A/N: Hey there, faithful readers, unfaithful readers, anteaters, and steam-heaters! Sorry, I was in a rhyming mood. But anyway, down yonder webpage you shall find scenes three, four, and five of your favorite musical, "The Slushee Man"! (Don't worry, if it's not your favorite musical, I won't kill you….much. You'll just be MOSTLY dead, meaning of course that you are slightly alive. Oh wait, this isn't a good way to get reviews. Or cookies. I like cookies. Mmmmm…..)

Okay, I'm done now. You can read safely.

EDIT: I have now fixed the numerous technical errors in this chapter. Heh. Rather embarrassing, they were. But they're gone now. I think.

SCENE THREE: Does This Even Count as a Scene?

Harold Hill: (Catches up to Marian Paroo. Drops his hankie.) Excuse me, did you drop your—

Marian Paroo: No.

Harold Hill: Didn't I meet you in—

Marian Paroo: (Understandably getting a bit peeved.) No!

Harold Hill: You know, this scene is a bit short. Does it even count as a scene?

Marian Paroo: (A bit more than a bit peeved.) NO!!!!!!!!

Harold Hill: I didn't think so.

SCENE FOUR: What Happened To Your Face, Anyway?

(Scene opens in Marian Paroo's house, from which she is curiously absent. Mrs. Paroo, a very scary looking Irishwoman, is mutilating a piece of fabric with a needle. Amaryllis is playing a comically mistake-filled piece on the piano.)

Amaryllis: (Plays a comically mistake-filled piece on the piano, and ends on a wrong note.)

Mrs. Paroo: (Stomps over in a threatening way and plays the correct note with an inordinate amount of strength.)

Amaryllis: (Plays her comically mistake-filled piece again, and hits THE SAME WRONG NOTE AGAIN!!)

Mrs. Paroo: (Grabs a sledgehammer from thin air and uses it to bang the right note.)

Amaryllis: (Plays the comically mistake-filled piece for the third time, and gets the SAME FREAKING NOTE wrong for the THIRD FREAKING TIME!!!)

Mrs. Paroo: (Rips off Amaryllis's face and slams the right note, effectively breaking the key.)

(Enter Marian Paroo.)

Marian Paroo: Mother! Did you just—

Mrs. Paroo: (Steps surreptitiously in front of Amaryllis to hide the fact that her face has been ripped off.)

Marian Paroo: —BREAK MY PIANO KEY?!?!

Mrs. Paroo: Um, well….about that….

Marian Paroo: I can't believe you! Amaryllis, you're bleeding all over the piano. Try and make it stop, won't you?

Amaryllis: Sorry. Can I play my exercises now?

Marian Paroo: As long as they're not comically mistake filled.

Amaryllis: (Plays her exercises. Thankfully they are not mistake-filled, because Mrs. Paroo's needle has mutated to the size of a baseball bat, and she is brandishing it threateningly.)

Mrs. Paroo: I don't remember the library being open last Fourth of July.

Marian Paroo: It was, Mama, all evening. Mama, a man with a suitcase has been following me around town.

Mrs. Paroo: (Considerably interested.) Oh? Who?

Marian Paroo: How should I know? It's not like his name was written on the suitcase in cheesily big letters!

Mrs. Paroo: Well, I should certainly say not. But did he say anythin'?

Marian Paroo: He tried.

Mrs. Paroo: Did you say anythin'?

Marian Paroo: Mama, of course not! What kind of a loser actually talks to people who talk to them? I mean, they could end up getting to know and befriend that person! And I'm the friendless, snobbish love interest of the protagonist! Can you not see the twisted logic?

Mrs. Paroo: Strangely enough, I can. Seriously, though, you should try to get yourself a man. They're pretty useful, unless you want intelligent conversation, that is. Men are more the pack mule kind of beings.


Marian Paroo: All right! No need for caps lock! And what happened to your face, anyway?

Song: "If You Don't Mind" ("If You Don't Mind")

Marian Paroo: Mama, if you don't mind my saying so,

You have a bad habit

Of ripping off people's faces—

Mrs. Paroo: No, I haven't ripped her face!

And we were talking about that stranger—

Marian Paroo: What stranger?

Mrs. Paroo: The only one this town has seen for years!

Now I know all about your standards.

If you don't mind my saying so,

There's not a man alive

Who can hope to measure up

To Paul Bunyan, St. Pat, and every other famous person in the world.

Even if you can quote Balzac and Shakespeare,

That doesn't mean you'll ever be a wife!

And you'll end up livin' all alone

With nothing but your library full o' books!

(Song ends.)

Marian Paroo: What a ridiculous, one-sided argument!

Amaryllis: Can I get a drink?

(Enter Grammar Mafia.)

Grammar Mafia: Say "May I get a drink" or we'll kidnap every person you've ever spoken to in your life! SAY IT NOW!!!!!!

Amaryllis: Mimblewimble?

Grammar Mafia: Good enough.

(Exit Grammar Mafia.)

(Exit Amaryllis, very quickly and to the side of the stage opposite from where the Grammar Mafia just left.)

Marian Paroo: Shall we make small talk while we wait for Amaryllis to come back from her inordinately long drink?

Mrs. Paroo: I believe we shall.

Marian Paroo: (Twiddles her thumbs.) So, how 'bout them local sports teams?

Mrs. Paroo: None to speak of.

Marian Paroo: Really? Not even a lousy one that we don't like to speak of?

Mrs. Paroo: Nope, unless you count professional bagpipe playing as a sport.

(There is a small pause.)

Marian Paroo: So, how 'bout them local professional bagpipe players?

(Enter Winthrop Paroo. Incidentally, he is made entirely of strawberry. I kid you not.)

Winthrop Paroo: (Runs right past Marian Paroo and Mrs. Paroo.)

Mrs. Paroo: Winthrop! It's after dark! You could've been eaten! And is that any way to walk into the house?

Winthrop: (Doesn't say anything, because he is a strawberry and strawberries don't have vocal cords.)

Mrs. Paroo: I'll have a kiss from me boy. (Kisses him.) Mmm, strawberry. Much better than the average lipstick.

(Enter Amaryllis.)

Amaryllis: Hello, Winthrop!

Winthrop: (Doesn't say anything, because he is a strawberry and strawberries don't have vocal cords.)

Amaryllis: I'm having a party this Saturday, and I'd especially like it if you'd come! *HINT HINT*

Winthrop: (Doesn't say anything, because he is a strawberry and strawberries don't have vocal cords.)

Amaryllis: There'll be games, and my favorite strawberry ice cream! Which is kind of ironic, because you're made of strawberry! So it would be cannibalism for you! HARHARHAR!

Winthrop: (Runs off the stage, but doesn't cry, because he is a strawberry and strawberries don't have tear ducts.)

Amaryllis: Why does he get so upset, just because he's made of strawberry?


Amaryllis: (Backing away.) Um, actually, I'm good. Thanks for the offer, though.


Amaryllis: (Cries, because she is a human and humans have tear ducts.) Never! I'll end up an old maid like you!

Marian Paroo: (Is twenty-six.)

Amaryllis: I'm sorry, Miss Marian.

Marian Paroo: That's all right, darling. You'd be surprised how much I get that comment.

Amaryllis: You see, without a sweetheart, you have no one to say goodnight to on the evening star!

Marian Paroo: For the time being, you can just say "Goodnight, my someone," and fill in the name when the right someone comes along. Sweet Shakespeare, the screenwriter has read way too many cheap romance novels!

Meredith Willson: (Coughs.)

Marian Paroo: (Cringes.) Uh, cue music!

Song: "Goodnight, My Something" ("Goodnight, My Someone")

Amaryllis: Goodnight, my something,

Goodnight, my fruit!

Sleep tight, my something,

Sleep tight, my fruit!

Our peach is shining its brightest light—

Marian Paroo: (Spoken.) Is that even POSSIBLE?

Amaryllis: —for goodnight, my fruit, for goodnight!

Sweet dreams be yours, dear,

If dreams you have.

Sweet dreams as sweet as the taste you give—

Marian Paroo: "Give" doesn't rhyme with "have," numbskull!

Amaryllis: I wish they may and I wish they might….

Now goodnight, my something, goodnight!

True love can be whispered

From heart to heart

If berries can have hearts, they say.

But I must depend on

A wish and a peach

As long as my heart

Doesn't know who to seek….

Sweet dreams, be yours, dear,

If dreams you have.

Sweet dreams as sweet as the taste you give.

I wish they may and I wish they might….

Now goodnight, my something goodnight!


(Song ends.)

SCENE FIVE: Question mark?

(Scene opens in Madison Gymnasium. People everywhere are doing various forms of exercising; some are doing push-ups, some are stretching, some are doing yoga, etc. Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn is leading a song so utterly terrible that it doesn't even deserve to be reproduced, much less parodied.)

Mayor Shinn: Hello everyone, and welcome to our Fourth of July exercises set up for the indoors here in Madison Gymnasium, account the weather. I'm sure we're all grateful to my wife, Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn, for leading the singing!

Everyone: (Unenthusiastically.) Yay. Clap. Whistle.

Mayor Shinn: Four score and seven—

(Player piano rewinds very noisily, cutting Mayor Shinn off.)

Mayor Shinn: Four score and seven—

(Jacey Squires runs up to Mayor Shinn and shoves a note into his hand.)

Mayor Shinn: Ah! The school board will now present—

(Jacey Squires runs up to Mayor Shinn and points at something on the note.)

Mayor Shinn: Oh….the school board will not present a patriotic tableau. Some disagreement about who has to be George Bush, I guess….

Entire Town: (Facepalm.)

Mayor Shinn: Instead, the Whatchamacallit Girls of the local wigwam Thingamajig will present a spectacle of my wife—

Entire Town: A spectacle of his wife! HARHARHAR!


(Vikings come in armed with torches and spears.)

Viking 1: Um, sorry to interrupt, but we were looking for Erik the Red?

Marian Paroo: He died in 1003 from an unnamed disease.

Viking 2: Blast.

Viking 3: We do lose more Vikings that way.

(Exit Vikings.)

Mayor Shinn: You see that? I'm cursed! Get the Thingamajig Girls of the local wigwam Whatchamacallit out here—

(A voice is heard from above. It is not singing the Hallelujah Chorus. It is, however, taking advantage of the surround-sound speakers the theater installed two weeks ago.)

Voice from Above: It's the Whatchamacallit Girls of the local wigwam Thingamajig!

Mayor Shinn: What-freaking-ever! Just get them onstage!

(Enter Whatchamacallit Girls of the local wigwam Thingamajig.)

Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn: What-chama-callit!

Whatchamacallit Girls of the local wigwam Thingamajig who really need to have their name shortened because it's a waste of ink and the screenwriter's time to type all this: What-chama-callit!

Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn: WHAT-CHAMA-CALLIT!

WGOTLWT (Whatchamacallit Girls of the local wigwam Thingamajig): WHAT-CHAMA-CALLIT!

Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn: I will now count to twenty in an Indian tongue.

(A large "tongue", presumably Indian, is pushed out onto the stage. It looks suspiciously like a refrigerator box. Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn climbs inside.)

Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn: One, two, three—

(An incredibly loud and eardrum-shattering explosion goes off right behind Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn.)

Incredibly Loud and Eardrum-Shattering Explosion: (Is incredibly loud and eardrum shattering!)


(Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn is carried off the stage by a fellow Whatchamacallit Girl of the local wigwam Thingamajig.)

Mayor Shinn: Who set off that incredibly loud and eardrum-shattering explosion?

Gracie Shinn: (In a very annoyingly sing-song voice.) I know who did it! Tommy Djilas did it, Tommy Djilas did it!

Tommy Djilas: I didn't do it! But if I had, I would say that that explosion was SO COOL and Mrs. Shinn's face was priceless. And I would probably try to set off one behind the mayor next. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Mayor Shinn: Tommy Djilas, I would advise you to watch your phraseology!

(Tommy Djilas is forcibly taken outside by Constable.)

Mayor Shinn: Four score and seven—

Harold Hill: (Whispers to Marcellus.) I heard there's a lactose allergy in town!

Marcellus Washburn: I heard there's a lactose allergy in town!

Everyone: Yeah!

Mayor Shinn: Now see here—

Townsperson 1: (Looking more threatening than Mrs. Paroo. This may be because she has a bigger sledgehammer.) Well, is it a lactose allergy, or isn't it?

Mayor Shinn: (Determinedly.) Four score and seven—

Harold Hill: (Whispers to Marcellus.) We've gotta protect the children!

Marcellus Washburn: We've gotta protect the children!

Everyone: Yeah!

Harold Hill: (Whispers to Marcellus.) Smite the devil and keep our young people thin!

Marcellus Washburn: Smite the devil and keep our young people thin!

Everyone: Yeah!

Geico Gecko: Save 15 percent or more on car insurance by switching to Geico!

Everyone: Huh?

Geico Gecko: Tough crowd, tough crowd….how about horse insurance?

Everyone: YEAH!

Song: "Trouble," reprise, into "76 Calories ("Trouble," reprise, into "76 Trombones")

Harold Hill: May I have your attention please….attention please!

I can deal with this trouble, friends,

With a wave of my hand, this very hand

Please observe me, if you will

I'm Professor Harold Hill

and I'm here to organize a River City Slushee Company!

Oh, think, my friends, how can any ice cream shop

Ever hope to compete with a yummy slushee?

Remember, my friends, what a handful of slushee tickets

did to the famous, fabled walls of Jericho

Oh, ice cream parlor walls come a-tumbling down!

Audience: Question mark?

Oh, slushees'll do it, my friends

Oh yes, I said a slushee company, do you hear me?

I say River City's gotta have a slushee company,

And I mean she needs it today

Well, Professor Harold Hill's on hand

And River City's gonna have her slushees!

Just as sure as the Lord made little green apples

And those slushees are gonna be multicolored!

Johnny, Willy, Teddy, Fred

And you'll see the glitter of partially melted ice

And you'll hear the slurps of happy children

And the happiness of their mothers!

And you'll feel something akin to the electric thrill

I once enjoyed when Sheetz, Slushee USA,

Slurpee, Essential Slush Company,

and Jamba Juice

all came to town on the very same historic day...

Seventy six calories to a serving size

To the hundred and ten that's found in ice cream!

They were selling their finest wares, and one can't help but stare at

the best slush machines ever to be!

Seventy six calories that your kid ingests,

With a hundred and ten in ice cream far behind.

There were more than a thousand flavors to find ev'ryone's favor,

There were cones of every shape and size.

There were copper bottom carts pulled by horse platoons,

thundering, thundering, all along the way.

Double size machines and lots of ice,

Each piece of ice catching the sun.

There were fifty mounted varieties in the battery,

Thundering, thundering, louder than before.

Vendors of every kind and passersby who'd be inclined

To stop and taste for themselves!

Seventy six calories to a serving size,

When the order to serve rang out loud and clear.

Starting off with a big bang bong on a Chinese gong,

By a big bang bonger at the rear.

Seventy six calories that your kid ingests,

With a hundred and ten in ice cream far behind.

Then I modestly took my place as the owner of Jamba Juice,

And I sold to folks up and down the square! (Song ends.)

Mayor Shinn: (To the School Board.) Men, that man's a spellbinder! I haven't seen Iowa people get so excited since the time I got pneumonia and nearly died….still can't figure out why that made them so happy.

School Board: (Stare in slack-jawed astonishment at Mayor Shinn's utter stupidity.)

Mayor Shinn: Never mind. I want his papers by Monday morning at the latest!

(Enter Constable and Tommy Djilas.)

Mayor Shinn: You! You're the ruffian who almost killed Mrs. Shinn!

Constable: No, I didn't!

Mayor Shinn: I was talking to Tommy Djilas, dipwad.

Constable: Oh.

Tommy Djilas: Seriously, though, anyone who calls themselves Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn is begging to have a firecracker set off behind her.


(Tommy Djilas dies.)

Harold Hill: Dangit! I guess this means that I can't make him to make an ergonomic slushee cone design and try and get him to go out with your daughter, right?

Mayor Shinn: Yeah, what a shame….WAIT, WHAT??!!!

Harold Hill: (Nervously.) CURTAIN PLEASE!

(Curtain falls on the scene.)

A/N: *wipes tear from my eye* Alas, this is all I've written, as of yet, because I'm too darn lazy to write more at present! But that is likely to change, because my reviewers might take out my liver and eat it with fava beans if I don't write more….and I'm personally quite fond of my liver.

Special thanks to all of you who muddled your way through my insanity and made it this far, especially rukiachan15, who is a ridiculously awesome person and fellow sock-enthusiast! Any accuracy in the following scenes will most likely be due to her, because I forget and she has the screenplay.

I love you all, platonically and in a completely non-creepy way!

(Yes, Jamba Juice is smoothies. So sue me. (Wait, I didn't mean that literally! Oh, your lawyer is Phoenix Wright. Go straight ahead.))