Ruahnna
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“This is amazing!” said the birthday boy. “I didn’t even think they had The Muppet Show Season Four and Season Five out on DVD yet!”
“Unwrap mine next,” said another voice. “It’s the video release of The Muppets—just in time for your birthday!”
There is such a thing as “too good to be real.”
Ed sighed. “I’m dreaming again, aren’t I?” he asked.
“Sadly, yes,” said the urbane voice of his roommate, Uncle Deadly. The long-tailed blue dragon came over and put a comforting claw on his friends shoulder. “I’m afraid those aren’t commercially available yet.”
“Rats,” said Ed, at the stroke of midnight—and his birthday wish was granted.
As you know, birthday wishes wished at exactly the stroke of midnight have a way of coming true. Uncle Deadly ‘s hand seemed insistent on his shoulder now.
“Ed—hey, Ed, buddy—you with us?”
Wait a minute, thought Ed. When did Deadly get a Jersey accent?
“Deadly?” he asked, and heard tittering.
“I told you to use a breath mint, Rizzo,” said a sassy feminine voice. The Jersey accent made an offended noise.
“He wasn’t talking about my breath, Rhonda. He’s asking for that fire-breathing roomie of his, and if you think my breath’s bad, you ought to get of whiff of Deadly’s after an all-nighter. “ He desisted talking to his companion and continued shaking their sleeping host by the shoulder. “Hey Ed—Sleeping Beauty—wakey wakey already. We got a birthday wish to fulfill.”
Some of this was penetrating the fog that Ed occupied—enough of it to make sleep impossible at any rate, and the only human occupant of Room 1 in the Jim Townhouse stirred groggily and sat up.
“Huh?” he mumbled. “What?”
“Hey—we got him!” cried the Jersey accent, which Ed had tentatively identified as belonging to Rizzo.
“Rizzo?” he asked.
“In the fur! Get up already. The night is waning and all that.”
“I usually like to let the night wane while I’m in bed,” Ed grumbled, but he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pushed his feet into his slippers.
“Yeah, yeah—not everybody’s a morning person. Got it. We’ll stop for Starbucks on the way.”
“On the way?” Ed yawned hugely, still trying to get enough oxygen to stoke up the fire in his brain. “On the way where?”
“Why does nobody read the fine print in wishes anymore,” Rhonda grumbled. “You made a birthday wish, Ed-boy, and we’re your, um, birthday wish granters.”
Okay—maybe he was dreaming.
“You…you mean like fairy god-parents or something?” Ed asked blearily.
“Kindly don’t use that word to refer to us,” sniffed Rhonda, and Ed grimaced, chagrined.
“Sorry, um. You…you mean…fairy?”
“I mean parent,” Rhonda huffed. “I am not about to waste the best years of my life changing diapers for a bunch of squalling brats,” she said, and stomped her little foot for emphasis.
“If they were your brats, I’ll bet they’d be adorable,” Rizzo said, flirting shamelessly.
“Oh, dry up, Rizzo. Of course they would. Look—I’ve got deadlines to meet. Can we get this show on the road?”
Rizzo peered at Ed, who was scratching his ear sleepily. “It’s not looking so much like go time,” he admitted.
Rhonda swept past him. “Oh for goodness sake—let me get this thing started.” The saucy little rat marched up to Ed.
“Is it or is it not your birthday?” she demanded. Ed felt for his watch.
“Just barely,” he said, “but yes. It has been my birthday for about twelve minutes.”
“And did you or did you not make a birthday wish exactly on the stroke of midnight?”
Ed began to wonder whether he was dreaming or not. “Um, I don’t remember a wish,” he mumbled.
“Oh for heaven’s sake—just take hold of my hand, would you?”
Like many glamorous and bossy women, Rhonda had a way of making herself obeyed. Ed reached out meekly and took her tiny, well-manicured paw---and his slippered feet left the bedroom floor. Quick as a flash, they soared out the partially-opened window. Ed had a moment to wonder how it was that he fit so compactly into the three-inch gap above the sill but then the sensation of flying through a vast, open space washed over him.
“Ahhh!” Ed cried. “I’m—I’m—am I flying?”
“Just look down,” Rizzo said, perched on Ed’s shoulder.
“Um….” Said Ed.
Rizzo put a hand over his face, embarrassed. “Duh. Is my face red.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Ed said dryly.
“Oy. Sorry about that.” He looked down. “Um, we’re flying over some really cute little houses below.” He watched for a moment. “I’m seeing a lot of water.”
Ed blanched. “Um, this isn’t going to, um, end badly is it? I’m, er, mortal and likely to fall…and all. I’m not going to fall and fall and fall and not be able to wake up, am I.”
“You’re not dreaming,” Rhonda snapped. “You’re getting your birthday wish.”
Ed held tightly to Rhonda’s small hand. He opened his mouth and closed it, not wanting to annoy his celestial escort. “Er, Rhonda?”
“Yeah-what is it?”
“Um, could you remind me again of what my, um, wish was?” Ed asked, hoping for some clue that would explain this weird waking dream.
Rhonda sighed. “You’ve been watching the muppet Christmas specials, right?”
“All of them,” Ed admitted, not sure if this would get him a figurative kiss or a figurative slap.
“And you know what happens when you make a wish that you’d never been born, right?”
“Um, you have to live in an alternate time line without all your friends until somebody spits in your eye?” Ed asked.
He felt Rhonda and Rizzo exchange looks.
“Close enough,” said Rizzo.
“Yeah—for horse-shoes,” Rhonda grumbled.
“But—but I didn’t wish that!” Ed protested. “I didn’t wish I’d never been born. I’m…I like being born. I mean, things are good—especially with the new movie and all.” He was silent for a moment. “I’m guessing that means I’m not getting The Muppets on DVD for my birthday, am I?” he said sadly, but there was just a smidge of hope in his tone.
Rhonda squashed it. “Not a chance, Ed-boy. But back up a minute—you didn’t wish you’d never been born?”
“No! I mean, I guess I was a little grumbly last night because it’s a little hectic this time of year with everything I’m doing, but no. I definitely know better than to wish that.”
“See, I told Kermit that was an educational film. He should have let me take the write-off,” Rizzo grumbled.
“Oh, great!” Rhonda kvetched. “Just super. That means we’ve got your wish and somebody else’s wish confused.”
“Oh,” said Ed. “I see.” In truth, he did not see, but he was trying. “So, what do we do?”
But Rizzo was philosophical. “What we always do,” he insisted. “Roll the film, pass the popcorn and hope for the best.”
Ed might have said more—there was plenty more to be said—but at that precise moment, his feet touched the ground.
“Welcome,” said Rhonda dramatically. “Welcome to the past.”
“How, um, far back did we come?” he asked nervously. “Am I a little boy again?”
“No,” said Rizzo, “but if you were you’d be rocking those Kermit the Frog PJs.”
Ed blushed. “They were a gift,”he said frostily.
“Yeah, and you should be grateful for ‘em,” said Rhonda. “Just be glad we didn’t snag you in your Electric Mayhem underwear.”
Ed’s blush deepened and he clutched his robe more firmly around him. He was wearing more layers than either of the rats—heck, Rizzo didn’t even have on any pants—but the strangeness of the situation was making him feel a little vulnerable—that, and Rhonda’s comment about his underwear.
“Where—I mean, when are we?” he mumbled, not getting many clues from context.
“Um, it looks a little like backstage.”
“Backstage left or right?” Ed said excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to see backstage left!”
“Um, sorry—neither. We’re backstage at Muppets Tonight.” Rizzo looked at Rhonda.
“Does that mean anything to you?”
“Wait! Wait—I—it’s means something to me! I know where we are—I think! We’re at Muppet Central?”
Rizzo looked around, hands on his hips. “Yep—this is Muppet Central.”
"Well, if this is my past, then I have a past with Muppet Central, so maybe that’s why we’re here.”
Rizzo fidgeted. “Um, not to be rude or anything, Ed, but I’ve never seen you backstage here.”
Ed laughed. It was suddenly clear. “Well, Muppet Central is this place—the control center for Muppets Tonight, but there’s also a website called Muppet Central. So, if this is my dream, I think my brain just substituted a real place for a virtual place so we’d, um, you know, have somewhere to stand.”
“I keep tellin’ ya, Ed—this ain’t a dream.” He leaned back and smirked at Rhonda. “Although you look like a dream to me, Pumpkin.”
Rhonda was a film student, and what she did next showed that she had—at least—watched all of Miss Piggy’s films. She hi-yahed Rizzo right into the back wall.
“Oof,” said Rizzo. “Tough and sexy.”
Rhonda and Ed rolled their eyes. The least he could do is come up with his own pick-up lines.
“So…do you think I’m right?” Ed said, returning doggedly to the subject at hand.
Rhonda shrugged her shoulders. “Sounds as logical as anything else I’ve heard. So…what’s the deal with your past at MC? How long you all been with them?”
“Well, I joined MC back in 2002, but I became a moderator in 2007.”
“A moderator? What’s that?”
Ed thought for a moment. “You know how Scooter keeps everything running at the theater so Kermit can do his job?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure.”
“Well, moderators sort of do that stuff for websites—we look for problems, handle complaints, deal with trespassers—that sort of thing.”
“Okay. Cool. So why do you think we’re here looking at your past at MC? You leave anything undone?”
“There are a couple of fan-fiction pieces I’ve been meaning to write….” Ed mumbled.
“Well, there you are. So get crackin’, Cookie—or should I say Countie? Find a little chink in your schedule and work those in.”
“I’m reviewing a lot of work right now,” The Count whined. “Can I promise to get around to it?”
“Let’s see, “ said Rhonda. She put her head back and proceeded to address the Powers-That-Be. “If Ed promises to get around to his own fiction eventually, are we done here?”
In answer, the very real-appearing room around them began to waver and blur.
“Ooh!” said Rizzo. “Nice special effect. I didn’t think we had the budget for that sort of thing.”
“What happened?” asked Ed. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, nuttin, I guess. The room is just dissolving around us. Hold on to Rhonda and you’ll be good.”
Nervously, Ed clasped Rhonda’s little paw and felt his feet leave the floor again.
“Where now?” he asked. “I mean—when now?”
“The present,” said Rhonda dramatically. “We’re going to Christmas present.”
The room reformed around them, filled to the brim with brightly-wrapped packages.
“Well, this is anti-climactic,” said Rizzo.
“What?” asked Ed. “Where are we?”
“Gift-wrapping department at Macy’s,” Rizzo quipped. “It’s, uh, well, I don’t quite know where we are but it’s a room filled with Christmas presents.”
“I’m beginning to think the Powers-That-Be are a little too lax with the terminology,” Ed murmured. “What am I supposed to learn here?”
Rizzo shrugged. “Don’t look at me—I went to a community college.” Rhonda smacked him on the arm. Rizzo rubbed his arm sulkily. “I graduated Cum Laude,” he muttered, “if anyone cares.”
“Can you see what’s in any of the presents?” Ed asked. “Or are they all wrapped shut.”
“Um, this one’s got a lid wrapped separately from the box,” Rhonda said. The was a raspy sound as she removed the box lid and her voice, when she spoke, sounded muffled, as though she were talking down into a well. “Let’s see—it’s got muppet CDs, and Muppet Yahtzee—eww, Kermit’s head spits out the dice!—and there are muppet DVDs.”
“Any DVDs of the new movie?” The Count asked hopefully. He could feel Rhonda’s beady stare on him and subsided sheepishly.
“No, Count. There are not any DVDs of the new movie—ooh! But here’s a CD of the music from the movie. You want?”
“I’ve got,” Ed sighed. “But thanks for asking.”
“Hey!” said Rizzo. “I found a whole batch of new muppet t-shirts. What size you wear, Ed?”
“Check his pajama label,” Rhonda snorted, and Ed made a scrunchy face and crossed his arms.
“You can order whatever size you want online, and if you do it through one of our affiliates you can help support Muppet Central,” he said crossly.
“I’ve got Palisades figures in here,” said Rhonda. “You looking for any of them in particular?”
The Count started to answer, but at that precise moment, Rizzo opened a huge box in the corner. Ed could tell it was enormous simply from the echo Rizzo’s voice made.
“Good grief,” the little rat muttered. “Have you ever seen so much paper in your life? What is all this junk?”
“Well, Mr. Cum Laude, why don’t you try reading some of it. I’ll bet there’s a clue in there somewhere,” Rhonda snapped.
“Well, excuuuuse me,” Rizzo grouched. He grabbed a small stack and started to read. After a moment, he reached for another stack, then another. “Hey, hey !” cried Rizzo excitedly. “I know what this is!”
“What?” asked Ed eagerly.
“Yeah, what already?” Rhonda asked.
“It’s fresh fan-fic! Hot off the press homemade baked-with-love fan-fic!” Rizzo said. “Here’s that monstery one you were talking about the other day—and here’s one of those who-are-we-going-to-maim-this-week stories, and here’s one that’s ginormous and…oh, um, whew. This one’s a little ushy-gushy.” He turned and made eyes at Rhonda. “Want to come read a few chapters, Sweet Thing?”
Rhonda turned to Ed. “So,” she said. “How ‘bout those Ravens?”
Ed shrugged, but Rizzo got the point. “Okay, okay—you don’t have to be rude. So we’ve located a whole bunch of new fan-fic. Do you think that’s what we’re supposed to discover here?”
Again, Rhonda tilted her head back and shouted up at the Powers That Be. “Are we done here? We found the fresh fic—all the new authors and the old ones. Anything else we need to know about this Christmas season in The Count’s life?”
The room dissolved around them.
“Cool,” said Rizzo to Ed. “It looks like we’re melting.”
“Kind of glad I’m not watching,” Ed admitted, holding tightly to Rhonda’s hand.
The room reformed around them and the floor was suddenly solid underneath his soles.
“Last stop,” Rizzo cried. “Christmas future.”
“Shouldn’t that be Birthday future?” Ed asked. “I mean, technically, this is my birthday, not Christmas.”
“And Hanukah. Today is the beginning of Hanukah this year.”
“Yes, but I was talking about…oh, never mind,” Ed sighed.
Rhonda put a soothing little paw on his arm. “Don’t fret, Sweetie,” she said. “These dream sequence shows—they always sort of follow a predictable pattern. I think we’re stuck with a Christmas theme, but we know it’s really your birthday.”
“Okay,” The Count said glumly. “So we’re here in Christmas Future, right?”
“Looks that way.”
“What year,” he asked perfunctorily.
“Well, I don’t know much about the year,” Rizzo said, “but I’m pretty sure the month is later than March—if you get my drift.”
“Oh! I do! I get your drift! Does that mean—?”
\ He felt Rhonda’s little paw over his lips. “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “It’s here. The new movie is here—“
“Hurrah!”
“—but you can’t have it.”
“But why not?” Ed pouted. “It’s my dream and I ought to get my way.”
“I already tried that line,” Rizzo admitted. “It’s a no go.”
“Well then what do I get out of this Christmas Future?” The Count demanded.
Rhonda looked mutely up toward the Powers-That-Be. “Yeah, we’re stumped. If you’ve got any clues, now would be a good time.”
Immediately the room was filled with snatches of music, flippered feet tap-dancing out a rhythm, punch lines from jokes, guitar riffs and drums solos, the sounds of monster chomping, and the pervasive sense of muppetness. It took their breath away.
“Wow,” said Ed.
“Whoa Nellie!” Rizzo said.
“And who the heck is Nellie?” Rhonda snapped. Rizzo just smirked at her.
“Aw, Dumpling—you do care! What say we wrap this dream sequence up and you let me buy you dinner.”
Rhonda gave him a look, then sighed and rolled her eyes. “I don’t have anything better to do,” she muttered. “You’re on.”
“But—but what do you think it means?” Ed cried. “This is supposed to be Christmas Future, but I can’t tell what we’re going to get.”
“Music,” said Rizzo. “I heard music.”
“I heard rock and roll,” Rhonda admitted. “And a tap-dancing frog.”
“And jokes,” Ed said. His expression turned hopeful. “Do you think…do you think it means that the future is going to be full of all kinds of muppet stuff?”
“Bingo!” said Rizzo.
“Give the birthday boy a gold star,” Rhonda said fondly.
There was a flash of light and a concussion boom, and Ed sat up in bed, startled into wakefulness. Uncle Deadly peered at him and patted his shoulder gently with an impressively clawed hand.
“I think you were having a nightmare,” Deadly said kindly. “Something awful?”
Ed reached for his watch, checking the time, then shook his head to clear it.
“No—not something awful. Something…good. Something hopeful.” He smiled at his scaly blue roomie. “I sort of get the feeling that next year is going to be full of muppety things.”
Deadly just smiled. “So many muppets to haunt. So few hours in the night.”
“Speaking of night,” said Ed. “I…I think I’m going to have another go a sleeping and start my birthday celebrating after I wake up.”
“A capital idea,” said Uncle Deadly. He patted Ed once more and stood up, walking to the door. “Sweet dreams, Count,” said Deadly, and turned off the light.
“Unwrap mine next,” said another voice. “It’s the video release of The Muppets—just in time for your birthday!”
There is such a thing as “too good to be real.”
Ed sighed. “I’m dreaming again, aren’t I?” he asked.
“Sadly, yes,” said the urbane voice of his roommate, Uncle Deadly. The long-tailed blue dragon came over and put a comforting claw on his friends shoulder. “I’m afraid those aren’t commercially available yet.”
“Rats,” said Ed, at the stroke of midnight—and his birthday wish was granted.
As you know, birthday wishes wished at exactly the stroke of midnight have a way of coming true. Uncle Deadly ‘s hand seemed insistent on his shoulder now.
“Ed—hey, Ed, buddy—you with us?”
Wait a minute, thought Ed. When did Deadly get a Jersey accent?
“Deadly?” he asked, and heard tittering.
“I told you to use a breath mint, Rizzo,” said a sassy feminine voice. The Jersey accent made an offended noise.
“He wasn’t talking about my breath, Rhonda. He’s asking for that fire-breathing roomie of his, and if you think my breath’s bad, you ought to get of whiff of Deadly’s after an all-nighter. “ He desisted talking to his companion and continued shaking their sleeping host by the shoulder. “Hey Ed—Sleeping Beauty—wakey wakey already. We got a birthday wish to fulfill.”
Some of this was penetrating the fog that Ed occupied—enough of it to make sleep impossible at any rate, and the only human occupant of Room 1 in the Jim Townhouse stirred groggily and sat up.
“Huh?” he mumbled. “What?”
“Hey—we got him!” cried the Jersey accent, which Ed had tentatively identified as belonging to Rizzo.
“Rizzo?” he asked.
“In the fur! Get up already. The night is waning and all that.”
“I usually like to let the night wane while I’m in bed,” Ed grumbled, but he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pushed his feet into his slippers.
“Yeah, yeah—not everybody’s a morning person. Got it. We’ll stop for Starbucks on the way.”
“On the way?” Ed yawned hugely, still trying to get enough oxygen to stoke up the fire in his brain. “On the way where?”
“Why does nobody read the fine print in wishes anymore,” Rhonda grumbled. “You made a birthday wish, Ed-boy, and we’re your, um, birthday wish granters.”
Okay—maybe he was dreaming.
“You…you mean like fairy god-parents or something?” Ed asked blearily.
“Kindly don’t use that word to refer to us,” sniffed Rhonda, and Ed grimaced, chagrined.
“Sorry, um. You…you mean…fairy?”
“I mean parent,” Rhonda huffed. “I am not about to waste the best years of my life changing diapers for a bunch of squalling brats,” she said, and stomped her little foot for emphasis.
“If they were your brats, I’ll bet they’d be adorable,” Rizzo said, flirting shamelessly.
“Oh, dry up, Rizzo. Of course they would. Look—I’ve got deadlines to meet. Can we get this show on the road?”
Rizzo peered at Ed, who was scratching his ear sleepily. “It’s not looking so much like go time,” he admitted.
Rhonda swept past him. “Oh for goodness sake—let me get this thing started.” The saucy little rat marched up to Ed.
“Is it or is it not your birthday?” she demanded. Ed felt for his watch.
“Just barely,” he said, “but yes. It has been my birthday for about twelve minutes.”
“And did you or did you not make a birthday wish exactly on the stroke of midnight?”
Ed began to wonder whether he was dreaming or not. “Um, I don’t remember a wish,” he mumbled.
“Oh for heaven’s sake—just take hold of my hand, would you?”
Like many glamorous and bossy women, Rhonda had a way of making herself obeyed. Ed reached out meekly and took her tiny, well-manicured paw---and his slippered feet left the bedroom floor. Quick as a flash, they soared out the partially-opened window. Ed had a moment to wonder how it was that he fit so compactly into the three-inch gap above the sill but then the sensation of flying through a vast, open space washed over him.
“Ahhh!” Ed cried. “I’m—I’m—am I flying?”
“Just look down,” Rizzo said, perched on Ed’s shoulder.
“Um….” Said Ed.
Rizzo put a hand over his face, embarrassed. “Duh. Is my face red.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Ed said dryly.
“Oy. Sorry about that.” He looked down. “Um, we’re flying over some really cute little houses below.” He watched for a moment. “I’m seeing a lot of water.”
Ed blanched. “Um, this isn’t going to, um, end badly is it? I’m, er, mortal and likely to fall…and all. I’m not going to fall and fall and fall and not be able to wake up, am I.”
“You’re not dreaming,” Rhonda snapped. “You’re getting your birthday wish.”
Ed held tightly to Rhonda’s small hand. He opened his mouth and closed it, not wanting to annoy his celestial escort. “Er, Rhonda?”
“Yeah-what is it?”
“Um, could you remind me again of what my, um, wish was?” Ed asked, hoping for some clue that would explain this weird waking dream.
Rhonda sighed. “You’ve been watching the muppet Christmas specials, right?”
“All of them,” Ed admitted, not sure if this would get him a figurative kiss or a figurative slap.
“And you know what happens when you make a wish that you’d never been born, right?”
“Um, you have to live in an alternate time line without all your friends until somebody spits in your eye?” Ed asked.
He felt Rhonda and Rizzo exchange looks.
“Close enough,” said Rizzo.
“Yeah—for horse-shoes,” Rhonda grumbled.
“But—but I didn’t wish that!” Ed protested. “I didn’t wish I’d never been born. I’m…I like being born. I mean, things are good—especially with the new movie and all.” He was silent for a moment. “I’m guessing that means I’m not getting The Muppets on DVD for my birthday, am I?” he said sadly, but there was just a smidge of hope in his tone.
Rhonda squashed it. “Not a chance, Ed-boy. But back up a minute—you didn’t wish you’d never been born?”
“No! I mean, I guess I was a little grumbly last night because it’s a little hectic this time of year with everything I’m doing, but no. I definitely know better than to wish that.”
“See, I told Kermit that was an educational film. He should have let me take the write-off,” Rizzo grumbled.
“Oh, great!” Rhonda kvetched. “Just super. That means we’ve got your wish and somebody else’s wish confused.”
“Oh,” said Ed. “I see.” In truth, he did not see, but he was trying. “So, what do we do?”
But Rizzo was philosophical. “What we always do,” he insisted. “Roll the film, pass the popcorn and hope for the best.”
Ed might have said more—there was plenty more to be said—but at that precise moment, his feet touched the ground.
“Welcome,” said Rhonda dramatically. “Welcome to the past.”
“How, um, far back did we come?” he asked nervously. “Am I a little boy again?”
“No,” said Rizzo, “but if you were you’d be rocking those Kermit the Frog PJs.”
Ed blushed. “They were a gift,”he said frostily.
“Yeah, and you should be grateful for ‘em,” said Rhonda. “Just be glad we didn’t snag you in your Electric Mayhem underwear.”
Ed’s blush deepened and he clutched his robe more firmly around him. He was wearing more layers than either of the rats—heck, Rizzo didn’t even have on any pants—but the strangeness of the situation was making him feel a little vulnerable—that, and Rhonda’s comment about his underwear.
“Where—I mean, when are we?” he mumbled, not getting many clues from context.
“Um, it looks a little like backstage.”
“Backstage left or right?” Ed said excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to see backstage left!”
“Um, sorry—neither. We’re backstage at Muppets Tonight.” Rizzo looked at Rhonda.
“Does that mean anything to you?”
“Wait! Wait—I—it’s means something to me! I know where we are—I think! We’re at Muppet Central?”
Rizzo looked around, hands on his hips. “Yep—this is Muppet Central.”
"Well, if this is my past, then I have a past with Muppet Central, so maybe that’s why we’re here.”
Rizzo fidgeted. “Um, not to be rude or anything, Ed, but I’ve never seen you backstage here.”
Ed laughed. It was suddenly clear. “Well, Muppet Central is this place—the control center for Muppets Tonight, but there’s also a website called Muppet Central. So, if this is my dream, I think my brain just substituted a real place for a virtual place so we’d, um, you know, have somewhere to stand.”
“I keep tellin’ ya, Ed—this ain’t a dream.” He leaned back and smirked at Rhonda. “Although you look like a dream to me, Pumpkin.”
Rhonda was a film student, and what she did next showed that she had—at least—watched all of Miss Piggy’s films. She hi-yahed Rizzo right into the back wall.
“Oof,” said Rizzo. “Tough and sexy.”
Rhonda and Ed rolled their eyes. The least he could do is come up with his own pick-up lines.
“So…do you think I’m right?” Ed said, returning doggedly to the subject at hand.
Rhonda shrugged her shoulders. “Sounds as logical as anything else I’ve heard. So…what’s the deal with your past at MC? How long you all been with them?”
“Well, I joined MC back in 2002, but I became a moderator in 2007.”
“A moderator? What’s that?”
Ed thought for a moment. “You know how Scooter keeps everything running at the theater so Kermit can do his job?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure.”
“Well, moderators sort of do that stuff for websites—we look for problems, handle complaints, deal with trespassers—that sort of thing.”
“Okay. Cool. So why do you think we’re here looking at your past at MC? You leave anything undone?”
“There are a couple of fan-fiction pieces I’ve been meaning to write….” Ed mumbled.
“Well, there you are. So get crackin’, Cookie—or should I say Countie? Find a little chink in your schedule and work those in.”
“I’m reviewing a lot of work right now,” The Count whined. “Can I promise to get around to it?”
“Let’s see, “ said Rhonda. She put her head back and proceeded to address the Powers-That-Be. “If Ed promises to get around to his own fiction eventually, are we done here?”
In answer, the very real-appearing room around them began to waver and blur.
“Ooh!” said Rizzo. “Nice special effect. I didn’t think we had the budget for that sort of thing.”
“What happened?” asked Ed. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, nuttin, I guess. The room is just dissolving around us. Hold on to Rhonda and you’ll be good.”
Nervously, Ed clasped Rhonda’s little paw and felt his feet leave the floor again.
“Where now?” he asked. “I mean—when now?”
“The present,” said Rhonda dramatically. “We’re going to Christmas present.”
The room reformed around them, filled to the brim with brightly-wrapped packages.
“Well, this is anti-climactic,” said Rizzo.
“What?” asked Ed. “Where are we?”
“Gift-wrapping department at Macy’s,” Rizzo quipped. “It’s, uh, well, I don’t quite know where we are but it’s a room filled with Christmas presents.”
“I’m beginning to think the Powers-That-Be are a little too lax with the terminology,” Ed murmured. “What am I supposed to learn here?”
Rizzo shrugged. “Don’t look at me—I went to a community college.” Rhonda smacked him on the arm. Rizzo rubbed his arm sulkily. “I graduated Cum Laude,” he muttered, “if anyone cares.”
“Can you see what’s in any of the presents?” Ed asked. “Or are they all wrapped shut.”
“Um, this one’s got a lid wrapped separately from the box,” Rhonda said. The was a raspy sound as she removed the box lid and her voice, when she spoke, sounded muffled, as though she were talking down into a well. “Let’s see—it’s got muppet CDs, and Muppet Yahtzee—eww, Kermit’s head spits out the dice!—and there are muppet DVDs.”
“Any DVDs of the new movie?” The Count asked hopefully. He could feel Rhonda’s beady stare on him and subsided sheepishly.
“No, Count. There are not any DVDs of the new movie—ooh! But here’s a CD of the music from the movie. You want?”
“I’ve got,” Ed sighed. “But thanks for asking.”
“Hey!” said Rizzo. “I found a whole batch of new muppet t-shirts. What size you wear, Ed?”
“Check his pajama label,” Rhonda snorted, and Ed made a scrunchy face and crossed his arms.
“You can order whatever size you want online, and if you do it through one of our affiliates you can help support Muppet Central,” he said crossly.
“I’ve got Palisades figures in here,” said Rhonda. “You looking for any of them in particular?”
The Count started to answer, but at that precise moment, Rizzo opened a huge box in the corner. Ed could tell it was enormous simply from the echo Rizzo’s voice made.
“Good grief,” the little rat muttered. “Have you ever seen so much paper in your life? What is all this junk?”
“Well, Mr. Cum Laude, why don’t you try reading some of it. I’ll bet there’s a clue in there somewhere,” Rhonda snapped.
“Well, excuuuuse me,” Rizzo grouched. He grabbed a small stack and started to read. After a moment, he reached for another stack, then another. “Hey, hey !” cried Rizzo excitedly. “I know what this is!”
“What?” asked Ed eagerly.
“Yeah, what already?” Rhonda asked.
“It’s fresh fan-fic! Hot off the press homemade baked-with-love fan-fic!” Rizzo said. “Here’s that monstery one you were talking about the other day—and here’s one of those who-are-we-going-to-maim-this-week stories, and here’s one that’s ginormous and…oh, um, whew. This one’s a little ushy-gushy.” He turned and made eyes at Rhonda. “Want to come read a few chapters, Sweet Thing?”
Rhonda turned to Ed. “So,” she said. “How ‘bout those Ravens?”
Ed shrugged, but Rizzo got the point. “Okay, okay—you don’t have to be rude. So we’ve located a whole bunch of new fan-fic. Do you think that’s what we’re supposed to discover here?”
Again, Rhonda tilted her head back and shouted up at the Powers That Be. “Are we done here? We found the fresh fic—all the new authors and the old ones. Anything else we need to know about this Christmas season in The Count’s life?”
The room dissolved around them.
“Cool,” said Rizzo to Ed. “It looks like we’re melting.”
“Kind of glad I’m not watching,” Ed admitted, holding tightly to Rhonda’s hand.
The room reformed around them and the floor was suddenly solid underneath his soles.
“Last stop,” Rizzo cried. “Christmas future.”
“Shouldn’t that be Birthday future?” Ed asked. “I mean, technically, this is my birthday, not Christmas.”
“And Hanukah. Today is the beginning of Hanukah this year.”
“Yes, but I was talking about…oh, never mind,” Ed sighed.
Rhonda put a soothing little paw on his arm. “Don’t fret, Sweetie,” she said. “These dream sequence shows—they always sort of follow a predictable pattern. I think we’re stuck with a Christmas theme, but we know it’s really your birthday.”
“Okay,” The Count said glumly. “So we’re here in Christmas Future, right?”
“Looks that way.”
“What year,” he asked perfunctorily.
“Well, I don’t know much about the year,” Rizzo said, “but I’m pretty sure the month is later than March—if you get my drift.”
“Oh! I do! I get your drift! Does that mean—?”
\ He felt Rhonda’s little paw over his lips. “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “It’s here. The new movie is here—“
“Hurrah!”
“—but you can’t have it.”
“But why not?” Ed pouted. “It’s my dream and I ought to get my way.”
“I already tried that line,” Rizzo admitted. “It’s a no go.”
“Well then what do I get out of this Christmas Future?” The Count demanded.
Rhonda looked mutely up toward the Powers-That-Be. “Yeah, we’re stumped. If you’ve got any clues, now would be a good time.”
Immediately the room was filled with snatches of music, flippered feet tap-dancing out a rhythm, punch lines from jokes, guitar riffs and drums solos, the sounds of monster chomping, and the pervasive sense of muppetness. It took their breath away.
“Wow,” said Ed.
“Whoa Nellie!” Rizzo said.
“And who the heck is Nellie?” Rhonda snapped. Rizzo just smirked at her.
“Aw, Dumpling—you do care! What say we wrap this dream sequence up and you let me buy you dinner.”
Rhonda gave him a look, then sighed and rolled her eyes. “I don’t have anything better to do,” she muttered. “You’re on.”
“But—but what do you think it means?” Ed cried. “This is supposed to be Christmas Future, but I can’t tell what we’re going to get.”
“Music,” said Rizzo. “I heard music.”
“I heard rock and roll,” Rhonda admitted. “And a tap-dancing frog.”
“And jokes,” Ed said. His expression turned hopeful. “Do you think…do you think it means that the future is going to be full of all kinds of muppet stuff?”
“Bingo!” said Rizzo.
“Give the birthday boy a gold star,” Rhonda said fondly.
There was a flash of light and a concussion boom, and Ed sat up in bed, startled into wakefulness. Uncle Deadly peered at him and patted his shoulder gently with an impressively clawed hand.
“I think you were having a nightmare,” Deadly said kindly. “Something awful?”
Ed reached for his watch, checking the time, then shook his head to clear it.
“No—not something awful. Something…good. Something hopeful.” He smiled at his scaly blue roomie. “I sort of get the feeling that next year is going to be full of muppety things.”
Deadly just smiled. “So many muppets to haunt. So few hours in the night.”
“Speaking of night,” said Ed. “I…I think I’m going to have another go a sleeping and start my birthday celebrating after I wake up.”
“A capital idea,” said Uncle Deadly. He patted Ed once more and stood up, walking to the door. “Sweet dreams, Count,” said Deadly, and turned off the light.