Hey, ebullibody. Welcome to the seventh installment of everyone's favorite drivel. A few review reponses today. I didn't do a lot, though.

Misty Breyer: Um, no, that wasn't Geracula. Shirtless ≠ Gerry. The dude is from the greatest crappy show in the world: Mad Mad House. (I mentioned it at the end of Chapter 5.) It was a reality show in which 10 ordinary bigots are put in a house with 5 people living "alternate lifestyles". And boy, are they alternate. There was a voodoo priestess, a naturist (see: nudist), a modern primitive (no clue what that is, but he was like a walking piercing gallery with tattoos and no shirt), a Pagan who seemed to think that she was a Wiccan, and a vampire. The vampire is quite possibly the HOTTEST BEING IN ALL OF THE UNIVERSE. Seriously, go look him up on Google.

Lookpastthemask: Somehow, I seriously doubt you can get all the references, because there are a lot of unobvious ones. Lemme see if I can find one …in Chapter 5, Meg mentions a "Dungeon o' Love", which is a reference to that song "Jungle of Love". Oh, and the Corridors of Icky are a reference to the Corridors of Power. I should probably do a reference guide later when I finally finish this crap.

While the author was doing review responses and making no headway, the ballet rats were having a little conversation about something whilst being chained to a wall.

"I disagree, I think he was addicted to cold medicine."

"What, like Daniel Baldwin?" Jammes said, scathingly.

"No, he was addicted to painkillers, Jammes." Sorelli interrupted.

Whoa, that was weird. Reality and fantasy just totally smashed into each other. Of course, I have been known to confuse the line between them often. It's a thing.

"Hey, Ms. Authoress?" Jammes said, timidly.

I told you to call me Mrs. Henrie.

"Um…right. Mrs. Henrie, would you please write out our chains? Torgo just gave us a shitload of reality TV show DVDs to watch, and they're rather bad." Jammes said.

Hm…nah. I rather like shitty reality television. Easier to mock, ya know? And you were talking about Daniel Baldwin a second ago, which means you're watching Celebrity Fit Club. That show is awesome.

"But - "

Anyways, back to the review responses.

Baffled Seraph: Thanks much. It's likely that Binky is the only one of his kind, since he was an only child. Maybe someday I'll write a Binky fic on fictionpress for you all to enjoy, and then an RxD fic since everybody likes that for some reason. Oh, and you know what's funny? I haven't even SEEN Moulin Rouge. And yet somehow, I own the original soundtrack. I'm weird like that.

On another note, I'm looking for a beta for this and future stories of mine. You need good spelling & grammar skills, and a decent-sized vocabulary. It would help if you can make chocolate appear with your mind. No Gina clones accepted! Gina clones BAAD!

Anyways, on to the proper story. My goal for this trash is to eventually get more reviews than my other fic Paine: A Warrior's Story. To date, it has 73. SO GO REVIEW RIGHT NOW! Don't even bother reading this chapter, just go and review.

Oh, and you know what? All I Ask of You is an awesome song. If it weren't an RC song (I LOATHE RC), then it would be even more awesome. Stupid RC. You don't need to write RC fluff because you already have ENOUGH RC in all the forms of canon.

ONE MORE THING! I just realized that technically, Susan Kay is a fanfiction writer. I declare her the goddess of fanfiction.

Meanwhile, the ballet rats were still watching crappy reality television, interspersed with viewings of the MSTed version of Manos: The Hands of Fate (which had been included by Torgo out of sheer vanity). Most of the ballet rats quite enjoyed this, but La Sorelli had completely missed the point of the show.

"Why won't those three dudes in the corner shut up? I want to watch the movie!" she cried. All the ballet rats shushed her, and resumed laughing at Torgo's knees and swooning over Joel's hotness.

"But this is a good movie! I want to see what happens between Torgo and Maggie!" Sorelli pouted.

"Sorelli. Since Torgo is here and lacks a Maggie, and is lusting after our dear Meg, then it's obvious how it turns out," a nameless ballet rat yelled from the other side of the room.

"Hey, speaking of which, where is Meg?" another ballet rat asked. "Isn't she supposed to save us sometime soon?"

"Yeah, she's coming. My sixth sense or some crap says so." Jammes said.

"These are really good sausages." Meg said.

"Let's stay here forever and eat sausages." Christine replied.

Erik began to hit his head on the ground in despair and wished he had some morphine.

The author groaned. She had just tried to start a serious EC fluff piece, and failed miserably. Then, she realized that the author's notes were longer than the actual story so far.

The author sobbed hysterically.

In another part of the opera that will not be named in order to give it an air of mystery, two hooded figures were having a nice little chat. They were standing in front of a glowing screen.

"And so you see, Master…the little gadget here moves around and projects an image onto this glass screen shaped like an arrow."

"Awesome. What happens when I push this button?"

"No, wai – "

The light emanating from the screen disappeared.

"Master, you broke the computer."

"Whatever. Torgo, I've seen you following that short blonde ballet rat, Meg."

"Was not."

"Of course you were, don't be stupid. Now look, remember our little talk? You don't get a wife. I get all the wives. You are to walk around and talk in your sticky-caps voice so Joel and the bots can make fun of you."

"Yeah, look about that, man, I'm sick of that."

"Too bad. Did you finish the dress?"

"No, Master. No, I did not. I burned the dress and used the ashes to make Meg a nice pumice stone for use in exfoliation using the power of my mind and a pressure cooker. And I am going to marry her and have lots of adorable satyr babies with her. Cause, y'know, I can."

"You have failed me, Torgo. For this, you must die."

"Another thing. I am not going to die."

The first figure raised a glowy staff of spooky doom. But then, in a strange twist of fate, the second figure (now revealed to be Torgo, for those who are not quick on the uptake) turned into Dracula from Dracula 2000 and ate the first figure whole.

"Guess it's time for me to kidnap Meg, Erik-style," he said to nobody in particular. "But first…I WATCH SURVIVOR!"

He transformed back into his normal, loveable, big-kneed satyr form, and went to watch that crazy dope that was all by herself dig herself deeper and deeper.

Back at the camp, Meg was reflecting on stuff. We shall soon find out what it is she is reflecting on…in a minute.

Any minute now, we'll find out.

Dammit, get out here. You guys are like friggin' rabbits

Christine randomly appeared, looking as if she was just shoved forcefully out of the arms of her hot Angel of Sex and into Meg's presence to deliver some comical lines. Which she was.

"Christine," Meg started, as Christine attempted to straighten her chemise and various petticoats, "how do you know when you're madly in love? Because I think it might be the sausages this time."

Christine stopped for a minute, and thought. Watching Christine think was very funny, because she had the tendency to do that thing where you put your chin in between your thumb and index finger and look up as if you were experiencing a rather tedious flashback.

"Well, you get all giggly around him. And your heart suddenly starts thudding like a bass drum. And when he sings you accidentally start singing 'I Touch Myself' by that redhead. And when he touches you it feels like you're on fire and the only way to put it out is to have wild, passionate sex."

"But Torgo doesn't sin - "

Christine was not listening to Meg at this point. Her eyes had gone glassy, and her voice began to sound like Raoul's when he had been on the business end of the Punjab lasso.

"And every time you see an EOW fic you want to kill the author using their own small intestine to choke them with! And if you do not have sex every waking moment the world as we know it will end - "

Christine stopped, and began to twitch violently. She ran away back to her and Erik's tent, and soon the wonderful sounds of Queen's "One Year of Love" floated through the passageway.

Well, it was all for the sake of the Earth, Meg thought.

She dipped her toes into a randomly appearing spring and began to sing a random song to herself. Oddly enough, it was Masquerade. She certainly was not very good, but at least people were not throwing record deals at her in a pitiful attempt to milk her hilarious badness for all it was WILLIAM HUNG worth.

Ahem. That was supposed to be more subtle.

(an edit later)

…milk her hilarious badness for all it was williamhung worth.

"You sing very nicely," said a voice from behind her. Meg turned around, and saw Binky. He looked strangely less pink and elephanty.

"Hey, Binky." Meg said nonchalantly.

"What's wrong, my dear?" Binky asked, worried.

"How do you know anything's wrong?"

"You're staring off into space like there's an enormous mouse on the other side of this pond," he responded.

"It's a spring."

"Same thing."

"Well," Meg began, "I think I'm in love with an insane satyr. My best friend and I never talk anymore because she's always banging her new boyfriend, and now she's going to have a baby in like, a week."

"But I believe she only got pregnant back in Chapter 1 or 2 or something." Binky interrupted.

"Yeah, well Christine's womb is magical. And now, I'm on a magical quest to free all the other ballerinas who I don't even like that much." Meg finished.

"Well, if we don't save them then we have no plot. It's for the sake of the story. You said so yourself." Binky pointed out.

"Yeah, I know. But it was so nice back when we were just ranting about phanfiction and such."

"By the way, the authoress would like me to tell you to be very afraid because another shipping is coming next chapter." Binky said.

Meg gaped.

She began to scream.