RfTF
Chapter 9
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THE BIG CHEEKS' NOTE: Hello, mortal, immortal, undead, brain-dead, and eeeeeeeeevil readers! We are so happy that you could join us for our ninth chapter in which we MST the sixth chapter of "Honor Thy Father." Where do we go from here? Well, don't lose hope yet, dear ones. You will see all of your favorite Cheekses return . . . and return . . . and return. We never leave. We look in upon your homes. See the tawdry things you do. You're a strange lot but we can't help but be voyeurs in the picture that is life.
We'd like to thank again Wyrd Sista187 for being such a sweetheart as this MST could never have been without her generous permission. In turn, we'd like to present her with ambrosia made by none other than Gramma Cheeks. Gramma likes brandywine so be careful when you eat it. Heh.
That said, welcome once again to the Palace of Cheekdom! I’m The Big Cheeks, and I’ll be your guide on this fine tour. If you look to your left, you will see the courtyard, in which a small dog appears to be burying a rather large black leather-bound book. How quaint! As we continue down the hallway, you will hear the frustrated screams of the Cheeks Fernando, tearing apart his room to search for said book. Stop by the gift shop to receive your very own copy . . . available also as a book on tape, narrated by Jeremy Irons while eating an éclair. If you don’t know, you’d better ask somebody.
And here we see the Cheeks Maddening, returning to his own chambers from . . . somewhere. Maddening? Say hi to the tourists!
MADDENING: * closes robe quickly about himself * Oh hiiiiiiiiiii . . . ahem. * glances around with shifty eyes and ducks quickly into another hallway *
You’re not getting away that easy! C’mon, The Fans. Hurry up, chop chop! We don’t want to lose him. OUCH! Hey, watch where you’re going!
REMIEL: Sorry, Mistress! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Hey, who are all these people?
THE BIG CHEEKS: Tourists.
REMIEL: * winces * Yuck. Anyway, I need to have a little talk with our Mr. Maddening. * glowers * If you’ll excuse me?
It walks pointedly into Maddening’s room now, tucking a towel around its waist to hide . . . . well, there really is nothing to hide, despite the whole being naked and dripping wet thing.. But that’s Remiel for you. All modesty, no anatomy.
REMIEL: EXCUSE me, Mr. Maddening! Ahem.
MADDENING: Ahoy, Remiel! Nice towel! I was just combing the bunny slippers. Exactly. So to what do I owe the honor of your company? * raises an eyebrow at the tourists taking snapshots * Are we really so broke that we'll pimp ourselves out in such a degrading manner? Oh yeah.
REMIEL: Spare me your poor attempts at humor. I’m, I’m very upset right now! It’s MY time to be in the shower, and you KNOW we have to schedule carefully to avoid incidents like LAST month with Gramma Cheeks and Fernando, and I only get a half hour you know and I need time with my hair because otherwise it gets frizzy but the water’s all cold and I know it’s your fault because you and Rudolph were in there FOREVER last night and you used all the haaah--* pauses to take a breath *
MADDENING: Remiel! Chill out or you may combust and then where would my black carpeting be? And I accept no responsibility for last night. What is hot water between two nubile personages such as myself and Rudolph? We make our OWN steam, baby! But you're welcome to wait around here while the water heater fills back up. Heh . . . Gramma and Fernando . . . I'll never know what might have happened had I not intruded for the Peach Blossoms body scrub.
REMIEL: * sniffles * You just want to ogle my towel-clad person. But fine. Fine! I have nothing scheduled right now . . . except my daily CLEANING. That’s nothing, though, reeeeally! * pouts and sits down in the only available chair, the one in front of the computer. It looks up at the screen with vague interest * Hey, fanfiction! Whatcha reading?
MADDENING: Oh that. It's just * coughhonorthyfathercough *. Y'know . . . usual porn--ah, Jane Austen type of literature. Want me to pretreat your hair?
REMIEL: (cheerfully and obviously without thinking it through properly) Okay! (warily) Waaaaait . . . did you say Honor Thy Father? I heard you! You did! God, you’re still READING this thing? How can you stand it? Does it get any better than the scene I saw?
MADDENING: Well, it's all relative, my precious. I admit I can't read it alone. Or at night. Or without Mr. Hug-a- Bug Bear. * faces scrunches up * Oh gods, Remiel! I'm addicted to the PAIN of it all! Don't leave me in this condition! * throws himself at its feet * Pleeeeeeease! Hey! You manicure your toenails! Never figured you to be that kind of . . . of . . . it.
REMIEL: * giggles * My precious. Weelllll . . . I guess I can relate . . . we all like things that aren’t good for us. Um. Is it really that bad though? Come on, stand up, you’re making me nervous down there. I’ll read the damn thing with you. But what’s wrong with a good pedicure now and then? Cleanliness is next to godliness! * it beams, and pulls up the fanfiction in a fit of bravery * Let’s go. (suddenly) Wait, Peach Blossoms?
Honor thy Father… (Part 6)
Ron watched Harry curiously out of the corner of his eye, all while trying not to mess up his wound-healing potion.
MADDENING: They don't have to test this potion out, do they? "Damn you, Neville, I said shallow cuts! Shallow!"
//WHERE did he go last night? WHY won’t he tell me?//
“Ron!” Hermione snapped irritably. Ron blinked, realizing that he had stopped working and had been staring intently at Harry.
“Yes, ‘Mione?” He asked innocently.
REMIEL: GAAAAAAH! Why is she always MIONE in fanfics? It never appears in the books. It only saves 3 keystrokes, tops. It doesn’t roll off the tongue or anything.
MADDENING: Yeah but do you know what DOES roll off the tongue?
REMIEL: Mr. Maddening, is the answer to that question entirely appropriate? No, I do not know what rolls off the tongue.
MADDENING: Well, if you take a hot dog and--- * breaks off when he sees Remiel's face * What?
REMIEL: I’m not sure we should subject our readers to this. Can we move on, PLEASE?
“Are you paying attention? You nearly ruined our potion!”
MAD: "I told you to watch where you pointed that thing and you stabbed me in the ass! Let's see how you like it!" * makes Psycho motions and EEeeEEeeEE sounds *
REMIEL: You had better not being talking about . . . country matters. What on Earth is that motion meant to represent?
MADDENING: * stops stabbing his fist through the air * It's Hitchcock. Hitchcockian even. Heh.
REMIEL: Yes, well, stop hitching your . . . yes. I’m going to keep reading now. I will not look at you anymore. No, not even if you do that. Or that. EWWWWWW, stoooop!
She glared at him, and Ron couldn’t help smiling. Hermione was so hot when she was angry. Her full lips would pout like that Muggle actress Marilyn Monroe, and her deep-brown eyes would take on a strange light. To top it all off, her sleek chestnut hair was now falling into her eyes, making her almost irresistible.
REMIEL: “Ow, my eyes! Rah-onnnn!” Scratched cornea fetish. Interesting. I blame YOU for this somehow, Mr. Maddening. Since when is Hermione’s hair sleek? And isn’t Marilyn Monroe dead? I wouldn’t want MY lips to look like hers. If she even has lips anymore.
MAD: Why blame when we can love, Remiel? When we can LOVE? Ew. That's a really disgusting thought. Bushy hair and decomposed facial features.
REMIEL: * mutters * There’s nothing wrong with bushy hair, Hermione just doesn’t have sleek hair. Um, when do I get my pre-treatment again?
“Ok, ok. I’m sorry, ‘Mione. I was just looking at Harry, and spaced out for a bit. Where were we?” his girlfriend’s face relaxed into a calm smile as she began explaining how to measure out the Wolfs bane. Soon, however, Ron’s mind began to wander again, even though he still appeared to be paying attention.
MAD: I would pass out the grammar violation tickets right and left in this passage but we know where things went wrong. And whaddya know? Ron is a typical GUY after all. Probably wondering who Harry is doin' and if Hermione likes foursomes.
REMIEL: If he only knew . . .
After that, the lesson went on like normal.
REMIEL: Note to those just joining us: Normal in this fic = lots and lots of anal sex. Anal sex all over the place. So don’t be surprised if Snape gives a few cute little boys detention after Potions is done with. We now return you to your regularly scheduled fic.
MAD: You forgot the stabbing.
REMIEL: Someone got stabbed in this fic? * bites nails * Are they okay?
MAD: Apparently, there are convenient Wound Healing Potions. * wink wink *
REMIEL: * narrows eyes * Okay, I no longer WANT to get it.
Neville somehow managed to make not a wound-healing potion, but a potion that had turned his cauldron into a piglet. That mistake had cost him 20 points from Gryffindor. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zambini had achieved nothing apart from non-stop gossiping throughout the entire lesson, and naturally, Snape had taken no notice of them, and had given Slytherin at lest 70 points by the end of the lesson.
MAD: Hey creating a piglet from a cauldron is pretty damn cool in my book. Professor McGonagall should restore those points, I say. Damn the man! Fight the piglet prejudices!
REMIEL: Yes, I can see why a piglet would come in very useful for you. (hurriedly) Um, the next bit says—
By the beginning of . . .
MAD: Wait, if you're insinuating what I think you are, then you are a very sick creature. It'd be like the Kama Sutra of Winnie the Pooh. I'll stick to PEOPLE, thanks.
REMIEL: * glares pointedly at Mad’s hands * I bet you stick to more than people, Mr. Hitchcock!
MAD: * glowers * Try me, pal. Not satisfied within 30 days, you get a full refund.