I'm nobody! Who are you? (capriuni) wrote in tardis_hoedown,
I'm nobody! Who are you?

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It was a dark and a stormy night....

It's a dark, windy, rainy night in late January, and your frustration is running high. You thought it would be fun to return to the days of your youth -- drive down to Florida, and join in the fevered celebrations of Spring Break, for your vacation from work. But you took a wrong turn, somewhere, and got on the wrong interstate. Now, you are lost in a maze of cul-de-sacs, somewhere in southeast Virginia. And the more you try to retrace your steps, the more lost you become, as if you had driven into a Home & Gardens version of an Escher print.

It's not exactly the season for sight-seeing either; all the Christmas displays have long since gone back into storage, and you're not far south enough to enjoy the early blossoming of spring flowers, however freakishly warm it is right now.

And then, you notice the cul-de-sac ahead is packed with cars, and ... an odd assortment of seemingly random things. There are several blue telephone booth-like things with signs announcing that they are "Police Box" above their doors; there are grandfather clocks, and pipe organs, corinthian columns, and ... a submarine on wheels?! It's too late for a New Year's party, too early for the Superbowl or Valentine's Day. You can feel your jaw dropping, and you know, that if Jerry were here, he'd snap a picture to use for a "WTF?!" icon for his elle-jay, just to annoy you.

Even as that little voice in your head is warning you: "You're going to regret this!" you let your curiosity trump your better judgement, and turn into the cul-de-sac for a closer look.

"Shut up!" you snap back at that annoying little voice, "I have to turn around, anyway!" But you do so very slowly, with squinty eyes and furrowed brow. There's something subtly wrong with this picture. It takes you a moment to figure out what it is: the license plates on these cars are from all over: Britain, Australia, Finland, Spain. Even if the drivers of these cars each hailed from these places, wouldn't they have rented their cars locally?

You're about to step on the gas, and get out of there, when a free standing door, tucked in between a pick-up truck and a silver pyramid, opens and someone steps through it, comes over to your car and taps on the window.

"Hey there!" he says, in an affable way. "I think there's enough room for you to park behind that Geo-Metro back there," and points, as if nothing at all is unusual -- about himself, or this situation. "I hope we're not too late," he continues, before you can react. "I heard Walter-Duncan outdid himself with the buffet, this year!"

The word "Buffet" gets your stomach rumbling, and you weigh your options: spend another several hours on the road being lost, or crash a party with a killer buffet, and perhaps, a killer free bar as well. You hogtie and gag that little voice, and go to park behind the Geo-Metro. After all, it couldn't get any more wild than a Spring Break party, could it?

As you follow the stranger toward the smallest house on the courtyard, you notice a sign taped to the lightpost at the end of the driveway:

5th Pro-Fun Troll Hoedown HERE!

ALL doesn't seem to be any exaguration; you are surprised at the babble and volume of voices for the brief moment that the stranger ahead of you opens the door, and closes it again, against the stormy weather. It sounds like there's hundreds of people inside, at least. You figure it must be a trick of the ears -- there's no way that many people can fit into such a small house.

Then, you open the door -- into a something that looks like it can't make up its mind whether to be a barn or a grand ballroom. Gilt marble columns and baroque, gold-framed mirrors are interspersed between swept-out stalls and haylofts complete with hay. Whatever this place is, it has at least 3,000 square feet of floor space. And every one of those feet seemed to be crammed with people. Even more disturbing, at least half seem to be children dressed in teletubby costumes -- made by someone high on something that must be illegal in at least a dozen countries. You decide that maybe your little voice was right, after all, and try to get back out to safety, but the crowd has pushed you an alarming distance from the door.

The lights go out, all except for a single spotlight on the small bandstand in the middle of the room. The crowd goes silent, and turns as one to see the show about to start. One of the costumed kids, wearing a fishing vest and birthday hat over the green suit, hops onto the stage, and brings a fiddle to her chest. She begins to play with a skill you never thought possible in a 5 year old. And then she starts to sing -- in a very adult voice:

Oh, once I lived on the mountaintop, now I live in town,
I follow nasty trolls around, hosin' flamewars down

Old Doctor, renegade, travels in a box
Crazy as a fat June bug, Crafty as a fox!

The Doctor, he fought the pepperpots, never make you sneeze
But when they say: "Ex-Ter-Min-Ate!" we get shaky knees

Old Doctor, renegade, travels in a box
Crazy as a fat June bug, Crafty as a fox!

The old blue box that he travels in, surely is no game
Got fifteen miles of corridors, all look just the same!

Old Doctor, renegade, travels in a box
Crazy as a fat June bug, Crafty as a fox!

And now that we are all gathered here, dance away the night!
And when the world turns inside out, take it in our stride!

Old Doctor, renegade, travels in a box
Crazy as a fat June bug, Crafty as a fox!*

As the song ends, the band behind her takes up the tune, and turns it into a funky dance remix. The lights come back up. And all dance breaks loose. You realize, as you stare in astonishment, that what you had thought were children, are, in fact, alien creatures of some sort.

A creature with tourquoise skin, and dressed as a cowboy, seems to notice your distress. "I'm Ruthie, the Deputy Hostess," she says. "Can I help you?"

"Can you tell me what this is all about?!" you ask.

She shrugs. "No, not really. I don't think anyone can... But," she says, holding out a crumpled paper bag filled with sugary fruit candies, "I can offer you a jellybaby."

*To see the score, or hear the midi, for this song:

Cut and paste the bold text below into the text window at Concertina.net's tune-o-tron, and click [submit] (you may have to turn off your pop-up blockers).

T:Old Doctor: Renegade
T:(A Pro-Fun Troll Dance Tune for fiddle and banjo)
A A B c B/2 B/2 A G F|-F A B c B A3|
w:Oh, once I lived on the moun-tain-top, now I live in town.
A A B c A G F|-F D F E E D3|
w:I fol-low nas-ty trolls a-round, hos-in' flame-wars down.
-D D3/2 D/2 D2 A G F|-F D3/2 D/2 D F E3|
w:Old Doc-tor: Re-ne-gade, trav-els in a box,
-E D3/2 D/2 D D A G F|-F D F E C D3||
w:cra-zy as a fat June bug, craf-ty as a fox!
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