Disclaimer- Oh, for the love of-

A/N- Um, if case you’re wondering, I’m not dissing Antoine from SatAM or the comic- I’m just poking fun at him. Admit it, he’s fun to make fun of.

Alone in the bleak darkness of the night, guided only by a cheap, melting candle that kept burning out, sat a figure scribbling madly onto a piece of tracing paper. (He couldn’t find any proper paper.) Twas, of course, none other than the cowardly coyote himself, Antoine D’Coolette, snorting madly as he gnawed at away his splintery pencil, which was actually a stick, but he failed to notice this because the shitty dime-store candle was beginning to fade out for the billionth time, and Antoine was too lazy to light the damn thing again. Plus, he had misplaced his crappy set of dime-store matches.

The door of Ant’s hut read ‘Smarty at work. Please do not be disturbing.’ Passer-byers in the village took one look at the ridiculous sign, and laughed their asses off.

Around Antoine’s desk, there lay hundreds of crumpled-up balls of paper, all rejects. In his trash-can, the other rejected poems piled high, spilling out onto the floor. Antoine was very picky about his work. He wanted to create the perfect love poem for the love of his life, Princess Sally. Oh, how the fool desperately wanted for her to notice him! To have the same feelings for him! This poem had to be absolutely perfect. For the past God-knows-how-many-hours into the night, Antoine had been focusing all his concentration onto his little project... his art... his destiny... As you can imagine, the poor fool had gone through an abundance of coffee in the past hours, and his eyes were completely bloodshot. But sleep mattered not to him. Love made one do crazy things.

Antoine read his latest attempt at what he hoped would be a “magnifique poom”. After reading the whole thing out loud, he grew red in the face, accompanied by a scowl and a snarl, and thick black smoke escaped from his ears. “No, no, no, NO, A THOUSAND TIMES NOOO!!” Antoine screamed at the top of his lungs. Screaming like a wild man out of control, the disgruntled guard crumpled up the poem, knocked over all the other disgarded poems from his desk, over-turned his desk, kicked over his trash-can and sent it flying across the room, and sent his chair smashing right through the window. Screaming bloody murder, he took out his sword and then went on to trash the rest of his hut, in his great fit of discouragement. When he had finally calmed down, a half-hour later, his house looked like a whole motherfucking team of SWATBots had ramsacked the place, but he didn’t care. “Who am I to be kidding?” he wailed, sobbing his eyes out. “I am a complete and utter failure! I cannot even write a poom for my beautiful preenzess. I am not worthy to being alive!” He took his sword and almost plunged it into his chest, but than decided against it. “No! I must not be quiting! I am Antoine D’Coolette, zee Royal Guard of Knothole! A Royal Guard never says “Die!” For zee preenzess, I must not fail!” he cried triumphantly, raising his sword above his head. “I do eet for zee preenzess!” he screamed.

“Shut the fuck up, ya bloke! Can’t a mate get any bloody sleep around ‘ere?” roared the angry Aussie voice of Geoffry St. John, as a huge brick came hurtling in through the window, smacking the crazy coyote in the head. But that was just what Antoine needed, for he suddenly came up with a giant brainstorm as the perfect poem suddenly came entered his mind. He squealed with girlish delight as he hurried to write down his latest and greatest creation before his headache wore off... or at least what the moron thought was a romantic poem:

Dodos are dead, poo eez brown,

Jeest zee sight of you turns my frown upside-down.

“Oh, I am such zee smarty!” Antoine yelled, kissing the poem. ‘Such talent! Such art! Zee preenzess, she eez sure to fall for me now!”

It wasn’t until the next morning that Antoine realized he’d written the poem with a stick.

“Poopy!” yelled Antoine in frustration. He re-wrote the poem, using a pencil this time, placed it in an envelope, and skipped along to Sally’s hut to stick it under her door. He was far too shy to present it to her in person.

Two weeks passed. Sally still refused to acknowledge the fact that the poor fool was even alive. He watched sadly at how flattered and touched his dear princess would be by Sonic and Geoffrey’s attempts to impress her, with their flowers, candy, poems, songs, and other tokens of affection. He saw they constantly fought for her fair hand everyday.

“Life eez not being kind to poor me, mon’amie,” Antoine sobbed into his tea over at Bunnie’s hut the next morning. “How can my darling preenzess be impressed by zose two fuels and zeire amateurish attempts to woo her, and yet, she refuses to acknowledge true art and talent? Oh, my dear preenzess, why do you notice me not?!” he wailed, looking into the blue eyes of the phtograph of Sally he kept in a locket.

“Hey, why don’t you capture Robotnik and bring him back to Knothole? I bet that’d get her attention,” Rotor sniggered as he walked past the window, on his way to his workshop.

“Shut up your face, fuel!” Antoine screamed, chucking his tea-cup at the walrus’s fat head. He turned over the whole table, sending the tea and breakfast things to go flying everywhere, screaming like a motherfucking Banshee.

Bunnie threw the stupid retard out of her hut. “Well,” she said sarcastically, “why don’t ya’ll make Sally-girl jealous by dating a piece of cheese?!” Seething, she slammed the door in his dumbass face.

Antoine decided that dating cheese didn’t sound like a such a bad idea. The old “playing hard to get” scheme never failed! Soon Sally would go crawling to him, begging for his love!

Antoine ran home to his kitchen and looked through all his cheeses to find the one he liked best. Twas a spoiled old piece of Swiss, which reeked up his whole fridge. But Antoine tended to look beyond how moldy and green a girl was, and how she happened to smell. He could tell the peice of Swiss had a wonderful personality, and that’s what mattered. It was love at first sight.

Antoine slipped the cheese into his pocket and took it for a romantic stroll in the park. After a go on the see-saw, which didn’t work out too well because the Swiss’s side wouldn’t go down, Ant’ and the rotton, stinky piece of Swiss sat down on the bench together.

“Oh, Mademoiselle Swiss,” the retard snorted, ‘I luvs ewe so verus mooch. Won’t ewe please to be marrying moi?” He stared into the holes which served as eyes, and took it’s silence as a yes.

“Fantastique!” ‘Twan screamed in delight, sticking a ring onto it’s squidginess. Suddenly wearing a bride’s outfit, he rushed into the Knothole church and was betroved in two minutes flat. After being handed ten bucks worth of Vegas chips, he was booted out of the church. “Next!” called the busy priest, known as Old Father Tortoise.

Two months after the honeymoon, Antoine was still ignored by Sally. Perhaps it was the fact that the idiot insisted on dragging the smelly old hunk of cheese everywhere he went, even on missions. But Antoine failed to realize this, as well as the fact that all the Freedom Fighters took to wearing nose-clips when around him. As well as the fact that there were rumors spreading throughout Knothole of how fucked-up in the head Antoine was... even more so than ever, that is. Especially after Sally had caught a naked Antoine and his so-called “wife” in bed together, making out. But that didn’t make her jealous at all... it only drove her further away.

After a while, Antoine decided that it was time to try and write a new poem to Sally:

Butter eez yellow, so eez pee,

I tink I shall never see a flower so lovely as zee.

Months and months passed. Antoine still was ignored by Sally.

Antoine could take the princess’s rejection no more, and so one night he just snapped. He tied up his wife, Madam Swiss, hi-jacked the Freedom Stormer, and flew off towards the moon. After setting up a microphone to record his final words on a tape to send to Sally, Antoine higer and higher into the polluted sky.

“To zee love of my life,” the heart-broken freak wept into the mic, “for months on end, I have tried to get your attention, but notice me you did not! You have broken my heart, preenzess. This is to be zee last package I shall ever be sending you. You will not be hearing from me again, nor will you ever see me again. I have stolen zee Freedom Stormer and eez now heading on course to zee moon, where I shall live out zee rest of my miserable life as a hermit. Do you hear that silence in zee background, preenzess? Zat eez my wife! But I did not eat her, I jeest tied her up with a piece if extension cord! I loved you more zen life itself, my preenzess! We could have been together forever, but, alas, you have ruined it. Well, I must go now, I’m almost at zee moon... oh, poopy, I forget- how am I to be sending you this?! WHAAA-HA-HA!” he screamed in terror, as the plane suddenly ran out of gas at that moment...

Antoine, the stinky cheese, the tape, and the Freedom Stormer all plummeted downwards like a stone. Antoine crash-landed smack into the side of Robotnik’s fortress. He just happened to have smashed right through the walls of Snively’s bedroom, who was, needless to say, rudely awkened from a lovely dream he was having about overthrowing his uncle and ruling the whole planet of Mobius. “Oh, I hate my life!” both Snively and Antoine moaned in unison.

THE END!

That was messed-up, I am fully aware. Sorry. I am on a sugar-high right now. Tee-hee! I sure hope Robotnik and Snively are insured!

This has been a Shychick Production!