Author: DJRocky99
Description: I'm a sarcastic, cynical, occasionally humorous person who enjoys making fun of other things. The Moulin Rouge is good, but not good enough to escape my wrath...
Disclaimer: All Moulin Rouge characters are owned * sniffle * by Baz Luhrman.
Chapter One-Whoriffic (Get it? Sounds like horrific!) Whorehouses
~=~=~=~=~
There was a man
A frighteningly enchanted man
They say he hitchhiked very far, very far
Thankfully though not near me
Somewhat shy with a lazy eye
But almost wise was he
One unfortunate day
One unfortunate day he passed my way
While we spoke of many things
Spools and strings
This he said to me..
"The greatest thing you'll ever know
Is not to pay to see this...show!"
(Christian as narrator): The Moulin Rouge...some people called it a dance hall. Others referred to it as a bordello. But I, for one, know what it really is: a whorehouse. No, no, not a warehouse...that's something entirely different. It was ruled over by Harold Zidler, one of THE scariest men in all of Paris. This was a place where the ugly and stupid came to play with the diseased and obnoxious creatures of the underwear world. Yes, they all pranced about with their knickers in the air. But the most beautiful of all of these (which isn't saying much, trust me,) was the woman I love, Satine, a courtesan (French for hooker.) She sold her body to men and her soul to the devil. They called her the "Diamond in the Rough." The woman I loved is...asleep. But who can blame her?
I first came to Paris one year ago. It was 1899, the summer of tuberculosis. Err, of love, rather. I knew nothing of the Moulin Rouge, Harry Zidler, or Satine. And my life was a whole lot better that way. The world had been swept up by the Bohemian Restitution...ahh, Revolution. And I had traveled from London to be part of it. Silly me. On a hill near Paris was the village of Montmartre, and I had arrived in hopes of being this village's idiot. It was not as my father had said:
(Christian's father): A law-abiding, peaceful, gorgeous village with lakefront property, nice homes, and a new school.
(Christian as narrator again): It was the center of the Bohemian Revolution, full of artists, musicians, bums, slobs, cheats, robbers, prostitutes, and people living off of daddy's monthly allowances. They were known as the "Children of the Revolution." Yes, I had come to live a penniless existence...why or how, I wasn't sure of, but I had. I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom and that which I believe in above all things...love!
(Christian's father): Always this ridiculous obsession with love! And passion fruit too! And don't even get me started on this time when the only thing he'd listen to was Olivia Newton-John's "Hopelessly Devoted to You" song.
(Christian as narrator): Oh do us all a favor and shut up Pops!
(A/N: Oh boy...is this ever going be fun! Hehe!)
(Djrocky99 as narrator): Christian reached into his pocket and pulled out a brand spanking new Palm Pilot and looked at his schedule.
(Christian): Damn it! I have a hair appointment at Jean-Claude's at 4, and I still haven't fallen in love! Woe is me!
(Djrocky99): Pathetic, isn't it? Christian knew he had to get this entire story over with quickly, because it was already 11 a.m.! At that very moment though, the thing his therapist told him would never happen, did: a midget dressed as a nun crashed through the roof.
(Christian): What the hell?
(Djrocky99): "What the hell?" is right, because the very next second, a narcoleptic Argentinean kicked open the door, and tangoed in with a cross dresser named Audrey who had purple hair.
(Narcoleptic): Sorry to dizturb you, we ver just rehers-oh screw it. I'm not from Argentina, and it's pretty damn hard to talk with that accent. Let me try again.
(Djrocky99): The Argentinean cleared his throat and decided to try again.
(Narcoleptic): Sorry to disturb you, we were just rehearsing for a play upstairs, when Henri-Marie-Raymond-Toulouse-Lautrec-Montfa fell through the floor...or, through your roof, rather. Hope we didn't cause too much damage. Sorry if we did, because we're living a penniless existence and we can't pay for anything.
(Djrocky99): Then, the Narcoleptic stuck his tongue out at Christian and righted the upside down midget, who had been caught by his habit on a spot of plaster that jutted out from the hole in the ceiling. The midget brushed himself of and proceeded to explain.
(Toulouse [the midget]): It's set in Switzerland!
(Djrocky99): Christian, who was in a bit of shock from all of this, stared blankly at the midget.
(Christian): Pardon? What is?
(Toulouse): The play! It's something very modern called "Horrific Horrific!"
~=~=~=~=~=~
A/N-Well, that wasn't half bad, if I do say so myself!
Please R/R; I'll love you forever and ever if you do (but please, NO flaming.) This is my first MR fic, so be gentle ;-)
Description: I'm a sarcastic, cynical, occasionally humorous person who enjoys making fun of other things. The Moulin Rouge is good, but not good enough to escape my wrath...
Disclaimer: All Moulin Rouge characters are owned * sniffle * by Baz Luhrman.
Chapter One-Whoriffic (Get it? Sounds like horrific!) Whorehouses
~=~=~=~=~
There was a man
A frighteningly enchanted man
They say he hitchhiked very far, very far
Thankfully though not near me
Somewhat shy with a lazy eye
But almost wise was he
One unfortunate day
One unfortunate day he passed my way
While we spoke of many things
Spools and strings
This he said to me..
"The greatest thing you'll ever know
Is not to pay to see this...show!"
(Christian as narrator): The Moulin Rouge...some people called it a dance hall. Others referred to it as a bordello. But I, for one, know what it really is: a whorehouse. No, no, not a warehouse...that's something entirely different. It was ruled over by Harold Zidler, one of THE scariest men in all of Paris. This was a place where the ugly and stupid came to play with the diseased and obnoxious creatures of the underwear world. Yes, they all pranced about with their knickers in the air. But the most beautiful of all of these (which isn't saying much, trust me,) was the woman I love, Satine, a courtesan (French for hooker.) She sold her body to men and her soul to the devil. They called her the "Diamond in the Rough." The woman I loved is...asleep. But who can blame her?
I first came to Paris one year ago. It was 1899, the summer of tuberculosis. Err, of love, rather. I knew nothing of the Moulin Rouge, Harry Zidler, or Satine. And my life was a whole lot better that way. The world had been swept up by the Bohemian Restitution...ahh, Revolution. And I had traveled from London to be part of it. Silly me. On a hill near Paris was the village of Montmartre, and I had arrived in hopes of being this village's idiot. It was not as my father had said:
(Christian's father): A law-abiding, peaceful, gorgeous village with lakefront property, nice homes, and a new school.
(Christian as narrator again): It was the center of the Bohemian Revolution, full of artists, musicians, bums, slobs, cheats, robbers, prostitutes, and people living off of daddy's monthly allowances. They were known as the "Children of the Revolution." Yes, I had come to live a penniless existence...why or how, I wasn't sure of, but I had. I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom and that which I believe in above all things...love!
(Christian's father): Always this ridiculous obsession with love! And passion fruit too! And don't even get me started on this time when the only thing he'd listen to was Olivia Newton-John's "Hopelessly Devoted to You" song.
(Christian as narrator): Oh do us all a favor and shut up Pops!
(A/N: Oh boy...is this ever going be fun! Hehe!)
(Djrocky99 as narrator): Christian reached into his pocket and pulled out a brand spanking new Palm Pilot and looked at his schedule.
(Christian): Damn it! I have a hair appointment at Jean-Claude's at 4, and I still haven't fallen in love! Woe is me!
(Djrocky99): Pathetic, isn't it? Christian knew he had to get this entire story over with quickly, because it was already 11 a.m.! At that very moment though, the thing his therapist told him would never happen, did: a midget dressed as a nun crashed through the roof.
(Christian): What the hell?
(Djrocky99): "What the hell?" is right, because the very next second, a narcoleptic Argentinean kicked open the door, and tangoed in with a cross dresser named Audrey who had purple hair.
(Narcoleptic): Sorry to dizturb you, we ver just rehers-oh screw it. I'm not from Argentina, and it's pretty damn hard to talk with that accent. Let me try again.
(Djrocky99): The Argentinean cleared his throat and decided to try again.
(Narcoleptic): Sorry to disturb you, we were just rehearsing for a play upstairs, when Henri-Marie-Raymond-Toulouse-Lautrec-Montfa fell through the floor...or, through your roof, rather. Hope we didn't cause too much damage. Sorry if we did, because we're living a penniless existence and we can't pay for anything.
(Djrocky99): Then, the Narcoleptic stuck his tongue out at Christian and righted the upside down midget, who had been caught by his habit on a spot of plaster that jutted out from the hole in the ceiling. The midget brushed himself of and proceeded to explain.
(Toulouse [the midget]): It's set in Switzerland!
(Djrocky99): Christian, who was in a bit of shock from all of this, stared blankly at the midget.
(Christian): Pardon? What is?
(Toulouse): The play! It's something very modern called "Horrific Horrific!"
~=~=~=~=~=~
A/N-Well, that wasn't half bad, if I do say so myself!
Please R/R; I'll love you forever and ever if you do (but please, NO flaming.) This is my first MR fic, so be gentle ;-)