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The Wardrobe Gang

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Finding the Good [31 Dec 2003|04:56pm]

[ mood | rejuvenated ]

Alright, so 2003 may not have been the best year (massive understatement) but I can think of a few good things that happened to us. So the plan is to list them here, and you guys can add your own . . . *g*

1. The creation of The Wardrobe and all of its occupants
2. Liz graduated from university and never has to learn latin again unless she wants to
3. Amanda and Cara make real plans towards being in Germany this time next year
4. Cheryl gets back into dancing
5. Kim gets up the nerve to write fan fic and it's great!
6. Most of us dabble in different fandoms (BMW, Peter Pan, Spooks, Billy Elliott, Squid . . . anyone?)
7. Weaves and Melina finish NaNo - Liz participated and enjoyed herself
8. Amanda, Cara and Liz got real grown up jobs!
9. OotP came out (finally)
10. We're all alive, mostly healthier, with new (or renewed) interests and obsessions (Liz put down that limerick about the giant sqid. You too Weaves.) that prove how much we've grown as people during the last year. In other words - we made it!

Have a wonderful, happy, safe and prosperous new year everyone

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[28 Jul 2003|12:58pm]

"Eeet ees true," Alfonso confessed, hanging his head. "I did say those tings to ze newspaper man. I am sorry."

Alan gave him a comforting pat on the back. "Never mind, old chap. Look, I'm quite sure that nobody will take you seriously. They'll say you were joking."

"But zis is just ze problem!" Alfonso gasped, looking up through pitifully tearstained eyes. "Zey will not beleeeeeive me, and zey MUST! Zere must be PAAAASSION!"

"Oh, you're so silly," Susan snapped, flicking icing at him. "There won't be any nudity, because Dan won't agree to it, because he doesn't want anyone but meeeee to see his circly bits."

This pronouncement was greeted by utter silence.
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It was the night before OotP, and all through the wardrobe . . . [20 Jun 2003|07:16pm]

"Ahem" Clive elbowed Alan in the side. "You know, Alan. I heard that they just moved a Snape-muse in downstairs."

"A Snape muse?" Alan stopped admiring his silver and green nails and shook his head. "Next there'll be a Jamie-muse, and a Rasputin-muse, and (God forbid) a Sherrif-muse. This has honestly gone too far."

"Well I'm just telling you what I've heard." Clive sat back in his high backed leather chair that had mysteriously appeared one day.

"I, myself, have been hearing the strangest things." Jason interupted. "Chanting, and sword fights and all this talk about Harry-bloody-Potter. Not a word said about me."

"Or me." Alan pouted.

"Or me." Clive smouldered.

"I think we've got some media stars on our hands." Jason concluded. "An entire hoarde or media stars."

"Stars!" Alfonza leapt across the wardrobe. "There are stars?! You must show me the stars. I am passionate about those things. Just paaaaaaaassionate."

"And you never know." Ben played a fast set of the notes on the piano, amused when Tori repeated the same notes in a lilting, disjointed manner. "They might need body guards now that they're stars."

"Body guards!" Alfonzo whipped out his handy lighter and held it high. "I will be the most paaaaaaaaaasionate body guard ever. I will ravish the groupies . . ."

"Um . . . yes." Jason looked at Alan. "Would body guards really be a good idea?"

"Well, I think we probably should have invested in them before we were shoved in here, but they can't hurt. After all, we don't want to see our lovely friends shoved into some one elses wardrobe, do we now?"

"What about her?" Ben played a few lines from One Angry Dwarf and pointed at Susan. "She'd be the perfect body guard. You'd just have to promise her cake."

"CAKE!" Exclaimed Susan, throwing herself at Ben. "I WANT CAKE!"

. . . to be continued . . .
1 comment|post comment

Help! I'm a FISH! [18 Jun 2003|03:05pm]

[ mood | annoyed ]

Just letting you all know that there's advanced screenings of "Help! I'm a Fish" (starring the ever-so-lickable Alan Rickman!) this weekend at cinemas everywhere!!! SQUEEEEEEEEE! I'm totally up for either seeing it this weekend (when though? Sunday arvo?) or when it's released properly on the 30th June.

Wibblers, how about it?!

1 comment|post comment

And now for a word from The Mexican [26 May 2003|11:17am]

"Yeeeeeeeeeeees, my leeeetle actors, your new costumes will ENHANCE the attractive lines of your bodies and make the audience SHEEEEEEVER and enter ze Bad Place. Your new cloaks will HUG your bodies and show off your girlish figures--"

"Erm, Mexican?"

"What is it, small star most famous for your sexy, sexy clothes?"

"I'm playing Harry. I don't have a girlish figure."

"Ah, you are right! Wardrobe minions! Fetch ze padded bras!"
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[12 May 2003|04:23pm]

[ mood | full of wibbler-love ]

"No, I don't know what's going on either." Sean pressed his ear to the door, poised to leap backwards at any minute; the other Wardrobians, having paused in their usual projects, were listening intently to the odd sounds from outside the door. "I think that was the pink-haired one just then... guys, am I the only one getting worried?" Sean added, nervously.

"Nup," said Clive, in his usual long-winded way.

"Certainly not," Tiberius bubbled, from the edge of his lake (the 'Drobe had had to be expanded to fit it in, but then, what's a little toying with reality compared to the delights of the Wardrobe?) "I confess to being really rather anxious myself."

Jason shoved Sean aside gently and bent to peer through the keyhole, which obligingly widened itself enough to be convenient.

"They're ... hugging each other," he said, gloomily. "They all look awfully pleased with themselves. You know what this means, old chaps?"

Alan gave a great, echoing sigh. "Ah. Well, then."

"There's only one thing for it," Tori added, eyeing the door nervously.

"Yep," agreed Clive.


4 comments|post comment

A Proposition [08 May 2003|11:25am]

[ mood | working ]

Twas late, one rainy Queensland night, when Amanda slid the door of The Wardrobe open. The occupants scattered like mice, their eyes unadjusted to the spooky glare coming from her computer monitor and desk lamp after being left alone and neglected for such a long time.

"Ooh, sorry babies," Amanda cooed, gathering them all to her and trying (with much effort) to hug all...twelve? Fifteen? - she'd lost count - occupants of her vortextual clothes hold. "I'm sorry that The Wibblers have been so absent of late, but we have had assignments, and coffee and random Squid Porn writing sessions..."

Alan snerked at her. Jason preened and took his shirt off. Tori tried to catch the butterflies that only she could see. The West Wing cast set her with a sardonic and intelligent glare. Ben, Better Than Ezra and Belafarinrod wove nasty, vengeful melodies about her in their collective minds. Susan smooshed cake into Amanda's formal dress. Clive broods, but this time with such gusto he almost passed out. Sean stopped filling out his dole forms to fix her with a look as cold as the Scottish Highlands. Alfonso didn't even try to ravish her, with much paaasssion and rudeness. The Order of the Jeremies, on order from their leader Sumpter, pegged oranges at her.

"Stupid Canadian and English brats," she muttered, shaking her fist at their scruffy ragamuffin selves. "Still, the girls and I have decided that you all need to be given more attention."

She stood up, and walked to the door where all The Wibblers stood, including Ashfae (come on, vortextual wardrobes do stem as far as the States!), and took her place among them.

"Does this mean we'll get to, you know, see the sun?" asked Jason hopefully.

"And dance about naked?" added Clive. Amanda leaned towards him, about to answer in her own special way when Cara pulled her back.

"Yes, that's what Amanda means..." - she spotted Clive and Amanda's hopeful expressions - "...bar the naked bit."

"We're all going to take you on The Wibbly Work Release Program," Melina took up, ignoring the fallen faces of Amanda and Clive, "Where you come to our houses and work for us for a bit."

"It'll get you out of this wardrobe, and you'll get to see more of us!" Weaves smiled, stroking Sean's head fondly. Alfonso stood up and leant against Cheryl and Kimberly, who rolled their eyes.

"More, more of your curvy, sensual, seeeexxyy paaassionate bodies, more of your nether regions, of your hot, wet..."


"Ahhh, yeeessss." He sat down next to Allison and kissed her. Janel and Brad rolled their eyes and began to make out, squishing Alan who raised his hand to speak.

"So when does this program start?" Ashfae shrugged and smiled.

"As soon as we decide what jobs we want done and which one of you to do them."

"Exactly. So are you all up for it?" Liz asked. The Wardrobe erupted in cheers, validating The Wibbler's new project and causing The Mexican to burst into flames. "I guess that's a yes. Let's get started then?"

Amanda winked at Clive and picked up Melina's Dunkin Donuts apron. "First dibs, girls. The rest is for y'all..."

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The Fangirl, the Squid and the Wardrobe [30 Apr 2003|11:45am]

Liz was leaning against the door to Amanda's wardrobe, frowning.

"What up, bitch?" Amanda asked. "You've been standing there for ages.

"I'm worried. Things have been awfully quiet lately." She sighed. "I had this evil plan," she admitted.

"Oh no," Amanda muttered.

"I was going to sneak Jeremy Irons into the wardrobe. It's not that he's outrageously sexy -- though he is -- I just figured that he and Alan would have some fun, what with Jeremy always stealing his roles."

"He stole Jeremy Northam's name, too."

"Oh, yeah. We should add Sumpter -- we'd have the Order of the Jeremies."

"Sumterrrrrrrrrrrrr!" Amanda shook her fist. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"Oh. Okay." Liz belatedly shook her fist. "Anyway, Jeremy Irons has been in here for a few days, but I'm starting to get worried. I mean, you'd think something would have happened by now."

"Maybe something did," said Amanda darkly.

"That's ... what I'm afraid of."

They'd not taken more than a few steps into the wardrobe, when it became very cold, and snow crunched under their feet. Amanda gave Liz a suspicious look.

"I don't remember having a portal to Narnia in my wardrobe."

"Oh, you know what this place is like," said Liz. "Let's face it, Natasha Ryan probably spent a lot of time with the Mexican in the last few years."

They looked around, but there was no sign of the Mexican, or any other wardrobe denizen. A fawn scurred off in the distance, clutching an umbrella and some parcels.

"I could really go for some Turkish Delight," Liz said.


They walked through the woods. The only sounds were the snow crunching under their feet, and an odd rhythmic thunk sound.

There was a rustling in the bushes, and Sean Biggerstaff crawled out, looking pale and haunted.

"What's up, Sean?" Liz asked. "Where are the others?"

"Well, most of them are feasting at Cair Paravel," said Sean. "Well, I say feasting. The Mexican is arm-wrestling the White Witch for the thrones of Narnia. But Alan and Jason..." he dropped his voice and looked around nervously, "they're feeding the Giant Squid."

"Um," said Amanda.

"What ... are they feeding it?" Liz asked.

"Oh, you know. Squid kibble."

The rhythmic thunking became louder, and they heard Jason begin singing, "When a ma-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan loves a Wibbler..."

Amanda glanced at Liz.

"I don't think Jeremy Irons will be spending much time in the wardrobe."

"I guess not."

They slowly made their way out of Narnia.

In the clearing by the lake, Jason had traded singing for tap dancing, using his snake stick as a prop. Alan watched him sourly.

"Bloody stick," he said.

Still, the Squid would be hungry again soon enough. He looked at his hands. It would take ages to get B-grade Actor out from under his nails.

He snatched an umbrella from a passing fawn, and joined Jason in his dance.
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[08 Apr 2003|09:00am]

[ mood | squiddy ]

One door - the temperamental multidimensional one - opens slowly, creaking; today, it leads to Weaver's house. A nervous, boyish face peers round the corner, then ducks back. Anguished voices are heard from outside, one of them with a sexy Scottish accent:

"Do I have to go in there? Those people look scary!"

"Yes. You do. Either that, or you can stay under the bed out here. But you'd have to share that with Tiberius. And no, you can't go in and go straight out another door. Believe me, sexypants, you wouldn't like what they'd do to you in those places."

"I suspect it would be much the same as what you did."

"You enjoyed it, and you know it."

"Hmph. Who's Tiberius?"

"A very good friend of mine."

The head peers around the door again. The intrigued occupants of the Wardrobe get enough of a glimpse to see that it's a young man, maybe twenty, with short brown hair and adorable brown eyes. Alan and Jason look at each other and grin wickedly, and when the boy ducks back out, they advance to the door and stand one on each side of it, both with their ears pressed to the woodwork.

"I think I saw Jason in there," the Scottish boy says. "Listen, that fellow is scary. He trapped me in his trailer when we were filming CoS and you wouldn't believe what he made me do!"

"Well, I probably would," says the other voice, with a rather evil cackle. "In fact, you'd be surprised what I'd believe."

"Oh, bloody Hell. Look, I think I'd be more willing to live under the bed with this Tiberius bloke than go in there!" His voice is hushed. "I think I saw Alan there too... and you know what that means!"

"Indeed I do," says the commanding one. "Do you mean that, Sean? You're going to share the space under my bed with Tiberius?"

"Oh, absolutely," says Sean Biggerstaff, for it is he. "Without regrets. No man could be worse than those two in the Wardrobe."

There is another evil cackle, and the Wardrobe door swings shut. Jason and Alan smirk, and wait.

A few minutes pass in silence.

Then there is a resounding shriek, the door is flung open and Sean Biggerstaff dives for the very back of the Wardrobe. The inhabitants cluster around him, concerned.

There is a sort of faint, disappointed, suckery sound at the door; a forlorn tentacle pulls it shut. And all Sean can do is gibber about "the suckers! the suckers! Sweet Jesus, the suckers!"

Nobody's quite sure how to deal with it. They wrap him up in a blanket and give him a pillow, and eventually he falls asleep, only twitching a little bit.

Silence descends once again on Amanda's Wardrobe.

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A Drum Kit? [15 Mar 2003|01:11pm]

[ mood | cheerful ]

"Hmm . . ." Amanda stands at the door way to her wardrobe, wondering what was actually going on.

Tori, Allison and Janal had Brad tied doen in the nail salon (much to Alan's and Jason's disgust) and were painting his nails blue, red and white. The Mexican was practising his explosions in the corner (" . . .wiiiiith paaaaaaaasion . . .") while various others tried to catch up on their sleep.

Except for Ben Folds. Not only was he sitting at his piano with a big smile on his face, but he seemed to have brought company.

"Um," Amanda said, "Do you really think there's room in here for all those guitars and a drum kit?"

"But that's not all," Ben Folds said. "I brought along my friends - Ben Lee and Ben Kweller. And Claire Danes, too. You should watch her dance."

"A drum kit?" Amanda repeated, her eyes straying over to her next potential licking victim.

"Well we were going to sneak out every night to watch videos - but your living room's just too cold." Ben Kweller piped up.

"Yeah," Ben Lee agreed, "even the sexual tension between Folds and I couldn't heat it up."

"Hey!" Alan protested. "That was my gig! That was a land mark movie. I got the death scene over and done with before the movie even started."

Amanda shook her head and pointed at Alan and Jason, "Okay, the drum kit can stay - but you two better get out of those clothes and give up the idea of recreating Chicago!"

Jason pouted and ran his hand over his silver sparkly costume - "Oh, Amanda."

Alan shimmied, his black sequins going everywhere. "We were only steps away from finding a Voldemort to play Billy Flynn, too."

"And whole rows of death eaters doing the Charleston." Jason added.

At this the Three Bens picked up their instruments and started playing. The entire wardrob put itself into lines and began to sing . . .

"Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, they both, oh yes they both, oh yes they both reached for,
The gun, the gun, the gun, the gun, oh yes, they both reached for the gun, for the gun . . ."

5 comments|post comment

vroom vroom [15 Mar 2003|11:43am]

[ mood | blank ]


Name's Clive.

Clive Owen.

I like BMW's. And kicking people's arses.

Amanda likes me. Liz likes me. Cara likes me, although she's not too sure who I am.

I don't know how I got here.


1 comment|post comment

And then there was . . . more [11 Mar 2003|06:46am]

[ mood | Explode! ]

A quiet night in the wardrobe. Ben is (still) sitting at the piano, half-heartedly banging out a few last notes. Tori and Allison are perched on top, discussion a rendition of The Jackal. Jason and Alan are sitting in the comfortable nail salon chairs, examining their handiwork. (Alan did Jason's nails green with silver tips. Jason just did Alan's black, although he did contemplate matching the nail polish with the pyjamas that Alan is wearing - bright pink with green frogs.)

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.

3 comments|post comment

What what? [09 Mar 2003|11:26pm]

[ mood | worried ]

Jolly good old Bean, tis been a bit quiet in here these past few days hasn't it, old nonce.

I'd say more but I'm afraid one of the Wibblers will catch me and give me another bout of licking. I mean, I love the ladies, but a man can only tolerate so much lickings in a single day. Plus I have an appointment in five minutes to give Bela a pedicure. I might try pink nail polish today. With pictures of little bats.

Cheers bangers and mash, the tube!

-Jason Isaacs

P.S. I'm not pleased about being caught having a shower and having an icon made out of it. Indeed!

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[24 Feb 2003|11:05pm]

[ mood | enlightened ]

I say... it's awfully dark in here, isn't it?

Can you hear me? Can anyone hear me?


No, Alfonso, for the last time, that was not a proposition. I merely wanted to know if you could hear me. Now that you've satisfactorily proven you can, go away.
Thank you.

It's still rather dark, don't you think? I say, could we have a bit of light here? Anyone...?

Oh, thank you, Alan.

Oh -

- oh.

Ah, let's just leave them in the dark, shall we? I don't mind it that much, and they might appreciate the privacy. Oh, dear.

Where's that damn martini gone?

-Jason I.

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For the Wardrobe Mirrors Real Life [24 Feb 2003|01:18pm]

Silence falls on The Wardrobe; the Brisbane skyline littered with grey clouds.

Jason is pensive, tapping the Snakey Stick and thinking of the bad, bad things he was made to do after Amanda and Cara watched The Last Minute.

Alan sulks. And broods. And paints everyone's nails black to match the overall mood of the 'Drobe.

Tori has passed out. As usual.

Ben tinkers at the baby grand, notes for a song hardly creating a melody worth listening to. He misses his kids, and wishes Melina would find a new job so his Muse would fill him with classic Folds music.

Tom, Travis and Kevin wonder if they really are better than Ezra. They sigh, and turn to annoy Ben by interjecting bizarre keyboarding and samples into his already scattered head.

Susan is seeing how long she can hold her breath without passing out.

Allison flicks through the newest substandard script Aaron Sorkin has sent her and wishes that she could just get it on with Richard Schiff. Her mind wanders aimlessly to kissing Meryl Streep - hell, that was good - before realising that anymore scenes like that and she'll become the Queen of Femmeslash.

Bela rips the head off a bat and chews thoughtfully. He then cries because Jason U. is always trying to beat him up and Ozzy Osbourne is potentially his future.

The Wibblers haven't visited for a while. The Mexican is filming in London. And the cake has run out, leaving Susan pensive and pale.

Suddenly, the door is thrown open, causing them all to jump.

"GEEEEEEEESSSS WHHHOOOOOOOO!" With a flourish, Alfonso marches into the Wardrobe and keeeessess them all in turn. "Didd you meeeessss meeeee?!"

"What are you doing here, Mexican?" Alan asks, trying to hide his happiness with a cool, bored exterior. Alfonso grins smugly and pulls Allison to him for a paaasssionate kiss.

"Jesus..." she promptly faints.

"Deeed you not HEAR?! I WAS TOO PAAASSSIONATE FOR ZEE AZKABAN SEEET! I have beeeeen baaannneeddd for a weeeekkk as my paaassssionatenesss finally floooowwedd too much and lit an eeentire foreeeest of treeess, until zey burned! BURNED WITH PAAAASSSION UNRIVALED BY MY OWN!!!"

"Uh, Mexican," Jason starts, "Jolly good, fish and chips, but isn't that a bad thing?"


"Indeed. Bowler hat." Pleased, Jason sits and a smile crosses his face. "Welcome back, for a while anyway, Mexican."


Silence. But this time, it's happy silence. :)
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A serenade for Melina... [18 Feb 2003|09:03pm]

Two pianos have been set up in the wardrobe. It's a bit crowded, actually, which is really, truly, honestly the reason why Tori got Jason to perch on top of her piano.

Ben got the Mexican on his piano. He will play with PAAAASSION, he will FEEEEEEEEL the music running from his brain through his nerves and EEEEEEEENNNNTOOOOO HIS PAAAAASSIONATE FEEEEEEEENGERS AS HE PLAYS--

Erm. Yes. Jolly good, then.

Ben and Tori play a few notes while the Wibblers file into the wardrobe. It's cramped, so Liz ends up in Alan's lap.

Finally, Ben and Tori are ready. They play, and then Ben begins to sing:

"Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in mine, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand."

Liz sighs. "This song always makes me think of Lily and James."

Alan gives her a scandalised look and evicts her from his lap. Melina takes her place.

Tori sings:

"Jesus freaks out in the street
Handing tickets out for God
Turning back she just laughs
The boulevard is not that bad."

Together, Ben and Tori sing,

"Piano man he makes his stand
In the auditorium
Looking on she sings the songs
The words she knows the tune she hums..."

The Wibblers and Wardrobe denizens all look misty eyed and touched, except for the Mexican, who mutters, "Eeeeet is a PAAAASSIONATE song!"

"Indeed," says Jason.

Ben stuffs Amanda's Hagrid sock in the Mexican's mouth and sings,

"But oh how it feels so real
Lying here with no one near
Only you and you can hear me
When I say softly slowly..."

Together, he and Tori belt out,

"Hold me closer tiny dancer
Count the headlights on the highway
Lay me down in sheets of linen
you had a busy day today."

The volume drops as Tori and Ben gently sing,

"Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand."

There's a pause, and then Wibblers and Wardrobe Residents alike get to their feet and sing,

"Hold me closer tiny dancer
Count the headlights on the highway
Lay me down in sheets of linen
you had a busy day today."

It's a real Almost Famous moment, apart from the bit where Liz faints, since Alan is singing a song that's not about fish. The guys from Better than Ezra try to wave cigrette lighters, but they accidently set fire to Amanda's clothes. This gets the Mexican so excited that he spontaneously combusts, but the words, "Hold me closer, tiny dancer of great PAAAASSION" echo around the wardrobe.
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MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! I am zee subject! [12 Feb 2003|11:44am]

[ mood | paaaassionate ]


Eeet eess meee! Zee Mexican! I have come to teelll you, zat I haave been nominaated for zee Oscar award for my paaaasssionate film 'Y Tu Mama Tambien'!



Um. This is Jason. Alfonso has sort of, well, blown up. Um. Jolly good, Mini Cooper, The Tube. I think I shou --

BWAHAHAHA, Sometimes Has Long Beautiful Blonde Haired English Man! I have been REBORN! REANIMATED FROM ZEE THE ASHES for I am too paaassionate to die! TOOO PAAAASSIONATE!! KEEESSS ME! KEEESSSSSSS MEEEEEEE!

Bwahaha. I must go, and keeeesss Amanda, Tori and Allison! With PAAASSSION!!

Paaaasssionately Yours,

2 comments|post comment

Hallo mein freunde [11 Feb 2003|01:26am]

[ mood | horny ]

Halli, ich bin Bela B. I am from the best band in the world Die Ärzte, and I am the drummer! I was put in here by Cara, which I don't mind as she's my bitch (no, I don't care if she's engaged, she's SO my Bela-bitch), even Amanda says so.

I am good friends with Jason Isaacs, we get along very well. Though I'm very worried about how he and Alan Rickman have a nail salon. But at least they help me with my English, so I do not look foolish.

I may be trapped here against my will, but I'm having fun and doing the sperm-stare-tnago with Cara is always a delight (her pink hair and piercings make me so happy, I like influencing how people look).

Guten abend...
Bela B

P.S. I'm German, in case you were wondering!

1 comment|post comment

[10 Feb 2003|08:20pm]

[ mood | artistic ]

May I introduce two new wardrobe inhabitants? With a great amount of work and persistance, I wish to introduce Mr. Ben Folds and Ms. Allison Janney into the folds of the wardrobe.

Some may say that it's getting crowded in there. I just say we should renovate and add a piano.


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Mee Hee Hee [09 Feb 2003|09:32pm]

Alright people, sit down and shut it.

You all know exactly who is in charge here.


So hand over the Snake Stick - I'm off to dance the tango with Melina . . .

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