CHAPTER TEN. In which ridiculous stunts are performed, to the amazement of Gonzo's friends, the horror of Camilla, and the disgust of Snookie.
"Tonight! The most amazingly dangerous competition under the face of the earth begins! With death-defying acts gathered from around the globe for your heart-stopping enjoyment! So grab your pacemaker, have a friend standing by with epinephrine, because here we are with the very first night of live incredibly microcephalic stunts on…Break a Leg!"
Snookie beamed widely as the lights burst into brilliance upon the stage, simulated fireworks filling the big screen behind him. "Aaaaaand here are our monstrously popular judges! From the Bronx, New York: Beautiful Day Cooper!"
The shot cut to B.D., nodding and scowling at the long table draped in edible bunting.
"From San Francisco, foggy California: Behemoth Sterling!"
Hem laughed and waved enthusiastically for the camera.
"And also joining us until he gets mistaken for a tasty appetizer yet again, from Peoria, Illinois, Shakey Sanchez-Campbell! And of course me, your cheerful host, Snookie Blyer!"
The audience full of monsters hooted and clapped. Snookie's smile didn't alter, knowing at least one camera was trained on him. Shakey, atop the judges' table, shivered and eyed first Hem, then B.D., trying to figure out which of them was more likely to grab him. For the moment, both of them seemed intent on playing their roles in time-honored talent show tradition: B.D sat back in a white t-shirt with his furry arms crossed, looking smug, and Hem was being overly jolly for the camera and blowing kisses at the audience. "Let's meet tonight's contestants! Each of them has been selected by our judges from hordes of eager but none-too-wise applicants for their originality, their wide array of talents, and of course, their willingness to die for their art!" The all-monster crowd roared its approval, and Snookie wondered how on earth that would play to the couch potatoes tuned in to MMN because they couldn't reach their remotes. Or were in comas, or stuck at the DMV or airport lounges.
"Ever think about rollerskating naked through the crosswalk in Times Square? Hey, who hasn't?" Snookie chuckled. "Our first contestant did exactly that, and drew a raving crowd! Of course, since he had a belt of sausages slung around his waist, his adoring fans were all ravenous dogs! Please welcome – Artemis Kookulboofer, from Down Under!" The audience applauded as an orange kangaroo bounced out onstage, producing a variety of sharp objects from his pouch and proceeding to juggle them. When one of the female audience members whistled at him, he paused to wave at her, and a cleaver narrowly missed his ear as it dropped. "Oo-kay! Save the blood for your act, Artemis! Ha ha ha."
Sweet Merv Griffin, I wish I was back in my cell, Snookie thought wearily. He hated late tapings. Although this was being billed as "live," it actually had a delay time of a few minutes; he imagined the producers wanted to allow for cleanup time if anyone expired messily onstage. Snookie had already presided over five shows today, including a pilot for "Monsters Tonight," which he was only serving as sidekick for (Carl had demanded the host slot as compensation for having to put off the "Sewer's Kitchen" cooking contest), and he was exhausted, hungry, and disgusted with the whole premise for this show. His smile was frozen…not that anyone would notice. Or care. Earlier, he'd glimpsed the time on the director's watch. Pew had been wearing it upside-down. Snookie estimated he'd been working around ten hours even before this thing started taping at six o'clock…assuming, of course, the director had the correct time. Snookie kept grinning like a fool, and introduced the next idio—er, contestant. "Wonderful! Up after Artemis will be the former star of the 'Muppet Show,' the Great Gonzo!"
Gonzo gunned his motorbike up a ramp, riding upside-down on the handlebars while controlling the pedals with rods clamped in his mouth. He spun it out center stage, and with a flourish of his satin cape, flipped himself upright – with the bike balanced on his nose. Briefly. The monster crowd laughed and clapped loudly.
"Frooooomm the D.C. Beltway, Sylvester Stoatlone, master of wild beasts!" Snookie reminded himself to keep his mike well away from this shady, slinky character; the weasel looked like the type to walk off with it and try to resell it to him at a 150% markup. Bowing and grinning with sharp little teeth, Stoatlone cracked a whip, and four enormous dogs rushed onto the stage, baying and snapping; the animal tamer leaped onto the back of one, ducked as the others tried to tackle him, and emerged from the ensuing dustup standing triumphantly atop a pile of confused canines all tangled together with the whip and tied in a pretty bow.
"Last but not least in this round, from Finland, Mungus Mumfrey, the world's only stunt-performing fungus!" Snookie blinked at his cue card. Yep. It said fungus. He edged away from the stage as…something…wobbled and wiggled and shuffled out of the wing. One appendage surged up from the mass, wielding a small blowtorch; it shot fire at itself, and more tentacle-esque, frothing "arms" swung up and smothered it out. Repeatedly. The fungus pumped the blowtorch in the air in an unmistakable victory gesture. "Ooookay," Snookie gulped, slicking back his hair nervously. "Well! There are your competitors for the night – and you're welcome to 'em, ha ha ha! Who has the gazongas to go all the way? Who will explode in a fiery ball of failure? Stick around and find out on…Break a Leg!"
Gonzo took his place at the back of the stage in some kind of chainlink-fenced holding area with the other performers. As the kangaroo began setting up his act and the cameras cut for a commercial, Gonzo stood on tiptoe, peering around the support beams for the lighting trusses. "Uh, hey!" he called to the director standing just off stage right. "Could I have a seat in the audience? I can't see anything from here!"
"Zis iss for your protection, le wit du nit! Zhust stay back here! Aftair all, we would not weesh you to…ah…be lost!" Pew explained, waving his cane vaguely at some of the camerafrackles, who all promptly ducked just in case.
Gonzo raised one eyelid, puzzled. "How would I lose my way back to the stage from the audience?"
"Ah deed not say you would lose your way! Ah said you would be lost! Some of zee audience, zey haff not been fed yet!"
"Oh," Gonzo said, eyes widening as he stared across into the risers of goggly-eyed, thick-furred, scaled, horned, and otherwise unfriendly looking creatures. "Uh…why don't you provide free popcorn? Maybe then they could focus on the show better."
"Do you seenk ah am made of money?" Pew snorted. "Besides! You can always watch zee show on zee big screen!" He gestured behind him and upwards. Gonzo stared at the rusting steel girders holding up the roof a moment before he noticed the projection screen hanging above and behind the stage floor…which was angled away from the holding area he stood in.
"Uh…big screen. Check." With a sigh, he leaned on the fence, waiting for his turn to go on, listening to the yells and howls of the audience as the kangaroo sent daggers and mountain-climbing spikes higher and higher into the air over his head. Boy, I wonder if he does chain-saws too? I don't want to look repetitive…
***
Backstage at the Muppet Theatre, Camilla clucked angrily at anyone trying to change the channel of the grainy-screened television. She could see, barely, the ghost of a logo at the bottom right corner, MMN, and knew she had the correct station; she just wasn't sure what time the show would air, and pecking through the yellowed guide someone had left back here proved to be no help at all. Cindi Cornish grumbled something to Mitzi Clucker behind Camilla; whirling, the impatient hen gave her a piece of her mind. "Buh-kawk bu-bawk bawk buhhhh-kawk!" Cheekfeathers reddening, Cindi made herself scarce.
"Sheesh, what's wit' da boids tonight?" Rizzo wondered, munching on a stale apple fritter he'd looted from the dumpster of the bakery up the street.
Pepe shrugged. "Who knows, amigo? Perhaps they are having…ah…egg troubles?"
"Buk!" Mitzi sniffed, tossing her floppy red wattles as she trotted past the somewhat-less-than-chicken-sized pair.
"Yeah, same ta you, toots!" Rizzo snorted.
"Are jou going to give me a bite of that or what already?"
"Yeah, sure. Plenty more stashed in my locker," Rizzo shrugged, stifling a belch.
"Gracias," Pepe murmured, then started. "Jou has a locker?"
"Keep it down! None'a da other rats know about it yet, and I don't want 'em stealing my snacks!"
"Oy," Pepe said, but ate his share of the fritter as the two of them found a haven on an unoccupied loveseat with broken springs. "So, aren't jou going to ask me about my stupendously unbelievable act tonight already?"
Rizzo eyed the prawn suspiciously. "You have an act?"
"Sí sí, I am in the show tonight. Kermins was so happy to have me fill in, he says to me, 'Pepe, my very dear friend,' he says –"
"Oh, yeah, right!" Rizzo scoffed. "Fill in? For what? Did Lew Zealand's fish all come down sick or somethin'?"
"Jou are not as funny as jou think jou are. No!" Pepe tossed his antennae back proudly. "I am going to sing a song with the band okay? Una…cancion de amor!"
"Cancer da armor? Huh?"
"No, no! Cancion de amor! A love song already okay!"
"Who was you plannin' on singin' dis love song for, pray tell?"
"For all the beautiful womens of the world, okay?" Pepe smoothed down his white dinner jacket and black tie.
"Oh, bruddah. I wondered why you looked like da entrée on a cruise ship tonight!"
"What? What are jou saying to me?"
"Hey, you two," Clifford rumbled, silencing both of them, "keep it down. You wanna talk love? Because that, my little serial bachelors, that right there is the real deal."
The three of them looked to the table in front of the television; Camilla huddled upon it close to the set, making barely audible clucks as Gonzo's moving image filled the screen. Rizzo blinked and pointed.
"Hey! Dere's Gonzo! What da heck!"
They watched in silence, astounded to see their daredevil friend on the gaudily lit set of some other show, the sequins on his bodysuit sparkling as he raised his hands to the audience. "Tonight, I will attempt a stunt which has never been successfully completed before without dire maiming! A stunt so incredible it has repeatedly been listed in the Guinness Book of Records as 'Most Wildly Improbable Use of Seaweed Ever' multiple times! A stunt, in short, called…the Triple Lindy Sushi Roll!"
"Bawwwwwwk!" Camilla groaned, nearly fainting.
"I take this specimen of Pacific Ocean Giant Kelp," Gonzo continued, producing a seemingly endless rope of slimy dark green plant material, "and wrap myself tightly in it…ungh…ergh…excuse me, uh, Snookie? Can you tie this off for me? That's it…make it good and tight…right!" Gonzo beamed at the camera, trussed like an armless mummy in the kelp. "And now I will hop to the top of this thirty-foot high dive…maestro, if you will?"
While Gonzo struggled to pull himself by his chin or his nose up each rung of the very tall, wobbling ladder, a band struck up "Auld Lang Syne." Rizzo, Pepe and Clifford stared in shocked silence as the yellow-felted host smoothed back his dark hair and smiled at the camera. "Well! This has to be an obscure cable channel broadcast first! The original Triple Lindy, as I'm sure you all recall if you haven't been stuck under concrete bunkers for the last thirty years, was first successfully performed by the stunt diver the Amazing Melloni, but no one has ever attempted to do the nail-bitingly difficult dive while encumbered by seaweed!" The view cut to the judges' table. A blue-furred, flat-headed monster scowled up at Gonzo, tapping his fingers on the shoulder of his plain white t-shirt.
"Is that the snooty British pende—"
"No," Rizzo butted in quickly. "He's got a fatter head. I dunno who dis guy is. Shut up an' let Gonzo do his trick."
A tan-furred creature who resembled a push-up pop with eyebrows stared overhead at the high-dive, where Gonzo had somehow managed to drag himself to the edge of the diving board. "Geez, I hope he doesn't wipe out early," the monster muttered. "The boss really wanted him to—"
"Heh heh, and it looks like the Great Gonzo is in place to attempt this ridiculously pointless maneuver! Let's watch," Snookie said. A hush fell over the audience, and a low, ominous drumroll rumbled across the stage.
Camilla shook her head, her heart sinking. Oh, no! Not the Sushi Roll! What on earth was her crazy blue whatever thinking? She fanned her face with a wing, feeling ill.
"Aaaand…one! Two!" Gonzo bounced upon the diving board, looking completely unbalanced. "Threeeeeee!"
The Muppets stared wide-eyed at the screen, collective breaths held. Gonzo sprang into the air, and for a long, stomach-wrenching moment, the camera pulled back to show just how many seconds of freefall he hurtled down…and down…and landed, incredibly, on a second diving board several feet down and to the left of the first one. The audience cheered. Gonzo, grinning madly, bounced off that diving board as well, doing a somersault in midair as he traveled over and down again… down… down… smacked headfirst onto the third diving board! The audience was on its feet, roaring, pounding seat-backs in time with the kettledrummer still sending a roll through the cavernous room. "Buh-kawww!" Camilla gasped, feeling as though a large kernel was stuck in her craw; she could barely breathe.
"OhmyfrogIcan'tbelievehedidthat," Rizzo gulped.
"Holy hot tamoles!" Clifford cried; they kept watching, astounded, when Gonzo did yet another somersault, bouncing off the last board, plunging nose-first into a tiny, open barrel of water. The splash covered much of the stage floor.
"Eek! I can't look! Is he d-dead?" Shakey Sanchez-Campbell stammered.
"Tah-dahhhh!" Gonzo yelled, popping up in the mouth of a gigantic yellowfin tuna. The fish waved its fins, splashing the show's host, who appeared briefly annoyed before reverting to his wide smile. The audience cheered and stomped. The chorus of relieved exhalations in the theatre green room could be heard across the room in the canteen; the Chef poked his head out from the grill, curious, and missed the caramelizing point of his candied gnats. The smoke attracted everyone's attention.
"Boorn de bork a Kermeefroggen!" the Chef huffed, irritated.
"Well if it's dat distractin', try not lookin' at it!" Rizzo snapped in reply, and the disgruntled cook glumly scraped the ruined treat out of his saucepan, shaking his head.
"Man, I can not believe he pulled that off," Clifford laughed, readjusting his shades.
"Unbelievable!" Pepe agreed, forgetting he wasn't supposed to be impressed by anything not tall, sultry, and of the opposite gender. "That dive is the most outrageous thing I have ever seen on the bra box!"
"Da what?" Rizzo asked.
Clifford chuckled. "I think he means the boob-tube."
"Whatevers. It was amazing, okay?" Pepe's gaze narrowed thoughtfully at the screen, where a bowing Gonzo was beaming at the audience's very vocal approval. "Hey, now that he is a big star and everything, do jou think he needs an agent? I think he must get an agent."
"Hey! I knew him way before you showed up!" Rizzo said, whiskers bristling.
Camilla slumped into a pile of feathers, panting. He did it! He actually did it! Why had Gonzo even gone for something that risky? Why was he undertaking this whole mad venture? She shook her head, feeling dazed. She ought to call him, tell him she thought this new show was a mistake, tell him…what? Dismayed, she realized if she asked him to come back, he'd get the wrong message. Of course. He never did really understand what I needed…that I just wanted him at home, protecting the nest…that he didn't need to impress me anymore…that I already… The chicken swallowed dryly.
Everyone looked at her curiously when she hopped down from the table and ran from the room, scattering feathers as she crashed into Binkie Bantam, Black Bart's wife. Much clucking and screeching and battering of wings followed, but eventually Camilla broke free and ran for her dressing-room upstairs…the one she used to share with Gonzo, her dear Gonzo, who simply couldn't understand.
"Okay, true love or not, jou cannot tell me that is not a bad case of monthly eggs already," Pepe grumbled.
***
Gonzo wriggled free of the seaweed; the tuna gulped it down happily. He climbed out of the near-empty barrel. Snookie took a hasty step back when Gonzo flung his sopping arms wide and took another bow. "Wow! Amazing! Let's see what the judges think!" Snookie offered, turning to the monsters.
All three monsters stuck their thumbs in the air. "And the Great Gonzo earns three claws-up from our panel, beating out Artemis Kookulboofer with only two! Nice work Gonzo! How do you rate your own performance?"
"You know, Snookie, I was a little worried at the second somersault, because I realized I had miscalculated the windspeed-to-kelp ratio, but I was able to—"
"That's just fantastic!" Snookie broke in, grinning. "Up after this break, our next contestant – and some very wild beasts! Stay with us!" He stalked offstage immediately when the camera light went to standby. "Wardrobe! Can I get a jacket not drenched in salt water? I can feel this thing shrinking as we speak!"
"That was a dirty trick," someone hissed at Gonzo; surprised, he turned around to find Stoatlone the weasel glowering at him from under his battered fedora. Behind them both, stagemonsters grudgingly mopped up the slippery floor. "Didn't ya hear, bub? Animal-taming is my gig!"
Gonzo looked from him to the tuna. "What, you mean the fish? Oh, believe me, it's not tame! But hey, I wasn't trying to steal your act. Break a leg, okay?"
"Funny," the weasel sneered. "Real funny. Hey, get this overgrown minnow off the stage! I got real wild animals coming on here!"
The tuna rolled a speculative eye at the weasel while he barked out instructions to the ferrets trying to restrain a rocking crateful of something. Suddenly the fish leaped from the barrel, engulfing the weasel down to his waist in its wide mouth. "Grrrggh!" Sylvester cried, flailing with his whip at the stubbornly swallowing tuna. "Geff iff hoff me! Gaaaahhh!"
"Sheesh," Gonzo muttered, leaving the stage, wringing out his cape as he went. "Some people are such poor sports…"
***
With her dressing-hutch door locked, Camilla paced to and fro, wringing her wingtips. That idiot! That…that ridiculous, adrenaline-junkie, foamheaded man! How could he be doing this? Why would he think she would approve? Yes, she'd always supported his dreams, from plumbing to Bollywood, but…but…but! The Triple Lindy Sushi Roll! That was one of those "oh one day, oh if only" stunts! If this is the first night of the competition, and he did THAT? – what could be next? What could be worse? Oh! Shaking, the chicken flopped into her nest bunk, trembling all over.
She checked over her shoulder to make sure she was indeed alone in the room; around here, one never knew – she'd been caught crooning over her recurring egg-hatching fantasy once by a very lively Muppet ottoman, and had to peck it into promising never to speak of what it had overheard. (In her dreams, the little hatchlings all had curving orange-purple beaks and made the cutest coos.) She scratched in the loose straw under the bunk until she found what she'd hidden there, and pulled it out. The framed photo of Gonzo smiled lopsidedly at her in that endearing way he had, usually when somehow making losing a limb sound romantic. Camilla sighed softly. Those days were over. She was no spring chicken anymore, and the innocent young fledgling who'd followed the whatever around so adoringly had grown up and learned that dating a daredevil meant enduring nervewracking performances month after month, year after year…until she could no longer bear having to peck at bits of valerian just to calm down every night. She'd reached the point where every time Gonzo had eagerly begun to explain to her why the cannon-pasta routine would work this time, she'd held up a frustrated wing and told him smartly to bawk to the feather.
Why is he so set on this? Why can't he just settle down? He could still do an act, just…just not one that might leave the chicks fatherless… She frowned. As if there would ever be chicks! Gonzo had changed the subject, visibly nervous, every time she'd cooed about eggs. She'd even left issues of The Nest laying around to encourage him to think about it, all to no avail…and so, though it broke her heart to do so, she'd finally had to tell him she needed some space to roost on her own. Sighing, she stroked the photograph with her feathertips. She didn't know if he'd ever give up a life of danger…even just a little. Even for her.
Depressing though that still was this many months later, Camilla realized, more than anything right now…she felt worried. Very worried.
When Scooter rapped on her door, yelling "Camilla! Curtain in two!", she dried her eyes, tucked the photo away safely again, and fluffed her feathers. Scooter went on down the row of dressing-rooms, banging on doors and giving the two-minute warning. Camilla touched up her mascara in the mirror, sighed, and hoped her eyes didn't appear too puffy. The show had to go on, of course. She understood and accepted that perfectly…the difference was, for her, the show need not involve the probability of serious injury to be a success.
She tugged down the spangled corset she wore tonight, applied some combspray to the wattle atop her head so it would stick straight up, and headed out to the stage, ignoring the stares of the other birds. When a penguin tried to give her some saucy beak, she backwinged it off the landing without even looking back.
Miss Piggy noticed. My goodness, she thought, watching the chicken holding her head high as she fluttered down the stairs. Does someone need a good sit-down and a cup of tea? I think so. Nodding to herself, she made a mental note to arrange a chat with the chicken very soon…not that she objected to the penguin-slapdown. Biting back a smile as the wounded bird staggered to its flippers, clearly woozy, Piggy decided she liked Camilla's style. She sashayed downstairs, carefully lifting her dress hem so nothing would snag. The dizzy penguin looked up at her as she passed it. "Gwawk?" it wondered.
Piggy snorted. "Serves you right. One should never impugn the reputation of a lady." Behind her, low snorks informed Piggy the penguin had not learned its lesson.
She strode off a second later with her snout in the air, satisfied that the aquatic bird would take feminine graces more seriously in the future…assuming it ever emerged from the coma.
***
"Zat was vairy…messy," Pew told Gonzo when the whatever rejoined the director backstage. "Next tahme please conzidair zee cleaning zupplies budget! Ah haff to steal zem all from zee infomercials next door, and when zey come ovair wanting to know why all zee Deoxy-clean is missing, ah weel tell zem it was all your fault!"
"Okay, sorry," Gonzo said, surprised. He noticed a small TV monitor in a corner, where a large-mouthed brown monster with huge rabbity ears glared at the ongoing show while it – she?—fussed with her tutu, before running out to turn cartwheels as the theme music swelled and subsided and Snookie introduced the next contestant. "Hey, cool! That Stoatlone guy is using Transylvanian Weregophers!"
"Oh, zat is just great!" Pew grumped, swinging his cane; a passing short furry goblin squeaked, batted back down the stairs it had just climbed up with a full cup of coffee. Pew seemed oblivious to the pained shrieking from the stairwell. "Where are mah cleaners? Cleanaaaiiiirrrss!"
A weak voice from the bottom of the stairs whimpered, "No…not the cleaners!"
Discomfited, Gonzo looked back at the screen; Snookie had yielded the stage floor, and the weasel was cracking his whip, urging a dozen coarse-furred, heavy-jawed creatures through a series of hoops. "Uh…do the gophers typically make a mess?"
"Deed zat eediot not haff a feesh on his head a moment ago?" Pew demanded.
"Well, technically, I think it was more like over his head…and his arms…and his chest…"
"Transylvanian Weregophers hate feesh! Zey attack whenevair zey smell it!" Pew complained, waving his cane around; Gonzo ducked, and the cane whacked a camera being moved into position for a side angle shot. The camera spun, in turn thwacking one of the lighting frackles tying down a long loop of electrical cable. Yelping, the frackle tripped backwards over the cable, his ankle snagging in a loose loop which immediately tightened with the weight of the huge light on the other end, yanked free of its clamp on the truss high above. The light fell with a crashing thud, the frackle's head met the truss with a loud bonnnngg, and Pew shouted angrily, "Quiet! Quiet! Ah cannot hear myzelf theenk with all thees racket!"
The audience roared and laughed over the disturbing noise of howling gophers and a protesting and then screaming Sylvester: "AhhhWOOOO! Snork snork ahhhWOOOO!"
"Hey! Get off me! Hey! Back! Down! No! Sit! Staaaaayyy! Aaaaaaaaaaahhh!"
Perturbed, Gonzo stared at the little TV. A figure in a tattered, hooded black shroud slowly advanced across the glistening floor of the stage, and then the camera cut to the judges' table. Hem was thoughtfully chewing on a strip of red fur, and Shakey was nowhere to be seen; B.D. shook his head and gave a claws-down sign. "Uh…your stage manager seems to be coming up to take care of it…" Gonzo told the director.
"Cleeeennaaaairs!" Pew bellowed.
"We'll be right back after this word from the good folks at Deoxy-clean!" Snookie proclaimed, smiling broadly for his closeup.