Monday, October 29, 2007

Marcel's Halloween Tale of Woe

Marcel did not plan for it to end this way.
Marcel had high hopes for his future life in his new home.

So how could it possibly way?!

It all began as it normally did with too many cocktails, followed quickly by too much plebeian swill.

Where was that provincial Dutchman that usually drank with Marcel?

Once again, he was all alone to drown his sorrows.

It was around this time that he became separated from his faithful sweater.

Marcel was sick, sick of it all. The White Beast who was his friend one moment and his tormentor the next.

The world full of humans that did not appreciate his inner genius, burning bright and alone.

Who could he trust in this cold and lonely world?

The debauchery-filled evening that followed was a blur to Marcel. And when he awoke, it was next to a mysterious Tattoo-Covered Lady. His bed reeked of stale cigarettes and his shame knew no bounds.

"For gods sake, I am ONLY a frog," he cried out to no one in particular. The slumbering lady rolled over and knocked him from the bed.

As if laughing in his face, the universe threw another twist at Marcel.

A Tasmanian Devil moved into his quiet abode and decided to make it her life's work to disembowel our grumpy hero.

"Unhand moi vous mangy bête," screeched Marcel is desperation.

But the creature paid him no heed as she had not yet mastered the French language.

Luckily, meal time saved Marcel from a gruesome end and he promptly began to pack his bags.

There was a good chance that the Tattooed Lady from the other night might take him away from this madhouse to travel the
Bohemian backwaters of Transylvania.

Marcel decided to have one more farewell drink, for old times sake.

Before he knew it, he was opening his eyes in a harlot's bed and cheesy pop music was playing in the background.

Who was this large-haired, brassy woman and what was he wearing?! Marcel's body ached in a way he had never known it to.

The Tattooed Lady, furious at his betrayal, had already absconded with her suitcase to Transylvania to perform in a traveling vaudeville act.

Her simple heartfelt note read,
"Marcel, Você é um empurrão batota!
Eu te amou e você merda sobre mim! Queimar no inferno sapo!"

Marcel was stuck here, alone and poorly dressed.

So you see, it was no short journey to the place where our story began.

Alone and slightly hung over, Marcel had no choice but to secure the noose around his fragile neck. What kind of a world was it if he could not even find his sweater?!

And this brings us up to date. There hangs Marcel the Mime, the last bits of his life slowly dripping away...

What's this? Is it the Tasmanian Devil to the rescue?! Who knew that Lucinda could administer Frog CPR?

So this brings us to our new happy ending, Marcel is alive and well and ready to hand out candy to the tricker treaters.

He has decided that living with a White Beast and a Tasmanian Devil is really not so bad. At least they provide body heat on the cold winter nights.

And he is in the process of an avid letter-writing campaign to win the fair Tattooed Lady's forgiveness - and if he is lucky, perhaps her heart.

Happy Halloween tout le monde!


Emily said...

OH MY GOD! MARCEL, NOOOOoooooo! You have so much silence left to offer the world! this time of year you would probably just come back to life and have to start munching on all of our brains.

Salty Miss Jill said...

This was the first blog entry I read this morning. Today will be a happy one. :)

Alors, pavre petit grenouille...

Undead Molly said...

God, I hate discovering the contents of my 36 hour blackouts on the internet.

By the way, those had better be some damn good letters to win me back after he's been with Scary Skank.

Q_Monroe said...

oh marcel marcel. in a sad way, i live vicariously through you. while i was vegging on a couch watching the red sox win, you were imbibing enough booze for the both of us. i'm glad you decided to stick around with the two beasts and that lovely lady with whom you abide.

Eva the Deadbeat said...

Marcel says, "Enjoy the silence" - only he does not say it, he merely presses play on his cd and out comes DEPECHE MODE...

oh, strange and complicated alcoholic and slutty frog...