Welcome to the Muppet Central Forum!
Jim Henson Idea Man
Back to the Rock Season 2
Bear arrives on Disney+
Sam and Friends Book
RedPiggy
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Apr 9, 2008
- Messages
- 5,125
- Reaction score
- 400
Author’s Note: Okay, I admit, while I have Newsie in my current (Fall 2009) Dorms roster, he once belonged to someone else. The thing about his mother (Newsie’s, not the other member) is homaged, though not exactly played out like that familial relationship was in the Dorms. This is how I would handle this character and his issues.
The golden-skinned man, in his thirties, rubbed his tired eyes. He hadn’t been on the job long and he was already worried. He had to rely on his notes far more than he thought. The teleprompter was so far away, its white letters smudging on the blue background. If this kept up, he might need glasses.
An olive-green-skinned round-headed scientist, as evidenced by the white lab coat, rushed over to the desk. “Oh, Mr. … uh … Mr. … uh ….” He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “I’m so sorry. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of getting your name, Mr. ….”
“Just call me Newsie,” the reporter replied, straightening his papers, tapping them ritualistically on the desk, standing, and preparing to leave the set.
“Hmm, what a peculiar moniker!” announced the scientist. “Were you named after your mother?”
Newsie sighed. “No, Mr. Honeydew – it is merely a stage name.”
Honeydew nodded. “Ah, that explains it, then. What is your legal name, then?”
“Nixon,” he replied, stopping, turning to glare at the scientist. “For obvious reasons, I would prefer not being called by that name.”
Honeydew nodded sympathetically. “Yes, it was rather unfortunate. Had he had my patented Muppet invisible flashlight, he might not have had that awful little spat with the authorities.” There was a long beat. “Of course … first I’ll have to find it,” Honeydew continued sadly.
“I’m sure your gadgets are quite fascinating,” Newsie said, trying to brush him off.
Kermit the Frog came up and nodded to Newsie. “Are you going to the press meeting tonight?”
Newsie nodded. “Of course, I am. I expect you’ll be coming as well?”
Kermit looked down in thought. “Hmm … I think I’ve got an interview with some young man about a magic lamp, but I think I can swing by tonight. I might be a little late, though.” His face crumpled up into a frown. “These things always take a bit longer than it’s supposed to.”
Newsie cleared his throat and nodded and walked past the backstage of the Muppet Theater. A gaggle of monsters brushed past him.
Then that hook-nosed thing.
Then a group of chickens and penguins.
Suddenly, a blue-and-white rubber doggie toy with a red and white striped top hat appeared out of thin air, as well as a light-green-skinned long-faced man with wires coming out of his head.
“Whoops!” chirped the little cartoony doggie toy as it floated in the air, its eyes bugging out well past his head. “Wrong time period, Digit!”
Digit, the strange man beside the creature, slapped a small metal box with lots of buttons. “You’re right, Waldo. We better leave before we mess up the spacetime continuum too much!” They disappeared in a flash of light.
Newsie sighed and shook his head. It was just another day at the Muppet Theater.
In his room Newsie started to type up the script for the next show. He stopped and rubbed his eyes. Flashes of light sparkled in his field of vision. He bit his lower lip and took out a black and white picture of his mother, who had gone blind and became increasingly demanding. He didn’t want to end up living out the rest of his life depending on others for every little thing. It seemed like all of his twenty-four hour day either revolved around the theater-related newscasts or taking care of his mother.
His doctor, the last time he had had enough money to go to one, had told him of a tiny tear in both his retinas. If the symptoms got worse, the doctor said, he’d have to try surgery immediately.
Of course, this was late 1976, so there wasn’t much that could be done.
Newsie started throwing random items around the room in frustration. This was not how he had hoped to improve his career. It was bad enough he had to quit boxing, though it wasn’t because of his eyes. He never really wanted to be forced out because he had sustained debilitating eye injuries. He only quit because he could save face by claiming he needed to take care of his mother. He left his room and headed back to his mother’s house in the Bronx.
His mother, who looked rather like him except for long, stringy gray hair tied up in a large bun. She tapped her cane hard on the floor. “Angel?” she groused. “Were you expecting me to walk myself to the bathroom?”
Newsie sighed. “Don’t call me that, Mother,” he told her resignedly. “Just call me Newsie, alright?”
His mother huffed. “Angel means ‘messenger’, you know!” she retorted. “What’s the difference? Why should I call you ‘reporter man’? Angel becomes you so much better.”
He clenched his fist, happy she couldn’t see it. “Because I don’t like it!”
“How dare you speak to your mother that way?” she screamed, standing, brandishing her cane. “I hope you never have to know what it’s like to have all your world just disappear on you!”
Newsie’s face turned deep red. “Well, I am – are you happy now, Mother?” he shot back angrily. He could feel the veins popping in his face. “I’m gonna end up just as blind and bitter and helpless as you!” He inhaled deeply. “Then where will you be, huh?”
His mother sat down in shock, finally speechless, and looked away, smoothing out the wrinkles in her pale blue nightgown.
Newsie stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door shut. Just as he was about to change into his maroon pajamas, complete with bunny slippers, the phone rang. He picked it up and acknowledged his mother’s doctor.
“How are you?” his mother’s doctor asked.
“She’s still frustrating,” Newsie replied, trying to calm down, wiping the sweat off of his brow with a handkerchief.
For several moments, there was silence. Then, the doctor continued, clearing his throat, “Well, we’ve received the results.”
“Oh?” Newsie asked, wondering how his mother could get any worse.
“Her visual systems are … intact.”
Newsie sat down on a small ottoman near his bed. “Care to run that by me again?”
The doctor sighed. “She can see just fine.” He paused. “However, I would like to refer her to a psychiatrist. I have a feeling she’s developing a senile disorder.”
Newsie hung up. He walked into the living room with a bunny slipper in his right hand. “The doctor says you can see just fine, Mother,” he told her quietly, almost eerily.
His mother smirked and shrugged. “What does that quack know?”
Newsie aimed for his mother and faked chucking it at her.
She gasped and flinched.
Newsie, tears running down his face, turned, dropping the slipper on the floor, and started out the front door.
“Where are you going?” his mother asked nervously. He didn’t respond. “Angel? Angel?” She paused, pleading, “Newsie?”
But he was gone.
Newsie shuffled his way back to the theater, ignoring all those greeting him, and shut himself up in his room. He placed his head on his desk and trembled. This was the second time he couldn’t tell whether he was depressed or furious – the first time had been when he had been forced to quit boxing.
His mother had been lying to him. LYING. She had invented her symptoms to garner his sympathy. He mentally ran through his life, as though he were watching scores of newsreels. He should have spotted those little mannerisms that seemed awfully strange in hindsight for a blind person, like how she could follow his movements and seemed to be looking at him. He had just assumed she was listening to his footsteps. Then there was the fact she said she couldn’t navigate the house by herself … but sometimes he would find her in a different room than the one in which he’d left her. Hadn’t she just memorized the house’s layout? He even caught her dialing their rotary phone, but you could feel your way through the small holes going around the large plastic dial.
Scooter knocked on Newsie’s door and creaked it open. “Mr. Newsie, sir? Kermit wanted to know if you got through with next week’s transcript before your press meeting tonight.”
Newsie shook his head but didn’t look at him. “I’m not going,” he mumbled.
Scooter picked up on the tone and entered the room. “Is there anything I can do?”
Newsie chuckled, tapping a pencil on his desk. “Can you get me some new eyes?”
Scooter put his fingers to his chin in deep thought. “I think I’ve got a few spare in a drawer somewhere,” he responded. “Around here you have to have lots of spare body parts for all the various gags, like that Vend-a-face thing.”
“Do those glasses work for you?”
Scooter nearly stopped breathing. “Uh,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “yes?” He shrugged. “I mean, I’m near-sighted, and with these babies I can see far away, which is rather useful here. Can you imagine not being able to see when Gonzo is about to shoot himself out of a cannon from the opposite side of the stage?” He smiled and patted Newsie on the back. “I know sometimes it seems like we’re kinda low on cash around here, but we have an excellent health program. It’s rather mandatory to have insurance while working here. I’m sure Bunsen can get you some glasses. He is a real doctor, you know.”
Newsie turned to face Scooter, looking confused. “I thought he was just some gag inventor?”
Scooter shook his head. “Oh, no, sir … Bunsen started out designing operating room equipment and prosthetics. He excels in chemistry, anatomy, and medical technology.” He smiled again. “Just give him a chance. He can come up with something for you.”
Newsie nodded and waited for Scooter to exit before heading downstairs to Muppet Labs, which shared space with props from Veterinarian’s Hospital. He spotted Bunsen reading through Popular Mechanics. “Mr. Honeydew?”
Bunsen looked up and smiled. “Oh, yes, Mr. Newsie! Welcome to Muppet Labs!”
Newsie looked around. “Couldn’t Kermit afford you a better set? Or a set at all?”
Bunsen looked around and nodded, sighing. “Yes, I’m afraid I haven’t managed to obtain my own set yet. I’m confident I will shortly, though. I’m only looking for the right opportunity.”
Newsie nodded. “I was told you might be able to help me. You see,” he paused, looking away, “I’m afraid the injuries to my eyes from my old boxing days are catching up to me.”
Bunsen jumped up and shined a light into Newsie’s eyes. “Yes,” he said, nodding, “retinal detachment due to massive trauma. Most unfortunate.” He turned and started going through several drawers. “Unfortunately, science has only recently begun to come up with ideas and theories about how to treat such conditions. I, myself, think that by using lasers --.”
“No!” Newsie shouted in a panic. “Uh,” he caught himself, straightening his bowtie, “I was just hoping you might have some spare glasses.”
Bunsen chuckled. “Oh, naturally! I’m always losing my glasses. I have a special glasses cloning device, so I’ll always have spares. I’ll just tweak the settings a bit so they’ll fit you better.” He stopped and faced Newsie with a suddenly serious face. “I’m afraid your condition is permanent. Have you been seeing floaty shapes and bright flashes of light?”
Newsie nodded. “I’ve also started hallucinating … I saw a green robot and a blue and white rubber doggie toy floating in mid air before they disappeared in a flash of light.”
Bunsen stared at him. “Well,” he said, adjusting his glasses, “hallucinations are not a symptom, I think. Have you been under extremely stressful conditions?”
“Yes. My mother has been faking her condition, making me wait on her hand and foot.”
Bunsen sighed and looked away. His voice was quiet. “Yes … family troubles. I … don’t have … such inconveniences, actually.” He snapped his fingers and pulled out a pair of large black horn-rimmed glasses. His face brightened. “Here you go! I’ll alter the lens shape to fit your prescription --.”
“I don’t have a prescription.”
“Of course not, but no matter,” Bunsen announced cheerfully. “There are some major improvements to this prototype that I believe will make the world a much better place. The lenses, once shaped for the wearer, will continue to adjust itself so that future pairs will be unnecessary! Isn’t that marvelous?”
Newsie gawked at Bunsen. “Actually … yes, yes it is,” he gasped in awe.
Bunsen placed the glasses in a large contraption, waited a few minutes, adjusted a few knobs and pressed a few buttons, and then took out the glasses, easily better fit to Newsie’s head instead of Bunsen’s.
Newsie placed them gently on his head. He gasped as he started to notice all the little details of the room that he had never known were there … such as how messy Bunsen’s work area was.
“Well, how do you like them? Are they satisfactory?” Bunsen asked slightly impatiently.
Newsie nodded and grinned for the first time today. He wiped a tear from his eyes. “These are the bee’s knees!”
Suddenly, about twenty bees just appeared from the ceiling and started buzzing around the two. Newsie screamed and threw himself to the floor.
Bunsen casually swiped some bees away as he went to get an insect spray can. “My, my … I forgot to mention one little detail.” He killed the bees and helped Newsie up. “I hope you’re not too angry.”
Newsie frowned. “Angry? I was attacked by bees!”
Bunsen put his hands on each of Newsie’s shoulders. “I’d watch what I say, if I were you. I did manage to forget to mention one tiny little detail: namely, that these glasses have a quantum replicator embedded in them.”
Newsie took a few steps back. “What?”
Bunsen nodded and put away the spray can. “When people start to lose their sight, they also can’t find little things like keys or their checkbook or what-have-you,” he informed the reporter. “I had the idea not too long ago to make glasses that could make emphasized objects appear out of thin air. That way, no one has to become frustrated when they lose things ever again!”
Newsie took off the glasses and nearly threw them at Bunsen, but failed to do so. “So, if I wear these, I might have things magically appear?”
Bunsen laughed. “Oh no! It’s not magic at all! It is the wonders of quantum mechanics!”
Newsie shook his head. “I’m not that thrilled, to be perfectly honest.”
Bunsen shrugged. “You don’t have to wear them, of course. However, your records state your name is Angel Nixon. The etymology of this name is ‘messenger undaunted’. You will most likely lose your sight permanently. Without the proper technology and funds, I can’t really help you. Science can’t replicate sensitive retinal tissues yet, even with my genius driving the technology. You might run into a few unfortunate incidents if you don’t pay attention to what you say, but why let that force you to resign yourself to helplessness? Lots of strange and unfortunate things happen to me when I invent. Little mishaps are just part of the job.”
“Cronkite doesn’t have to deal with this,” Newsie mumbled. He stared at the glasses in his hand and then put in his jacket pocket. “I’ll think about it.”
Bunsen grinned and waved. “Of course! And if you should need anything else, feel free to stop by Muppet Labs, where the future is being made today!”
-- The End --
The golden-skinned man, in his thirties, rubbed his tired eyes. He hadn’t been on the job long and he was already worried. He had to rely on his notes far more than he thought. The teleprompter was so far away, its white letters smudging on the blue background. If this kept up, he might need glasses.
An olive-green-skinned round-headed scientist, as evidenced by the white lab coat, rushed over to the desk. “Oh, Mr. … uh … Mr. … uh ….” He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “I’m so sorry. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of getting your name, Mr. ….”
“Just call me Newsie,” the reporter replied, straightening his papers, tapping them ritualistically on the desk, standing, and preparing to leave the set.
“Hmm, what a peculiar moniker!” announced the scientist. “Were you named after your mother?”
Newsie sighed. “No, Mr. Honeydew – it is merely a stage name.”
Honeydew nodded. “Ah, that explains it, then. What is your legal name, then?”
“Nixon,” he replied, stopping, turning to glare at the scientist. “For obvious reasons, I would prefer not being called by that name.”
Honeydew nodded sympathetically. “Yes, it was rather unfortunate. Had he had my patented Muppet invisible flashlight, he might not have had that awful little spat with the authorities.” There was a long beat. “Of course … first I’ll have to find it,” Honeydew continued sadly.
“I’m sure your gadgets are quite fascinating,” Newsie said, trying to brush him off.
Kermit the Frog came up and nodded to Newsie. “Are you going to the press meeting tonight?”
Newsie nodded. “Of course, I am. I expect you’ll be coming as well?”
Kermit looked down in thought. “Hmm … I think I’ve got an interview with some young man about a magic lamp, but I think I can swing by tonight. I might be a little late, though.” His face crumpled up into a frown. “These things always take a bit longer than it’s supposed to.”
Newsie cleared his throat and nodded and walked past the backstage of the Muppet Theater. A gaggle of monsters brushed past him.
Then that hook-nosed thing.
Then a group of chickens and penguins.
Suddenly, a blue-and-white rubber doggie toy with a red and white striped top hat appeared out of thin air, as well as a light-green-skinned long-faced man with wires coming out of his head.
“Whoops!” chirped the little cartoony doggie toy as it floated in the air, its eyes bugging out well past his head. “Wrong time period, Digit!”
Digit, the strange man beside the creature, slapped a small metal box with lots of buttons. “You’re right, Waldo. We better leave before we mess up the spacetime continuum too much!” They disappeared in a flash of light.
Newsie sighed and shook his head. It was just another day at the Muppet Theater.
In his room Newsie started to type up the script for the next show. He stopped and rubbed his eyes. Flashes of light sparkled in his field of vision. He bit his lower lip and took out a black and white picture of his mother, who had gone blind and became increasingly demanding. He didn’t want to end up living out the rest of his life depending on others for every little thing. It seemed like all of his twenty-four hour day either revolved around the theater-related newscasts or taking care of his mother.
His doctor, the last time he had had enough money to go to one, had told him of a tiny tear in both his retinas. If the symptoms got worse, the doctor said, he’d have to try surgery immediately.
Of course, this was late 1976, so there wasn’t much that could be done.
Newsie started throwing random items around the room in frustration. This was not how he had hoped to improve his career. It was bad enough he had to quit boxing, though it wasn’t because of his eyes. He never really wanted to be forced out because he had sustained debilitating eye injuries. He only quit because he could save face by claiming he needed to take care of his mother. He left his room and headed back to his mother’s house in the Bronx.
His mother, who looked rather like him except for long, stringy gray hair tied up in a large bun. She tapped her cane hard on the floor. “Angel?” she groused. “Were you expecting me to walk myself to the bathroom?”
Newsie sighed. “Don’t call me that, Mother,” he told her resignedly. “Just call me Newsie, alright?”
His mother huffed. “Angel means ‘messenger’, you know!” she retorted. “What’s the difference? Why should I call you ‘reporter man’? Angel becomes you so much better.”
He clenched his fist, happy she couldn’t see it. “Because I don’t like it!”
“How dare you speak to your mother that way?” she screamed, standing, brandishing her cane. “I hope you never have to know what it’s like to have all your world just disappear on you!”
Newsie’s face turned deep red. “Well, I am – are you happy now, Mother?” he shot back angrily. He could feel the veins popping in his face. “I’m gonna end up just as blind and bitter and helpless as you!” He inhaled deeply. “Then where will you be, huh?”
His mother sat down in shock, finally speechless, and looked away, smoothing out the wrinkles in her pale blue nightgown.
Newsie stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door shut. Just as he was about to change into his maroon pajamas, complete with bunny slippers, the phone rang. He picked it up and acknowledged his mother’s doctor.
“How are you?” his mother’s doctor asked.
“She’s still frustrating,” Newsie replied, trying to calm down, wiping the sweat off of his brow with a handkerchief.
For several moments, there was silence. Then, the doctor continued, clearing his throat, “Well, we’ve received the results.”
“Oh?” Newsie asked, wondering how his mother could get any worse.
“Her visual systems are … intact.”
Newsie sat down on a small ottoman near his bed. “Care to run that by me again?”
The doctor sighed. “She can see just fine.” He paused. “However, I would like to refer her to a psychiatrist. I have a feeling she’s developing a senile disorder.”
Newsie hung up. He walked into the living room with a bunny slipper in his right hand. “The doctor says you can see just fine, Mother,” he told her quietly, almost eerily.
His mother smirked and shrugged. “What does that quack know?”
Newsie aimed for his mother and faked chucking it at her.
She gasped and flinched.
Newsie, tears running down his face, turned, dropping the slipper on the floor, and started out the front door.
“Where are you going?” his mother asked nervously. He didn’t respond. “Angel? Angel?” She paused, pleading, “Newsie?”
But he was gone.
Newsie shuffled his way back to the theater, ignoring all those greeting him, and shut himself up in his room. He placed his head on his desk and trembled. This was the second time he couldn’t tell whether he was depressed or furious – the first time had been when he had been forced to quit boxing.
His mother had been lying to him. LYING. She had invented her symptoms to garner his sympathy. He mentally ran through his life, as though he were watching scores of newsreels. He should have spotted those little mannerisms that seemed awfully strange in hindsight for a blind person, like how she could follow his movements and seemed to be looking at him. He had just assumed she was listening to his footsteps. Then there was the fact she said she couldn’t navigate the house by herself … but sometimes he would find her in a different room than the one in which he’d left her. Hadn’t she just memorized the house’s layout? He even caught her dialing their rotary phone, but you could feel your way through the small holes going around the large plastic dial.
Scooter knocked on Newsie’s door and creaked it open. “Mr. Newsie, sir? Kermit wanted to know if you got through with next week’s transcript before your press meeting tonight.”
Newsie shook his head but didn’t look at him. “I’m not going,” he mumbled.
Scooter picked up on the tone and entered the room. “Is there anything I can do?”
Newsie chuckled, tapping a pencil on his desk. “Can you get me some new eyes?”
Scooter put his fingers to his chin in deep thought. “I think I’ve got a few spare in a drawer somewhere,” he responded. “Around here you have to have lots of spare body parts for all the various gags, like that Vend-a-face thing.”
“Do those glasses work for you?”
Scooter nearly stopped breathing. “Uh,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “yes?” He shrugged. “I mean, I’m near-sighted, and with these babies I can see far away, which is rather useful here. Can you imagine not being able to see when Gonzo is about to shoot himself out of a cannon from the opposite side of the stage?” He smiled and patted Newsie on the back. “I know sometimes it seems like we’re kinda low on cash around here, but we have an excellent health program. It’s rather mandatory to have insurance while working here. I’m sure Bunsen can get you some glasses. He is a real doctor, you know.”
Newsie turned to face Scooter, looking confused. “I thought he was just some gag inventor?”
Scooter shook his head. “Oh, no, sir … Bunsen started out designing operating room equipment and prosthetics. He excels in chemistry, anatomy, and medical technology.” He smiled again. “Just give him a chance. He can come up with something for you.”
Newsie nodded and waited for Scooter to exit before heading downstairs to Muppet Labs, which shared space with props from Veterinarian’s Hospital. He spotted Bunsen reading through Popular Mechanics. “Mr. Honeydew?”
Bunsen looked up and smiled. “Oh, yes, Mr. Newsie! Welcome to Muppet Labs!”
Newsie looked around. “Couldn’t Kermit afford you a better set? Or a set at all?”
Bunsen looked around and nodded, sighing. “Yes, I’m afraid I haven’t managed to obtain my own set yet. I’m confident I will shortly, though. I’m only looking for the right opportunity.”
Newsie nodded. “I was told you might be able to help me. You see,” he paused, looking away, “I’m afraid the injuries to my eyes from my old boxing days are catching up to me.”
Bunsen jumped up and shined a light into Newsie’s eyes. “Yes,” he said, nodding, “retinal detachment due to massive trauma. Most unfortunate.” He turned and started going through several drawers. “Unfortunately, science has only recently begun to come up with ideas and theories about how to treat such conditions. I, myself, think that by using lasers --.”
“No!” Newsie shouted in a panic. “Uh,” he caught himself, straightening his bowtie, “I was just hoping you might have some spare glasses.”
Bunsen chuckled. “Oh, naturally! I’m always losing my glasses. I have a special glasses cloning device, so I’ll always have spares. I’ll just tweak the settings a bit so they’ll fit you better.” He stopped and faced Newsie with a suddenly serious face. “I’m afraid your condition is permanent. Have you been seeing floaty shapes and bright flashes of light?”
Newsie nodded. “I’ve also started hallucinating … I saw a green robot and a blue and white rubber doggie toy floating in mid air before they disappeared in a flash of light.”
Bunsen stared at him. “Well,” he said, adjusting his glasses, “hallucinations are not a symptom, I think. Have you been under extremely stressful conditions?”
“Yes. My mother has been faking her condition, making me wait on her hand and foot.”
Bunsen sighed and looked away. His voice was quiet. “Yes … family troubles. I … don’t have … such inconveniences, actually.” He snapped his fingers and pulled out a pair of large black horn-rimmed glasses. His face brightened. “Here you go! I’ll alter the lens shape to fit your prescription --.”
“I don’t have a prescription.”
“Of course not, but no matter,” Bunsen announced cheerfully. “There are some major improvements to this prototype that I believe will make the world a much better place. The lenses, once shaped for the wearer, will continue to adjust itself so that future pairs will be unnecessary! Isn’t that marvelous?”
Newsie gawked at Bunsen. “Actually … yes, yes it is,” he gasped in awe.
Bunsen placed the glasses in a large contraption, waited a few minutes, adjusted a few knobs and pressed a few buttons, and then took out the glasses, easily better fit to Newsie’s head instead of Bunsen’s.
Newsie placed them gently on his head. He gasped as he started to notice all the little details of the room that he had never known were there … such as how messy Bunsen’s work area was.
“Well, how do you like them? Are they satisfactory?” Bunsen asked slightly impatiently.
Newsie nodded and grinned for the first time today. He wiped a tear from his eyes. “These are the bee’s knees!”
Suddenly, about twenty bees just appeared from the ceiling and started buzzing around the two. Newsie screamed and threw himself to the floor.
Bunsen casually swiped some bees away as he went to get an insect spray can. “My, my … I forgot to mention one little detail.” He killed the bees and helped Newsie up. “I hope you’re not too angry.”
Newsie frowned. “Angry? I was attacked by bees!”
Bunsen put his hands on each of Newsie’s shoulders. “I’d watch what I say, if I were you. I did manage to forget to mention one tiny little detail: namely, that these glasses have a quantum replicator embedded in them.”
Newsie took a few steps back. “What?”
Bunsen nodded and put away the spray can. “When people start to lose their sight, they also can’t find little things like keys or their checkbook or what-have-you,” he informed the reporter. “I had the idea not too long ago to make glasses that could make emphasized objects appear out of thin air. That way, no one has to become frustrated when they lose things ever again!”
Newsie took off the glasses and nearly threw them at Bunsen, but failed to do so. “So, if I wear these, I might have things magically appear?”
Bunsen laughed. “Oh no! It’s not magic at all! It is the wonders of quantum mechanics!”
Newsie shook his head. “I’m not that thrilled, to be perfectly honest.”
Bunsen shrugged. “You don’t have to wear them, of course. However, your records state your name is Angel Nixon. The etymology of this name is ‘messenger undaunted’. You will most likely lose your sight permanently. Without the proper technology and funds, I can’t really help you. Science can’t replicate sensitive retinal tissues yet, even with my genius driving the technology. You might run into a few unfortunate incidents if you don’t pay attention to what you say, but why let that force you to resign yourself to helplessness? Lots of strange and unfortunate things happen to me when I invent. Little mishaps are just part of the job.”
“Cronkite doesn’t have to deal with this,” Newsie mumbled. He stared at the glasses in his hand and then put in his jacket pocket. “I’ll think about it.”
Bunsen grinned and waved. “Of course! And if you should need anything else, feel free to stop by Muppet Labs, where the future is being made today!”
-- The End --
nice story! *giggles* That's a mighty fine name Newsie has...
