Yes, this could be a story about women with obscene breasts that are bigger than their heads put together--which is big, considering how their volumized blonde hair adds to the width--and in skimpy red bathing suits, but it's not! That's right, it's not! This is a story that shall unite the characters that can only be described by one overused word and that is "miserable". We take you now to the sunny beach in Honolulu Hawaii where we set our scene.

     The overture starts playing and then... a record scratch is heard followed by the plinging of a guitar and a few maracas in.

     Valjean--looking like the sagacious Colm himself--rounded the crest of the small hill he was just mounting and looked down at the beach. He hated being out in the open like this, but it was for Cosette's benefit. I mean, come on the chick was only in a convent for most of her life. But, if we're going by the musical, which everyone would prefer since some of us are too lazy to read the damn bible thick classic, she just hung out back stage for a bit and made out with one of the techies. Never really liking the open, because of a certain police inspector, the other reason was that he had pale chicken legs. In prison he was called "Buck bucka!", "Henhouse" "Cokadoodoodledo!", "Pecker", "Rooster", "Hen Boy" and the ever famous "Drumsticks". It pained him to think about it and he winced at the memories.
Seeing the wince, Cosette joined her father's side and said very melodramatically,
     "Why, Papa, you have cringed? Do tell me what is wrong," she beseeched, her sausage curls giving a bounce. Valjean placed an arm around her thin shoulders and held her to him as he gazed at the horizon.
     "No, Cosette, it is too dark of a past for you to understand. It's filled withÉ " Valjean tried to think of something to say, "drumsticks and roosters and hen housesÉ"
     "Papa, I'm no longer a child," and her lip began to tremble convulsively.
     "Look, I didn't say you were a childÉ justÉ"
     "You can tell me! I'm grown-up now!" and she began to cry. Valjean rolled his eyes and guided her along the beach, calming her in a flat tone.

     At the other end of the beach, about seven hundred and two chicken drumstick awayÉ give or take a few, a dark figure stumbled over the dune, out of breath and looked over his shoulder.
     "Every time I try to go out it's just," the figure growled and was stopped in the midst of his sentence when the frantic screaming of his pursuers were heard. The figure quickly ducked behind an outhouse and watched as the plethora of screaming, love lorn Eponines ran by. That was one of the other problems with Javert. Eponines. He always had trouble with them. They were either betraying him, totally head over heals for him or just plum dumb in the way! He couldn't go out anymore to find his escapee Jean Valjean. Feeling a lock of his jet black hair trace his cheek he uttered a cry of horror. His hair was disheveled. Quickly, he pulled out a brush, undid the bow, smoothed his hair back behind his head and tied the bow perfectly. "Now, down to business." He removed his overcoat and was clad in the weird red bathing suits on Baywatch that are about as long as gym-short-hopefully not as smelly-and had some thick sunglasses on. A small red boogie board rest on his shoulder and thick black strap was strung over his chest and shoulder. Looking to the reader, he gives a grin.
     "Even at the beach, the Law needs to be upheld," and with a grin he sauntered out onto the beach, heading for the tall white chair. As he sat up on the seat-after climbing of course-he rest some binoculars over his neck and started twirling a whistle around his finger.

     Back in Paris, a mere fifty million and a half roosters away, Marius gazed lustfully out his window, thinking of his angel. Cosette. Well who else did you expect him to be thinking about?! Eponine? He took from a cage in his room another homing pigeon and tied a letter-a big oneÉ it was about as thick as a chicken leg-to the pigeon's ankle. Holding it between his hands, he pet it softly, wishing the feathers were Cosette's hair and then, lost in his reverie, kissed the pigeon on the back passionately. Pulling away and spitting out a few feathers he coughed. The pigeon looked at him as if he were Enjolras in drag and Marius gave an apologetic grin. He walked to the window, gazing out it.
     "Now, my pigeon, I want you to take this letter to Cosette," he would have said 'And pray to God that she's still there!', but that's too tacky and a pigeon responding 'Little you know, little you care!' is just too weird. "Fly! Fly! Fly!" and he gave the pigeon a small jump-start toss and watched its wings flap. Then watched it get weighed down by the letters and then watched it fall to the ground its wings still flapping-so don't worry squimish ones the pigeon is okay-along with the seven others that were flapping about like fish out of water. "Or not!" he sighed, leaning on the window sill. Then, twenty five drumstick below him, he heard a voice.
     "Monsieur Marius!"
     "Eponine?!" he said giving a start. "Oh, mind the pigeons!" he added. Stepping over the pigeons, she gazed up at him, pain in her eyesÉ what else is new?
     "Marius, what good is sitting alone in your room? Come hear the music play! Life is a cabaret-"
     "THAT'S THE WRONG STORY!" said the narrator. "NOT TO MENTION MUSICAL!"
     "Um, rightÉ sorry. Couldn't help it!"
     "JUST DON'T DO IT AGAIN!"
     "Righto!" she called back up. Then, looking to Marius. "Anyway, everyone's at the beach."
     "Really? Is Cosette there?"
     "UmÉ" she gave a sad sigh. "Yeah, sure, why not."
     "Great! I'll get my Speedo!" and he disappeared from the window. Eponine turned to face the audience for her fiftieth aside that day.
     "Cosette! He would go for her! But for me, no. Just for her!" each word was said with a gasp.
     Five hens later, Marius emerged, clad in a Speedo with an inflated purple dragon too and boogie board in his hands. He also had on some sun block on his nose-the size of a hen's toe-and a grin.
     "Let's surf!"

     Grantaire glanced up from being half-buried in the sand. Only his head had emerged from the beach's sand and he was far from being sober!
 "Heh! Look! I'm a head! I'm a head poking out of the ground! Hee heee!" he cried out like an old man on a motorcycle who was enjoying life to the fullest. A woman strode by and he looked her up and down. "Hey, Monsieur, would you mind helping me out?"
     "Shut up!" cried out Thénardier who was a mere two hen houses away. "That's my wife!" Grantaire's jaw dropped and he turned his eyes up to the flaring Mme. Thénardier who was clad in a pink bikini with white dots, a black inner tube around her and yellow flippers on her big feet.
     "Oh myÉ are you serious?! She looks like a man dressed up to work the docks! My God!" he started laughing. A smack was delivered onto his cheek and he gave a small grunt. "See, she even hits like a man! Ha!" Thénardier scowled down at him. He was wearing a certain as the Dutch would say a certain "Je ne sais quoi?" and I know that was take off, but hey, back off! AnywayÉ he was wearing hot green bathing shorts and an inner tube in the shape of a purple dragon was around his lovehandle waist.
     "Come my sweet, he won't hurt you mentally anymore,"
     "Too late!" she blubbered and they walked away down the beach. A shadow fell over Grantaire and he looked up to see Enjolras standing there with Gavroche on his shoulders.
     "Oh hello there, Enjy!"
     "Didn't I tell you not to call me that?" Enjolras scowled.
     "Hell yeah! HeeÉ"
     "You're impossible. Look, you're gonna get cancer from this!"
     "I'm under the sand, you're the one who's gonna get cancer!"
     "No, see I'm wearing," Enjolras turned to the audience. "SPF Gamin! Yes, SPF Gamin. You see this Gamin on my shoulder?" Gavroche waves with a cheesy grin. "This is my shield to the sun! No hassle! You just prop him up on your shoulders. No funky smelling sun block or anything, just pure human flesh. The only shame is there aren't any hot chicks to apply it to my back," he said with a sigh. "So, remember!" Gavroche jumped down and ran out to face the audience and in his cute little voice.
     "All the people know, a burn will really show
     It burns and burns until one comes to terms that
     SPF Gamin, it is a real win
     So buy it today, you don't even have to pay!
     Just grab us from the street, although we have stinky feet!
     We'll burn for you and that's as simple as one and two!"
     "Get SPF Gamin!" said Enjolras. Grantaire raised his head up and winked.
     "It's swell!"

     Eponine and Marius were now at the beach, Cosette in his arms and Eponine keeping watch. Just as they were about to kiss Eponine screamed out. Marius looked up.
     "Is someone there?"
     "NoÉ just practicing," called Eponine. Marius gave a good natured grin and gazed back into Cosette's eyes.
     "I've missed you so much," he said softly.
     "Me tooÉ" they leaned in and Eponine chewed her lip and let out a scream. Marius jerked up.
     "Someone?"
     "Oh! I-sorry, it was just my shadow," she called back to him. Marius gave a forced grin and looked back to Cosette.
     "Marius, kiss me!" she cried out. The two moved to kiss and then Eponine screamed. Marius looked up, taking Cosette with him and walked over to Eponine.
     "WHAT?!" he rasped. "Can't you see I'm trying to make a move here!"
     "What is that?!" she gasped, pointing to what we know as a rooster. Except this rooster was swimming through the waves.
     "It's a rooster!"
     "Oh, I knew that!" Eponine chimed. Before Marius could say anything rash, Cosette stepped forward.
     "No it's not! It's my father! What's he doing?!"

     Valjean knows what a drowning victim looks like. Not that they had a pool in Toulon or anything. Or not that they ever went to the beach. Except for that one time whenÉ that didn't matter. A woman was drowning and he had to help her. Plunging through the waves, he took her into his bear arms before she could drown and then lifted her head up to the sky for air. He recognized her almost instantly.
     "Fantine?!"
     "Valjean?!" she sputtered back.
     "Oh my God! I-I thought you were dead!" he gasped out with joy that she was in his arms now. Two head snorkles made their way to them and then two heads popped up from the waves. "Who are you?" Valjean inquired warily. One nodded.
     "Ah ahm Claude Michelle-Shonberg," he said.
     "And Ah ahm Alain Boubil," said the other.
     "WhoÉ?" Valjean ventured. Claude shook his head as Alain unclogged a drumstick from his snorkler.
     "No vunder Ah couldn't breaze!"
     "Yew are sew stupid sometahms Ah swear!" Claude then looked back to the cold and trembling Valjean and then let his eyes fall on Fantine. He cleared his throat, pulled out a script entitled "Les Misérables" and leafed through it. "Just az Ah sought. Accordink to zee script, yew are supposed ta bee dead," he said in a matter-of-fact speech. Fantine frowned.
     "Oh, damn, that's right. Well," she tweaked Valjean's nose. "Ta-ta!" and, giving the infamous Woody Wood Pecker laugh, she disappeared.
     "Fantine!" Valjean cried after her, his face saddened. Alain made a mock crying gesture.
     "Oh, bew-hew! Sew sad!" and the two laughed and dived. Valjean roared out that the woman he secretly loved was taken from him and then was ready to dive after them when Alain surfaced with a frown, reading the script. "Ah, yes, yew will bee hit wis a wave now. Aurevoir!" and he was submerged once more. Valjean looked up and saw a wave towering over him.
     "Oh-"

     "Shit!" cried out Javert and jumped from his lifeguard seat, hitting the sand roughly. Being a life guard in his off-time, he's trained for this stuff. He snapped his fingers to Burt Bacharach. "You, play Chariots of Fire!" he snarled. The white haired singer nodded, and began playing. The writer is praying to God these people know what Chariots of Fire is. "Thank you," and he ran for the coastline. Slow motion began to set in. With the red bouy in hand, he ran. Feet sinking into the sand, pecs-well, they're rubber on Baywatch; so why not here?!-bouncing this way and that as he ran. Even though he wasn't in the water yet he was wet and I don't know how that works, but the people in all those beach movies get away with it! When he had run about a mile, he decided it was time to actually save the person so he dove through a big wave and swam to the victim.
     Less than half an hour had passed and soon everyone was gather. The Thénardiers, Enjolras and a beat red Gavroche, Eponine, Cosette and Marius. They were there, watching on. Javert dragged the lifeless form onto the sand and pulled seaweed away from the victim.
     "Everyone, get back! I need some air! Or he doesÉ look you know what I mean!" he hissed. The people stepped back, and Javert began giving chest compressions to Valjean, not knowing it was him. With hesitation, he listened for breath and then did more chest compressions-yes, I did fail the Heimlich and CPR course-and listened for breath. Then, with a frown, he gave mouth to mouth and everyone groaned. Javert looked up. "Oh, grow up all of you! Like a bunch of chickens the lot of you!" and went back to giving air to the unconscious man. Soon, Valjean sputtered up water and Javert looked to him.
     "GodÉ I had a dream that I was in jail for twenty years and I got out and," he pointed blindly to Cosette. "You were there andÉ" he pointed to Marius. "And you were thereÉ" he looked to Javert and pointed to him languidly. "And you were-"he recognized Javert. "THERE! AHHHHH!!" Javert recoiled, also recognizing him.
     "AHHHHHH!!" he screamed.
     "AHHHHHH!!" Valjean screamed.
     "AHHHHHH!!" the both yelled and soon they were fighting. Enjolras stepped up.
     "I know how to handle this! We'll build a barricade! Each man to a beach umbrella! Every man to a beach ball! Hurry!"
     "NO!" said a voice behind them all. They turned and beheld the bishop.
     "Then how?!" screamed Jean Valjean and Javert. The bishop looked down to them,
     "Through-" he was interrupted when a figure up on a stage you would see on MTV turned around and Bamatabois stood there, a boom box over his head.
     "The Macerena!" he called out. Hitting play, the weird, fruity music-that still imbeds in our heads and is even stuck in mine by just writing about it-boomed over the beach and soon the group, stood and approached. Then, without warning and no control of their limbs, they started doing the Macerena. And after that was over, Bamatabois was suddenly dressed as Will Smith.
     "Just. The. Twooooo of us!" and the song started. As the song went along and everyone started forming moshpits, with Montparnasse as the bouncer,  Valjean looked to Javert.
     "What do you say? Just the two of usÉ"
     "Just the two of us!" he cried out. And the two began to sing "Just the Two of Us" together. Note: Javert is as drunk as a rooster on New Years. Do you think he would really say this? I don't think so! Oh, since he's drunk, don't mention to him about the happy face made of mustard on his stomach that he got from going in the moshpit, okay?

     The party went into the night and soon, everyone had left. Tomorrow would be the same thing over again. The scum filled streets of Paris and all. The whores on the corner and the peasants begging for change and Inspectors dropping off the Seine like rain. Basically, that means don't take your boat out between midnight and early morning. Tomorrow will be far away and tomorrow would be the judgement day and tomorrow they'd discover what     their-okay, I'm sorry, I promised I wouldn't do that.
     Grantaire opened his eyes, and saw that everyone was gone and that the moon was out.
     "UmÉ damnÉ erÉ hello?! CouldÉ. ErÉ Could someone help me out of here!?" he made an attempt, but the sand only gave a small heave. "Hello?! Hey! This isn't funny! Guys! Okay, I promise I won't drinkÉ actually I can't keep that promise. Hello?! Aw man!"

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