Well hello! We are back once again to add another chapter to this seemingly unloved and unread parody on POTO…BUT lets move on to the disclaimer, shall we? (Thanks for reviewing, Bob, Death's faithful horse who mysteriously learned how to use a computer, Yami Moh, The Knights of Ni, Gabi, Steve, Jesse and Yami Wah!)
Disclaimer: We own nothing, well hardly anything…but when we rule the world we will, in effect, own everything in the world! However, that glorious, aforementioned day has yet to pass and until it does we don't own POTO, the Lion King, the Sound of Music or anything else of importance for that matter.
This story is called:
Musical EscapadesBut may also be known as:
In Which We Find Out Just What Happened to All the Toilet Paper and Why All of It Was Replaced With Home-Brand, But Somehow Missing out on Christine's Cubicle, as a Devious Prank, Erik's Giraffe is Introduced and he Poles Vigorously, Christine's Vacant Expression Appears to be Permanently Fixed, the Phantom gets Confused with the Musical he's In, and two Psychotic, Temporary Pyromaniacs Attempt to Burn Down Erik's Lair Even Though it's Surrounded by a Lake. Throughout all of this, Most People at Most Occasions Sing, apart from the Pyros, who simply Sing Exaggeratedly, which I Suppose Doesn't Really count As Real Singing…Oh, and Raoul as Usual is a Fop.
RAOUL BASHING!
Why you should R&R: If you (meaning anyone not affiliated with D&D Co. on a personal basis) do not review we shall NOT continue "Drunk" until such a time when we feel properly loved, respected and not so depressed because as I write this we have almost 30 hits and no reviews from people we don't know. Yes, it's drastic but it satisfies our primal needs, that is to feel loved and reviews do just the trick! Who shall give in first? (Shifty eyes) Moohahahahaha! Ahem. Mooha…
……..hee hee dots! ……
Ahem, cough cough…
The Phantom and Christine fell through the darkness. And fell and fell. And fell and fell. They were falling. Christine had given up screaming and singing pretty soon and Erik had retrieved a newspaper from somewhere inside his cloak and had read up to the sports section by now. Reading about people falling isn't very interesting though so lets move on to something else while they…fall.
…
Hysterical giggles came from a large and tastefully decorated island in the middle of a lake. It was, of course, Erik's lair. Two young, psychotic, temporarily pyromaniacs ran around throwing rolls of toilet paper everywhere as if it was Halloween. And it very well could be but do the French even celebrate Halloween?
"Trick or treat! SMELL MY FEET! Give me soooooomething good to eat! If you don't! I don't care! I'LL PULL DOWN YOUR UNDERWEAR!" They sang over-exaggeratedly. Oh I tell you, it was painful.
Then again Death and Destruction are Australian…so maybe just compared to French opera standards it was painful….something to ponder, oh devoted fans…
The dynamic duo came to a halt and rested on a swan shaped bed already liberally covered in toilet paper. It was really quite gothic looking underneath all that toilet paper. You just couldn't see it…through all the toilet paper.
"Wasn't it funny when Christine used the only cubicle without toilet paper!" reminisced Death.
"Yeah, it was a very inventive way to prank her!" replied Destruction
"And covering Erik's lair with toilet paper – ingenious DD!"
"I tend to have good ideas." Gushed Destruction, pleased that she wouldn't be threatened with death in the near future.
"DD! Look!" cried Death
The two focused on some hastily construced CCTV monitors that showed the Phantom and Christine about to end their falling experience.
Destruction smiled connivingly, her devious little mind at work, "We should be there to greet them," she said, looking at her favourite spork. However, she had to look around Death to see it…so that ruined the dramatic effect. Death always seems to ruin dramatic effects by being in the way.
"Yes," agreed Death, "We should…"
…
Erik and Christine were falling. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, they landed in a boat on an underground canal. Christine decided to sit at the bow of the boat and look vacantly into the distance while the Phantom began poling the boat down the canal. Almost on cue, came the thunderous organ notes of the Overture, hidden somewhere, once again, in the ceiling. Christine sat quietly and the Phantom poled vigorously with his cool gothic pole for, well…poling. The boat ride would have gone on normally enough until Christine decided it was time for a bit of a sing-along. After all, they were in an opera. Or rather, underneath it. And we all now know how fond opera singers are of singing! So she proceeded.
"In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came,"
Christine sang
"that voice that calls to me and speaks my name!"
"Christine…la la la!" The Phantom sung with love for the vacantly expressed woman who had no more intelligence than a cheese weasel's left nostril.
"And do I dream again?" She continued.
"Yes!" The Phantom put in helpfully.
"For now I find, the Phaaaantom of the Opera is there…inside the gothic boat right behind me!"
The random voices, (yes, they are back again) sung in the background, "Right behind you!" and the Phantom got annoyed and glared. There was hasty silence, that is, silence that came hastily.
A loud, Indian accented voice pointed out from the rafters of the canals (they are everywhere!) "Gondola! It's called a gondola! Gondo- waaargh…"
It seemed whoever it was had been silenced quite painfully. Or perhaps he was singing and the words got stuck in his throat. Either way, the voice was gone. So let us trouble ourselves no more about it. The malicious chuckle that came out of the vacant space where once the Indian voice had occupied, was, of course, ignored.
Christine waited patiently for the Phantom to sing. She barely even blinked in her intensity, but then again she was rather vacant so it's possible she simply zoned out again. The Phantom meanwhile was caught up in his vigorous poling. He poled vigorously.
"Sing!" the random voices shouted, although musically, trying to get his attention.
The Phantom looked a little lost for a moment then begun as if to show those random voices that he knew what he was doing! We never doubted for a second.
"Sing once again with me, our strange duet!"
Christine appeared highly affronted that he called her strange; he, after all was the mask-wearing madman!
"My power over you grows stronger yet!" The Phantom poked Christine with a voodoo doll he had procured from somewhere inside his cloak and she writhed! Writhed, I say! She didn't bother to see where the agony was coming from though. She just writhed. Always one to make the best of a bad situation was Christine.
"And though you turn from me to glance behind!" Christine almost fell out of the boat trying to look behind him.
"The Phaaaaaaantom of the Opera is there…in the gothic boat right behind you!"
"Right behind you!" The random voices were back! Oh well…
The Indian accented voice was back too, "Gondola!"
"Gothic boat!" Christine retorted musically
"Gondola!"
"Gothic boat!"
"Gondola!"
"Gothic boat!"
"Gondola!"
"Gothic boat!"
A strangely familiar yet unrecognisable voice then called out, "Well i think it's a conoe!"
There was silence for a moment, except for the sound of the Phantom poling.
The Phantom chose this moment, the one after the silence that is to add, "Well i think it's a...i have a cool gothic pole! For poling!"
With that comment the argument ceased because no one tries to argue with the Phantom and risk getting Punjabbed. That is, strangled with his Punjab lasso.
The Phantom helped Christine out of the boat because she had tripped on her slutty night gown and almost fell into the water when she tried to stand. He led her to his pet giraffe Bertie whom he had known for many years. And what a noble steed Bertie was! Twice as useful as any horse, I'd say! You could use him as a ladder, a clothesline, a railing, a battering ram! The uses were endless!
"This," he said, slapping the giraffes' side fondly, "is Bertie!"
"Oh." Was all Christine said and if you listened closely just then you could almost hear two voices cough, "Cheese weasel." In her direction. Naturally.
The Phantom helped Christine into the saddle and led the giraffe by the reins. As they plodded along Bertie hit his head several times on some low arches. He bore, however, the pain in noble silence, although his angry little eyes were fixed on the incompetent masked madman who was leading him and his tongue waved around threateningly in the air, promising revenge.
At one point the Phantom called out to Christine, "You'll learn to love this place Christine! Just don't look at the human excrement, or the rats…or the bodies and you'll be fine!"
Christine, however, couldn't hear him as she was clinging to Bertie's neck, trying not to fall off, which could have happened several times. It didn't help the giraffe's neck had already been carefully oiled and covered with slippery substances by two psychotic pyromaniacs.
"Those who have seen your face," Christine suddenly began, "draw back in fear!"
There was a collective gasp and a shuffle of feet as the random voices had moved back in fear.
"I am the mask you wear!"
What a wonderful metaphorical statement. Personally, we didn't think she was capable of it – it must be scripted!
The Phantom raised his eyebrows, highly confused and sung,
"It's me they hear,"
and still looked confused. Who told Christine to say that! It makes no sense! He's already got a mask!
"My spirit and your voice…"
"Your spirit and my voice…"
They both sung loudly,
"In one combined! The Phaaaaaantom of the Opera is there…beside the giraffe!"
Now there's a good line! Good enough to immortalize within Andrew Lloyd Webber's lyrics for all eternity and internity too!
It was at this moment that Christine fell off the giraffe, which then galloped off somewhere else. Faint giggling was present, which isn't surprising since it was funny and even the Phantom had worked his face into a strange expression to keep from laughing.
He helped her to her feet, grabbed a torch and swung it around dramatically. He then wrote Phantom with the torch – you know how if you move it fast enough you can write with it – and singed Christine's hair. She didn't notice and her vacant expression hasn't changed at all.
The Phantom led the unresponsive Christine, who now resembled a fireball as her hair exploded into flames, aided by petrol which fell amazingly from the sky and poured all over her hair, along the passageway, stepping over dead bodies, around rats and through patches of human excrement. This bothered the Phantom little as he was wearing stylish black gumboots, but he took secret amusement in watching Christine's dainty white slippers go a distinct poo-brown colour and smell. A couple of minutes later though, the Phantom was thoroughly bored.
His lair was still extremely far away and Christine was being boring. He lit the passageway ahead of them with his torch, and turned back every few seconds to see if Christine had done anything interesting yet. The head-turning was obviously going to end in tears. And it did. One of the golden moving hands that appeared in the corridor but are, surprisingly enough, never seen again, smacked him over the head with the torch. The Phantom swore loudly and dropped his own torch, which went out. So there was a couple of minutes of darkness, in which there was much muffled swearing, evil giggling and staggering footsteps. Finally, our masked friend wrestled a torch away from another hand, nearly choking to death as the hand grabbed the cloak fastened around his neck in revenge, and moved on. Christine still hadn't done anything interesting in that exciting period of time. She just followed with large eyes, resembling a deer transfixed by headlights on a car that was about to throw its body into squishy blood-and-guts oblivion.
"Sing for me!" The Phantom demanded, preferring Christine's annoying voice to the boringness of the corridor and the torch and the infrequent evil laugh. Christine began willingly enough, but didn't have enough brainpower to make up any words, so she used the traditional 'ah' instead.
So it came out as, "Ahhaha aaahhhhaa ahahha ahh ahh aahhhhh!"
And so, thinking this a fun way to pass the time, he continued to prompt her to sing, growing more psychotic and possessive-sounding every time, until it turned to "Sinnnnnnng for meeeeeee moohahaha eeeeeeee!"
At this, Christine, extremely annoyed at being told to sing, even if it was by a handsome, mask-wearing genius, merely screamed irritably, at so high a pitch that the ornate torches all shattered, leaving the golden fists to wring themselves angrily after the retreating couple.
Suddenly, and rather undramatically, they arrived at the Phantom's lair. The Phantom swiftly ran across the lair to a corner, where he swept off his cloak in a move that might have been both hypnotic and impressive where it not for the fact he got impossibly entangled within it. Christine watched her tutor writhe on the ground, looking neither handsome nor dashing, very impassively. No, actually, I lie. She blinked once.
The Phantom, having rid himself of the suffocating cloak, ran back over to her and positioned himself in front of her. Drawing himself to his full height, he raised his head, gave Christine a seductive look and sang:
"You are sixteen going on seventeen, baby, you're on the brink.
Better beware, be canny and careful, la la la la laaaa!"
Getting out his Punjab lasso, the Phantom proceeded to dance across his lair similar to the bowler hat wearing Broadway production stars, complete with a cheesy grin.
"You need someone older and wiser telling you what to dooooooo,
I am seventeen going on eighteen, I'll take care of you!"
Christine seemed to come out of her trance rather abruptly with this performance, looking mightily amused and horrified. "Erm, Angel, are you sure that's the right musical?"
The Phantom stopped and reflected. "Oh yeah…okay then."
He then re-positioned himself in front of, drawing himself to his full height, throwing back his head, giving Christine a seductive look and sang:
"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation,
Darkness wakes and stirs imagination,
Silently the senses abandon their defenses... No I'm sorry. That's just put the whole thing off. I can't sing it now."
So that was that.
Christine, realizing that no amazing and hypnotic song was to ensue, began to wander around the lair, commenting over her shoulder, "Nice place you got here." The Phantom waved a dismissive hand, murmuring incoherently with anger and shame into his other hand with every expression of failure of his most well-known song.
Finding a random curtain stretched across an alcove in the rock, Christine called out, "What's this?" and pulled it back to reveal….the dreaded mannequin that always causes so much alarm! The loud thump as Christine hit the rock floor went unnoticed by the Phantom, still brooding over his failure and wondering why he could have gotten such radically different musicals mixed up. He turned around, saying, "Hey, Christine…?" and noticed her on the floor. Immediately he went into another brooding session, moaning that if only "Music of the Night" had gone as it should have, he would have been there to catch her. "But no!" he cried. "Nothing ever works for me does it? Deformed at birth, taken by gypsies, looking radically younger and less impressive than my musical counterparts e.g. Michael Crawford!"
Finally, he noticed that Christine was not adding to the gothic décor of his lair and he dumped her in his swan bed with a sigh, not noticing that somewhere between the journey to the lair and arriving, that she was wearing enough black eyeshadow and dark makeup to imitate a raccoon and succeed so well that not even the raccoons themselves would know the difference. He pulled on the tassel, which not only brought down the many layers of black curtains, but also half of the wall.
Upon seeing this, and himself covered in white dust, he went off again, lamenting his bad fortune in the world and how if he had been crooning softly the last note of "Music of the Night" he would have pulled the tassel lightly and hypnotically, as it had to be pulled. How terrible! Even the previously evil laughing voices murmured murmurs of sympathy toward that poor man.
Finally the Phantom noticed that his entire lair had been covered in toilet paper. It was quite remarkable because he was brooding at the time. Perhaps he noticed it when his feet got tangled in a particularly thick part of the web of toilet paper and he tripped and fell on his face. Running it through his hands he suddenly had an epiphany! This is how it went:
"It's so soft…"
And that was it. Nothing extraordinary about that really, no wondering about whom put it there, nothing.
The Phantom went and sat at his gothic dresser, so caught up in his reflection and possible new songs that he failed to notice two intruders. But we can't really fault him for that because he's such an amazing singer, engineer, composer and a whole host of other things unlike Raoul who is simply a fop.
The two pyromaniacs knelt down beside the swan bed, which, surprisingly was still covered in toilet paper. One pyromaniac on either side – the taller dressed in large black robe similar to what she had designed for the Grim Reaper (that guy had no fashion sense) before she killed him and took his job, with large sunglasses and the not so tall dressed in a tight fitting black costume with various gadgets, dynamite sticks and a grenade. Oh and a packet of matches. It was perfect for sneaking into schools and other government buildings so one could blow them up or burn them down. They rose slowly, at the same time, until their eyes (or where there eyes should be) were just above the bed. Overall it was a very dramatic scene though Christine wouldn't know because she was out cold.
Taking advantage of the situation Death (the one in robes) and Destruction (the one with the matches) each took out a permanent marker and drew designs all over Christine's face, neck and arms. Said victim didn't even twitch so she might have been dead…oh wait she's breathing…damn. Where did that pillow go? Dis they even have permanent markers back then? Who cares!
Now on first glance the toilet paper appears to be simply strewn around randomly but if you look closer you'll find that it is also strewn over the most flammable objects. Nifty, ya? It's all part of Death's and Destruction's brilliant plan!
Standing at the starting point, Death and Destruction laid out a wire that connected to the timer. They both laughed evilly and, amzingly, were not discovered which is quite a feat because their evil laughs tend to be loud and tended to echo in enclosed spaces...but the point is they weren't discovered. If you could see the smiles on their faces you'd be quite scared – these two would do anything to anyone so they can take over the world or just because it'll be funny. I strongly suggest that if you see them walking down the street that you run and hide as far away as you can. Not that it'll do any good if they've decided they don't like you but one can always try.
They quickly scampered over to the other side of the lake and dramatically pressed the green button on the timer. They glanced at each other, then back to the island where Christine was still asleep and Erik was still brushing his wig.
The spark was getting closer and closer to the paper.
Death and Destruction turned and ran! They dived around the nearest corner and waited for the roar that would signify that the Phantom's lair was on fire. As it so happened, all they heard was a "Pffffffffffffffft…"
Their eyebrows furrowed and they looked very dangerous, even more dangerous than usual. They poked their heads around the corner to see what had gone on. What had ruined their perfect plan! Their eyes widened; Death and Destruction couldn't believe what they saw!
The Phantom was standing up, surveying his lair. Everything was smoking and singed; nothing was burning, there were no flames! It seemed the toilet paper burned so fast that it merely singed the area near it without setting I on fire.
The Phantom himself was smoking and slightly singed so Death and Destruction bid a hasty retreat. As they left Destruction said to Death, "We should take the gondola!" Death just sighed and shook her robed head.
While all of this was going on beneath the Opera things were a little bit different in the actual Opera. Everyone was running around trying to find the elusive Christine Daae and Raoul stood outside her door ever hopeful.
"Christine," he sang, "what are you doing?"
There was no reply.
"I know, you want to be absolutely beautiful when we go out for dinner, childhood sweethearts reunited after all these years!" or so he thought, "Alright, Christine my darling, I don't mind waiting!"
Raoul, being the fop that he is continued to wait outside her door, leaning on the frame in an attempt to look charming. Madame Giry watched him from the alcove near the door. He had failed to notice her after more than half an hour, even when she coughed loudly. Raoul thought the statue was coughing and kept asking it if it wanted a butter menthol. Madame Giry had given up and resigned herself to making sure Raoul didn't turn into another of the bodies beneath the Opera. Not that she could do anything to stop the Phantom and his amazing Punjab lasso but one can always try.
Rightio – that's it as far as I can tell, at least for now…
Remember please review! Destruction is losing her voice and feels absolutely miserable. She'd like some reviews to cheer her up if you don't mind. Oh and Death would like some reviews too – we both feel terribly unloved…
Until next time: Death and Destruction, Mistresses of the Dark
PROPAGANDA!
"Join the Legions of Terror. Meet interesting people. Kill them."