Rip Roarin' Fantabulous Birthday Spectacularrr [Complete]

[sga1sheppard]

Title: Rip Roarin' Fantabulous Birthday Spectacularrr
Characters: Sheppard, Psmith, etc.
Setting: Main Street
Privacy: Public! Please come celebrate with us.
Rated: P for oh god I need to pee but there's a parade

Comments

[sga1sheppard]

Awesome, this was awesome. The parade had exceeded John's expectations so much already, and it was only partway done. He was truly pleased.

Especially since the next thing to walk down the street was a crowd of overalled, weathered guys with steers on ropes. This was the fabled 'march of the beef.' Awesome.

John wasn't sure what was going on with the next act (the beef guys had said it was both or nothing). In fact, he wasn't even sure that it existed at all.

Still, when it went by, and there was a little lull, he turned to Marlowe and Psmith. "Isn't this cool?" he hollered over the noise.

[peasmith]

A cadre of cigarette girls descended upon them suddenly, clad in uniforms which resembled that of the leading majorette, but significantly shorter. Some rather nice tobacco products were foisted upon everyone, and two elephants, a llama and something which was either Triceteratops (a horned dinosaur) or a rhino in a hat passed by nearly unnoticed.

[sga1sheppard]

More music, and general hullabaloo, and a giant float trundled by, covered with flowers arranged in a pattern.

"Oh, wow, look at that!" John exclaimed. The center of the float had dark, dark tulips, almost black, that together made up the picture of a bat on a red, circular background. But the really cool thing was that it looked like the bat was flapping its wings. "How do they do that?"

"Tis the magic of rum, I believe."

"Oh yeah."

"Hey, is that Denis Leary sitting at the top?"

"Who?"

"Oh my gosh, Denis Leary is waving to us! Come on, let's wave to Denis Leary!"

A copy of the 'Rescue Me' DVDs landed at Marlowe's feet where one of the Bacardi girls had tossed it.

[peasmith]

There was another lull after the scantily-clad rum-vixens accompanied Denis Leary down the street. An expectant hush fell over the world.

Suddenly there was an earth-shattering kaboom.

Fireworks shot off at startlingly close range - the scent of cordite filled the air - the sky exploded in brilliant light, multicoloured spangles falling like stardust - and through the smoke and the noise and the rockets' red glare zoomed, tantalizingly low, a squadron of fighter planes, jets both standard and gull-winged, propellor-planes, an assortment of beautiful flying machinery. They roared off in unison, doubled back like a Busby Berkley dream, made a second pass, and disappeared, replaced by another round of pyrotechnics

[sga1sheppard]

John blinked away the flashes in his eyes, and the smoke. He was pleased about the aircraft.

It was finally time for the big finish, and when John's eyes cleared, he could see the extremely large cake wheeling down the street, accompanied by cartwheeling pirates, ninjas, and a particularly filthy song by the Sex Pistols. The cake came to a pause before the three of them, rumbling slightly. John held his breath. Psmith held his breath. Marlowe held his breath. At least, John thought the other two might. Anyway, he did.

He watched the cake intently, following the curve of every layer, the way frosting ribbons draped along the edges and the scent of chocolate wafted through the air.

But nothing happened.