Wearin' O the Green (For St. Patrick's Day)

[The Count]

Um... Not sure what you mean by seeing the scoutsin "amphibian", but yes, this episode has the scout troop front and center. Its rully much more about the little frogs running amuck backstage trying to earn a host of diferent merit badges, got a sound byte from one of my friends when we weren't sure if it was Mrs. or Ms. Appleby where one of the frogs and Animal get into a sort of tumbling match down the stairs. You can try searching for it on youtube, or talk to Justin Faulknor to get a copy of the Debbie Harry episode.

Hope this helps.

 

[Ruahnna]

Just my lame little joke, Ed--"in amphibian" instead of "in person." Don't feel bad--the joke was so small it just slipped right through most people's flippers....

 

[The Count]

Aw... That's OK Cath. *Notices the amount of posting going on here.
Gee, you'd think we had a muffins infestation.
*Finds a tray at elbow and reaches to offer Ru a muffin. Don't worry, I think these are chocolate chip... And these are raisin... And those are the ones Kermit and Robin like. *Points at the tray with the moss green plastic wrapping.

 

[Leyla]

Ru... you've got a Canadian friend too, who could help you get a hold of any TMS episode, including that one.

And I, for one, still have no clue what Piggy's up to, though I'm dying to know. I love this story, so fun and light hearted, and yet, mysterious. Ah, you're definately hands down one of my favorite author's in any genre. Heck, you beat out more than a few book authors too.

 

[The Count]

Agreed. Isn't Aunt Cath the best? Oh Layla, if you want to know what I think Piggy's doing for the Irish fair, PM me and I can clue you in to my suspicions. That, and see how you're doing yourself and/or what progress has been made on that assignment.

 

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 5: Getting Down to Business

“And you’re sure the apron doesn’t make me look fat?” asked Sam anxiously. His bushy eyebrows were drawn together in consternation.
Gonzo and Rizzo looked at him speculatively.
“Heck, no,” said Rizzo. “You look fine. The hat makes it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” agreed Gonzo. “And I think the trim on the dress really brings out the color of your eyes.”
“Oh, well,” said Sam, almost blushing. “Um, thank you.”
Pepe continued to stroke his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I am thinking that the pantaloons make ju look a little hippy.”
“Hippy?” Sam cried, alarmed. He raised his calico skirt and looked at his drumsticks. “But—but I work out three times a week. Durn those carbs!”
Rizzo sighed and looked heavenward, and Gonzo reached over and kicked Pepe surreptitiously while Sam was looking with chagrin at his knees. There was a sound like air leaving a balloon, then Pepe gave a discreet cough, looked Sam up and down and said, “No—I was wrong. Ju look svelte. It was just a shadow.”
“Oh! Well. Thank goodness,” muttered Sam, looking relieved. “And—the hat’s not too much?”
“Well—“
“It’s fantastic, Sam,” said Rizzo quickly. “Have fun with the kids, ‘kay?” They made a hasty retreat, Pepe in tow.
“What’d you go and do that for?” Rizzo complained.
“Yeah! Sam’s helping out—don’t make him feel bad about his costume.”
“Okay, okay!” said Pepe in a placating manner. “I am chust trying to be honest, okay? I have my reputation to think of.”
It was a testament to Pepe’s dignity that he did not react at all to the snorts of derision from his two companions.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Rizzo. “With your reputation, Sam probably better watch himself while he’s wearing that dress.”
Pepe puffed himself up, ready to defend his honor—or Sam’s, or…well, something—but Gonzo put a furry blue arm around both of their shoulders.
“C’mon guys—no more fighting! Somebody’s got to help me test my gelatin diving.”
Bickering amicably, they moved on.

“Drat this weather!” said Wayne irritably. Wanda looked scandalized.
“Why, Wayne, dear—whatever is the matter?”
“It’s this weather!” Wayne lamented. “It’s March, for goodness sake! How can we sing Blowing in the Wind when the wind isn’t even blowing!”
Wanda patted his arm in what she hoped was a conciliatory manner. “I think our song will sound just fine even if it isn’t windy, Wayne.” She looked around nervously. “And maybe this will be, um, safer—you know?”
But Wayne was implacable. Wanda sighed. She was just glad she had talked him out of singing the other Bob Dylan song-- Shelter From the Storm.

The Swedish Chef poured some thick green batter from a battered tin pitcher into the skillet and watched with great satisfaction as the hotcake began to form little air bubbles around the edge.
“Der hootcakes is cukin’ gud!” he hummed to himself. He eased the edge of a spatula under the browning edge and flipped the hot bread expertly into the air, catching it with ease in the heavy cast-iron skillet. Perched nervously on a tall stool, Camilla thought with wonder that Chef was remarkably proficient at some things, if only he would stick to them. Hoping to be of use at the festival, she had volunteered her services and found herself paired with her old occasional stage partner, the Swedish Chef. He had seemed delighted to have her, but Camilla found it somewhat difficult to relax in such a small space full of so many sharp objects. She kept one eye glued on the man in the chef’s hat and made herself useful, transferring stacks of hot bread to the warming ovens in preparation of the coming crowds.
A moment more on the other side and the pancake was done, crisp-edged and steaming. He transferred it to a waiting stack of mouth-watering (even though they were green) pancakes. Chef reached for the pitcher again and tipped it to pour. Nothing happened, and he stared reproachfully into the mouth of the pitcher.
“Nu mur hotcake batturski,” he bemoaned. Camilla looked around hastily and handed him another similar pitcher filled with some thick, green substance, but the Chef only peered at it and shook his head.
“Buc buck buugawk-gawk?” Camilla asked.
Chef shook his head again.
“Noop. Dis iz der sir-opp!” He continued to look for more batter.
Camilla peered carefully into the pitcher, noting the viscous green liquid within.
This was the syrup? She made a mental note to send out for lunch.

“Well?” Piggy asked. She batted her eyelashes a couple of times like she did when she was trying to wheedle something out of Kermit. Scooter gulped and tried not to tremble under the onslaught.
“Well…what?” he managed.
Piggy laughed huskily. “Well, does Moi look ready for business?”
Scooter tried to remember what he was there to do. He looked down desperately at his clipboard. “So, you’re um, doing a, um—so how does this work?” Scooter finished desperately. “People just give you five dollars and you, um, you…you just—“
Scooter Grosse had two simultaneous thoughts: 1) Kermit was going to kill him; and 2) It might just be worth it. Scooter found the five dollar bill that had been in his pocket in his hand. He looked at it as though it might bite him, but it had precious time to form any intent. Piggy whisked the bill from his hand and tucked it discreetly away under the counter, then her two satiny hands reached out and cupped his face.
Geez—her eyes were so big and blue, thought Scooter. He felt his glasses steaming up, but he didn’t need to see to feel her warm, soft lips merge with his. It was, relatively speaking, a chaste and entirely respectable kiss, well in line with what Scooter’s age and experience would deem appropriate, but it was more a matter of technique than action, and Scooter knees felt decidedly wobbly when Piggy withdrew. In the space of a few seconds, Scooter had another reason to admire his boss—and another reason to be mystified by Kermit’s often aloof behavior.
“There now,” she said sweetly. “Am Moi ready to open my stand?”
Scooter could only nod, and his head bobbed up and down like one of those velvet flocked dogs that you saw in the back windows of cars until he finally found his voice.
“Yes ma’am,” he managed, glad his voice only cracked a little. “You are cleared for, um, business.”
Piggy laughed gaily and patted him on the head. “Good boy,” she said, and sent him on his way. After he was gone, Piggy tucked the money thoughtfully in her cash box. There was a prize for the booth with the most money earned, and she thought she just might make a run for the money, so to speak. She loved prizes, and she loved winning. She set her delectable lips in a smile and turned back toward the fairway where the crowds would shortly be streaming by. Time to get busy.

 

[The Count]

Heh... Oh thank Ru for the update.

Funny to see Sam in the role Bert often finds himself in, no thanks to Ernie's playful pranksterish nature.
Camilla might not be the only one ordering out for lunch.
*Chuckles at that line.

Scooter finally revealing to the reader what Piggy's booth is going to do to generate the green.
Do I win a prize for knowing that's what was coming? Maybe there's a certain doll I'd find enchanting there at the fair.
A kissing booth... Check, that's what I thought it would be.
Very nice how you capture the moment between Piggy and Scooter. She probably will end up winning the prize, as she'll be more enticing to kiss than the traditional blarneystones.

Thanks Ru, please post more soonerishkibbible!

 

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 6: All That Glitters

“So, tell me about this love of your life," said Kermit as they clomped sedately down the wide streets of Hensonville. People cheered and waved, and Kermit waved back—so long as he did not have to loosen his death-grip on the saddle horn. True to their agreement, Kermit did not even attempt to steer, and gave Blackstone his head. Blackstone took the reins—figuratively and literally—and put on quite a show, arching his neck and trotting prettily whenever there were spatters of applause.
“Not much to tell," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “She liked me. Her dad didn’t. Said a horse in shoe-business would be high-maintenance and stuck-up, wouldn’t be there for her when she needed me.”
Kermit was thoughtful. “Show business is sometimes hard on relationships," he said, thinking of the times he’d been onstage during holidays. “I mean, it works out great for us because we can all be together, but it’s hard.”
“Apparently she thought so, too," said Blackstone morosely. “After months of sneaking around, meeting in out-of-town pastures and unsavory watering holes, she told me she couldn’t see me any more.”
“Gee, I’m sorry," said Kermit, continuing to smile and wave. “That’s a real shame.”
“You’re tellin’ me. She was a purty little filly for sure.”
“Well, you know, I’m not an expert at relationships or anything," said Kermit, thinking of the past few months of precarious dating he’d experienced, “but I think if two people really care about each other, it can work.”
Blackstone was thoughtful, but he continued to preen, occasionally snorting in a manly fashion. Little children lining the sidewalks squealed with delight. “Well," he said finally. “I know she hasn’t been seeing anyone else. She works down at the dairy, doing light delivery. Her father pulled a milk delivery cart of 20 years. She went into the family business.”
“That sounds nice.”
“If you want to do it. I don’t think Marabelle—that’s her name. I don’t think Marabelle wanted to be a delivery horse.”
“Really?" said Kermit. He was thoroughly engrossed in the conversation, but mindful of his public duties. He waved and smiled broadly, enjoying the crisp air.
“Yeah," said Blackstone. “I think she’d really like to be, you know, here.”
“You mean with you?" said Kermit.
Blackstone gave a discreet snort. “Well, I mean, um, doing the show horse route. She has great legs.”
Kermit’s thoughts went easily to other nice legs, but thinking of Piggy made him remember he didn’t know what she was up to today. He hoped she wasn’t going to try to hawk anything cheesy, like the hair extensions she’d once sold. True—they’d looked good on Piggy, but not everyone can carry that look, and there had been some disgruntled customers. Still, the beach house was very nice in the winter, and provided a nice little rental income during the off-season.
“Well, I’ll make you a deal, Blackstone," said Kermit, suddenly generous. “If you can talk Marabelle into an audition, she can come audition for me.”
“Really? You’d do that?"
“Sure," said Kermit. “I can always use a good act.”
“Gee!" Blackstone’s voice was awed. “That’s—that’s swell. Thank you, Mr. Kermit the Frog.”
Kermit just laughed. It might have been the bright green amphibian’s imagination, but he would have sworn that Blackstone stepped just a little higher after that.

Robin put his shoulders back and his chin forward, marching proudly at the head of the parade just after Kermit, who was leading off. The frog scouts were taking turns carrying the banner which identified their troop, and Robin felt especially proud to be first. Behind him, the American flag, the Hensonville flag and the Frog Scout flag fluttered in the wind.
People clapped at they passed, cheering for their merry band. Filled with pride, Robin stuck out his chest. He was going to be the best banner carrier the town of Hensonville had ever seen!

Gonzo’s head appeared over the counter and he grinned at Camilla.
“Hey Camilla!" he called. “I got your lunch right here.”
The Swedish Chef’s head popped up and he made a disgruntled face, then he shrugged philosophically. Haute cuisine was not for everyone.
“Better eat up," Gonzo was saying. “The parade has started on the other end of town.”
At the counter, Camilla clucked something grateful and a little mushy and put her feathery wing on Gonzo’s shoulder for a minute before returning to her station. Gonzo went on his way a happy weirdo

“Right this way! Step this way!" shouted Fozzie.
“I don’t think it’s possible," sniffed Wanda. “Not in these shoes, anyway.”
“Come one come all and see the fair!" said Fozzie, undeterred from his mission. The musicians were all setting up for their selections, and Fozzie was determined to drive as many fair attendees past the music stage as was possible. He checked his pocketwatch again, eager for the show to open.
“What’s your watch say?" said Rowlf, seeing his time check.
“Tick tock, tick tock!" said Fozzie immediately. “Wocka wocka!"
Rowlf let him have his moment of merriment, shaking his head in consternation.
“Um, the parade should have started about fifteen minutes ago. Crowds will start arriving in about another thirty.” They knew not everyone would watch the parade, but the publicity had been so thorough that the entire town of Hensonville was expected to turn out and partake of some part of the fair, at least.
“Good," said Rowlf. “I’d like to finish this song with the guys, and then Marvin Suggs and Lew Zealand want to practice a little.”
Fozzie winced. Usually the most benevolent of performers, always ready to encourage a fellow cast member, these two acts made him decidedly nervous. Not as nervous as Wayne and Wanda, who he was careful to give a wide berth, but nervous nonetheless. It probably had to do with the fact that Fozzie couldn’t quite believe that no muppets—fish or otherwise—were actually harmed in the pursuit of musical showmanship. Still, an act was an act, and Kermit was counting on him. He put his hand to his mouth, drumming anxiously, and was horrified to discover that the motion made his fake handlebar mustache fall off. He went running off in search of a mirror—and some spirit glue.

The parade was nearing the fair site. Even though there was nothing visible yet, they could hear the school band, and the sound of taped music blaring from one of the floats. Rizzo heard munching and his finely-tuned nose sniffed inquisitively.
“Are you eating?"
“Yeah," said Gonzo. “I don’t think I can eat all that pie on an empty stomach. Rizzo started to say something, but the paper bag in Gonzo’s hand caught his eye. It was a white paper bag, and there was some red lettering on the side.
That’s funny, thought Rizzo. That looks like— He gasped. He looked at the cardboard box that was partially obscured in his roommate’s hand, and his eyes widened at the sight of several golden brown morsels of food. Gonzo was methodically moving them from the box to his mouth.
“Um, Gonzo," said Rizzo levelly. “Whatcha eating?"
“Chicken nuggets," Gonzo said distractedly, watching for the parade to pass. You could now hear the band.
Rizzo, Beaker and Pepe were now staring at him aghast. Feeling the weight of all those eyes on him, Gonzo turned and saw six wide, horrified eyes looking at him.
“What’s the matter—you want one?"
He proffered the cardboard container and Pepe and Rizzo fled and hid behind Beaker, shouting protestations. Beaker let out a squeal and put his arms back protectively.
“What’s the matter with you guys?" Gonzo asked. “I got them over at the Colonel’s.”
“Oh, sheesh," said Rizzo, “do we have to spell it out for you?"
Apparently they did, for Gonzo continued to look at them like they had three heads--each.
“Are you telling me that when you went out to get lunch for you and Camilla, you bought chicken nuggets from the Colonel?"
“Yeesssss," Gonzo said, still not getting it. “That’s what she asked for, and I like ‘em too.”
Suddenly, and with great dramatic effect, Pepe white-eyed on them and hit the dust. Beaker tried to revive him, patting his four wrists gently until he opened his eyes. Rizzo looked a little unsteady himself.
“I just—I don’t see how you can eat those things! And Camilla—why, I never would have guessed.”
“I know," said Gonzo, shaking his head. “She eats whatever she wants and always looks great. I don’t usually go for deep-fried, but… Sure you don’t want one?"
Rizzo looked decidedly ill. “No!" he said. “But don’t you think—“
“I mean, I know all the un hydrogenated fat is bad for you and everything, but it’s a vegetable, right? Even if it’s deep-fried.”
“Well if you can live with yourself, then—“ Rizzo did a double take. “Wha?" he said. “A vegetable? What do you mean, a vegetable?"
“Good grief," said Gonzo. “You are a city boy. Haven’t you ever seen corn grow?"
“Well, yeah, in pictures, but what does that—“
“So first they have to pick it, and shuck it—that means peel it—and after they get it off the cobs—they put a spoonful of sweet kernels into a cornbread batter and then they deep-fry them. C’mon—try one. You’re cholesterol isn’t that high.”
Rizzo shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “Hey, Buddy," he said, “when you said you bought those chicken nuggets at Colonel Sanders--”
“Oh! Hey, whoa whoa! Who said anything about Colonel Sanders! I would never eat there! I bought these at The Loving Kernel.” He held up the white paper bag, and Rizzo could see plainly displayed, “The Loving Kernel: Homebaked for Our Feathered Friends!" Rizzo felt so relieved he thought he might faint.
Suddenly, Gonzo’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute," he said. “Did you think I was eating—“ He put his furry blue arms on his hips and glared at Rizzo. “Thanks! Thanks a lot for thinking I’d cannibalize my girlfriend.”
Rizzo gulped and shrugged, back-pedaling madly. “Um, don’t be sore, hey Gonzo? It just looked like, you know….”
“Humph. Some friend you are.”
“Aww, don’t be like that. Here—I’ll eat one. Come on—gimme one.”
Gonzo stared at his earnest face for a moment, clearly undecided about whether to abandon his pique or not. Finally, he dipped two fingers into the cardboard carton and produced a deep-fried chicken (food) nugget. Rizzo tossed it down, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed.
“Hey!" he said. “These aren’t half bad! What say my treat next time, okay buddy?"
Rizzo had probably been watching a little too much Disney. He turned his “cute and adorable fuzzy animal eyes” on Gonzo, but Gonzo held up his fingers like a cross before him as though warding off vampires.
“Enough!" the furry blue whatever cried. “Fine. Fine—have another. Just spare me the cute and cuddly act. And save some room for pie.”
“Whatever," said Rizzo.
“Yes?"
“Oh, never mind.”
They craned their necks toward the approaching parade.

Officially, the fair had not opened, but the instant Piggy had arrived on the scene, lurking males of several species had begun to converge on her little booth. Piggy took it as Divine Right and got her little money-making enterprise down to business.
“Married?" Piggy asked the young man standing in front of her.
“Um, no ma’am.”
“Engaged?
“No.”
“Seeing anyone seriously?"
“Um—“ he began, then, seeing Piggy’s hesitation, blurted. “We stopped going out six months ago. That’s all—I swear!"
“Tell me.” Her blue eyes were shrewd.
“She, um, dumped me.”
“Because?"
“Because I forgot her birthday," he mumbled, looking down.
Piggy’s eyes softened. “All right," she said. She accepted his five dollars gently, and completed the transaction in the most efficient manner possible. Piggy pulled back and gave him a stern look. “Think you can do that again?"
“Oh yes ma’am!" he cried, leaning forward eagerly.
Piggy stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“Huh?" he asked, disappointed mid-pucker.
Piggy patted him on the cheek, “Good," she said. “If you can do that again, go buy your former girlfriend some balloons and get back in the game.
He looked sheepish and doubtful. “Balloons?" he said. “Are you sure?"
“Trust me," she said dryly. He did.

 

[The Count]

Oh how I loved this new chapter!

What did I like so much? Let me count the ways!
1 The conversation between Kermit and Blackstone, and of course the back story on Marabelle. Maybe we'll get to see her later on.
2Laughed at your referencial inclusion of Piggy's brief infommercial entrepeneurial enterprise with the hair extensions and the beachhouse.
3 Laughed with the whole episode of Gonzo buying and eating deep fried corn nuggets, whereas the guys thought they were deep fried chicken meat nuggets. And I also understand why there would've been confusion as to where he bought them, as Colonel Sanders' place does sell deep fried corn nuggets with a bit of sweetened honey inside the crumbly carcass. Had them myself on occasion, though not recently as we rather buy some that have a bit of mozzarella cheese in powder form at the local Costco.
4 Laughed at Piggy's final remarks to the young man... Yes, girls do indeed go gaga over balloons.
*In Camilla voice: Gaga! Gaga!

You know, there's a song I know of and could perform called "Patches" if you want to add to the story, but I'll let you make that decision as it's coming along vonderfully as is.
Thanks Aunt Cath... Please post more soon!

 

[The Count]

Um, hello out there? *In Grover voice: This is your friendly old pal...
*In normal voice: The Count. Did I surprise you? Sorry, just trying to get Catherine's attention so more of this great tale can get posted tute suite.