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

[The Count]

Hi there... Maybe now that we got Ru back online and happy over her recent birthday, not to mention it happens to be the month of March... Mayhaps she's filled with all gushy green inspiration to return to this good fanfic. If so, I hope the luck of the Irish smiles on her writings so as to give us an update.

 

[Ruahnna]

Ooh! Countie! You read my mind! (Surely the shortest read I've ever provided!) I was working on it last night, and will finish this little tale up before St. Pat's this year.

 

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 7: On With the All's Fair in Love and Showbiz

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The parade ended with great aplomb at the warehouse, and parade viewers and participants alike surged into the huge warehouse to see the shows, eat holiday-themed
fair food and buy things from the Bazaar. The threat of rain had ended with certainty, the sky a cerulean blue, and Gonzo and his lime-jello-diving act
had been banished to the outer grounds. Robin had scurried off to the Frog Scout booth to sell Frog Scout Popcorn, so Kermit bought a green pancake and
a glass of limeade and wandered around, happily munching.
Now that the fair was populated, it was much more interesting. Several high windows in the warehouse made the huge building bright and airy, and Kermit
stopped and watched the music booth for a while, unsurprised when Wayne and Wanda’s song disintegrated because of the malfunction of an oscillating fan
at the next booth. Fozzie seemed to be having a great great time as a Barker, though he begged Kermit to fetch him something to drink. Kermit bought another
limeade and a second pancake which Fozzie gobbled eagerly. The Chef’s booth seemed to be doing well, and Kermit had chatted up Camilla while waiting. Camilla,
too, claimed to have no idea what Piggy was doing at the fair, and Kermit was now certain—positive—that he was being either protected from knowing something
distressing, or that Piggy was being protected from him.
He checked in with Scooter, who claimed everything was running smoothly. In a few hours, the various booths and performers would count up their money and
the big, um, green ribbon would be awarded to the booth that had raised the most money. That was ages off, according to Scooter, who admonished Kermit
to relax and enjoy himself.
“Sure thing, Scooter," he said. “Thanks for taking care of everything.”
“No problem, boss," said Scooter brightly. “Piece of cake.”
“Never say piece of cake in the labyrinth," Kermit murmured, but Scooter didn’t hear him. Scooter was pursing his lips and making marks on one of his
ever-present clipboards when Kermit stopped and stared at him. After a moment, he grinned.
“I guess you’re having a good time at the fair," he said dryly. Scooter looked up.
“Huh?"
“I said," Kermit repeated, now smiling broadly. “I guess you’re having a good time at the fair today.”
Scooter looked uncomfortable, affirming Kermit’s suspicions. “Um, yeah," he mumbled.
Kermit sighed and handed him a napkin. “Okay," he said. “So don’t tell me. But wipe the lipstick off the corner of your mouth.”
Scooter complied, and abruptly found someplace else to be.
Kermit shook his head fondly and watched him go. If Scooter didn’t want to tell him who he’d been trading puckers with yet, it was understandable. Love
was complicated, and things often went wrong. Kermit sighed benevolently. Even with problems, it was sooo much better to have your relationship out in
the open.
Thinking this made him think of Piggy, and wonder where she was working at the fair. He had half-expected to see her at the music stage, but she had apparently
not made an appearance there. Kermit set his feet toward the Bizarre Bazaar. It would take him the better part of the afternoon to make his way around
to everything—especially the far end of the warehouse, where some attraction was generating crowds and long lines. Probably some sort of kiddie ride, he
mused. He’d have to check it out eventually, but right now, he was going to enjoy himself—and look for Piggy.

“There’s caramel popcorn in this one," said Robin, displaying the tin. “And that’s cheese-flavored popcorn. This one—with the brown lid—has chocolate-covered
popcorn.” He turned and hefted an enormous tin onto the booth. “This one has all three. What would you like today, sir?"
Money changed hands and Robin put it solemnly into the money box beneath the counter, but inside he was jubilant. They had not slowed down—not even a little—since
the parade had stopped, and he and his scout buddies were thinking with longing of winning the prize for most money earned.
“Wanna take a turn at the popcorn machine?" asked Mr. Rana. “You’ve been working the other booth the whole time.”
“Do I ever!" said Robin. At the side of their booth was an old-fashioned popcorn maker that was shooting out great golden clouds of buttery popcorn
and filling the air with wonderful, mouth-watering smells. The scouts had all vied for a chance to fill the machine with dry popcorn, oil and butter-salt,
then scoop the hot, fluffy corn into bags. Robin hopped to it with alacrity.

“--and the wicked witch set about fattening poor Hansel so she could cook him and eat him.” Sam frowned at the storybook in his hand. This seemed rather
frightening, although the children were hanging on his words with rapt attention.
“Of course," he said, clearing his throat, “That was not a very nice thing to do. That’s, um, why they call her a wicked witch, instead of a nice witch.”
“What did she feed him?" asked one of the children. Sam stared at the little boy blankly, then looked down at the book.
“It…it doesn’t say, but there’s a picture of her feeding him a pie.”
“But if she could cook a pie, why would she want to eat a little boy?"
“I don’t know," Sam said. “Maybe she didn’t make very good pies.”
“Oh.” This seemed to satisfy the youngster, and Sam turned the page, but before he could start reading, the boy piped up again. “If she didn’t make very
good pies, how could she get Hansel to eat it?"
“I’m sure I don’t know," said Sam uncomfortably. “She shouldn’t be feeding him pie at all. Children need balanced meals—not just dessert.”
“That’s what my mom says," volunteered one little girl. “She says if we don’t eat our vegetables we can’t have dessert.”
“A wise woman," offered Sam, and turned back to the book, but the little girl was not quite done.
“She says if you eat too much dessert you’ll get junk in your trunk.”
It took a moment for Sam to translate the phrase, then to feel his cheeks grow pink. He was quite sure they shouldn’t be talking about people’s trunks—unless,
of course, they were elephants, and then it was quite a different matter. Then again, Sam wasn’t that thrilled with the book in his hand.
“That’s why you have to go to the gym," said another little boy. “My mom and dad go to the gym and jump around to music.”
“I do that at preschool," said a little girl. “Right after story time.”
Sam wished somebody else was doing story time.
“Um….” He began.
“Could we hop around to music?" asked another little girl plaintively. “I’m tired of sitting down.”
“Could we? Please?"
“Please, please let us jump around to music!"
“Well, I don’t think—“
“But exercise is good for us. You don’t want us to get fat like Hansel, do you?"
Sam was so far afield from his area of expertise that he didn’t know how to stop this from snowballing out of control.
“Well," he said. “The President does encourage physical activity.” He looked at the book in his hand with distaste. “Would you all rather go for a
march through the fair than listen to this story?"
“Does she eat him?" asked one little girl uncertainly.
“No. She doesn’t. Gretel outsmarts the witch, rescues Hansel and they both live happily ever after.”
“What about the witch?"
“Um, she gets old and fat," Sam improvised. “Now—who wants to go for a walk?"
There were cheers all around.
If the citizens of Hensonville, who were accustomed to all manner of odd things, found it disconcerting to see an American Bald Eagle, wearing pantaloons,
a calico dress and a mop cap lead a giggling band of children through the fairground area singing battle songs in a deep baritone, no one mentioned it.
At least, no one mentioned it to Kermit.

The jello-dunking had been a splash hit. Gonzo’s art wasn’t always comprehensible, but it was always eye-catching. People lined up and dropped money into
the jar, clapping politely as Gonzo emerged, covered with green goo and wiping his goggles with a soggy blue arm. Rizzo had begun to take bets on precisely
what part of Gonzo’s anatomy would enter the water first, and soon his contributions to the cause rivaled those of the little blue weirdo’s act.
Camilla had come by to see Gonzo on her break, and though she pecked him chastely on the cheek, she declined to be hugged by her paramour. She reminded
him of the one-hour call for the pie-eating contest and went in search of something cool.

“Ahm gonna win that contest," said Sweetums. “Ah love pie.”
Fozzie looked at Sweetums’ enormous maw and smiled. “You’ll be a natural, Sweetums.”
“Thar’s just one thing Ah don’t unnerstand," said Sweetums, scratching his big head. “Who is it we’re supposed to throw the pie at?"
Fozzie looked up in alarm. “Oh! No, Sweetums," he said hastily. “You don’t throw the pies—you’re supposed to eat them!"
“Eat them?" asked Sweetums. “Aw, shucks. That’s no fun.” He wandered off, disconsolate.
Fozzie shook his head, dislodging his fake mustache. He sighed and went looking for the spirit glue.

Piggy looked at her next client appraisingly. “How old are you, young man?" she asked sweetly.
He gulped and took off his baseball cap. “Um, I’m, uh, eight--, um, nineteen," he stammered. Piggy crossed her arms across her chest and pointed to
a sign on the counter behind her that said, “You must be 19 or older to purchase anything at this booth.”
“May I see some ID," she said coolly. The young man dug around in his wallet for a moment, then produced a driver’s license. Piggy looked at it carefully,
then scrutinized the young man in front of her. His cheeks were flaming but underneath he looked very pale as she looked from his face to the picture on
the license. At last, she handed the card back to him, then smiled a ten-thousand volt-smile. “Happy Birthday," she said, and kissed him.

 

[The Count]

Yaey! *Hugs this story so. Absolutely love every bit of it.

*Ahem... *Goes up to Rowlf at the piano and tells him to strike up the ivories.


Down by the river.
That flows by the courtyard.
And wooden houses.
With shudders turned down.
There lives a girl there.
Everybody calls 'Patches.
Patches, my darling...
Of old Shanty Town.

We planned to marry.
When June brought the summer.
I couldn't wait!
To make 'Patches my bride.
Now I don't se.
How that ever can happen.
My folks say 'No.
And my heart breaks inside.

*Chorus with a raised higher voice.
Paaaatches, what can I do?
I swear I'll always love you.
*Softening a smidge.
But a girl from that place.
Would just bing me disgrace.
So my folks won't letme come to you.

*Brief bridge by Rowlf.
How my heart aches.
When I think of my 'Patches.
Standing and waiting there.
Just a-watchin' the door.
She doesn't know.
That I can't come to see her.
'Patches must think.
That I love her no more.

I hear a neighbor.
A-tellin' my father.
He says a girl...
Named-a 'Patches was found.
Floating face down.
In that dirty old river.
That flows by the courtyards.
In old Shanty Town.

*Chorus with raised voice again.
Paaaaatches, oh what can I do?
I swear I'll always love you.
*Softening a smidge again.
It may not be right.
But I'll join you tonight.
Patches, I'm coming to yooooou.

*Bows and goes to find his date for the green-grounds,maybe a snack of popcorn, maybe we'll find some nice creepy charm at the bazarre.

 

[The Count]

Hi... Here's hopping another segment of this story might be posted in time for the St. Patrick's of this year. If not, thats OK, we'll understand. Bye.

 

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 8: Kiss Me, I’m Gorgeous

Kermit bought a book at the Bizarre Bazaar, and a foufy embroidered pillow that he thought might make a nice present for Piggy. He tucked his package under one arm and continued on his way.
Music (well, noise anyway) was still coming from the stage area, and Kermit smiled to himself. He thought he might check on Robin and see how the popcorn sales were coming. He passed a huge throng of onlookers and squeezed himself through the tightly packed knot of people. Piggy usually attracted crowds, he thought hopefully, wondering if he’d found her at last. But when he could finally see the cause of all the hubbub, it proved to be Bunsen Honeydew’s hapless lab assistant Beaker.
Usually, one could hone in on Beaker by sound, listening for his terrified or astonished mee-meeps, but Kermit had heard nothing. This mystery was explained by the fact that the flaming-haired lab assistant had his long, skinny head crammed all the way into a 16 ounce cola bottle. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, rather like a fish in a tank, and Kermit watched with some concern as several burly men picked Beaker up and held him horizontally while another one tugged firmly on the bottle.
“Please be careful,” the good doctor said. “I’m supposed to get a deposit on that bottle!”
Kermit shook his head. Some things never changed.
He made his way back to the center strip and stood thinking, wondering if he should spend any more time trying to find Piggy in this crowd or just go and check on Robin. As he stood there pondering, he heard a collective gasp from the crowd and looked up to see Bobo hovering over the top of the dunking booth, completely airborne. The helium seemed to have gotten out of hand, and Kermit experienced a small twinge of guilt at thinking how much the big bear resembled a Thanksgiving Day Parade inflatable.
While Kermit watched in horrified fascination two men on ladders—one of whom might be Scooter—tried to snatch one of Bobo’s dangling hirsute feet, he saw Floyd Pepper stop at the foot of the ladder with Animal. He hollered something up at Scooter—yes, it was definitely Scooter—the shock of red hair gave him away—and they had a shouted conversation that ultimately ended with Scooter shrugging.
Floyd unhooked Animal from his leash and the long-limbed drummer clambered up behind Scooter, eying Bobo with lowered brows. Without warning, Animal launched himself off the top of the ladder and sunk his teeth into the sleeve of Bobo’s jacket. The startled bear let out a high-pitched scream, then a huge belch, and both bear and band member disappeared from view, presumably hurtling toward the ground below. The crowd gasped, then laughed in relief, and Kermit relaxed a little, too, but he was undeniably relieved to see Animal emerge from the crowd, straining at the leash, with a fragment of dark blue serge in his teeth.
Kermit was torn between a feeling of responsibility and the desire to escape. It was a feeling he knew well, but while he wavered the situation resolved itself.
“—hurt nothin’ cuz I landed on my head,” Bobo was saying to Scooter as they made their way back toward the balloon stand. Scooter saw Kermit out of the corner of his eye and Kermit saw him flash a quick expectant look at his clipboard. Scooter held up a hand to stop Bobo’s rambling monologue and trotted over to Kermit.
“Um, we’re short a judge for the pie-eating contest. Can you do that?”
Kermit shrugged. Why not? “Sure Scooter—tell me what you need me to do.”
Scooter pointed to a far pavilion near the entrance. “See that tent? The one with the yellow flag where people signed up to get their utilities bills online instead of on paper?”
Kermit nodded. He had signed up himself, thinking that the city not having to send the boarding house a printed bill would probably save a ton of trees per year.
“In less than 30 minutes, that’s where they’re going to have the pie-eating contest,” Scooter said. “Just go over there and tell Prawnie you’re going to take the place of The Newsman.”
Kermit nodded. “Sure, Scooter—just count the number of pies eaten and give out the ribbons, right?”
“And referee,” Scooter muttered, too low for Kermit to hear. “Thanks, boss—I’ll try to leave you be for a while.”
“No problem, Scooter.” Kermit set his face toward the pavilion, then turned as a sudden thought occurred to him.
“Um, Scooter?”
“Yeah, Boss?”
Again, Kermit wondered why Scooter looked so fidgety and guilty. “Do I want to know what happened to The Newsman?”
Scooter did a sortof half-shrug. “Wayne and Wanda,” he said, and did not elaborate. Kermit nodded to himself and decided to get while the getting was still good!

The line had slowed somewhat, but not because of lack of interest. The line had slowed to accommodate a slow-moving gentleman who looked to be in his senior years. His gait was slow, but his eyes were bright and lively over a bushy mustache, and Piggy smiled at him when he got up to the counter.
“Are you old enough to purchase anything at this booth?” she teased. The old man guffawed and slapped the knee of his plaid pants.
“Old enough and wise enough,” he insisted. Piggy giggled.
“Married?”
“Sixty-one years, I was,” he said proudly. “To the sweetest little gal ever wore a bonnet.”
“What was her name?”
“Goody,” he said. His eyes grew wistful and faraway. “And she was a good one for sure.”
Piggy smiled. “Sounds like a keeper.”
His eyes locked with hers. “I tried to keep her,” he said softly. “I tried but she just slipped away.” His eyes were bright and so were Piggy’s. “Cancer. Six years ago this June.”
“I’m—I’m very sorry.”
“Me too. She was a good un.”
Piggy hesitated. “Are you sure--”
“And, boy! Could she kiss you like she meant to!” His eyes began to twinkle, lightening the mood. “And I’ll bet you can, too.”
“Yes, sir,” said Piggy demurely, and the gentleman laughed again and slapped his leg.
“Well—here’s my five bucks! Come and plant one on me, Honey!”
Piggy did, and when she released him he smiled a dreamy smile. “Almost as good as Goody,” he said happily, and moved off in a pleasant fog.
Piggy watched him go, a half-smile on her face, and when she turned back to her booth she was startled to find herself eye to eye with Rowlf. A broad smile burst across Rowlf’s face and Piggy watched him warily.
“Top o’ the afternoon to you,” he said, his expression cheeky.
“Does Kermit know you’re here?” she asked pointedly.
“Does Kermit know you’re here?” the piano-playing canine countered mildly.
They stared at each other, sizing up the opposition. But Rowlf wasn’t really interested in opposition—far from it. He put a green bill on the counter and looked at her expectantly.
“What’s that for?” Piggy asked.
“What do you mean, what’s that for?” Rowlf asked. “It’s for a kiss and a five-spot in change.”
Piggy took the bill reluctantly, looking around for signs of Kermit.
“As long as you’re not here spying for Kermit,” she said snippily.
“Kermit?” said Rowlf. “The last person on my mind right now is—“
Piggy grabbed him around his collar, hauled him up close and kissed him. She did not have a money-back guarantee posted anywhere on her booth, but if she had, she would have had no takers. Rowlf was no exception.
Despite his earlier assertion, Rowlf was indeed thinking of Kermit. He was, in fact, thinking that Kermit was an idiot.
“And Rowlf,” Piggy said with saccharine sweetness as she released him. Rowlf found his voice with difficulty.
“Yes’m?”
“If Moi finds out you were betting on this, Moi will hurt you.” Her blue eyes were very intense.
Rowlf gulped and nodded. Then again, Kermit wasn’t so dumb after all! He almost forgot to collect his change.

Blackstone was watching them stack apple pies in mouth-watering mounds when he felt a gentle nudge on his withers and turned.
“Saw you in the parade,” said Marabelle the little brown mare.
Blackstone tried to think of something witty to say.
“Yeah?” he asked, and wished, like that nice frog from this morning, that he could slap a hand over his face in consternation. Brilliant! his mind prompted. Impress her with your rapier wit. “Yeah,” Marabelle countered, and she whinnied in a teasing tone.
“Like my new hairdo?” Blackstone asked dryly, but Marabelle took his question seriously, or seemed to. She walked around him slowly, which seemed to Blackstone to require showing him a great deal of her great legs, but in the end, her big brown eyes rested on his.
“I do like it,” she said seriously. “I’ll bet the kids just love it.”
Blackstone cheered a little, remembering the feel of lots of soft, pudgy hands stroking and occasionally tugging the bright green strands. The children had liked his hair, and he had stood very still and very patiently, quietly blowing out big puffs of air through his nostrils until all of the children had had a chance to pet him. One little girl, name of Prairie Dawn, even came up and hugged him.
“They did,” he said, feeling less ridiculous and prouder. He cut his eyes at her.
“You’re looking good, Marabelle,” he said, and the petite filly ducked her head and let out a mare-like snort.
“Who—plain-Jane me?” she asked, but she sounded wistful. Blackstone thought about telling her about Kermit’s offer, but they were interrupted by the arrival of Marabelle’s father, a sturdy draft-horse with enormous hooves. He did not sneer at Blackstone—he was a dignified horse—but Marabelle started guiltily at the disapproval in her father’s eyes.
“I, um, just finished delivering the last of the canisters from the dairy,” she said, and Blackstone thought she sounded breathless and nervous.
“Thanks for the directions to the boarding house,” Blackstone improvised suddenly, and Marabelle looked up in surprise as he added, “I’m going to make a point of looking them up after the parade.” Blackstone squared his shoulders and straightened his withers. “Marabelle said you delivered to the big boarding house in town,” he said, addressing the older horse respectfully. “I just met Mr. The Frog who runs the theater. He seems like a nice sort.”
“Pays his bill on time,” said the older horse amiably enough. “And they did chain up the drummer until we make our rounds in the morning after one of our boys got nipped last fall.”
Blackstone nodded, hoping very hard to make a good impression. “Thoughtful of him,” he said, not sure what else to say. He could always blurt, I adore your daughter—she’s the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen! but he didn’t think that would go over well. The show horse took a page from his show business career and decided to exit the stage while the crowd was still benevolent. “Very nice to see you, Sir. Marabelle.” He nodded formally and trotted off as though he had someplace to be. Blackstone could feel their eyes on him until he turned the corner at the next booth and disappeared from view.

 

[The Count]

Ah... Just what the reader needed. And Ru? I love that even Prairie got a mention here. Thank you for delighting us with this grand tale of frolick and fun, while providing enough subplot to keep us wanting more.

*Leaves a muffin for Aunt Cath to chew on, a few grasshopper cookies (no grasshoppers in them though).

 

[Ruahnna]

Kermit: Got any more of those grasshoppers around?
Ru: Um, no--but there's a cricket in the kitchen somewhere. Fancy a midnight snack?
Kermit: I'm on it!

 

[Leyla]

Look at this... I remember how to review! Whoo!

So I've been giving this a lot of thought,
About what I could do; yes, what I ought.
And since it has been an extended period of time,
I think I shall review Ru's writing in rhyme!

Kermit bought a book at the Bizarre Bazaar, and a foufy embroidered pillow that he thought might make a nice present for Piggy. He tucked his package under one arm and continued on his way.
Music (well, noise anyway) was still coming from the stage area, and Kermit smiled to himself. He thought he might check on Robin and see how the popcorn sales were coming. He passed a huge throng of onlookers and squeezed himself through the tightly packed knot of people. Piggy usually attracted crowds, he thought hopefully, wondering if he’d found her at last.

Let's start with the B words, "Bizarre Bazarre"
The most aurally pleasing, great phrasing thus far,
And though the band's music is ear-rending noise,
Ru artfully articulates with a songstress's poise.

Ah, Kermit is not so pleased to through the crowd squeeze,
But, methinks to receive that from Piggy would please!
As a matter of fact, he'd be weak in the knees
And the crowd that surround her I'm sure all agrees!

But when he could finally see the cause of all the hubbub, it proved to be Bunsen Honeydew’s hapless lab assistant Beaker.
Usually, one could hone in on Beaker by sound, listening for his terrified or astonished mee-meeps, but Kermit had heard nothing. This mystery was explained by the fact that the flaming-haired lab assistant had his long, skinny head crammed all the way into a 16 ounce cola bottle.

It doesn't surprise me that there's hubba bub bub,
Nor that Bunsen has Beaker in claustrophobe trub.
Is anyone shocked that the task, he did flub?
Do you think we could free him by giving a rub?

Poor red head's frantic and astonished mee-meeps,
Would be as funny to watch, even soundless, no peeps
The faithful assistant never sows, but he reaps!
Yet somehow this duo's a friendship for keeps.

His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, rather like a fish in a tank, and Kermit watched with some concern as several burly men picked Beaker up and held him horizontally while another one tugged firmly on the bottle.
“Please be careful,” the good doctor said. “I’m supposed to get a deposit on that bottle!”
Kermit shook his head. Some things never changed.

Clearly Bunsen has gone off half-cocked and full throttled,
And the tragic result... his assistant was bottled,
After a not so freak accident, his face must be mottled
And being pried out by burlies is NOT being coddled.

The icing on the cake of a rich-layered scene,
Is a last little comment that just makes us scream,
And while Kermit may sigh that some things never change
Bunsen finds that other things do, at the bottle exchange.

He made his way back to the center strip and stood thinking, wondering if he should spend any more time trying to find Piggy in this crowd or just go and check on Robin. As he stood there pondering, he heard a collective gasp from the crown and looked up to see Bobo hovering over the top of the dunking booth, completely airborne. The helium seemed to have gotten out of hand, and Kermit experienced a small twinge of guilt at thinking how much the big bear resembled a Thanksgiving Day Parade inflatable.

An airborne bear, now that's quite a sight...
Except for the muppets, it's a regular night.
And while for poor Bobo the outcome's debatable,
Kermit (should he really judge?) was a puffed-up inflatable.

While Kermit watched in horrified fascination two men on ladders—one of whom might be Scooter—tried to snatch one of Bobo’s dangling hirsute feet, he saw Floyd Pepper stop at the foot of the ladder with Animal. He hollered something up a Scooter—yes, it was definitely Scooter—the shock of red hair gave him away—and they had a shouted conversation that ultimately ended with Scooter shrugging.
Floyd unhooked Animal from his leash and the long-limbed drummer clambered up behind Scooter, eying Bobo with lowered brows. Without warning, Animal launched himself off the top of the ladder and sunk his teeth into the sleeve of Bobo’s jacket. The startled bear let out a high-pitched scream, then a huge belch, and both bear and band member disappeared from view, presumably hurtling toward the ground below.

Now I sit here and chuckle at "dangling hirsute feet,"
And Floyd's timely arrvival (Ru, your diction is sweet!)
The mad drummer's leap is fantastical feat!
Does a brown bear turn polar when he's white as a sheet?

“Um, we’re short a judge for the pie-eating contest. Can you do that?”
Kermit shrugged. Why not? “Sure Scooter—tell me what you need me to do.”

After what he's just seen, you'd think Kermit would learn
But never he does, says the Eagle who's stern.
I must truly admire the frog's bold volunteering
After Bobo's ballooning and and B and B's engineering.

Scooter pointed to a far pavilion near the entrance. “See that tent? The one with the yellow flag where people signed up to get their utilities bills online instead of on paper?”
Kermit nodded. He had signed up himself, thinking that the city not having to send the boarding house a printed bill would probably save a ton of trees per year.
“In less than 30 minutes, that’s where they’re going to have the pie-eating contest,” Scooter said. “Just go over there and tell Prawnie you’re going to take the place of The Newsman.”
Kermit nodded. “Sure, Scooter—just count the number of pies eaten and give out the ribbons, right?”
“And referee,” Scooter muttered, too low for Kermit to hear.

A pie-eating contest... is Animal chained?
Is Rizzo fed up, with his hunger enchained?
I can't wait to see when the victor's ordained!
Someone must get Dr. Bob when their stomachs are pained.

The line had slowed somewhat, but not because of lack of interest. The line had slowed to accommodate a slow-moving gentleman who looked to be in his senior years. His gait was slow, but his eyes were bright and lively over a bushy mustache, and Piggy smiled at him when he got up to the counter.
“Are you old enough to purchase anything at this booth?” she teased. The old man guffawed and slapped the knee of his plaid pants.
“Old enough and wise enough,” he insisted. Piggy giggled.
“Married?”
“Sixty-one years, I was,” he said proudly. “To the sweetest little gal ever wore a bonnet.”

The story of Goody was poignant not pale,
A moment so tender in a lively fun tale
And the dear man who loved her was charming indeed!
You show the layers of life, and it's magic to read.

Piggy watched him go, a half-smile on her face, and when she turned back to her booth she was startled to find herself eye to eye with Rowlf. A broad smile burst across Rowlf’s face and Piggy watched him warily.
“Top o’ the afternoon to you,” he said, his expression cheeky.
“Does Kermit know you’re here?” she asked pointedly.
“Does Kermit know you’re here?” the piano-playing canine countered mildly.

And just when my heart was sunk in a bog,
You have Piggy sitting pretty (Yes, high on the hog!)
I have often thought truly, when mad at the frog,
That the Muppet show diva should be dating that dog!

Piggy grabbed him around his collar, hauled him up close and kissed him. She did not have a money-back guarantee posted anywhere on her booth, but if she had, she would have had no takers. Rowlf was no exception.
Despite his earlier assertion, Rowlf was indeed thinking of Kermit. He was, in fact, thinking that Kermit was an idiot.
“And Rowlf,” Piggy said with saccharine sweetness as she released him. Rowlf found his voice with difficulty.
“Yes’m?”
“If Moi finds out you were betting on this, Moi will hurt you.” Her blue eyes were very intense.
Rowlf gulped and nodded. Then again, Kermit wasn’t so dumb after all! He almost forgot to collect his change.

Oh, he did like that smooch, that was perfectly clear,
And finds him disapproving the frog she holds dear,
But to mess with Miss Piggy means facing some fear,
So Rowlf, just stick with a walk and a beer!

And last but not least, the love story of course,
With verdant-maned Blackstone and Marabelle horse,
And though some may complain that such romanance is Ru-y,
You know that I don't think true love is hooey!

At last I must rest, while there's still darkness left,
But Ru-dear, your stories don't leave me bereft!
And sincerely I thank you for ushy gush pleasure,
and also for friendship, which sincerely I treasure!

I know that your writing is rare, so are you,
And I hope that you have all your sweet dreams come true,
So please don't quit writing, whatever you do,
And we'll somehow keep waiting for the Muppet Show Two!

 

[The Count]

*Cheers... Loved Layla's review in rhyme, certainly the thing to help pass the time.
If we rub the bottle to get Beaker out of there... Will he grant us wishes three?

Also... Marabelle's father mentioned that the Muppets kept Animal inside after he bit one of the other horses last fall. Is that something you'll build up to in Muppets Halloween, thus leading your loyalist lectors to believe this tale of greensome follows such an orange & black pageturner? Or does your St. Patrick's party preceed the fictional fare of All Hollow's Eve?

At any rate, I sincerely hop that more gets posted and we progress towards a grand and glorious conclusion in chaptered form.

Thanks Aunt Ru.