(A.N Thanks to Raven WolfMooon for the helpful reveiws! And in case you're still wondering, I think that Leidenhosen is a type of German pants, or trousers to you English. Thanks again!)

For a while, Lucy was speechless, probably because she had just remembered where she'd left the cherry bomb that had been set to explode violently in half an hour. However, before she had time to warn Peter about the faint ticking coming from one of his curlers, Andrew had already hissed "Say your line!"

"Meh," thought Lucy, "you never know, it may improve his hair."

"EDMUND PEVENISIE! I AM YOUR FATHER!" Lucy bellowed at him.

"What?? Really??" Edmund garbled, tears of joy glinting in his eyes, "Daddy, where've you been all this time? The amount of sleepless nights I've spent wondering why you weren't at my birthday party and-"

"Other line dammit! Skandar's self-pity is beginning to make me feel nauseas!" Andrew cut in holding his stomach and looking green.

"Oh right!" remembered Lucy, "YOU HORRIBLE SELF-CENTERED PIECE OF MTV!!" She ran up to him, grabbed him in a ninja death-lock, ran over him with a milk-van and threw a couple of Australian sheep farmers at him.

"Don't you just think that the script here is so moving?" muttered a tearful Andrew to the cameraman, who nodded in agreement.

Lucy then stormed out of the room, followed by Peter and Susan, who were feeling left out of this scene, Peter had never gone so long without saying a line in his richly toned voice that brimmed with masculinity and bravery, or so he thought anyway.

(The story was been postponed for five minutes while the author desperately tried to beat off the furious William Moseley fans.)

Edmund slowly picked himself off the floor and spat out an Australian hat.

"Why does nobody love me?" he wondered out loud mournfully, wiping his eyes on the milk-van, which in turn blew a load of exhaust fumes in his face.

"Why does everything have to happen to me?"

It was then that Andrews megaphone landed sharply on his head.

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Meanwhile…Lucy hurried down the stairs furiously, she would get her revenge on him, oh yes she would, that boy's uncracked spine would not remain so for long, oh yes she would-

It was then that she walked straight in to the last person she expected-Kurt Cobain!

(A.N The singer of the band "Nirvana")

"Hey! I thought you committed suicide or something?" asked Lucy quizzically.

"HE DIDN'T! HE WAS MURDERED!" a manic voice called from the hallway.

Lucy and the two Pevensies turned to see what consisted of a load of black and yellow clothing with an electrocuted squirrel plastered to the top running up the stairs. On closer inspection, it turned out that it was an elderly man with shock-style hair wearing a black outfit with the yellow words "NIRVANA" etched on every particle of his clothing. He carried an axe bearing the letters "DIE, COURTNEY, DIE!" and seemed to be head banging along to some songs on his ipod.

"Actually," Susan replied smugly, "his death was ruled suicide by millions of very smart people. So there!"

"THERE WERE NO FINGER MARKS ON THE GUN!" yelled the mad professor hysterically, his knuckles beginning to turn white with the now-lethal grip on his axe."WHY DON'T YOU ANSWER THAT?"

"Look," said Kurt, "why don't you just ask me? I mean, I ought to know how I died after a-"

"SHUT UP!" bellowed Susan and the professor in unison. Kurt burst in to tears and ran from the room wailing.

"Can I ask how you managed to get a dead guy who hasn't been born yet back to life?" asked Peter confusedly.

"I found him in a parallel universe full of goats and playdough!" explained the Professor.

"Umm, yeah, moving away from the subject of playdough …we think Lucy is a crazy psychopath." said Susan innocently

"Hey!"

"Well we do Lucy!" replied Susan earnestly, "Remember that time when you managed to turn an innocent blender into a serial killer?"

Lucy did remember that time, oh yes...she remembered it so well, in fact she was remembering it so well, she walked down to the kitchen, her eyes closed, laughing manically, to the room where the incident had happened….

They watched her step down the stairs, still psychopathically laughing, as she headed down. Susan tried to exchange worried looks with her brother, which failed because seemed to busy admiring his fingernails to notice.

"Should we, umm, try and stop her?"asked Susan sounding slightly worried.

"Only if you want to be the one to go down into a dark kitchen alone with Lucy." replied Peter."Anyway, Professor, we're worried about Lucy, she thinks she's found Adolf Hitler and a magical land-."

"-Big deal! I found him in Lego land once!"sneered the Professor.

"Ummm, yes…but this happened in the upstairs wardrobe!" pointed out Susan.

"So what? I managed to find Middle Earth by forcing myself painfully into a sock drawer!" snapped the Professor. "And that's supposed to be psychically impossible!"

"But we think that she could be crazy! Or lying!" cried Peter

"She should have been a son." commented the mad professor wisely.

Susan and Peter exchanged looks of puzzlement, "But anyway," continued Peter choosing to ignore the madman's last comment "What are we supposed to do?"

"Load up on guns and bring your friends, its fun to lose and to pretend!" replied the Professor sagely.

"What the-??"

"WITH THE LIGHTS OUT IT'S LESS DANGEROUS! HERE WE ARE NOW, ENTERTAIN US!" screeched the professor madly, swinging his axe dangerously close to Peter's precious curlers, who sreamed and patted his hair anxiously down.

"Umm, we'll just go now…" Susan muttered quickly, trying to drag Peter away.

"Polly wants a cracker?" asked the Professor.

"Err, bye!" cried Peter.

"Come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be…"

Peter slammed the door. (Prehaps a bit too hard, it came off the hinges and managed to knock Susan head off, but the CG animators manged to fix it on so it was almost on the right way round.) And the ceiling fell down. No it didn't. The author was just trying to add some tension there.(And she thinks that she's just failed and is now crying mushrooms.) But anyway, Peter was pretty annoyed, he had a great hatred of Nirvana and other great bands like that, and he absolutely loathed axes that had the name "COURTNEY" etched on it. And now Susan had collapsed most painfully on his toe and had managed to get blood on his pjamas.

"Can my life get any worse?" sighed Peter.

Right on cue, his head was blown off by the sudden mysterious explosion from one of his curlers. And the moral of this story is "Don't get your head blown off by your own curlers." It's just plain embarrassing for one thing.

(A.N. As always, please review! Thanks for reading!)