Author's blurb: Thanks for joining me in my latest fanfic! Here you'll find lots of bullying/dark humor and also some references to pop culture and occasionally PotO movie trivia, which you can find on the IMDB website (and explains Carlotta's "silver platter" rant). This fanfic recycles some punchlines with my other work "Parody of the Opera". ENJOY!

Part One: Laissez-faire Correspondence

To the citizens of Paris,

There is to be a silent auction held on September 10th at the decrepit remains of the Opera Populaire. Come prepared to bid on a cursed chandelier and other opera items, swoon over the former glory of what was once a thriving and beautiful performance facility and sneak peeks at the naked gold statues. However, beware of bird poop dropping on your head. It is advised that you bring an umbrella, or wear a very large white hat. Also, it is apparent that someone has managed to build a time machine…out of the aforementioned chandelier. Subsequently, be prepared for nonconsensual time travel of vague destination.

Best,
The Pompous Auctioneer

My dear Madame Giry,

It was a delight to see you in the Opera Populaire today. Thank you for graciously letting me have the monkey music box for Christine. I know you lusted after it when Erik showed you the finished product. Too bad, now it is MINE! Bwahahahaaaaaaaaaa!

Victoriously,
The Senile, Bratty-Boy Raoul

P.S: Yes, I survived that night in the cellars of the opera house. I knew you were secretly hoping that Erik and Christine could end up together. News flash, old woman: I got Christine, and Erik was left all alone to die of a broken heart. I won, he lost. Suck it up and get over it already.

Wigmaker,

My stuffed head in the Hannibal rehearsal today was completely unacceptable. Apparently, you think the audience cannot tell the difference between a human head and a modified pillowcase with yarn attached to it. A real head is far superior. Bring me Andrew Lloyd Webber's plate on a silver platter tomorrow morning. If you fail, the head on the silver platter will be yours!

You owe me BIG,
Carlotta

Dear Mme. Giry,

I saw Raoul today! I mean, the Vicomte de Chagny! He didn't see me, though, and I think I know why. I know our Hannibal costumes bare enough skin as they are for this time period, but perhaps you could request on my behalf that the costumes be made to be more revealing? Perhaps Raoul will notice me then! Just think—a hundred and ten years from now, a blonde singer named Madonna will prance around onstage modeling a cone bra (which is exactly what it sounds like) and tight pants. A hundred and thirty years from now, another blonde singer named Britney Spears will prance around onstage wearing only a bra and shorts. A hundred and forty years from now…a blonde Lady Gaga will decide to hump an inflatable whale and encourage us to just dance. Your choice…

Your second daughter in need,
Christine

Dear God,

Ah, me! Not my dress! WHYYYYYY?!

I demand answers,
Carlotta

Firmin and Andre,

I stand firm. Until the Opera Ghost stops attacking me, mah boobs do not sing for you.

No negotiation,
Carlotta

To Mssrs. Firmin and Andre,

Welcome to my kingdom! A few rules as you explore my vast and thoroughly booby-trapped domain: Lay a fingertip on Box Five and I will see that Carlotta comes to a very nasty end. Venture into the catacombs of the Opera Populaire and I will string you up like one of Carlotta's piñatas. Touch Christine Daaé in the ballet troupe and I will personally skewer you like a shish kabob. By the way, gentlemen, you owe me forty thousand francs, as Monsieur Lefevre forgot to give me last month's salary.

Your obedient servant,
O. G.

P.S: I've just slipped poison in the champagne you gentlemen are saving for the debut of Il Muto. Andre will find himself clutching his chest with severe heartburn soon after he drinks it. So much for your secret boyfriend, Firmin! Bwahahahaaaa!

My Beloved Angel of Music,

I am to perform Elissa's aria, "Think of Me", from Hannibal at the gala tonight. Shall Raoul be there? Shall the mayor of Paris be there? I pray, give me strength, my Angel. It would not do to faint with shock at seeing my childhood love in one of the boxes watching me.

Help me,
Christine

My enchanting Christine,

My dear, you are an accomplished and wonderful student and shall bring all of France to its knees. But what's all this disillusioned rubbish about the Vicomte de Chagny? I'm considering taking a pair of scissors to his hair after I dunk him upside down and use him to mop up the mess that Carlotta's poodles made next to my organ today. The Vicomte de Chagny also stole my private box, the fraud. That insolent boy will soon be one more dead body to tuck into my closet. Interact no more with the fool, that is an order from your Angel. Otherwise, you shall face my wrath tonight!

Overindulged in anger,
Your Angel of Music

Mlle. de Dressmaker,

Thank you very much for being able to accept my dress and alter it on such short notice. If possible, I'd like the slit to be extended all the way up to my hip. As you know very well, showing a little leg always results in admirers swooning all over me. However, showing all of my leg will result in a free gondola ride with the love of my life. Please and thank you.

Best,
Christine Daaé

Ms. Emmy Rossum,

You are doing marvelously in your role as Christine Daaé. But kindly do try to look more surprised or enthralled when I beckon you through your dressing room mirror into my hidden world. We've been doing retakes of this scene for forty-five minutes now and as you know, Mr. Schumacher is a stickler in bad need of a haircut. It's hot in this suit, I itch all over, I'm sweating this stupid mask off and I want to go home to rest. Can't you at least PRETEND that you find me irresistible?

Never irritate a Phantom,
Gerard Butler