A Ranma 1/2 songfic by Mike Simmons.  Characters can be blamed on 
Takahashi Rumiko.  Music and lyrics can be blamed on Limp Bizkit.  
Author's insanity can be blamed on no one but himself.  Forgive him, for 
he knows not what he does.

P O L L U T I O N
-------------------------
[As a quick rhythm snaps into being, we see a nervous Ranma attempting 
to sneak from the house, when an arm reaches out from the doorway behind 
him.  Grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, Akane drags her protesting 
fiancee down the hall.  Tears fountain from his eyes.]

Akane: come on fool

[Reaching the living room, she whips Ranma up and drops him 
unceremoniously in a heap.  He sits up, only to see the immense 
steaming mass that awaits him.  Akane's cute smile is at odds with 
the horrendous dish that she is holding out for him.  Small tentacles 
sag over the rim of the huge plate, and large chunks of what looks 
disturbingly like soap bubble merrily in the mixture.]

Ranma: aw...aw...aw drop that s**t
Akane: straight comin' at ya, punk

[Ranma waves his arms in protest, turning up his nose.  This is perhaps 
not the wisest thing he could have done.  Akane kicks him back against 
the wall.  Turning around, we see that she has acquired a microphone from 
some small pocket dimension (Malletspace?) and is wearing a bright red 
baseball cap backwards, hair sticking out from under it.  Ranma eyes 
her nervously.  You can see the boy's fear.]

Akane: To criticize is critical when digging on my concept!
rhythms keep on building like smoke

[Ranma attempts to make a break for it, but Akane has a firm grip on 
his pigtail.  His madly scrabbling feet wear a hole in the floor.]

Akane: Got'cha running from the law!
maybe it's that low end smothered with the freestyle
maybe it's the thought of being on the bottom of the pile
style's bound to the sky lines
keep 'em on the sidelines
choking on my fat rhymes

Ranma: You need the Heimlich maneuver!

Akane: This ain't no joke!
you're gonna choke
when I'm swinging it to ya!

[Dropping the microphone, Akane whips a mallet out of nowhere and 
threatens Ranma with it.  She points at the food.  Ranma whimpers.]

Akane: when do you decide (you decide)
then you can know in your mind (you decide)
when do you decide

[Raising a choking forkful, Ranma catches a whiff of the ungodly 
concoction, and panics.  Tossing it at Akane, he bolts, narrowly 
escaping the Mallet of Ultimate Hoobah as she swipes blindly at him.  
The food that he has just chucked in her eyes probably has something to 
do with it.  He gulps.]

Ranma: I'll probably never understand...
pollution!  you preach the noise about the words that you don't wanna 
hear
pollution!  I keep the grip tight on the mic when I spill
pollution!  you preach the noise about the words that you don't wanna 
hear
pollution!  I keep that grip real tight

[A blaze of blue aura flames into being around Akane as she clears her 
eyes.  Her advancing shadow envelops Ranma as he cowers in the corner, 
wide-eyed in terror.]

Akane: breaker breaker one-nine spitting out that skill
suicidal punk let me know you're real!

I'm walking on a thin line with the sticky bass line
now you're stuck with the flow running through your mind
so if you're crossing over, let me know you're real
got the flex on your neck now you got the feel!

[We see Ranma's head bobbling like a speedbag as Akane attempts to 
strangle him, shaking him by the neck until he drops.  She boots him 
back toward the table, and slams the Dish of Unmentionable Culinary 
Doom down in front of him.]

Akane: I rumble like the thunder
now you're going under
I bet you wonder what the fuck is even going down
I listen to 'em stereotype but then complain
I can't refrain from bringing on the pain...

[We now see Ranma, hog-tied and handcuffed to the table leg.  He is 
completely enveloped in rope, head and feet sticking out of either end.  
A smiling Akane proffers a heaping spoonful of muck.  The spoon grows 
larger, and then enormous in our point of view.  Ranma begins to scream, 
well, like a girl.  (Hey, it's not -that- farfetched.)]

Akane: when do you decide (when do you decide)
then you can know in your mind (when do you decide)
when do you decide

[Ranma clamps his mouth shut, squinching his entire face in refusal.  
Akane shakes her head.]

Akane: I'll probably never understand

Ranma: Pollution! you preach the noise about the words that you don't 
wanna hear
pollution! I keep the grip real tight on the mic when I spill
pollution! you preach the noise about the words that you don't 
wanna hear
pollution! I kmrph ghpfrmmlgrraaAAAAAAAAIIIIIIII!!!!

[As Ranma opens his mouth for the last line of the chorus, Akane seizes 
the opportunity and stuffs the spoonful down his throat.  Ranma's face 
bulges to one side for a moment under the onslaught, and in a moment of 
sheer terror spits it out, spraying wet bits all over Akane.  There is 
anger.  There is rage.  And then there is the kind of thing that the 
English language was not even built to describe adequately.  The mallet 
she produces is the size of a sport utility vehicle.]

Akane: so when they tell me to turn down that volume
I'm gonna bring that beat back!

[SMASH! WHAM! CRUNCH!]

Akane: and when they tell Sam to turn down that bass
I'm gonna bring that beat back!

[SKRAKOOM!  WHABOOM! BLAM!]

Akane: and when they tell me to turn down the vocal
I'm gonna bring that beat back!

[WHOP! CRACK! BLAST! CRUSH!] 

and when they tell us to shut the f**k up
I'm gonna bring that beat back!

[BLOOIE! WHOOM! RAM! SPLUT!]

yeah, gonna bring that beat back!

[SMACK! KRAKOOM! MUTILATE! DESTROY!]

aw, gonna bring that beat back!

[SPLINTER! MAIM! DISLOCATE!]

f**k, gonna bring that beat back!

[FLATTEN! POUND! SQUISH!]

yo, yo, yo J bring that beat back!

[FRABADABISH!] 

[Smoke rises from a smoldering Ranma.  Moaning, he waves a small white 
flag.  Peeling himself from the floor, he rests his chin on the table 
and stuffs in a mouthful of slop.  He turns several interesting shades 
of green, but he can hardly be in any -more- pain than he has already 
gone through.  Akane giggles cutely as she looks on, perched on top of 
the enormous mallet.]

End.

Author's note: I was going to do the whole song, but I ran out of 
words for smashing sounds.  If anyone was severely disappointed by 
this, I apologize greatly.

Mike