Disclaimer: This all mine because I don't like Snicket and his anguish amuses me. In other words, I'm O. Naw, I don't own.

A/N: Hey fellas and fellinas! I'm back for the next installment of mah parody. Yzay! Thank you to all my reviewers. (I have pinkeye.) You guys really keep me going. And now I'll stop babbling as annoying speech-giver and become an annoying writer.

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Chapter Six

Let's do Klaus's entrance, but insert Sunny's name. Good for you guys? Thought so. Anyway, Sunny approached rm. 3,000,700,010,000. But she heard someone torturing a small animal, or what she thought was that, by the sound.

She apprehensively entered, and to her horror, she recognized three people she had met before UNFATHOMABLY (too early? Right. Sorry). Also, to her horror, was that Mrs. Bass was wearing a blonde wig. Sunny slapped her and informed her that blonde was her thing. Oh yeah, by the way, VP Nero was holding a horse by its tail and playing its tail on the violin.

"Damn," Sunny muttered. "I didn't get the 'small' part."

"Ah well," Mr. Remora shrugged. "That'll be $3400."

"Fine," Sunny groaned. "But next time, I get to pick what we bet on." Mr. Remora whined, but Sunny told him after the scene. They had to continue.

"Oh right." Nero had obviously been preoccupied with the whole betting deal. "Who dares interrupt a genius while he's rehearsing?"

"Concierge." Sunny smiled at her sudden ability to say long words. "Antidisestablishmentterrianism. Superkalifragilisticexpialidocious. Humuhumunukunukuapuaa."

"Great." Mrs. Bass said, sarcastically.

More hints. I worked here. I fired someone. They fired me. I ran away like the coward I am. Mutual agreement. Whatever. This is vair useful in the story. The end.

"What is it woman?"

"I'm not a woman. I'm a child." Sunny nudged Nero slightly, as if to remind him of her "age" of 2.5 as opposed to her actual age, which was 15. She pointed to her large field of acne.

"Right. Anyway, why are you here, yada yada yada..."

"Rang."

"Really? What a surprise." Nero was a very good actor. (shifty eyes) "And I have this on Thursday, which is the only mention of time in this series, and Remora has blah blah, and we were all lured here." The studio audience gasped at what the idiot had just revealed. "I mean...not. I mean—" He hit himself on the head, amidst whining frm the audience.

"Should we just go?" Sunny asked, tapping her size 8 heel.

"Sure. Oh wait, we have to do the money thing," Mrs. Bass sighed. Mr. Remora exhaled, annoyed. "Here. Money from MMM. Great. Can we go?"

Sunny was happy at this prospect. She almost ran out the door, almost hitting the top of the frame because of her height. "C'mon, round em up, move em in, let's go!"

"What're you doing?"

"No idea."

They got to the restaurant by an excellent choice of words from the author. "Whadja want?" A female voice asked, chewing gum and tapping her toe.

"You're not Hal. I mean, VFD? What?" Bass said not very obviously.

Someone threw the woman aside, and an old (I guess, very strong, though) man replaced her in a jiffy. "Shut up with the jiffy thing," Hal told the heavens. "Damn authors. Okay, what'll it be? Sad occasion? Sad occasion? Sad oh-kas-ee-on?"

"I want this, this, this and this," Mrs. Bass said. "Oh and this. Now go away."

"I'm racist against white hair!" Nero said, picking at the man's hair.

"Xenophobic, you mean?"

"Right."

"Go away, konseeurge freak," Nero told Sunny, "so we can talk about a secret organization we don't know about." He raised his eyebrow dramatically, and Sunny shuffled off.

"Hey Frernedewey," she called to the man with straws for arms. This name was getting annoying, what with three people. She sighed. Would this never end? 15 hours a day was too much.

"Hey," he waved a straw UNFATHOMABLY. "Now on to business. Hal, secret organization. Decoy. Sugar bowl. Yada. Yada. Blah. J.S. VFD. Crow. Mmm. Mycelium. Villateer." He added UNFATHOMABLY. His UNFATHOMABLENESS was a bit irritating, but UNFATHOMABLE is his favorite word.

"Ooh. No, it should volain." Hal piped up UNFATHOMABLY.

"Villateer!" The UNFATHOMABLE man insisted UNFATHOMABLY. "What the hell is volatin? Fucking idiot." He threw his hands in the air in frustration. Sunny's floorboard creaked from under her 120-pound-body.

"Erm..." Hal said UNFATHOMABLY. He looked at Frernedewey, and they said in unison UNFATHOMABLY, "Are you who I think you are?" They stared at the costume, which had to be the best one ever, right? Sunglasses and a uniform. Oh, you know what it is that's really convincing? The hat. Definitely.

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDETRAAAAAAAACKED

"I'm a concierge, dumb bass."

"Riiight." UNFATHOMABLENESS washed over the room. The third analogy poppped up, and Sunny beat it up. The UNFATHOMABLES were glad, those did get rather annoying. Not unlike UNFATHOMABLE.

"Now, since you're a baby," Frerneahduahufihnegnhwefjqfaifheiw said UNFATHOMABLY, with an UNFATHOMABLE wink, "Do everything that everyone wants you to do. Vulnerablity rawks. So put this on the door! Now!" UNFATHOMABBBLLLEEE...

"VIOLET, YOU SUCK! GO HOME! NOBODY LIKES YOU! CRY! DIE! CRIEDIE!"

Sunny looked up. After three times, it did get a bit tiresome.

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A/N: Sooo...whadja think? Gimme a rrrrrrrreeeeeevvvvvvvviiiiiiiiieeeeeeeewwwww, dahling. I love you all. I do. Now...off to the movie store!