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Chapter 3: Second Chances
Doc Hopper ran his fingers briskly through his short white hair as he stared at the purple, shaggy, wide-mouthed, blonde-haired, bushy browed … creature. He chuckled. “Ta be perfectly honest,” he told her, “Ah expected someone else fer the interview.”
The creature nodded. She replied in a raspy voice that made one want to claw through a wall to get away, “But ya didn’t get what ya wanted, now did ya? Now shut up and answer my stupid questions.”
Hopper raised an eyebrow and glanced out the window of the tall news building in a small neighborhood in Manhattan. “Mah apologies,” he finally said, “please continue.”
The female creature scoffed. “Don’t apologize! It’s rude!” she barked. “Now, what’s yer name, Humpty Dumpty?”
Hopper grit his teeth. Finally, a light went off in his head. He grinned and leaned closer. “What’s yer name, ya vile, misbegotten bag o’ ratty fur?”
The creature laughed and nodded. “If it were any of yer business, which it ain’t, I’d say my name is Diane Spoiler, reporter for the Grouch News Network.”
Hopper nodded and leaned back. “And if it meant gettin’ you outta mah hair, Ah’d say mah name was Doc Hopper.”
“What hair?” she shot back with a grin. “Seein’ how you’ve been rakin’ in the dough buyin’ up all kinds of properties all across the nation, and as long as yer story’s interestin’, I’d like ta feature your life story in a segment that’ll probably never air.” She shrugged. “It’s just as well, too – ain’t no Grouch got a workin’ TV anyway.”
Hopper stroked his chin. “Well, Ah suppose we could start at the beginnin’….”
“It’s only a half-hour segment,” she interrupted.
Hopper chuckled. “Well, I’ll just give the abbreviated version, then.”
Diane Spoiler shook her head. “Nah, go for it! It’ll get a lot of laughs when ya get cut off in mid-sentence.”
“Well,” he began, “when Ah was just a little --.”
<><><><><><>
Nicky found himself wandering Central Park, helping himself to a hot dog here and a water bottle there, smirking that the vendors remained oblivious. Far too easy. Hopper had brought him here to “deal with” a neighborhood for practice. The real scam, he had said, would be elsewhere.
“Get yer meathooks off me!” screamed a shrill female voice, followed by a loud splash in the nearby Bethesda Fountain.
Nicky glanced over at the fountain. Under the tall stony angel statue was a drenched man, cursing at a three-foot-tall (or so) pig in a purple tank top and designer jeans, her short layered blonde hair swishing behind her.
He grinned. “Piggy?”
Miss Piggy gasped and turned around, wide-eyed. Her jaw flew open. “Nicky?” She glanced to her left and to her right nervously.
Nicky slowly approached. “Are you alright? Are you with Kermit still?”
“Still?” Piggy asked, dazed, before she caught herself. “Um, I mean,” she laughed, “naturalement!” She laughed again. “What brings vous to New York?” she asked, gulping.
Nicky grinned seductively. “Opportunity,” he replied with his most suave voice.
Piggy’s lower lip trembled. She batted her eyes to try to take the focus off her lips and nodded. “Vous found employment?”
Nicky nodded. “I’m a lucky man.”
“I bet,” Piggy muttered under her breath. She shrugged. “Are vous seeing anyone?” she asked in a slightly hopeful tone.
Nicky shrugged and pouted briefly. “Only the ones I need to see.”
Piggy started breathing more quickly.
Nicky changed his tone to concern. “I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.”
Piggy looked around again and scoffed. “Vous haven’t inconvenienced moi,” she replied cheerfully. “It’s a free country.” She glanced at him for a few seconds. “And you’re free, I see.”
Nicky sighed, shaking his head. “Piggy, you know I wasn’t nearly as bad as that two-bit hack Grodin played me,” he told her quietly. “I never framed you.” He clutched at his chest. “It broke my heart to see that.” He kneeled in front of her. “How could you be so vindictive?”
Piggy stared at the ground and shrugged slightly. “It … it wasn’t moi. I didn’t write the thing, you know,” she replied softly. “It was merely a setup for moi’s spectacular entrance into the finale.”
He smirked. “It was slander.”
Piggy’s head shot up with a gasp. “You – you’re not going to sue, are vous?”
He stood, stroking his chin and looking away. “I suppose I could be convinced to forgive and forget … over dinner,” he told her with a grin.
“Oui,” she replied quickly.
“We what?”
“Pardon?”
“You were beginning to say we would do something ….”
Piggy growled, rolling her eyes. “Oui means yes in French, you incorrigible, horrendous, two-timing freak!”
Nicky chuckled. “You remember,” he told her with a wink.
<><><><><><>
“Good evening, sonny,” the grisled fat farmer said as he rocked on the decaying front porch, chewing on a stick.
“Hi, Dad,” a thin young boy replied gloomily.
The father stopped rocking and leaned forward, nodding. “You look depressed.”
The boy nodded and looked away at the coming storm far off in the distance. “Ah am.”
An athletic woman with curly blonde hair pulled up under a white bandanna came out of the house, the screen door creaking. She wore a plain denim dress and a pink apron. “Come in an’ have some lemonade,” she told her son with a smile.
The boy shook his head and plopped down on the steps to the porch. “Thanks, Mom – but that won’t help.”
The father leaned over and patted his son on the shoulder. “Just get it off yer chest.”
The boy sighed. “O-kay,” he replied slowly. He inhaled. “Ah suck at mah job!” he shouted angrily, pounding his fists on the porch.
The father leaned back. “No, you don’t!”
“Yes, Ah do!” he retorted. “Mah friends are all slobs!”
“No, they aren’t!” his mother protested in shock.
“Yes, they do!”
“What?” replied the parents in confused unison.
“An’ then,” Doc Hopper continued, sipping some sweet iced tea in front of the grouch reporter, “Dad took me to the barn where he learned me how ta kill mah first few chickens fer supper.” He shook his head. “Ah was traumatized fer years.”
“Great!” announced Diane Spoiler happily. “You suffered a horrible, terrible, disgusting event!” She paused. “And that made you a better man?”
“Oh, nat’rally,” Hopper replied with a grin. “Ah had mah dream starin’ me right in the face – one thousand fast food restaurants. It was only as an adult that Ah settled on mah own special recipes.” He chuckled and burped. “Ah was gonna prove to mah pops that Ah could slaughter with the best o’ them. Y’know – make somethin’ of mahself!”
“How appalling!”
“Thank you,” Hopper offered, nodding and grinning, sipping some more tea.
“So, what drove you to change over to real estate?”
He inhaled. “Well, it all started when Ah got busted fer some fool charge,” he told her with a tinge of bitterness in his voice. “They said Ah was guilty of attempted murder, even though Ah swear – Ah nevah laid a single finger o’ mine on anyone!” He nodded. “It was only after mah lawyer gave the judge a piece o’ his mind that Ah was set free.” He chuckled. “Now, Ah’m pretty well-known fer mah lovin’, compassionate nature, ‘specially fer the young-un’s. Yes’m, Ah’m practically good ol’ Jolly Saint Nick in some of the most impoverished hoods!” He cackled loudly, nearly kicking the small table between them over.
Author's Note: We're still quoting the same song "I'm Hired" from MST3K.
Doc Hopper ran his fingers briskly through his short white hair as he stared at the purple, shaggy, wide-mouthed, blonde-haired, bushy browed … creature. He chuckled. “Ta be perfectly honest,” he told her, “Ah expected someone else fer the interview.”
The creature nodded. She replied in a raspy voice that made one want to claw through a wall to get away, “But ya didn’t get what ya wanted, now did ya? Now shut up and answer my stupid questions.”
Hopper raised an eyebrow and glanced out the window of the tall news building in a small neighborhood in Manhattan. “Mah apologies,” he finally said, “please continue.”
The female creature scoffed. “Don’t apologize! It’s rude!” she barked. “Now, what’s yer name, Humpty Dumpty?”
Hopper grit his teeth. Finally, a light went off in his head. He grinned and leaned closer. “What’s yer name, ya vile, misbegotten bag o’ ratty fur?”
The creature laughed and nodded. “If it were any of yer business, which it ain’t, I’d say my name is Diane Spoiler, reporter for the Grouch News Network.”
Hopper nodded and leaned back. “And if it meant gettin’ you outta mah hair, Ah’d say mah name was Doc Hopper.”
“What hair?” she shot back with a grin. “Seein’ how you’ve been rakin’ in the dough buyin’ up all kinds of properties all across the nation, and as long as yer story’s interestin’, I’d like ta feature your life story in a segment that’ll probably never air.” She shrugged. “It’s just as well, too – ain’t no Grouch got a workin’ TV anyway.”
Hopper stroked his chin. “Well, Ah suppose we could start at the beginnin’….”
“It’s only a half-hour segment,” she interrupted.
Hopper chuckled. “Well, I’ll just give the abbreviated version, then.”
Diane Spoiler shook her head. “Nah, go for it! It’ll get a lot of laughs when ya get cut off in mid-sentence.”
“Well,” he began, “when Ah was just a little --.”
<><><><><><>
Nicky found himself wandering Central Park, helping himself to a hot dog here and a water bottle there, smirking that the vendors remained oblivious. Far too easy. Hopper had brought him here to “deal with” a neighborhood for practice. The real scam, he had said, would be elsewhere.
“Get yer meathooks off me!” screamed a shrill female voice, followed by a loud splash in the nearby Bethesda Fountain.
Nicky glanced over at the fountain. Under the tall stony angel statue was a drenched man, cursing at a three-foot-tall (or so) pig in a purple tank top and designer jeans, her short layered blonde hair swishing behind her.
He grinned. “Piggy?”
Miss Piggy gasped and turned around, wide-eyed. Her jaw flew open. “Nicky?” She glanced to her left and to her right nervously.
Nicky slowly approached. “Are you alright? Are you with Kermit still?”
“Still?” Piggy asked, dazed, before she caught herself. “Um, I mean,” she laughed, “naturalement!” She laughed again. “What brings vous to New York?” she asked, gulping.
Nicky grinned seductively. “Opportunity,” he replied with his most suave voice.
Piggy’s lower lip trembled. She batted her eyes to try to take the focus off her lips and nodded. “Vous found employment?”
Nicky nodded. “I’m a lucky man.”
“I bet,” Piggy muttered under her breath. She shrugged. “Are vous seeing anyone?” she asked in a slightly hopeful tone.
Nicky shrugged and pouted briefly. “Only the ones I need to see.”
Piggy started breathing more quickly.
Nicky changed his tone to concern. “I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.”
Piggy looked around again and scoffed. “Vous haven’t inconvenienced moi,” she replied cheerfully. “It’s a free country.” She glanced at him for a few seconds. “And you’re free, I see.”
Nicky sighed, shaking his head. “Piggy, you know I wasn’t nearly as bad as that two-bit hack Grodin played me,” he told her quietly. “I never framed you.” He clutched at his chest. “It broke my heart to see that.” He kneeled in front of her. “How could you be so vindictive?”
Piggy stared at the ground and shrugged slightly. “It … it wasn’t moi. I didn’t write the thing, you know,” she replied softly. “It was merely a setup for moi’s spectacular entrance into the finale.”
He smirked. “It was slander.”
Piggy’s head shot up with a gasp. “You – you’re not going to sue, are vous?”
He stood, stroking his chin and looking away. “I suppose I could be convinced to forgive and forget … over dinner,” he told her with a grin.
“Oui,” she replied quickly.
“We what?”
“Pardon?”
“You were beginning to say we would do something ….”
Piggy growled, rolling her eyes. “Oui means yes in French, you incorrigible, horrendous, two-timing freak!”
Nicky chuckled. “You remember,” he told her with a wink.
<><><><><><>
“Good evening, sonny,” the grisled fat farmer said as he rocked on the decaying front porch, chewing on a stick.
“Hi, Dad,” a thin young boy replied gloomily.
The father stopped rocking and leaned forward, nodding. “You look depressed.”
The boy nodded and looked away at the coming storm far off in the distance. “Ah am.”
An athletic woman with curly blonde hair pulled up under a white bandanna came out of the house, the screen door creaking. She wore a plain denim dress and a pink apron. “Come in an’ have some lemonade,” she told her son with a smile.
The boy shook his head and plopped down on the steps to the porch. “Thanks, Mom – but that won’t help.”
The father leaned over and patted his son on the shoulder. “Just get it off yer chest.”
The boy sighed. “O-kay,” he replied slowly. He inhaled. “Ah suck at mah job!” he shouted angrily, pounding his fists on the porch.
The father leaned back. “No, you don’t!”
“Yes, Ah do!” he retorted. “Mah friends are all slobs!”
“No, they aren’t!” his mother protested in shock.
“Yes, they do!”
“What?” replied the parents in confused unison.
“An’ then,” Doc Hopper continued, sipping some sweet iced tea in front of the grouch reporter, “Dad took me to the barn where he learned me how ta kill mah first few chickens fer supper.” He shook his head. “Ah was traumatized fer years.”
“Great!” announced Diane Spoiler happily. “You suffered a horrible, terrible, disgusting event!” She paused. “And that made you a better man?”
“Oh, nat’rally,” Hopper replied with a grin. “Ah had mah dream starin’ me right in the face – one thousand fast food restaurants. It was only as an adult that Ah settled on mah own special recipes.” He chuckled and burped. “Ah was gonna prove to mah pops that Ah could slaughter with the best o’ them. Y’know – make somethin’ of mahself!”
“How appalling!”
“Thank you,” Hopper offered, nodding and grinning, sipping some more tea.
“So, what drove you to change over to real estate?”
He inhaled. “Well, it all started when Ah got busted fer some fool charge,” he told her with a tinge of bitterness in his voice. “They said Ah was guilty of attempted murder, even though Ah swear – Ah nevah laid a single finger o’ mine on anyone!” He nodded. “It was only after mah lawyer gave the judge a piece o’ his mind that Ah was set free.” He chuckled. “Now, Ah’m pretty well-known fer mah lovin’, compassionate nature, ‘specially fer the young-un’s. Yes’m, Ah’m practically good ol’ Jolly Saint Nick in some of the most impoverished hoods!” He cackled loudly, nearly kicking the small table between them over.
Author's Note: We're still quoting the same song "I'm Hired" from MST3K.
