Tales of the Parodyverse

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killer shrike
Sun May 01, 2005 at 05:45:15 pm EDT
Subject
The Hatman Roast continues. Kinda sorta.
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“Please don’t do this,” Alcheman begged his sisters, “Please.”

Jenni and Trudi Wooster were incredulous at their brother’s distress, “Why not?” Jenni inquired, “It’s what’s expected.”

Trudi agreed, “Yes, the purpose of a celebrity roast is to roast the celebrity. In this case, Hatman.”

“Yes, but, some times its good to buck convention. Be iconoclasts.”

“I refuse to be something that I have no idea what it is,” Jenni said with some forcefulness.

“Michael, stop acting like such a killjoy: that’s someone who ruins the fun of others, sister dear. This good natured ribbing is for charity, after all.”

Alcheman and worried at his tuxedo’s cufflinks, “Do you recall exactly what charity this fundraiser is designated to aid?”

The twins exchanged glances. Jenni began to giggle.

“The Wooster Twins Pride Restoration Project.”

“The March of Digs,” Trudi offered as she finished her third Bellini.

“Operation, um, Get Back at Hatman.”

“I knew it,” Michael Wooster almost hissed, “This is just an excuse for your vendetta against Mr. Boaz.”

“Oh, so what?” Trudi shot back, “We are well within our rights to take a few shots at Sir Jay, after the way he toyed with our emotions.”

“It’s not like you did anything to defend our honor,” Jenni sniffled.

“That’s right! This roast is an opportunity to strike a blow for women’s self-determination through humor.”

If Michael Wooster shared one trait with his late father, it was his inability to stand firm against his siblings’ excesses. He sighed, “Could I at least hear some samples of your humor before you take the stage?”

“Of course,” Trudi withdrew a set of index cards from her mini-purse and passed half of them to Jenni, “We decided the best way to roast Hatman was by hitting him where he lives. And by that I mean making fun of the fact he’s Canadian.”

Jenni went first, “*Ahem*. You can’t really blame Hatman for the stick up his butt: he's wanted it removed for years, but is still waiting for the paperwork to clear Canadian Health Services,” she frowned, “I don’t get it.”

“It’s funny,” Trudi assured her.

“For what Bruce Vilanch charged us, it better be. You do the next one, sister.”

“Canada complains about the existence of industrial pollutants coming over from the U.S. I say it serves them right for sending us Celine Dion, Hatman, and Bovine Spungiform Encephalopathy. It was nice of Bruce to write that last part phonetically for us.”

Jenni went on,“Do you know why Hatman and other Canadians use the metric system? It exaggerates the length and girth of his-“

“Inappropriate!” Alcheman objected vociferously, halting the pair’s routine, “You cannot make jokes about… that particular topic. Not in front of superheroes.”

The twins were unimpressed, “Oh, Michael, you have no idea what the Lair Legion are like in their private lives. We do,” Trudi claimed.

“We were there at Sir Mumphrey’s Christmas Party,” Jenni reminded her brother.

“Christmas orgy was more like it. Honestly, it was if the whole thing was produced by Zalman King.”

“Even if that was the case,” Michael lectured, “That does not mean you should resort to cultural stereotypes and sexual innuendo in order to entertain.”

“Right,” Trudi stared at her brother for a long time, “I think you still haven’t quite gotten into the spirit of this place, Michael,” she said with some sympathy.

“I don’t-“

“Alcheman! I need you!” a voice said breathlessly.

The Elemental Adventurer jumped in his seat, “I beg-oh, Miss O’ Mercy! Good evening. Ah, what happened to your dress?”

“Strap got caught on a nail,” the Night Nurse explained while holding up her top’s décolletage, “Look, can you lend a hand? We called a taxi for Messenger but he’s so out of it he’s claiming the driver is Abu Musab Al-Zarqawi. Now he’s chasing him around the parking lot threatening to ‘jihad his ass.’”

“I see,” Alcheman slowly stood and offered Grace his jacket, revealing a sleeveless dress shirt he wore underneath in order to better access his tattoos.

“You need to come quick and hard.”

“Ah-“ Michael blushed under his mask.

Grace gave the man a quizzical look, “You know, use your tattoos to be something bulletproof. And mobile. Messy is really trucking,” she paused, “With a real truck!”

“Of course. Lead the way,” Alcheman cast one last shame-faced look at his smirking siblings, and set off.

Jenni and Trudi, still grinning, pushed back their chairs and rose to their feet.

“It’s nice to have your beliefs validated so dramatically like that,” Trudi commented as she and her sister linked arms and headed to the dais.

“Is that why we’re smiling?” Jenni asked, “I thought it was because Michael finally has a chance for S-E-X.”

Trudi shook her head in disgust. Leave it to her sister to miss the subtext.






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