RedPiggy
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Statler snoozed on the bench, a little bit of drool dribbling down his cheek.
Waldorf elbowed him. “Hey, Statler, time to wake up!”
Statler shifted but kept his eyes close. “It’s bad enough we have our food sing to us,” he mumbled. “Why should I care to see dancing dishes?”
Waldorf stared at him. “But … but it’s cabaret!”
Statler opened his eyes with a smirk. “As long as they’ll be serving Chardonnay, I guess it’ll be okay.”
Waldorf’s face fell. “Oh no – we’re starting to rhyme!”
Statler nodded, shrugging. “It was only a matter of time.”
A cutaway replica of the Sinclair Kitchen rose from the floor. Earl Sinclair was watching television on stage left, Charlene and Baby Sinclair were at the kitchen table in the center, and Fran Sinclair was cooking behind the children on a kitchen island, billows of steam rising from various pots.
Earl frowned. “We left Oregon to do community theater?” he groused.
Fran rolled her eyes.
Charlene glanced at her father. “Dad, I thought you always wanted to be a big star.”
“Yeah, the biggest!” added Baby in a high-pitched voice.
Earl turned slightly and glared at them. “This isn’t Broadway, it’s some college town!” he protested.
Fran smacked a ladle on the counter. “We’re … on,” she sniped sharply.
Earl saw the audience, gulped and stood, sighing. “Sheesh. Ahem,” he began, trying to “act”, “Ooooh, dear! It is my understanding that the ruffian that has negatively affected our son is attempting to break the species barrier in his newest wooing attempts.” He continued to emphasize his words strangely. “Whatever can we do to break up this misguided liberal attempt at harmony among different living things?”
Fran glared at him dryly. “Earl --.”
“What?”
Fran shook her head. “Get a life.”
Earl frowned, his regular speaking rhythm returning. “You mean you’d seriously entertain such unnatural devotion?”
Fran continued to cook without looking at her husband. “You nearly lost your best friend when Roy wanted to marry Monica.”
Earl gulped. “That was completely different!” he protested.
Fran glanced at him, stopping. “How?”
Earl threw up his hands angrily. “Because I cared about Roy ruining what little dignity he had! Spike is just a common hooligan with no real sense of honesty and integrity – why must I support such a delinquent freak in his new quest to floss his bikini area with a human being?”
The other Sinclairs took a few seconds, biting their lower lips, trying desperately not to laugh at such imagery.
Spike entered the kitchen from stage right through a stand-alone door. “Rob here?”
Earl shrugged. “Now you’ve taken to robbing us?” he asked incredulously. “When will the delinquency ever end?”
Charlene cut her father a dirty glance. “Dad!” She stood and smiled sheepishly to Spike. “Dad’s just a little concerned that you’re trading in a diamond for a piece of plastic.”
Spike looked over at Earl and smirked. He spoke in a mocking tone. “Why, Mr. S – I’m flattered my love life is all you t’ink about!”
“Yeh, yeh,” Earl grumbled as he left the room on stage left.
Charlene edged closer to Spike.
“You gonna marry him?” Baby blurted out.
Charlene, without looking, kicked back the chair Baby was sitting on, sending it to the floor.
“Again!” Baby exclaimed happily, laughing and grunting as he tried to free himself from the wrecked furniture.
Charlene batted her eyes at Spike. “I, for one, totally understand how alone you feel.”
Spike stared at her dryly. “You do?”
Charlene nodded, almost rubbing up against him. She giggled. “All those other female dinosaurs are just random whatnots, destined to look nice in a photo but never meaning much in real life.” She sniffed at him gently. “You just need to … dig a little deeper,” she offered seductively, her tail swinging slowly.
Baby managed to stand, supporting himself on the legs of the table. “I thought we were singing that candle song, not the blind swamp hermit song!”
Charlene whipped around and hissed. “We’re getting to it – now hush!” She inhaled as music began to play. “Mon cher monsieur! It is with deepest pride and great … ahem,” she stopped, making kissy faces, “greatest pleasure … to welcome you here to our kitchen. We invite you to relax, pull up a stool, as the Sinclair family proudly presents … another romantic option!” Giggling, she took a few steps back, swinging her tail slowly, placing a hand on her chest as she sang, “Be … our … guest, be our guest! Take a seat and take a rest! Take that bandana off your head and … I … will get you dressed!” She glanced at his jacket, picking up a towel off the table and dusting it off. “Nice new boots, and a hat – oh, my God, you’ll be all that! Try Mom’s cooking --.”
“It’s delicious!” Fran offered happily, holding up a steaming pot.
Charlene shrugged. “Don’t believe her? Why so suspicious?” she asked as she started to sing again. “It’s not like, you will die, from trying Mother’s apple pie – so eat some stew, because you need to be less stressed! That human will NEVER tell you, to get hitched in DF Dub’yu, so be our guest! Be our guest – heck, by MY guest!”
Philo and Gunge skittered across the stage floor. “Mammal stew ….”
Red and Wembley, dressed in Rock Hockey uniforms, dashed across the stage. “Muck and goo ….”
Charlene waved at them and stared at Spike. “A steal for only a buck ninety-two! We’ll prepare and serve with flair, a virtual character-stock ragú!”
Waldo flew in on stage, stopping with a cartoony screech, his eyes bugging out. “What?” he asked loudly as he turned into a car and drove away in mid-air.
Fran walked around the kitchen island and nodded, placing a hand gently on the table in front of Spike, her face beaming with a warm motherly smile as she sang. “You’re alone, and you’re scared, but my dinner’s almost prepared. No need to go outside your kind, you’ll find dinosaurs are more refined! We tell jokes, and do tricks – I’ll even make tasty Doozer Sticks! And this is just the start of fullness you can get! Come on and bring your plate, you’ll find you’re not too late, to be my guest, be our guest, be our guest!”
In a loud and ostentatious musical bridge, the Sinclair females were joined by Pearl Sinclair from stage left. They twirled around the kitchen, making various angelic choir noises, until Pearl left stage left and reappeared, dragging a reluctant Earl with her. He glared at her for a moment before joining in the chorus line, all of them kicking their legs in the air as they sang, “Be our guest! Be our guest! Take your worries off your chest! Let us say, we’ll make your day … we guarantee that you’ll feel blessed! Try the bread! Try the soup! But if you go outside the group, you will find that society minds not being kept within the loop! With our advice how can you be depressed? We’ll make you shout, ‘Encore!’ Then you’ll go out for more! Just be our guest! Be our guest! Beeeeeeee … ooooouuuuuurrrrrr ... guessssssst!”
The audience applauded as the song stopped, the onstage characters bowing graciously, even Spike.
TO BE CONTINUED….
Waldorf elbowed him. “Hey, Statler, time to wake up!”
Statler shifted but kept his eyes close. “It’s bad enough we have our food sing to us,” he mumbled. “Why should I care to see dancing dishes?”
Waldorf stared at him. “But … but it’s cabaret!”
Statler opened his eyes with a smirk. “As long as they’ll be serving Chardonnay, I guess it’ll be okay.”
Waldorf’s face fell. “Oh no – we’re starting to rhyme!”
Statler nodded, shrugging. “It was only a matter of time.”
A cutaway replica of the Sinclair Kitchen rose from the floor. Earl Sinclair was watching television on stage left, Charlene and Baby Sinclair were at the kitchen table in the center, and Fran Sinclair was cooking behind the children on a kitchen island, billows of steam rising from various pots.
Earl frowned. “We left Oregon to do community theater?” he groused.
Fran rolled her eyes.
Charlene glanced at her father. “Dad, I thought you always wanted to be a big star.”
“Yeah, the biggest!” added Baby in a high-pitched voice.
Earl turned slightly and glared at them. “This isn’t Broadway, it’s some college town!” he protested.
Fran smacked a ladle on the counter. “We’re … on,” she sniped sharply.
Earl saw the audience, gulped and stood, sighing. “Sheesh. Ahem,” he began, trying to “act”, “Ooooh, dear! It is my understanding that the ruffian that has negatively affected our son is attempting to break the species barrier in his newest wooing attempts.” He continued to emphasize his words strangely. “Whatever can we do to break up this misguided liberal attempt at harmony among different living things?”
Fran glared at him dryly. “Earl --.”
“What?”
Fran shook her head. “Get a life.”
Earl frowned, his regular speaking rhythm returning. “You mean you’d seriously entertain such unnatural devotion?”
Fran continued to cook without looking at her husband. “You nearly lost your best friend when Roy wanted to marry Monica.”
Earl gulped. “That was completely different!” he protested.
Fran glanced at him, stopping. “How?”
Earl threw up his hands angrily. “Because I cared about Roy ruining what little dignity he had! Spike is just a common hooligan with no real sense of honesty and integrity – why must I support such a delinquent freak in his new quest to floss his bikini area with a human being?”
The other Sinclairs took a few seconds, biting their lower lips, trying desperately not to laugh at such imagery.
Spike entered the kitchen from stage right through a stand-alone door. “Rob here?”
Earl shrugged. “Now you’ve taken to robbing us?” he asked incredulously. “When will the delinquency ever end?”
Charlene cut her father a dirty glance. “Dad!” She stood and smiled sheepishly to Spike. “Dad’s just a little concerned that you’re trading in a diamond for a piece of plastic.”
Spike looked over at Earl and smirked. He spoke in a mocking tone. “Why, Mr. S – I’m flattered my love life is all you t’ink about!”
“Yeh, yeh,” Earl grumbled as he left the room on stage left.
Charlene edged closer to Spike.
“You gonna marry him?” Baby blurted out.
Charlene, without looking, kicked back the chair Baby was sitting on, sending it to the floor.
“Again!” Baby exclaimed happily, laughing and grunting as he tried to free himself from the wrecked furniture.
Charlene batted her eyes at Spike. “I, for one, totally understand how alone you feel.”
Spike stared at her dryly. “You do?”
Charlene nodded, almost rubbing up against him. She giggled. “All those other female dinosaurs are just random whatnots, destined to look nice in a photo but never meaning much in real life.” She sniffed at him gently. “You just need to … dig a little deeper,” she offered seductively, her tail swinging slowly.
Baby managed to stand, supporting himself on the legs of the table. “I thought we were singing that candle song, not the blind swamp hermit song!”
Charlene whipped around and hissed. “We’re getting to it – now hush!” She inhaled as music began to play. “Mon cher monsieur! It is with deepest pride and great … ahem,” she stopped, making kissy faces, “greatest pleasure … to welcome you here to our kitchen. We invite you to relax, pull up a stool, as the Sinclair family proudly presents … another romantic option!” Giggling, she took a few steps back, swinging her tail slowly, placing a hand on her chest as she sang, “Be … our … guest, be our guest! Take a seat and take a rest! Take that bandana off your head and … I … will get you dressed!” She glanced at his jacket, picking up a towel off the table and dusting it off. “Nice new boots, and a hat – oh, my God, you’ll be all that! Try Mom’s cooking --.”
“It’s delicious!” Fran offered happily, holding up a steaming pot.
Charlene shrugged. “Don’t believe her? Why so suspicious?” she asked as she started to sing again. “It’s not like, you will die, from trying Mother’s apple pie – so eat some stew, because you need to be less stressed! That human will NEVER tell you, to get hitched in DF Dub’yu, so be our guest! Be our guest – heck, by MY guest!”
Philo and Gunge skittered across the stage floor. “Mammal stew ….”
Red and Wembley, dressed in Rock Hockey uniforms, dashed across the stage. “Muck and goo ….”
Charlene waved at them and stared at Spike. “A steal for only a buck ninety-two! We’ll prepare and serve with flair, a virtual character-stock ragú!”
Waldo flew in on stage, stopping with a cartoony screech, his eyes bugging out. “What?” he asked loudly as he turned into a car and drove away in mid-air.
Fran walked around the kitchen island and nodded, placing a hand gently on the table in front of Spike, her face beaming with a warm motherly smile as she sang. “You’re alone, and you’re scared, but my dinner’s almost prepared. No need to go outside your kind, you’ll find dinosaurs are more refined! We tell jokes, and do tricks – I’ll even make tasty Doozer Sticks! And this is just the start of fullness you can get! Come on and bring your plate, you’ll find you’re not too late, to be my guest, be our guest, be our guest!”
In a loud and ostentatious musical bridge, the Sinclair females were joined by Pearl Sinclair from stage left. They twirled around the kitchen, making various angelic choir noises, until Pearl left stage left and reappeared, dragging a reluctant Earl with her. He glared at her for a moment before joining in the chorus line, all of them kicking their legs in the air as they sang, “Be our guest! Be our guest! Take your worries off your chest! Let us say, we’ll make your day … we guarantee that you’ll feel blessed! Try the bread! Try the soup! But if you go outside the group, you will find that society minds not being kept within the loop! With our advice how can you be depressed? We’ll make you shout, ‘Encore!’ Then you’ll go out for more! Just be our guest! Be our guest! Beeeeeeee … ooooouuuuuurrrrrr ... guessssssst!”
The audience applauded as the song stopped, the onstage characters bowing graciously, even Spike.
TO BE CONTINUED….