Chapter Doux: Moulin Rouge!

"This Dove candy looks like turds," was the last thing Toulouse had said before he dropped to the ground and died.

Christian stared down at his body, shrugged and left the room.

Things had been so different since Satine's death. Everyone was just suddenly dying and/or getting deadly diseases such as headimploditis and sudden adult death syndrome. Yeah, it was SAD. Get it? SAD? Sudden Adu—okay, you don't get it because you're stupid.

Loser.

So anyways, Christian had been to 1,468½ funerals in the last two weeks. Including his own. And now Toulouse made 1,469½. It was like the Bubonic Plague…only not.

They were going to put quarantines on dead people so that they'd stop. But the French King/President/Prime Minister/Tribal Leader kept forgetting so more and more people would die by the minute. The entire time, he had been preoccupied with hardcore house parties with his dead friends. He somehow didn't notice they were dead. Maybe it was because they were all strung up to the ceiling and being controlled by garden gnomes and one Mexican donkey.

Well, anyways, it was bad and Christian was sick of it. He was tired of death and tired of the little Indian boy on the Tootsie Roll pop sucker wrappers watching him ALL DAY LONG!

"Quit staring at me!" he told the boy one day.

His harsh words made the boy collapse and die.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he quickly apologized. Then he realized there had to be a funeral. Hence the ½ funeral.

The picture of Christian's dead parakeet Peetey moved aside and Satine fell to the floor.

"Hi," she said.

"Oh, hi," Christian greeted.

Sixteen seconds later, he realized what happened.

"BAAAAAAAAAAAAH??!!" he politely inquired.

"Remember when I died?" she began to explain.

"Uhhhhh…" Christian tried to remember but all he could think about was the little mustachey dude on the Pringles can that was now watching him with loving eyes.

That bowtie was so sexy on him.

"Well, I didn't really die. I just fell asleep because I needed a brief respite from my unrespiteful life." She grinned and a strobe light exploded from her teeth.

"……….Unrespiteful isn't even a word," Christian said. "I would know. I read the dictionary."

"Caa!" commented the picture of Christian's dead parakeet Peetey.

"He looks British," observed Christian while staring at the Pringles can.

"April Fools!" Satine squealed.

"But it's August," Christian corrected.

Luckily, right at that moment, an unconscious Argentinean fell through the roof and smashed Satine into little bite-sized pieces.

"Hey…" Christian groaned. "You killed her, man."

The unconscious Argentinean, who wasn't unconscious at the moment, looked up at him and then realized what he meant.

"Whoops. Sorry," he apologized before he became unconscious, fell over and died.