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Description
*I don't own the Moulin Rouge, I don't own the Transformers, I have NO excuse for Dragonseeker, and I myself was drunk when this happened, so--you technically have NO one to pie--but I WILL remind that as a community service, you DO have a back button if this sort of crack atrocity doesn't appeal to you.  If it does, god bless and good luck...*

Dragonseeker, who specialized in Transformer fan art on Deviant Art, had a marvelous idea.

It wasn’t a revolutionary idea to say the least, and it really wasn’t ALL her idea; she’d been drinking with her unicorn and muse, Connor, when Megatron came knocking on her imagination…

“Is he drunk?” She whispered in Connor’s ear.

“Nah, lass.  Paddy’s boss," he mentioned another two separate muses who pestered a particular OTHER Dev Art writer, "is tryin’ ta keep his charge busy…”

Unaware of the whispering, Megatron said to the pair, “I’ve pillaged and plundered and have massive power—I rule an EMPIRE!” He clenched his fists to the sky as if trapped in a script rife with cliché, and he had no choice. “Now, I crave—amusement.  Provide me with such, and you will find yourself richly rewarded…”

Swindle and Mirage, who felt THEY were in charge of the Transformer Theater of her brain, were clamoring; new business! Activity…!

“Hey!  I run this operation!” Dragon protested.

“And you’ve been laying about the job, what with your life and all,” Swindle patted her cortex reassuringly, if not a bit on the patronizing side. “Relax honey—we’ve got it covered.”

“Swindle!” Mirage, being a silent partner, more the invisible type to the point that it was a bad pun, was hissing at the Decepticon, “There’s no WAY she’ll give up Sunstreaker!”

“But he’s our most beautiful—“

“He’s the groundskeeper for her head.”

“The grounds--??” Swindle was perplexed for a moment.  Why did a human mind need a groundskeeper?  But as he looked around the place, which became more decadent with each of Sunny’s appearances, rubbing and brushing and fine tuning certain instruments until they purred with delight…

“I get it!  I GET it!  Sheesh!” and Swindle shuddered in revulsion. “Damn dirty mind.”

“Well, it keeps YOU in energon,” Dragon huffed.

“No enough!” So he considered his options; two really. “Prowl and Starscream.”

It was Mirage’s turn to shudder. “You mean the ego maniac and the ice berg?”

“Well, aside Sunstreaker, and that aspect of Hot Rod we AIN’T gonna pry loose from Ladena, they’re the hottest bots.”

“True,” Mirage acknowledged with all the detachment of a banker making a deal. “And Starscream would because he gets off on power.  But Prowl? Really now—“

“We’ll tell him the facts—straight up.” Swindle rubbed his hands together at the thought of conning the tactician—it gave him such a rush. “By the time I’M done, he’ll PLAY the blushing virgin for old Megs, and LIKE it!”

“You think Prowl’s a virgin?”

Swindle snickered, “He may be hot, but his personality reads like a tech manual, and he’s in love with his data pad.  Think about it—would YOU tap him?”

Mirage growled. “Do I look like a rabid fan girl to you?”

Satisfied that he’d made his point, Swindle concluded, “We’ll promise Starscream power; we’ll tell Prowl we have a patron that will keep our world going—Dragon gets inspired,  WE get a huge pay out; it’s as simple as that.  Now, let’s roll…”

***Meanwhile***

Prime wouldn’t be happy of course, Jazz striking out on his own, but a bot HAD to seek other horizons from time to time, right? Had to be more to life than war—like music…

Now, composing music…

Jazz day dreamed happily about this, up until the point where the world crashed on his head—literally—because Sideswipe was practicing a bad case of jet judo with Thundercracker and Skywarp.

“Don’t you three got nuthin’ better ta do but bash bots on their own time?” Jazz protested, rubbing his helm in a way that would make a fan blush, or would make anyone else consider getting him a mechanic.

“We’re bored,” Thundercracker hauled himself out of the debris without an iota of remorse. “Dragon’s head got nothing fun going on.”

“Unless you count her and Sunn—“and Sky warp stopped, glancing at Sides expectantly before asking, “Aren’t you gonna complain about me discussing your twin’s sex life in detail?”

“Naw man—script—check it,” Jazz pointed to the line above Sky’s last. “See—TC says you’re bored so—discuss away…”

Though, much to the regret of Sunny’s fan base, Thundercracker had a better idea…

“…I have a better idea!” The seeker exclaimed, catching a glance at the pen, blank paper, and assorted instruments scattered in the debris. “We could like—do something—something crack, caue—to be perfectly honest—I’m getting SICK of the whole civil war thing, know what I mean?” And they all murmured in matter of fact agreement.

“Yeah, Ratchet says if he has to replace much more on my chassis, the HMO is going to foreclose on the Ark,” Sideswipe piped, nudging Jazz. “You know what I’m talking about.”

So, after the four bots pulled themselves out of the rubble, they sat around a table, drinking green energon.  They drank and they drank and they drank and they drank until Connor, flitting around in wings and sporting a wand because some dreamers have twisted senses of humor, got so irritated because they’d drunk so much, they were able to see him, and hadn’t offered him a single dram!

He upsided Sideswipe in the head, and the twin got an amazing idea.

“Let’s rip off a theme from the Moulin Rouge…!”

Description
*I don't own the Moulin Rouge, I don't own the Transformers, I have NO excuse for Dragonseeker, and I myself was drunk when this happened, so--you technically have NO one to pie--but I WILL remind that as a community service, you DO have a back button if this sort of crack atrocity doesn't appeal to you.  If it does, god bless and good luck...*

Dragonseeker, who specialized in Transformer fan art on Deviant Art, had a marvelous idea.

It wasn’t a revolutionary idea to say the least, and it really wasn’t ALL her idea; she’d been drinking with her unicorn and muse, Connor, when Megatron came knocking on her imagination…

“Is he drunk?” She whispered in Connor’s ear.

“Nah, lass.  Paddy’s boss," he mentioned another two separate muses who pestered a particular OTHER Dev Art writer, "is tryin’ ta keep his charge busy…”

Unaware of the whispering, Megatron said to the pair, “I’ve pillaged and plundered and have massive power—I rule an EMPIRE!” He clenched his fists to the sky as if trapped in a script rife with cliché, and he had no choice. “Now, I crave—amusement.  Provide me with such, and you will find yourself richly rewarded…”

Swindle and Mirage, who felt THEY were in charge of the Transformer Theater of her brain, were clamoring; new business! Activity…!

“Hey!  I run this operation!” Dragon protested.

“And you’ve been laying about the job, what with your life and all,” Swindle patted her cortex reassuringly, if not a bit on the patronizing side. “Relax honey—we’ve got it covered.”

“Swindle!” Mirage, being a silent partner, more the invisible type to the point that it was a bad pun, was hissing at the Decepticon, “There’s no WAY she’ll give up Sunstreaker!”

“But he’s our most beautiful—“

“He’s the groundskeeper for her head.”

“The grounds--??” Swindle was perplexed for a moment.  Why did a human mind need a groundskeeper?  But as he looked around the place, which became more decadent with each of Sunny’s appearances, rubbing and brushing and fine tuning certain instruments until they purred with delight…

“I get it!  I GET it!  Sheesh!” and Swindle shuddered in revulsion. “Damn dirty mind.”

“Well, it keeps YOU in energon,” Dragon huffed.

“No enough!” So he considered his options; two really. “Prowl and Starscream.”

It was Mirage’s turn to shudder. “You mean the ego maniac and the ice berg?”

“Well, aside Sunstreaker, and that aspect of Hot Rod we AIN’T gonna pry loose from Ladena, they’re the hottest bots.”

“True,” Mirage acknowledged with all the detachment of a banker making a deal. “And Starscream would because he gets off on power.  But Prowl? Really now—“

“We’ll tell him the facts—straight up.” Swindle rubbed his hands together at the thought of conning the tactician—it gave him such a rush. “By the time I’M done, he’ll PLAY the blushing virgin for old Megs, and LIKE it!”

“You think Prowl’s a virgin?”

Swindle snickered, “He may be hot, but his personality reads like a tech manual, and he’s in love with his data pad.  Think about it—would YOU tap him?”

Mirage growled. “Do I look like a rabid fan girl to you?”

Satisfied that he’d made his point, Swindle concluded, “We’ll promise Starscream power; we’ll tell Prowl we have a patron that will keep our world going—Dragon gets inspired,  WE get a huge pay out; it’s as simple as that.  Now, let’s roll…”

***Meanwhile***

Prime wouldn’t be happy of course, Jazz striking out on his own, but a bot HAD to seek other horizons from time to time, right? Had to be more to life than war—like music…

Now, composing music…

Jazz day dreamed happily about this, up until the point where the world crashed on his head—literally—because Sideswipe was practicing a bad case of jet judo with Thundercracker and Skywarp.

“Don’t you three got nuthin’ better ta do but bash bots on their own time?” Jazz protested, rubbing his helm in a way that would make a fan blush, or would make anyone else consider getting him a mechanic.

“We’re bored,” Thundercracker hauled himself out of the debris without an iota of remorse. “Dragon’s head got nothing fun going on.”

“Unless you count her and Sunn—“and Sky warp stopped, glancing at Sides expectantly before asking, “Aren’t you gonna complain about me discussing your twin’s sex life in detail?”

“Naw man—script—check it,” Jazz pointed to the line above Sky’s last. “See—TC says you’re bored so—discuss away…”

Though, much to the regret of Sunny’s fan base, Thundercracker had a better idea…

“…I have a better idea!” The seeker exclaimed, catching a glance at the pen, blank paper, and assorted instruments scattered in the debris. “We could like—do something—something crack, caue—to be perfectly honest—I’m getting SICK of the whole civil war thing, know what I mean?” And they all murmured in matter of fact agreement.

“Yeah, Ratchet says if he has to replace much more on my chassis, the HMO is going to foreclose on the Ark,” Sideswipe piped, nudging Jazz. “You know what I’m talking about.”

So, after the four bots pulled themselves out of the rubble, they sat around a table, drinking green energon.  They drank and they drank and they drank and they drank until Connor, flitting around in wings and sporting a wand because some dreamers have twisted senses of humor, got so irritated because they’d drunk so much, they were able to see him, and hadn’t offered him a single dram!

He upsided Sideswipe in the head, and the twin got an amazing idea.

“Let’s rip off a theme from the Moulin Rouge…!”