Tales of the Parodyverse

Post By

Dancer (via Vizh)
Tue Oct 17, 2006 at 09:14:23 am EDT
Subject
Dancer #39: “It’s too late to do a crossover now. That ship has sailed.”
[New] [Email] [Print] [RSS] [Tales of the Parodyverse]
 		Next In Thread >>

Dancer #39: “It’s too late to do a crossover now. That ship has sailed.”





[The Scene: The spooky old Parodiopolis Variety Theatre at night. Dancer, Al B.
Harper, Trickshot. and Citizen Z are looking down the creepy old corridors
carrying big X-Files flashlights.]

Al B: Okay. Recap, please. Why exactly are we wandering round the spooky old
Parodiopolis Variety Theatre by night?

Dancer: Because something very strange is going on, and I thought we’d better
not waste time getting to the bottom of it. And also because it’s more moody and
exciting to set the story after dark.

Al B: Okay. Let me rephrase that. Why exactly am I wandering round the spooky
old Parodiopolis Variety Theatre by night?

Dancer: Because we very much value your scientific expertise and genius level
brain, which is why we want you to walk ahead of us a little bit and open all
the doors first.

Trickshot: *snort* Good one.

Citizen Z: *snicker*

Al B: And why is Citizen Z following me with a video camera?

Dancer: Because we are very keen to record you being scientifically expert and
genius. For posterity.

Trickshot: Yeah. Nice thinking, Dancer. And because… we all have so much to
learn from you. Like… where not to tread.

Citizen Z: And also because they pay good money for gory news footage on some of
these cable channels.

Al B: But I already showed you where the old plans showed all those death traps
that were removed.

Dancer: Yes. Removed. Almost certainly. Very probably. Possibly.

Citizen Z: If you do by any chance happen to find a death trap Al, try to scream
loudly. In the direction of the camera mike.

Al B: What I don’t understand is why anybody would want to trap a theatre with
hundreds of giant spikes, crushing walls, big chopping whirling blades, and
unexpected programme vendors anyhow.

Trickshot: Maybe Enty designed it?

Citizen Z: And really, who would design a building and not install a few death
traps to keep out the door to door salesmen and those pesky girl scouts
*remembers she’s supposed to be one of the good guys* IF they were a nasty evil
villain, of course. Girl scout cookies. Yum.

Al B: Back to my question, about who wanted to create a theatre that kills
people. I mean apart from Andrew Lloyd Webber with Starlight Express.

Dancer: Well, according to legend, there was this writer who wrote this
marvellous script. But nobody replied to his work. So he went mad, and declared
war on those who had refused to recognise his efforts.

Citizen Z; Hold on a minute Al. Don’t die yet. I need to wipe some metatext off
my lens.

Dancer: Anyway, there was this tragic typing accident that mangled his typing
fingers forever. He threw himself onto the stage during a performing elephant
dance and was crushed to death by Jumbo Junior. Since then they say his ghost
haunts the place bringing death to all who try to perform here.

Al B: And you couldn’t mention this before you bought the old place and had
everyone in the Lair Legion agree to do variety acts for your gala opening next
Friday? Not but what those death traps couldn’t have been a bit better designed,
but all the same…

Citizen Z: Er, could you just step on that floorboard to your left? The squeaky
one.

Trickshot: Didn’t the plans say there was a secret passage somewhere here? A
mirror that opens up to let us down into that secret lake with the hidden
island? Only last time I was fighting zombies down there I think I lost a
quarter.

Al B: Why are all these hinges so recently oiled? Why is there a string attached
to this door-handle that leads to that giant poorly-suspended weight above my
head? Why is Citizen Z setting up her tripod?

Dancer: Don’t worry, Al. So far the chances of you being horribly killed by
hidden traps is pretty small. I am the Probability Dancer after all. It says so
in the Who’s Who.

Al B: But I can’t help noticing that you’re not actually dancing.

Dancer: In here? With all the dust? I just washed these leggings.

Trickshot: Okay, I’m pretty sure this mirror slides open. Or, y’know, smashes
like that. Oops.

Dancer: Please don’t break my theatre. It’s seven years bad luck. I personally
guarantee it.

Citizen Z: Perhaps Al would like to be a genius down that small narrow passage
with the decorative little holes in the walls?

Trickshot: You could try limping as well, egghead. As if you couldn’t run very
fast. Oh, and if you hear a twanging noise from behind you, as if somebody was
firing a bow right past your ear at some unseen thing that’s about to jump out
and rip your head off, my advice is freeze. No special reason.

Al B: I could always be a genius back in my lab? Don’t we keep ManMan for this
kind of job?

Dancer: Sorry. Manny’s not replying to my series and you’re way overdue for an
extended guest appearance.

Al B: Isn’t Hatty more due? Or the Librarian? Or Hatty and the Librarian? With
CSFB!

Citizen Z: If you could arrange for him to be squashed flat all across that wall
with his guts seeping out over to that boat by the hidden lake I’m willing to
cut you in for 10% of the gross on next years Darwin Awards prize money. Just
saying.

Trickshot: Hey, if you look round you’ll see an enormous organ!

Dancer: Like I haven’t heard that before.

Al B: It was on the plans. A giant pipe organ that sent spooky sounds and poison
gas up into the auditorium. It was operated from down here on the secret island.
By the maniac that designed these traps many years ago. Who would be long, long
dead by now. Really. Logic insists on it.

Dancer: I know all that plot. I just couldn’t resist the cheap organ joke. Just
be glad Lisa’s not guest-starring in this chapter. Let’s look around for clues.

Citizen Z: Isn’t this where we all split up and get massacred separately?

Trickshot: Isn’t this where we find a spooky old diary that explains the plot to
us?

Al B: I don’t know about the diary, but there’s some abandoned typing paper here
in this waste basket. *examines it* If this is a major plot point do I have to
end my comment with a funny?

Dancer: Always helps in these stories, Al, because it covers how thin the plot
actually is. Okay, let me see those pages.

Citizen Z: They appear to be badly typed accounts of the recent attacks on the
Lair Legion. Look, this is that thing that attacked Hatty. Except that’s not how
you spell coleoscopy.

Al B: Or perforated.

Trickshot, shuddering: The monster seemed to know what the writer was getting
at. If Hatty hadn’t been able to grab his Herbert Garrick cap and become a total
tightass…

Al B, puzzling: You know I don’t even remember most of these attacks. It’s as if
the stories of them haven’t even been written.

Dancer: I know. It’s disappointing, but we work with what we’re given. The world
will never know how heroic Yuki was with that swarm of vampire traffic wardens,
or how much trouble those escaped robot look-alikes of the Osmond brothers
caused for CSFB! And as for Visionary and those huge wobbling…

Citizen Z: Don’t even mention that. That is an image I want to wash from my
mind. In fact so is Visionary in general.

Al B: Perhaps that’s why all these stories ended up in the bin here? They were
horrible attacks that didn’t quite make it off the typewriter into the
Parodyverse.

Dancer: The Shoggoth seemed to do okay, though. He managed a proper tie-in. I
like the Shoggoth. *smiles at the Shoggoth*

Citizen Z: It’s not like people are made of tie-ins you know. Some of us have
elaborate plotlines of our own.

Trickshot: And some of us might still be planning stuff, waiting for, um, the
strategically right moment to have an adventure. Yeah, that’s it.

Dancer: It’s too late to do a crossover now. That ship has sailed. It’s not like
you didn’t all have perfectly good chances to be almost killed by freak typing
events.

Trickshot: But how would somebody know to write all o’ this stuff down here on
the secret island? It’s almost as if by writing it here on some kind of, I
dunno, cursed typewriter they were able to make it happen.

Al B: Hmm. I am detecting a certain build-up of plot exposition in the area. You
could be onto something.

Dancer: So all we need to do is look for a cursed typewriter. And a spare cursed
typewriter if you read the Shoggoth’s tie-in, or maybe a cursed typewriter with
one of those 5-year extended warranty deals and a call-out repair service.

Trickshot: And a typist. A Ghost Writer.

Citizen Z: And then we throw Al at him? *catches Al’s glance* To, um, deduce
what we can about the villain. With your genius. On tape. After a suitable
audience warning.

[But though our heroes search and search and push Al B. into every crevice
there’s no sign of a cursed typewriter or a Ghost Writer down on the secret
island. That would be too easy. And not at all funny.]

Dancer: Hmm. It looks like we might have to try something else.

Citizen Z: Perhaps if Al was obviously wounded. Bleeding and tied up somewhere?

Al B: ………..

Trickshot: We’re going to have to come back to this in another chapter, aren’t
we.

Al B: One with a different standing joke.

Citizen Z: We’ll vote on it. I volunteer to take the count.

Dancer: Yes, we’ll come back to this. After I go pay another visit to sleazy
auteur Solly Bergman again. In disguise. With two special volunteer nominated
guest stars to help me. I’m thinking we can go in disguised as a girl band.

Dancer: Um, does anybody know where we can get a drumkit and three sets of pussy-cat
ears?

[Continued…]




Posted from IP Address
using Mozilla Firefox/Windows XP
[New] [Email] [Print] [RSS] [Tales of the Parodyverse]
Follow-Ups:

Echo™ v3.0 beta © 2003-2006 Powermad Software
Copyright © 2004-2006 by Mangacool Adventure