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Scooter stood at Kermit’s desk looking over the final notes before the Muppet Show began. He was also waiting for Beauregard to get back to him with the props for the opening number.
“Here you go, Scooter,” Beauregard came walking carefully with a hot mug of steaming coffee. “Just the way you like it.”
“That smells great, Beauregard,” Scooter said. “Did you get the props for the first number?”
“Yes, I did. It’s right there in your hands,” Beauregard said.
“This is coffee,” Scooter said.
“Right. Mocha Java. And no cream.”
Scooter sighed. “I appreciate the thought, Beauregard, but we don’t need mocha java for the first scene.”
“But, isn’t that what you asked for?”
Scooter shook his head. “What we need is molten lava and a low beam -- as in a spotlight.” Scooter took the delicious smelling coffee from Beauregard. “I guess we’ll just have to skip the lava part.”
“Right,” Beauregard said. “I’ll just get the props for the second number.”
As Beauregard went off to look for props, Kermit hurried down the stairs.
“Has Beauregard gotten the lava machine working?” Kermit asked.
Scooter just shook his head, and looked deeply into his coffee mug.
Out front, the members of the Electric Mayhem were tuning their various instruments. Dr. Teeth checked out every key on his keyboard -- including some that weren’t there. Zoot slid his fingers rapidly over his saxophone, making sure all the pads were air-tight. Sgt. Floyd Pepper checked to make sure all the strings on his electric guitar were in place, while Janice checked her reflection in Floyd’s guitar to see whether all the stringy hairs on her head were in place.
Animal used the opportunity to inspect his drum set. He hit one tom, and that sounded fine. He hit another tom, and that sounded good too. He slapped a cymbal, and that rang perfectly -- as did the other one. The bass drum sounded a little dull. A firmer kick, and the dullness deepened. A much swifter kick sent Gonzo the Great flying through the bass drum and into the bell of Zoot’s saxophone -- much to Zoot’s displeasure. Animal tried the pedal again for effect, but of course the hole created by Gonzo had dashed any hopes of using the bass drum in his set. Undeterred, Animal rushed backstage and soon rolled out a much larger bass drum, and placed it behind his drum set. He picked up his drumsticks and tested the toms and cymbals again. Then, using his hairy head, Animal forcibly banged it into the large drum behind him, causing a much more sonorous, and teeth-rattling, bass sound which satisfied the drummer immensely.
“All right, you turkeys,” Dr. Teeth said. “Let’s make sure the music for this evening sounds groovy. We’ve got some high class entertainment going on tonight.”
Waldorf overheard it all from his balcony seat. Turning to Statler he said, “If this is high class entertainment, how did we end up with these low-class seats?”
“You call this low-class?” Statler retorted. “Look how high up we are!”
The lava machine was still not functioning, and Scooter was running out of last-minute options.
“It’s okay, Scooter. We’ll just have to make do,” Kermit said before he walked out in front of the stage curtain.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and welcome to the Muppet Show! Tonight, you’re in for a special treat as we pay tribute to legends of the ancient world.”
“Finally,” Waldorf said. “ A show about us!”
“Then let’s go home,” Statler pouted. “I already know the plot line.”
A cheer rose from the audience as the opening theme music began, and rose again when Gonzo blew a discordant blast with his trumpet. Statler and Waldorf, perhaps for the first time ever, sat at the edge of their balcony seats waiting to see what scenes from their own lives would be played out on stage.
The first number’s set was spectacular -- even if it wasn’t exactly what Scooter had ordered. A large mountain of coffee bean bags had been arranged with makeshift steps of oversized swizzle sticks ascending to an oversized mug with artificial steam rising from it.
A large number of pigs in animal skins held aloft spears and shrunken heads, chanting:
Caffè Latte, Caffè Latte, Caffè Latte, Caffè Latte...
The Chief Pig, complete with oversized tusks and a large feather-and-fruit headdress, climbed the mountain of coffee bags to this chant, every now and again rhythmically singing in the tradition of all great Irish Cream tenors: Cah-puh-chi-no.
As the chief pig ascended more and more, the coffee mug’s steam would grow and grow. Behind the chief pig, bound and tied, was Miss Piggy -- the sacrificial victim -- dressed in a diaphanous, flowing light-blue gown escorted by two very handsome -- if muscular -- über-pigs with black bands on their biceps and blonde Arnold Schwarzenegger-style tufts on their heads.
“Hey Buddy,” she said gruffly to one of the über-pigs who had apparently overplayed his part. “Be gentle! I’m delicate!”
Pushed further up the swizzle-stick stairs, Miss Piggy was eventually handed over to the Chief Pig. The chant’s pace began to build in intensity to an accelerando, all the while the steaming mug of coffee filling the stage with smoky steam.
Caffè Latte, Caffè Latte, Caffè Latte, Caffè Latte, Cah-puh-chi-no, Caffè Latte, Cah-puh-chi-no...
As the steam and smoke grew, the über-pigs pushed Miss Piggy into the steaming mug. The mug erupted, belching out white whipped-cream magma that landed on the chanting pigs at the foot of the coffee-bag mountain. A cheer rose from the chanting pigs, who then, en masse, exited the stage.
As the pigs, covered in white magma, pushed and shoved each other offstage, Scooter shook his head. Could the evening get any worse?
“Caffè Latte, Scooter?” It was Miss Piggy’s voice.
“Not now, I’ve still got the mocha java Beauregard gave me,” he said, not looking up.
Miss Piggy would not be deterred. “You’re a sorry excuse for a stage manager, you know that? I ask you for a decent part in tonight’s show, and you have me thrown into a cup of coffee!”
“I know. It’s all my fault,” Scooter admitted, looking up. “What can I do to make it up to you? I’d do anything.”
Miss Piggy’s ears and demeanor suddenly perked up. “Anything? For moi?”
“Sure, Miss Piggy.”
“Good. I want to be Brunhilde.”
“But...you can’t. I promised Janice the part.”
Miss Piggy grabbed Scooter by the collar and pulled him up so that their eyes met. “Listen, four-eyes, make me Brunhilde or you’ll only have two eyes!”
“Y-yes, Miss Piggy...Anything you say.”
But as Miss Piggy lowered Scooter to the ground, he had no idea how he was going to manage it.
Scooter looked at his program roster and walked up the theater steps to the dressing rooms. He gently knocked on Sam Eagle’s door.
“Come in,” Sam said in his clear baritone voice.
“You’re on in 20, Sam,” Scooter said as he opened the door. “How is that scene with Rizzo coming?”
Sam’s smooth light-blue feathers ruffled at the sound of the rat’s name.
“It is not -- nor will it ever be -- coming,” Sam replied. “I am not doing this with..ahem...a rat. We are two very different actors, not to mention animals. A bird of prey does not play with a rodent it doesn’t also have for dinner -- and I will not begin such nonsense at this point in my acting career.”
From somewhere, patriotic music began to play in the background, as Sam continued his monologue. “We are a dignified race, with humane and sensible values. What this eagle-and-rat scene promotes is base and instinctual, hardly becoming for the premier avian actor on the Muppet Show. The scene calls for a much higher degree of decorum. And the rat in question brings no dignity, whatsoever, to the part of a god, let alone the sun god Apollo. And let’s not forget that we must never, ever besmirch one of the grandest space programs in the history of the United States which also bears the name with a low and...demeaning...scene as we have had the greatest displeasure to have rehearsed.”
“You could always switch parts,” Scooter suggested.
“And give up the opportunity to play Zeus? No, Scooter. That will not happen. Let the rat make a fool of himself. I, Sam Eagle, will not stand in his way.”
Kermit watched the second act on stage, which shifted from tribal legends, to the heroic exploits of Beowulf...well, actually, Beo-Wolf -- a new wolf actor. Where Scooter had gotten this new actor was a mystery to Kermit, but he seemed to be really good at hunting Grendel, who was played by Sweetums.
The music played by the Electric Mayhem was eerie and fit well with the darkened stage and muted footlights. Indeed, the Beo-Wolf actor seemed to be really getting into his part, using what appeared to be a real sword and shield -- not the fake ones usually used for scenes like this. It didn’t take Kermit long to realize that Sweetums was in grave danger, as the Beo-Wolf character crept closer and closer to the sleeping Sweetums, testing the edge of his blade every now and again. The audience, Kermit noticed, was getting restless. And Statler and Waldorf -- they seemed to be actually enjoying the possibility of blood being spilled on the stage!
Kermit was in a panic -- and Scooter, who probably would have pulled the curtain down long ago -- was apparently getting other actors ready.
Thank heavens for Beauregard coming by with his sweeping broom just in the nick of time. “Beauregard,” Kermit said. “Do something!”
“I am,” he said.
“Out there!” Kermit shouted. “Do something out there!”
“Right!” Beauregard said, and moments later showed up with his sweeping broom on stage, with the sinister music and dimmed lights and ominous scene and Beo-Wolf and Grendel-Sweetums. Beo-Wolf, ready to cut down Grendel while he slept, caught sight of Beauregard nonchalantly sweeping the breadth of the stage with his push broom and looked up.
“Hi there,” Beauregard said to Beo-Wolf. “What are you doing with that sword?”
“I’m going to kill Grendel.”
“Right,” Beauregard replied. “I guess that means that we’ll have two phantoms haunting the show, then.”
“Phantoms?” Beo-Wolf seemed disturbed by the news. “You mean, this theater is haunted?”
As if on cue, Uncle Deadly floated in and tapped the young Beo-Wolf on the shoulder.
Catching sight of the floating blue-skinned dragon, Beo-Wolf dropped his sword and ran off stage left, screaming and cursing. Kermit dropped the curtain.
Statler and Waldorf, mesmerized by the action on stage, were rather disappointed by the scene’s outcome.
“Give me blood!” Waldorf called out.
“Give me gore!” Statler called out.
Beauregard emerged from the curtain. “Give me a break! I’m doing the best I can!”
Scooter was slumped in his chair bemoaning the evening’s debacle to himself as Kermit tried some levity on stage to announce the third number: Swedish Chef. Nothing had gone right this evening, and they were only in the second act.
Scooter winced as the curtain rose on Swedish Chef’s kitchen set, waiting for the moment when something -- anything -- would confirm his worst fear that the evening and his career as a stage manager would be ruined forever.
Swedish Chef sang his forever famous cooking song, lifting up -- and summarily throwing behind him -- a ham hock and a shank of lamb on his “Bort-Bort-Bort.”
“Too-dee,” he began, “Wee meek a heeroo senweesh. Foors wee coot de breed.” The Swedish chef took a large loaf of bread and slammed his cleaver into it, slicing it cleanly in half. He then pulled out goggles and put them on. “Seeftee foorst!” he said. Then, turning around, he hefted a chainsaw, and used it to slice the bread lengthwise. Bread bits were flung everywhere, but serendipitously the bread remained useable.
“Noo, wee find de heeroo.” Swedish Chef exited the stage and returned with Gonzo under his arm. Gonzo was dressed as the thunder god Thor. The Swedish Chef balanced Mjolnir, Thor’s powerful hammer, on his upstage shoulder.
“Wait!” Gonzo screamed. “Wait! This wasn’t in the script!”
Swedish Chef dumped Gonzo onto the bread lengthwise and hoisted Mjolnir.
“Noo, wee teendooreyes de meetie.”
“No! Wait! Scooter! Kermit! Fozzie! Anybody!” Gonzo’s pleading for help went unanswered.
Waldorf and Statler took notice. Maybe they’d see blood after all this evening.
Swedish Chef brought Mjolnir down swiftly, but not swiftly enough. Gonzo -- whether by instinct or sheer terror -- dodged the hammer’s mighty blow. Swedish Chef, undeterred, began hammering away again, only to be thwarted again. Another hammer blow aimed at a different part of Gonzo’s anatomy was dodged yet again by the daredevil.
Swedish Chef tried again, and missed. Again. But by this time Gonzo was beginning to enjoy the drama, and his role in it. With every raising of the hammer, Gonzo would outmaneuver the Chef’s eventual blow.
After about twenty such attempts, Gonzo found a way to leap into the air, and grab hold of a hanging light fixture. Far below him, the Swedish Chef vowed revenge, hurling Mjolnir in one last attempt to crush Gonzo.
The hammer sailed toward the blue-skinned daredevil, who caught it midair -- and flew with it straight toward Statler and Waldorf’s box.
The geezers ducked, only to see Gonzo -- and Mjolnir -- sail into, and through the back of, their box seats. The rumble and clatter of Gonzo falling down the stairwell behind the two hecklers sent shivers through the old men.
“How does he do that?” Waldorf asked his partner. “That was... awesome! Like whack-a-mole and tomahawk throwing in one! Bravo!” Waldorf almost fell out of the balcony, such was his enthusiasm. Statler reined him in.
“Careful there, Waldorf!” Statler replied. “You’re liable to give that chicken-lover a big head. Keep in mind that Gonzo is the most flexible actor to work with.”
Gonzo, having apparently recovered from his fall, staggered onto the stage.
“Statler’s right, there! I’ll do anything for applause!”
Waldorf’s countenance shifted from pleasure to detestation in that moment. “Well, in that case...Boo! Boo! That was the worst piece of shtick I’ve ever seen. Get him off the set!”
In that moment, Mjolnir came screaming back from the balcony, smacking Gonzo in the head. Just as rapidly, a full team of paramedics dashed into Swedish Chef’s kitchen, hoisted the unconscious Gonzo onto a gurney, and took him off stage before Swedish Chef could manage to understand what was happening.
As Gonzo was being wheeled off stage, Statler remarked, “Well, if he wasn’t Thor before, he is now!”
“Kermit, we need to talk.” Miss Piggy was in her dressing room and she meant business.
“What’s on your mind, Piggy?”
“It’s Scooter. He’s handing out good parts for the other actors, but not for moi. I have this feeling that stage manager of yours is doing this on purpose, to ruin my career. To ruin moi!”
“Now, now, Piggy. I’m sure Scooter doesn’t mean any harm. He’s probably just stressed, that’s all.”
“Stressed?” Miss Piggy said, her voice rising in frustration. “I’ll give you stress, Frog! He’s put Janice in as Brunhilde. Can you imagine a slinky, skinny Brunhilde? Hmm?”
“Well, no,” Kermit began.
“Exactly!” Miss Piggy spat. “Brunhilde is big and beautiful, with a clear voice and a dignified mien.”
“I’m sure Scooter has his reasons,” Kermit said, trying to smooth the situation.
“Well, he’d better come through, or else!”
“Good Evening, Scoo-ter!” Fozzie said, much too enthusiastically given all that Scooter had already been through. “You said you have a script for me. I hope it’s a good one!”
“Well, yes. As a matter of fact I do,” Scooter said somewhat dubiously. He handed the script to Fozzie, who looked at it in bewilderment.
“What is dis?” Fozzie asked.
“Not what. Who,” Scooter corrected. “Loki.”
“Oh,” Fozzie said. “OK. I’ll keep it low key. Who is dis?”
“Yes, Loki. He’s the Norse god of practical jokes. The boss figured you’d be perfect for the part.”
“Practical jokes, huh?” Fozzie said. “I like dat!” Fozzie was about to leave, when he took off his hat and scratched his head, still a bit puzzled. He was flattered that Kermit would think so highly of him. “So, uh, dis guy. He has a secret identity, dis practical joker?”
“Well, not exactly,” Scooter said. “He’s Loki.”
“I bet he is,” Fozzie said, his eyes glazing over. Then, regaining his composure, Fozzie rebounded. “Low Key. I can do dat!”
Fozzie took his script in hand and made his way to his dressing room, leaving Scooter to wonder if the comedic bear had indeed understood anything he had said.
A quick scene change, and a dynamic voice-over, brought the audience into the doctor’s office of:“Veterinarians Hospital: the continuing story of a Quack, who’s gone to the dogs.” ,
The curtain rose on Dr. Bob (aka Rowlf the Dog) inspecting the dented helmet on his subject: Thor (aka Gonzo the Great). His nurses Miss Piggy and Janice looked on in worry.
“Will he be all right, Dr. Bob?” Janice asked.
“Of course he will,” Miss Piggy reassured her. “He’s the Mighty Thor.”
“I’ll say. A hammer hit to the head at that rate would make anyone Mighty Thor.”
Gonzo was out cold.
“Looks like he’s Mighty Asleep, too.”
Just then, Fozzie Bear came running onto the set with a large glowing staff and a rather odd-looking horned helmet of his own that nearly poked Miss Piggy’s eyes out.
“Hey! Watch it, Mister!” Miss Piggy threatened.
“Who are you?” Dr. Bob said, looking up at the strangely clad newcomer.
Fozzie looked at the audience and winked. “Shhh. I’m a master of disguise, come to rescue my brother from those who would do him harm.”
“Oh...I get it. You’re wanting to be a hero.”
“Yes. But don’t tell anyone.”
“You’re wanting to be low key, aren’t you?” Janice said.
Fozzie’s countenance fell as he walked her way. “How did you know?”
“With a get-up like that,” Dr. Bob said. “You’re bound to be someone important.”
Fozzie stepped over to where Gonzo lay as still as a stone.
“He doesn’t look too good,” Fozzie said.
“Well. In that silly costume, neither do you!” Dr. Bob quipped. “Who helped you rig that costume? Beauregard?”
“Actually..” Fozzie began.
The Muppet janitor entered from stage left, mop in hand. “I resemble that remark! It was the best I could do in an hour and a half, what with the coffee, and cheese curls, and hash browns, and low-calorie sweetener blocking the microwaveable pizza. Next time you can try to get to the costumes Sweetums stashed behind the corn starch and gluten-free macaroni dinner in the canteen.”
Hearing his name, and further insults, Sweetums barged into the doctors office, ripping the hinges off the swinging doors.
“What are you talking about?” Sweetums roared. “I didn’t...”
A disembodied voice entoned: “Tune in next week when Thor says...”
Gonzo -- groggily -- awakened.
“Dr. Bob, your bad jokes are enough to wake the dead,” he said, before collapsing back onto the gurney.
“See what I mean?” Statler remarked.
“Yeah,” Waldorf said. “Too bad. I was half-hoping fame hadn’t gone to his head.”
“It didn’t,” Statler said. “That was the hammer.”
Kermit clapped his hands enthusiastically as the actors shuffled off stage. Gonzo was still on the gurney -- but very much alive.
“How was that, Kermit?” he asked, jumping off the gurney.
“That was very good, Gonzo. But you really should have that bump on your head examined.”
“That’s not a bump, Kermit. That’s my nose.”
Scooter knocked on all the dressing room doors, getting each cast member ready for the last two numbers. He was about to knock on Sam Eagle’s door when Rizzo the Rat came scurrying out of it, with Sam eagle close behind him.
“You dirty rat!” Sam called out in his most dignified way.
Scooter was appalled at Sam’s behavior. “Sam! That is highly unprofessional of you.”
“Not at all!” Sam said. “Look at my dressing room. Have you ever seen my dressing room so messy?”
Scooter looked inside to see costumes in disarray, crackers and cheese strewn about, and several copies of Playmouse Magazine on the floor.
“The idea!” Sam said indignantly. “I tried to be civil and friendly, just as you suggested. I even got some of the finest cheese from Holland for the occasion from Swedish Chef. And that...rat...brings smut and filth and bad manners and all sorts of immorality in this upstanding, democratic...”
“I get it,” Scooter said, cutting the eagle off. “It’s show time. I guess you’ll just have to make do until later.”
Sam, his feathers ruffled and his dignity lost, marched himself -- head held high -- out onto the stage.
Kermit emerged in front of the curtain to introduce the final act of the night. With all of the mayhem that had occurred -- both on and off stage -- Kermit was mighty thankful the night was almost over.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we come now to the end of a fine evening. We’ve been greeted by the likes of a tribal shaman, Beowulf and Grendel, and Thor and Loki. We now go high atop Mount Olympus with Zeus and Apollo.”
The curtain rose behind Kermit, but the scenery was far from what he had asked Scooter to arrange for the set.
Six full-size mattresses had been painstakingly arranged atop tiered platforms. Each mattress had large cages filled with every imaginable animal the Muppets could afford to employ. A gigantic fluffy pillow-cloud floated above them all, with flowing blue sheets reminiscent of Miss Piggy’s diaphanous gown fluttering hither and thither in ways that reminded one of a breezy spring afternoon. Harp music was playing in the background.
Kermit blushed a bit, hoping that nothing unseemly would occur on stage -- what with animals and the mattresses and all.
Sam Eagle’s appearance on stage only slightly reassured Kermit -- until Sam stopped short to look inquiringly at Kermit when Rizzo and all of Rizzo’s friends and relations came out with balloons, cotton candy, popcorn, cameras, and binoculars to look at the caged animals. Rizzo, for his part, was dressed in a toga and riding in a flying golden chariot led by six horseflies. In his left hand, Rizzo held aloft a lemon-yellow lolipop, occasionally bringing it to his mouth for a lick.
Sam put his hand to his forehead in disbelief.
“Scooter,” Kermit said once backstage. “What’s all this? I thought we’d decided on the Olympus City Scene instead.”
The stage manager did not answer, but only looked at his trustworthy janitor, Beauregard, standing in the wings, jaw slack and drooling. Beauregard looked back at Scooter and gave the thumbs up sign before returning to watch the action on stage.
“Sorry, Boss,” Scooter said. “But Beauregard...he thought the final act was about zoos and a pillow.”
Kermit’s green turned a paler shade as some of Rizzo’s relations climbed on each others’ shoulders and opened some of the cages with bobby pins. The animals inside were released, bringing camels, horses, donkeys, lions, bears, tigers, flamingos, penguins, chickens, elephants, and a host of other animals to crowd the stage.
Sam Eagle’s feathers, now ruffled just a little more, marched himself to center stage, pushed through the menagerie the rats had created, and looked straight at the camera.
“My fellow Americans -- Welcome to Mount Olympus. As you can see...This place is a zoo!”
Not to be outdone by all the goings-on, Miss Piggy -- in full Brunhilde costume, complete with her buckler-bra and horned helmet -- made a grand entrance on a large white charger, cutting off Sam’s monologue. All action on stage stopped, as each actor and zoo animal looked at the stunning image of Miss Piggy.
Kermit saw his chance to end the evening on a high note. In the end, however, it was Miss Piggy’s high G-sharp that finally brought the curtain down to thunderous applause.