A/N: We interrupt this spoof to reveal.the writer has today confessed she
got thus far without writing a disclaimer! She shall be publicly flogged
unless she writes one today.
Disclaimer: I am writing this under (Gulp *click of gun*) my own free will.I don't own Moulin Rouge. Or Satine. Or Christian. Or the Duke. Or Zidler. Or BettyWhore. Or DogWhore. Or FatWhore. Or the Dude Who Plays The Tambourine At The End Of The Movie.
However, when I take over the world, I WILL own all these and more!!! MWAHAHAHAHA! (Except the Dude Who Plays The Tambourine At The End Of The Movie. My friend wants him.)
Anyway.the show must go on.or the spoof must go on, I s'pose. Oh yeah, this chapter was written under the influence of several late nights. Damn sleep, who needs it? We have caffeine for that sort of thing!!
Chapter Three
Christian was stroking his inappropriately-placed hat in the heart of the hippopotamus whilst waiting for Satine.
"Unbelievable!" cried Toulouse from below, "straight to the hippo!"
"It's a wonderful place for a poetry reading, isn't it?" said a voice behind Christian, making him whirl round. She was dressed in a leather print mini-shirt and short top complete with thigh high boots.
"It's just a cheap hooker outfit, but yeah, OK, looks alright to me," said Christian, drooling at the crazy crack whore.
"A little supper, champagne, cocaine?"
"I'd rather just do it!" Christian blurted, feeling sick.
"Very well," Satine replied, annoyed. She beckoned to the bed. "Let's do it."
"I'd rather do it, um, standing - and maybe outside, too - I get claustrophobic. You, um, don't have to be stood up.it's quite shocking and I wouldn't like you to feel faint."
"I'm sure I will." She lay on the couch making random noises.
Christian left out. He turned round to make some of his own.
"Is everything all right?" she asked, bored.
"Well, I'm very nervous. You see everything depends on this meeting. If you tell Zidler I was good then he'll want to meet me too."
Satine was now slightly alarmed, so going back to what she did best she began to touch him in inappropriate places and moan things.
Christian struggled to get up. "I've changed my mind. Let's smoke some weed!" he produced a pocket-sized bong.
"Nice bong," said Satine, still moaning occasionally.
"You can have it.just let me get up!" He presented it to her.
"Really?" she asked, shocked.
"Of course." He started to sing.
"My gift is my bong And this one's for you And you can't tell anybody That this is your bong It may be quite useful so Now that it's done I hope you don't mind I hope you don't mind That I used it before Or that my friend dropped it On an unclean floor!
Well I sat on the couch And I kicked off the dog And some of these matches Well they got me quite cross But my lighter's been kind While I wrote this song It's for people like you, girl Who keep me turned on So excuse me forgetting But this crap I smoke You see I've forgotten If it's weed or it's coke Anyway the thing is I gave it to you Now I'm hoping you will Give 'it' to me too
And you can't tell anybody That this is your bong It maybe quite useful so Now that it's done I hope you don't mind I hope you don't mind That I used it before Or that my friend dropped it On an unclean floor!"
"I don't believe it." Satine whispered, "I'm in love! A cheap hooker in love with a rich Duke!"
"Duke?!" whispered Christian.
"Not that the title, wads of cash or fact you are investing in our play has anything to do with it of course."
"I'm not a duke."
Satine leaned back in horror. "Not a Duke?"
"I'm a writer!" Christian grinned naively.
"A writer?!" Satine gasped in horror.
"Toulouse." Christian said questioningly.
"Oh no! You're not another of Toulouse's oh-so-innocent, charmingly DV-ish, tragically desperate dudes are you?"
"Well, I might say that," Christian replied, Not Really Getting It.
"Oh no! The Duke!" she opened the door, found the Duke outside, and leant back against the door doing a decent impression of a rabid turtle. "The Duke!"
"Vat ees zees Duke of vich you are speeking now?" asked Christian. She won't be able to resist my charmingly foreign accent, he thought to himself.
"The Duke!" She leapt over him and shoved his head up her skirt.
Christian smiled. The accent always works, he thought smugly.
Disclaimer: I am writing this under (Gulp *click of gun*) my own free will.I don't own Moulin Rouge. Or Satine. Or Christian. Or the Duke. Or Zidler. Or BettyWhore. Or DogWhore. Or FatWhore. Or the Dude Who Plays The Tambourine At The End Of The Movie.
However, when I take over the world, I WILL own all these and more!!! MWAHAHAHAHA! (Except the Dude Who Plays The Tambourine At The End Of The Movie. My friend wants him.)
Anyway.the show must go on.or the spoof must go on, I s'pose. Oh yeah, this chapter was written under the influence of several late nights. Damn sleep, who needs it? We have caffeine for that sort of thing!!
Chapter Three
Christian was stroking his inappropriately-placed hat in the heart of the hippopotamus whilst waiting for Satine.
"Unbelievable!" cried Toulouse from below, "straight to the hippo!"
"It's a wonderful place for a poetry reading, isn't it?" said a voice behind Christian, making him whirl round. She was dressed in a leather print mini-shirt and short top complete with thigh high boots.
"It's just a cheap hooker outfit, but yeah, OK, looks alright to me," said Christian, drooling at the crazy crack whore.
"A little supper, champagne, cocaine?"
"I'd rather just do it!" Christian blurted, feeling sick.
"Very well," Satine replied, annoyed. She beckoned to the bed. "Let's do it."
"I'd rather do it, um, standing - and maybe outside, too - I get claustrophobic. You, um, don't have to be stood up.it's quite shocking and I wouldn't like you to feel faint."
"I'm sure I will." She lay on the couch making random noises.
Christian left out. He turned round to make some of his own.
"Is everything all right?" she asked, bored.
"Well, I'm very nervous. You see everything depends on this meeting. If you tell Zidler I was good then he'll want to meet me too."
Satine was now slightly alarmed, so going back to what she did best she began to touch him in inappropriate places and moan things.
Christian struggled to get up. "I've changed my mind. Let's smoke some weed!" he produced a pocket-sized bong.
"Nice bong," said Satine, still moaning occasionally.
"You can have it.just let me get up!" He presented it to her.
"Really?" she asked, shocked.
"Of course." He started to sing.
"My gift is my bong And this one's for you And you can't tell anybody That this is your bong It may be quite useful so Now that it's done I hope you don't mind I hope you don't mind That I used it before Or that my friend dropped it On an unclean floor!
Well I sat on the couch And I kicked off the dog And some of these matches Well they got me quite cross But my lighter's been kind While I wrote this song It's for people like you, girl Who keep me turned on So excuse me forgetting But this crap I smoke You see I've forgotten If it's weed or it's coke Anyway the thing is I gave it to you Now I'm hoping you will Give 'it' to me too
And you can't tell anybody That this is your bong It maybe quite useful so Now that it's done I hope you don't mind I hope you don't mind That I used it before Or that my friend dropped it On an unclean floor!"
"I don't believe it." Satine whispered, "I'm in love! A cheap hooker in love with a rich Duke!"
"Duke?!" whispered Christian.
"Not that the title, wads of cash or fact you are investing in our play has anything to do with it of course."
"I'm not a duke."
Satine leaned back in horror. "Not a Duke?"
"I'm a writer!" Christian grinned naively.
"A writer?!" Satine gasped in horror.
"Toulouse." Christian said questioningly.
"Oh no! You're not another of Toulouse's oh-so-innocent, charmingly DV-ish, tragically desperate dudes are you?"
"Well, I might say that," Christian replied, Not Really Getting It.
"Oh no! The Duke!" she opened the door, found the Duke outside, and leant back against the door doing a decent impression of a rabid turtle. "The Duke!"
"Vat ees zees Duke of vich you are speeking now?" asked Christian. She won't be able to resist my charmingly foreign accent, he thought to himself.
"The Duke!" She leapt over him and shoved his head up her skirt.
Christian smiled. The accent always works, he thought smugly.