Before Gonzo was Great

[Slackbot]

The Count, thanks, I'm glad you liked this chapter. I haven't read the fanfic you mention, but it sounds as if that author and I are dipping from the same wells. I got the guitar-playing busker thing from It's A Very Merry Muppet Christmas (Sheesh, could they have made that title a little longer?) and the cement mixer from The Muppets Take Manhattan. (And the chicken doll... oh, you know. Heh.) This is the last of my backlog. I have at least two more chapters to go before the story comes to rest, and I'm working on how to present the major event in the next one. (And wishing that Muppets Tonight was on DVD so I could research a certain plot point.)

Lil0Vampy, thanks!

 

[TogetherAgain]

I've been meaning to take a peek at this for a while now, and I'm SO glad I finally did! So far I've only read the first installment and a very little bit of the second, but I LOVE what I've read. I'll keep reading, of course, but I wanted to post right away to say that this is great. I can see the scenes really well in my head, feel the rain, hear the wind... I love your descriptions of the planet and the tornado through the eyes of young aliens. You did a great job of slipping in subtle little things about their culture, like the fact that they don't know where their home planet is anymore and that utter, unquestioning respect for eggs. Very nice.

I'm really looking forward to reading the rest of this. Keep it up!

 

[Slackbot]

TogetherAgain, thanks! I'm glad that some of the elements I put in are coming through. Not to toot my own horn (OK, I'm tootin') the bits of alien culture are going to feed into a story arc I have planned to take up after this one is done.

I like to read fiction that plays to the sense. Sounds, touch, smells, etc make a scene much more real for me. And since, like most people, I write what I like to read, I try to paint as vivid a picture I can without getting bogged down in details.

 

[Slackbot]

Doop dee doo, here's another bit o' story. But before that let me take a moment to plug my book, A Refugee in Oz, which was just published by Lulu.com. It's available in paperback and downloadable PDF formats, and full of words and illustrations that hopefully add up to an entertaining story. When I get my shipment in I'll also be selling them directly to anyone who wants me to scribble on 'em.

And now, back to The Saga of Gonzo The Not Yet Great...

*****

Turnaround​

by Kim McFarland​

*****

It was a dark and peaceful night. Crickets and cicadas sang in the underbrush of a city park. Streetlamps shone on the trees at the edge, throwing speckles of light into the night scenery. It was late enough that few people were present.

One park bench was occupied. A child-size sleeping bag inhabited by a small creature covered half the seat. Between the sleeper and the back of the bench was a guitar case. A backpack frame rested underneath.

The two police officers assigned to the park looked at the sleeper. He had been here for weeks now, playing guitar during the day and sleeping here at night. They had turned a blind eye because they were sure he was harmless. Certainly he wasn't one of those suspected of using the park as a site for various illegal activities. But tonight they were tasked with clearing out the park, so regretfully they did their duty.

**

The next morning Gonzo was exhausted because he had not slept after the in-processing. He had always known it was a possibility that he could be arrested, but he had believed that as long as he kept his nose down and stayed out of trouble people would leave him alone. So much for that, he thought miserably. Now he would have a criminal record because he had no place to live. He might not even get his guitar and sleeping bag—his survival equipment!—back. The only thing that could have made this worse would be if he had done anything to deserve being arrested.

A uniformed man came to the door of the holding cell. He unlocked it and said to Gonzo, "Come with me." Gonzo obeyed silently.

The man led Gonzo to a small room. A desk with two chairs, one behind it and one in front. A surveillance camera mounted in the corner behind the desk. A Monster woman was seated at the desk. She has short, neatly brushed tan fur and shoulder-length, dark brown hair, and wore a knit blouse. She put down the manila folder she had been reading and, smiling pleasantly, said, "Hello, my name is Catherine Monster. Please, sit down." He did. She said, "According to this report, you have been living in the park for approximately a month. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Why do you live there?"

He answered after a hesitation, "It's the safest place I know."

She nodded, looking at his file. "And it's close to work. You play guitar there too, I understand."

"Yeah."

"Is that how you want to live?"

Biting back indignation, he said, "Nobody wants to sleep on a park bench. But what else can I do? You can’t get a home if you can’t pay for it, and nobody will hire a homeless thing."

She nodded gravely. Flipping through his file, she said, "We have found records of a Gonzo Frackle who fits your description. He disappeared from a foster home in Kansas five years ago. Is that you?"

He saw no reason to conceal that part of his past any longer. "Yeah. I'm no longer a minor, so I don’t have to go back," he pointed out.

She turned a page back. "You were placed with many families, but there were no complaints against you. Simple incompatibility. And before that-?" she looked questioningly at him.

He felt as if he were being peeled like an onion. "I don't know. I was found at a farm after a storm. I couldn't remember anything that happened before then. I still don't."

She closed the folder. "We have found little else out about you. What happened between the time you left your last foster family and now?"

He shrugged. "I’ve been living here and there. Moving around. I make enough for food by playing guitar in parks and places."

"Would you object to a more thorough background check?"

That question puzzled him. What for? But he could gain nothing by objecting, and he didn’t think there was anything more to find anyway. "No, go ahead."

She made a few quick notes. He was alert and appeared to be in good health, if scruffy. He was intelligent enough, and it did not look like his attitude would be a problem. She folded her hands on the desk and said, "The police here have said that they have been overlooking you because you pose no danger and are not a nuisance. They would not have arrested you last night, in fact, if they had not been assigned to do a complete sweep of the park. If we find no record of significant criminal activity, then there is no need to cite you for vagrancy or anything else. But if we simply return your things and let you walk away, you'll be sleeping outside again tonight, won't you?"

He nodded silently. He was getting tired of this conversation. She seemed to be toying with him, asking questions with obvious answers. He wanted to ask if she thought he was proud of being homeless, having no family and no home to call his own, shivering all winter and baking all summer. Of people glancing at him and then quickly away—don't make eye contact!—or, worse, gazing at him in pity. But he was in no position to talk back now. He could only let her do whatever she was going to do to him and then go on with his life.

She told him, "You are far from the only person this has happened to, Mr. Frackle. All too many people slip through the cracks. That's why I'm here. Given a chance, many Monsters who have fallen on hard times can become contributing members of society. I think you are one. It will require effort on your part, starting with completing your education, which I see ended at eighth grade. Are you willing to make that effort?"

His eyes widened. Who in their right mind would pass up such a chance? "Yes!"

She smiled. "Good. I’ve been doing all the talking. Do you have questions for me?"

He paused, then asked, "Why do you want to help me?"

She replied, "I work with the TM Institute. This organization was created to benefit Monsters who might otherwise not have access to the opportunities they should. It was founded by a Monster who, although he was at a severe disadvantage during his school days because of his species, still made a fortune in investments. You might say this is his way of 'paying it forward'."

"Oh."

She opened the file again. "I must ask you one more question. Is there anything we have not discussed that might complicate matters? Personal or legal difficulties?"

Reluctantly he said, "Um... I'm not sure I'm a Monster."

"According to your file, you are a Frackle."

He shook his head. "That's what they named me when they found me because I didn’t know my own last name. They thought I looked like a Frackle, but I don't. This is a nose, not a beak. If it turns out I'm not a Monster, will that disqualify me?"

He sounded so worried. She replied, "If you're not a Monster, what are you?"

Looking down, he murmured, "I don't know."

With a reassuring smile she told him, "Then I wouldn't worry about it if I was you. We are not looking for a pedigree. Many Monsters can't be neatly categorized, and in fact some people are called Monsters simply because they defy classification. What's more important is what you decide you're going to be." She paused, then continued, "If you want help, I assure you that you will not be turned away because of your species."

"Wow," he said softly. "In that case, I don’t think there’s anything."

"Good." She stood and gestured at the door. "We don't have to continue this conversation here. Why don't we take a walk?" she said lightly.

"All right."

**

To Gonzo's relief, the police released him and gave back his belongings. Even if he had a home tonight, he wouldn't willingly surrender his survival gear. Catherine talked with him, drawing him out. He was friendly enough when he finally relaxed. His ambition was mainly to be self-sufficient, to have a home and a job and not depend on handouts. After that? He had not given that much thought. He’d still like to play guitar for people. His happiest moments, he told her, came when people smiled at him as he played music in the park.

She bought them both hot dogs from a vendor. After they ate them, she asked to hear him play his guitar. He cheerfully obliged, and when he played a song she knew she surprised him by singing along. Then they were both surprised when, although Gonzo had left his guitar case closed, people still left change. Catherine and Gonzo exchanged looks, then continued singing.

****

Gonzo is copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC and is used without permission but with much respect and affection. This story is copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9@aol.com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.

 

[The Count]

Nice... Is that what Kate looks like? The only reason I know what you're referencing in Turnaround is because I was curious and finally researched the play. Never seen it and unfortunately I don't think I'll get the chance. But this installment certainly gives one the warm fuzzies. And it has that patented Kim McFarlan "dark and stormy night" intro too. Thanks, hope for more if there's any left when you can post it.

 

[Slackbot]

Nice... Is that what Kate looks like? The only reason I know what you're referencing in Turnaround is because I was curious and finally researched the play. Never seen it and unfortunately I don't think I'll get the chance.

Heh, yep, Catherine and the TMI are Avenue Q references. Kate Monster looks pretty much like a whatnot with fur; she's hardly Monsterish at all. I haven't seen Q either, but I have the book and the soundtrack, and love to sing "Schadenfreude" and "Sucks to Be Me." (And "You Can Be As Loud As The **** You Want...," which I like to imagine the Electric Mayhem rockin' out on.)

But this installment certainly gives one the warm fuzzies. And it has that patented Kim McFarland "dark and stormy night" intro too.

*laughs* I started using that about 20 years as a way to combat the blank page syndrome. How to start a story? Slap down that line (or some variation) and go from there! Later on come back and edit it out when I have something better to put there. But somehow I never do. I think that in "Time in a Battle" I must have used it five or six times.

Thanks, hope for more if there's any left when you can post it.

Er... I'm not sure what this means.

BTW, I almost called Gonzo a "Meeskite." Thank goodness I remembered the Frackle thing at the last moment.

 

[The Count]

Heh, yeah... Time in a Battle was crazy running all over the place, though Paraduks Lost ranks near the top of my faves from your DW Stories. Just waiting for more story, you'll get used to the nagging by us fanfic readers after a while. Either that or you become one of us, nagging other authors to finish their stories too.

 

[Slackbot]

Pairaducks Lost is one of my favorites too. It was a beast to write because I was trying to work from Dante's Inferno without sounding preachy or didactic, but when I was done I was pretty proud of the result, if I do say so myself. Until my Oz book came out it was the longest story I'd written, at about 28,000 words.

Don't worry, this arc is nearing completion. I've written the next segment and am currently editing it into shape--I typically put anything I write through 3-6 drafts--and then I have one more to bring Gonzo up to date.

I'm trying to decide how big to make the next series ("Muppets from Earth"). I need to sit down and do an outline to organize my thoughts. I've already drawn up some character designs. More on that as they become relevant...

 

[Slackbot]

Here is the penultimate installment in our game of "Spot the Obscure References." Enjoy.

*****

Car Wash Blues
by Kim McFarland
​

​

*****

It had been a dark and stormy night. Now it was a cool and pleasant, if damp, morning. Those who visited the South Bay Park stayed on the paths, which were paved with flagstone-like rocks.
​

Passers-by noticed that a park bench that was normally occupied by a guitar-playing creature during the day was empty. It remained so that day and the next.

*

The campus of the South Bay Regional Polytechnic Institute for the Performing and Industrial Arts Night School was several converted buildings that weren’t being put to any better use. It wasn’t terribly impressive, certainly no Harvard, but it was a college, and it welcomed Monsters.

Gonzo had learned that life went easier if he didn’t quibble about being called a Monster. If he had to live with the stigma associated with being a weird, unclassifiable thing, he might as well accept the benefits too. With the help of the TMI, he had gotten off the streets and earned a GED. He was no longer a homeless dropout. He had been able to get a job, and even rent an apartment. Okay, it had rats, but they paid their part of the rent.

However, he knew that the prospects were not great unless you had some sort of degree. TMI had helped Gonzo find a college that was friendly toward Monsters, and his efforts to better himself, so they had said, had impressed this one into offering him a scholarship. Gonzo had accepted, hoping that this was the last handout he would ever need.

Gonzo stopped in front of a building and checked his schedule. He admitted to himself that this was intimidating. After spending seven years hiding, keeping quiet for fear of being discovered and harassed, he had to remind himself that he had as much right to be here as anyone else. He’d paid his tuition and he had his class schedule. He took a moment to nerve himself, then entered.

*

That Friday, after the morning dew had burned off it was pleasant out. The wind blew in off the ocean, keeping summer temperatures down.

A car pulled up to a car wash that, due to the night’s rain, was not very busy. As it drove up a bell rang, and the rubber-apron-clad attendant came out. He was so short that, when he stood by a car, he could not see through the window. The driver, a young Human male, rolled down his window and leaned out. “Hi, Gonzo. Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in the park all week.”

Gonzo replied, “Sorry, I’m busy in the evenings now. I’m taking night classes.”

“Wow, that’s rough,” the driver said sympathetically.

“Nah, I like it,” Gonzo replied with a grin. He’d take night classes over living on a park bench any day.

“Really? What’re you studying?”

“Theater and Plumbing 101. Two classes, that is.”

“Plumbers make good money. The theater’s full of starving artists, though.”

“Been there, done that,” Gonzo remarked with an amiable shrug.

“So, how about a guided tour?”

“Sure thing. Pull on up!”

While the driver pulled onto the conveyor Gonzo started the car wash up. The passenger, a young Human woman, was startled when Gonzo climbed the front bumper, hopped onto the hood of the car, and waved hello. He posed like a giant hood ornament as the water sprayed and the rotating brushes closed in. “What is he doing?” she exclaimed.

“Just watch,” the driver replied.

Somehow Gonzo stood his ground as the side brushes slapped the car. He went flat, like a Marine crawling forward under gunfire, when the overhead roller descended. He held on for a few seconds, then was swept past the windscreen and over the roof.

When the car emerged, clean and wet, from the tunnel, Gonzo strolled out after it, dripping wet. The passenger got out and ran over to him. “Are you all right?” she exclaimed.

“Sure,” Gonzo replied cheerfully as he wrung out his hat. “I’m going to be soaked by the end of the day anyway, might as well have some fun with it. And the hot wax does wonders for my fur.”

The driver told her, “Don’t worry, it’s cool. He does that all the time.”

He did seem none the worse for wear, aside from looking like he’d taken a walk in a hurricane, she thought as she got back into the car. The driver handed Gonzo a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change. See you this weekend.”

“Thanks. See you around,” Gonzo replied. The car pulled away. He grinned to himself. He loved to see the looks on people’s faces when he went through the car wash. The first time he had gone through it had been an accident. A driver had not seen him in front and had driven in. Gonzo had clung to the bumper the whole time. Then he did it twice more, and decided he liked it. Before long people were asking him to do his stunt, often to show disbelieving friends. Gonzo happily obliged. Going through the car wash was exhilarating, and it was especially memorable if he forgot to keep his mouth closed when the soap sprayed. And people tipped well afterward. Maybe he had something there.

As he went inside to towel off, he thought that it would be even more impressive if he could somehow get “The Ride of the Valkyries” to play as he went through.

****

Gonzo is copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC and is used without permission but with much respect and affection. This story is copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9@aol.com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.

 

[The Count]

Hee... Good stuff. Reference-spotting?
Well, there's the title and Gonzo working at the car wash. No Ms. Leghorn to take his letter though.
And then there's the college which he and Jason Alexander both attended. Although how a college for monsters accepted a human student, well, maybe it's like another fic I've got on my favorites at fanfiction.net titled Halloween Academy by StoneMan85.

Thanks, post more soonish.