Beatles in a Beetle

Pre-Show Pep Rally

If I owned the Beatles, I would be furious with Michael Jackson for buying all the Northern Songs' rights! I still am, actually, but not as much as if I owned the Beatles (which I don't, in case you skipped the last eighteen disclaimers but decided to read this one for some odd reason).

A/N: This chapter is really short - my apologies. But it exists! Thanks so much to heroesforghosts on WattPad for the binge-read and the wonderful review - this early post is for you! Also, whole ballroomsfull of gratitude to my other reviewers: on FanFiction, the Mysterious Guest, Macca's Little Teddy Bear, and omgringo; on WattPad, the ever-amazing Macca40. Thanks guys!

John and Ringo were soon accosted by the Evening Star reporter; George and Paul tried to slip away, but were cornered by a trio of makeup artists, who were determined to "fix them up" before the next show. Paul and George spent several minutes trying to convince the makeup artists that really, they didn't need any more makeup.

Finally, Ringo saw Paul nervously scratching his wig. Alarmed, the drummer turned to John, but John was otherwise occupied.

"Did anything about America impress you?" asked the reporter.

"Yes, the room service was fantastic," replied John.

Ringo turned fretfully back to George and Paul. He could feel his palms sweating. George bugged his eyes out at Ringo – please, get us out of here before they find out we're wearing wigs!

"You really do need some touching up around the nose –" persevered one of the makeup artists, but she was interrupted.

"EVERYBODY LISTEN UP!" bellowed Ringo at the top of his lungs. The room instantly silenced. Ringo cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Alright, we need to have our . . . erm . . . thing," said Ringo, hastily moving on to his next point, "So if you all could, you know, er . . . start moving along, that'd be great. Erm . . . it was nice having you," he finished rather lamely.

Conversation began again as if there had been no interruption.

"EVERYBODY SHARRUP!" yelled John, coming to his friend's aid. The room was suddenly as quiet as a tomb. Everyone stared at John.

"Get out! We need to have our pre-show pep rally!" ordered John.

"What do you do in your pep rallies?" asked the reporter from the Evening Star excitedly, flipping to a clean page in his notebook and holding his pen at the ready.

"Imbibe lots of alcohol and pray to our pagan gods," replied John promptly. "Now leave!"

Reluctantly, the stage crew, press, and every other non-Beatle trooped out of the room, leaving the four young men in peace at last.

"Phew," sighed Paul. "You saved us there."

John raced to the door and locked it behind the last straggling photographers.

"Imagine if they'd discovered our wigs!" said George with a grin.

"You might be laughing now, Harrison, but you weren't so cocky earlier," replied Paul, wagging a finger at George.

"Let's see how long it takes Eppy to notice we've locked ourselves in here," said John with a malicious smirk.

They stood in silence for a few seconds. Paul whipped out a comb habitually and turned toward the mirror. He tried to comb his wig, but instead the comb got caught on the coarse fake hair and pulled it over his face. The other three Beatles chuckled as Paul pulled the wig back into position red-facedly.

"Does anyone want to play cards or anything?" asked Ringo. "That is, if we aren't gonna just sit here and drink alcohol and pray like you said, John."

John shrugged. "Whatever floats your boat, Rings."

Ringo looked flummoxed. "What do you want to do with wood?"

A/N:  [Sad, moving music plays in the background of the Ken Burns-style slideshow] And so, Colonel Muffin the Apple passed away from congestion on March 111, 3042.  He died not only for the preservation of his own reviews, but so that others might also have the wonderful opportunity to review FanFiction.  Will we carry on his legacy, continuing to review?  Or has he died in vain?  Only time will tell . . . .