St Muckymuck Season 2: The Six O'Clock Blues

ST MUCKYMUCK

Season 2

WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN

WHAT YOU ARE READING IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

IN FACT, ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ANYTHING AT ALL WILL BE REMARKABLY COINCIDENTAL.

 

Kenny McKiltie, KTV’s chief news reporter, bobbed furiously from side to side trying desperately to avoid the dark grey raincloud which was sitting immediately above his head. No matter which way he moved, it immediately followed him. His microphone was getting soaked and, more importantly, his luscious, flowing black hair was becoming seriously fluffy amid the humidity and dampness. He hated not looking his best. He was a damn fine looking 48 year old and he knew it. In fact, his swarthy, chiselled, latino looks were his biggest asset, along with his ability to turn even the most innocuous piece of news into a headline-grabbing drama.  Kenny was also chief media advisor to Archbishop Biscotti and frequently used his position and authority to bury some nasty little snippets which sometimes emerged from the Curious Offices.

Kenny always made sure he was always first on the scene of any breaking story and naturally was present at the draining of the tsunami waters which had been engulfing Kilcathclyde for the past six months. However, all that was left now of the tsunami was a gentle breeze and some light drizzle.

‘And here we are in the centre of Kilcathclyde where conditions are still seriously stormy’ shouted Kenny, angling his body against the non-existent hurricane. He was using all his award-winning powers of exaggeration.

‘The winds have reached a phenomenal 12 miles per hour and the drizzle is lashing the streets of Kilcathclyde.  I wouldn’t be at all surprise if we have more fatalities on our hands this day. Our advice to all viewers is to stay indoors. Do not attempt to go out. Lock all doors and close all windows. Put sandbags.....’ Kenny’s voice trailed off as his eyes were drawn to around 50 penguins, waddling through Bunnicula Square. 

‘And here we have an enormous gaggle of oh.. around 20,000 penguins gathered in Bunnicula Square, in anticipation of tomorrow’s unveiling ceremony in honour of the little cat who saved Kilcathclyde, but tragically perished himself in doing so.....Bandit Grant – hero of Kilcathclyde. And yes, tomorrow evening’s Kilcathclyde Today’s news bulletin will come to you live, yes, live from that ceremony.”

Kenny was getting breathless with excitement.

“We’ll have exclusive interviews with those who knew Bandit best - the local pet shop owner who supplied his kittylitter, the vet who treated him for cystitis, the owner of the garden where he used to pee, and of course, his owner, Shug Grant, who....’

CLICK. Shug turned off the tv and sighed. ‘I don’t think I can do this tomorrow baby’ he whispered, holding his favourite photo of Bandit.

Shug sat down on his bed, the one he had shared with Bandit for the last 5 years, fighting back the tears which were threating to flow down his sunken cheeks. He stared glumly at the floor and from the corner of his eye he saw a little black spider emerge from a tiny hole just behind Bandit’s litter tray.

It dashed across the carpet, its little eight legs going like the clappers and stopped very suddenly at Shug’s left foot. Shug smiled wanly and stared at the tiny arachnid. He bent down and picked it up gently and as he did so, he noticed that the spider was clutching something which it deposited in the palm of his hand. It was 3 butter-soft, snow white whiskers. The little spider then leapt off his hand and danced away back into the hole in the skirting board, leaving behind a tiny, teensy, black glittery shoe, just the size of a pinhead on the carpet.

‘Oh Bandit’ Shug finally broke down and sobbed, staring at the whiskers. He clutched them to his heart as he finally fell asleep atop Bandit’s favourite Barry Hotter blanket.

©2011 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.