Part Fifty-Four (I)
Our Lady of Muppaphones Church was larger and more ornate than the Newsman had expected. Located in a quiet, Norman-Rockwellesque section of Jersey City, either the church had more parishioners than Newsie would have expected, given the oddly fluffy exterior, or else this many people had come specifically to see Ethel Muppman off to her final rest. He looked around once more, his gaze passing over his stepcousins Fred and Mary and their spouses, lingering a moment on the bored children piled into the same pew, and venturing on to the mingled Whatnots, cute furry animals, and sombre humans filling the large chapel to capacity. Gina squeezed his hand, and Newsie glanced at her, nodding to show her he was all right. On his other side, Chester – Snookie, he prefers to be called Snookie; what an odd nickname. Wonder if he enjoys billiards?—sighed deeply and pursed his lips.
“I had no idea Auntie Ethel was so popular,” Snookie muttered.
On his other side, Constanza shifted around uncomfortably on the worn wooden seat, her legs dangling above the floor. “It’s good to see so many of the nonfelted appreciated her. She must’ve been a good woman, and a credit to Muppethood,” Constanza offered, then growled under her breath, “Although I don’t get why she’d choose a church that doesn’t even have Muppet-friendly seating...”
Snookie noticed someone just now coming into the aisle and looking around in vain for an empty seat, then taking up a standing position along the side. The ex-show host nudged his cousin. “Hey. Check it out. That’s Uncle Milquey.”
“Who?”
“From Cheddarbreathe Hollow. Aunt Wilhelmina’s brother. I think he’s a lawyer.”
Newsie grimaced. “Not more lawyers!” Just this morning, he’d had to hand the phone to Gina to explain to the stuffily sonorous Bland (he thought; wait. Maybe it was Blander...) that Newsie couldn’t possibly come to the law office today to discuss terms of his suit against KRAK. Even the “recent developments concerning the city’s suit against Nofrisko and its subsidiaries of which KRAK was a member and therefore willing to make concessions in order to avoid total dissolution by the Benson’s Board for Beneficent Businesses” had to bow to the more pressing engagement of Ethel’s memorial and the reading of the will. Bland had expressed condolences but nattered on in legalese until Gina hung up on him.
Snookie grinned. The hot pizza, warm bath, and a night spent on the couch opposite Constanza had done wonders for his health; his felt practically glowed yellow-gold, and his sleek hair was once again shiny. Of course, the fact that the entire night hadn’t been spent on the opposite end of the couch from his new love might also have something to do with his more cheerful demeanor despite the solemn surroundings. “Nah, not like that. He does family law. Probably here for Ethel’s will.”
Newsie sighed. “That seems like a ridiculous formality. I’m sure whatever she had left from Uncle Joe has been spent on her care the last couple of decades.” He glanced again at his nonfelted relations. “It’s nice to see...see family again, though.”
Snookie followed his gaze. “Yeah. What’s up with them, anyway? I got a distinctly unfriendly vibe off that Fred guy when we shook hands.”
“What’d you expect from them?” Constanza snorted.
Snookie turned to her with a frown. “Look, they may not be Muppets, but you can’t choose your relations, all right? Isn’t there anyone in your family that stands out the same way?”
Constanza opened her mouth to object, then blushed. “Uh...penguins.”
Snookie challenged her. “Excuse me? What was that, dear?”
She glared at him. “One of my cousins married a penguin, okay? We...we don’t talk about her.”
Snookie grinned. Gina interrupted them. “You guys...is that the minister?”
All eyes turned to the raised platform at the front of the church, where a man with a furry orange mitre atop his head stepped behind the lectern and waited for silence. The organ softly playing “Nearer My Frog to Thee” drew to a quiet close. “Funky hat,” Snookie commented.
“That’s not a hat,” Newsie said as the mitre sat up and blinked at all the people.
“Get on with it already,” the Muppaphone atop the minister grouched. “We gotta wedding to perform at eleven!”
The minister, grandly ignoring the griping fluffball sitting on his head, opened the book on the lectern. “Ahem. When I have fears that I may cease to be, before the fluff has fallen from my frame; before high-piléd sweaters, in mimicry, hold like marshmallows the new-spilled stain...”
“What the heck chapter and verse is that?” Gina whispered, baffled.
A woman in the pew behind them leaned forward to hiss, “It’s from the Book of Common Muppaphonics. Shhh!”
Gina exchanged a querying look with Newsie. Both shrugged, and sat still while the rest of the strange verse was solemnly intoned. After the religious proceedings had finally dragged to a close (with numerous interruptions from the Muppaphone-hat, which the congregation all seemed to regard as perfectly proper), the minister asked for any family who wished to say a few words to come up and do so. Gina nudged Newsie, but he shook his head, abashed; most of his memories of Ethel were from his childhood. What could he say about a woman he’d barely known the last couple of decades? Fred was already on his feet and making his way onto the dais.
“Ethel Blyer married my grandfather, Joe Muppman. I was a boy when she came into my family’s life. I admit I was wary at first; after all, she was short, and...and different,” Fred began in a low, strong voice. Apprehensive murmurs traveled around the church, but Fred continued: “But I soon discovered that my new gran was one of the sweetest, most cheerful and supportive people in the world. She was always baking cookies for the whole neighborhood; she invited us up to her lake house every summer, and those were some of the best years of my life...and she never said a word against the people who remained so prejudiced they snubbed her, just because she was a Muppet.”
Newsie blinked, stunned. Was that really Fred up there? He didn’t realize he’d whispered the thought aloud until Snookie muttered in reply, “Maybe it’s a pod people.”
Newsie snorted. Gina stifled a giggle. Fred went on, “So I just wanted to say that, whatever our differences through the years...and despite the cruel dementia which took her reason toward the end...I loved my gran, and I always will. No matter what anyone thinks.” He cast a glare around the room as if daring anyone to say a word against Ethel. Mary patted her hands lightly in soft applause. A few people murmured, “Hear, hear,” and “Yeah, bro.”
As Fred resumed his seat, Gina suddenly pinched her Muppet reporter in a sensitive spot. He jerked to his feet, startled and only barely silencing a yelp. The minister nodded at him, and the irascible Muppaphone grumbled, “Well, come on up here then, we ain’t got all day.” Embarrassed, everyone’s eyes upon him, Newsie realized he had little choice now, but as he headed for the front of the church, he grabbed a snickering Snookie’s tie.
“Fine – but you’re coming too.”
Snookie shrugged, and together they climbed up to the podium next to the small urn holding Ethel Blyer Muppman’s earthly remains. Newsie was a bit unnerved to realize the urn was fuzzy...and pink, with a cute bow tied around the top. Ethel must’ve picked that herself; looks like her, he thought, then tried to compose himself. Snookie cleared his throat and grabbed the mic like a born showman. “So, here we all are, and here you are, Aunt Ethel...and looking as cheerful as ever!”
Dead silence filled the church. Somewhere in the back, a cricket chirped once.
Newsie took the mic from his cousin. “Er...what Snookie means is...Ethel was always so positive, with such a wonderful sense of humor! I’m sure she would have loved this whole ceremony.”
More silence. People stared at Newsie in puzzlement.
Snookie took back the mic. “Heh heh heh, what my way-too-politic cousin here means is: Ethel was about as fuzzy as you can be – especially these last few years, from what I hear. Now, I hadn’t seen her in twenty years, but I’m told that right up to the end, she cherished small wonders and laughed every day, and that’s not a bad thing no matter what your diminished mental capacity!”
Gina was now covering her face with both hands. Her shoulders shook in silent mirth. The churchgoers began to mutter in displeasure.
Newsie, feeling his cheeks burning, grabbed the mic away. “You know what? I’m sad Ethel’s gone. I am! But...but look at all of you!” The crowd stared at him, but Newsie, angered, bulled on. “She was always quick to laugh, even at herself, and she – she taught me that it was okay not to be serious all the time! Even when other people mock you or – or don’t take you seriously when you want to be...even then...it helps to keep a sense of humor.” He fell silent, struggling with emotion. He jumped when Snookie clapped his back.
“Frog yes,” Snookie stated firmly. He spotted a communion chalice sitting out on a side table, apparently left out from a prior service or waiting for the next one. He lifted it up, and shouted, “To Ethel!”
A number of the audience echoed, “To Ethel!”
“Now that’s more like it,” the Muppaphone agreed. “Pass that thing! I’m parched!”
“You’re stuffed already,” the minister objected, but he took the chalice after Snookie had wet his tongue with the overly-sweet wine inside, and held it aloft over the urn. “To Ethel, one of the few people who truly lived the Fluffy Rule in all she did.”
Even the hesitant in the congregation applauded that, and Snookie and Newsie tromped back to their pew feeling less disapproved-of. Gina hugged Newsie as he slid next to her again. “That was well said, sweetie,” she murmured, kissing him.
“I shouldn’t have—“
“Ah, these yokels needed a dose of good sarcasm,” Snookie opined, settling one arm around Constanza. “The Ethel I remember would’ve told ‘em all to lighten up, and then offered ‘em snickerdoodles.”
Unsure if he’d just ostracized himself further from his family, Newsie snuck a quick look around. Mary was beaming, and even Fred seemed mollified. Along the wall, the Whatnot Snookie had identified as Uncle Milquey was waiting attentively for the service to finish, but he seemed to feel eyes upon him and turned his head. Seeing the Newsman, he nodded once, and Newsie relaxed a bit. More people, whether felted or not, rose and shared memories of their time with Ethel, but most of them were happy stories or jokes; the entire mood of the church seemed to have lifted. When at last the minister declared the final hymn should be played, Newsie was startled to recognize the strains of “C’mon Get Happy” wheezing through the old organ.
“Oh my,” one of the old ladies sitting behind him gasped, blotting her eyes with a tissue. “This song always makes me cry!”
“Or gag,” Snookie muttered before being silenced by a kiss from his blue-and-pink girl.
“Move it, move it, turn those flowers around,” the Muppaphone hat snapped at some ushers slowly swiveling the black bouquets at the front of the altar around to show white carnations and roses instead. “The weddin’ party’s already waiting in the refectory!”
The nicely-suited Whatnot stopped Snookie and Newsie as the crowd filed out behind the urn, carried reverently by Fred’s daughter. “Pardon me. Are you Chester Blyer and Aloysius Crimp?” the short man asked, mispronouncing Newsie’s given name.
It was a common enough mistake, and Newsie simply offered his hand. “I go by Newsman.”
“Uncle Milquey, how ya been?” Snookie asked, shaking the Whatnot’s hand as well.
“Fine...as anyone in the family who’s actually kept in touch would know,” the Whatnot said, though his tone was mild. “Both of you, please come with me. I’ve arranged for privacy in one of the church offices.”
“Hey, little hard to keep in touch when you’re being held prisoner by crazed Frackles,” Snookie grumbled. He looked at Constanza. “Mind if my squeeze here joins us?”
Milquetoast frowned. “I’m sorry. Nice to meet you, Miss, but this is a family matter.”
“Maybe I am family,” Constanza snapped, clutching Snookie’s arm tighter.
“Gina goes where I go,” Newsie added. Snookie cast an incredulous look at Constanza.
She shrugged, blushing. “What? I’m thinking about it...do you have a problem with that?”
“I. Uh.” For once, the game show host seemed wordless.
Constanza smirked. “Good.”
The lawyer frowned and shook his head, but after a moment’s consideration shrugged and beckoned them through a door off the nave. “Well, I suppose Ethel wouldn’t mind, seeing as how her own marriage was rather a...rather a blended one.” He peered after Fred and Mary and their families. “Could someone call back her grandkids? They’re named as well, and it would be more proper to inform everyone at the same time.”
“Inform us of what?” Newsie wondered. Suddenly he had a nightmarish vision of being asked to care for Ethel’s dried, wilted pet cabbage in perpetuity; her insistence on dressing it in frilly frocks and carrying it everywhere had been the first serious indication years ago that the old woman might have lost a few screws.
Milquetoast appeared grave, and didn’t answer directly. “Just ask them to join us, please.”
Gina squeezed Newsie’s shoulder. “I’ll go get them, sweetie. You go ahead.”
He frowned. “Are you sure?”
Gina smiled...a little too nicely. “Absolutely. I think it’s time I introduced myself properly to your relations.”
Constanza liked that thought, and moved to go with her, but Snookie held her arm firmly. “Hey! I want to go say hi too!”
“One of you is an ambush,” Snookie argued. “Two is an invasion force. Come on. Let’s go hear how many tea cozies I inherited.”
The Newsman sighed, watching his beloved hurry after the departing crowd, half proud of her and half mortified. Even after this probable waste of time, he still had to get in touch with Bland and Blander to see if they’d made any progress in restoring his job, or at least his reputation as an employable journalist. As he followed his cousin and the girl now protesting loudly that as a liberated Muppet she had no interest in tea cozies, petticoats, or elevated shoes, Newsie reflected: As weird as October was, I hope November turns out better...or at least calmer.
------
The site was fenced off and still marked with biohazard caution tape, but Gonzo slipped easily past the security bear arguing with a couple of city inspectors about the legitimacy of their ID badges. He held Camilla’s wing gently as he guided her over the rubble to the cracked stone steps leading down, the only part of the hotel which had survived the combined forces of the Underchicken and a psychokinetic mass spectrum catastrophic event. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet ‘em last night, but trust me, they’re really great guys...just don’t say anything about their back fur; it’s kind of embarrassing, I think.” When Camilla cawped softly in confusion, Gonzo leaned closer to whisper, “It’s way too short.” The chicken clucked her comprehension, and carefully they descended.
Banging, sawing, and other construction sounds ricocheted through the tunnels as collapsed passageways were either shored up or walled over. Gonzo looked curiously around; the studios which had sustained the least damage appeared to be running again. He peeked around the open doorframe of a game-show studio and saw what looked like a knitting show: a terribly fat bat in a poncho was demonstrating how to do a two-clawed purl to make Christmas stockings out of red-and-green-dyed, thick ropes of silk. Suddenly a giant orange spider face thrust out of the studio. “Hey Pew, you bring cookies?”
Camilla bawked and clutched Gonzo; Gonzo froze, but the spider saw who it was and jerked back, then turned red in the mandibles. “Oh. Huh huh. Is Great One! Sorry, Great One.”
“Uh...hi,” Gonzo murmured, petting his chicken reassuringly. “See, sweetie? They all love me down here.”
“Awww,” the spider chuckled, dragging three feet bashfully through the rock floor and gouging new tracks in it.
“Are you guys filming again already?” Gonzo asked. “I thought the FCC, the FBI, DHS, and MMB shut you down for good!” Camilla clucked a question. “Monster Mistreatment Bureau,” Gonzo explained.
Steve the Spider shrugged. “Got no transmitter no more. Was tasty though.” He beamed, gesturing at the fussy bat beckoning a camerafrackle in for a close-up of the stitch held on two elongated wing-claws like knitting needles. “Got show-how show. Clarence made me booties.” Proudly he held up his two front legs; adorably knitted and pompom-tufted covers made the deadly striking claws almost festive.
Gonzo looked past the spider; the whole studio was filled with the ropy, sticky threads that the bat was determinedly trying to incorporate into Christmas stockings and a matching scarf-and-mitten set. Instead of all the fancy electronics Gonzo had seen before in many of these rooms, the only other occupant was the lone green Frackle holding a small videocamera to its beady eyes. “But if you got banned from broadcasting, how are you—“
“Web TV,” Steve explained. Some of his eyes shifted to Camilla. “Ooh. You bring cookie?”
“Bawwwwk!”
“Gotta go,” Gonzo said, hustling his chickie down the hall.
Lights flickered overhead; startled, Gonzo looked up to see nary a glowworm. Instead, daylight-spectrum bulbs were being screwed into new fixtures along the formerly gloomy passageways. A giant roach, spooked by the sudden illumination of its hiding-place in a wall niche, skittered away and ran antennae-first into a furry purple hand. It never even had the chance to squeak before being stuffed into a mouth already so full of haphazard teeth that chewing was problematic. Three contented eyes lifted and saw the Whatever and the chicken. “Gazza!”
“Thatch! Hey!” The two odd-looking creatures slapped one another’s backs. “Where’s Rosie?”
Thatch McGurk hooked a claw over his shoulder. “Ah, Ragga ahvahzeega dah nooza eleggabba jennehrazza.”
“New electrical generator? I didn’t know you guys were electricians,” Gonzo said. He perked. “Say, any chance Rosie would want to help me out back at the theatre? I had a dream for this fantastic new act involving Tesla coils and tapioca...” Camilla nudged him, clucking, and Gonzo shook himself. “Ah, never mind. I have some...family business I gotta tend to first.”
Camilla sighed happily, nuzzling him with her beak, and Gonzo giggled. “Camilla! Not here...”
Thatch led the way to the large room which had formerly been the studio for Break a Leg! The stage platform still stood – re-braced by a number of ramshackle two-by-fours and one very displeased shark – but instead of the reality-contest-show’s set, a giant plastic wheel had been erected center stage, with a tangle of cables and wires snaking from it. The benches down front were filled with an assortment of small furry animals, giant slugs munching popcorn from huge buttered buckets, and a few strange creatures such as a winged kitten purring in the front row. Thatch called out as they walked toward the platform, “Razza! Morga powah!”
“Ooh, hurry, the show’s starting again!” one of the horned jackrabbits called out, and a creature who seemed to be half Whatnot and half monster stopped chatting with a skinny goblin girl and rejoined the small audience.
“Oh, jolly good. I love it when they make the sparks fly, especially,” the creature enthused, curling his wings up so he wouldn’t block the view for his fellow former prisoners. The spectators hid the bottom of the wheel from Gonzo’s sight, however, until he climbed the steps behind Thatch and saw what was making it spin.
Rosie McGurk spotted Gonzo, dropped the clipboard he’d held and bounded over to hug his friend, and then to politely drool on the wing of the chicken. “Gazza! Tankah fah nooga hama!”
“De nada,” Gonzo replied broadly, and at Rosie’s befuddled expression, added in a knowledgeable undertone, “French.” Rosie grinned. Gonzo spread his arms in wonder. “Wow, Rosie, when you said this morning you wanted to come back here and do some cleaning up, I never realized you meant this!”
The pink-furred monster beamed, all thirty teeth sticking out at every angle. Camilla warily stepped a little more behind her daredevil, but the monster only proceeded to proudly explain the new system he and his brother had rigged up to supply the power needs of this new, free monster community just beginning to put out feelers to the civilized world...as well as tentacles and creepy little legs. “Vegabba dah vegga inna wheeba...”
“Uh huh,” Gonzo nodded at the panting creature standing in the middle of the now-still giant hamster wheel.
Rosie pointed out cables and switches and relays still being fixed into place by a crew of cheerful Frackles and a millipede wearing a dozen multitools on a canvas belt. “Powagg gaffa aaaaaarr deh undahgrabba,” Rosie bragged. He brightened, turning to Camilla. “Wabba lygga demastragga?”
“Bawk?”
“Sure we’d like a demonstration!” Gonzo agreed. “Crank this baby up and let’s see what she’ll do!”
“Excuse me? She? Is my fur that long?” protested the occupant of the wheel, brushing his long spiky whiskers back from his snout and readjusting the lab goggles over his beady eyes.
“Welease dah bunneh!” Rosie crowed. A panel in the short wall behind the possumized Van Neuter slid open, and a gray-green-furred monster with floppy bunny ears strapped over his horns poked his head through.
“Hi!” Carl barked.
Van Neuter started in fear – and then started running. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Mercy! Haaaaaaalllp!”
Gonzo and Camilla watched a minute as the vet ran flat-out, making the wheel spin so fast sparks shot from the gears and traveled along the cables. A cheer went up from the audience, and Rosie bowed to the scattered applause. Carl swiped repeatedly at the doctor from his window, snagging the hem of the tattered lab coat once, which only made Van Neuter shriek and run faster. “Neat,” Gonzo observed, “but what happens when it runs down?”
Carl, soon bored with the prey he couldn’t quite catch, popped out of the window and strolled offstage. “Eh, ta heck with this. Anyone wanna pumpkin sundae? There’s lots left over from the jack-o’lantern smash!” he called out as he left, and a few of the crowd went with him. Van Neuter slowed, gasping, about to collapse, but Rosie merely put his fingers between his foremost teeth and whistled.
“You look delicious!” Gorgon Heap cried, trying to force his bulk through the tiny window. Van Neuter let out a girlish scream and renewed his frantic pounding of feet. The wheel spun so fast Gonzo could feel heat radiating from it. A few feet away, a large white furry caterpillar purred and snuggled into a pet bed with an umbrella drink and an iBlob playing Jimmy Buffett tunes, basking in the warmth.
“Nabba probba,” Rosie said. He put an arm around Gonzo’s shoulders. “Wagga seeba wiyah-an-kabba-roog?”
Gonzo’s eyes widened. “The large wire and cable room? Cool! Lead on, buddy!” He traipsed behind the monster, hugging Camilla as they went. “Camilla! They have a whole room just for storing wire! Can you believe it? The possibilities are mind-boggling!”
The chicken hugged him back, and obediently went along with the tour. Some things, she knew, one simply couldn’t change...and her Gonzo finding new and daring act inspiration in the most ordinary objects was one of them. At least he was sharing them with her. She’d let him natter on about this silliness an hour more, but then, by frog, she was dragging him home. There was a nest which needed rebuilding.
On the platform, Van Neuter heaved for air, and croaked from the whirling wheel, “Hey! Can I stop yet? I’m getting really dizzy...I think I may be about to...blarrrgghh...”
The large yellow eyes of the Heap blazed in anticipation. “Oh, goody! It makes its own gravy!”
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and Gina have been made elsewheres like in Kermie's Girl and a couple of my own oneshots, conveniently found in the FLI as well. 
