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 Post Posted: Fri Nov 17, 2017 7:26 am 
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Joined: Wed Mar 11, 2015 10:35 am
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Location: Wales... New South Wales
There once was a carnie from the vale
Of this carnie I do tell the tale
He was immortalised in song
for doing everything that's wrong
And boy did he ever wail.

Peter Chopin composed himself. For today he was going to make his mark. Though he had broken every other rule (even gravity, which was cool)[1]: today's task wouldn't just be for a lark.

Peter Chopin sought to make a song more epic than any mouse. A bold claim that he swears he's not taking the Mickey. But whilst making the claim he may or may not had too much whiskey.

"A song, a song," he cried to the heavens for "The Magic Kingdom for a song". As a carnie he had few possessions to barter the titans with, so public property was the next closest thing he had to trade.

Lyrics were not his strong suit but that did not stop him from writing his epic he dubbed his "Eternal Sonata". So the Carnie broke a rhymancy rule that had never been broke before. In making his sonata epic in its eternality he cheated on the lyrics. For what is an "Eternal Sonata" but a song that never ends?

Peter Chopin took flight over the Short Pier, the air beneath him would serve as this stageamancer's stage. At least six other casters had gathered there to watch him sing his epic song, or they were there to drown themselves or self disband. It was hard to tell from this height, but he knew more would come.

Chopin began reading and singing his self-crafted rhymamancy scroll. What he couldn't fit on his scroll he wrote on his hand. What he couldn't fit on his hand he wrote on his arm. And what he couldn't fit on his arm he wrote on his torso, till his whole body was tatooed with his lyrics.

"This is the song that never ends,
it just goes on and on my friends,
people just started singing it not knowing what it was
and they continued singing it forever just because it is the song that never ends, it just goes on and on my friends..."

After the third verse of his epic, some of the audience started to sing along to the lyrics of Peter Chopin's titular "Sonata", despite not knowing what the lyrics of the future verses would entail (amoung which were a couple Predictamancers and Dittomancers). Little did they, or perhaps even Peter Chopin, know that the future verses were pretty much the same as the previous ones. The musical critics in the audience tried to no avail to silence the audience members that had started to sing along. From the critics eyes those audience members were ruining a perfectly good solo performance.

Hours past. (well I lost track after 15 minutes)

Chopin kept the audience enthralled of his epic tale of people singing an eternally long song, every so often he would throw away a peice of his outfit, revealing and exposing more of his repetitive lyrics (and his flesh). This exposure drew in more and more crowds, as they wondered what would come off next, and what words would come next.

The last garment befall happened when Chopin threw his shoe. While many in the crowd had dropped their mouths at the nudity, the few that had a solid grasp of both rhymamancy and signamancy gasped in horror at what they saw at the "foot" of the "music sheet", while those that could only grasp the latter thought they saw a neutral face :


The sign of repeat, and with no double bold bars to mark the end of the song in sight. When writing the song, Chopin had run out of ink before he could finish off the "sheet" music. And can you blame him for not being able to read and write properly on the sole of his foot? (Probably. Blame is easy to give).
A short while after identifying the horrifying truth a signamancer spread the news amoungst the crowd that there truly was no end in sight. Those that weren't bored already stayed to see how long Peter Chopin would last.

In the end Chopin's show was panned by critics for it's length. Rhymamancer Frank Sonata spoke frankly when he said that Peter Chopin's Eternal "Sonata" had "a few too many words compared to the typical sonata... which have none".

Till this day Peter Chopin is still singing on the Short Pier. Occasionally a heckler would try to silence him with varying degrees of lethal intent, and with minimal degrees of success. Others took pity on him and spent a rand on the Carnie doomed to be eternally a one hit wonder.

Meanwhile the demand for Foolamancers shot up. Those that would take the long walk on the Short Pier, wishing to disband peacefully, would often pool together tens of turns worth of rands to veil Peter Chopin during their final turn. Somehow the sight of a floating singing naked man singing "The Song That Never Ends" wasn't the most serene thing to bare witness to during your final moments of life.

Thus ends the tale of Peter Chopin: and how he became immortalised in song.

[1]Also this one time, he swears, he smiled at a crocodile.

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