Last time, the Warners got things started with a bang - literally. Now, Scratchy is tasked with finding a babysitter for the kids, but it's not going to be as easy as they thought.

Just like the first chapter, I've hidden some BTS and pop culture Easter eggs in here. This will be a thing for each chapter, so let's see how well you guys do on the egg hunt! Tell me your finds in the reviews!

One month later…

A metallic clang echoed over the Warner lot like a shotgun blast as the door to the water tower – the massive WB shield – flew open and banged against the wall. An older woman tore out and did a fireman slide down one of the steel girders, screaming like a demon was after her. She leapt into a nearby car and hauled tush out of the lot, crashing through the studio gate. As she roared away in a cloud of exhaust, Ralph, the studio guard, poked his head out of the gatehouse. "Uh, where's da fire?" he asked to the air, watching the car speed off into the distance.

Up in the administration building, Mr. Plotz was watching the whole thing from his now-repaired office window and shaking his head in disgust. "Thirty babysitters in one month. Thirty, and not one has lasted longer than one day. That one barely made it to twenty minutes!"

"Considering ze one before zat only lasted five minutes, zat's progress," Scratchy observed from his spot on the office couch.

Mr. Plotz turned a scowling face to the psychiatrist, a muscle going in his cheek. "You think this is funny, Scratchansniff? We've tried every kind of babysitter under the sun, and none of them have been able to get the Warners under control. We've tried the US Army, British nannies, and even the highest power in the country!" he cried, recalling each instance: a hardened drill sergeant bolting off the lot yelling "Retreat! Retreat!" and a nanny flying out of the water tower on her umbrella while Yakko hollered after her, "Aw, come on! Just one spoonful of sugar? I'm sick with love!" The sound of a slamming mallet had followed, with an "Ow!" from Yakko and Dot saying "Let that medicine go down, Yakko." Of course, nothing compared to "the highest power in the country" calling it quits. After an hour with the Warners, First Lady Hillary Clinton stormed into Mr. Plotz's office, thrust a finger into his chest, and spat, "It won't take a village to raise those children, you need God Himself. I'm going back to Bill; he's easier to control than those three demons!"

Scratchy shook his head. He remembered all too well the fury the First Lady had been in. It was not pretty, to say the least. "I think Frau Clinton hates us more zan Monica, if zat's possible."

Mr. Plotz plunked himself into his chair with a frustrated sigh. "I don't get it, Scratchansniff. It's almost the start of a new millennium. You would think, with all the advances made in child-rearing and all the books written –"

"Quite often by people who haff no children, so vat do zey know?" Scratchy muttered, while Mr. Plotz continued like he hadn't heard a thing.

"– Someone would be able to keep a leash on the Warners, but no. These are grown adults, for Pete's sake!" Mr. Plotz exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "Why can't any of them handle three kids?"

All of a sudden, a light bulb clicked on over Scratchy's head. Perhaps Mr. Plotz had hit on something. "Zat's it, Mr. Plotz! No adult can handle ze Varners, but vat about another kid?"

Mr. Plotz's jaw dropped onto his desk and he had to jam it back into place. "Has your brain gone bye-bye, Scratchansniff? Get another kid to babysit the Warners? That's like pouring gas onto a fire! The studio will be up in flames, and you and I will be up the creek without a paddle! Not to mention Universal and Paramount will both be laughing up their sleeves; it's no secret they have running bets on when Warner Bros. will burn down. Face it, if we hire a kid as our babysitter, we're in trouble."

"Perhaps not," Scratchy said thoughtfully, running a finger over his chin. "Not if ve hire a teenager. Someone whom Vakko and Dot can look up to, and someone closer to Yakko's age zat he can bond vith."

"And there's the problem. Yakko is the ringmaster of that circus. What if he bonds with this teenager and they all start wreaking havoc together? Three's a crowd, four's a migraine, and I really don't want to buy stock in Advil."

Considering that Mr. Plotz already had stock in Pepto-Bismol, that was probably for the best, but Scratchy wisely held his tongue on that score. "Not all teenagers are irresponsible, Mr. Plotz. If ve hire ze right one, ve haff a good chance of ze Varners finally being tamed! Or… as close to tame as ve can get."

Mr. Plotz stared at the psychiatrist for a few tense minutes, that tic still pulsing in his cheek. Clearly, he wasn't a fan of the idea, but really, what other choice did they have? They'd exhausted all other options. It was the end of the line, and Mr. Plotz knew it, judging by the defeated look entering his eyes. At last, he exhaled a sigh that seemed to come from his toes. "Well… we've run the well dry. I'll allow it, but only because I'm desperate. Since it was your idea, you can do the recruiting, but be tactful about it. The last thing I need is a bunch of wannabe actors taking this job only to get into pictures, or some lovesick teens who want to slobber all over Keanu Reeves or Nicole Kidman."

"Ja, sir, zat is no problem. Tact is my middle name."

"And here I thought it was Friedrich," Mr. Plotz deadpanned. "Just a warning, Scratchansniff." He left his desk and got up close to the psychiatrist, eyes narrowed. "If this plan fails, you will be the one babysitting the Warners – forever. You'll also be taking up permanent residence in the water tower. Understood?"

Swallowing hard, Scratchy nodded. "Ja, sir."

"Good. Now get out of here and start looking. The sooner we find a zookeeper for the Warners, the better."

After stammering another ja, Scratchy left the office massaging his temples. As he passed the secretary's desk, a cup of steaming coffee was thrust in front of him. Meeting Miss Flamazel's knowing gaze, he accepted the cup with a "Danke schoen."

"No problem. I figured you could use it. Two Sweet-N-Lows and plenty of creamer, right?"

Scratchy nodded with a grateful smile. "Thank you for remembering."

"Hey, you're my friend. It's the least I could do after you being hauled into Mr. Plotz's office for the thirtieth time in as many days."

Scratchy smiled and took a sip of the coffee. "Say a prayer for me, Miss Flamazel."

"Again I say, Dr. Scratchy: mazel tov." She gave him a wink and a grin as he took his leave.

It was another warm day – however, the October weather brought slightly cooler temperatures than September's scalding heat, which allowed Scratchy to enjoy his coffee outside. By the time he'd said hello to a few human stars and some toon buddies, he had reached the Commissary Park – the studio's outdoor eating area. It was beautiful, snuggled up against the main commissary building on the lot and surrounded by shady trees and colorful flowers. Scratchy sat at one of the picnic tables and took out a pad and pencil, sipping his coffee as he thought. He may as well start with the kids he knew from the lot, whose parents worked at the studio in one capacity or another. He was still jotting down names when a shadow fell over his notepad – a furry shadow with a flower-capped bowler hat. He looked up with a grin at his oldest friend. "Guten morgen, Slappy."

"Geshundheit, Scratchy," the old squirrel replied, sitting down across from him. This was part of an old ritual they'd had for years: he greeted her in his native German, and she responded with the word for "bless you." Scratchy had first met Slappy when she was a fresh cartoon star at Warner Bros., cranking out smart-alecky shorts in the vein of Bugs Bunny. While her star may not have burned as brightly as that of the wascally wabbit (which Slappy was totally fine with; she'd long said squirrel hide was way thicker than duck skin), she'd proven herself a hit and a wit, lauded with awards from the industry and laughs from her audience. Scratchy had liked the feisty squirrel instantly, and they'd been friends ever since, meeting up to shoot the bull over lunch or coffee. He had to admit, their talks had gotten better and funnier in recent years. Slappy was at the age where she no longer gave a rat's butt about anything, so what came up came out, consequences be darned. And Scratchy loved her all the more for it.

Slappy stirred her own coffee – her usual hazelnut, no doubt – and eyeballed him. "What was with the long face? Your Freudian slip showing again?"

Scratchy chuckled and shook his head. "Nein, my friend. I haff a bit of a headache."

He didn't have to elaborate. Slappy was more than aware of Operation Warner-Sitter. "Three headaches? Well, four if we're counting ol' Fatteus Putz?"

It was all Scratchy could do not to laugh, and he barely suppressed a smile. "Slappy, he is ze head of ze studio! He deserves some respect!"

"Respect, my eyeball. He's a horse's patootie who deserves a good kick in the pants, and you know it," Slappy said, politically incorrect as always. "Heck, the whole studio knows it. They're all just too chicken to say anything to his face." Her timing was perfect, for Chicken Boo passed the table at that moment and cast a look at Slappy. She waved him along and said, "You go without saying, bubba. Literally."

Allowing himself a snicker, Scratchy said, "He is driving me a little cuckoo. Ve've gone through thirty babysitters in a month, and no one vants to vatch ze Varners. Zey are too zany for most people."

"Hey, they're toons; they've got the right. And besides, if you'd been shut up in a water tower for sixty years, don't you think you'd have a terminal case of cabin fever that needed an outlet?"

"Point taken." Scratchy took another swig of his coffee. "Mein freund, I haff a favor to ask."

Slappy shot him a look over her own cup. "I ain't watchin' the Warners, Scratchy."

Scratchy's eyebrows arched. "Zat vasn't vat I vas going to ask."

"Good. I love those kids to pieces, but I can't be watching 'em twenty-four/seven. I got enough in my tree with Skippy to look after, and he's hyper enough for three people." Slappy grinned. "Now if they wanna visit a day here and there, that's another story. Yakko's a kid after my own heart."

"You're not still showing him zose stand-up videos, ja?"

"Yeesh, you show a teenager one George Carlin tape, and you never hear the end of it," Slappy griped. "How was I supposed to know Yakko would do George's cheerleader routine in Plotz's office? I'd-a loved to have seen the look on T.P.'s fat face, though."

"It vasn't pretty."

"When has he ever been pretty?" Slappy downed a gulp of coffee. "Okay, jokes aside, what's the favor?"

"You haff connections all over zis studio. Vould you be able to check vith ze children of ze crew and see if any of zem would be a good babysitter? I'm going to go through ze list myself, but it's a big one."

"So you think if we split it up, we'll have better luck?"

"Zat, and you're a good judge of character. Ze Varners need a babysitter who can watch zem without flying off ze handle."

" 'Cause everyone who's dealt with them has ended up blowing their top? I get your drift," Slappy said with a nod. "And I speak from experience. You're talking to the squirrel who made a living aggravating Walter Wolf, Sid the Squid, and Beanie the Brain-Dead Bison. It's fun to annoy folks with a short fuse, but someone who can take it without losing their cool?" The squirrel smiled. "They've got my respect, and I bet the Warners feel the same way."

"Bravo, mein freund," Scratchy said admiringly. She'd hit the nail on the head; it explained how his relationship with the Warners had grown over the years. "So can you help me choose ze right one?"

"Ah, just call me your squirrel Friday," Slappy said with a wave of her paw. "We'll divvy up the list and go from there. Just don't be shocked if we get a lot of hangups from the studio parents when they find out it's for Yakko, Wakko, and Dot."

"Better hangups zan blowups," Scratchy said as he and Slappy pored over the list.

Speaking of blowups, one had just occurred within the water tower – one that resulted in frosting splattered all over the walls. In Wakko Warner's bedroom, the place looked like a bomb went off at a baker, which honestly wasn't far from the truth. The explosion had rocked the tower, sending Yakko sprinting to check on his little brother. When he got a good eyeful of the sight that greeted him, he wasn't sure whether to be shocked or impressed. It only took him a second to settle on both. "Man, you've cooked up some stuff before, Wak, but this takes the cake – for real."

The mound of frosting and cake that was Wakko tried to speak, but the words were muffled. A long pink tongue snaked out, wrapped itself around the mound, and then unwound and zipped back into the mouth of a now-squeaky clean Wakko. "Mmm, strawberry," he said with a blissful smile.

"Berry impressive," Yakko chuckled. "Is this another half-baked idea?"

Wakko looked around his frosted room. "Too much?"

"Uhhh… maybe not for bad guys. It'd make a good trap. For New Year's Eve, maybe something a little less messy?"

"Hmm." Wakko's brow knit in thought and he scratched the top of his head, his tongue between his teeth. After a moment of contemplation, his face lit up. "I've got it! Cupcakes! I can make my cake fireworks explode in cupcakes!"

"Our cupcakes runneth over. Little brother, you're a genius," Yakko praised.

Grinning ear to ear, Wakko threw his arms around his older brother. "Thanks, Yakko. I needed to hear that."

Yakko lifted up Wakko's red ball cap and ruffled his fur. "You deserve it." He left Wakko to his work and slipped down the hall to his sister's room. Knocking shave-and-a-haircut on the door, he joked, "Is the princess receiving visitors today?"

"Only from the king," came the reply.

Snickering, Yakko opened the door, struck a pose, and drawled "Thank you, thank you very much" in a way that would have done Elvis proud. "What's up, sis? You still thinking of ways to glitz up Wakko's fireworks?"

"Nah, I'm thinking about glitzing up the party," Dot said. The Warner sister was lying on her stomach atop her bed, doodling ideas on a sketch pad. "I heard they're doing all gold and silver out on the lot, but I think it could stand a little pink. Pink flowers, pink confetti, pink champagne…" She sighed happily. "It'll look beautiful."

"It'll look like you soaked the lot in Pepto-Bismol," Yakko quipped, prompting a scowl from Dot. "And since old man Thad buys stock in the stuff, I don't think he'll wanna be reminded of it." Then he smiled and added, "Pink champagne doesn't sound too bad, though. And they could always use a few pink roses."

Dot's grin returned. "You think Wakko could throw in some pink fireworks for me?"

"Why not? He already threw in some green for me."

"Is he adding his own color?"

"I dunno. He keeps saying he doesn't work blue, but…"

"Ha! That's a white lie."

"You think he's too yellow-bellied?"

"No way. If I called him that, he'd see red."

"Through a black eye?"

"He's already got two of those. Nah, I think he's tickled pink to have a project."

"Yeah, it's a golden opportunity to show the studio what we can do. I mean, we've been in their black books forever, so maybe this'll get us on the silver screen."

Dot laughed. "We're colorful characters, aren't we?"

"Enough to make others green with envy. Or red as a beet," Yakko returned.

Dot suddenly sat up. "Hey, speaking of, is it a good thing or a bad thing that we haven't heard a peep out of Mr. Plotz today? I mean, this is the thirtieth babysitter we've chased off. I thought for sure we'd hear him yelling by now."

"Yeah, considering they can hear him in Walla Walla when he flips his lid," Yakko said. "Maybe it's not a big deal that we ain't hearing nothing. Best case scenario, the game of Musical Babysitters ends and they just leave us alone."

Dot grimaced. "Worst case scenario?"

Yakko didn't respond right away. He knew that the worst case scenario was, and he didn't want to say it out loud. After a heartbeat, he grinned and flung out his arms. "What worst case? We get locked up in the water tower all the time. What could be worse than that?"

"Being locked up forever?" Dot's face was solemn, for once. "Don't sugarcoat, Yakko. Wakko and I aren't babies, you know."

A slight frown puckered Yakko's brow. "I didn't say you were."

"I know, but sometimes you try to protect us a little too much."

"Gee, thanks."

"I'm not dissing you," Dot said kindly, hopping off her bed and trotting over to Yakko. "You're the best big brother anyone could ever have. But you don't have to sugarcoat things for my sake or Wakko's. We're big kids. We can handle the truth."

"Truth about what?" The eldest and youngest Warners' eyes darted to the doorway, where Wakko stood with a tray of cupcakes. "I made cupcakes," he said, proffering the tray.

Yakko plucked one of the cakes from its hole. They were all vanilla-frosted and coated in multicolored sprinkles, with a swirl of whipped cream on top and more sprinkles. "Is there a bomb inside?"

"No, they'll all be inside a bomb. I just had extras."

"Are they funfetti? Yay!" Dot cheered, taking a cupcake for herself. She peeled the paper off to reveal the rainbow-splotched cake beneath.

"Well, they look like fireworks. I figured since they'll pop out when my cake fireworks explode, why not?" Wakko gave his siblings another cupcake each and then dumped the remaining eight cakes in his mouth, paper and all. "And they're yummy." He swallowed and let out a belch. "Excuse me. What were you guys talking about?"

"What'll happen if we chase off another babysitter," Dot said in between bites of her cupcake. "I told Yakko we can handle the truth."

Wakko's attention turned to his older brother. "What's gonna happen to us?"

Yakko exhaled deeply. Dot was right. It was better to be honest with his sibs than gloss over it. "Come here, guys," he said, taking a seat on Dot's bed. Once his siblings were seated on either side of him, he began, "Old Plotz ain't too happy about us chasing off all the babysitters. If we keep running 'em off the lot, and T.P. gets steamed enough… we're worried he might find a way to lock us up forever." He bit his tongue, waiting for his brother's reaction. Wakko was the most emotional of the three – generally happy-go-lucky and goofy in the best way, but when he was sad, he was in a huge blue funk, and when he was mad, Etna couldn't have erupted louder.

Wakko's reaction indicated the start of a funk. His ears drooped and tears entered his eyes. "Why? We're not hurting anyone. We just like to have fun!"

"I know that and you two know that, but Mr. Plotz is a little touchy about the New Year's Eve party. He thinks we're gonna ruin it, not make it better."

"How do you know he's touchy about the party?"

"Same way we found out about the party in the first place: people talk. Nobody can keep a secret on this lot for long."

Wakko sniffled. "I know they talk. I've heard what they call us. They think we're bad kids." He wiped his eyes with his blue sweatshirt. "We're not, are we?"

"Knock that off. It's crazy talk, and not the good kind." Yakko pulled his brother in for a hug. "What have I been telling you both since day one?"

Wakko looked up. "Always carry a spare mallet?"

"Besides that."

"Deny, deny, deny?" Dot queried.

"Besides that."

"Double your pleasure, double your fun?" the younger siblings chorused.

"Boy, either I've taught you too many sayings or you've both chewed too much Doublemint gum," Yakko chuckled. "No, it's this: don't worry about what people think about you. They're always gonna talk, and you've just gotta ignore them, 'cause some folks have nothing better to do. Just be yourself." Yakko grinned and gave his sibs a squeeze. " 'Cause let's face it, no one's better qualified."

Wakko smiled and squeezed back. "You're the best, big brother."

"That's what I told him," Dot said as she snuggled into the hug.

Yakko savored these hugs. Oh sure, life wasn't peachy keen all the time, and they had their fights now and then, but what siblings didn't? He loved his sibs with all his heart, and he wouldn't have traded them for anything in the world. Life would be a heck of a lot less fun if they weren't together to play pranks and raise Cain. "Hey, we're the Warners. You know nothin' can keep us down for long. But just for our sakes, maybe we should hold off on the big jokes and see what we're up against."

"Oh, you mean like scout out the enemy?" Dot asked, her face splitting in a grin.

"Uhhh, I wouldn't say enemy."

"Special friend?" Wakko suggested.

"There ya go. Keep your friends close and your special friends closer," Yakko said, his mind already mapping out a plan to spy on their new babysitter – whoever he or she turned out to be.