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Swamp Call
- Thread starter TogetherAgain
- Start date
Beauregard
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*waiting*
TogetherAgain
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I know, I know, I know... It's coming, really it is... soon...
TogetherAgain
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Guess what? I finished writing the next chapter! Better yet, I finished typing it! So now I get to copy and paste it in here, do a teensy bit of editing, and poof! I make you laugh.
TogetherAgain
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Chapter eight
As the diminishing sunlight streamed into Kermit’s bedroom, he took one last look over the contents of his suitcase. Satisfied, he started to close it. He stopped, surprised that over the partway-lowered cover, he saw Miss Piggy casually leaning against the doorpost.
He smiled at her. “Hi, Piggy,” he said.
“Hi Kermie,” she said.
He closed the suitcase and set it on the ground as she walked over to him. They sat next to each other on his bed.
“Kermie?” she said as she held his hand, “Are you alright?”
He nodded. “I’m fine,” he said. “I’m actually trying to look forward to it. It’ll be nice to see everyone again.”
“But aren’t you worried?” she asked.
He sighed and shook his head. “I can’t be worried, Piggy,” he said. “If my mom finds out that I’m worried about her, she’ll tell me it’s just a part of life that we have to accept. That we’re doing what we can, and all worrying will do is make us upset.” He didn’t notice that he was tracing her fingers with his own. “She tells all of us that. I think she’s right.” His voice got a little quieter as he looked into her eyes. “That’s why I don’t want you to worry, either.”
She gazed back at him. “I’m trying not to worry, Kermie,” she said. “But it’s just so hard.”
He nodded. “I know, Piggy. I’ve been trying not to worry about Mom for ten years. Just try not to think about. Think about the show, and how great I know you’ll perform.”
She smiled and squeezed his hand. “It’s easier with you here, Kermie,” she said. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”
He shook his head and looked down. “They need me there, too, Piggy,” he said.
“I know,” she said quickly.
They sat together in silence for a moment, just holding hands.
“I’ll miss you, Kermie,” she said softly.
He was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned his head on her shoulder. “I’ll miss you too, Piggy,” he said quietly. “I’ll miss you too.”
Maggie was in the kitchen, watching the Swedish Chef in fascination. “What are you making?” she asked.
He was pleased to have an audience. “Zee beked putetues,” he said. He showed her a huge bowl filled with potatoes.
She looked at them closely. “Why are they shaking?” she asked.
“Well, they’re afraid,” Scooter said as he came in.
Maggie stared at him. “Afraid?”
“Sure,” Scooter said.
“But they’re potatoes,” she said. “Potatoes don’t have emotions. They can’t be afraid.”
“Wanna bet?” a squeaky voice asked.
Maggie flinched and looked around. “Who said that?”
“I did!” the squeaky voice said. “Me! In the bowl!”
Maggie took a potato out of the bowl, turned it over, and was surprised to see that it had a face.
“I’d like to see you get in that bowl without shaking!” the squeaky-voiced potato said.
Maggie stared at it. “Holy mosquitoes- you’ve got eyes!”
“Vell ooff cuoorse-a it hes iyes!” the Swedish Chef said. “Ell putetoes hefe-a iyes!” He took the potato from her and picked up a fork. “Yuoo see-a, yuoo teke-a zee furk, und yuoo puke-a zee putetue. Leke-a zees. Um gesh de bork, bork! Puke-a puke-a puke-a puke-a...” He poked the potato with the fork. With every poke, the potato let out a high-pitched, squeaky yell. Maggie wasn’t sure if she was horrified or disgusted.
“Zeer-a,” the Swedish Chef said. “See-a, zeese-a hules ere-a kelled iyes. Um gesh de bork, bork! Noo, ve teke-a zee sheeny fuil...” He grabbed a sheet of aluminum foil. “Poot zee putetu oon zee fuil, und ve vrep it up!” He wrapped the screaming potato in the foil and set it aside. “Zeen its ell-a reedy tu cuuk,” he said. “Noo, un to zee greeny green beans...” He looked around in various cabinets, apparently trying to find something. Since he wasn’t watching, the foil-wrapped potato carefully erected itself and hopped away. The potatoes in the bowl quickly followed.
“Ah-ha!” the Swedish Chef said as he pulled a large pot out. He carried it back to the counter where he had been working. He looked around “Vhere zee putetues?” He picked up the bowl and looked inside. “Putetues?” He put the bowl down. “Nu putetues. Su ve meke-a zee greeny green beans.” He held up a bag of beans. “Here-a, zee beans.” He tore the bag open and dumped it into the pot. “Und here-a...” he picked up a gallon of green paint. “Zee greeny-green.” He tried to open it with his bare hands. “Mm, nut upeen. Need-a zee tuuls.” He picked up a little chisel and a little mallet, and tried to open the can with them. After a couple of futile taps, he tossed both tools over his shoulder. “Nut upeeneeng. Su, ve need-a sume-a theng-a mure-a puverful.”
He ducked under the counter, looking for something. Maggie turned to Scooter. “Will I have any appetite by the time he’s done?” she asked.
“Not if you’re lucky,” Scooter said. “It’s a great weight-loss program.”
The Swedish Chef stood up, shotgun in hand. Maggie and Scooter took a couple steps backwards. The chef fired once, leaving a hole in the side of the paint can.
“Zere-a!” he said. He picked up the paint and poured it through the bullet hole into the pot of beans. “See-a, zee greeny-greens en zee beans...” he put the paint down and picked up a spoon. “Und ve meexeen zee greeny-green en zee beans, und ve meken zee greeny-green beans!” He mixed the contents of the pot and tossed the spoon over his shoulder. Then he carried the pot to another counter and set it down near the edge.
“Noo, ve meke-a zee cheeckee. Cheeckee!”
“Uh oh,” Scooter said.
“What?” Maggie asked.
“BAWK!”
Maggie turned around to see the Swedish Chef wrestling with a chicken.
“Ve puut zee cheeckee un zee uvee!” the chef shouted as the bird tried to fly out of his arms. He pushed the chicken into the oven and closed the door. The door flew back open.
“BAWK!” The chicken was out on the floor and charging out the kitchen.
“Nu! Cheeckee! Un zee uvee!” Chef quickly grabbed the chicken from behind and shoved her back in the oven. She hopped out before he could close the door. He grabbed her wing, but she slipped away.
“BAWK!”
Chef grabbed a cleaver off the counter. “Cheeckee, yuoo geet beck-a here-a!” He chased the chicken for several laps around the kitchen, leaving Scooter and Maggie hard pressed to stay out of the way.
“CAMILLA!” Gonzo shouted as he burst into the kitchen. “Wait, Chef, don’t hurt that chicken!” He chased the cleaver-wielding chef, who continued his pursuit of the fowl.
“Cheeckee entu zee ovee!”
“BAWK!”
“No don’t hurt her!”
“Cheeckee!”
Kermit entered the room and looked around. He saw a typical chase scene, with his sister and the go-fer stuck in the middle.
“Aw, sheesh,” he said. “Guys, would you- Chef, put the cleaver down!” Chef! Gonzo- Chef, leave the chicken alone! Come on, guys- sheesh. Why do I even bother?”
Maggie hopped out of the way as they raced straight towards the door. At the last second, Camilla turned and hit the counter, with the Swedish Chef and Gonzo colliding into her, knocking the pot of green beans off of the counter and onto Kermit’s head.
Maggie took the pot off of her brother’s head. “What’s the matter, Mit?” she said as she wiped the paint with a towel. “Not green enough already?”
Scooter looked at the tangled pile of Muppets next to the counter and reached for the phone. “Looks like we’re ordering pizza.”
As the diminishing sunlight streamed into Kermit’s bedroom, he took one last look over the contents of his suitcase. Satisfied, he started to close it. He stopped, surprised that over the partway-lowered cover, he saw Miss Piggy casually leaning against the doorpost.
He smiled at her. “Hi, Piggy,” he said.
“Hi Kermie,” she said.
He closed the suitcase and set it on the ground as she walked over to him. They sat next to each other on his bed.
“Kermie?” she said as she held his hand, “Are you alright?”
He nodded. “I’m fine,” he said. “I’m actually trying to look forward to it. It’ll be nice to see everyone again.”
“But aren’t you worried?” she asked.
He sighed and shook his head. “I can’t be worried, Piggy,” he said. “If my mom finds out that I’m worried about her, she’ll tell me it’s just a part of life that we have to accept. That we’re doing what we can, and all worrying will do is make us upset.” He didn’t notice that he was tracing her fingers with his own. “She tells all of us that. I think she’s right.” His voice got a little quieter as he looked into her eyes. “That’s why I don’t want you to worry, either.”
She gazed back at him. “I’m trying not to worry, Kermie,” she said. “But it’s just so hard.”
He nodded. “I know, Piggy. I’ve been trying not to worry about Mom for ten years. Just try not to think about. Think about the show, and how great I know you’ll perform.”
She smiled and squeezed his hand. “It’s easier with you here, Kermie,” she said. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”
He shook his head and looked down. “They need me there, too, Piggy,” he said.
“I know,” she said quickly.
They sat together in silence for a moment, just holding hands.
“I’ll miss you, Kermie,” she said softly.
He was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned his head on her shoulder. “I’ll miss you too, Piggy,” he said quietly. “I’ll miss you too.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Maggie was in the kitchen, watching the Swedish Chef in fascination. “What are you making?” she asked.
He was pleased to have an audience. “Zee beked putetues,” he said. He showed her a huge bowl filled with potatoes.
She looked at them closely. “Why are they shaking?” she asked.
“Well, they’re afraid,” Scooter said as he came in.
Maggie stared at him. “Afraid?”
“Sure,” Scooter said.
“But they’re potatoes,” she said. “Potatoes don’t have emotions. They can’t be afraid.”
“Wanna bet?” a squeaky voice asked.
Maggie flinched and looked around. “Who said that?”
“I did!” the squeaky voice said. “Me! In the bowl!”
Maggie took a potato out of the bowl, turned it over, and was surprised to see that it had a face.
“I’d like to see you get in that bowl without shaking!” the squeaky-voiced potato said.
Maggie stared at it. “Holy mosquitoes- you’ve got eyes!”
“Vell ooff cuoorse-a it hes iyes!” the Swedish Chef said. “Ell putetoes hefe-a iyes!” He took the potato from her and picked up a fork. “Yuoo see-a, yuoo teke-a zee furk, und yuoo puke-a zee putetue. Leke-a zees. Um gesh de bork, bork! Puke-a puke-a puke-a puke-a...” He poked the potato with the fork. With every poke, the potato let out a high-pitched, squeaky yell. Maggie wasn’t sure if she was horrified or disgusted.
“Zeer-a,” the Swedish Chef said. “See-a, zeese-a hules ere-a kelled iyes. Um gesh de bork, bork! Noo, ve teke-a zee sheeny fuil...” He grabbed a sheet of aluminum foil. “Poot zee putetu oon zee fuil, und ve vrep it up!” He wrapped the screaming potato in the foil and set it aside. “Zeen its ell-a reedy tu cuuk,” he said. “Noo, un to zee greeny green beans...” He looked around in various cabinets, apparently trying to find something. Since he wasn’t watching, the foil-wrapped potato carefully erected itself and hopped away. The potatoes in the bowl quickly followed.
“Ah-ha!” the Swedish Chef said as he pulled a large pot out. He carried it back to the counter where he had been working. He looked around “Vhere zee putetues?” He picked up the bowl and looked inside. “Putetues?” He put the bowl down. “Nu putetues. Su ve meke-a zee greeny green beans.” He held up a bag of beans. “Here-a, zee beans.” He tore the bag open and dumped it into the pot. “Und here-a...” he picked up a gallon of green paint. “Zee greeny-green.” He tried to open it with his bare hands. “Mm, nut upeen. Need-a zee tuuls.” He picked up a little chisel and a little mallet, and tried to open the can with them. After a couple of futile taps, he tossed both tools over his shoulder. “Nut upeeneeng. Su, ve need-a sume-a theng-a mure-a puverful.”
He ducked under the counter, looking for something. Maggie turned to Scooter. “Will I have any appetite by the time he’s done?” she asked.
“Not if you’re lucky,” Scooter said. “It’s a great weight-loss program.”
The Swedish Chef stood up, shotgun in hand. Maggie and Scooter took a couple steps backwards. The chef fired once, leaving a hole in the side of the paint can.
“Zere-a!” he said. He picked up the paint and poured it through the bullet hole into the pot of beans. “See-a, zee greeny-greens en zee beans...” he put the paint down and picked up a spoon. “Und ve meexeen zee greeny-green en zee beans, und ve meken zee greeny-green beans!” He mixed the contents of the pot and tossed the spoon over his shoulder. Then he carried the pot to another counter and set it down near the edge.
“Noo, ve meke-a zee cheeckee. Cheeckee!”
“Uh oh,” Scooter said.
“What?” Maggie asked.
“BAWK!”
Maggie turned around to see the Swedish Chef wrestling with a chicken.
“Ve puut zee cheeckee un zee uvee!” the chef shouted as the bird tried to fly out of his arms. He pushed the chicken into the oven and closed the door. The door flew back open.
“BAWK!” The chicken was out on the floor and charging out the kitchen.
“Nu! Cheeckee! Un zee uvee!” Chef quickly grabbed the chicken from behind and shoved her back in the oven. She hopped out before he could close the door. He grabbed her wing, but she slipped away.
“BAWK!”
Chef grabbed a cleaver off the counter. “Cheeckee, yuoo geet beck-a here-a!” He chased the chicken for several laps around the kitchen, leaving Scooter and Maggie hard pressed to stay out of the way.
“CAMILLA!” Gonzo shouted as he burst into the kitchen. “Wait, Chef, don’t hurt that chicken!” He chased the cleaver-wielding chef, who continued his pursuit of the fowl.
“Cheeckee entu zee ovee!”
“BAWK!”
“No don’t hurt her!”
“Cheeckee!”
Kermit entered the room and looked around. He saw a typical chase scene, with his sister and the go-fer stuck in the middle.
“Aw, sheesh,” he said. “Guys, would you- Chef, put the cleaver down!” Chef! Gonzo- Chef, leave the chicken alone! Come on, guys- sheesh. Why do I even bother?”
Maggie hopped out of the way as they raced straight towards the door. At the last second, Camilla turned and hit the counter, with the Swedish Chef and Gonzo colliding into her, knocking the pot of green beans off of the counter and onto Kermit’s head.
Maggie took the pot off of her brother’s head. “What’s the matter, Mit?” she said as she wiped the paint with a towel. “Not green enough already?”
Scooter looked at the tangled pile of Muppets next to the counter and reached for the phone. “Looks like we’re ordering pizza.”
Beauregard
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W-o-o-o-o-o-W!
You were right, in teh midst of tragedy you kept the lights on...er..lightness. "Holy Mospuettoes!" My favorite line!
However...actually, I shan't say anything about the Chef's language. I simply shan't.
You were right, in teh midst of tragedy you kept the lights on...er..lightness. "Holy Mospuettoes!" My favorite line!
However...actually, I shan't say anything about the Chef's language. I simply shan't.
theprawncracker
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Don't listen to him Lisa. He's just mean about the Chef's dialouge. That's why he didn't say much in my fic.
Anyway! LOOOOOOVED IT!!!!!!! ABSOLUTELY LOOOOOOOOVED IT!!!!!!!! So funny, so touching, just perfect! (especcially the mock Swedish)
Anyway! LOOOOOOVED IT!!!!!!! ABSOLUTELY LOOOOOOOOVED IT!!!!!!!! So funny, so touching, just perfect! (especcially the mock Swedish)
redBoobergurl
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Laughter....more laughter.....tons of laughter.....
I just love how you can bring humor into such a serious story! This chapter with the scene with Maggie and The Chef were just so hilarious! I can see this whole darn thing being played out and it's just too good! Love it, love it, love it!
I just love how you can bring humor into such a serious story! This chapter with the scene with Maggie and The Chef were just so hilarious! I can see this whole darn thing being played out and it's just too good! Love it, love it, love it!
TogetherAgain
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Well, I can't have it all be depressing, now can I?
To be honest, I'm sick of depressing stuff. The whole Kermit-locking-himself-in-his-room-thing in "Summer in the Theater" really just... it wasn't cool. Unfortunately, usually when I get an idea for a story it's really depressing. So, I'll just cook up some nice good comedy and throw it in whenever I get the chance... and present as many of the possible sub-problems in as comedic a fashion as possible... <shrug> we'll see.
But I think, of all the lines in all the stories I've written, "Holy mosquitoes, you've got eyes!" ranks among my top five favorites. Right up there with "Everyone was bustling around, some setting the table, others destroying it." (One of my older lines...)
To be honest, I'm sick of depressing stuff. The whole Kermit-locking-himself-in-his-room-thing in "Summer in the Theater" really just... it wasn't cool. Unfortunately, usually when I get an idea for a story it's really depressing. So, I'll just cook up some nice good comedy and throw it in whenever I get the chance... and present as many of the possible sub-problems in as comedic a fashion as possible... <shrug> we'll see.
But I think, of all the lines in all the stories I've written, "Holy mosquitoes, you've got eyes!" ranks among my top five favorites. Right up there with "Everyone was bustling around, some setting the table, others destroying it." (One of my older lines...)