A/N: Let's just skip the excuses about why I haven't updated.

Disclaimer: The government owns everything. What it doesn't own belongs to my cat. And I don't even have a cat.

Chapter Nineteen (I think): "And It Felt Weird"
Or
"When the Author Decided to Forgo Sanity"

Randolph heard to a very loud knocking on the door. He was in that state of mind between dreaming and wakefulness, and so he didn't quite register the knocking until it got louder. And louder. And louder. With a start, Randolph realized that it must be his personal assistant, whom he (and, no doubt, the readers) had forgotten about. He jumped up, grabbed a robe, and stumbled his way to the door. The personal assistant was banging quite explosively on the door, and Randolph was nearly positive it almost splintered off.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he called, trying to untangle himself from the cord of his telephone. What was his telephone doing with a cord, anyway? Were they even made like that anymore? I remember my grandmother once had a phone like that, and I liked to twist my finger in the cord until there was no more finger left to twist. But then she moved out of her house into one of those retirement homes that aren't nursing homes but more like apartments that only old people can live in, and then if you get sick they'll take care of you, but if you get really sick they send you to a nursing home.

While the readers might have felt that this was an unnecessary tangent, the author pointedly reminded them that she was forgoing all attempts at sanity, and therefore the tangent was somewhat justified. Even if it might not be coherent.

Anyway, the unmerciless pounding of the door ensued. Finally, Randolph wrenched it open to reveal a very harassed-looking badger. The door, which was not only harassed-looking but actually harassed, jumped off its hinges and went in search of a better life. It eventually joined a door-harassment support group, which included many doors from different fan-fictions who had, in turn, been harassed. This door, henceforth known as Paul, was very touched by the confessions of a door from a Harry Potter fan-fiction, especially when it described the numerous Reductos and Diffindos it was forced to endure. The author, once again, pointed to the alternate chapter title.

Not at all fazed by the abrupt departure of the door, the badger looked grumpily at Randolph, because everyone knows that badgers are not morning people. "Took you long enough. Are you going to let me in?" he asked.

"Of course, of course. This way," Randolph acquiesced, leading him into the kitchen. The badger took two pastries out of his pocket and popped them in the toaster. Then he opened his briefcase.

"My name is James Badger," the personal assistant said. "I was asked to assist you by Lola. Here is your outfit for the interview. After you put that on and eat breakfast, we can be on our way." He handed the clothing to Randolph.

"Thanks," Randolph said, minding his manners. Because of his southern upbringing on the farm, he had been ingrained with a sense of propriety. Say please and thank you. Say yes ma'am, no ma'am, yes sir, no sir. Wash your hands before you eat. Don't ask embarrassing questions. Don't be rude. This is actually not a rare thing, but it never ceased to surprise Randolph the kind of response he got from people in different areas of the country simply for saying please and thank you. He had once said thank you to a waitress when she brought back a refill of coke, who in turn gave him a strange look, like she hadn't expected politeness. By the time the author had finished her ramblings, Randolph had put on his suit and tie and devoured his toast.

James led Randolph to a taxi and rode with him downtown.

"Where are we going?" Randolph asked James.

"We're going to Studio Lot 130. I'll take you to hair and makeup, then you'll audition, then you'll have an interview with the director of the company. We'll break for lunch, and then the rest of the day depends on you."

Randolph gulped. "Me?"

"Yes, you. On whether or not you get the job."

Randolph began to feel nervous. Not only was this a chance at the big time, it could be his last chance to get a job anywhere in show biz. After a few failures, people stop hiring. Although, the same rule didn't seem to apply to Nicholas Cage. Not to say that Nicholas Cage was a terrible actor, but Randolph had seen some of those movies he'd been in. Lord of War? More like…something witty and full of puns that Randolph could not think of at the moment but would just as soon as everyone forgot what we was talking about, just to make it awkward.

The taxi pulled up to a large production center, and James and Randolph clamored out. In a daze, Randolph was led to hair and makeup, where he sneezed all in the powder, covering everything in a fine white dust, and finally going into the studio. James said he'd wait for him outside and wished him good luck. After he left, Randolph was very aware of the badger's absence. He was the only one in very dark black box. Spooky. Black boxes are actually pretty comfortable, but I guess if there weren't any lights on it would be a big deal. In youth theatre I had to practice in a black box, which was fun but you end up getting black all over your shoes, the bottoms of your feet, your elbows and knees, all kinds of places. Like paint. Paint gets everywhere to. How did paint get on my upper thigh when I'm wearing jeans? It's crazy, I'm telling you. Much like this whole paragraph.

Randolph cautiously walked through the studio. His steps echoed against the empty walls. The silence pounded in his ears. Just when he felt the place was too creepy to continue walking through, he was blinded by a sudden spotlight at the other end of the room. After the spots in front of his eyes cleared, he gazed upon the illuminated object.

It was fruit.

And not only fruit, but an interesting kind of fruity cereal that he had never witnessed before. He began to run as fast as his white scrawny legs would take him, his only concern getting to the fruit at the other side of the room.

As he ran, he began to see interesting shapes. Colorful, wild, intensifying shapes. And, unbidden, he heard his own voice: "Raspberry red, orangey orange, lemony yellow, grapity purple, wildberry blue, watermelon!" Needless to say, it was strange. And it felt weird.

He raced, and raced, and raced, until he was inches from the cereal. He could almost taste it.

At the last split-second, something happened. To this day, no one knows what inspired this strange phenomenon. There was no premeditation. It simply…happened. At the very last moment, right before Randolph reached the Trix, a girl and a boy appeared and snatched it away. "Silly rabbit!" the kids said. "Trix are for kids!" The significance of the words, and the history behind the, reverberated in the studio. Randolph went numb. Then, the lights went on.

"Brilliant!" called a very loud voice. It was Raj Eroshi, a rising new director in the Toon Town ranks. "You'll be perfect!"

Randolph couldn't figure out how to work his mouth. Which is a pretty scary thing, if you ask me. Suddenly, he remembered. "Huh?"

Yeah, it's not eloquent. At least his mouth works.

"You, Mr. Rabbit, are perfect for the role in my commercial!" Raj Eroshi cried again, firmly shaking Randolph's hand. "My name his Raj Eroshi," he said, as if Randolph needed to be reminded. "Will you take the role?"

Somewhat irrationally and rashly, Randolph cried, "Of course!"

Raj Eroshi took Randolph to his office. Randolph signed a contract, which guaranteed his employment for at least one year, provided the company did not go under or lose money in any way.

When Randolph went out to meet James, he was elated. "I got it!" he said. James gave a very rare grin. "Great! Now, let's go to lunch, and then we'll come back and shoot that commercial!"

Randolph walked along the sidewalk to meet the cab. Just before he got in, something dawned on him. "Lord of Snore!" he said, chuckling to himself.

"Huh?" James said.

Randolph glanced at James, then back at the studio. "Oh, nothing," he said. "I just made the decision to forgo all attempts at sanity today." And with a nod at James, he climbed in the taxi.

A/N: Raj Eroshi is an anagram of Joe Harris, who came up with the "Trix are for kids!" slogan. This should be finished in one chapter, as there are no more surprises. Or are there? After that, I will probably go back and edit the earlier chapters, especially the prologue. Please review!