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 insane wrath...oh, and look out folks. This one will never die! Muahahahahaha!
Disclaimer: [sarcasm] I own everything. I own the characters, the plot, the songs, everything. I own fanfiction.net too. All the views, (what few there are), listed in this story absolutely do reflect those of its author as well as everyone else remotely connected to the story in any way. Please sue me. I'm rich and I need to dump some of this cash. Also, I need a reason to get out of the house. [/end sarcasm]
Real disclaimer: Note the [sarcasm] brackets, indicating that none of the above is true. And then, please note that emergency exits are located at the rear and sides of this Fic. Thank you.
Chapter Nine: Tacos, Burritos, and Lightning Bolts...oh my!
~=~=~=~=~
A/N: Yes, it is I, DJRocky99. I've put my negligent personality on the shelf and taken out my reasonably punctual one, smacked my muse around a bit after he refused to cooperate, and been charged with "assault on a defenseless deity" by the police. In other words...all is right with the world.
And more to the point, I've come up with yet another chapter of insanity just for you wonderful folks out there, specifically for my loyal fans/reviewers. I'd just like to point out three things before we get started, however.
(1). Rosemarie - Actually, I cannot take credit for that song. It's called "Amnesia" by the ever-spiffy band Chumbawumba (it's from the Tubthumper CD). I recommend listening to it, just because it has a pretty good beat, in the humblest of my opinions. Hehe. I also sent ya an email in response to the whole French dialect stuff. Hopefully that was cleared up. ;-]
(2). TwystedFate - Rock on with your bad self *snickers* We make quite a looney pair, eh? Suprised the South has been able to contain us this long, LOL!
(3, and probably the most important). Everyone - PLEASE TELL ME IF I SCREW UP! I don't have a beta-reader, and I'm trying to work through all this on my own. If you see something...tell me about it! As I've mentioned before, I like the fluffy-sugar-coated-gooey-lovey-dovey reviews as much as the next author, but my dentist said I need to lay off that kinda stuff. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, more than you know. Don't be afraid of hurting my feelings; if, by some off-chance, you acutally *do*, I'll get over it sooner or later.
Alrighty, enough of my babble. On with the show!
~=~=~=~=~
(Rewind): Everyone sang some, the Duke-ius Maximus learned about the play, (appropriately entitled, "Horrific Horrific"), Satine and I continued to create an all-female alliance against the idiots...erm, the guys, Toulouse made a Bohemian-spectacle of himself towards the end, and we were just about ready for another song. Woo.
Right now, Satine is in her elephant, and Christian is high above, in his garret. Action.
~=~=~=~=~
(Baz, impatiently yelling into a bullhorn): Alright folks. Let's get a move on.
(Christian, with his sad puppy-dog eyes): I wonder if Satine is thinking of me.
(Satine, in mock curiosity): I wonder if Christian is thinking about something other than tacos.
(Christian, thinking to himself): Yo quiero...
(Satine, smacking her forehead): Like I have to ask.
(Christian, suddenly remembering that he should be singing sometime soon): As the party was in full swing upstairs, I was in my drab little garret, pondering life's mysteries and wishing for a refreshing bean burrito. Suddenly, Satine danced into my mind, and my dreams of tacos and what could have been, were left behind. I tried to write...but I could think of nothing else but her. And occasionally, about that cute little talking dog that wears the beret.
(DJRocky99, stifling a yawn): Insert music sequence here.
(Satine, completely surprised by the lack of creativity behind this song):
I'm stuck making this up as I go along
Every one of these damn songs
Will my script ever be returned to me?
One day I'll find the criminal
And brainwash him through messages, some subliminal
How could someone steal my script from me?
I signed up for this anyways...what's wrong with me?
Why even be called an "actress" if I don't get to follow along?
(Christian, snickering): Anything that's touched your butt will be worth cash someday!
(Satine, saddened by DJR's sudden writer's block):
One day I'll find the criminal
And brainwash him through messages, some subliminal
Why even be called an "actress" if I don't get to follow along?
One day I'll find, hunt down, kill with a blunt object, the criminal...
(DJRocky99, with a sigh): I am so sorry. Really, I am.
(Satine, in a "motherly" tone of voice): There, there. I know how overworked you are. I just wish I knew who stole my script.
(DJRocky99, truly sorry): Me too. If we ever find who took it...well, let's just say that I've always wondered how long a person could live off of Grape Kool Aid, Twinkies, and C-SPANN. Hmmm...
(Satine, in awe): Ooh, torture. Kinky. Heh.
[Both girls wink at each other. Christian just looks around, seemingly clueless as to where he is, and why he's there. Suddenly, with a slight popping noise, Chrisitan appears atop Suzy.]
(Satine, surprised): Ack!
(Christian, as surprised): Ack!
(Satine, whispering): Go on...say your lines...
(Christian, nodding): Yes, of course. Sorry...didn't mean to scare you. Um, I was just having trouble sleeping and it was all your fault so I thought I'd just magically appear here and tell you all about it.
(Satine, sighing, but deciding to play along): So much for the lines. Anyway, why am I to blame?
(Christian, apprehensively): Wellllllll....I was thinking about tacos, and how tasty it is when you get a fresh tortilla...and the sour cream and lettuce is really cold...and the tomatoes are all diced up into adorable little squares...and-
(Satine, not wanting to listen to another word about Mexican cusine): Get on with it.
(Christian, continuing anyways): -the meat is juicy, but in a good way...and they wrap it up in the cute little patterned paper. But suddenly, out of nowhere, I started thinking about you! I guess the patterned paper, or perhaps the juicy meat [A/N: rimshot. Ba da dump, hey.] reminded me of you. So then, I couldn't stop thinking about you. And I figured, "Eh...maybe if I go over to Suzy and just stare at Satine for a few minutes, I'll get so sick of her, I'll be able to return to my burrito dreams." Pretty smart, huh?
(Satine, on the verge of tears. She knows he's a lost cause.): Yeah. Dandy. Einstein will have tough competition. By the way, you're really talented. (Muttering under breath): Damn contracts with their damn clauses saying I have to pump his damn ego. Damn it.
(Christian, almost hearing Satine): Hold it there, girlfriend. Say WHAT?
(Satine, groaning): Nothing.
(Christian, forging on): So. I think in some other chapter you supposedly mentioned you loved me. But you thought I was a Duke then, and now you know better. So, was it just a ruse, or do you actually like me?
(Satine, amused): Where'd you learn a twenty-five cent word like "ruse"?
(Christian, growling): Shut up.
(Satine, satisfied): I'm a courtesan. That's French for hooker. So, in short, no. I don't like you.
(Christian, visibly disappointed): But...it felt so...right.
(Satine, laughing): Puh-leez. I'm paid to tell guys that I want to have their children. You honestly thought that was the case?
(Christian, at his own stupidity): Yeah. Silly me, like you'd ever fall for a studmuffin such as myself.
(Satine, digging deeper under Christian's skin): Sorry muffin-boy. I don't do baked goods. More to the point, I can't fall in love with anyone. No sirree, nothing doing.
(Christian, hoping to persuade Satine that's not THAT bad a guy): A life without love? That's as depressing as a life without tacos!
(Satine, not bothering to put up much of a fight): Nah. Living without chocolate...now that's depression for ya.
(Christian): No! Love is like...helium!
(Satine, bewildered): How do you figure?!
(Christian, cocky): Well, both love and helium do really weird things to a man's voice.
(Satine, seeing his point): True.
(Christian, dancing around on Suzy's head): Love is a many splintered thing! Love lifts..."things"...where they belong! Wires do, too.
(Satine, shocked): Hey. Watch it, or DJR is gonna have to change the rating on this thing.
(Christian, even more arrogant): What on Earth are you talking about?
(Satine, ignoring the innuendo): Nevermind. Please, carry on.
(Christian, singing loudly and off key): All you need is love!
(Satine, twirling a strand of hair): A girl has got have shoes.
(Christian, singing even more off key): All you need is love!
(Satine, allowing her shop-aholic personality to surface): Without shoes, girls would have the blues!
(Christian, amazingly persistant): All you need is love!
(Satine, realizing there's no way around the song): Love is just a game. And not even a fun one. Nobody gets to be banker or have a carved peice of metal representing them.
(Christian, continuing): I was made for loving you baby. And, let's be honest...for being in front of the camera. Oh yeah, you were made for loving me.
(Satine, snickering): The easiest way of loving me, baby, is to pay a lovely fee. Please make your check payable to Harold Zidler, care of the Moulin Rouge. Almost forgot: have you got two forms of ID?
(Christian, still singing loudly and off key): Just one hour, give me just one hour!
(Satine, driving the proverbial sword a little deeper): Sure you'll last that long?
[A/N - Rimshot. Oooh. Sorry. Pun off of a pun. I'm really on a roll...on SOMETHING, anyways...tonight.]
(Christian, wide-eyed): In the name of love...one hour in the name of love?
(Satine, refusing to give in to this lunatic's pleas, while trying to exit): There's no way. Read my lips: I've heard that when you pay, you don't leave tips.
(Christian, blocking Satine's escape route): Don't...leave me this way. I can't survive without your sweet love, oh baby, don't leave me this way.
(Satine, trying to be a pain in the butt): How do YOU know my love is sweet? For all you know, I'm bitter. And I am, by the way.
(Christian, narcistically): It doesn't matter; even if you're sweet, I'm the sour, baby, and sweet and sour go together.
(Satine, doubled up in hysterics): You...you're...sour? AHAHAHAHAHAHA!
(Christian, turning a lovely shade of red, realizing his mistake): Oooops.
(Satine, trying to sing through her laughter): You'd...you'd think...people'd had enough...of silly love songs. I know I have.
(Christian, getting back into the song): Me too. But I look around me and I see that ain't so.
(Satine, picky about grammar): Isn't.
(Christian, confused): Huh?
(Satine, realizing that every attempt she's made thus far has been futile): Nevermind. Umm...some people want to fill the world with silly love songs.
(Christian, with attitude): Yeah? And what's wrong with that?! I'd sure like to know...(Christian begins climbing up the lightning rod attached to Suzy's head)...Love lifts us up where we belong!
(Satine, deadpan): Get down. Don't be stupid. Stop.
(Christian, now perched atop the lightning rod): Where eagles fly, and where I go when I'm high!
(Satine, barely keeping her cool): Loves makes you act like you're a fool; you'll throw your life away for one happy...hour.
(Christian, not noticing the dark raincloud overhead): We can be heroes, just for one -
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTT.
(Satine, finally smiling): Christian...rest in peace.
(Christian, still alive): Don't worry, my love! It left me nothing more than a scratch. The show must go on!
(Satine, disappointed): Damn. Hey, that part's not until later in the story.
(Christian, shaken): I'm not feeling so good.
(Satine, grateful): Good. On to the next scene.
~=~=~=~=~
(Toulouse, drunk and sitting in the windmill): Anything that's *hiccup* touched my butt...
(Satine, standing below the windmill and yelling up at Toulouse):...will have to be burned some day! Now get down here and help me with Christian!
~=~=~=~=~
[A/N - You cannot begin to imagine how deadly I wanted that lightning bolt to be. Hope this chapter was acceptable; if not...well, there'll be another chapter sooner or later. Hehe. Read and review, por favor. Gracias!]
End disclaimer: No offense intended to anyone of Spanish ancestry, or tacos/burritos everywhere. Or Taco Bell, or that little dog.
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 insane wrath...oh, and look out folks. This one will never die! Muahahahahaha!
Disclaimer: [sarcasm] I own everything. I own the characters, the plot, the songs, everything. I own fanfiction.net too. All the views, (what few there are), listed in this story absolutely do reflect those of its author as well as everyone else remotely connected to the story in any way. Please sue me. I'm rich and I need to dump some of this cash. Also, I need a reason to get out of the house. [/end sarcasm]
Real disclaimer: Note the [sarcasm] brackets, indicating that none of the above is true. And then, please note that emergency exits are located at the rear and sides of this Fic. Thank you.
Chapter Nine: Tacos, Burritos, and Lightning Bolts...oh my!
~=~=~=~=~
A/N: Yes, it is I, DJRocky99. I've put my negligent personality on the shelf and taken out my reasonably punctual one, smacked my muse around a bit after he refused to cooperate, and been charged with "assault on a defenseless deity" by the police. In other words...all is right with the world.
And more to the point, I've come up with yet another chapter of insanity just for you wonderful folks out there, specifically for my loyal fans/reviewers. I'd just like to point out three things before we get started, however.
(1). Rosemarie - Actually, I cannot take credit for that song. It's called "Amnesia" by the ever-spiffy band Chumbawumba (it's from the Tubthumper CD). I recommend listening to it, just because it has a pretty good beat, in the humblest of my opinions. Hehe. I also sent ya an email in response to the whole French dialect stuff. Hopefully that was cleared up. ;-]
(2). TwystedFate - Rock on with your bad self *snickers* We make quite a looney pair, eh? Suprised the South has been able to contain us this long, LOL!
(3, and probably the most important). Everyone - PLEASE TELL ME IF I SCREW UP! I don't have a beta-reader, and I'm trying to work through all this on my own. If you see something...tell me about it! As I've mentioned before, I like the fluffy-sugar-coated-gooey-lovey-dovey reviews as much as the next author, but my dentist said I need to lay off that kinda stuff. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, more than you know. Don't be afraid of hurting my feelings; if, by some off-chance, you acutally *do*, I'll get over it sooner or later.
Alrighty, enough of my babble. On with the show!
~=~=~=~=~
(Rewind): Everyone sang some, the Duke-ius Maximus learned about the play, (appropriately entitled, "Horrific Horrific"), Satine and I continued to create an all-female alliance against the idiots...erm, the guys, Toulouse made a Bohemian-spectacle of himself towards the end, and we were just about ready for another song. Woo.
Right now, Satine is in her elephant, and Christian is high above, in his garret. Action.
~=~=~=~=~
(Baz, impatiently yelling into a bullhorn): Alright folks. Let's get a move on.
(Christian, with his sad puppy-dog eyes): I wonder if Satine is thinking of me.
(Satine, in mock curiosity): I wonder if Christian is thinking about something other than tacos.
(Christian, thinking to himself): Yo quiero...
(Satine, smacking her forehead): Like I have to ask.
(Christian, suddenly remembering that he should be singing sometime soon): As the party was in full swing upstairs, I was in my drab little garret, pondering life's mysteries and wishing for a refreshing bean burrito. Suddenly, Satine danced into my mind, and my dreams of tacos and what could have been, were left behind. I tried to write...but I could think of nothing else but her. And occasionally, about that cute little talking dog that wears the beret.
(DJRocky99, stifling a yawn): Insert music sequence here.
(Satine, completely surprised by the lack of creativity behind this song):
I'm stuck making this up as I go along
Every one of these damn songs
Will my script ever be returned to me?
One day I'll find the criminal
And brainwash him through messages, some subliminal
How could someone steal my script from me?
I signed up for this anyways...what's wrong with me?
Why even be called an "actress" if I don't get to follow along?
(Christian, snickering): Anything that's touched your butt will be worth cash someday!
(Satine, saddened by DJR's sudden writer's block):
One day I'll find the criminal
And brainwash him through messages, some subliminal
Why even be called an "actress" if I don't get to follow along?
One day I'll find, hunt down, kill with a blunt object, the criminal...
(DJRocky99, with a sigh): I am so sorry. Really, I am.
(Satine, in a "motherly" tone of voice): There, there. I know how overworked you are. I just wish I knew who stole my script.
(DJRocky99, truly sorry): Me too. If we ever find who took it...well, let's just say that I've always wondered how long a person could live off of Grape Kool Aid, Twinkies, and C-SPANN. Hmmm...
(Satine, in awe): Ooh, torture. Kinky. Heh.
[Both girls wink at each other. Christian just looks around, seemingly clueless as to where he is, and why he's there. Suddenly, with a slight popping noise, Chrisitan appears atop Suzy.]
(Satine, surprised): Ack!
(Christian, as surprised): Ack!
(Satine, whispering): Go on...say your lines...
(Christian, nodding): Yes, of course. Sorry...didn't mean to scare you. Um, I was just having trouble sleeping and it was all your fault so I thought I'd just magically appear here and tell you all about it.
(Satine, sighing, but deciding to play along): So much for the lines. Anyway, why am I to blame?
(Christian, apprehensively): Wellllllll....I was thinking about tacos, and how tasty it is when you get a fresh tortilla...and the sour cream and lettuce is really cold...and the tomatoes are all diced up into adorable little squares...and-
(Satine, not wanting to listen to another word about Mexican cusine): Get on with it.
(Christian, continuing anyways): -the meat is juicy, but in a good way...and they wrap it up in the cute little patterned paper. But suddenly, out of nowhere, I started thinking about you! I guess the patterned paper, or perhaps the juicy meat [A/N: rimshot. Ba da dump, hey.] reminded me of you. So then, I couldn't stop thinking about you. And I figured, "Eh...maybe if I go over to Suzy and just stare at Satine for a few minutes, I'll get so sick of her, I'll be able to return to my burrito dreams." Pretty smart, huh?
(Satine, on the verge of tears. She knows he's a lost cause.): Yeah. Dandy. Einstein will have tough competition. By the way, you're really talented. (Muttering under breath): Damn contracts with their damn clauses saying I have to pump his damn ego. Damn it.
(Christian, almost hearing Satine): Hold it there, girlfriend. Say WHAT?
(Satine, groaning): Nothing.
(Christian, forging on): So. I think in some other chapter you supposedly mentioned you loved me. But you thought I was a Duke then, and now you know better. So, was it just a ruse, or do you actually like me?
(Satine, amused): Where'd you learn a twenty-five cent word like "ruse"?
(Christian, growling): Shut up.
(Satine, satisfied): I'm a courtesan. That's French for hooker. So, in short, no. I don't like you.
(Christian, visibly disappointed): But...it felt so...right.
(Satine, laughing): Puh-leez. I'm paid to tell guys that I want to have their children. You honestly thought that was the case?
(Christian, at his own stupidity): Yeah. Silly me, like you'd ever fall for a studmuffin such as myself.
(Satine, digging deeper under Christian's skin): Sorry muffin-boy. I don't do baked goods. More to the point, I can't fall in love with anyone. No sirree, nothing doing.
(Christian, hoping to persuade Satine that's not THAT bad a guy): A life without love? That's as depressing as a life without tacos!
(Satine, not bothering to put up much of a fight): Nah. Living without chocolate...now that's depression for ya.
(Christian): No! Love is like...helium!
(Satine, bewildered): How do you figure?!
(Christian, cocky): Well, both love and helium do really weird things to a man's voice.
(Satine, seeing his point): True.
(Christian, dancing around on Suzy's head): Love is a many splintered thing! Love lifts..."things"...where they belong! Wires do, too.
(Satine, shocked): Hey. Watch it, or DJR is gonna have to change the rating on this thing.
(Christian, even more arrogant): What on Earth are you talking about?
(Satine, ignoring the innuendo): Nevermind. Please, carry on.
(Christian, singing loudly and off key): All you need is love!
(Satine, twirling a strand of hair): A girl has got have shoes.
(Christian, singing even more off key): All you need is love!
(Satine, allowing her shop-aholic personality to surface): Without shoes, girls would have the blues!
(Christian, amazingly persistant): All you need is love!
(Satine, realizing there's no way around the song): Love is just a game. And not even a fun one. Nobody gets to be banker or have a carved peice of metal representing them.
(Christian, continuing): I was made for loving you baby. And, let's be honest...for being in front of the camera. Oh yeah, you were made for loving me.
(Satine, snickering): The easiest way of loving me, baby, is to pay a lovely fee. Please make your check payable to Harold Zidler, care of the Moulin Rouge. Almost forgot: have you got two forms of ID?
(Christian, still singing loudly and off key): Just one hour, give me just one hour!
(Satine, driving the proverbial sword a little deeper): Sure you'll last that long?
[A/N - Rimshot. Oooh. Sorry. Pun off of a pun. I'm really on a roll...on SOMETHING, anyways...tonight.]
(Christian, wide-eyed): In the name of love...one hour in the name of love?
(Satine, refusing to give in to this lunatic's pleas, while trying to exit): There's no way. Read my lips: I've heard that when you pay, you don't leave tips.
(Christian, blocking Satine's escape route): Don't...leave me this way. I can't survive without your sweet love, oh baby, don't leave me this way.
(Satine, trying to be a pain in the butt): How do YOU know my love is sweet? For all you know, I'm bitter. And I am, by the way.
(Christian, narcistically): It doesn't matter; even if you're sweet, I'm the sour, baby, and sweet and sour go together.
(Satine, doubled up in hysterics): You...you're...sour? AHAHAHAHAHAHA!
(Christian, turning a lovely shade of red, realizing his mistake): Oooops.
(Satine, trying to sing through her laughter): You'd...you'd think...people'd had enough...of silly love songs. I know I have.
(Christian, getting back into the song): Me too. But I look around me and I see that ain't so.
(Satine, picky about grammar): Isn't.
(Christian, confused): Huh?
(Satine, realizing that every attempt she's made thus far has been futile): Nevermind. Umm...some people want to fill the world with silly love songs.
(Christian, with attitude): Yeah? And what's wrong with that?! I'd sure like to know...(Christian begins climbing up the lightning rod attached to Suzy's head)...Love lifts us up where we belong!
(Satine, deadpan): Get down. Don't be stupid. Stop.
(Christian, now perched atop the lightning rod): Where eagles fly, and where I go when I'm high!
(Satine, barely keeping her cool): Loves makes you act like you're a fool; you'll throw your life away for one happy...hour.
(Christian, not noticing the dark raincloud overhead): We can be heroes, just for one -
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTT.
(Satine, finally smiling): Christian...rest in peace.
(Christian, still alive): Don't worry, my love! It left me nothing more than a scratch. The show must go on!
(Satine, disappointed): Damn. Hey, that part's not until later in the story.
(Christian, shaken): I'm not feeling so good.
(Satine, grateful): Good. On to the next scene.
~=~=~=~=~
(Toulouse, drunk and sitting in the windmill): Anything that's *hiccup* touched my butt...
(Satine, standing below the windmill and yelling up at Toulouse):...will have to be burned some day! Now get down here and help me with Christian!
~=~=~=~=~
[A/N - You cannot begin to imagine how deadly I wanted that lightning bolt to be. Hope this chapter was acceptable; if not...well, there'll be another chapter sooner or later. Hehe. Read and review, por favor. Gracias!]
End disclaimer: No offense intended to anyone of Spanish ancestry, or tacos/burritos everywhere. Or Taco Bell, or that little dog.