Hey! I thought that I'd try writing fanfic for something other than Torchwood for a change and I've just fallen completely and utterly in love with the Mighty Boosh all over again, so the choice was easy. Obviously it's my first Boosh fic so I know that it is a bit crap, but do me a favour and be nice anyway. :D Reviews are adored, just saying. :) x

DISCLAIMER: The Mighty Boosh is a real masterpiece, so obviously I don't own it. I will admit to a severe case of Noel Fielding addiction though. X

The Death Of Vince Noir

'It was the panda's fault.' Vince whined. 'He said that I could only give him Kiss makeup if he had my extra chewy bamboo gum. Now look what's happened!'

Howard's small eyes zoomed calculatingly to the Problem. 'You caused this by yourself, Vince. Why the hell would you want to give him that look anyway? Remember the skunk Mohawks?'

'They were punk skunks – it looked good on them. They were all about anarchy and the repression of the zoo; I just gave them the style to go with it. Anyway, how was I supposed to know that the panda was pissed off with Starchild?'

'So he threw a giant gumball at you?'

'He was totally out of order, Howard! This is the worst accessory crisis in the history of fashion – I can't be seen with this in my hair and there are cameras everywhere! I'm gonna kill that panda – 'Vince Noir' has been fashionable since I was born and now look at me!' Vince was starting to have a meltdown; his chest was getting tight and he couldn't breathe. He wouldn't cry – it would smudge his eyeliner. The Alice Cooper look was so last week it hurt. What Howard said next caused Vince to yelp in horror.

'Calm down Vince; we'll sort this. It's a lot of gum in a whole lot of hair so we'll have to cut it out.' Howard selected a rather large pair of scissors from stationary village, moving threateningly towards Vince as though he was relishing the opportunity.

'You are not coming anywhere near my hair with those things, Howard Moon!'

'We both know that it's for the best, Vince.'

'No it's not!' Vince pleaded, backing quickly away. 'One lock of this comes out and the whole Universe implodes; the only things left will be Leroy and a couple of pink elephants. I'll lose my Root Boost sponsorship! It'll be fashion Armageddon!' Vince's bejewelled spandex back slammed into something solid.

'I promise it won't be much.'

'Get away!'

'Bollo, hold him!' The solid thing that was actually Bollo wrapped his arms tightly around Vince's so that he couldn't struggle; Vince felt sick and dizzy.

'Sorry Vincey. He promised not to play jazz records for a week if Bollo helped. Oh, and post came – you won that competition in Cutting Edge to meet Jagger.'

'Stay still, Vince. It will all be over soon.'

'You sure you know how to do this, Howard?' Bollo asked.

'Of course I do – I'm Howard Moon! How hard can hairdressing be?'

The last thing Vince heard before he passed out was Bollo muttering something about 'a bad feeling'.

When Mick Jagger stepped into the strange Daulston second-hand shop he was greeted by an odd sight. Instead of the screaming trendy fan who he had expected to meet, he was greeted by a giant ape comforting a man in the corner. Specifically, a bald man wearing last month's leopard skin catsuit, wailing mournfully into handfuls of raven-black hair in a puddle of his own tears. The whole thing looked freakily fucked up.

Without speaking to neither man nor ape, Mick spun around and walked out, muttering audibly to himself about being better off hanging out with Lance Dior. This guy was a fashion retard.

Vince Noir woke up screaming.

So? How did I do? :) MC. x