Greater Beatlemania
07-10-2005, 17:01
How had they talked her into this? It wasn't exactly like the idea to get together and become a Nation had only been her own. Well. Technically they were a "Most Serene Republic", according to the prefix--whose idea was that anyway? It was terribly contrary to the general behavior of most of the citizens--but this wasn't a time to play Miss Picky Semantics. Today! Oh, yes... today would be a fabulous brand new start full of the words 'bloody', 'bugger', and saying 'trousers' when you really meant 'pants'.
"Madame Tabaqui? We're going to have the press conference soon. Have you practiced your greeting scream yet?" inquired her personal assistant.
"Now," began Madame Tabaqui, "I have told you time and again to say that word with an 's'. I will have to dock your paycheck in the amount of three Sky Diamonds every time until you learn to exchange your letters properly, you know." She did so loathe having to discipline her lackey and best friend, but damn it, they had impressions to make today! And after they were done making ashtrays with their handprints in them, they had to speak to the reporters from the few inquiring nations that had noticed their sudden formation of a governing body. She sighed. "Well. I'll let you off the hook this time. But for heaven's sake, if you're going to forget the rules of the Queen's English, you'll have to practice screaming your words in an unintelligible way to disguise your shortcomings, just like the rest of us. Now go away."
Satis bowed obsequiously and skittered out of the room, singing what seemed like the original version of Twist and Shout instead of the nationally-approved recording Saint John had made so many years ago.
A roundish, lopsided bowl shaped from the tea-smelling material with the properties of clay that had been discovered recently on the shores of their lakes (and subsequently named Petebestium) sat on the table in front of Tabaqui and with an unnecessary flair, she smashed her outspread hand down into the middle. After a while it seemed the handprint had settled in rather nicely, and she removed herself from the ashtray with intent to go and wash the substance from her fingers.
The door burst open then; some random personnel member fell through the entryway and landed at her feet waving a file or two in his hands. "Tabam Madaky! Mabaqui Tadadadame! MADAME TABAQUI! THE CONFERENCE! They're there! I mean, they're here! And you're not here! There! Whatever!"
Oh, yes. She recognized him now. He'd been picked as the PR person because of his fondness for concise statements and excessive punctuation. Fitting qualities, to be sure.
Tabaqui wiped her hands off on a fluffy white towel embroidered with the number nine in black thread before jogging out to meet the press.
Some corridors and a hallway later, she arrived at the conference room, and strolled into view of the reporters, twirling a microphone via the cord. Of course it isn't my business where she got the microphone. For continuity's sake, we'll assume she got it from some jittery technician.
"EEEEEEEEYAAAAAAWHOOOOOOOSAINTRINGOHAVEMYBABIES!" she yelled, causing nearly everyone in the room to jump half a foot in their chairs in fright. "Welcome to the declaring of independence by the Most Serene Republic of Greater Beatlemania. Several--and by several I mean many millions--of fellow Beatles fans have got together and decided to form a society. I mean, a fan club. I mean, a nation. And we shall be devoted to the Four Saints of Sixties Music, and try to uphold some of the better ideals of the time. And... damn, where's my other note card? Hold on."
Frenzied whispers raced through the room while she dug through the mess at the podium which I had not mentioned was there, but do rest assured it has been during this entire proceeding. In any case, she dug through it. And, as a result of this digging, came up with the final note card.
"And remember: All you need is love! Love. Love is all you need. Heart-shaped cookies and punch in paper cups with caricatures of the Beatles on are available in the lobby for refreshments, should you care to discuss this most fortunate and, er, groovy, event."
Upon making this statement, she yelled incoherently once more and left the microphone on the podium, walking out to attend to the day's political issues.
"Madame Tabaqui? We're going to have the press conference soon. Have you practiced your greeting scream yet?" inquired her personal assistant.
"Now," began Madame Tabaqui, "I have told you time and again to say that word with an 's'. I will have to dock your paycheck in the amount of three Sky Diamonds every time until you learn to exchange your letters properly, you know." She did so loathe having to discipline her lackey and best friend, but damn it, they had impressions to make today! And after they were done making ashtrays with their handprints in them, they had to speak to the reporters from the few inquiring nations that had noticed their sudden formation of a governing body. She sighed. "Well. I'll let you off the hook this time. But for heaven's sake, if you're going to forget the rules of the Queen's English, you'll have to practice screaming your words in an unintelligible way to disguise your shortcomings, just like the rest of us. Now go away."
Satis bowed obsequiously and skittered out of the room, singing what seemed like the original version of Twist and Shout instead of the nationally-approved recording Saint John had made so many years ago.
A roundish, lopsided bowl shaped from the tea-smelling material with the properties of clay that had been discovered recently on the shores of their lakes (and subsequently named Petebestium) sat on the table in front of Tabaqui and with an unnecessary flair, she smashed her outspread hand down into the middle. After a while it seemed the handprint had settled in rather nicely, and she removed herself from the ashtray with intent to go and wash the substance from her fingers.
The door burst open then; some random personnel member fell through the entryway and landed at her feet waving a file or two in his hands. "Tabam Madaky! Mabaqui Tadadadame! MADAME TABAQUI! THE CONFERENCE! They're there! I mean, they're here! And you're not here! There! Whatever!"
Oh, yes. She recognized him now. He'd been picked as the PR person because of his fondness for concise statements and excessive punctuation. Fitting qualities, to be sure.
Tabaqui wiped her hands off on a fluffy white towel embroidered with the number nine in black thread before jogging out to meet the press.
Some corridors and a hallway later, she arrived at the conference room, and strolled into view of the reporters, twirling a microphone via the cord. Of course it isn't my business where she got the microphone. For continuity's sake, we'll assume she got it from some jittery technician.
"EEEEEEEEYAAAAAAWHOOOOOOOSAINTRINGOHAVEMYBABIES!" she yelled, causing nearly everyone in the room to jump half a foot in their chairs in fright. "Welcome to the declaring of independence by the Most Serene Republic of Greater Beatlemania. Several--and by several I mean many millions--of fellow Beatles fans have got together and decided to form a society. I mean, a fan club. I mean, a nation. And we shall be devoted to the Four Saints of Sixties Music, and try to uphold some of the better ideals of the time. And... damn, where's my other note card? Hold on."
Frenzied whispers raced through the room while she dug through the mess at the podium which I had not mentioned was there, but do rest assured it has been during this entire proceeding. In any case, she dug through it. And, as a result of this digging, came up with the final note card.
"And remember: All you need is love! Love. Love is all you need. Heart-shaped cookies and punch in paper cups with caricatures of the Beatles on are available in the lobby for refreshments, should you care to discuss this most fortunate and, er, groovy, event."
Upon making this statement, she yelled incoherently once more and left the microphone on the podium, walking out to attend to the day's political issues.