Part III: Come on Down to Homsar's Place

Strong Bad sat in the old office he used sometimes.

The blinds were down, allowing only faint daylight in through the slits. Strong Bad liked it dim in here, it helped him think. That's why he turned his face away, from the garish light of day. What with the blinds, and like leaving the single bare bulb off.

Between the dimness and the dark institutional green walls, it felt cool in here. Well, that and he had the 'Lil' North Wind' brand air conditioner on MEDIUM HIGH. His musing abilities required coolness of both the temperature and style kinds. From what he determined so far, Homsar's new sitcom was being filmed at that fruity marshmellow joint Homestar liked to go to. What better way to find out things than to ask questions? He was known for his dabblings in the field of total hard hitting journalism, no one would suspect that he was in fact there as an Ace Investigator.

A brilliant ruse.

Strong Bad put on a fedora. It was gray and battered and a little PRESS card stuck out of the band. He slid open a desk drawer to retrieve his trusty notepad and lucky pen (which had a 'Lil' North Wind' AC Systems logo down the side). He checked his reflection in a small mirror.

"Yeah, those people will simply not be aware they are in the presence of one of the a-keenest deductive minds since...um...that one...guy. I'm just Mr. Journalist, that's all! They will suspect nothing, the poor things.. BWAH-HAH-HAH-HAH!"

-

Later, Strong Bad casually strolled towards the fruity marshmellow joint. He took note of the four equipment trucks parked outside, the cables trailing out of an open side door on one of the trucks and the crew members standing around in little groups talking to themselves or walking about on vague errands. Strong Bad walked up to the front windows and inside he could see more crew members checking on equipment and cameras. Over in a corner past the Klieg lights and cables and such sat the little weirdo gnome-guy himself. Just sitting in a director's chair, and not doing anything else in particular.

Homestar was just sitting in a booth, gabbing at no one in particular.like the big stupid moron that he was. They were all ripe for the plucking, for he was the predator and they were the prey and...

"Hey pal, dis here is a closed set. So gidoutta here."

Strong Bad turned around to see a rather tall, broad-shouldered fellow standing behind him. Glaring down at him.

"Hey jack, I'm here as a representative of the free press of this free country of ours.!"

Instantly mollified, the large teamster-looking fellow merely shrugged and said, "Oh, OK. Go on in."

"Well, uh, thanks."

Strong Bad made his way in to Homsar, who now had a tall sunglasses-sporting type standing next to him going over a script. He decided to introduce himself.

"Strong Bad, Total Hard Hitting Journalist here. I'd like to ask a few questions about this production, if I may. I know it seems all impromptu and such...but I was a little lazy about scheduling an interview and all. I admit I may have a few faults. Is that a crime, to be imperfect?!?"

The director seemed non-plussed. "Oh, that's OK. Most of these people around here are just trying to look busy as per union requirements. We're in the middle of a break anyhoo. Right, Homsar?"

"Ahhhh-ahhh-ahhhhh, TAKE FIVE!" Then Homsar began humming what even Strong Bad with his metal heavy music tastes recognized as Dave Brubeck's signature work..

Strong Bad got his notebook ready, and began rattling off standard questions, which the director answered with the usual TV industry press-kit/soundbite non-answers. Finally Strong Bad worked up to, "I just wanted to know, do you people honestly thing this Homsar show is going to fly? Do you honestly thing that people are going to want to watch this little dumpus zip around and talk like a moron and engage in zany antics in a restaraunt?"

"Well," the director said, "there seems to be an audience for random antics coupled with blurted out non-sequiters and nonsense, so the people at the network and the production company Teal, Oshkosh & Kinboote Enterprising Enterprises and I, of course, signed on because we figured, "Let's give the people what they want, but with snazzy packaging and a catchy theme song!' So here we are. I tell you, you can feel the excitement in the air."

"So, I see. I must admit that sounds very sound to me." Strong Bad paused. "Where are these producer guys at so that I may get their thoughts on things? I'm just curious as to what they think and am totally not prying."

"Hmmm, I have their address around here somewhere. Let me go check in the office in the back." The director slunk off through a door, leaving Strong Bad with Homsar who was now humming "The Entertainer" and rocking lightly from side to side in his chair. Strong Bad decided to do a little sneaking to see what the director was doing. I mean, c'mon, ooooh, let me look for that address in the back. Was he being taken for some kind of idiot?

-

"I'm pretty sure that idiot fell for it. Listen, I was told to tell you if that dope in the mask ever showed up asking questions. Well, he's here and he's being as subtle as a elephant in a bathtub about it. I'll take care of this before that dumb-dumb gets a chance to do anything at all."

The director, who's professional name was Mitch Baddabingbaddaboom, looked down at the short figure who stood in the manager's office he'd temporarily taken over.

Mitch would have seemed to have gotten no response at all, except he repilied to something no one else heard. "Yeah, he is a big dope. We could take care of him easy. Just send him on a wild goose chase. That would be enough."

Silence. (Ominious!)

"It's good to know you agree. I'll give that luchadore looking loser some totally wrong, time wasting directions. Asides from that, you let Mr. 'The Man' know things are going...swimmingly."

Silence. (Oooooooh. Spooky.) Mysterious Person suddenly spun around and left out the back way. Director Mitch searched around for a piece of paper to write a totally fake address on with confusing directions, unaware that Strong Bad had been listening all this time through the door with a drinking glass.

"Who knew that the drinking glass trick would actually work? I'll have to remember that. Ooooh yes."

"Hey Stwong Bad, what awe you doing thewe?"

Strong Bad whirled around angrily at Homestar who'd just snuck up behind him, like the weiner had a nasty habit of doing. "Nothing! I'm just looking around the set, OK? Is that a crime or something to make a federal case out of?"

"Weww, it's just that glass you have is mine. I just weft it ovew hewe eawiwer but if you want to use it thats awwight, I don't-"

"Yes! Fine! Shuttup! Go away!" Strong Bad pushed Homestar away and scampered back to the director's chair and did his best to act all nonchalant and waiting-here-the-whole-time-not-sneaking-around-at-all-ish.

"Yeah, gweat. That's nice." Homestar said affably. The door to the manager's office opened and Mitch came out. "Oh hey Mitch! How you doing, we weady to put ouwsewves up on the gwowious smaww scween again?"

"Yes yes, we'll be ready to start shooting again in a minute. Just, uh, sit down over there again, 'kay babe?"

"Gotcha, babe!"

"Thanks Homestar, you're beautiful kid! Thanks for being so patient." Mitch muttered something to himself as Homestar went back to his booth.

Strong Bad and Mitch exchanged pleasantries and Mitch handed over the address with a crude little map drawn under it, the sort of thing a relative gives you as directions on your way to a family function so you can get confused and end up half an hour late and everybody wonders what took you so long.

"So you see, Mr...uh Strong, their office is WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY over here. I hope you can find it. It should be quite easy. Heh."

"Why thank you for your time, Mr. Baddabuhsomething. I assure you, this will totally add to all the other constant, non-stop Homsar coverage that's already out there."

With that, Strong Bad took his leave, not noticing Mitch the Director laughing to himself. Not much caring either, because as soon as he was out of sight he tossed the phony address away.

"It sounded mighty suspicious to me, all that funny business in the office. They think I'm a dope, do they? They'll learn that Strong Bad is not a dope, but rather just plain dope. Doper than them! Doper than that midget or anyone else around this backwards, no hope speck on the side of the road map! But first, homeward! And some microwave mini-pizza. Then I'll dig a little deeper. I'll dig up all the dirt, and dump it in their front yard for everyone to see and for birds to fly around and peck at!"

Dun-dun-da-da-dunnnnnnnn!

Part IV. "We're through the looking glass here, people."