The Mexican is crouched in a corner with the other bored residents of the wardrobe gathered around him. If you were to sit close (Amanda, stop licking the members of Better than Ezra!) you would hear the Mexican speak: "Zees ees fire. Pretty, burning bright, destroying everything it comes across fire. Fire comes from paaaasion. Looong, hooot, burning with the desire of a thousand bumblebees, paaaaasion. Zees ees what happened with that stuuuupid train . . ."
Suddenly the door opened and a familer face looked in. (Well familier to insomniacs, lovers of good dramas, political junkies and Adam Sandler fans across the world.) "Finally," he said with a smirking grin, "the coast is clear. I have escaped. I am free." He plopped himslef down on the comfortable couch.
"Brad!" Allison hopped off the piano to greet a fellow member of the infamous 'West Wing Four' (there had been plans to take over the world, but they settled for a pay rise.) "What are you doing in the wardrobe? Did they get you too?"
"Nah. No fear." Brad looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'm trying to escape."
"What from?" Allison asked.
"She keeps . . . following me around. Everywhere I go. I can't shake her."
"Who eees this?" The Mexican leapt across the Wardrobe. "Whooo eeees this who keeps following you? May I be of any assistance to you, smirky man with receeding hair line and funny, sexy walk."
Brad stared at the Mexican. "Wow. You're worse than my wife."
The door opened again and a smiling blonde walked in. "There you are!" she exclaimed, running up to Brad. "And Allison too! Wow, this is just like the Emmys - we're all here!"
"Oh. My. God." Brad stepped away in horror. "How on earth did you find me here? Will you follow me to all the remote corners of the earth?"
"This isn't a remote corner," Janel retorted, "This is Brisbane. Anyway, look at all the other famous people you've got here!"
"But still . . ." Brad said.
"Oh, for God's sake," Janal snapped, "it's not you I follow everywhere, it's that sexy butt of yours."
"What!?!" Brad's eyes went buggy. "I mean . . .what!"
"I only follow you for your butt. In fact, I would follow that butt anywhere in the world."
"Dat eees gooooood!" The Mexican exclaimed. "We can aaaaaall follow Bradley's butt. And a very fine butt eeet eeees toooooo!"
"What!" Ben exclaimed. Tori, startled, fell off his piano.
"Vwat! Vwat could you waaaant!" The Mexican cried. "We are admiring the seeexy butt of bouncy man here, with paaaaaaasion!"
"I have a new song!" Ben played a few notes in a beguiling manner. "A song about following your heart. A song that gets right to the bottom of things. Brad's bottom to be precise . . ."
The Wardrobe began swaying and Alan and Jason waved lighters abover their heads, much to the delight of the Mexican, who promptly exploded.
And so they sang the song of Brad's butt.