Sheckie McBang, a.k.a The Chameleon, stood backstage at the Orpheus Theatre, waiting for the warm-up act to finish. He was dressed in the freshly pressed tuxedo he had found waiting for him in his large dressing room, along with many bouquets and good luck cards from celebrity well-wishers. He could definitely get used to that kind of treatment.
"Nervous, Mr. McBang?" A stage hand asked him.
"Not at all, junior," Chameleon replied. It was true; he had never been surer of himself in his life. In fact, he was so confident that he had written a letter of resignation to Dragaunus and put it on the breakfast table right before he left for The Orpheus (in a limo no less)! And he had worded it in such a way that he could never return to The Raptor, even if he wanted to.
"Would you be nervous if your tuxedo was rigged with a bomb?" The stage hand asked.
"Um…I guess," Chameleon answered. "But what does that have to do with anything?"
"Everything," the young man smirked. "Why don't you take a look in the mirror?"
Curiosity getting the better of him, Chameleon walked over to the makeup table. He carefully scanned his tux and noticed a small device buried in the Carnation pinned to his lapel. Leaning closer, he heard a low, steady sound…
Beep…Beep…Beep.
Chameleon had set enough explosives in his life to recognize the sound. He broke into a cold sweat.
"That's right, Sheckie," the stage hand cackled. "Your tuxedo is rigged with a bomb. It was activated when the sound decibel in this theatre hit 60. And now, if it drops below 60 for more than thirty seconds, you go out with a bang, McBang!" He broke into hysterical laughter.
The needle on the bomb's counter slipped to 50. The beeping sped up, indicating that it was about to detonate. Chameleon ran back towards the stage. The audience's laughter made the beeping go back to its normal pace. Legs wobbly with a mixture of relief and fear, The Chameleon turned back to the young man.
"But…why?" Chameleon gasped.
"Don't you recognize me?" The man said. "I'm Larry Williams! I used to work at The Chuckle Bucket until you took my job! And you have the lamest act! Impressions are the lowest form of comedy; you're just a hack who got lucky!"
"Really?" Chameleon snarled, his fear instantly turning to anger. "Well, I think all of those people out there might disagree with you!" He reached for the blaster hidden in his cummerbund (no Saurian leaves home without one).
"Oh, and in case you're thinking of doing something stupid, like calling the cops, you should know that I have a remote control." The man pulled a device out of his pocket. "Try anything funny and I'll blow you to bits!"
Before The Chameleon could respond the audience broke into applause. Moments later the opening comic glided past him.
"Break a leg," the comic said, patting Chameleon's shoulder as he headed to the dressing rooms.
"Indeed," Larry smirked. "Here's the deal. You keep 'em laughing for one hour, and I'll deactivate the bomb. If you bomb, then…well, you REALLY bomb!" He laughed again.
The Chameleon ran out onto the stage to the sound of thunderous applause; many people stood up. For a moment Chameleon felt relieved. The audience knew him and loved him. This would be easy.
"Thank you, thank you people!" Chameleon said. He morphed into Ed Sullivan. "Are you ready for the really big show?" The audience applauded louder. Chameleon closed his eyes and soaked up the admiration. After he finished wowing the audience he would make laughing boy eat his words…with a side order of Saurian whupass!
"Glad you all came out tonight. Who doesn't enjoy a night at the theater?" He morphed into Abe Lincoln. "I don't, but I'll give it a shot!"
The audience laughed. Chameleon dove into his act, and the audience continued to respond with a steady stream of laughter. Finally he came to the end of his routine.
"Thankyouverymuchgoodnight!" He cried, flashing a double victory sign. The audience responded with thunderous applause; many stood up. He shot a triumphant look at Larry, who had been watching the entire performance offstage. But the young man simply smirked and tapped the face of his wristwatch. Chameleon glanced at his own watch and froze. He still had ten minutes left, and he was out of material.
Thinking quickly, he yelled, "Do you want some more?" The audience clapped louder. Chameleon jumped around like a cheerleader, pumping his fist and yelling along. Soon, though, the audience tired and the sound level began to drop off. Chameleon checked his watch again. Six minutes left. He continued to whoop and holler, but quickly realized that if he wanted them to make lots of noise, he'd have to make them laugh.
Suddenly the beeping began to speed up; the bomb's decibel meter had dropped below 60. Chameleon felt his heart drop into his stomach.
"HOW ABOUT THOSE LAKERS!?" He cried. "WHO HERE IS A LAKER'S FAN!?"
Maybe three people clapped. I had to say Lakers, Chameleon thought glumly.
BeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeep
"Why are they called the Lakers? We live in a desert!"
BeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeep
"And let's face it, 'Lakers' is such a wimpy name! A sports team should inspire fear!"
BeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeep
"WHY NOT CALL THEM THE RHINOS OR THE LEOPARDS OR THE EX-WIVES OR…"
BeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeep
"OR…OR…OR HIT THE DECK!"
Chameleon tore off his jacket and threw it at Larry. He then dove into the orchestra pit and covered his head, bracing himself for the big boom. Five seconds ticked by, then ten. Chameleon raised his head slightly; he was sure it had been thirty seconds. What was going on?
"Sheckie McBang?" A voice said. Chameleon looked up and saw a young man towering above him, offering him his hand. The Chameleon grabbed it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.
"That was some show, Sheckie," the young man continued. "I'm Ashton Kutcher, and you've been PUNK'D!"
The audience went wild. Chameleon stared blankly at the sea of faces laughing at him. A wide grin spread slowly across his face.
"Hey, good joke, Ashton. And I know jokes. Would you like to hear one now?"
"Sure, buddy," Ashton grinned.
The Chameleon pulled out his blaster and fired. The shot grazed Ashton's head and hit the far wall near the balcony. Chameleon aimed at Ashton again, who turned and run up the aisle. A second shot hit him directly in the rear end; he yelped in pain and fell, where he was promptly trampled by terrified audience members making a mad dash for the exit. Chameleon fired again and again, laughing maniacally as theatre debris rained down around him.
**********
Hours later the Chameleon, back in his own form, returned to the Raptor. He cursed himself for not bringing his teleporter with him. He'd had to travel thirty blocks to get home; no easy task due to the uproar he'd caused.
The aftermath of Chameleon's outburst had been broadcast on every TV news station in round-the-clock coverage. Dozens of cops were scouring the city looking for Sheckie. Angry mobs had gathered and were burning Sheckie CDs and tee shirts. From his hospital bed Ashton Kutcher announced the cancellation of Punk'd. Needless to say, Sheckie McBang was gone for good.
"Who needs 'em anyway," Chameleon muttered, flopping onto his bed. He was sick of performing for them like a trained monkey anyway; it was beneath a mighty Saurian like himself. Those humans should be bowing to him! And they will someday, he silently vowed.
Just then the clock on his nightstand went off. It was six o'clock in the morning. Chameleon jumped out of bed and jogged down the hall. He made breakfast in record time and brought it to the breakfast room. But as he entered the room he was surprised to see that Dragaunus was already there, along with Siege and Wraith.
"Hi boss," he said warily. "You're up early today." His eyes darted back and forth until he spotted a piece of paper clutched in Dragaunus's hand. His letter. The one he had completely forgotten about.
"Real funny comments about my weight and brains," Siege snarled.
"And quite an interesting suggestion about where to place my staff," Wraith remarked.
"And your comments about my mother…" Dragaunus growled.
"Aw c'mon, I was just kidding," Chameleon replied nervously, backing away as the three figures advanced on him. "Can't you take a joke guys? Guys?"
THE END