A/N: Ok, before I begin, I have a very important author’s note. I am not making fun of any one fic in particular. I am parodying a number of fics on this section. I’m even poking fun at my own fics, so you can’t get angry at me! So kick back, relax, and don’t get mad at Marie-Sue!

Disclaimer: Do you really think I own it? ‘Cuz I don’t.

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Once upon a time in the beautiful city of Paris, France, lived an incredibly gorgeous girl named Marie-Sue Arena Christine Kaylyn Rose, because even though such a combination of names that at the time were not extant, she was a gifted child and therefore her name was quite normal and quite flattering.

Marie-Sue Arena Christine Kaylyn Rose, whose atrociously long name we shall shorten to Amy, despite the historical inaccuracy and utter nonsense of the name, was gorgeous in every sense of the word. Her mother had been a gypsy, but despite this, Amy had fair skin and golden hair. She was very thin and had curvaceous hips and breasts from the age of five.

Amy’s mother was a gypsy traitor who had abandoned all reason and married a soldier who was friends with Frollo, and for some inexplicable reason, Frollo didn’t seem to mind. Amy’s father loved his slutty wife, but the stresses of his life led him to go to bars where “The Piano Man” was played regularly, and he would come home and beat his wife for no reason. Amy would shiver in a little corner of her room and cry, but her father was a loving and kind man.

Amy’s mother died from cancer, even though of course no one knew what “cancer” was at the time, but nevertheless, even after many chemo treatments, Mrs. Rose died from lack of saline, which makes no sense whatsoever and leaves us with a plot hole that will never be explained by the authoress making fun of ignorant authoresses.

Amy was so upset when her kind father resorted to alcohol once more, and after his fortieth vodka one day, she sobbed even more terribly than before, if it all possible. Amy’s unnamed father started speaking about the things he made her mother do (“…and then after the whipped cream, we got out the Jell-O!”) and Amy could stand it no longer.

Sobbing uncontrollably while still maintaining a graceful and flawless demeanor, Amy ran elegantly and dramatically to an old graveyard that she had never seen before. She magically found her way to a tomb that had a mysterious symbol on it.

“Oh good-golly-gosh, I’m ever so scared but confident at the same time!” Amy said, doing a Cameron Diaz hair-flip, despite only being eleven years old. “I wonder where it could lead!”

She shoved the lid off and put her hands to her cheeks in surprise. “Why, this is amazing! Who ever knew that a creepy and disgusting tomb I’m sure never to touch in reality led to a place I magically know I should go to?!”

Amy flounced down the stairs with all airs and made a noise resembling something like “Eeeek!”, for she had landed in a sewer. Surprisingly, the sewer did not smell or contain normal sewer-items, and she remained dry despite being mysteriously barefooted. Suddenly she was surrounded by…Dun, dun, DUN! Mysteriously masked men!

“Halt! Who goes there?!” one of the skeleton-clad men boomed. Amy, who, surprisingly enough, had not been apprehended by any of the armed men, trembled in fear and was on the verge of tears, but of course, tears would ruin her complexion, so she only had watery eyes.

“Please, monsieur, spare me! I am a mere girl who has been verbally abused by my loving father and wishes to reside with the gypsies, because my mother was one!” Amy wailed, musically, of course, and threw herself at the man’s feet, all the while remaining dry and not a bit disheveled.

The man shook her off his ankle with some disgust. “Yeah…ok, whatever. Get off me.”

“What is going on here?” a pleasant voice that was so obviously made for singing echoed off the sewer, and soon a man in brightly-colored clothing came into view, doing a series of impressive back-handsprings and flips that would make a professional gymnast sob with envy.

“Oh, hello, Clopin,” the burly ring-leader said in a bored tone of voice; he knew that Clopin was just going to raise the girl and then eventually sleep with her one day like he did with all of the other upset girls that stumbled upon the Court of Miracles.

“Who is this?” Clopin asked, leaning forward and examining a star-crossed Amy.

“This brat somehow found our hideaway! I think she is a spy sent by Frollo despite only being eleven and sniveling before us.”

“I am not sniveling!” Amy said indignantly, getting to her feet majestically. “I am a Mary-Sue, and Mary-Sue’s do not snivel! We tremble and quiver and cry only a little from our optical orbs!”

Everyone was rather impressed with this speech; they were amazed that she knew a word with more than one syllable.

“Who are you, mon cherie?” Clopin asked kindly, despite his men’s accusations.

Amy had lost her haughty demeanor and was quivering with near-tears again. “I am the daughter of Antoinette Rose, and I have come to live with my true people. If you will have me, sir.”

There were hisses from the others. “Antoinette Rose? Why, she is a gypsy traitor!”

“What did she do?” Amy asked, lower lip quivering as she gave the puppy-face look.

“That is not important right now!” Clopin declared, waving it away carelessly. Apparently he had forgotten that Antoinette Rose had slept with him when he was a teenager and then ran off with a soldier, leaving him heartbroken and depressed, which would later be the cause of his becoming a nymphomaniac.

“Yes, it is not important!” Puppet squeaked, and Amy giggled.

“Be quiet, Puppet!” Clopin barked, and a ten-minute argument with his puppet ensued, during which Amy giggled and the men rolled their eyes, praying for patience. How many times had they been through this routine?

“We shall let her stay!” Clopin finally pronounced, having lost his argument with the possessed piece of cloth.

“But, Clopin, her mother…remember what she did—“

“Oh, who actually gives a hoot?!” Clopin exclaimed jovially, ignoring the authoress’s wince at his use of a phrase that would not be used for several more centuries.

“But, you banned her and her descendants from returning here on pain of death—“

“No, it will be fine!” Clopin said, his cheery smile losing some of its cheeriness.

“But you strictly forbade it and—“

“Shut up, damn you!” Clopin screamed. There was a stunned silence, punctuated only by Amy’s dry sobs of terror. Clopin’s grin returned in full as he took her hand and pranced off to the Court of Miracles. He knocked on the door to a wagon and bowed with a rather dandy flourish. The girl who answered the door was a teenager and incredibly gorgeous, though she would never compare with Amy, of course.

“What is it, Clopin?” the girl asked carefully, afraid she might have to take in another whiny orphan.

“Esme, this is a lovely young girl named—“

“Let me guess; Antoinette Rose’s daughter? She looks just like her,” Esmeralda said, glowering. No one bothered to point out that Antoinette had been a typical gypsy, meaning she had a dark complexion whereas Amy was fair-skinned and blonde.

“I am Marie-Sue Arena Christine Kaylyn Rose,” Amy said proudly. “But you may call me Amy.”

“Ok, Amy,” Esmeralda agreed, opening the door and letting the orphan in. Clopin skipped off, singing a song that conveniently involved all of Amy’s names.

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Amy grew up with the gypsies and was immediately accepted by them. She wore a selection of gypsy clothes that would take too much time and detail on the authoress’s part, so the reader is invited to use her imagination upon Amy’s clothing. Amy learned to dance, because it is only fitting that she do so, and when she was seventeen she was embroidering and singing. Embroidery was generally only done by rich ladies, but the embroidery gives Amy the appearance of being feminine and dainty, which is what a Mary-Sue should be, so for the time being, she will embroider.

Clopin happened to be sitting nearby, not tending to his puppet show like he should have been, and he noticed her embroidering. Well, actually, he was staring avidly at her well-endowed chest, but her hands kept getting. “What are you doing there, cherie?”

“Oh, just embroidering,” Amy said modestly, giving a simpering giggle that made several gypsies in the vicinity retch violently.

“May I see?” Clopin asked, eyes fixed once again on her chest.

“Well, ok,” Amy agreed, holding it up. It read, “If the wagon is a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’!”

“Why, that is lovely, cherie!” Clopin, clapping his hands delightedly. Amy beamed and continued her work. Clopin’s eyes once again found her chest. Amy was humming something, and after a moment, Clopin asked her to sing it for him.

“Well, if you insist,” Amy agreed, standing up and clearing her throat.

Soulja boy off in this hoe
Watch me crank it
Watch me roll
Watch me crank dat soulja boy
Then super man dat hoe
Now watch me yuuuuaaaaaa!
(crank dat soulja boy)
Now watch me yuuuuaaaaaa!
(crank dat soulja boy)
Now watch me yuuuuaaaaaa!
(crank dat soulja boy)
Now watch me yuuuuaaaaaa!
(crank dat soulja boy)
Soulja boy off in this hoe
Watch me lean and watch me rock
Super man dat hoe
Then watch me crank dat Robocop
Super fresh, now watch me jock
Jocking on them haterz man
When i do dat soulja boy
I lean to the left and crank dat dance
(now you)
I'm jocking on yo bitch ass
And if we get the fightin
Then I’m cocking on your bitch
You catch me at yo local party
Yes i crank it everyday
Haterz get mad cuz
"i got me some bathin apes"
I'm bouncin on my toe
Watch me super soak dat hoe
I'ma pass it to Arab
Then he gon pass it to don loc (loc)
Haterz wanna be me
Soulja boy, I’m the man
They be lookin at my neck
Sayin its the rubberband man (man)
Watch me do it (watch me do it)
Dance (dance)
Let get to it (let get to it)
Nope, you can't do it like me
Hoe, so don't do it like me
Folk, i see you tryna do it like me
Man that shit was ugly
Im to clean off in this hoe
Watch me crank it
Watch me roll
Watch me crank that roosavelt
And super soak that Hoe
Im to fresh up in this bitch
Watch me shuffle
Watch me jig
Watch me crank my shoulder work
Super man that bitch

Clopin burst into applause as Amy sat back down, not at all out of breath from her somewhat altered rendition of “Soulja Boy”.

“That was amazing, cherie! You have a gifted voice!” he praised, eyes still glued to her chest.

“Oh, thank you, Clopin,” Amy said airily, used to praise about her many talents.

Suddenly, there was a “moment”. The two stared deep into each others eyes, and next thing anyone knew, they were all over each other, snogging the living daylights out of each other. It actually looked like something from a documentary on Animal Planet, but of course there was no TV back then, so they had no basis for comparison.

Clopin finally unglued his mouth from somewhere on Amy, creating a noise that resembled a plunger being pulled from a toilet. Which it kind of was, if you think about it.

“Amy, I must have you!” he said passionately, already rubbing his hand up her leg and under her skirt.

“Oh, Clopin, make love to me! Make passionate and explosive love to me!” Amy moaned pitifully, causing her to sound like a wounded cow. Clopin, however, was madly in love with Amy; he had been ever since she first arrived at the Court of Miracles. So they hurried to his wagon, hanging up her new piece of embroidery on the wagon.

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“Oh, my,” Esmeralda said, face paling. The wagon was moving so vigorously that it was a menace to the ones around it and could easily propel itself on a road. Djali bleated at the sign that read, “If the wagon is a-knockin’, don’t come a-knockin’!”

Shouts were heard quite clearly across the whole Court of Miracles, and everyone was looking as if they were about to be sick.

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Well, I finally got if off my chest! Now that I’ve written the first chapter, I can start being a good author by updating my other fics! I am not going to require anyone to review, since I have a feeling many people will say I am deliberately making fun of them, but if you have something to say without flaming me, feel free to review! Once again: I am not intentionally mocking any one person. I am just lampooning the general idea of Mary-Sue’s in the Court of Miracles; I’m even lampooning my stuff. All reviews that are not flames would be very much appreciated!