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Discussion in 'Fan Fiction and Fan Art' started by Winslow Leach, Jan 10, 2009.
Col. Tom Parker = Col. Rowlf Barker
Pretty clever, eh? Hahahahahaha....erm...O_O
As soon as Colonel Barker arrived in town, he wasted no time in seeking out the Wilkins home.
"Oh, that dump!" said a local, helpfully circling a spot on the map the Colonel was perusing. "Can't miss it. Log cabin teetering on the edge of a swamp."
Colonel Barker arrived on the doorstep shortly after noon, wearing one of his last suits (which was too small now) and his one remaining Stetson.
When Ma answered his knock, Colonel Barker staggered back in fright at her hideous appearance. He regained his composure, removed his hat, and spoke in his most gentlemanly Southern accent.
"Hello," he said gruffly. "Mah name is Colonel Barker. Colonel Rowlf Barker."
"How come you're not wearing white?"
"I thought the men from the asylum always wore white," said Ma.
"Ah'm not from an asylum, ma'am," said the Colonel.
"Oh," said Ma disappointedly. "I called them over an hour ago, and they assured me--"
"Wilkins, of course. Ah'm here to see your son."
"Oh dear," said Ma. "Did he steal your wallet?" She shook her head sadly. "Please don't be so hard on him. The folks from the asylum assured me he'd be locked up for at least three months. That's what most juvenile delinquents get these days."
"Ma'am...how 'bout we try this again," suggested Rowlf. "You shut the door, ah knock, ah re-introduce mahself. You shut your mouth till I finish mah proposal."
"What exactly do you want with my son?" demanded Ma.
The Colonel took a contract out of his coat, and held it out for Ma to inspect.
"His face, Missus Wilkins."
And it wasn't until just then did I get the Elvis reference. MAN, I'm slow...
*keeps her eyes glued (not literally) to the fanfic in hopes of another chapter*
The three sat around the kitchen table, Ma and the Colonel drinking tea, a muddy, disheveled Wilkins drinking sludge out of a mug. There was more sludge than coffee, but that didn't bother Wilkins. He was too wired and hopped up to notice.
"Whaddaya say, son?" asked the Colonel.
'Bout what?" asked Wilkins, his eyes popping from his caffeine high.
The Colonel sighed. He already explained his plan at least four times, thinking Wilkins was mature enough to pay attention. Obviously, he didn't know Wilkins.
"I want to promote your coffee."
"My coffee!" shrieked Wilkins, clutching the mug protectively. "Not yours! Mine!"
"Yer maw has already given me permission to drill that black gold outta the yard," said Rowlf. "After all, it's her property."
"WITCH!" screamed Wilkins at Ma.
"Son, ah want to promote that coffee. Ah must confess, before your maw gave me a taste, I doubted it was as good as you claimed. But it's unlike anything ah've ever tasted. And ah'm willin' to stake my reputation that the public will go crazy for it, and make us both rich!"
The Colonel slammed his palm on the table in exasperation. "Was he dropped on his head a lot as a baby?" he asked Ma.
"Wilkins," said Ma, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. "I can understand you want to stay with me. But the Colonel is going to take care of you. You'll make millions of dollars--"
"For starters," said the Colonel.
"Then you'll be able to purchase me--your darling mother--a brand-new house with running water and an outhouse on the inside!"
"And I can almost guarantee you television exposure," said Barker. "Ever hear of Elvis Presley?"
In 1957, the world knew who Elvis Presley was. You would have to be a total moron not to know who the once and future king of rock and roll was.
"Never heard of him," said Wilkins, picking grit from his mouth. "Is he like Captain Kangaroo?"
"Why do I bother?" asked the Colonel, wearily.
SHAME on Wilkins for not knowing who Elvis Presley is! ... ow, my head...
Wow, ask, and he's already worked up another chapter! That was quick, Tony... can't wait for more!
"Colonel Barker flew almost 1,000 miles out here to see you," said Ma.
"What for?" asked Wilkins.
"Look, kid," said Barker, "I kin make you rich and famous. If y'all don't want that, fine, no skin off my hide. I'm leaving with dat coffee with or without you."
"I go where the coffee goes," snarled Wilkins.
"Then put your John Hancock on the dotted line," said Rowlf, sliding the contract and a pen across the table.
"Can I just put Wilkins instead?"
Rowlf slapped himself in the face with a paw.
Within five minutes, Wilkins was packed and ready to go. He shook his tearful mother's hand, because he could never bear to give her a hug. The Colonel assured Ma he would keep a close eye on Wilkins and treat him like the son he never had.
As Rowlf opened the door, two men in white coats stood there. The shorter one, with a head like a melon, was holding a clipboard; the other carried a butterfly net.
"Oh hello," addressed the melon head. "I'm looking for a..." he raised his glasses, "...Wil-kins. We would have been here much sooner, but I let my assistant Beakie drive the paddywagon, and he got lost." Melon head put a hand to his mouth and giggled. "Oh my, tsssst-ssst-ssssst! Such a funny name for a vehicle. Paddywagon. Tsssssst-ssssst-sssssssst! Oh Lordy!"
The Colonel hitched up his pants, and imitated a stereotypical Southern sheriff.
"Wal boy," he said, spitting on the melon headed fellow's clipboard, "y'all jus' missed him. Ah'm the sheriff. His maw called me an' my partner here," he gestured to Wilkins, "soon as he saw me, he took off faster'n a frog with his *** on fahre." Barker pointed north. "Down yonder." He pointed south. "Or was it thattaway? Tell ya the truth, he ran so fast, I di'int catch which way he was goin', right Cletus?"
Wilkins stood dumbly.
The Colonel cleared his throat, and nudged Wilkins roughly. "Ah said right Cletus?"
"Huh?" said Wilkins.
"Surruh," said Barker. "He was so po' his momma fed him paint chips when he was a chile. He ain't all there, if yuh know whut ah mean."
"I know what you mean," said melon head. "My assistant is the same way. There's not much upstairs. Tsssst-ssst-sssst."
The assistant called "Beakie" angrily drooped the butterfly net over melon head's...head.
"Oh dear," said melon head. "I feel like the proverbial fly caught in the spider's web."
Rowlf spit, and it hit melon head on the right frame of his glasses. "Thank yew, gennleman, me an' my partner will take it from heah."
The Colonel and Wilkins walked past the two men in white, towards Barker's rental car. "Ah already picked a great name for this new product," beamed the Colonel. "Yummy Grounds," he said proudly. "Get it? Grounds? Coffee? Coffee grounds?"
Wilkins stared blankly, then blinked.
"Since I discovered the coffee and I'm gonna promote it, can I call it something else?" asked Wilkins.
"Son, you know how long it took me to come up with Yummy Grounds? Ah seriously doubt yours is as clever or memorable as mine. But humor me. What were y'all thinkin'?"
"Wilkins Coffee!" beamed Wilkins.
And Bunsen and Beaker make an appearance! you never CEASE to amaze us, Tony!
And... Wilikins is... uh... darn it, lost the thought... Uh, can't wait for the next part to show up!
Wilkins sat on a prop brick wall, nervously blinded by the lights in the television studio. Next to him was a can of his find, still known as Yummy Grounds, because Colonel Barker repeatedly insisted there was something unappealing about "Wilkins Coffee."
Colonel Rowlf Barker himself dug the grounds of the Wilkins "estate," his paws digging deep into the ground, bottling the precious fluid. "Where money's concerned, I ain't afraid to gets mah hands dirty," was his reasoning. Barker took a sample to a manufacturer, who was able to replicate the taste and texture of the coffee almost perfectly. Almost, because Wilkins missed the sand and grit that gave it that extra kick. Still, even he had to admit, it was a more than adequate facsimile.
"Okay," sighed the director, an obese pig named Howard Tubman, "Let's try it again, shall we?"
Wilkins had tried sixteen times to get this spot right, but each time he made a mistake: he flubbed his lines; he looked off-camera; he accidentally knocked the can off the wall; he spoke too fast; he spoke too slow. Wilkins was many things, but one thing he was not was an actor.
"Yummy Grounds," said Howard in exasperation. "Take seventeen."
"Hello," said Wilkins, half-heartedly raising his hand in salutation, "When I'm in the mood for delicious, rich coffee, only one brand will do. Yummy Grounds." Wilkins gestured to the can; there was a brief pause. "Oh! Mmmmmm...delicious..."
"No no no no no no no no no no no no!" screamed Howard. "Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong!"
Howard took a set of keys out of his pocket, and threw them on the floor. "Gaaaaaaaaaaaah!"
The Colonel, who was standing just out of camera range, walked to Wilkins.
"Son," he began. "If ya want the public to buy this product, you hafta sell it! That's whut this business is all about: sell, sell sell!"
"Sorry, Colonel," said Wilkins. "Guess I'm no Marlo Brandon."
The Colonel looked at his watch.
"Look, son, it's about time for lunch." He handed Wilkins three dollars. "Go down to the delicatessen on the corner, get yerself sometin' to eat. Maybe y'all work better after you have a sandwich. Be back heah in a half hour, not one minute later."
Wilkins hopped off the wall, and headed for the exit. As he left the studio, he mumbled to himself, "I still like Wilkins Coffee better..."
Oh gawd... XP
Wilkins... is right about that! XPP Post more when you can, Tony.
Wilkins walked down the street, dejectedly. He was a thousand miles from home, in a strange city; his coffee--his coffee--was about to be sold to the public; he blew take after take of a seemingly simple commercial helmed by a tyrannical swine; worst of all, he didn't even have a weapon, to hold up any of the countless business establishments he was passing. So many businesses...just waiting to be robbed by a humanoid delinquent.
"Hey buddy, can ya spare some change?"
The gruff voice came from behind Wilkins, who continued to walk.
"Hey buddy, can ya spare some change?"
Wilkins stopped and turned. Nobody was following him. He blinked, and resumed his walk.
"Hey! Down here Einstein!"
Wilkins turned and looked down.
A grotesque blob stood on the sidewalk, pleading eyes staring at Wilkins.
"I'm so hungry. I haven't eaten in three days!"
"Coulda fooled me, bub," snickered Wilkins. The blob looked extremely well-fed.
"Can ya gimme two bits?"
"Don't have anything," said Wilkins. "Sorry."
As Wilkins was about to turn away, his eye caught a gleam radiating from the blob.
"Guess I'll have to take it the hard way!" growled the blob, pointing a gun at Wilkins.
Despite having a strange creature pointing a gun at him, Wilkins had no fear. In fact, he found the image quite silly, and an instant cure for the depression he was feeling.
"Awww, look at da widdle guy holdin' a big boy gun," said Wilkins condescendingly. "Find that cap pistol in a box of Cracker Jax, didya?"
"Shut up!" said the blob. "Gimme all your loot, or I'll shoot!"
"A poet too!" said Wilkins. "You, sir, are a true Renaissance man!"
"I'll give ya to the count of five..."
"Or what? You'll shoot me in the kneecaps?"
"He can count, too!"
"Yes, two usually does come after one."
"Good boy! Keep going, only two more to go!"
"Almost there! C'mon...you can do it!"
The blob pulled the trigger.
The blob stared at his gun in disbelief.
In a flash, Wilkins was on top of him, and wrestled the gun from his hand. Wilkins knelt on the sidewalk, and pressed the gun against the blob's temple.
"How do you like to be on the receiving end? Eh, chubbo?" snarled Wilkins, adrenaline rushing.
The blob was trembling.
"P-p-p-lease d-d-on't hurt me," choked the blob. "I-I-I-I have six wives and a kid...I mean six kids and a wife..."
"Think it's funny going around, holding hard-working people like myself up?"
"N-n-ooo!" said the blob. "In-in-in fact...y-you're the-the-first, I--"
Wilkins's eyes widened. "I'm the first?"
"Y-y-y-y-y-y-es...I mean....no...I mean..."
Wilkins pulled the trigger.
This time it fired.
Exactly twenty two minutes later, Wilkins strolled out of the delicatessen Colonel Barker recommended. His belly was full with a tasty corned beef sandwich, and his hands were full (on account of he never wore pants) with wads of cash. Instead of paying for his meal, he held the place up with his newfound gun, and made a clean getaway.
Wilkins headed back to the studio, whistling a jaunty tune. He passed a rather short fellow and said hello. He continued down the sidewalk, whistling. All of a sudden, he froze...and slowly turned. Standing upright, and very much alive, was the blob--or a reasonable fascimile thereof.
"Gimme my gun," said the blob.
"Who are you?" asked Wilkins.
"Short memory, eh?"
"What are you, his twin? Look, I'm sorry about your brother, but he--"
"Gimme my gun!"
"But....I shot you!" said Wilkins.
"So?" said the blob.
"I saw you die!"
"Well I'm alive now!"
"Impossible!" cried Wilkins.
"Not really," replied the creature.
"Are you Lazarus?" asked Wilkins.
"The name's Wontkins."
"The **** kind of name is Wontkins?"
"My father's, wanna make something of it?" growled Wontkins.
"How come you're not dead? Are these blanks?" asked Wilkins, examining the gun.
"No. I simply cannot die!" boasted Wontkins.
"I am immortal!"
Wilkins raised the gun, and fired, hitting Wontkins between the eyes. The force of the shot caused the blob to fly through the air and crash into a "No Parking" sign before he fell lifeless to the ground.
"I am running late!" said Wilkins.
"OH MY GOD!" cried a shrill voice. Wilkins spun on his heel, and stared into the face of a pink, birdlike woman named Mildred. "Murder! Murder!" She began beating Wilkins over the head with her pocketbook.
"No...he..." said a confused Wilkins.
"Police! POLICE!" shouted Mildred.
Wilkins ran to Wontkins, and frantically tried to revive him.
"Hey buddy," he began. "C'mon, the gag's over. Get up now, I believe ya!" Wontkins was turning cold. "Look, I'll give you some money...here...here's a buck...two bucks...half! Take half of what I--"
Mildred and Officer Link Hogthrob approached.
"...he just shot that poor...thing...in cold blood!"
"Okay, missy," said Link. "I'll take it from here."
"Officer, you don't--"
"Drop the weapon, sir, and step away from the blob."
"He's faking it," said Wilkins, forcing a laugh. "He told me he was immortal!"
"Please, sir, don't insult my intelligence," said Link. "I can't tell you how many murderers have claimed the same thingy. Now drop the gun. Please."
"I said please..."
Wilkins reluctantly dropped the gun, next to the body of Wontkins.
"You'll get life for this, young man," said the officer. "Oh goody! Another lifer! I love arresting you guys!"
As soon as the gun clattered to the pavement, Wontkins opened his eyes and grabbed it.
"Sucker!" he said, and waddled away, leaving a bewildered Wilkins, Mildred and Link staring after him.
ROFL! All of these chapters just continue to crack me up more and more kick some serious...well, you know. XP I loved the inclusion of more charries like Link and Rowlf and I especially like how the chapters getting longer. It adds even more humor and excitement.
Can't wait for the next installation!
Thank you so much, Ailie! I really appreciate your comments, and am glad you're enjoying this!
Wilkins followed Wontkins, as he blobbed down the street.
"Whut?" asked Wontkins.
"Hold up! I wanna talk to you!"
With a heavy sigh, Wontkins stopped, and allowed Wilkins to catch up. "You're a puppet!" said Wilkins, as if the thought had just come to him. "That's why you're invincible! You're a puppet, like me!"
Wontkins stared at Wilkins.
"You're a puppet?" he asked.
"Don't let my handsome appearance fool you," said Wilkins. "I've often been mistaken for Cary Grant or Tyrone Power. But yes. I'm a puppet too!"
"Huh. Small world," said Wontkins, unimpressed, as he started to blob away.
"Where do you live?" asked Wilkins, catching up to the little chubby fellow again.
"Why is that your business?"
"Frankly you don't smell so hot," said Wilkins. "I take it you live on the street."
"Why you insolent little smart ***," said Wontkins. "I'd horse-whip you if I had a horse!"
"I didn't mean to insinuate--"
"If you must know, I do live on the street, okay pretty boy? Happy now?" choked Wontkins, a hint of sadness in his voice. "My current residence is a soggy refridgerator box behind a shabby apartment complex. I room with an occasional rat or two. There! Now you know my story. Leave me alone."
Wontkins blobbed at a faster pace.
Wilkins caught up with him again.
"Have you ever acted before?"
"No," said Wontkins, still moving.
"Neither have I," said Wilkins, hustling to keep up. For a creature with no legs, Wontkins sure moved fast.
"Fact I'm in the midst of shooting a television commercial now, only it ain't going so well."
"My sympathies," said Wontkins, his eyes frantically searching for a policeman.
"I thought maybe you could help."
"How?" asked Wontkins, picking up speed.
"Do you think violence is funny?" asked Wilkins.
"Oh yeah, it's a lot of laughs," said Wontkins sarcastically, "especially when I'm on the receiving end of it."
"But you always come back to life."
"I'm promoting a brand new coffee I just discovered...and I think you would be a perfect foil to me."
Didn't this guy ever stop moving?
Wilkins had to think for a moment before replying, "your attitude! You seem like a natural grouch."
"Sleeping in a cardboard box with a rat perched on your nose'll do that to ya..."
"And your name...Wontkins...is perfect!"
"Stop moving!" shouted Wilkins. Wontkins stopped and turned. Thank you!"
Wilkins walked to Wontkins.
"While I was having lunch, I had an idea. Maybe it's good, maybe it was just the corned beef and it stinks, but it's worth giving a try. See, I'm supposed to promote this coffee I discovered--"
"How did you discover coffee?"
"Eh, I found it growing underground in my ma's backyard."
"Impossible!" said Wontkins.
"Yeah, well, so are two puppets having a casual conversation on a city street in broad daylight," said Wilkins.
"Touche," said Wontkins.
"So I found this coffee...and I ended up with a manager, who read about me in the paper."
"Why were you in the paper?" asked Wontkins. "Holding up a bank or somethin'?"
Wilkins sighed. "No...on account of the coffee I discovered! It was national news, you know."
"Musta missed it," said Wontkins. "Either that, or I used that particular edition as a blanket one night."
"So we've been shooting this commercial...and it's not working. I think I'm fine, but that pig of a director doesn't see eye to eye with me."
"Don't call people names," said Wontkins. "Isn't nice."
"No...he really is a pig--ah, never mind," said Wilkins. "The point is, this commercial is failing. My manager is rapidly losing his patience, because he's rapidly losing money on this thing."
"Whaddaya want me to do?" asked Wontkins.
"My idea is this: I love the coffee, and you hate it--"
"How do you know I hate it? I like coffee. As a matter of fact, that's why I was begging you for change, so I could buy myself a nice steaming cup of coffee."
"For the purpose of the commercial, you hate it!" said Wilkins, irritably. Your name is already perfect--Wontkins--as in "I won't drink any of that disgusting coffee!"
"What's your name?" demanded the blob.
"As in you will drink the disgusting coffee?"
Wilkins stopped. Up until this moment, he didn't realize the significance of his name.
"Er...yeah...yes...exactly...wow...you nailed that right on the head!"
"Wontkins and Wilkins, huh?" said the blob.
"Wilkins and Wontkins. Uh...you know, showbiz. Always gotta go in alphabetical order."
"Like Abbott and Costello?"
"Or Laurel and Hardy?"
Wilkins was ready to punt the blob into a storefront window, but he honestly did need him. If the Colonel allowed it, of course. If not, then Wilkins would punt the little blimp into a storefront window.
"What was that you were sayin' about violence? You asked me if I thought it was funny," said Wontkins.
"I was thinking...in the spot, I offer you some coffee. You refuse. And I shoot you."
There was a beat.
"And...?" asked Wontkins.
"That's it." said Wilkins. "I kill you because you don't like the coffee I'm hawking to the public."
Wontkins stared at Wilkins. "That's the most asinine thing I ever heard! Not to mention tasteless and unfunny!"
"I'm running late, I gotta get back," said Wilkins. "You're right. It's a ridiculous idea, and it probably was a bad piece of corned beef that made me hallucinate such a spot...of course, I wasn't thinking of you when I came up with the idea. I figured I'd use a stuffed animal or something, and tear its head off when I put the cup to its lips. I never figured on a live partner, for obvious reasons. But hey, go crawl back into your wet box. Forget I even asked you about this. You don't need exposure. Or fame. Or money. You're life is fine just the way it is."
Wilkins pat Wontkins on the head, and walked away, casually looking over his shoulder once in a while to see if Wontkins was following. He wasn't.
Wontkins stood in the same spot, mulling over life on the street, or life with Wilkins. He headed back to his cardboard box.
"Yummy Grounds, take forty-six," said Howard Tubman, leaning back in his chair.
Wilkins opened his mouth.
"Wait a minute!" said Howard. "Wipe that smirk off your face!"
"Huh?" asked Wilkins. "Smirk?"
"Yeah. You're hawking a product to the public. The public doesn't want to see a smirking, snarky imbecile."
"But...I can't help smirking," said Wilkins. "It was the way I was built."
Howard looked over to Colonel Barker on the sidelines for confirmation. The Colonel nodded. Despite being an in-demand director, Howard Tubman wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. In fact, the only time he gave his full attention to anything, was when he had a twelve-course banquet placed in front of him.
"Thank you, Lassie," said Howard. "Yummy Grounds, take forty-seven."
"Hello," said Wilkins, repeating the same dull, tired lines. "When I'm in the mood for delicious, rich coffee, only one brand will do..."
For several terrifying seconds, Wilkins's mind went blank. He blurted the first thing that came to mind:
"BUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" screamed Howard. "NO NO NO NO NO NO!"
Howard began squirming and twisting in his chair, trying to stand up. But he was trapped. Mounds of flabby, useless disgusting flab surrounded the chair, making him a prisoner.
"Will somebody please help me?" he demanded.
After several seconds passed, Colonel Barker volunteered. He stood behind Howard, and tried to push.
"No no no!" said Howard. "You'll have to try lifting me from my armpits."
"Naw," said Rowlf. "I think I can--"
"You'll have to try lifting me from my armpits!"
Rowlf sighed, and carefully put one paw under each of Howard's wet and sweaty armpits. He heaved with all his might, and the only result was a sudden, sharp pain in his lower back.
"OW!" cried Rowlf.
"Again, Rin-Tin-Tin," said Howard. "I think we were making progress..."
Colonel Barker wiped the sweat from his brow, and tried to ignore the piercing pain in his back. Again, he reached underneath Howard's smelly armpits and tried lifting. The swine wouldn't budge.
"Man, y'all oughta go on a diet," offered Barker helpfully. "It ain't healthy da way ya are now."
"Shut up, Rex!" said Howard. "Do I tell you your business?"
Barker tried lifting the heavy pig one last time.
"Ah can't do it," said the Colonel. "Impossible."
Guess noone told Barker to lift with his knees, not his back. *Wonders if Carter will appear next. And how the story will get back to Wontkins. *Waits for update. *Shoots penguin pistol. Hey! This was supposed to be my water pistol! *Tosses the penguin cannon aside. Meh... *Raids muffin cannon. Yous mooks want some?
"Mmmmuuuuhhhhh.....fuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhh..." groaned Howard Tubman, as he lifted himself to his feet with herculean effort. "Who needs ya?" he glared at Rowlf, as he crossed to the wall where Wilkins was sitting.
Despite his size, Howard was the model of dignity. Unfortunately, he was oblivious to the fact that his tiny director's chair was still attached to his rear end.
"Now," he began to Wilkins, "what gives you the right to change the script? You were supposed to say Yummy Grounds, not...not..." he snapped his fingers for help. He had forgotten what Wilkins actually said during the getting out of the chair debacle.
"Wilkins Coffee," said the cameraman.
"Wilkins Coffee," replied Howard. "It's Yummy Grounds, okay? If you don't get it this time, I'm gonna grab you, and swallow you whole!"
Howard turned and walked back to the space where his chair was.
"Okay. Who's the smart *** who took my chair? You people are really mature, you know that?" said Howard, angrily. "And you call yourselves professionals? I'm going to find the clod who stole my chair--I don't care who it is--and I'm going to fire him on the spot!"
"Uh...Howard?" said Barker.
"What?" snapped the director.
"I think I know where your chair is."
"Yeah. It's attached to your ***."
"Your chair," said Barker, "it's stuck to your ***."
Howard stood silent for a moment. He tried to reach behind him, but his arms were too short and stubby; there was no way he could reach behind his back. However, he kept trying, until his hand brushed against a wooden leg.
"I knew that," said Howard, matter-of-factly. "I...er...I was just joshing around, trying to break the tension. Knew it was there all along. An old party trick...
Yummy Grounds, take forty-eight!"
Howard moved to his space, and eased himself down. As soon as his rump connected with the chair, a massive CRACK echoed throughout the studio. Within seconds, Howard Tubman was on the floor, his canvas and wood director's chair broken into four pieces.
Wilkins let out a guffaw; as Howard glared at him, Wilkins grabbed the can of coffee next to him, and pretended to read the ingredients.
Colonel Barker lowered the Stetson on his head and tried his hardest not to laugh; the rest of the crew also suppressed giggles and full-out belly laughs, for fear of their jobs. Wilkins was the only one to make a sound.
Howard sat on the floor, his face an unnatural shade of red, a mixture of embarrassment and fury.
"OH MY GOD!" he screamed. "The Fates are really enjoying themselves with me today! Can my day get any worse?"
Just then the door to the studio opened, letting in sunlight; as it closed, Wontkins stood there, somewhat confused.
"Am I late?" he asked.
Separate names with a comma.