Muppet Fan-Fiction: Weddings Are Disastrous

[The Count]

*Chases Lisa to get her updating her jittery jungle female fury fic.
Git back to postin'! Thunderation and taxidermy!
*Fires penguin cannon.

 

[TogetherAgain]

Thunderation and taxidermy? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

<Runs for the hills>

 

[redBoobergurl]

Heh heh, too funny. I like that Big Bird would rather sing with Miss Piggy than Kermit! Loved Bert and Ernie too. Loved it all. More please!

 

[theprawncracker]

Chapter 13

The spotlight clicked on and an eerie silence flooded through the theater. The crimson curtains pulled apart and the light shown down on the sign that read “The Muppet Show” (because this is, of course, what we call The Muppet Show). The hole in the ‘O’ of “Show” disappeared and Kermit poked his froggy upper-body through it.

“Welcome to The Muppet Show!” Kermit called out into the audience. He held his huge grin. “With our very special guests: the residents of Sesame Street! Yay!” Kermit waved his arms around tirelessly as the sign was hoisted up above the stage.

Kermit jumped down from the ‘O’ onto one of the newly revealed arches, high enough to be blocked by the curtains above and crawled his way over to a ladder that waited for him every show while the beginning of the theme song played onstage.

Kermit grinned at Scooter who was in the front of the line of Muppets waiting for their cues to fill the arches on stage, just like every show.

Up in the luxury (or misery) box, Statler and Waldorf readied themselves for their derogatory quip about this week’s show. “Ah, I can’t wait for the pig and the frog’s wedding,” Waldorf said. Statler gasped. “Why on earth would you say that?” he asked. “Surely we’ll get a break from this during the honeymoon,” Waldorf said. The two old curmudgeons laughed heartily and let the theme song finish.

By that time Kermit, with Fozzie and Piggy on either side of him, had filled the arches on stage along with a slew of the other Muppets. “It’s time to get things started,” he soloed.

“On the most sensational,
Inspirational
Celebrational
Muppetational—
This is what we call The Muppet Show,” Kermit and the other Muppets sang as the frog and the beat scampered out of the way of the lowering title sign.

Gonzo emerged from the aforementioned ‘O’ hole and twirled his trumpet around proudly—and not so proudly sent it flying out into the audience. “Oops,” he said sheepishly, trying to duck down behind the outline of the letter.

~-~-~-~-~

With the theme song off smoothly (Gonzo had generously lubricated his trumpet with lotion—so it added to the smoothness of the intro) Kermit was free for a few seconds before he had to introduce the opening number.

Which is ample time, of course, for a parental unit to interject his presence next to his son without warning. “Son?” Dad the Frog addressed Kermit quietly.

Kermit jumped off the floor (as frogs tend to do—jumping off buildings is usually quite fatal). “Dad, you scared me,” Kermit said between breaths.

The elderly frog smiled softly. “Do you have a second?” he asked.

Kermit leaned back to peer out onstage. “Literally, actually, dad,” he said. “I need to do my intro—then you can have all the seconds you—well, all the seconds up until the next number needs introducing.”

Dad nodded to son. “Well that rebuttal took more than one second, son,” he said with a grin.

“Oh!” Kermit said, scrambling to get onstage, where he was greeted with a throng of applause being hurled from the hands of the audience. “Hi-ho, hi-ho, and welcome again to The Muppet Show!” the frog called out to his ravenous attendees. “We have a fantastic show planned—and organized this time—for you all tonight, and what better way to kick it off, than with our fabulous guests!” Kermit slid off stage as if he was on an ice rink, and the curtains followed him off.

He whipped around to face his dad, froggy snout to froggy snout. “I’m all yours, dad,” Kermit said with a grin.

~-~-~-~-~

In the middle of the stage sat a large, brown, upright piano, its back up against a beautifully (yet hastily) designed backdrop of a certain famous street near New York City.

Sitting on the bench of the piano, with their backs to the audience, were Rowlf and Bob.

Rowlf mindlessly ran his fingers across a few good keys (who was he kidding—they were all good keys). The scruffy dog sighed and rubbed the back of his head with his free paw.

“Something wrong, Rowlf?” Bob asked.

“Hmm?” Rowlf said as he looked up at Bob. “Oh, no, I was just thinking about my cousin Mitch.”

“Your cousin Mitch?” Bob asked, confused by the response from the dog (not just because it was a dog responding with words—Bob was used to that sort of thing by now). “Is there something wrong with him?”

“Yeah, he’s ran off and joined the circus,” Rowlf said, shaking his head sadly.

“Oh,” Bob nodded understandingly. “Well, I’m sure he’ll live a happy life, Rowlf. Is he a show dog?”

“No, he’s the tent!” Rowlf said with a wail.

Bob blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“He went and joined a flea circus, Bob!” Rowlf moaned. “A flea circus!”

Bob laughed, the audience laughed, Rowlf, slipping character, even let out a small chuckle.

“Well,” Bob said, regaining composure, “don’t worry Rowlf, I’m sure everything will be okay. I think I know just how to cheer you up.”

Rowlf acted like he was sniffing in agony. “You do?” he asked pathetically (even Link would have a run for his money with this ham). “How’s that?”

“Well a song of course,” Bob said.


“Oh!” Rowlf said in amazement. “So that’s why the piano’s here!”

“Mind if I join in?” asked the raspy voice of Hoots the Owl as he flew in and landed on top of the piano. His saxophone was dangling on his neck. “I think I’ve got just the song!” he said.

“Is it the one we rehearsed?” Rowlf asked. “Because I hate surprises.”

“I sure hope so,” Bob said. “That one always makes me feel better.”

Rowlf ran his fingers along the piano, and Bob followed suit. Hoots chuckled and shook his head. “Let’s sing a song about sunshine,” Hoots sang along with the piano.
“Let’s sing a song about takin’ a walk in the rain
Sing a song about daytime—
Why not sing about taking a ride
On the train?”

“You can’t go wrong,” Bob sang happily.
“When you sing a song.”

“Sing it loud, sing it strong
It feels good when you sing a song,” the three of them sang together.

Suddenly, the band pit started exuding a different—familiar melody. “Hey, what gives?” Rowlf called down.

“I certainly hope the stage doesn’t,” Bob said, pointing to Rowlf’s left.

Entering from stage left were Big Bird and Mr. Snuffleupagus, both smiling giddily as the Sesame Street theme song played their entrance.

“Hi you guys,” Big Bird called cheerfully as the audience exploded with applause. “I hope you don’t mind—but Snuffy and I had a different song in mind.”

“Sunny day, sweepin’ the clouds away,” Big Bird sang.
“On my way to where the air is sweet
Can you tell me how to get—
How to get to Sesame Street?”

“Come and play,” Snuffy added in. “Everything’s a-okay!” he sang with a belly laugh at the end of his line.

“Hardly,” Rowlf interjected. “They interrupted our song.”

Hoots laughed. “Go with it, doggy man,” he said. “Just tickle those ivories and sing along!”

Rowlf shrugged. “That is how we rehearsed it!”

“Friendly neighbors there
That’s where we’ll meet,” they all sang.
“Can you tell me how to get—
How to get to Sesame Street?”

The song medley was broken up once more—this time by a silver garbage can sliding out onto the stage, rattling as it landed on its base. The lid flung open hurriedly and Oscar showed his grubby green head. “Why do you wanna know how to get there?” he asked angrily. “We just left!”

“Oscar, what are you doing here?” Bob asked the grouch.

“Beats me,” he said. “Some big fella just hurled me out onto the stage—so I might as well sing a song of my own!”

“That is how we rehearsed it,” Big Bird told the grouch innocently.

“Thanks for reminding me, turkey,” Oscar sneered at the towering bird. “I figure someone has to show you goody two-shoes a thing or two about what it’s like to really be a grouch!”

“But Oscar,” Big Bird said, “Bob’s the only one wearing two shoes.”

“I’m the only one wearing any shoes, Big Bird,” Bob said.

Oscar groaned and ignored the comments, moving off into his own song. “Well if you wake up in the morning mean and grumpy,” he sang.
“And you frown at everybody that you see
And if you like your oatmeal nice, and cold, and lumpy
Then you’re a grouch like me!”

“I can’t believe we’re singing this,” Rowlf said.

“I can!” Rizzo the Rat declared as he ran in from off stage. “D’is is my kinda music!”

Sam Eagle quietly followed Rizzo onstage and looked around. “I was told… I needed to come out here?” he said, obviously very confused.

“Perfect,” Oscar said with a groan. “Now we can sing harmony.”

“So if you t’ink a great big pile of trash is pretty,” Rizzo sang.

“And ice cream is as yucky as can be,” Oscar added.

“It is rather fattening,” Sam said.

“And if you just can’t stand a cuddly little kitty,” Oscar sang.

“And you’d like to chase ‘er up the nearest tree!” Rizzo sang, with principle.

“Then you’re a grouch like us!” Oscar and Rizzo finished.

“And Sam!” Rowlf shouted.

“I beg your pardon?” Sam asked.

“Forget it Sam,” Rowlf said. “What now?”

“Beats me,” Oscar said. “It’s not like the next song is gonna fall out of the sky!”

As if on cue (actually, completely on cue) a furry blue super monster wearing a tin helmet and flowing red cape crashed into the stage, screaming wildly.

“I think he stuck the landing,” Rowlf said to Bob.

“If anyt’ing,” Rizzo said, “he’s stuck in the floor.”

Super Grover hopped up, basically unscathed (well, not as scathed as he’s been in other, unrehearsed situations) and looked around. “Did somebody call for a song to fall from the sky?” he asked heroically.

“Apparently,” Rowlf said.

“Great!” Super Grover shouted. “Are you ready boys?” he called out.

No one on stage responded. Super Grover looked around. “Hmph,” he said, “I seem to have misplaced my SU-per cohorts.”

Once more, on cue, two other bodies fell from the rafters above the stage. The forms of Gonzo the Great and Gordon (wearing a tight-fitting, metallic super suit) hobbled up from the floor. “Presenting,” Super Grover said, introducing the forms that fell, “Trash Gordon and Gonzo the Great!”

“Wasn’t that great!” Gonzo asked Gordon.

“I’m getting to old for this shtick,” Gor—Trash Gordon said with careful emphasis.

Super Grover cleared his throat. “Are you ready boys?” he asked impatiently.

“Yeah!” Gonzo declared excitedly, while Gordon meekly mentioned it.

“Good!” Super Grover shouted. “Because we’ve got a dance number—it’s called the ‘Zig Zag Zig!’”

“Zig?” Gonzo and Gordon asked.

“Zag!” Super Grover declared.

“Zag!”

“Zig! Zag! One, two, three four!” Super Grover shouted. Hoots wailed on his sax and Rowlf and Bob went to town on the piano. “Alright, tell ‘em about it, Gonzo!”

Gonzo slid to front and center stage and grinned out at the audience. “Now we’re gonna do a dance
And it’s bound to be a new sensation!”

“Before very long
It’ll raise across the nation!” Super Grover sang, sliding up next to the weirdo.

“Hold on to your seat
Or you won’t get a chance,” Trash Gordon sang.

“It’s the zany, zesty
Zippy, zingy
Zig-Zag Dance!” all three sang.

By now, everyone onstage who wasn’t playing an instrument was forming a conga line that danced in zig-zags. (The only reason Sam the Eagle was caught up in such an uncultured display was because, quite frankly, he and Oscar got caught in between Big Bird and Snuffy.) Gonzo, Trash Gordon, and Super Grover formed the front of the line.

“It goes zzzzz-zig’a zig’a zig’a
Zig-Zag!
It goes zzzzz-zig’a zig’a zig’a
Zig-Zag!” everyone sang.

“You turn, and turn
And you turn again!” Gonzo sang.

“And that’s the way that you
Can also learn to do,” Super Grover sang.

“The zany, zest
Zippy, zingy
Zig-Zag Dance!”

“I hate this!” Oscar shouted.

“Maybe Elmo can help, Oscar,” Elmo said, running onstage with Fozzie, Ernie, Bert, Cookie Monster, Telly, Baby Bear, Rosita, Zoe, Maria, Luis, and Susan following behind him.

“I sincerely—no, I know you won’t!” Oscar said, retreating back into his can as the conga line dispersed.

Elmo shrugged. “Everybody ready?” he asked the cast that formed onstage.

“I think so,” Fozzie said. “We did rehearse this.”

Elmo and the cast began singing a chorus of “La la’s” that quickly formed into a melody. “Sing, sing a song,” they all sang, sang a song.

“Sing out loud,” Super Grover sang out, loudly.

“Sing out strong,” Zoe and Rosita harmonized.

“Sing of good things
Not bad,” Hoots sang.

“Sing of happy
Not sad,” Susan added.

“Sing, sing a song,” they all sang.

“Make it simple
To last your whole life long!” Cookie Monster sang, thinking of a cookie that might last his whole life long.

“Don’t worry that it’s
Not good enough
For anyone else to hear,” Big Bird sang.

“Just sing!
Sing a song!” Elmo sang happily.

As the group began to “la la” again, The Count von Count swooped onstage and counted the sounds. “Ah, that’s sixteen, sixteen ‘la las!’” he declared. “Sixteen ‘la las’ the writer did not have to type out,” he added. “Ah! Ah! Ah!”

“Sing, sing a song!
Let the world
Sing along!” Maria and Luis sang.

“Sing of what there could be,” Bob sang.

“Sing for you, Bert,” Ernie sang.
“And for me, me Bert!”

“Oh, Ernie,” Bert groaned.

“Sing, sing a song!” Telly and Baby Bear sang.

“Make it simple
To last your whole life long,” Trash Gordon and Rizzo sang.

“Don’t worry that it’s not good enough
For anyone else to hear,” Big Bird and Snuffy sang together.

“Just sing,” Big Bird sang alone.
“Sing a song.”

“Sing a song about laughin’ or cryin’,” Rowlf sang, changing melodies suddenly.
“A banana or a lion.”

“Sing a song about
The short and the tall,” Elmo sang.

“The big and the small,” Big Bird added.

“Or anything at all!” everyone declared.

“You can’t go wrong,” Hoots sang.
“When you’re singin’ a song!”

“Sing it high, sing it low
Sing it fast, sing it slow
Sing it happy, sing it sad
Sing it good, sing it bad
Sing it all day long—
It feels good when you sing a song!”

“You know what else feels good?” Statler asked his cohort in curmudgenliness.

“Hmm?” Waldorf sounded.

“Being hit over the head with a two by four!” Statler said.

“You old fool, how could that feel good?”

“It would put you out of the misery of watching this show!”

“Do ho ho ho!”

~-~-~-~-~

Kermit was very glad his dad didn’t mind that by saying, “I’m all yours,” he was, inevitably, lying to his father.

He soon realized that by saying, “I’m all yours,” to his father, he was saying, “I’m not any of yours,” to Scooter, Miss Piggy, Fozzie, Gonzo, Hilda the Wardrobe Lady, the Swedish Chef, Elmo, Beauregard, Bunsen, Grover, Bert, Floyd, Sam, Robin, Pepe, and just about every other Muppet existing on the planet (and most of them were in this theater).

But thankfully, Dad the Frog, being Dad the Frog, completely understood when his son told him they’d have to talk after the show—in a much quieter and less crowded atmosphere. (He suggested Saturn to his son, but Kermit worried that the rings might be too loud.)

Kermit was very pleased to hear the applause bursting out of the seats below the stage. He assumed it was a force to be reckoned with, and was sincerely glad he wasn’t out there, because, weighing the very little amount that he did, he probably would’ve been, literally, blown away by the cheering.

The show was, currently, off to a very good start. As the cast of the opening number (which happened to include only a very, very small fraction of the regular cast) removed themselves from the stage Kermit prepared himself for the next act’s intro.

However, a grumpy go-fer had other plans for the frog. “Kermit, I quit!” Scooter declared sullenly.

“Can it wait, Scooter?” Kermit asked, not really hearing the kid. “I have the next act to—what?” he asked, shocked.

“I quit!” Scooter said, standing his ground firmly (though, even firm poles can be pushed to one side with the right amount of force).

Kermit frowned. “One second,” he said. He clicked on the intercom system on his desk and said, “Clifford, introduce the next act, Clifford, next act!” into it.

“Now,” Kermit said, “Scooter, let’s talk about this rationally.”

“Either she goes, or I go!” Scooter declared, irrationally.

“Miss Piggy?” Kermit asked. “Listen, Scooter, you’re not the first to try this—”

“No, not Miss Piggy!” Scooter said. “Prairie Dawn!”

“Hubba-hubba-wha?” Kermit spat out.

“She’s driving me nuts, chief!” Scooter said. “I finally had to send her off to get coffee and donuts, just to get some alone time!”

“You did what?” Kermit asked, loudly.

“I sent her off to—”

Kermit scrambled for the intercom system again. “Fozzie, Rowlf, Beaker, my desk—now!” he shouted.

Fozzie, Rowlf, and Beaker ran in quickly. “What’s up, Kermit?” Rowlf asked.

“Yeah, it sounds like something’s wrong,” Fozzie said, worriedly.

“Mee mo meep!” Beaker squeaked.

“Prairie Dawn is out on the town by herself,” Kermit said.

“Oh,” Fozzie said. “Well, it’s nice to have some alone time every once in awhile.”

“That’s what I said!” Scooter said.

“So you let a seven year old go out in town by herself?” Kermit asked frantically.

Scooter gulped. “I—I thought she was… older?”

“What’s the plan, Kermit?” Rowlf asked, adding sense to the conversation (though it was not an arcade game).

“I need you three,” he motioned to Rowlf, Fozzie, and Beaker, “to go out and find her—and quickly!”

“Find who?” Prairie Dawn asked, walking through the door while precariously balancing a tray of four cups of coffee and a box of donuts.

“Find you, Prairie Dawn,” Kermit said, “Scooter sent you off alone and—Prairie Dawn!”

“Hi there,” the little girl said cheerfully. “I hope everyone likes glazed; they were out of jelly filled.”

“I…” Kermit sputtered. “Just put that stuff on the desk, I guess,” he said.

Prairie did as she was told. “There you go, chief!” she said to Kermit. The frog noticed, out of the ring of his Saturn-shaped eye, Scooter wincing at the last word.

“Thanks Prairie,” Kermit said. “Why don’t you take a break for awhile though, Scooter can handle the rest of the night.”

“Oh, are you sure?” Prairie asked, sincerely concerned. “Because, even though I’m small, I can—”

“Really be a big help,” Scooter finished. “I know, I know, I’ve heard.”

“That’s okay, Prairie,” Kermit said kindly. “I think I need some alone time with Scooter anyway.”

Prairie Dawn shrugged. “Alright then,” she said. The little blonde girl skipped off backstage to find something to do.

“Scooter, how could you—” Kermit was interrupted by “Rainbow Connection” emitting from his desk. He sighed heavily. “Hold that thought,” he said. The frog went over and pulled out his cell phone from underneath the stack of papers. He gulped when he saw who was calling.

“Who is it, Kermit?” Rowlf asked.

“Mickey,” Kermit said. “Uh, Rowlf, could you get back to the band pit? Scooter, grab me a… a pen—”

“You have one right there, boss!” Scooter said, pointing to a pen on Kermit’s desk.

“Out of ink,” Kermit said sternly to the go-fer, who ran off. “And Beaker… just… go?”

Beaker nodded and mumbled happily as he left the group.

Fozzie moved next to Kermit and gulped, putting a reassuring arm on his best friend’s shoulder. Kermit flipped open the phone and put it against his head. “Hi-ho, Kermit the Frog here!”

 

[TogetherAgain]

...Dude. According to this cute little thing at the bottom of the page, "It Feels Good When You Sing A Song" is currently playing on MCR. How perfect. (Have I mentioned that I LOVE that song?)

Anyway. <GLOMP!>

You know my reaction to the awesome medley...

Dad the Frog suggesting Saturn makes my day. Especially with the Saturn-shaped pupils involved. And the rings. Awesome.

The force of the cheering... I didn't realize I was in the audience.

SCOOTER QUIT! PRAIRIE ON THE TOWN BY HERSELF! OH MY OY MY HOLY MOSQUITOES DUUUUUUUUUDE! Scooter wincing at Prairie saying CHIEF! Oh my WOOOOW my dude but I love how you're playing that entire situation. Did I glomp you yet? <GLOMP!>

KERMIT'S RING TONE IS RAINBOW CONNECTION! AWESOME! Love his dismissal of everyone, and Fozzie right there, and DUDE! CLIFFHANGER! ME NEED MOOOOOORE!

MORE PLEASE! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

 

[AnimatedC9000]

Yeah, what she said!

I absolutely love this new chapter, Prawnie. Especially the opening act (and the parts with Sam).

A-HA! Rivalry! *points at Prarie Dawn and Scooter* Right there!

Can't wait for the next chapter!

~ AnimatedC

 

[redBoobergurl]

Another fantastic installment! So much going on! Loved Rowlf and Bob together, I think they make a good duo. The Prairie Dawn stuff was great and then Kermit getting that call and my oh my! Such a packed chapter! Must read more!

 

[theprawncracker]

Chapter 14

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Clifford said, sans sunglasses, onstage to the audience. “We take you now to a pharaoh’s tomb, where we find two brave archeologists, about to find something completely unexpected. Ya dig? Heh heh,” Clifford said, sliding off stage (not as gracefully as Kermit, of course) as the curtain opened behind him.

“Hey there Kerm,” Clifford said to the frog-on-phone as he came backstage. “Why’d ya need me to—”

“Clifford!” Fozzie shouted suddenly. “Boy, am I glad you’re here!”

Kermit muffled the bottom of his phone with his hand and eyed Fozzie suspiciously—whatever the bear was planning; he hoped it worked (though he didn’t hold out too much hope—that would just be foolish). Clifford did the same thing—minus the phone muffling and hope holding.

Kermit resumed his phone conversation, “Just a second Mickey,” he said into the phone. “We’re in the middle of a show.”
Now Clifford eyed the frog. “Mickey?” he asked. “As in the mouse? Hey, ask ‘im about my DVD sets comin’ out and—”

“Like I was saying Clifford,” Fozzie interjected, “I’m so glad you’re here! Listen, I needed someone to be the guinea pig for my latest monologue—and even though you’re some kind of… catfish thing—I think you’ll do just fine!” The bear grabbed hold of Clifford’s arm and pulled him along with him to a place out of ear shot.

Clifford sighed. He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out his sunglasses, casually flipping them onto his face. If he was going to nap during this laugh-less display, he’d need some coverage.

“Okay Mickey,” Kermit said back to the phone. “How are things?”

“Just fine Kermit,” said the high, falsetto voice on the other end of the phone. “I don’t want to interrupt your show—”

Too late, thinketh the frog.

“—but I just wanted to ask if you and some of the gang would like to join us for a big gala the company’s having in a few weeks,” Mickey said. “I think it’d be a great way for you guys to meet some more of the faces around the business.” The mouse practically oozed an air of enthusiasm and a chipper disposition.

Or any faces around the business, the frog thinketh again. “That sounds great Mickey!” Kermit said genuinely. “What’s the gala for?”

Mickey chuckled. “I’m not even sure, Kermit,” he said. “It just seems like a shame not to have a gala when we have a perfectly good ballroom sitting empty.”

Kermit nodded. “Very good point,” he said. “Oh, Mickey, that reminds me—is it public knowledge that, erm,” Kermit looked around the set nervously, “that we’re making a new movie?”

“Golly, Kermit,” Mickey said. Kermit silently wondered who on earth said “golly” anymore (as if he could talk, sheesh!). “Haven’t you seen any of the articles about it on the internet?”

Kermit gulped. “Well, thankfully, we don’t really have internet at the Boarding House,” Kermit said. “Too many of us registered as members on some fan site and spilled script secrets that had to be hashed.”

“Well then how do you operate your video blog?” Mickey asked.

“I never said the theater didn’t have internet,” Kermit said. “But nobody knows that, so don’t tell.”

Mickey laughed, “I wouldn’t know who to tell, Kermit.”

“Miss Piggy, specifically,” Kermit said.

“Too much online shopping?” Mickey asked. “That’s why I never let Minnie have my credit card—or Donald, for that matter.”

Kermit chuckled. “No, no, that’s not it—well… I guess that could feasibly be a problem, yes, but not the problem I’m talking about. Ya see, I’m trying to keep the movie a secret from Miss Piggy—so I can surprise her with it for a wedding present.”

“Oh, gee,” Mickey said, “that’s swell Kermit! I’ll do my best to keep the media attention down. I can’t make any promises about Jason though, he’s a sucker for interviews.”

“Well tell him not to ham it up,” Kermit said. “Listen Mickey, thanks so much for the invite to the gala, and we’d be happy to go, just call my people about the time and I’ll ask some of the gang if they want to come.”

“Kermit, your people are my people,” Mickey said.

Kermit squirmed. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Well… tell them anyway—have them call Scooter. Anyway, I’ve gotta be getting back to the show.”

“Alright Kermit, see ya real soon!” Mickey said.

As Kermit hung up the phone he wished he had a signing off catch phrase as well.

~-~-~-~-~

Numerous arguments, a nose removal, some pigeon references, and several bad puns later, Bert finally realized it was time to open the sarcophagus.

“Oh, Dr. Bert,” Ernie said, “the pharaoh—that’s an Egyptian king, folks—the pharaoh’s final resting spot lays right before us, old buddy! Would you like to do the honors of opening it and finding whatever it is that rests inside?”

Which also meant, to Bert, it was time for his tap dance number. He shuddered, carrying on the scene, “I’m not sure Professor Ernie,” he said, “it’s so nerve-wracking!”

“Oh, Dr. Bert,” Professor Ernie chided his partner. “Don’t you want your mummy?” Ernie asked with his raspy laugh following in good form.

Bert’s eyebrow lowered in frustration right in Ernie’s direction. “My mummy doesn’t live in the bottom of the desert,” Dr. Bert said.

“Well, Dr. Bert, maybe your wife finally followed through on her threats to bury her alive!” Professor Ernie suggested.

Bert groaned. “Can we just open the sarcophagus please?”

“Oh sure Dr. Bert, sure,” Ernie said. “Sarcophagus is like a big coffin, everybody,” he told the audience, garnering some laughter.

“Professor Ernie!” Dr. Bert whined.

“Calm down, Dr. Bert, calm down,” Ernie said. “I know this is very nerve-wracking.” Bert glared at Ernie, who stifled his laughter, and instead reached for the lid of the ancient tomb (well, it was actually constructed for the sketch just yesterday… but it looked mighty dusty).

As Professor Ernie pulled back the covering, a bright light (provided by a lovely spotlight pulled down from the ceiling) emitted from it. With the lid fully off, Dr. Bert and Professor Ernie stared directly into the wrapped face of bandages before them.

Professor Ernie shivered suddenly. “Eerie, isn’t it, Dr. Bert?”

Dr. Bert examined the wrapped body lying before him. He cleared his throat and laughed nervously. “Ernie!” he whispered hastily, quietly enough for the audience not to be able to hear him. “This isn’t the mummy we rehearsed with!”

Ernie scratched the top of his head (which didn’t do much good, since it was covered by a pith helmet). “Are you sure, Bert?” Ernie asked quietly.

“Look Statler,” Waldorf hollered, “the microphones have broke!”

“Oh, hallelujah!” Statler declared. “Our prayers have finally been answered!”

Bert groaned. “Yes, Ernie, I’m sure! Look at it, it has a long… snout! And is that a tail?”

Ernie looked down, “I think it is, Bert.”

Bert gulped loudly then said, no longer in a whisper, “Well if that’s not the mummy we rehearsed with, then who—”

The bundle of wraps stirred suddenly, extending two sharp-clawed hands onto the edges of the sarcophagus, pulling itself out slowly. The hunched mummy stood ominously in the middle of the stage, with Bert (who had jumped behind Ernie as soon as the mummy moved) and Ernie standing behind it, visibly shaking.

The clawed hands reached up and tore off enough bandages around its face to reveal the dark blue, wrinkled snout and the dark yellow eyeballs and teeth of Uncle Deadly standing before the audience. “Ah,” the phantom sighed happily, “you never forget a good mummification!” he declared.

“Wh—who are you?” Bert asked.

“Why, the pharaoh, of course!” Uncle Deadly said triumphantly, Shakespearian even.

“Where’s Gonzo?” Ernie asked the creature standing before him. “He was supposed to play the mummy, not you.”

“He suddenly got tied up,” Deadly said with a creepy smile (this statement was true, actually, for Uncle Deadly had tied Gonzo up in a rolling chair and taken the liberty of hanging him from the rafters in the canteen—he was just paying the weirdo an owed favor). “Besides,” Uncle Deadly stated, “his tapping doesn’t even hold a candle to mine.”

Bert gasped happily. “You tap?” he asked.

“Well of course,” the phantom said. Uncle Deadly held up one of his legs in Bert’s direction. “See?” he asked. “Mummified tap-shoes.”

“Oh, wow,” Bert said, admiring the fine wrapping.

“Mummified tap-shoes?” Statler asked, bewildered by these new developments onstage.

“They’re trying to preserve this dying show for as long as they can,” Waldorf said.

Uncle Deadly adjusted his stance and proudly stood center-stage, he cleared his throat. “Ready?” he asked Bert. Bert nodded eagerly, clicking the heels of his own tap shoes for emphasis. “Well then,” Uncle Deadly said, “how do I look?”

“You look swell,” Bert sang suddenly, tapping tumultuously from the back to the front of the stage. “You look great!
Gotta have the whole world on a plate
Starting here, starting now
Mummy, everything’s coming up roses and daffodils!”

“Everything’s coming up
Sunshine and Santa Claus,” Uncle Deadly sang, tapping along with Bert.

“Everything’s coming up roses
For me—” Bert soloed, tapping away furiously at the end of his line.

“And for you!” Bert and Uncle Deadly sang, holding the last note long as they continued to wear away the stage floor with their incessant tapping.

The audience roared with applause as the curtain drew back in for a close.

“Well whadaya know,” Statler said, “the mummy rose from the grave.”

“So? That happens with this show every night!” Waldorf quipped.

~-~-~-~-~

“Great number guys, way to stay on your toes,” Kermit said to the two faux-archeologists and the real phantom as they came off stage. “Literally,” he added to Bert.

Bert laughed. “Kermit that was great!” he said. “I had no idea you kept such talented tappers around this place!”

Kermit shrugged. “He really just keeps to himself actually,” the frog said. “Usually, anyway.”

Uncle Deadly smirked proudly. “When I see an opportunity to show my performing brilliance, I leap at it.”

“You certainly leaped right into this number,” Kermit said.

“It was a role I was born to take,” Uncle Deadly said.

Kermit shook his head. “Ernie, Bert, you guys were just great,” the frog said (referring to, of course, the scenes he saw them in after hanging up with Mickey). “You can use the guest star’s dressing room to get out of those dusty costumes.”

The duo marched up the stairs, arguing over whether or not Ernie put Bert’s nose back on straight…

Kermit returned to his paper work, and, surprisingly to the frog, Uncle Deadly did not return to his lair. Kermit squirmed and looked up at the phantom. “Did you need something else?” he asked.

“I just thought I’d extend an invitation to you for a cup of green tea on the roof sometime,” Uncle Deadly said with a smile.

Kermit smiled right back. “I’ll have to pencil you in—but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Good,” Uncle Deadly said. “Now, about my pay for being in this number of yours…”

“How about I just don’t charge you rent for your stay in the theater?” Kermit asked with a convincing smirk.

Uncle Deadly lunged his arm forward and loosely wrapped his clawed hand around Kermit’s neck. The frog squirmed and shook and gulped all at once. “You’re lucky I enjoy it here, frog,” Deadly said menacingly. He released the frog and patted him on his little green head. “I always enjoy seeing a free show.”

Kermit trembled nervously and nodded at Uncle Deadly’s comment. “I think I’ll just lie down now…” he said shakily, falling down onto the backstage floor.

Uncle Deadly shrugged. “I’ve always heard that great performances could kill,” he said proudly, stalking off to his next place of haunting.

 

[TogetherAgain]

HAHAHAAAAAA! Ohhhh my, but you have Deadly to PERFECTION. Utter, stunning perfection.

And Ernie and Bert rock my socks. Especially with the straightness of the nose.

You... Know my reaction to most of the chapter already, as per usual... So...

<GLOMP!>

MORE PLEASE! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

 

[The Count]

*Pounces on the prawn and gives him a skulkingly crushing hug. Pharaoh? And here I thought he was just the Shiek of Araby. No frog, you're lucky he died at the theater. Now then, to use the theater's terminal to log onto that fan site, whatever it is...
*Finds theater terminal, logs on, and comments to friends about thePharaohs Tomb sketch that just went on. *Gets a reply or two, gets ziffled in replying himself. What? Prawn? Nope, haven't seen him... He's been, um, temporarily indisposed.
*Creepy smile, nods to his phantomly fiend for assurance of this fact. Huh? Yeah, we'll prod him to post more. Well, I'd post myself, but I have to wait for him to tell me first...

*Adds and icons to post before submitting.