It's rather interesting how so many tall people end up in the theatre and so many short people end up film stars. Interesting because everyone looks small from a theatre audience and everyone looks fifty feet tall on a movie screen.
In any case, I don't know why on earth I'm posting this, but on the car ride home from Wolf Trap, my thirteen-year-old sister and I wrote a story, alternating sentences or paragraphs. She told me I had to post it here, namely because it features a very out of character Javert (who may simply just be Rob Hunt... the narrative isn't very clear). She also told me that if this ends up in the hands of the real Rob Hunt, I'm dead meat, though I'm pretty sure he doesn't frequent this site.
The two main non-Javert characters, Haley and Wolfie Quinn, are random original characters, Javert and Walt Whitman being a couple is an inside joke (as is Walt Whitman being a child molester), and the horde of middle-aged Michael Ball fangirls are from a similar story we wrote about Mr. Darcy and a bunch of dirty-minded Disney princes, in which the villain was Michael Ball (who was defeated by Michael Ball from the past... it was a very confusing story). We have an account on ff.net called Horrible Rhino Story where we post these bizarre stories, namely to vex people who want to read actual GOOD writing.
OUR HORRIBLE STORY
Haley probably would have enjoyed her honeymoon a lot more if Inspector Javert wasn’t bent on arresting her new husband for no apparent reason. He kept pacing around the outside of their fancy hotel in the Disney resort, wearing his police overcoat open and unbuttoned over Hawaiian print swim shorts and nothing else. In addition to his ridiculous attire was a top hat with Mickey Mouse ears.
“Javert, Wolfie is innocent. The tattoo on his chest is from a childhood trauma involving a cow and a candy factory,” Haley yelled out of the window.
Javert glared up at her. “I will NEVER rest ‘till I see him safe behind bars,” he shouted back. “But after he gets the death penalty, wanna go out sometime?”
“Not in that get-up,” Haley shouted from the balcony. “By the way, I’m going to need Wolfie’s top hat back. You’re going to get lice on it. What did you need it for, anyway?”
“Mine fell off on the gondola ride. I wasn’t wearing a safety restraint. I hardly escaped with my life. As for my hat, it wasn’t so fortunate!” Javert cried into his hands.
Haley squinted at him funny. “Wait, are YOU here on your honeymoon, too?”
“I was,” replied Javert glumly. “Until… my beloved Walt Whitman got thrown out for molesting small children. Then, he… he…tried to sneak back in, but fell out of the gondola and died trying to save my hat!” He burst into fresh tears, then rallied as his face transformed into the horrifying leer of a tiger. “And that is why Beowulf Caspar Friedrich Apollo Brandon Quinn MUST PAY THE PRICE!”
“Wait, what?” said Haley, profoundly confused.
“Wolfie Quinn’s mom’s uncle’s stepbrother’s best friend’s neighbour’s dog’s previous owner’s realtor’s son was supposed to make sure he was strapped in properly.” Javert ground his teeth so ferociously that little bits chipped off and hit Haley in the eye.
“Well, erm, it’s been great talking and all, but I have to… eat some cereal,” Haley said, anxiously edging away from the window. “Wolfie,” she hissed out of the corner of her mouth, poking her snoring husband. “Grab some clothes, get some stuff, steal one of the little cars from Tomorrowland, and let’s get out of here. Javert’s gone nuts… ugh, what a jerk, I can’t believe I have an action figure of him.”
“Well, your action figure is modeled after Terrence Mann,” Wolfie pointed out.
“Then who’s this one?” Haley whispered back.
“Listen,” replied Wolfie.
Down below the window, Javert was doing a psychotic little dance and singing.
“OHHHH, I’M ROBERT HUNT
DON’T YOU DARE PULL A STUNT
I’LL ARREST YOU LIKE THAT
I WILL AVENGE MY HAAAAAT!”
“Quick, let’s run while he’s distracted!” said Wolfie, pulling on the first outfit he could find (which happened to be a cute Marius costume).
“Okay,” Haley agreed, brandishing two tickets to Magic Kingdom. “RUUUUUUN!”
They crashed through the window of the hotel, flew over Javert’s head, and landed firmly on the other side of the gate to the Magic Kingdom.
“Well, that was easy,” commented Wolfie, brushing bits of glass off of his suit.
He suddenly realized that quite a few people were staring.
“Uh… I’ll create a distraction while you steal a car,” he muttered. “People probably think I’m part of some show.”
“Will do, boss,” chirped Haley, skipping away.
“Come and share an exciting adventure of Disney drams come truuuuue…” sang Wolfie, singing the Disney parade song while jumping onstage and tap dancing.
A little kid looked up at him quizzically. “Which Disney character are you, mister?” he asked.
“Ummm… the one with… um… dimples,” he stammered.
Suddenly, the horde of middle aged women from our Mr. Darcy story came bursting over the horizon. “OMG, Michael Ball!” they screamed.
Wolfie looked rather disconcerted. “Why does this keep happening to me?” he demanded, beginning to sweat through his cute Marius costume as the crazed Michael Ball fans drew nearer. Wolfie was helpless—he could do nothing but perspire, tap-dance, and hope fervently that Haley would get back soon with the stolen car.
“Come on, Wolfie,” Haley called from a float of evil villains in the parade.
“Mommy, why is Snow White evil?” asked the same annoying little kid from before.
“BECAUSE SHE STOLE A CAR!” screamed Haley, flying off the float in the car like Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang and landing securely in front of Wolfie. He jumped in the car and wrapped his arms around her like a scared koala bear.
“You were just in time,” he said. “Those weird Michael Ball fangirls already got my coat.” He jerked a thumb back at the crowd of middle-aged women, who were clutching tiny scraps of his cute Marius coat and licking them.
“WHY DO PEOPLE ALWAYS THINK I’M MICHAEL BALL?” he demanded as the car zipped out of the front gates into the park. “I LOOK NOTHING LIKE HIM.”
Haley determinedly avoided eye contact.
By this point, mass chaos had already broken out in the theme park, until…
“Another brawl in the square, another stink in the air…”
“Oh, no,” sighed Haley, putting her hands over her eyes, which wasn’t exactly wise, given as she was driving.
Javert jumped out of nowhere like the ninja he was, did three somersaults in midair, and landed on the hood of the car, seething and looking like he thought he was in the musical “Cats.” “Look upon this fine collection, crawled from underneath a stone!” he crowed.
“Actually, they came from on top of a float,” corrected the annoying little kid.
“Oh, kids these days,” Haley laughed unconvincingly.
Meanwhile, Javert’s eyes had turned a shocking shade of red, and he was baring his teeth like a silverback gorilla. Haley stomped on the brake, and Javert flew off the windshield and landed in the middle of “It’s A Small World.”
“Drive! Drive!” screamed Wolfie. Haley stomped so hard on the brake that it caught fire as they zoomed into the sunset.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch… Javert was trying to climb into the hot air balloon on “It’s A Small World,” but every time he got to the top, the clowns in the basket scared him so much that he’d let go and fall into the water with a haunting, girlish scream that echoed across the entire world.
“Haley,” said Wolfie as they zipped triumphantly down the highway, “I don’t like this. It feels wrong. We should go back for him.”
“Wolfie, I’m tired of being on the run from the law. This is like that one time in Cuba…” Haley said.
“Don’t bring that up,” whimpered Wolfie. “Whenever I see a flamingo, I still flinch.”
“This is our only chance to get away from Javert, and you want to help him?” screeched Haley.
“Well… yeah,” Wolfie said bashfully. “I—” He was cut off by another bloodcurdling shriek from Javert. “Just listen to the poor guy!”
“Wolfie, don’t do that puppy dog face, that’s my job… oh, all right.” Haley glared. “If I didn’t love you so ridiculously much, there’s no way I’d do this.” She stomped on the gas and the car spun in wild circles, then magically teleported back to the park.
“You are a frighteningly good driver,” commented Wolfie.
A crowd had gathered around “It’s A Small World,” where the unfortunate policeman just kept climbing up the hot air balloon, screaming, falling down, and repeating the whole farcical process.
“This is better than Happy Sam’s Picnic Parade we went to while we were dating. I thought we couldn’t top that, but this ride is so exciting!” Haley squealed, clutching Wolfie’s arm. “Iiiiit’s a small world after all, it’s a small w—”
Wolfie shook his head, then proceeded to grab the steering wheel and drive on top of the water like Jesus. Javert gaped as he dangled from the doom balloon of clowns.
“Need a hand?” Wolfie yelled over the obnoxious music, interrupting Haley, who at this point was inside a hot air balloon, singing four octaves above the music.
Javert suggested that Wolfie do something very rude indeed. Wolfie didn’t much like this suggestion, so instead he grabbed Javert by the armpits and pulled him down into the car.
“Say thank you to the nice man,” instructed Haley, jumping back into the driver’s seat and handing Javert a big rainbow lollipop.
“Uh…. thank you,” muttered Javert so ridiculously quietly that only his tapeworm could hear him. He took off the Mickey Mouse top hat he’d stolen from Wolfie. “Here’s your hat back.”
Wolfie looked into his big shiny puppy eyes. He could tell the policeman didn’t want to part with that hat. “Erm, would you like my hat?” he asked gently.
“That’s my line,” groused Javert, shoving the hat back onto his head. “Possibly my best one in the whole book.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” chirped Haley. “You enjoy your hat! Stay safe now!” And she and Wolfie zoomed off into the sunset to take advantage of the manifold dirtier aspects of their honeymoon.
However, Javert couldn’t enjoy his hat as he sat on the bridge spanning the Small World ride. His tortured, stony heart breaking into millions of pointy, jagged little heart pebbles, he opened his mouth and began to… sing.
“Who is this man, what sort of devil is he
To fling me onto this ride, then come back to rescue me?
It was his hour at last to put a seal on my fate
Stomp on the gas and drive through Disney World’s gate.
But he returned, and how can this all be?
This hat was his, but he gave it back to me!
Cursed if I live thanks to Beowulf Quinn
Cursed if I yield to forgiving his sin.
I am the lawwr and the lawwr is NOT MOCKED.
I’ll spit his pity in his pretty face
There is nothing I share with that runt.
It is Beowulf Quinn or Rob Hunt!
How can I now allow this man
To rescue me from all those clowns?
Much like I sang onstage at Wolf Trap
The law’s inside out, the world’s upside down.
I should have perished by his hand
It was his left.
I should have nobly popped my clogs
Instead I live, but feel bereft.
Should he live, should he die?
Should he run free like that?
Should I put on new trousers?
Do these make me look fat?
And must I now begin to doubt
Who never doubted all these years?
My heart is stone, my liver’s plastic.
One kidney is steel
The other one’s real.
That tangent there was rather odd
Hugo’d be proud
But letting Wolfie live today
And live myself can’t be allowed.
I am reaching, but I fall
Like I did with the balloon
As I stare into the void
Of a life that’s ending soon.
I’ll escape now from the world
From the world of Wolfie Quinn,
So my song is over now,
Another number must begiiiiiiiin!”
And with that, he leaped over the bridge, fell four thousand feet, then landed safely in one of the little boats.
Everyone standing in line stood there blinking for a minute, then slowly began to clap.
“Well, it’s better than that time he somersaulted offstage,” said some guy.