At noon, the Village People would be 1 step closer to their new line up. After another round of eliminations, the new face of gay kitsch would be born.
Jacques Morali ruled the proceedings with a merciless iron fist, conducting rehearsals with perfect pitch and a rusty saber. Today his blade-ton, as he called it, would run red with the blood of Larry Melbourne. John Q-ueer public would never stand for such intonation, let alone from one wearing those awful slacks, pah-leeze.
The 1st bell tolled 'Bongggg.'
A bead of sweat raced to the tip of Larry's nose. It leaped from his snout exclaiming "Get out while you still caaaaaaan!"
'Bongggg' the 2nd ring sang.
The guns up, clicking to **** as they found level.
The third 'Ka-Clangggg' clunked an extra thunk.
"May I say one final thing before I die" Larry flubbered across his quivering flaps.
'Ringggg' the 4th echoed.
Jacques twisted his sword, letting it catch a little gleam off the sun. With out a word he jutted it up, in sync with the 5th toll. Morali snickered as he slide-turned clockwise to face the hopefuls. With the 6th ring, he gestured to the gaggle. They complied by miming letters with their bodies.
They slowly spelled what they sang, "D-E-A-D" in morose 4ths.
With the 7th bell, Larry recalled a happier time in sunny South Millerton. He remembered the time his Grandpa Chuck gave him that "World's Greatest Kid" shirt, and how he **** near killed a kid for making fun of it.
"Who's the greatest kid now" he wailed as he walloped his lunch-box over Tommy's noodle, "Who's the greatest kid now!"
'Bonggg' number 8 snapped Larry to. With 4 left, he'd have think fast. As the 9th thundered he remembered the snausage in his pocket. 10... he fumbled with his pinky on the sly. 11... he had it hooked.
The air went cool. A hush muffled over the courtyard. The dust devils slowed to a minuet. The bell lumbered from, sending the clapper a-swing towards Larry's destiny. Larry jerked his arm free and winged up the snausage. What followed was a deathly ballet of bells, bullets and fur. Larry was over the wall before Julius P. Specialfellar hit the ground.
And so it was that the 5 were chosen. The celebrations were marred by the burial of Julius, which was accompanied by a somber "In the Grave-y." "The New Yorker Sucks" would be his epitaph.
Ironic post-script: the bead of sweat never made past Larry's belly.
Roy is fun to play tricks with on your parents, Jenny makes the best cookies, Raaawb does the best funny voices, Jana and I would make flower crowns and bracelets, Iggy and I would rock out, McGee I would like to muss up his perfect hair, Sara is the smartest and would help me with my homework, W stands for women hahaha, Rex can tell you what it all means, and Lynne makes the best DVDs with help from scary vampire rabbits.
