![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pensnestI just found this lurking on my desktop—who knows how long it has been there—and I don't seem to have posted it, so what the hell. Not so much a fic as an arrangement of several Cole Porter songs.
Scene: the main deck of a magnificent ocean-going liner, strangely deserted
Enter John Barrowman
Barrowman:
My story is much too sad to be told
But practically everything leaves me totally cold
The only exception I know is—what the—?!!!?
Enter Old Spice Man, rising from the waves mounted on a giant sea-horse
Old Spice Man:
If you're ever in a jam, here I am.
If you're ever in a mess, SOS.
Hello, John Barrowman! Look at yourself. Now look at me. Now look at yourself. Now back to me. Sadly—
Barrowman:
You do something to me
Something that simply mystifies me
Tell me why should it be
You have the power to hypnotise me.
Old Spice Man:
If you stopped using lady-scented body wash, you could smell like me.
An Old Spice container appears miraculously in his hand
Barrowman:
Let me live 'neath your spell
Do do that voodoo that you do so well
For you do something to me
That nobody else could do.
He accepts the Old Spice container and sniffs dubiously.
You know, I think I'm going to need convincing on this one.
A shower cubicle with water running and steam rising drops miraculously onto the deck.
Barrowman:
Okay, so that's impressive.
Old Spice Man:
Thank you. Look again. What's in my hand? It's an oyster with two tickets to that thing you love. Look again. The tickets are now condoms.
Barrowman:
Birds do it, bees do it,
Even educated fleas do it.
Let's do it
Let's—
Old Spice Man:
Anything is possible when you smell like Old Spice and not a lady.
Barrowman:
Okay, I'm sold.
Barrowman and Old Spice Man enter the shower cubicle. The curtain is drawn.
Enter chorus of sailors in tight-fitting white bell-bottoms, snug, striped T-shirts and jaunty little hats (they look like a Jean-Paul Gaultier ad). Surrounding the shower cubicle they perform a dazzling tap routine.
Chorus of sailors:
You're the top
You're the Coliseum
You're the top
You're the Louvre Museum
You're the melody from a symphony by Strauss
You're a Bendel bonnet,
A Shakespeare sonnet
You're Mickey Mouse!
You're the Nile
You're the Tower of Pisa
a descant of excited noises is heard from within the shower cubicle
You're the smile
On the Mona Lisa
I'm a useless check, a total wreck, of course
But if baby, I'm the bottom, you're on a horse.
Curtain falls, to wild applause
Scene: the main deck of a magnificent ocean-going liner, strangely deserted
Enter John Barrowman
Barrowman:
My story is much too sad to be told
But practically everything leaves me totally cold
The only exception I know is—what the—?!!!?
Enter Old Spice Man, rising from the waves mounted on a giant sea-horse
Old Spice Man:
If you're ever in a jam, here I am.
If you're ever in a mess, SOS.
Hello, John Barrowman! Look at yourself. Now look at me. Now look at yourself. Now back to me. Sadly—
Barrowman:
You do something to me
Something that simply mystifies me
Tell me why should it be
You have the power to hypnotise me.
Old Spice Man:
If you stopped using lady-scented body wash, you could smell like me.
An Old Spice container appears miraculously in his hand
Barrowman:
Let me live 'neath your spell
Do do that voodoo that you do so well
For you do something to me
That nobody else could do.
He accepts the Old Spice container and sniffs dubiously.
You know, I think I'm going to need convincing on this one.
A shower cubicle with water running and steam rising drops miraculously onto the deck.
Barrowman:
Okay, so that's impressive.
Old Spice Man:
Thank you. Look again. What's in my hand? It's an oyster with two tickets to that thing you love. Look again. The tickets are now condoms.
Barrowman:
Birds do it, bees do it,
Even educated fleas do it.
Let's do it
Let's—
Old Spice Man:
Anything is possible when you smell like Old Spice and not a lady.
Barrowman:
Okay, I'm sold.
Barrowman and Old Spice Man enter the shower cubicle. The curtain is drawn.
Enter chorus of sailors in tight-fitting white bell-bottoms, snug, striped T-shirts and jaunty little hats (they look like a Jean-Paul Gaultier ad). Surrounding the shower cubicle they perform a dazzling tap routine.
Chorus of sailors:
You're the top
You're the Coliseum
You're the top
You're the Louvre Museum
You're the melody from a symphony by Strauss
You're a Bendel bonnet,
A Shakespeare sonnet
You're Mickey Mouse!
You're the Nile
You're the Tower of Pisa
a descant of excited noises is heard from within the shower cubicle
You're the smile
On the Mona Lisa
I'm a useless check, a total wreck, of course
But if baby, I'm the bottom, you're on a horse.
Curtain falls, to wild applause