The Phantom of the Adoption Agency

Wanted: Good homes for several drawings.

One - A purple and blue dragon, whose scales took forever. His name is Murray, and he's very friendly so long as you feed him quail eggs with white truffles. He is open to all and any as a online companion. A bit like how I have Erika and Ely. Murray's extremely quirky. He has a habit of calling the number that gives you the time and then talking to it. He's very similiar to Murray from "A Thousand Clowns," if you've seen that movie. If you haven't seen it, I have the VHS, so we could have a random and unofficial movie night. That might be fun. Anyway. Murray needs a home. Ink and colored pencil.

Two - A Willy Wonka chibi. He's very sweet, but be prepared for oddness, and for slightly bizarre candy. Though that may be a good thing in a lot of ways. Do not let him near any squirrels, bratty children, or orthodontia. I think you know him, as long as you've seen "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," and if you haven't, well then, more plans for the unofficial PotJH movie night. Open as online companion or just pretty picture. Colored pencils and ink.

Three - A picture of a lifeguard house, done in black Sharpie. Very nice realistically, took me forever to do, and I'm quite proud of it.

Four - A skeleton dressed for his prom. His name is Claude K. Winchestrus, and he is very polite. Do not be alarmed by his ability to remove his limbs and reattach them. He really does mean well. Open for an online companion! He is debonair, dramatic, and painfully immaculate. Rather reminescent of Raoul. (Gasp.) Only dead. Pencil.

Five - A cat dressed for her prom. Sense a theme? Me too. The result of my trying to draw an attractive female for my friend Cameron. And sort of succeeding. Or I would've, if Cameron went for feline creatures. She started out human, anyway. Pencil. Her name is Louisa. She's the classic cat - standoffish, bratty, and unaffectionate. Open as an online companion, if you really want her.

Six - A convict dressed for his prom. No excuse for this one. His name is Brutus, and he's very sweet, but he hears voices, which you may find worrying. He was put away for seven years in Azkaban for Brutality to Grasshoppers.

So. If any of you want one of these, please either leave a comment, or tell me at school.

And oh yes! If any of you want to make a request, I'd love it? You want me to draw Gabe doing a handstand with Max hitting his left foot with a baseball bat while Spencer and Ben play poker in the corner and I stand in the middle of the picture doing Pilates? No problem! (Well, actually, that might be a problem, but you know what I mean.) I'll draw anything. I mean it.

Oh yes -

I'm working on a cartoon. At the bottom of the paper are some Alanis Morrisette lyrics. "You held your breath, and the door for me." Above, there's a picture of Ben and I about to go through a door. We are glaring at each other fiercely.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

What Do You Think Will Happen Next?

Well now then. Today I had my show - Macbeth - and Ben came to see. Nice of him. Anywho. The show went quite well, there were no mistakes at all, which was of course a good thing, and I pulled off my monolouge very well. However, here's my inner dialouge during the show. Because there comes a point where you've just done the show so many times that you don't actually need to think about what you're saying or doing. It just sort of happens.

During my trance scene:

Ely: Oooh, I wonder where everyone is in the audience. There's Ben! Let's wave!

Erika: We can't wave, you moron, we're in the middle of a show.

Ely: (Sheepish.) Oh. Ooh, look, it's our father hiding in the shrubbery!

Gabe: We are the knights who say ni! NI! Give me a shrubbery!

During my monolouge:

Ely: I hate this bit. It's so. . .nasty.

Erika: It's lovely, though! Don't you realize what they're talking about? Severed heads and people slashed in half!

Ben: What is that fuzz ball over there by the rock?

Jacob P. Baccorat: My question exactly!

Jenny Cashwell: And NOW for something COMPLETELY different.

You get the idea. As for who Jacob P. Baccorat and Jenny Cashwell are? They're Ben and I. Only not. It's sort of a long story. Well, the show went quite well, so we get offstage. I am photographed far too much in a kilt, then nearly kill myself by falling over a bench trying to get my necklace. What do you think happened next?

We drove home. What did you think? Anyway, so, me, Ben, Luke, a bunch of Luke's friends, and an inflatable moonbounce. This really can't turn out well.

It didn't, just in case you're wondering. I don't think anyone sustained any actual bodily harm, except for possibly me, who nearly had half her hair ripped out of her head. (That was why I poured a glass of water over my head.)

The best part of this is that, during the heat of the battle, Ben and I kept talking to each other. Example.

Ben: (Knocking over one boy.) So, anyway - hey, behind you!

Kat: (Spinning around to knock over another boy.) What?

Ben: Nothing. Oh, watch out for the -

Kat: (Falls into crevice formed by dying moonbounce.) GAK!

Ben: (Helping her up.) So you were saying. . .

And so it went. Finally, in the middle of the battle, one of Luke's friends declares, "I'm getting waters. Who wants one?"

Ben and Kat: (Look at each other. Exhibit various degrees of shrugging.)

Next came the arcade. Ah, the arcade. And minigolfing. Ah, minigolfing. And now the fun really begins. Well, it started - hang on, I've just got to write this down. One of the boys screennames is Killr Wombat. Spelled with no e. Which, is coincidentally, what the coach in PE calls me. And NOW the fun really begins. Well, it started with Ben and making various remarks of how uninteresting the arcade was. Then, finally, we went minigolfing with Isabel and Ella. This was obviously a bad idea on so many levels.

Ben was, as we all know, was born to work with small children. Okay, so the majority of you didn't know that. Fine. Question: Why is it that it's he that's good with small children, and not me, who is constantly surrounded by them? Why, I ask you? Why, why, why?

After a period in which minigolfing was profuse and continous, and in which there was at least one point in which one of us hit a ball (It's eleven forty two PM! Coincidence? I THINK NOT!) and it smacked into something, and completely dissapeared. (Then Ben found it.)

We arrived back at the table, glanced at each other, glanced at the table, glanced at each other, glanced at the table. . .I think at some point Ben eventually said, "We could set a really twisted montage of "Ticket to Ride" to this."

The table was covered, and I do mean COVERED, with tickets. Arcade tickets. This resulted in Luke buying an Icee machine, a few tons of Tootsie Rolls, and a penguin that his friends all insisted looked like Ben. For the record, the penguin didn't. Look like Ben, I mean. First of all, it was nowhere near as tall.

On the way back to the car, Ben and I had an entire conversation without actually having the conversation. An entire implied conversation. I don't want to write down the conversation, although I have a terrible fear that Ben thinks the conversation was something along the lines of, "Do you like cherryade?" "Yes, sure." I didn't think the conversation was about that, actually. Far from it.

Moving on!

Meanwhile, back at the ranch. . .or rather, on Kat's balcony. . .

Ben: You know, never expect to find me out here throwing rocks at your window so you'll come out.

(Thirty years later. The police are after Kat for reasons no one fully understands. It is necessary for Ben to speak with her in a matter of life, death, insanity, and a small slice of lemonade, but the computers aren't working, and telephone? I hate telephones. So. . .)

Ben: (Throwing rocks at window.) I lied! Come out here! I need to talk to you!

I don't know why I found this scene funny to write. While Ben actually did tell me not to expect to find him out there throwing rocks at my window (sensible Ben) the rest of the scene definitely is purely just me and my slightly twisted sense of humor. You know, I had the candle song from Rent stuck in my head the entire time we were out on the balcony?

Wait, hang on. . .I've skipped the bit with the tree. So, imagine Ben and I sitting in a tree. . .talking about what we think will happen next.

I give two tasks to my commentors. Firstly, you must decide what is going to happen next. In life in general. Second, finish the below sentence.

"It's at times like these, when I'm sitting in a tree. . ."

(Note: Ben did actually say that, however, here is what actually happened. . .

Ben: It's at times like these when I'm sitting in a tree, T-A-L-K-I-N-G. . .

Kat: What?!?

Ben: Talking. What did you think I said?)

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

Text Recognition, Susan Kay's Phantom Quotes, Princess Bride, And Other Miracles Of Modern Life

And your random Erik and Nadir moment for the day is thusly:

Nadir: But ... but people must have been killed!

Erik: Oh, yes ... I daresay that's quite likely! It's really very difficult to be a murderer without killing people from time to time, you know.

And scene.

But anyhow. I am now writing a rather long parody of PotO, using the original stage libretto. We have no Christine to speak of, Max as Raoul. . .um hum. So until further notice, the part of Christine will be played by. . .Cary Elwes.

Cary Elwes: As you wish.

Max: (Blink.) Hey. You're the one from Princess Bride, right?

Cary: Yes. The guy with the sword. Not the Mandy Pattinkin one. The one that dies. And then doesn't die. And is the Dread Pirate Roberts. Yes indeed.

Moving on. Now that we're all cast. . .let's do this!

Cast For First Scene In Order Of Speaking

Ben - Auctioneer

Gabe - Porter

Max - Raoul

---

One. Two. Three.

Lights. Camera. Action.

Places. Thank you, places.

You're on in forty-two.

---

KAT:
Everybody ready? Places? Excellent!

MAX:
I really don't like this idea. . .

BEN:
You're not alone. . .Oh, hey, we get top hats.

The Paris Opera, 1919. The Opera is cold and dark. Ooh, spiders. . .pretty spiders. No one seems to notice the sinister air of the place. . .Ben stands at a podium. Below him Max is comfortably settled. In a wheelchair. Ok, so maybe he doesn't look too well.

BEN:
Sold. Your number, sir? Thank you.
Lot 39, then, ladies and gentlemen:
a candle from this house's production of "Rent" by M. John Larson.
Kat, have you been messing with the script?

KAT:
Not too much.

GABE:
HAPE - high altitude pulmonary edema.
When fluid presses on ones lungs because of a lack of air pressure.
To treat it - go down very quickly so the air pressure forces the fluid out of the subjects lungs before they die.

(Kat glares at him.)

GABE:
Oh yeah –
Showing here.

BEN:
(Sigh.)
Do I have ten francs? Five then. Five I am bid.
Six, seven. Clearly sir, seven.
Eight. Eight once. Selling twice.
Sold, to Monsieur Raoul de - Hey, it's Max! Ah, well, moving on -

Lot 40: a wet towel and five crème brulees,
from the 2005 production of "Point of No Return" by Sane Personage.

SP:
Oh lord.

KAT:
Heh heh. . .who, me, mess with the script?

BEN:
(Sigh. Again.)
T en francs for this. Ten, thank you.
Ten francs still. Fifteen, thank you, sir
Fifteen I am bid.
Going at fifteen. Your number, sir?

Lot 41, ladies and gentlemen:
a papier-mache musical box, in the shape of a barrel-organ.
Attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes playing the cymbals.
This item, discovered in the vaults of the theatre, still in working order, ladies and gentlemen.

GABE:
E equals energy, M equals mass, c2 equals the velocity of light in centimeters per second. Oh yes, and -
Showing here.

BEN:
May I start at twenty francs? Fifteen, then?
Fifteen I am bid. Sold, for thirty francs to the Vicomte de Chagny.
Thank you, Max. Um, I mean, sir.

MAX:
A collector's piece indeed . . . every detail exactly as that random fellow from the Princess Bride said . . .
That random fellow from the Princess Bride often spoke of you, my friend ....Your velvet lining, and your figurine of lead...
Will you still play, when all the rest of us are dead?

BEN:
(In response to Max. . .er, Raoul.)
Clearly.

Lot 42, then: a chandelier in pieces.
Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera:
a mystery never fully explained.
We are told, ladies and gentlemen, - um, wait. . .there aren't any ladies. Kat, I see you hiding in the rafters, and you do not count as a lady. Oh, fine. -
that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disahstah. Why do I have an English accent?

KAT:
Disahstah sounds way better than disaster.

BEN:
Oh, fine.

Our workshops have repaired it and wired parts of it for the new electric light,
so that we may get a hint of how it may look when reassembled.
Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago
with a little illumination, gentlemen?

KAT:
CUT!

BEN:
Aw, we're not doing the wonderful chandelier. . .(mad hand gestures) thing?

KAT:
That is in the movie, you. . .(thinks) spoffet toed chowgis!

(Suddenly the chandelier goes up in all its glory.)

MAX:
I guess that was the password.

KAT:
What? Movie?

MAX:
No, spoffet toed chowgis.

(Chandelier falls again. We are plunged into darkness, before returning to. . .

---

Red Sox: The Opera!

---

Cast In Order of Speaking

Max - Carlotta

Mickey - Chorus

Jazz - Chorus

Sane Personage - Chorus

David - Piangi

Gabe - Reyer

---

MAX:
This trophy from our saviours, from our saviours!
From the enslaving force of the YANKEES! Oh, DAMNIT!
Kaat, I can't say Rome. . .Why do I have to be Carlotta?

KAT:
Your voice is highest. Shut up and sing.

BEN:

Shut up. . .and sing?

WOMEN'S CHORUS (Mickey, Jazz, and the Sane Personage):
With hot dogs that fattening seem, tonight with sundaes with cream, we greet the victorious team, returned to bring a fan's dream!

MEN'S CHORUS (Gabe, Ben, Spencer, and David.):
The cheering of Sox fans resounds! Hear, Yankees, now and tremble! Hark to our slide on the ground!

ALL:
Hear the drums -- The Red Sox Fan comes!


To be continued. . .

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

Way Too Much Iambic Pentameter

And so, in my infinite wisdom, I return to the world of "Aloha, Good Messieurs." No, I'm not in Hawaii, but I am going back to writing about that place that I wrote the story about whilst I was there. You know, the one where Max was a talking corpse and Ben was depressed and I was named Minette for some reason and danced a lot. Or maybe you don't. Oh well.

This whole thing is inspired by one quote from Macbeth.

"It will have blood they say, blood will have blood,
Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak."

"You lack the season of all natures, sleep."

What is uncertain can be called assured
What is mistrusted can be thought a truth
What dreams madmen have pondered are confirmed
The only asset here is lunacy.
Look to yourself, your soul, your eyes, your heart
Inside L’Chimera – L’ Ki, if you
Know where you stand, and do you sir? Do you?
A little knowledge is so dangerous
And dancers are still found dead in green rooms
Although the Law has come to visit us.
They saw the show, but never knew it, fo
Illusions are our business, and you must
Know where you stand to understand our world.

Hush now, tell patrons none of your tall tales,
A story is a story, no? If you
Know where you stand. And do you sir? Ah, good.
We ask your trust tonight, you’re in good hands.
Relax. No questions, please, questions rot minds.
So thank you. Curtain up and be prepared –
You’re on in forty two – be ready, yes?
No need to prepare any act, and please,
Do listen closely, your cue is quiet.
Onstage I promise you’ll know what to do
Listen to the curtains whisper! Trust me.

Greetings, my name is Minette, I am to show you
To your place, to where you stand.
Welcome to L’Kim. And who are you? Ah!
I remember that, a stand up act, right?
Important job here at L’Kim, you know.
I am a dancer, not half so crucial,
But I know where I stand, and so will you.
Well, here’s your dressing room, be ready quick.
Questions? Ask your mirror, and be polite.
It’s rather touchy sometimes – name’s Marco.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

In Which Kat Expresses Her Feelings With Sketchers Doc Marten Knock Offs And Anna Nalick Music

"2 AM and she calls me 'cause I'm still awake,
can you help me unravel my latest mistake,
I don't love him, winter just wasn't my season -"

"Can someone shut her up?"

"I don't know. . .she really can't sing. . ."

"Yeah we walk through the doors, so accusing their eyes
Like they have any right at all to critisize,
hypocrites, you're all here for the very same reason -"

"Shut UP Kat!"

"CAUSE YOU CAN'T JUMP THE TRACK, WE'RE LIKE CARS ON A CABLE
AND LIFE'S LIKE AN HOURGLASS, GLUED TO THE TABLE - "

"I think I'm going to go insane. . ." Gabe moaned, leaning sadly on the couch next to the heap of trenchcoats from which the off key Anna Nalick music was issuing.

"You think?" Asked Max dustily from underneath the couch. He was playing with a dust bunny named Mictus, who was also a hint regarding Ben's birthday gift. He was also hiding from the terribly offkey music coming from within the coat. "You THINK?"

"Come on," Ben remarked, in a rare spasm of optimism, "she doesn't sound that bad."

"No one can find the rewind button girl,
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe, just breathe,
Woah breathe, just breathe -"

"Yes," Ben amended unhappily, "she does. Dear God, what's wrong with her?"

"What's wrong with her?" Sane Personage said, "She's hiding under blankets, asking for Haagen Daz, and singing depressing chick music. It's all about a -"

Kat flopped over and fell onto the floor. They could only just see her brown haired head sticking up from a miasma of black cloth. Thankfully she'd stopped singing, but nothing could stop her groaning. She lay there under the coats and allowed tears to secrete gloppily from her eyes, which were slightly swollen by now. The tears fell into the ice cream, and melted it with their heat.

"Kat, your angsty writing is really bad," Spencer complained, sitting uncomfortably on one overstuffed armchair.

Then something ocurred to Max. "Hey!" He shrieked. "Let's call in the heavy artillery."

"The whats?" Asked Willy Wonka, who'd been sitting in the corner all this time, licking a lollipop happily and making the occasional remark about how dreadful Kat's haircut was.

"The Eriks. And the Nadir! Max, you're brilliant!" Gabe jumped up and engulfed Max in a bear hug. Max squeaked and Gabe let go, rubbing his ears. Ben sat calmly on the couch, watching them with a faintly amused look on his face, and occasionally poking Kat with his foot.

Max dug Mictus the dust bunny hint from out under the couch and set him down on the table. "Mictus, go find Leroux!Erik and Kay!Erik! And Nadir!" Mictus hopped off, crossing Ben's new waterproof shoes, leaving a dull line of gray dust over everything. Ben kicked the dust bunny and it bounced off, muttering about union regulations, Vampire Lords, and new owners who had no respect, no, no respect at all.

"May he turn 21 on the base at Fort Bliss
Just today he sat down to the flask in his fist,
Ain't been sober, since maybe October of last year -"

Gabe moaned and fell onto the floor, pulling a straight backed chair over himself. "We're all gonna die."

"Yes," Ben provided, "at some point."

"I meant rather sooner than we'd have liked."

"Ah, well. . ."

There was a short silence.

"What lovely weather we're havi - OW! Owwowowowoow. . ."

Kat had kicked him with one Sketcher Doc Marten knock off boot. They were enormous, painful, and hard. And, speaking of which, waterproof. "Oh," she muttered, "I barely tapped you."

"I was creating dramatic effect."

"Oh sure," Max mocked, "dramatic effect."

"Yes," said a silky, hissing voice from behind his ear, slipping a noose around Max's neck. "Dramatic effect."

Max screamed at the top of his lungs and began jumping about like a maniac.

"Here in town you can tell he's been down for a while,
But my God it's so beautiful when the boy smiles,
Wanna hold him, maybe I'll just sing about it!"

"Oh, is the problem the depressed and bad singing Phantom?" Erik, the Opera Ghost, asked, calmly, slipping from the shadows and standing next to a terrified and vibrating at high frequency Gabe.

"Yes!" Said Willy Wonka, handing the short Persian man next to Erik a chocolate bird, and jamming his top hat on top of Gabe's shaking head. It vibrated there, constantly in danger of tumbling.

"Well, when Phantoms are singing and depressed, it's generally my forte," Nadir Khan offered modestly. "May I be of help?"

"Certainly, M. Khan. Give us a hand wiith the depressed J.G.. I'm the resident Persian."

"But you're not Persian."

"I lived in England for a year. They buy oil from Persia-now-Iran."

"Um. So does everyone else."

"Fine!" Ben crossed his arms, then recrossed them, lifted up one foot, and put it down. He tends to do this a lot. No one has a clue why.

"Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table.
No one can find the rewind button boys,
So cradle your head in your hands,
And breathe, just breathe,
Woah breathe, just breathe!"

"You've sung that before!"

"It's the chorus, I think."

"There's a light at each end of this tunnel, you shout
'Cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out
These mistakes you've made, you'll just make them again
If you only try turning around."

"What's it all mean?"

"Shut up, it's cryptic."

"And breathe, just breathe
Woah breathe. . .just breathe. . ."

"I'm breathing, damnit. . ."

"2 AM and I'm still awake, writing a song
If I get it all down on paper, its no longer
inside of me, threatening the life they belong to
And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd -"

"What was that?"

"Shut up, Max."

"Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud
And I know that you'll use them, however you want to. . ."

"Well, no, not really, not if she threatens to sue us. . ."

"Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button now
Sing it if you understand."

"I understand! I understand!"

"DON'T SING, MAX!"

"And breathe, just breathe
woah breathe, just breathe,
oh breathe, just breathe."

"As I was saying?" The SP continued sensibly. "It's probably all about a boy."

"I HAAATE BOYS!"

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

In Which Kat Expresses Her Feelings With Green Slime And Weed Killer. Lots Of It. And Johnny Depp(s)

It was a tired and boring day at the Opera d'Junior High, in the house on the lake. It had been a long time since they'd discovered the Phantom's lair and her eccentric ways. They in fact had found that they knew her pretty well, especially Messieurs Max Giry and Ben d'NNLF. (Ben kept finishing her sentences. Or she finished his. And Max and her sometimes acted like clones of each other. This can be regarded as proof, or just madness.) Gabe and Spencer were enjoying themselves, playing Alaskan baseball outside the house on the shore of the lake. The J.G., Max, and Ben were sitting bored on the couch in the house.

Max was writing on a paper plate. Ben was filming Max writing on said plate. The J.G. - they mostly called her Kat - had an iPod playing show tunes at full blast, and was leaning back, an expression of deep something or other that no one could identify on her face. It was deep, anyhow. Max moved a paper plate to the right. Ben moved his tripod accordingly.

Max moved the plate.

Ben moved the tripod.

Plate.

Tripod.

Plate.

Tripod.

"GAK!"

Max had accidentally sat on top of Kat. "You two!" She roared, furious, "I can't believe you! You shock me! I was just sitting here, listening, perfectly innocently, to Oliver, Oliver, never before 'as a boy wanted more, and you just. . .sit on me!"

"Uh oh," Gabe whispered to Spencer, watching, "she's lost it now."

"How can you tell?"

"Italics. . .Leroux!Erik used them when he was mad at Christine all the time. . ."

"Soo. . one of them's Christine?"

"NO!" Yelled all three of trio lying on the sofa. After a beat, Kat and Ben glanced at each other. "Haven't I told you not to do that?"

"Lovely weather we're having."

Kat moaned, got out from under Max, dumped him on the floor (he squeaked, everyone covered their ears) and flopped face down onto the floor, muttering something about Johnny Depp and Boq and fedoras. Max glancecd at Ben. Ben glanced at Spencer. Spencer glanced at Gabe. Gabe glanced at Max. Max poked Kat wih one toe. Kat let out a long, high, wailing, eldritch - and by that we mean bloody peculiar - keening wail. Ben looked vaguely worried. Spencer dug a trenchcoat out from behind the desk and dropped it over her.

Small snuffling sounds came from inside the coat, and it began to shake. Everyone looked at eachother. Gabe looked at the ceiling. And just when Max bent down to lift the trenchcoat and talk to Kat -

She rose majestically, and made her way to the sofa, wrapped in trenchcoat and an inexplicable piece of plaid material. "Arrrmoooaaanera. . ." Said the J.G..

"Wait, what?"

"It means she's depressed," said Spencer, as if it was obvious, which to him, it was. "Honestly. . ."

"We could always call in Gerry!Phantom or Kay!Erik. They usually make her laugh. Or squee. Or both." Max went on to contemplate if you could laugh while squeeing. He reached a conclusion which is best explained by that Ben was the only one who could explain it.

Speaking of a certain magician and independent film maker. . .it was at this point that his mother poked her head in, remarking sensibly, "Can't you see what's wrong?"

All the boys stared blankly at her.

"Haagen Daz."

"Um. What?"

"She needs Haagen Daz. The refuge of the depressed female, especially in bad movies, especially when played by a pop star who can't act." The Sane Personage read from her pocket dictionary, which Kat had spontaneously blessed her with. It had "Offical Sane Personage" engraved on the cover in the font of the PotJH wallpaper, whatever that was, and a carving of a mask and a rose in one corner, next to a pair of jeans. (This was the J.G. logo.) And of course, she will recieve this at the same time you all get your promised baked goods, iguanas, and undying love.

"Oh." They sent Gabe off to find some Haagen Daz, and while they waited, Kat began to sing quietly and very off key.

"My spirit longs for theeeeeee. . .within my troubled breast, though I unworthy be, of so divine a guest. . .of sooo divine a guest, unworthy though I beeee, yet has my heart no rest. . .unless it come from thee. . ."

She finished the random hymn, and started humming. Off key. Suddenly, Ben jumped up.

"I know that song! That's 'On My Own!'"

"Yes," the J.G. said formally, and disappeared under the trenchcoat, humming. Ben and the SP started humming as well. They were all on different keys, though, and were producing quite a discordance by the time Gabe got back, so that even the infamously unmusical Max was clutching his ears and moaning.

"Hey, how many Tim Burton movies is Johnny Depp in anyway?" Spencer rather tangentially asked Gabe. Gabe shrugged, and handed the ice cream to Kat. She moved in on it like ten wolves on a fold, circled it, pounced, and it disappeared into the coat. The conversation about Depp and Burton raged outside the coat, but Kat didn't care. However, due to a wormhole in space time, the words "Johnny Depp" got into the trenchcoat and started bouncing about, giggling hauntingly. They made their way into Kat's mind. . .

There was a bellow of fury from within the trenchcoat. Max yelped in fury and jumped onto Ben, who fell over. "You know, Max, this is the second time today you've sat on someone."

"I know, Ben."

They got up, brushed themselves off, and witnessed Gabe being berated furiously by Kat, and shrinking with every scolding. "CHOCOLATE! HOW DARE YOU GET CHOCOLATE! YOU KNOW I LIKE VANILLA!" She hollered, fury radiating from her every pore. Then green slime started radiating from her every pore. It wasn't terribly icky green slime, just a sort of nice, cooling, aromatic green slime, that smelled rather like Aveda's rosemary shampoo. Kat sank down into a heap of it, more depressed than ever.

Max glanced at Ben. Ben glanced at SP. SP glanced at Spencer. Spencer glanced at Gabe. Gabe glanced at Jack Sparrow.

"Wait, what? Oh. Hello, Jack."

"Cap'n."

"Right."

"Hey," Spencer said, "I have an idea. . .since so many manifestations of Johnny Depp are showing up, due to. . .um, not sure what. . .let's have them. . ." Huddling, the boys and single grown woman began whispering conspirit - conspiriat - conspirireat - secretly.

After a few moments. . .

"Okay then! Everyone who suspiciously has the same face, dig yourself out of the slime and get onstage!" Gabe yelled.

The Depps complied. They now constituted Sam, Edward, Willy, Jack, Gilbert, Mort, and James. All looking, if Kat does say so herself, dreadfully squeeful.

"Ben, pass out the hats."

To each Depp an Eponine hat was duly given.

"Um..." said Sam, trying to be polite.

"Ewwww." Complained Willy, not trying to be polite in the slightest.

In an attempt to put it on his head, Edward sliced the hat to shreds and looked sadly up at the others.

"Seriously," said Max comfortingly," I think it looks good on you. All of you, I mean... Well, maybe not on Willy Wonka... or Edward Scissorhands... Ick... I’d hate to see what you’d do to the trenchcoat. . ."

"Eponine's or Kat's?"

"Either."

It was at this point that another Depp entered, dramatically, as Depps are wont to do.

"Hey... who’re these guys?"

"Hurray! It’s Tom Hanson from 21 Jump Street! Ooh, line up and put on a ‘Ponine hat!" Ben looked rather happy about the prospect of whatever it was that was going to happen, which we still don't know.

"Okay, the Johnny Depp Chorus!" Announced Max, "Eight men who all look startlingly alike in their rendition of... On My Own from Less Miserably."

"Lay Miz-err-aub," Ben put in testily, enunciating carefully.

"Whatever."

And the Depps began to sing.



Edward Scissorhands:

And now I’m all alone again
Nowhere to turn, no one to go to

Gilbert Grape:

Without a home, without a friend
Without a face to say “hello” to -
I know a boy whose name is Arnie
He’s gonna turn eighteen and have a big party -

"Good for him. Wrong song, though. But I love that rhyme. Arnie and party..."



Mort Rainey:

And now the night is near
Now I can make believe he’s here...
Sometimes I walk alone at night
When everybody else including my ex-wife and dog is sleeping
I think of... him... and then I’m happy
With the company I’m keeping
The city goes to bed
And I can live inside... my head.



"Weird how this works for schizophrenic killers as well as lovesick whiny teenage girls."

"Don't knock the lovesick whiny teen girls."

"Sorry, Kat."



Tom Hanson:

On my own,
Pretending he’s beside me
All alone
I walk with him till morning
Without him
I feel his arms around me
And when I lose my way
I close my eyes and he has found me...



"That’s either gay or referring to his dad."

"His dad."

"Phew."



Jack Sparrow:

In the rain
The ocean shines like silver
All the undead pirates
Are skeletal in the moonlight

James Barrie:

In the darkness
The trees are full of starlight!
And all I see is Peter Pan and me forever and forever

Mort Rainey:

And I know it’s only in my mind
That I’m talking to myself
And not to him

Sam:

And although
I know that her brother is blind
Still I say there’s a way for us!
I love her

Ichabod Crane:

But when the night is over
He is gone
The river’s just a river
Without him
The world around me changes
The trees are bare and filled with decapitated heads
And everywhere
The streets are full of strangers



"Gasp! Another Johnny Depp! I love him!"

"Shut up, Kat! You don't want to be a conformist fangirl, do you?"

"Yes. No. Yes. No. Um."



Mort Rainey:

But everyday I’m learning
All my life
I’ve only been pretending
Without me
His world would go on turning
A world that’s full of happiness
That I have never known!

All Johnnys And PotJH Company:

I love him/her
I love him/her

I love him/her

But only on my own. . .

Jack Sparrow:

AND REALLY BAD EGGS!



"C'mon, Kat. . .lighten up."

"No."

"Have some creme brulee."

"No."

"Have a biscuit."

"NO."

"Have some weed killer."

"I'm going on a rampage."

"Carry on."

---

ATTENTION!

Much of this was stolen from a fan fiction by Ms. Les Mis Loony. She gets full credit. Her fanfiction is "The New Production," and it's a blend of PotO and Les Miserables. It's brilliant. Go read it.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

A-Huntington We Will Go

That was such a terrible terrible terrible pun in that title that I actually have the impulse to kill something. I apologize to the fullest extent possible.

In any case. On Sunday, Ben and I went to the Huntington Gardens, and searched for an hour and a half for the Shakespeare Garden, in the process, passing it about fifteen times. A few more entertaining ancedotes. . .And I'm writing this as if I were writing a novel.

The bamboo was high and cool, and Kat and Ben were glad to be in the shade for once, after the blazing heat. After a few moments of walking, Kat stopped and stared at a sign. The sign essentially said, in no uncertain terms, "Do not write on the bamboo." Ben stopped to see what she was looking at, laughed, and pointed at the bamboo all around them. It had been scribbled on more than anything. The two exchanged strange confused looks, and moved on. . .

The path was too thin for them to walk side by side any longer. Ben, being Ben, stopped walking to allow Kat to continue. Kat stopped too. They glared hotly at each other for about two minutes before Kat broke down and went ahead. Ben chuckled, pleased, and trotted along. . .

The Huntington library was dark and quiet. Sane Personage, Kat, and Ben, bent over the exhibit of an old Gutenberg bible, one of the first printed. Kat suddenly burst out laughing and pointed to a text. Ben looked and laughed as well. "Forty two line Bible. . ." said the exhibit sign. . .

Inside the Huntington Mansion, Kat lingered by a bookcase, attracted as always, to old books. Ben glanced over her shoulder, and they exchanged odd looks. The title of the book within was "The History of Antiquity." It was in several volumes. . .

This may give you some idea of what went on all day. Thanks, Ben, for a great time.

That was way too short.

More later.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

Gak, I Say, Gak!

The J.G. is aggravated! And about five foot five tall, brown hair (light), one blue, one green eye! Experience in various areas of theatre! Vocal range from Countertenor - Soprano! Large amount of experience in Shakespearean theatre! Weight. . .I have no idea. . .

As you may be able to tell, I am trying to write my resumeé. "Who am I anyway? Am I my resumeé? That is a picture of a person I don't know? What does he want from me? What should I try to be? So many faces, all around, and here we go! I need this job, oh God, I need this show. . ." If you get that reference, not only will you get several plushies from a movie of your choice, but also my undying love and devotion till death do us part. Yes, I'm that sure that no one will get it.

Anyhow. I haaate boys. . .as has been previously explained, this in no way means that I hate any of my male readers. See past blog postings, or just ask either Max or Ben, because they probably know what they're talking about, as they've been reading this damned thing from the beginning. In any case, I absolutely haaate boys. Simply because they are so extremely idiotic, no matter how intelligent they are. It must be inherent. Not that they're actually stupid, you understand. . .just really clueless, no matter how many hints you drop them. Or they're unwilling to act on the hints. Or something along those lines. . .

But anyway. Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth. . .nothing bad has happened so far yet in rehearsal, and we must have said the name about five quillion times. But then, who are we to talk. An interesting question: a cat backstage is supposed to be good luck. Therefore, what is a Kat backstage supposed to indicate? Or a black cat? Or, conversely, a black Kat? Oy vey, as Max would say. Well, we must have murdered Banquo about fifty times today before satisfying Aaron, our truly evil director. I think none of you will ever come near me again after seeing this show, if you come see it, mostly because I am absolutely repulsive in it. First I'm a deadly disgusting witch, and then I'm a murderer who acts a little like Ratigan in Great Mouse Detective, in the last scene, on the clock. . .Yes, Allie is watching that movie at the moment, however did you guess? I finish the play as a cowardly deserting soldier. His name is Menteith, and I'm not sure how to say it.

In any case.

Gak, I say, gak! I am aggravated.

And I will never finish this resumeé. Any suggestions for it?

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

Why You Should Never, Never, Have Over The Cast Of Two Shakespeare Plays, And Who Is The Guy In The Striped Shirt Over There?

Well. Weeell. Well well well. Um, well. . .er. . .well. . .that was. . .interesting. (Jack Sparrow moment.) That's very interesting.

In other news, the cast party for the Merry Wives of Windsor and As You Like It was today. Ben was there, for reasons no one fully understood. I believe I invited him to crash, along with my dear devoted friend Ember, who is a goddess. (There, now will you let me borrow your choker, Ember?) Ember is our Lady Macbeth. I finally realized just how strange my conversations with Ben are when Ember looked at us both and remarked, "I feel really stupid right now." We assured her that half the time, even we don't know what we're talking about.

Charlie Rose is wearing pinstripes tonight. . .Um, sorry, I'm watching Charlie Rose. But, to get back on topic. . .hey, what is the topic?

Gola: The cast party today.

Erik: Who are you?

Matt: She's my woman.

Gola: I am NOT!

(Attention: There is a strange and longwinded inside joke behind this exchange, having to do with yet another guy I know named Max. Don't ask, I beg of you.)

Erik: Come to think of it, who are you?

Matt: I. . .am Inigo Montoya. You killed my father! Prepare to die. Um, what am I saying?

Inigo Montoya: Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You are an impostor! Prepare to die!

Max: Kat, what is going ON here?

Kat: Isn't that the beauty of it? None of us are quite sure?

Yogi Berra: That's the great thing about baseball. You're never quite sure what's going on.

Spencer: Baseball? We're not playing baseball - hey, I'm appearing again!

Gabe: You haven't been here for a while, have you?

Spencer: Nope. Nor have you.

Oscar Wilde: Kat, you were talking about the cast party. . .?

Kat: Oh yes! Thank you, Mr. Wilde. Could I borrow Algy for a minute?

Cicely: (Looks suspicious.)

Kat: Don't worry, Cicely. . .I was just doing a Maggie Smith impression. Anyway. Algy! Please explain what happened at the party.

Algernon Moncrieff: I am bored, I am being chased by the debt police from the movie, and I need to go visit Bunbury.

Jack: I thought he was dead.

Algy: He lives or dies as I please.

Kat: I suppose so. Moving on! Mr. Moncrieff, I give you full control of the keyboard. Probably a bad idea.

Oh, you mean I get to type? Wait, wait, hang on, I am typing. . .fascinating. Um. Well, I'm not entirely sure what was happening, but it seemed as though Miss Kire was really just sitting inside talking to Mr. - Mr. - um. . .Host, for lack of a better surname. . .

Jack: You mean one you can spell?

Yes, actually. If you'll allow me to continue. . .The confusing one, with the website about Disneyland. She was talking to him. And another one, Mr. Evans. Mr. Ben Evans and Mr. Ben Host. At least the other other Ben didn't come, and Luke is away at camp. What eventually ensued was, well. . .

Kat: Chaos in the true J.G. spirit? Yes. . .I'm stealing the keyboard, Algy, you can't really write. . .

Algy: You mean you can't write as me.

Kat: So I'm not Oscar Wilde. Sue me. I love Anthony Radd. . .He is a God. Moving on. . .

I don't have time for a long winded post, so shall we say that Ben and I (a) climbed a tree (b) discussed strawberries with Ember (c) chased Matt for about ten minutes for various reasons or (d) all of the above?

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

Nothing, Really. . .

The J.G. will now attempt to do the impossible and tell, well, why exactly do we like/love the people we do? I mean, let's look at my favorite characters. A murderous deformed madman, and a nosy, annoying Persian. So, let's start with the Persian. (And with a quote.)

Nadir, according to one of my fellow fan fiction authoress's, the illustrious SarahBelle, is "pretty practical in the first place, even without being dead." If you want to understand what that really means, you'll have to read her L'Epoux du Cadavre. It's brilliant beyond brilliant. So it begins. . .

In the moment, I have also decided I'm going to put why these people peeve us a bit. Nadir peeves us because. . .well, I think Erik put it the best, when, in moments when Nadir simply got too annoying, he used to say, "Da-ro-ga!" in tones of darkest dire. (And italics.)

Now, Christine, you are up next. I do not have a good history with this character. She's a bloody invertebrate. I like her (not quite willing to love Christine, not even in the way I love, say, Jazz, because loving Chris is my male counterpart's department) because of one thing - and just one thing - that she does in Leroux's novel. She unmasks Erik, and soon after that - it would be Stranger Than You Dreamt it in ALW, for my two readers who've actually seen it - she burns his mask and promises never to flinch at his face again. Of course, she breaks the vow soon afterwards. Oh well, it's the thought as counts, yeah?

Carlotta. This may be a bit tough to do. I love her because. She likes dogs. You know what, forget Cara, as Piangi calls her. And I hate her for. . .oh, so many reasons. Frankly, I just want to punjab the woman. What I hate her for the most is probably in Notes II, when she blows up at Christine and says the whole matter is Chris's doing. How dare you take the credit from my Erik!

Christine: That's not why I was mad. . .

Erika: She doesn't care.

Erik: I'm not your Erik. . .and won't people get confused about this? Only one vowel seperates me from Erika.

Max: Shouldn't he have thought of that. . .a long time ago?

Nadir: Yes. . .

Kat: SOMETHING JUST OCCURED TO ME!

All: What? What?

Ben: Wait, what?

Kat: All our names have three letters. Kat, Max, and Ben.

Nadir: Is that all?

Kat: Yes.

Moving on. You know, this post began as one thing, but it's not that anymore. I will now write about my day. Be prepared for r -

Hang on. Hostile male parent in the vicinity.

Must run.

Thankfully am not burning anything at the moment.

Email me if you have a tip as to how to draw a lifeguard house.

By the way - no time to post links - the father looks dangerous - but Ben has a FFN profile now. Go see it.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

Sinking Barstools, Keening Witches and Clashing Titans

Gak, I say, gak! I've been working far too much. So, as you can imagine, I welcomed the chance to have the resident Nosy Nadir Like Figure confuse me, attempt to talk me into a phone booth, and in general just be Ben. Recently he was kind enough to invite me to the Magic Castle, which is a place best described by simply saying that Ben feels very at home there.

I should have known it was going to be a bit out of the ordinary from the beginning. (Actually, I should have known sooner. Ben calls you and asks you if you'd like to go to a place where you get in my telling an owl "open sesame," and you don't prepare yourself for a normal night.) My mother shows up in my room with my Mistress Ford blouse, my long blue skirt and what seemed to be some sort of white crocheted hairnet with a large turqoise pin that had paint flaking off of it in long strings of what appeared to be lead based material.

"Here, wear this!"

"What? I'd look like a reject from the Rennasiance fair casting call. Ben'd never let me live it down."

I eventually ended up all in light colors, which for me, is very, very strange. I didn't even have a black trenchcoat! Shocking. And I've got a nice one lying around, too. . .it's new, and very black and coat-ish. (There really aren't a huge amount of varieties of trenchcoat. Though I do have a knitted one.)

Erika: Yes, I'm not at all pleased. This is a disgrace.

Ely: I thought we looked nice!

Erika: You think everything is nice!

Ely: (Carlotta voice.) Yes, I do. (Get the reference, get a. . .well, I'm fresh out of muffins. You'll get the giant iguana of doom. This I can actually give you. I have him right here. He lives on top of the computer.)

Kat: You two! Shut up, or I will poke you with the giant iguana of doom.

Max: How do you poke with an iguana? And, for that matter, a purple stuffed iguana? (Yes it is a purple stuffed iguana. I have it on top of my computer, yes. -Long silence- What?

Ben: I think it's in rigor mortis.

Erik and Nadir: Ah.

Moving on. Ben, of course, was head to toe in black. I swear to God this was just to spite me, wasn't it?

And now, because every detail of our conversation and experience at the castle can't possibly entertain everyone - Ben and I, definitely, because it happened to us - but not everyone, I will only say that Ben and I talked to each other like Ben and I usually talk to each other. In other words, like the dialouge between Nadir and Erik in Kay's "Phantom." Only half the time I'm not sure which of us is which.

We will return to the blog after a brief interlude, and some light music.

Max: Irma, can you play Phantom of the Opera?

(Irma, who is the new accompanist for the blog, acts accordingly.)

Erik: (Twitches.) Why is she playing. . .the cursed song?

Raoul: I like this song!

Kat: I don't really mind this song, I mean, providing the right person sings it. Oh, Nadir, don't look so sulky. . .I'm sure they'll put you in the musical someday. Go comfort him, Max, there's a dear.

Max: It's all right, at least your party isn't in the minority in Congress.

Nadir: (Looks blankly at him.) In Persia, the shah could have me killed on a whim if I didn't cook his killer shrimp spicy enough. Don't tell me about tough goverment.

Raoul and Christine: Say you'll share with me, one love, one life time, etc., etc., tralala.

Erik: (Breaks down sobbing.)

Ben: (Gingerly pats.)

Ely: I like this song! (Dances.)

Kat: Oy vey.

Erika: (Hums, looking awkwardly at the ceiling. She's very uncomfortable for some reason.)

Willy Wonka: It takes many days to reach Medusa's lair. But we have. . .we have. . .a flying horse!

Ben: You're really weird.

All: (Stare.) What just happened to the usual octave Ben's voice is at? And what's with the top hat? And the burgundy waistcoat?

Willy Wonka: And what a handsome devil you are, Mr. Wonka.

Ben: (Rueful look.) This is revenge for the barstool, isn't it?

Kat: Yes. (Maniacal laughter.)

But, to move on. . .Kat's voice is currently shot so she can't talk too much. She's been screaming a lot as a prophetic witch in Macbeth, and also has a scene where she changes from a woman to a man, so her voice, to put it bluntly, hurts like Hades. She will now stop talking in third person. Hopefully.

My creativity is exhausted!

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.