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

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by Ruahnna, Mar 17, 2007.

  1. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    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.
  2. Ruahnna

    Ruahnna Well-Known Member

    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....
  3. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    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.
  4. Leyla

    Leyla Well-Known Member

    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.
  5. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    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.
  6. Ruahnna

    Ruahnna Well-Known Member

    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.”
    “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?”
    “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.
    Last edited by a moderator: Mar 17, 2016
  7. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    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!
  8. Ruahnna

    Ruahnna Well-Known Member

    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.
    “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.”
    “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 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.
    Last edited by a moderator: Mar 17, 2016
  9. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    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!
  10. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    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.
  11. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    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.
  12. Ruahnna

    Ruahnna Well-Known Member

    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.
  13. Ruahnna

    Ruahnna Well-Known Member

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

    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.
    “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.
    Last edited by a moderator: Mar 17, 2016
  14. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    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.
  15. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    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.
  16. Ruahnna

    Ruahnna Well-Known Member

    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.
    “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.
    “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.
    Last edited by a moderator: Mar 17, 2016
  17. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    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).
  18. Ruahnna

    Ruahnna Well-Known Member

    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!
  19. Leyla

    Leyla Well-Known Member

    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!

    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!

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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?

    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.

    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 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.

    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!

    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!
  20. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    *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.

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