Part Forty-Six
Just out of the lights on the rebuilt-yet-again platform, Snookie Blyer took a deep breath, straightened his plaid sports coat over his thin frame, and told himself, Last time. Last time ever for this particular little slice of heck. He glanced over at the judges’ table, where Behemoth and Beautiful Day were busy throwing Shakey Sanchez back and forth, playing a game of keep-away with Gorgon Heap in the middle as the returning guest judge. He supposed all of them were as keyed-up as he was, although he was sure their own emotions ranged more toward excited and not so much nauseous or terrified. His eyes darted to the surging, snarling crowd; it was crawling-room-only tonight, with every inch of the nailed-back-together bleachers filled to creaking capacity. Snookie fully expected the risers to collapse again...not that such expectations bothered the audience, apparently. They’d been promised a reunion of all the contestants and a final winner; Snookie was fairly sure he knew who’d come out on top of this sordid little trash-heap, but he wondered how the frog it would even be possible to reconstruct any of the departed daredevils as easily as they’d slapped together the bleachers. Probably best not to even think about it.
He saw Carl, the Big Mean Fan in the front row again, still rooting for the sheepfighter despite his elimination (in more senses of the word than one, Snookie thought with a shudder). Carl couldn’t see him at the moment, which was at least a small relief. The fact that Snookie had spent all afternoon sleeping in a pie crust without becoming something savory or sweet was unheard-of, and frankly the whole thing was weirding him out. Maybe he didn’t get around to eating me because he was...full, he suggested to himself, then shook his head. Are you kidding? Since when is that greedy-guts EVER full? What the frog exactly is he playing at? He jumped when Pew yelled right behind him.
“Thirteh zeconds! We are live in twenty-nine, twenty-seven...oh, ze heck with zis, whair is mah caffeh!”
Staying well clear of the lurching director as he roamed in search of the perfect cup, Snookie slicked back his hair one last time (Carl offering to grease it with some Grisko earlier was unnerving only because he didn’t seem interested in immediately plunging Snookie into the frying pan afterward), steeled himself, and stepped out into the light. “Ladies and gentlemen – oh who are we kidding – nasties, beasties, ghoulies and freaks, and Jonny Coyne!” he shouted over the roar which greeted his appearance. Pew had mentioned some celebrity fans the show apparently had following them on Oblitter (some sort of torture-fetish social media thing), and asked Snookie to mention a few of them by name in tonight’s broadcast. Giving the camera his best strained smile, Snookie continued, “Because none of you asked for it: a contestant reunion, just for you the fans – you know who you are, and I hope you’re all deeply ashamed of yourselves! Followed by the moment we’re all awaiting anxiously so we can finally stop this trainwreck – the announcement of the season winner! That’s all tonight, right here, right now or as soon as we indulge the truly scary corporations who give us money to do this, on Break a Leg!”
The audience roared, and the show immediately went to commercial break. Snookie found himself panting lightly, and forced himself to keep smiling. “Almost over,” he muttered to himself, grabbing a bottle of water which seemed a little more gray than usual and swigging it anyway.
Overhearing him, Pew grinned. “Zat’s rrright! Oh, ah am so zorry, mon frere – although ze show has been renewed for a zecond zeason, you weel no longair be ze host! Ha ha ha ha!”
Snookie gave him a blank look. “See this? This is my vastly disappointed face.” He smoothed down his hair reflexively, then frowned and grabbed the director’s arm. “Wait. Not that I want the job, but why am I being replaced?”
Pew shrugged. “Oh, uh, ah am zure ah do not know! You weel have to speak to ze head of ze network!”
“No thanks,” Snookie snapped. “It probably only means I’ll be too busy with twenty other things!” He briefly considered all the tapings he’d missed today...wait. Why didn’t anyone complain? Why wasn’t I dragged off anyway? Did Carl scare them all off? He shivered. If so, it could only mean that Carl had something even worse planned...suddenly he realized he still had to do the ‘Monsters Tonight!’ Halloween-night show tomorrow. Shuddering, Snookie glanced into the roiling crowd, once again seeing the huge gray-green creature with his shaggy arm around a huddling, nervous Whatnot’s shoulders. She was wearing the fake horns and glasses again. Snookie glared at that. Maybe she PREFERS the company of monsters! WHY did you stick your neck out for her again? Feeling betrayed, he tried to shake it off; it wasn’t as though that was a new quality down here, after all. People sold one another out every day, sometimes two and three times over, in this monstervore’s jungle, where the rule was eat and be eaten...
Forcing himself to focus, Snookie plastered a strained smile on his mouth again as the cameras went live once more. “So, guys...do you wanna see something really scary?” The crowd roared. “Well in that case, I give you...our contestants!”
The whole stage lit up, revealing small raised columns; each of them had a contestant perched atop them...though most looked a great deal less lively than they had the last time they appeared on the show. “Jimmy Joe Bob Fred Eb...oh, heck, just plug your ears, folks,” Snookie grumbled, doing so himself. A dazed-looking tall Whatnot in overalls blinked at the audience, and then launched into a song...although only a muffled sort of warbling got past the face-hugging insectoid larva currently sucking on his head. However, the hillbilly’s attempt at singing made the monster curl up its octopoid legs in alarm. It reared back, and Jimmy Joe Bob crooned, “Hoooome, hooome suuure is straaaange, where th’ feeeear and th’ cantelo—“ The facehugger used its sucker-laden arms to slap him silly, and as the Whatnot’s head lolled, the monster glommed itself back over his mouth and nose, sucking contentedly again.
“Artemis Kookulboofer!” That column seemed empty. Snookie consulted a cue card handed him by a stagefrackle. “Er...apparently Art has gone into the Game Show Contestant Relocation Program.” He glared offstage at Pew. “We have one of those? Is this a joke? Do they accept hosts?”
The director gestured randomly, then pointed at the laughing audience. Sighing, Snookie returned to the roll call. “Montrose the Mouse!” He glanced up, saw what was on that column, shivered, and hurriedly moved on. “Er...Sylvester Stoatlone!”
Two legs sticking from under the wriggling, giant tuna shuffled atop a column, quickly losing their balance and toppling off. Muffled angry sounds came from inside the thrashing fish as it flopped on the stage floor. “Oooookay,” Snookie murmured, moving on. “Roberto the Magnificent!” A very large alligator waved, then gestured like a foot model at the lovely feathered boots she was wearing. “Uh huh...” Snookie sighed. Were any of the rest of them NOT eaten?
He was surprised when he turned to another column and saw a vision in swirling silk. “Er...Jasmine Fatwah?” Then he saw why he or she was here: a very large troll stood right behind him or her with a large chain-leash fastened around the exotic dancer’s neck. Snookie blanched. The bronze bikini and gauzy veils somehow didn’t go with the bushy moustache...
“Grrrrabba magga blagga!” Rosie McGurk growled, turning purple with jealousy. He almost ran onstage, but a goblin grabbed his ankle, tripping him.
“Wyatt Slurp!” Snookie continued. A small spiral shell sat unmoving atop a pedestal. Snookie paused, but the shell didn’t move at all. “Er...Wyatt, buddy, you in there?”
“Oooh, we should order more escargot tonight,” Hem rumbled, saucer-eyes widening.
“Aaaaaah rabba zgagga!” Heap agreed, proceeding to eat his microphone.
“Philistine,” B D growled. “At least put some garlic butter on it!”
“John Lamb!”
All that appeared on that column was a frilly paper garnish and a mostly-empty jar of mint sauce. A stagefrackle hurriedly ran over and deposited a pair of black woolen knitted socks next to it.
“Aw, maaaaan,” Carl groaned. “They couldn’t have at least made a hat too? Now that’s just greedy!”
“Mungus Mumfrey!” Snookie had to peer hard at the tiny thing glopping around in a tiny specimen jar; he hoped the camera was catching more of it in a close-up. “And finally...Gonzo the Great!”
Gonzo waved, basking in the cheers and violent applause. This is spectacular! I’m at the top of my game! London Twenty-twelve arrhythmic darenastics, here I come! I just wish...I wish Camilla were right here accepting this accolade too...if it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t have... Feeling mushy, Gonzo sucked in a breath, and made himself keep waving and grinning. Tomorrow, tomorrow, I’ll see my chickie tomorrow...
“Now, let’s have a word from our judges!” Snookie was supposed to bound eagerly over to the judges’ table; it ended up more of a listless stroll, and the camera had to backtrack to find him plodding across the stage. Snookie didn’t bother trying to smile for the monsters lined up at the table. “B D?”
“Hmmm...” B D thought hard; small wisps of smoke began curling off his flat head. “Well, y’know, Snookie, I guess I’m gonna have to go with...Toledo.”
Snookie stared at him. “Toledo?”
B D nodded firmly. “Toledo!”
“Uh huh.” Snookie turned to the next monster. “Our returning special guest judge, Gorgon Heap! Mr Heap, what say you to this magnificent lineup of brave-if-not-especially-keen-on-survival players?”
“Aaaahhhm nom nom nom!” Heap yelled, proceeding to chew on B D’s arm.
“Hey! Get off me!”
“I see,” Snookie sighed, turning to the last judge. “Hem?”
“Wow, Snookie, that’s hard to say,” the tan monster rumbled, putting a thoughtful hand to his round head and drumming his thick fingers; hollow tock-tock-tocks came from his skull. “I guess...I’d have to say...I’ll go with frabjuous.”
“Excuse me?”
“No, no, wait – no never mind. I was thinking maybe scabbified, but frabjuous really is a better word. Yep. That’s my word.” Behemoth looked very pleased with himself.
Snookie shook his head, facing the audience again. “There you have it...some words from the judges, and I can’t believe even they would use a joke that lame. So up next, farewell performances from our contestants and the announcement of the winner of this inaugural, and inarguably horrific, season of Break a Leg—but right now, straight off a successful tour of the world’s biggest waterborne trash slurry, Barbie Sargasso!”
Snookie retreated as a shiny-skinned, blonde, petite thing with a permanent wide smile (with that many teeth, Snookie doubted she could ever close her mouth) skipped to the center of the stage. “Wow! Hi! This is just so exciting! I want to thank all my fans who’ve endlessly copied my excessively simplistic song for their own videos that look exactly as low-budget as mine! If imitation is the sinsy...uh...the sinnest...no, that’s not it...um...what I mean to say is you love me, you really really love me!” the perky little monster chirped. As the crowd roared, she gestured at the backup band. A Mutation stepped out of the wings, repeating two guitar chords over and over, and another pressed the playback button on a Boog keyboard. The pop star launched into her only hit. “You won’t kill me...you’re so crazy! Makes me so sad...eat me maybe?”
Gonzo hopped down from his pedestal, running to the holding pen. “Rosie! Rosie, did you remember the shoes? Rosie?” He looked around, not spying his assistant anywhere...and then heard snarling and loud thumps. Peering past the corner of the platform, he saw the pink-skinned, three-eyed monster trading punches with two squealing Frackles as a bewildered Jasmine Fatwah watched, her chain still gripped by an oblivious troll. The enraged Rosie knocked aside the Frackles and leapt with a wild war whoop upon the troll. “Uh...Rosie, what are you doing?” Gonzo called up. McGurk thwapped his fists over and over at the bulbous cone-head of the troll; after a moment, the troll frowned mildly, reached up, and scratched his head, dislodging Rosie.
“Bleaagh,” the lovestruck monster groaned. Gonzo sighed, and went over to help. Rosie grabbed the chain holding Fatwah captive, and yanked on it with all his might, trying to free it from the troll’s meaty grip. The troll didn’t even notice, his gaze turned up to the bigscreen where the musical performance had entered the endless chorus. Gonzo looked at all of this, and plucked a feather from the alligator wearing Roberto boots.
“Pardon me,” he apologized; the alligator shrugged. Gonzo used the feather to tickle the troll’s rear end. He tickled one side, and the troll reached back to absently scratch that spot. Gonzo darted to the other side, tickling there, and sure enough the troll used his other hand to scratch, releasing the chain. At the sudden slacking of tension, Rosie’s angry tug sent him sprawling. Gonzo sighed, tossing away the feather. “There ya go. Now can we please get back to the act?”
Abashedly the pink-headed monster nodded, turned to Fatwah, and threw aside her chain-leash in a grand flourish. “Gabba freega!” he proclaimed.
Looking irritated, Fatwah smacked the knee of the troll. He leaned down, puzzled, and Fatwah handed him the end of the leash again, then snuggled against those hairy legs with a contented sigh. Rosie’s jaw went slack. Gonzo nudged him. “Eh, c’mon, plenty of other...um...things in the dungeons, right?”
Rosie stared another second at the fading chance of lost love, then sighed and nodded at the Whatever. “Ah-kayyy...”
“Chin up, Rosie,” Gonzo urged. “Hey, y’know, there are other chickens back at the Muppet Theatre...if you’re a leg man like me, it’s Thanksgiving every day! Maybe Camilla could set you up with a friend? We could go on double dates! Wouldn’t that be great? Just picture it: the night air rushing through your fur, riding with the top down, heading out to the drive-in, your arm snug around a plush little ball of white feathers while her cute little wattles flap in the breeze...” He shivered all over happily. “Man! I have just gotta see her again soon! I’m a dying man here, Rosie!”
McGurk sobered fast. Gonzo had no idea how true that was. As the daredevil changed into his costume, for once not involving spandex, Rosie looked around. No one was paying them any attention; the judges were busy arguing among themselves over French or Italian food for dinner later; that slinky, sly flunky of the underboss’ was nowhere in sight. Rosie took a deep breath, about to tell Gonzo that he needed to get out of here and now – and Pew suddenly careened past, having fallen off the rear of the platform, and his flailing cane whacked Rosie across the back of his furry skull.
“Okay, this should be pretty simple, I’m only going to do one verse and a...” Gonzo turned, and saw his assistant passed out on the ground. He shook his head. “...chorus. Geez...you’d think the guy would figure out that late-night parties and hard work don’t mix...” Gonzo shrugged. “Well, probably better to let him sleep it off. I’ll tell him about my seamonkey-and-Tang hangover cure when he wakes up.” Gonzo checked his appearance in the monitor of the backstage camera feed. “Not too shabby! Hah! Camilla sweetie, here comes your loverboy!” With a quick tug of his Hawaiian-print tie, Gonzo got in line at the edge of the platform, waiting his turn to go on for his last performance of the show. When Pew tottered past again, Gonzo had a brilliant idea; he grabbed the director’s cane. “Gonna borrow this just a minute, ‘kay?” Pew growled, tried to snatch the cane back, pinwheeled and crashed under the platform.
In the audience, Constanza la Whatnot scrunched down as low as she could get without actually putting her bottom on the frog-only-knows-what-encrusted bench of her bleacher seat. She was less than thrilled about having a shaggy monster’s arm around her, but given that any of the other creatures in the crowd might have decided to have her instead of another hot dog, she was grudgingly tolerating Carl’s guardianship. As Blyer came back onstage to announce another commercial break, she watched him; when his spotlight turned off and the big screen behind the stage played the network’s ad block for the in-house crowd, Blyer’s smile vanished, his shoulders slumped, and he looked right at her with a hard, neutral expression. Constanza wondered why, and then felt Carl tighten his grip around her as he gave a nasty grin to a five-armed thing leaning just a little too close to her. Uncomfortable, Constanza looked from the rebuffed thing to Carl’s smug eyes to Blyer, who turned away and didn’t look back at her again.
Now what the heck is his...oh, she thought. She glared at Carl. “Do you have to keep me in a deathgrip, buddy?” she complained. “I’m a big girl! I can take care of myself!”
Carl turned wide, curious eyes to her, his giant pink nose twitching. “You didn’t have a problem with it last time! What, did I forget to leave off my eau de compost aftershave again?” He sniffed himself experimentally.
The pink-blotched Whatnot scowled. “No! And last time, he wasn’t – er...”
Carl stared at her. “He?” He noticed her face turning even pinker, and his horns perked up. “Waaaaaiiitaminute! Ooooh! Do you have a little bit of a thing for Snookums?”
“I...don’t be stupid!” she snapped. “’Course not! I just don’t like being Muppethandled all the time!”
Carl chortled. “Oh-ho-ho! Stinky’s got a cruuuush, Stinky’s got a cruuuush...” That singsong tone in his scratchy voice was even more annoying. Leaning closer, he whispered at her (she assumed that raspy, hoarse voice was supposed to be a whisper, at least), “Well ya know what? He likes you toooooo!”
“What?” Constanza said, startled.
Carl bounced up and down on the bench. “Oooh, ooh, Muppets in loooove! Oh, I am gonna have to work that into the show tomorrow! You’re comin’ with me, scrumptious!”
“What? Your stupid talk show? Oh no. No no no!” Constanza pulled away, alarmed, but Carl hugged her shoulder tightly, yanking her face into his thick, matted coat. She coughed, unappreciative of his vaguely dirty-dishwasher smell.
“One lovebird pie will be served up tomorrow night!” Carl crowed, and squeezed her tight. “Oh, this will be so cute I can hardly stand it!”
Constanza looked back at the platform. Blyer had returned to center stage, waiting while the stage manager counted down the seconds until they were back live; his eyes wandered listlessly over the howling, shoving, excited audience...and lingered just a moment more on her...as Carl scrunched her against him. Blyer’s gaze narrowed, and he turned all his attention toward the camerafrackle at the front of the stage.
Carl choked, startled, when his ward shoved him hard in the belly. “Let go of me, you jerk!” she snarled.
The monster rubbed his tummy. “Wow! If you can hit that hard from the outside of me, maybe I made the wrong choice in letting you stay out here instead of seeing what a kick you’d make going down!” He chuckled. “That’s better than hot sauce!”
Constanza made no reply, glumly sinking down on her seat again, completely forgetting about the gunk she didn’t want to touch until she sat right in it. She grimaced. This was not one of the better nights of her life...
Gonzo waited as the host introduced the toucan-feather boots; the alligator wearing them did a runway walk to a hot Brazilian tune, to the cheers and wolf-whistles of the crowd. Then the snail shell was tossed onstage with a fanfare, but although a paper shooting gallery of targets paraded across the front of the stage, the sharpshooter never emerged to fire off a single shot. Gonzo paced, going over the dance moves in his head; his skills, he knew, loaned themselves better to tightrope walking than graceful softshoe, but he was determined to demonstrate his versatility...and besides, he knew Camilla had always secretly liked his silly old Fred Astaire routine. When finally he heard his name announced, he straightened his shoulders, marched right onto the stage, and conferred with the bandleader—he’d decided to change the tune he’d dance to. He grinned at the audience, swept the trilby hat from his forehead with a bow, and announced, “Although I have the most wonderful chickie a guy could ever hope for, I know some of you aren’t as fortunate. Kinda like my friend Rosie. So this song is for all you folks out there who feel unlucky in love!”
The audience grumbled, uncertain; they wanted something dangerous and deathly. Gonzo nodded at the Mutations, and they began a slow shuffle of a tune with banjo and double-bass. Gonzo slid his feet along the stage, using Pew’s cane as his dancing prop. Spying a big gray monster cuddling a smaller one with Groucho glasses and moustache, Gonzo pointed to them with the cane, and sang:
“They may walk hand in hand
like lovers through the market square
selecting leather goods
pretending that they just don’t care...
They say all the boys are monsters...”
Snickers and chuckles spread through the audience; Gonzo laughed too.
“And all the girls are...” He paused, realizing they probably wouldn’t let him say that word, then noticed a piglike goblin holding the paw of a large tusked thing. Inspired, he finished, “boars!
so when you lose the one you love
there’s always plenty more!”
He did a pattern of stylish little footfalls across the stage, twirled, and began the next verse. Getting into the spirit of it, a few of the audience monsters began swaying along.
“They may be in a club
all dressed up waiting to meet you
or in some garret bleak
despairing over what to do...
All the girls are monsters
all the boys are boors...
So when you lose the one you love
there’s always plenty more!”
He danced, feeling a little out of breath, trying to master that tap-and-slide thing that Camilla always sighed happily at. The band wound up the last chorus with him:
“So when you lose the one you love
there’s always plenty more...plenty more...plenty moooore!”
The crowd laughed, cheered, and threw things. Grinning, Gonzo bowed, sweeping up one of the grungy socks which had landed close by, and waving it over his head as he cheerily trotted offstage.
Carl applauded with everyone else, and elbowed the Whatnot girl; she coughed, startled. “Aww! Wasn’t that a sweet little song? Hey, what would you like to sing tomorrow night? I’ll let you and Snookums do a duet, even!”
Constanza glared at him, readjusting her disguise. “You’re a jerk, hornbrain! I don’t sing! Except for folk-rock protest songs.”
“Hmm, nope, don’t think that’ll work for what I have in mind.” Carl grinned at the way she scrunched up her nose in contempt at him. “Ya know, I can almost see it, when you squish your face all ugly like that.”
“See what?”
“What it is that makes Snookie want to get all gushy with you. Do you Muppety things do that? Get gushy? See, when a ghoul and a guy love one another very, very much...”
“Spare me,” Constanza growled. “And I do not get gushy!”
“Bet you would if I used the acidic tenderizing rub,” Carl mused.
Alarmed, Constanza argued, “You – you made a deal with Blyer! You’re not allowed to eat me!”
“That’s right,” Carl agreed. “I made a deal to only eat him! And tomorrow night you will help me demonstrate how to bake a lovebird pie! Hah hah hah!”
“The frog I will, you big furry creep!”
“Oooh, language!” Carl chuckled, and suddenly yanked her tight against the side of his bulging belly. “I like a girl who’s not afraid to get dirty! Hey, if ya ever change your mind about Snookums, maybe we...”
“I am not changing my mind!” Constanza shouted, then froze, realizing dozens of curious eyes were upon her. Thinking fast, she kept yelling: “Uh...I’m not giving you any of those wasp eggs! I want ‘em all for my cookies!” The surrounding monsters chuckled, looking back at the stage; one of them rumbled at her to keep it down so they could hear the contestants scream.
Carl smiled, but felt a twinge of something...some uneasy feeling deep inside, at the thought of making this defiant young lady watch while he prepared Snookie with apple cider, allspice, and centipede-egg stuffing and baked him in sweet pastry dough...forcing her to help him cook the hapless talk-show sidekick and then hand out samples to the audience... He glanced uncomfortably from Snookie onstage to the miserable Whatnot huddled next to him. His stomach turned over slowly.
Ahhhh...you’re just hungry, he told himself, trying to feel convinced.
Gonzo looked around for Rosie during the last commercial break. The pink monster had vanished. “Huh...wonder if I embarrassed him,” Gonzo muttered, peering under the platform. He blinked at the sight of the show director tangled in a crossed pile of electrical cables. “Oh, hey, thanks for the cane! Here ya go,” he said, handing back the stick.
Pew struggled, and tried to say something, but another facehugger crawled out of the cables, found a warm body, and eagerly splorched its entire body over Pew’s snout. “Wow,” Gonzo murmured, backing away with wide eyes. “Geez...” He shook his head, and commented to a stagefrackle, “Talk about needing to get a room! Does he ever think about what he’s doing in public?”
The Frackle shrugged. “Eh...he ain’t even da woist of ‘em, sad ta say.”
Onstage, Snookie did his best to ignore the way Carl was snuggling with the pretty blue-and-pink Whatnot. Shoulda known she was a freak. Everybody down here is. Did you really think you were gonna find a normal girl anywhere belowground? He scolded himself silently for thinking like a stupid teenager and allowing himself to entertain for even one second the notion of something which wasn’t horrendous and painful. As the stage manager gave one grim nod, Snookie forced a thin smile to his face and addressed the main camera. “All right, fiends, we’re now down to the moment you’ve all been drooling for – the awarding of the title Most Broken to our most fearless performer! Judges, can we have another wo—no, scratch that. Which contestant do each of you think most deserves this dubious honor?”
B D hummed thoughtfully. “Well, there have been many stupendously braindead acts across this stage, Snookie, but I gotta tell you, there’s really only one which impressed me as being worth my time at all the entire season!”
“Mungus or Gonzo?” Snookie asked.
“Huh? Oh, well, yeah, them too I guess. I was actually thinking how delicious that sheepfighter guy was...but yeah, Gonzo has amazed me by how long he’s gone without losing a vital organ.”
“Are you kidding?” Hem growled. He gestured angrily, waving a half-squashed Shakey over his head. “Gonzo all the way, Snookie! That guy has done more suicidal stuff all season than alla the rest of ‘em combined! Plus...I’m really curious how blue fur tastes...”
“You really are disgusting,” B D muttered, crossing his blue arms nervously over his plain white t-shirt.
“Shakey?” Snookie asked. “You seem kind of...uh...quiet tonight.”
“Gluggga,” Shakey choked; Hem absentmindedly stuffed him into a cheek pouch and chewed slowly.
“And our guest judge...oh why do I bother,” Snookie grumbled, turning away while Heap stuffed the ribbons for the runners-up down his gullet. “So it seems among our judges, the Great Gonzo leads the way, but what did you, the gullible voters out there in tv-land think? What was the final popular tally?” he called over to the table where the double-header and the triple-header quickly abandoned the game of sheepshead they’d been playing. Cards scattered and pencils rolled off the table, and the monsters at least had the decency to look a little sheepish themselves.
“Labba vaggiggo mugabba foo!” proclaimed Horns-up.
“That’s right!” the middle head of the triple agreed.
Snookie paused. “Er...for those of us with actual working speech centers in our brains...can anyone translate?”
“Waggoo!” Horns-down protested.
Shaking his head, Snookie looked behind him at the enormous screen, where each contestant’s name was listed, along with the judges’ final scores and the results of the call-in voting. The numbers were all out of order, the names listed by first-to-die, so it took a moment of squinting for Snookie to read it all. “Uh...looks like our winner, and recipient of the most outrageously insulting trophy ever contrived on a game show, is...”
A muffled yell accompanied the director reeling past, fighting with an octopoid thing on his head, dragging a sparking lighting cable knotted around his ankle. Everyone stared. Pew lashed out with his cane, trying to hit himself over the head and dislodge the facehugger. The flailing stick smacked into the bottom of the screen: it fizzled, warped, and popped back on, showing Gonzo clearly at the top of the standings. “Like anyone didn’t see this coming like a class-four tornado –the Great Gonzo!” Snookie shouted. The crowd exploded in wild cheers and howls. Pew roared in frustration, smacked himself hard with the cane, and teetered for an instant on the edge of the platform. The facehugger looked equally dazed as the director. Then the monster slid off his head, and Pew toppled straight over. The sound of crashing trash bins and breaking bottles rattled the studio even over the whoops from the crowd.
“Ow,” muttered the goblin Pew had landed on.
Gonzo found his assistant groggy, with a bump rising from his skull the size of New Jersey. Gonzo grabbed him and hugged him hard. “Rosie! We won! We won! Come on! Get up here with me! Woo hoooo!” He dragged the half-conscious monster onstage, where applause, whistles, and thrown Chihuahuas added to the general air of celebratory mayhem. “This is awesome! Thank you! Thank you!” Gonzo yelled, waving to the whole crowd. When Snookie placed the dead-spider tiara on Gonzo’s head, the Whatever felt suffused with glory. “Yes! Yes! Camilla baby, this is for you!”
Snookie waited a moment for the cheering to die down, but when, if anything, the audience became more rowdy – he ducked a chunk of thrown bleacher—he made the call on his own to wrap the show up as fast as possible. “Well Gonzo you’ve won the prize and earned for yourself the privilege of being personally killed by the underlord!” he barked out in one breath. “What’re you going to do now?”
Eyes wide, Gonzo shook the dazed Rosie like a teddy monster, and threw his other hand in the air in a fist-pump. He threw himself forward at the nearest camera, and screamed triumphantly, “I’m going to chickie-land!”
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Sesame Street Season 54
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Sam and Friends Book
If I had to go for a fave SNZ it would be "H-ll" or "Blue Angel", though "The Ghost of Stephen Foster" is fun (and has a great video), and "Suits Are Picking Up the Bill" is great fun. Wish they hadn't experienced ego problems which broke up the band!