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Magnificent Seven Fanfiction ~ Parody Style

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The End of Team Seven

Not by Ruby!

 

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven is owned by Trilogy, Mirish and MGM. No money is being made. This fanfic is purely for entertainment purposes (not porpoises, 'cause those are little fishy things that live in the sea).

Warning: PARODY/SATIRE/HUMOR

AU: ATF - Thanks, Mog! :)

Author's Notes: I'm in the process of writing a parody for each/any/all of the seven. (Don't want to pick on anyone <G>) So far, I have: The End of Team Seven, The Wheel, Icky, Parts, Rental Horse Blues.

This is a parody. It's not to be taken seriously.  

The End of Team Seven ATF

Not by Ruby!

"JD?" Chris walked out of his office and eyed his youngest. "Could you, possibly, with cream and sugar on top, please for the love of God, *not* send every Stupid-Joke Forward you get to EVERYONE in the entire building all of the time. Now, I'm asking this because I've had a couple complaints from the cleaning staff, and Team Five, and Team Three, and Team Eight, and the FBI team on the third floor, and that one guy in Toledo that you went to that conference with that one time, and, well, AD Travis says if you forward him one more thing he's going to come down on this team like the wrath of God. We'd all surely appreciate it if you didn't do it, or, if feel you *have* to, could you at least check with someone else first that the joke is actually funny?"

"What?" JD, his moist, dark eyes huge in his porcelain face, stared up at Chris, the picture of innocence. "What... what do you mean? They don't like my forwards?"

"This shouldn't come as a surprise, JD," Chris shook his head. "I've told you like five times before."

"You can't tell him what to do, Chris," Buck stood, placing his tall, rangy body between the 'child' and the 'monster'.

"Um..." Chris winced slightly. "I can. 'Boss', remember?"

"You're not the boss of us!" Ezra stood, his southern accent so thick you could cut it with that knife you can buy on late night TV that will never break or dull no matter how many pieces of tomato or metal you cut and you'll never, ever, *ever* need another one in your entire, whole, life! (but, of course, they send you *two*). Anyway, that accent was thick! "Well, I do declare, Mistahhhhhh Larabee, that Mistahhhhhhhh Dunne did no such thing wrong. And you are enslaving his creative mind like my forefathers did the slaves from my great state of Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, Louisiana?" Ezra furrowed his brow. "*Where* am I from?"

"Idaho?"

"No."

"Oh." 

"Anyway," Ezra stomped his foot. "You can't tell us what to do!"

"Us?" Chris raised an eyebrow. "When did you come into this, Ez? Like... um... I was talking to JD."

"Well," Ezra puffed up imperiously. "You enslave one of us, you enslave all of us."

"Speak for yourself, Southern-boy," Nathan glared. "I for one thought it was high time that JD stop sending those forwards. I have to clean my in-box out with a shovel!"

Buck stared down at Nathan. "How *dare* you take Chris' side in this. You know, if you don't like those forwards, you should just... just... throw your computer out the window."

"Uh..." Nathan stared at Buck like he was an alien. "I *need* my computer. 'Work'... you remember that word Nerf-boy?"

"Boys, boys," Vin stood, trying to keep the peace. "It was a simple request, not a demand sent down from God to destroy people's lives."

JD, his voice quiet, said, "If you do this, Mr. Larabee... I'll leave this team. I'll go back to Boston and sleep in doorways, and... and..." he sniffed, huge, fat, enormous teardrops started falling down his face. "I'll *die*." His words choked out. "I'll DIE!!!!!!!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. And he ran yelling and screaming and blubbering into the night (or day... but night sounds better).

"This is all YOUR fault, Chris. You killed JD!" Buck stalked up to Chris, finger at his chest. "You. Killed. HIM!"

"JD's not dead, Buck. He just ran out of here like a second ago. Unless he got hit by the UPS truck he's still among the living."

"But you killed him in here," Buck pointed at his own heart with his thumb. "In here," his voice cracked, "Chris. You killed his soul, man. You crushed it."

Chris stared at his oldest friend. "Uh... Buck? This was like about forwards... not souls."

"You ruined e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g!" Ezra screamed, laying his head down on his desk and bawling like a little itty bitty baby.

BANG!

Everyone turned to stare.

Vin shook his head. "Guess Josiah couldn't take it no more."

"Darn it!" Nathan shook his head. "*Now* we don't have a profiler."

"EEEEWwwwwww!" Ezra stared at the mess disgustedly.

"This is ridiculous," Vin stated, staring at Buck and Ezra. "I'm going back to work with the U.S. Marshals. At least they act like they're twelve, instead of three-and-a-half."

"Yeah," Nathan looked sad. "Sorry, Chris. But I agree. I think I'm going to go back to being an EMT. I think there's a slot open on that new show 'Saved'. See ya."

"We've lost JD, Josiah, Vin *and* Nathan. And all of this because I didn't want to deal with eighty five forwards in my mail every morning?" Chris looked around the room at his two remaining team members.

"It's about more than that, Mistahhhhhhhh Larabee. It's about...about..." Ezra scrunched his mouth up and then whispered, "Help me out here, Buck. What was it about again?"

Buck shrugged. "Something about you having four fathers and you were a slave in Idaho?"

Ezra stared at him. "Really? That's what this is all about?"

"I'm pretty sure." Buck shrugged again. "Actually, I can't really remember. Everything after the 'cream and sugar on top' is just sort of a blank."

Ezra looked around. "Well, must not have been important. Do... do... do. Back to work."

And that, folks, was the end of Team Seven.

 

The end. (...you just said that!)

August 2006

 

Comments  Please let me know what you think. I'd love to know. Flames will keep my feet toasty... and will be laughed at. Forever.

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