Sorry to all for the long wait. I'd been really busy (lazy) and haven't had the time (willpower) to finish everything up. I really wanted to do more than three chapters on this, but I didn't think this sort of thing could go on very long before everyone got tired of it, and there's only so much one can write in a parody that hasn't been completely beaten to death in every other parody out there. I think this idea actually has been beaten to death quite a bit, but since it's starring Foreman, it's only got the appearance of freshness. If even that. Anywho, cheerio and enjoy the final installment of A Day in the Life of Eric Foreman (...sorta).-
-Yes, this is the actual title of this parody. I'd actually had it as "A Day in the Life of Foreman... sorta" at one point, but the silly ways of ate the little 'dotdotdot' and it looked weird, so I decided to just cut that bit out. It took away a lot of the title-comedy, and I'm sure people were like "Wtf? Foreman never turns invisible on a daily basis." but it's better that than looking silly. And, of course, I could always go philosophical on your asses and be like "Actually, it's a factual basis in the House community that Foreman is often ignored in both the shows and the fanfictions that circulate and, therefore, it's commonly said that Foreman might as well be invisible." ...so, if you've got doubts, I've just clarified everything.
Foreman was having a fit of laughter in the mysterious room in which he heard voices emulating from the ceiling.
Wow, that sentence just screamed insanity, didn't it?
Foreman stood up and wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes. "Hey, you're the one who wrote it."
I thought I could use a bite of foreshadowing. Mwahahah...
"Wait... What? Why are you laughing like that?"
Er.. no reason. Hey! What are you laughing at?
Foreman was curious for a bit longer then, as I am the writer and have complete control, he suddenly lost interest in whatever it was that I was laughing maniacally about, so he answered my topic-changing question. "That deal with Chase is hilarious. Can I pick on him some more?"
Sure, why not. The People are making comments about how, despite the fact that this is a Foreman fanfic, you're hardly in it. I mean, I try to put you in it as much as possible, but it's very hard, you know. I mean, all I really know about you is your name, you used to be in jail, and you're the Token Black Guy.
Foreman suddenly sobered up as he slid down the wall of the mysterious room. "Wow. The people-"
The People. With a capital P.
"Whatever it is, they're right. I'm so neglected." And Foreman began to cry again, only this time it was out of sadness rather than joy.
O, how the roller coaster of human emotions twists and turns. It's really enough to make one hurl.
Foreman continued sobbing. Loudly.
No, seriously. Stop. I have to get on with the story, now.
Foreman sniffled and leaned against the wall. "Okay," he said weakly.
You are such a baby. Freakin' weird ass... Oh. Right. Story. Carry on.
"Dear God, what is she doing?" Foreman said as he phased through the wall of Cuddy's office. He looked around and suddenly realized that no one was going to answer him, as he was invisible and whatnot, so he decided to answer himself. But, seeing how it really wasn't all that fun to answer oneself in oneself's own voice, he decided to answer himself with an English accent.
"I say," English Accent Foreman answered, "I do believe she's shotgunning a beer."
And there Cuddy was, surrounded by members of the staff, standing on her desk sucking the beer from the bottom of the can. Her shirt was askew, her skirt was rolled up so that it was several inches shorter than it should've been, and she'd kicked her shoes out the window about five minutes ago. The male secretary that she'd hired a while back was hooting and hollering along with everyone else, and a vivacious shade of lipstick smears covered his shirt, face, and neck- the same shade that Party Girl Cuddy happened to be wearing at the time.
Foreman looked on in horror as the Dean of Medicine that had been so strict and lawful in the time that he'd known her dance on her desk, making lamps and folders and various other things fall and crash to the floor. He took a look behind him and saw the janitor painting all the impractical glass walls a sickening shade of green. A nurse was stealing bedpans. Several heart monitors were going off, but whatever staff wasn't painting or stealing was chatting and smoking and drinking liquor out of the bottle. One angry male nurse had decided to play chicken with a wall, and was, at that moment, riding a mop bucket straight into a large section of glass, sending shards everywhere as he made contact. It was only by a triumphant "WHOOOO!" that Foreman knew he wasn't dead.
"The entire hospital is going insane," Foreman said to himself dramatically. "I think it's my job, with my newfound powers, to save them." He took a final look at Cuddy, who was now doing a strip show for her audience. "First, however, I am going to see what kind of underwear a Dean of Medicine wears."
Just as he was about to lean against the wall to watch, however, he fell through the floor again. And somehow ended up back in the Brainstorming Room with House, Cameron, Wilson, and Chase.
"Damnit! Not you people again!" Foreman yelled angrily. "Cuddy was about to take her skirt off and I fall in with The Mental Breakdown Society? Auhg. This is just my luck."
None of them could hear Foreman, of course, but it was therapeutic to yell and scream all your frustrations out. Or something.
"Why haven't we left this room yet?" Cameron asked everyone.
"Because we're stupid!" House offered. Then sobbed a few more times before going silent. Foreman was really starting to pity the poor man.
Chase looked up from his shoes, which he'd probably been staring at since Foreman had left a an hour and a half ago. "I don't know. I just feel like we should be in here or something. Like we should be doing something in here."
Cameron tilted her head and stared at the table. "What do we usually do in here?"
They all thought a while. Foreman stared at them all in wonderment - had they really forgotten what the Brainstorming Room was for? Sure, it really wasn't called the Brainstorming Room, but it's close enough to the real thing, I'm sure. Or not. Whatever. This story isn't meant to be perfect, you know... Anyways, moving on. Where were we? Oh... right. Foreman was staring at everyone as they tried to think of what the room they were in was meant for.
"Coffee?" Chase said, nodding to the coffee pot and various coffee-related things. Like stirrers or something.
Foreman glared at Dr. Chase. "No, you little girl, it's where we determine the ailments of the various patients that come to the hospital," he said. But he wasn't heard. Because he was invisible.
Cameron shook her head after not hearing Foreman. "No, why would there be a room specifically for coffee in a hospital? And it's not a lobby or anything either, 'cause otherwise, what's the whiteboard for?"
"Patients. Ailments. Determining cures and whatnot," Foreman said again.
"Right..." Chase nodded, the went back to staring at his reflection in his absurdly shiny shoes. The idea of trying to figure out what the room was for was lost on him as he tried to fix his girly hair.
"I think it's where we all try to determine the ailments of the various patients in the hospital, and we all think of ways to cure said patients," House said from the corner, his voice muffled as he'd been eating the leaves off the potted plant for the past ten minutes.
"YES!" Foreman shouted.
They all thought about it for a moment the shook their heads. "Nah."
"That wouldn't explain why I'm here," Wilson stated, taking a sip from his coffee while simultaneously trying to grope poor Cameron's leg. She slapped him several times before finally whacking him upside the head with a hardcover book she'd found on one of the shelves in the room, and Wilson stopped. Mostly because he'd been rendered unconscious, but he stopped all the same.
"You're here because you're a scheming, free-loading, womanizing bastard," Cameron screamed, standing up and hitting Wilson over and over with the book.
Foreman stared at Cameron, who used to be so nice and who had now probably killed Dr. Wilson. And Dr. Wilson who was quite the womanizer, but never that much of a womanizer, and who was now dead or in a coma or something like that. House was in the corner choking on the leaves he'd been eating and, as Foreman tried to help the doctor, he was unable to as his hand kept passing through him. Chase was staring at his shoes so intently he'd forgotten to breathe and was turning blue, and Foreman couldn't do a thing to save him.
Foreman ran into the hall, trying to find some way to get someone's attention, but the hospital was in ruins. Everyone was breaking things, dancing, and drinking. Someone had set fire to the clinic and everyone was rushing around like chickens with their heads cut off. Cuddy was rushing through the hallway with a martini glass in one hand and her skirt in the other and trailing behind her was the audience that had been in her office. Suddenly, though, Cuddy tripped and fell out an open window.
Screaming in horror, Foreman ran around the Brainstorming Room, then back into the hall, then through several walls, the feeling of being unable to do anything increasing with every second. It was only when a large moose ran through the hospital that he had the sense enough to wake up from the horrible nightmare.
He was in his office. It was about eight thirty and there were papers covering him. He'd apparently fallen out of his office chair from all the excitement and he'd bumped his head on the wooden desk. It'd been such a vivid dream- everything was perfectly clear, and at times it was even boring. Dreams were never boring. It was so strange. There was a knock on the door and Foreman sat up properly, straightening the papers and setting them back on his desk.
The door opened and in walked Dr. Chase wearing a pink and red polka-dotted dress. "Great news!" he said. "I found shoes that match!"
Foreman screamed in horror until the Men in White Coats came and took him away. He's stable, now, but every once in a while the other patients in the Mental Hospital can hear him whispering "If only they'd paid attention to me!"
the end