Tally-ho and Away We Go!

Or

Why Erik Should Never Get Drunk

Disclaimer: I will not, can not, should not, shall not, own POTO, Les Miserables, or Incognito Mosquito (but one day I WILL own a butterfly net! And… well let's just say it won't be pretty! Insert crazed laughter here.)

It was not as if Erik had drunk too much. No, not at all! HE didn't drink five bottles of wine, (1532 claret, Sicily,) in one sitting. No! Of course not! Well…. Alright! Can't the poor fellow make one little mistake? Heh, heh, heh. Evidently not.

Erik tipped the last of the bottled high as he could and drained it of the priceless liquid. A big smile spread across his distorted face. It was a rarity for him to smile, and it was usually when he was drunk. He sighed, hiccupped, and laughed to himself. After that, he proceeded to amuse himself by stretching his emaciated limbs into bizarre contortions.

"I think," Erik laughed, slurring his speech most terribly, "therefore I am. Ph, ph, philo… it means love. Philo-christineitis. Blah, blah, blah. Hic."

He staggered to his feet, bumping a few irreplaceable antiques onto the floor where they invariably shattered into oblivion. "Darn mess." Erik grumbled, "I'll, I'll fire… the maid! Bang! Bang! Fire… and brimstone! Hahahahahaha! The… END is near! And they… all lived happily…. ever after, the… end!"

He stumbled along the hallway towards the room that he saved for Christine's use, (although she never paid for it.) Along the way he managed to kick over a vase, (Ming dynasty, priceless, wanted as a historical artifact,) which also smashed.

"S, stup, stupid, fragile material." He muttered sourly, "Oh, Aysha!"

Aysha, (a breading cat of the Siamese variety, and a pure bread,) was sitting in the arms of a Grecian nude that was (for some un-tasteful reason was mussing a leg and a head). The cat looked at Erik in distaste.

"Well, look at yourself!" Aysha thought, "Slobbering drunk. I feel ashamed to say I own you!"

"Here, kitty-kitty!" Erik burbled, "I want to play with you. We will play… chess! Chessssssssss."

"Cats don't play chess. We don't have thumbs." Aysha thought.

"Come here!" Erik commanded, slumping into a chair and muttering "I think, therefore I am" again and again.

"Hmmm, you don't seem to be thinking." Aysha thought, "Does that mean you don't exist?" She drew her claws and slashed the small corner of his skin that was exposed between his pant leg and his sock.

"&&(!" Erik screamed, "Bad! Cat! Badcatbadcatbadcat!"

"I was simply carrying out a psychology experiment." Aysha thought.

"Now for punishipt." Erik snapped. He lifted the poor, defencless cat in his arm, (a part of the anatomy that it connected to the shoulder,) and carried her into his library.

"I will read you Webster's 9th Grade English!" Erik laughed maliciously.

"Nooooooooo!" Aysha meowed.

Erik searched drunkenly, (a word which hear means in a drunken state.) However, he did not run upon the book.

Aysha smiled. He would NEVER find it! She had buried it under three tons of garbage that had somehow accumulated in one of Erik's unused trapdoors.

"Fine. I'll, hic, just read you THIS!" Erik produced a small book with a knight on the cover. The title read –oh horror!- The Song of Roland!

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" Aysha pleaded.

"Yes! Oui! Yes!" Erik insisted. He began reading a low monotone that only added to the terrible ennui of the book.

Aysha began to gnaw on the electric tape that bound her to a bench. She decided once and for all to evacuate the vicinity.

The unfortunate feline was saved, however, by the ringing of the siren.

"The siren!" Erik screamed, "Quick! Bind the captain to the mast and fill your ears with wax! Wait! Wait a half a darned moment! I'M the siren! Come, oh ships, and die! Die! Hahahahaha!"

"Answer the bell, you dolt!" Aysha growled.

"Coming, my dear! Soup's on!" Erik giggled, staggering toward his lasso. "This is a MURDER! Call the police! Call inspector Javert! Call Incognito Mosquito!" He swiped his hands in the air for a moment in an attempt to grasp the rope. "It, it's MOVING! SSSSSSSSSSSNNNNNNAAAAAAAKKKKKKEEEEEEE!"

He grasped a priceless Aztec dagger and slashed at the "snake". He missed his mark terribly and drove the weapon up to the hilt through one of his rare DaVinci's and into the wall.

"He's lost it!" Aysha sighed, "He has soooo lost it!"

Erik decided against the lasso and the knife and took a gun, (an authentic western pistol belonging to Jesse James,) and prepared to jump in the lake.

"Tally-ho and away we go!" Erik laughed.

Well, how is it? Should I write the other chapters or kill the story in cold blood. (Call me Maidenhair the -fic- ripper.)