More Funnies for the Phans

Seen Love Never Dies, yet? It's made a big stink in the phandom, what with people hating on it and people loving it to pieces, but either way, it's more food for parody writers. Again, I can't take credit for this.

Devil Take the Hindmost : Cliff Notes Version


Raoul: If you think you're going to force my trophy wife into another creepy tryst with you, then you've got another thing coming, buddy.

Erik: Your wife is an airhead and so I may manipulate her however I please. Also, you are drunk.

Raoul: Yeah? Well, you're ugly.

Erik: You're broke.

Raoul: You're REALLY ugly.

Erik: You have no testicles.

Raoul: Every time I look at you, I throw up in my mouth a little.

Erik: Yes, but YOU are broke. I on the other hand, am conveniently and mysteriously wealthy despite the fact that a masked criminal showcasing his madness in such a flamboyantly French way would, under any other circumstances, attract the attention of the NYPD, who would, in turn, seize his assets and toss him in the loony bin. But alas, I am wealthy, and you are not. This puts me in a convenient position to further this turd of a plot by making a bet with you that could potentially resolve your debts.

Raoul: Hmm...well, I do like making bets. Because I have no testicles.

Erik: Here goes: How about we both diminish the emotional profundity of one of the greatest love stories ever told by using your wife as a bargaining chip in order to determine who gets prime Christine-banging privileges? If I lose, I will pay your debts. If I win, my Christine-banging privileges will commence immediately.

Raoul: Psh, eff that, man, I've already got prime Christine-banging privileges. We've got a KID. So I pretty much win already.

Erik: Yeah, no. No, you don't. Because I did the diddly with her first.

Raoul: What's that supposed to mean?

Erik: It means the Music of the Night was a little more musical than you thought.

Raoul: WHAT?!

Erik: Let's just think about this for a moment: Your son is intelligent. You cannot tell a rock from a turtle. Your son is a musical prodigy. You carry a tune as well as Ke$ha during Mardi Gras. Your son is persistently creepy not unlike a certain freakish yet inexplicably alluring misanthrope who may or may not be standing in front of you at this very moment. You, on the other hand, are about as alluring as Wonder Bread.

Raoul: What the hell are you TALKING about?

Erik: The kid's mine.

Raoul: Is not!

Erik: Is, too.

Raoul: Is not!

Erik: Is, too.

Raoul: Fine! Rather than acknowledge the painfully obvious fact that the fruit of Christine's loins is actually your ten-year-old possibly homosexual doppelganger, I'm going to take your bet and once again reduce Christine to the status of a bauble.

Erik: And I will reduce my legendary, redeeming love for Christine to nothing but raw, funky libido. Of which you know nothing.
Because you have no testicles.


Written by muirin007 on tumblr

Your pal,
Angels

P.S. I should be getting up a review for His Dark Materials sometime soon, if the powers that be will allow it. Cross your fingers!