The Fan Zone

By JadeRabbyt

Disclaimer: South Park is owned by Comedy Central

Closet of Evil: Part I

I'm sitting at my desk, twiddling my thumbs and looking out at the audience, waiting with a little sugar-high twitch for the intro music to cut out. I smile and stand as it finishes, thoughtfully rubbing my hands as I look over the audience.

"Good evening everyone. Long time no see, eh?"

The audience mutters and nods in agreement. "Come on Rabbyt!" shouts somebody up front. "We need our fix! You should update more often!" The individual is immediately branded a kiss-ass by everyone over fifteen.

I nod and wave the comment aside. "That's probably true. Nevertheless, we have some business to take care of before we get to the 'good part' with the special guest, who has been invited back" –forcibly abducted, more like, but whatever- "by the popular demand of my reviewers." The audience applauds and starts craning their heads, trying to get a look of the backstage area.

"The first item of business," I continue. "Is that I was using my bad glasses the other day, and accidentally mistook Creator-Chaos for a male. To atone for this mistake, something really cool but as yet unplotted will happen involving the (female) Creator-Chaos. Next-" I gesture to my new friends backstage. "It's come to my attention that there have been a good many inappropriate puns and innuendos involving drugs on the show. Here today to educate us," I announce, moving back to the desk. "Is the drug expert, South Park elementary's own Counselor Mackey!"

The audience claps nervously, wondering what the hell is going on now. I gesture again and there's a muffled protest behind the curtains before the skinny, huge-headed teacher stumbles onto the set.

"Oh, um, uh, hi," he says, smiling and waving like a perfect twit. I palm-face. The audience begins searching the floors for leftover produce.

I retreat to the desk and fold my hands. "Go ahead and have a seat on the couch." Better try and make the best of it. Maybe this guy is as smarter than he looks.

He stumbles over, that gigantic head of his revolving like a planet every time he turns to look at the audience. "Mm, mmm-kay," he mumbles. The audience snickers.

"So, Mr. Mackey, what is your opinion on drugs?"

Mackey looks over at me and adjusts his glasses. My gosh, that head of his istruly enormous. And what's up with that nose? It's like a little needley... needle thing.

"Uh, drugs are bayd, m-kay?"

I nod, smiling. From the corner of my eye I see a rotten brussel sprout land splat on the edge of the stage. "Yes counselor, but can you elaborate?"

"Wayl, ya see," he says, gesturing with his hands. "The main problem with drugs it that they're not good. They're actually very very bayd." He tilts his head at me, checking to see if I understand as though I'm some kind of nitwit. Which I probably am for inviting him on the show.

"Mm-kay?"

"Mm-kay Mister Mack-ay," says someone in the audience. Widespread giggling erupts as a couple more gooshy fruits spatter, this time farther up onstage.

"Whadda bout a veggie fo' ya, Mista Mack-ay?" somebody else asks, their voice cracked with laughter.

"Well thank yew," says the poor ignorant slob. "I'd love-"

An entire head of iceberg lettuce fires from the middle of the audience like acannon ball and hits Mackey in the face. It sends him flying right over the back of the couch, the weight of his head dragging him over and down with a dull thud.

"Ow! Hey, uh, that hurt. Mm-kay?"

I snap my fingers and a couple of fellows clad in caps and green bodysuits drag him away. The audience lowers its rotten food and looks at me for an explanation.

"We'll have that guy in the next bag to Colorado. As to the green dudes, they're my new stage help."

"What are they?" somebody asks.

"Well..." I take a breath and stand up, pacing the stage. "I had some rather good suggestions from reviewers, but I ignored them for no clearly definable reason whatsoever. These guys are garbage men."

The audience is confused. "Garbage men?"

"Yeah," I say. "Everybody knows that all garbage men are geniuses. Plus they already handle heavy bags on a regular basis." The audience shrugs and accepts it. It makes just as much sense as anything else on the show.

"Now that I've cleared up the whole drugs-are-not-good thing and thus justified the PG-13 as opposed to R-rating of this fic, we can have some good ole' fashioned fan-fun."

I gesture grandly to the screens as they flicker to life. "In the spirit of the Fan Zone's proud tradition of blatant sensationalism, please welcome Sam and Paullina! Trapped in a walk-in closet! With Danny watching!"

The audience roars as my view screens flash up, each showing several angles of Sam and Paullina trying to stay as far away from each other as is humanly possible in a closet. Danny is tossed onstage in the usual fashion and bursts from the bag looking really pissed-off. My brilliant garbage men subdue him with a ghost-proof gadget and toss him on the couch.

"Tune in next time," I shout over the hubbub. "As Paullina and Sam try to survive each other. Review to suggest items that should be crammed in there with them and propose strategies to prevent Danny from breaking loose and killing us all!" I smile and wave to the camera as it fades out, the jazzy music drowning out the frustrated threats of the audience forthe horrible cliff-hanger.

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A/N: Seriously guys, review and suggest! Already in there is one (1) box of rabid stuffed poodles, courtesy of Queen of Cats. Closet concept provided by getfuzzyfan04. I may select random cameos from my reviewers for the next/future episodes, so if you've got an objection to that, speak up. Also, don't forget to send me an insane number of reviews and watch me pervert/shamelessly steal your ideas! :)

(Yes, Liaranne, Tucker will show up eventually. I want to have some fun with the other guys, though.)