(no subject)
Who: Patricia Goldberg (CAPTAIN HOOK) & Jacob Anser (MOTHER GOOSE)
What: Patricia receives a Valentine's Day gift from her nemesis.
When: 3:15am, February 14th.
Where: Pentamerone; Fifth Floor
Rating: R for language.
To say that Patricia Goldberg had been jolted awake would be a massive understatement. For a very brief second, she considered the possibility that the voice of that horrible, horrible boy was simply a nightmare - it wouldn't be the first time, after all. But no, tonight's noise was much too loud. It was much too real. It was much too... coming from outside her door.
Suddenly, her middle-aged body sprang out of bed at a speed which might have surprised some of her rather vocal naysayers. "No... no.... no, this can't be happening. I'm going to strangle him. He's dead. He's dead! He's dead." In her voice was a note of panic - she had started to listen to the lyrics.
YOUR BUTT HAS ALL SAGGED, THE WRINKLES LOOOOOVE YOOOOOU.
YEAH, YOU GOT NO FRIE-EEEENDS.
Even in the dark, Patricia's face raged a crimson rouge as she threw on the silk bathrobe which hung upon her bedroom door frame. Curlers still in her hair, she flung open the bedroom and proceeded into the living room, where the song grew ever louder.
NO FRIE-EEEEEENDS.
BECAUSE YOU'RE SO FA-AAAAAAAT.
"AAUUUUUGH!" She let out the primal scream as she flung open the door to the hallway. Truly she was a sight to behold, and in her robed, furious glory, and she looked around, hungrily searching for a culprit - for the culprit - to throttle. No death penalty or life imprisonment would be enough to defer her from accomplishing her long-sought and long-suppressed desire for revenge at this very moment.
Unfortunately, the hall was empty, save for the wretched speakers which continued to spew their awful noises. Falling to the ground next to the black boxes, she frantically began pushing buttons. Any buttons, all buttons - it didn't matter, for Patricia was neither completely awake nor complete sane at this moment.
"WHY. WON'T. YOU. TURN. OFF?" Her voice was reaching a record pitch in her frantic attempts to silence the other voice, which sang cheerfully an incessantly, neither frantic nor on any sort of pitch at all. It mocked her - it mocked her from every direction, and if it didn't stop soon, it was clear that the woman in pajamas might actually lose any last bit of mental capability she still possessed.
Scurrying to the wall, she tugged at the electrical outlets which she found were layered with mounds of duct tape in order to prevent her from reaching her goal. Quickly and psychotically, she began to tear at the tape with her fingernails.
Meanwhile, Patricia's aged derriere, clothed only in fraying pink undergarments, held itself high in the air behind her, all considerations of modesty or other residents currently gone from her mind. The only thing that mattered at that moment in time was this plug. The only thing that was important was stopping the sound.
YOU'RE ALL ALONE. THERE'S NO ONE THERE BESIIIIIIIIDE YOU.
Only there was.
What: Patricia receives a Valentine's Day gift from her nemesis.
When: 3:15am, February 14th.
Where: Pentamerone; Fifth Floor
Rating: R for language.
To say that Patricia Goldberg had been jolted awake would be a massive understatement. For a very brief second, she considered the possibility that the voice of that horrible, horrible boy was simply a nightmare - it wouldn't be the first time, after all. But no, tonight's noise was much too loud. It was much too real. It was much too... coming from outside her door.
Suddenly, her middle-aged body sprang out of bed at a speed which might have surprised some of her rather vocal naysayers. "No... no.... no, this can't be happening. I'm going to strangle him. He's dead. He's dead! He's dead." In her voice was a note of panic - she had started to listen to the lyrics.
YOUR BUTT HAS ALL SAGGED, THE WRINKLES LOOOOOVE YOOOOOU.
YEAH, YOU GOT NO FRIE-EEEENDS.
Even in the dark, Patricia's face raged a crimson rouge as she threw on the silk bathrobe which hung upon her bedroom door frame. Curlers still in her hair, she flung open the bedroom and proceeded into the living room, where the song grew ever louder.
NO FRIE-EEEEEENDS.
BECAUSE YOU'RE SO FA-AAAAAAAT.
"AAUUUUUGH!" She let out the primal scream as she flung open the door to the hallway. Truly she was a sight to behold, and in her robed, furious glory, and she looked around, hungrily searching for a culprit - for the culprit - to throttle. No death penalty or life imprisonment would be enough to defer her from accomplishing her long-sought and long-suppressed desire for revenge at this very moment.
Unfortunately, the hall was empty, save for the wretched speakers which continued to spew their awful noises. Falling to the ground next to the black boxes, she frantically began pushing buttons. Any buttons, all buttons - it didn't matter, for Patricia was neither completely awake nor complete sane at this moment.
"WHY. WON'T. YOU. TURN. OFF?" Her voice was reaching a record pitch in her frantic attempts to silence the other voice, which sang cheerfully an incessantly, neither frantic nor on any sort of pitch at all. It mocked her - it mocked her from every direction, and if it didn't stop soon, it was clear that the woman in pajamas might actually lose any last bit of mental capability she still possessed.
Scurrying to the wall, she tugged at the electrical outlets which she found were layered with mounds of duct tape in order to prevent her from reaching her goal. Quickly and psychotically, she began to tear at the tape with her fingernails.
Meanwhile, Patricia's aged derriere, clothed only in fraying pink undergarments, held itself high in the air behind her, all considerations of modesty or other residents currently gone from her mind. The only thing that mattered at that moment in time was this plug. The only thing that was important was stopping the sound.
YOU'RE ALL ALONE. THERE'S NO ONE THERE BESIIIIIIIIDE YOU.
Only there was.