fractionation. Can't they think?"
"Why do you think they're on a makeup crew?"
"Good point. Now, we're trying to end this curse. But we've run into a bit of a problem. You see, this Will whelp is an orphan, and we can't hurt him- he would have to hurt himself in order to end the curse, but he won't!"
"Ah, it might not be a good idea anyway."
"Why?"
"Because I promised Senators Norrington and Swann that I would lead you to them, and they're all waiting to shoot you! So, I thought-why don't you see them and kill them?"
"Ah, brilliant idea, Jack!"
To make a long, scary, suspenseful scene short, the pirates took a little "walk."
The author, meanwhile, decided it was necessary to escape. She had been stuck ina straightjacket for over half the story, with no opportunity to get to a keyboard. Her characters (or rather Disney's) were running around having romances with inanimate objects, and severe lack of Mary Sueish-ness in Shawna made her depressed. Characters running around on their own without a strong, firm, guiding hand caused problems . . . or maybe that was teenagers. In either case she had to escape.
Suddenly a young, rather hairy man poked his head through a hole in the wall which hitherto had been unseen. "Salut," he remarked.
"Are you speaking . . . Freedom?" inquired the Author. "Parlay-voo angle- sahs?"
"Tai toi! Your accent offends me, cherie! Je speak Francais."
"Parlez-vous Francais tres badly," retorted the author in a grammatically incorrect form of "Freedom." "Je suis Angelique."
"Je suis Edmund."
"Edmund? That's such a stupid name!"
"You English types-a have no manners!"
"French pig!"
"We French-"
"You French don't even know how to spell we, how can you even begin to say it with a straight face?!"
"We French spell oui perfectly correct!"
"No you don't!"
"Oui we do!"
"No!"
"Oui!"
"No!"
"Oui, we-"
"Could you just go wee-wee?"
"Je-What?"
"What?"
Thus the conversation ended. But it started up again.
"So," said the author slowly. "Edmund, could you possibly get this straight jacket off?"
"Oui, I could. But will I? Me, I am not a fool, I know you will put me into the jacket."
"Why?"
"Because you are American. America has never helped France."
"So?! France has never helped America, either!"
"No. But since I am French and Frace always helps, I w/ill et you, the ungrateful American pigdog, out of the straight jacket."
The author snorted disdainfully, but let Edmund undo the jacket all the same, and slapped him for his efforts as soon as her hands were free.
Edmund and the author looked at each other for a while.
"You need to shave," declared the author at length. "Seriously. You need to shave."
"You said that twice. Me, I am French, I will not shave!" But a razor was supplied by the author and Edmund shaved. "I hate you," Edmund remarked to the author.
"The feeling is mutual. I-"
But the French/American relations were cut off by John Kerry, leather jacket and all, storming into the cell.
"By the power rested in me by my almighty ambition I declare you free!" he announced.
"All two Americans such as you?" asked Edmund, forgetting his command of the English language in his shock.
"No, hopefully not, or you are in trouble," replied the author.
Edumund stuck his nose in the air and walked towards the hole in the wall. "I don't need your help in getting free." But he tripped over his shoelaces. "Could you give me a hand up?" he asked the author.
"Stupid French git, I'd never help you." But she did anyway, he slapped her for her effort.
"Hey! That's not nice," observed Kerry intelligently. "Please stop beating the lady up, Mr. Frenchman."
Edmund slapped Kerry.
"Don't, please!"
Slap.
"Stop!"
Slap.
"Stop!"
Slap.
"Stop!"
Slap.
"Stop!"
Slap.
The author left.
August, 2003. Island of Death.
While this last chapter was happening, Jack had put himself in the middle of the den of pirates after assuring Norrington and Swann that he would lure all the pirates out to see them. He didn't say how.
"Hey!" he called to Barbosa. "I'm back, and I gotta deal for you."
"You're not going to be making deals with us unless you put your eyeliner back on!"
"But I don't have any eyeliner! My makeup crew went on strike."
"Why the hell would a makeup crew go on strike?" demanded Barbosa.
"Because eof an issue of cruelty to cells," Jack said emotionlessly.
"Cruelty to cells?" Barbosa repeated in a dazed voice.
"Yes. You see, some scientists place cells in blenders and grind them apart in a cruel process called fractionation."
"And your makeup crew went on a strike to stop fractionation. Can't they think?"
"Why do you think they're on a makeup crew?"
"Good point. Now, we're trying to end this curse. But we've run into a bit of a problem. You see, this Will whelp is an orphan, and we can't hurt him- he would have to hurt himself in order to end the curse, but he won't!"
"Ah, it might not be a good idea anyway."
"Why?"
"Because I promised Senators Norrington and Swann that I would lead you to them, and they're all waiting to shoot you! So, I thought-why don't you see them and kill them?"
"Ah, brilliant idea, Jack!"
To make a long, scary, suspenseful scene short, the pirates took a little "walk."