"Yes, I know. I'm just as excited as you lot watching from home and city street corner. It's always a wonder what the parade floats will be like. Each year they seem to get more extravagant, more elaborate, more decadent than the previous one."
There was something that sounded like an ocean liner whistle blaring. "Ohh! That'll be the starting signal. Since it will be a little while before the floats and parade procession reach us here in the city centre, I think now would be a good time for a break. We'll return right after this."
The screen went black.
ST MUCKYMUCK
Season 2
WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN
WHAT YOU READ 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.
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.
When the camera came up, Mys Tery was there standing centerstage in her finest black velvet dress. The sweetheart neckline plunged into a full bosom and a tight fitting bodice that fanned out just below her knees. It was the magnificent dress Rosemary Clooney wore in White Christmas. Sparkly white gloves covered in rhinestones went up to her elbows and there was a matching, resplendent pin at the small of her back.
"Hello, girls!" she said, her hands loosely folded across her chest. "Has the time come? Oh, you know what I mean. The room getting a bit warm?" Saucy music on muted brass instruments began.
On stageleft entered Lucille Ball, ingeniously regenerated by a computer. She was in black and white and donned the checkered dress from one of her most famous episodes of I Love Lucy. "Has your get up and go, gotten up and gone?"
On stageright entered the famous comedienne and musical parodist, Anna Russell, also perfectly recreated by the miracle of modern technology. "Has your voice dropped a whole octave in two weeks, girls?"
Back to Mys Tery, who was carefully paying attention to each celebrity as they spoke. "Gone a bit dotty?"
"Well, your days of hormonal shift are over!" said Lucy. She produced a small pink bottle from her shin black handbag. "Take this!" She held the bottle up to the camera.
"Menotrapitol."
"It isn't hormone replacement therapy!" said Mys Tery.
"It isn't drowsiness-inducing pain medication, which doesn't work," said Anna.
"It isn't a useless vitamin supplement that won't be absorbed anyway!" said Lucky waving a hand, in mock annoyance.
"This is real medication for real sufferers from the symptoms of menopause," said Mys Tery, stepping forward.
"So, bye-bye pooping out at popular parties!" said Lucy, stepping forward as well.
"Say tootles to having to shave your face three times a week!" said Anna, joining the others.
"Au revoir to being cranky, bloated, and hot. Take Menotrapitol." Mys Tery stepped forward again. The camera closed in on her. "Menotrapitol is not for everyone. If you are over the age of sixty-three, had your plumbing redone, or male, you should not take this medication. The local Regulatory Intake Partnership Office and the United States Food and Drug Administration strongly warns against using this medication if you are already pregnant as serious multiple births have been associated with its use, along with unfertilized fetal eugenitosis. If you are allergic to bee stings, peanuts, cats, popcorn, rattlesnake venom, jellyfish tentacles, or olive oil, you will need to consult with a physician before taking this Menotrapitol, as a biopsy will have to be conducted to test for spleen polyps. It is important that you know that sociopathic psychosis has been linked to the use of this medication in at least two cases. Please consult www.byebyemenopause.com/medical_studies/side_effects/psychosis_in_menotrapitol/deathrow/serial_killers/women/equality_in_reporting/foodanddrugadministration/understanding_altered_realites/hormonal_shift.html/brevity_is_the_soul_of_wit.co.uk.ki."
"No more hot flashes," said Lucy.
"No more shaving," said Anna.
"No more loose associative thought disorders," said Mys Tery.
"Menotrapitol," they chorused together.
"The answer to all your problems really IS in this little bottle," said Lucy. She shook it and it rattled.
The screen went black.
"And we're back! Just getting ready for the first float of the parade. The starting signal has sounded. Everything has gone remarkably quiet as the crowd awaits with bated breath. Even the birds have gone quiet in anticipation. The first float is from Sr. Rosario's Outrageous Rosaries shop. And here it comes. Oh my!"
The camera went to the street. "The float is both long and wide. A full orchestra with an exceptionally large brass section and a drum set was aboard. They are spread across the width of the platform. Each has a wooden music desk in front of them with the letters "S R" in elegant French script on it. And there's Sr. Rosario herself -- the crowd is clapping and hooting wildly. Let's pause and listen to the music."
The sounds of a soft shoe version of "How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria?" came wafting from the float, echoing resonantly on the blue and yellow sandstone buildings along St Bunnicula Street. "And there's the great outrageously rosy Rosario herself -- flying across the glossy white dance floor in her white and black habit. There is an "S" and "R" in matching script to the music desks elegantly sprawled across it. That Sr. Rosario is a class act!"
He paused. "I don't know how she does it! She's as wide as she is tall but she is absolutely as light on her feet as possible. Shes doing several twirls now...and there are the outrageous rosary beads!" The crowd went wild. "I can't imagine where she secrets them. But they are flashing burgundy and white. Now she's throwing them in the air. Good heavens -- the strand must be six feet long."
The crowd cheered loudly. Kenny laughed and clapped. "Absolutely unbelievable. She caught the flashing strand with her teeth and is now jumping rope with them still clenched! I would never have thought that was humanly possible."
There was a pause.
"And our second parade float is always the queen and her escort. Everyone be upstanding as Her Majesty Queen Mocheaoi - Mys Tery and her entourage make their way." Kenny stood. As the burgundy and white canopied float with the throne on it seen at the crowning. On her left sat Malky Callaghan the mayor of Kilcathclyde. "The Queen and her consort appear to be chattering pleasantly. And the unmistakable strains of "Dancing Queen" are now blasting merrily throughout the city centre streets of Kilcathclyde. What an exciting moment! The crowd is on their feet -- screaming, yelling, cheering, and of course, what else, dancing!" The camera cut to the studio where Kenny himself was doing an amazing disco dance routine. The crew behind the camera was cheering and clapping.
"We had no idea you were such a good dancer, Kenny!" "You're amazing!" and "Way groovy, man!" were easily distinguishable, as well as, "Whew...you've got some case of Saturday Night fever!"
Suddenly, there was the squeal of tires. A pitch black, spotlessly shiny Mercedes SLK rounded a corner, its tires squealing and smoking. The windows were blacked out. It came zooming down the street -- zigzagging around spectators, a vegetable stand, and several street lamps. As it went around the Queen's float, a long thin black gun barrel appeared out one window -- there were three loud pops, which were amplified by the configuration of the tall buildings that lined the street.
Everyone ducked: crowd, Queen, politician, presenter, all of them.
When the speeding car rounded the newly named Blessed Bandit the Beloved Boulevard, it squealed again and screeched, leaving behind a trail of dissipating grey-white smoke and the acrid smell of burning rubber. Then the entire lot returned to their pre-assassination attempt positions and the parade proceeded as though nothing had happened.
"And once again, our fair mayor emerges unscathed from a drive-by shooting!" Kenny's mouth seemed to curl at the edges into a faint smile while his eyes twinkled. "The parade is resuming. On the third float we have our local heroes. Percival the Penguin is sitting on a large wooden chair. To his right is Blessed Bandit the Beloved. Both are wearing black and white habits indicative of the Pulcherian Order. To Percival's left is Nettie the Knitting Kitten -- who is no longer a kitten of course. To her left is Fr. Erick Griffiths, her owner and on the floor of the float is Chris Smith, her trainer and organist of St Mocheomoc Cathedral.
"Nettie has something on her loom, I can't quite make out what it is she's working on while she plays on the drums a lovely, almost hauntingly melodic syncope." Kenny chuckled at his own cleverness in the area of vocabulary "Wait, something seems to be causing Nettie some distress. She appears to have frozen in mid-perle and rhythm. Now one of her three needles has fallen to the street. Perhaps she sees something. I wonder what on earth it could be."
Down on the street, Nettie had, in fact, most definitely seen something. Though someone would be more accurate. A tender young lad bent over to pick up the escaped light-purple knitting instrument. He examined it and saw a letter "H" on the tip of the knobbed end. He looked up, revealing an adorably sweet face and sporting dark blond hair, deep and enchanting green eyes. He took in the kitten who remained motionless, eye meeting eye in equal gaze. And he said in a voice that only he and the cat seemed able to hear, "Holleigh?"
(c)2012 Steven Gorman. All rights reserved.
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