Woodland News At Noon (standard:humor, 13356 words)
Author: Rimmer	Added: Oct 05 2008	Views/Reads: 3233/3871	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Two brothers watch a slapstick edition of a banned news show.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

his traditional seat near the end of the countertop. 

“Dang it all to heck!  Hey old man.  Hand me my coffee will you?  I left
it by the magic micro box thing.” 

Still cooking the ham.  Simon was facing away from his brother.  Earl
couldn't see his face, but knew his brother was smiling from ear to 
ear.  For some reason it tickled Simon to no end how he never got the 
names right for the gadgets around the house.  Now Earl did know the 
names, and knew better than his brother how and why they worked.  But 
he figured if his brother got such a kick out of hearing him call a 
vacuum the ‘dirt grabber'.  Then who was he to take away that bit of 
joy from old goats life. 

Simon turned off the burner, and put a ham steak on each plate.  They
were both perfectly cooked.  He might have driven the tractor into the 
storm ditch on no less than six occasions, but the man could cook.  
Grabbing the plates he walked over and set them down in front of his 
brother.  Then walked over and got fresh mugs of coffee for both of 
them, and reached into a cabinet pulling out a small bottle of 
hillbilly whiskey.  While he poured a little into each mug, Earl went 
about putting salt and pepper on their meals.  They had been sharing 
the house for so long they knew exactly how each other liked his food 
seasoned. 

“Hey Simon! Check this out!  The storm must be playing havoc with the
satellite signals.  That loony news show from that Woodland Natural 
Reserve is on.  I'll be danged.  The last time we got to see one of 
these, those crazy critters nearly burned down their newsroom.  Who 
would of thought by leaving those critters all on their own they'd 
build themselves a town, TV station, and everything?  The Lord truly 
works in mysterious ways.  Come on brother it's just starting.” 

“I'm coming.  Press that red button on the remote that says record.  I
should still have at least an hour on that blank tape I used to record 
yesterdays farm report we missed.” 

Simon ran as fast as his old legs would carry him around the kitchen
island, and sat down.  Earl had hit the record button, and was taking a 
sip of his Doctored coffee his brother had carried over with him.  This 
program was a rare treat. 

The state of Kansas had set aside a large section of land as a nature
reserve.  Years ago some biochemical company had been sneaking onto the 
reserve, and was using it to dump waist from their experimental drug 
research department.  As a result of this the animals that lived on the 
reserve began to change mentally.  Their physical appearances stayed 
the same, but they had become nearly as smart as humans.  They built 
themselves a town, started wearing cloths, and learned how to speak. 

The government had tried to cover it all up. No one except Park Rangers
where allowed in the reserve.  Like all tightly kept secretes the word 
had quickly gotten out to the general public.  There were a few people 
who found quail wearing sport coats unnerving, but for the most part 
people accepted it for what it was.  High quality entertainment, and 
tried to capitalize on it. 

The reserve was quickly overrun by hordes of trespassers carrying all
sorts of cameras.  The Governor had to send in the National Guard to 
run everyone out before they destroyed everything the animals had 
built.  In an emergency session, the United States Senate had placed 
the reserve under the protection of the military until things could be 
worked out.  A job the military took very seriously.  Not only did they 
keep everyone out, they had blocked all of Woodlands radio and 
television broadcasts.  Hoping to take away temptation from the 
populace.  Out of sight, out of mind was the working theory. 

However, now and again when the weather conditions were just right.  The
brothers and a handful of others who lived with in a half hour drive of 
the reserve would pick up the signal.  The brothers were beaming with 
excitement while they ate.  It had been a good six months sense the 
last time they got to watch one of the animals programs. 

“Turn it up a little Earl.  Who's your favorite?  Is it the that turkey
or the squirrel?” 

“The squirrel.  I like his attitude.  I hope their still wearing those
hair pieces.” 

With a storm raging outside, the brothers never took their eyes off the
television.  Their excitement was palatable.  Much the same way little 
kids get when their favorite cartoon starts on a Saturday morning.  
Simon let out a giggle when the opening title came up. 

Chapter Two 

On the television's screen oversized letters began to spin in a
clockwise direction.  Theme music played softly in the background as an 
announcer introduced the show. 

“It's Woodland News at Noon, your number one source for all the latest
information that affects your lives.  Starring our elite team of news 
specialists:  Co-Anchors Charles ‘The Thunder From Down Under' Turkey, 
and Jimmy ‘The Real Deal' Squirrel.  Also appearing tonight will be our 
Ace reporters: Teddy the Turtle, Jeb the Forest Monk, and Ernie the 
Hippie. Join us now as... What?  Oh Ya, I nearly forgot about him.  
Some computer named Fink or Frankfurter will be popping in later for 
your amusement.” 

“It's Lord of the Monkey Warriors to you half pint!  Susan did you hear
what he called me?  Susan?  Jenny?  Where are they?” 

The oversized letters stopped spinning, so the audience could read them.
 In gold block lettering it read ‘Woodland News at Noon'.  Behind it 
was a sketching of the town's official symbol, a mighty oak tree in 
full bloom.  The theme music came to a dramatic ending, with a large 
base drum getting the last notes ‘Boom, boom...boom.'  Then out of 
nowhere a sound of a latrine being flushed came over the TV speakers. 

The voice of Clyde the Bat, one of the show's directors, could be heard.
  “You idiot hippie!  That's the wrong button! Press the one next to 
it!  Yes that one!  The one marked ‘Shows intro'!” 

The sound of an old-fashioned steam powered train cruising down some
long forgotten rails came over the speakers. 

“That's it!  Get out of here you tie-dye wearing duck!  You are
officially banned from the control booth!  No I don't need a hug!  
Don't worry about it, I'll press the button!” 

Finally, the right sound effect came over the airwaves.  A typist could
be heard tapping away on an outdated typewriter, as a camera zoomed in 
on the anchor's desk.  The desk curved gently inwards towards the back 
of the set.  With the ends pointing towards the cameras.  Cheap wood 
paneling had been staple gunned to the front to hide the anchor's lower 
halves as they sat in their chairs.  The top of the desk was made out 
of painted plywood.  Centered above the desk was an old movie screen.  
The kind you have to unroll three or four times before it'll stay down. 
 A shabby looking and wrinkled blue curtain hung behind the desk in a 
futile attempt to hide the set's false office cubical style walls.  The 
curtain was to short, and stopped just above the lip of the desk. 

Clyde's voice could be heard again.  “For the love of... Will someone
please drop the right backdrop for the anchors desk?  Seriously guys, 
if one thing ever went right on this show I think I'd die of shock!” 

The lights shining down on the anchor's desk started to shake; as the
backdrops hanging next to them were being jostled around.  Sounds of 
the crew could be heard coming from off camera.  “It's the third rope 
to your left.  Ya, that one, now pull on it gently.  No! Don't take out 
the safety pin!  It's coming down!  Run for your lives!” 

On screen several large backdrops began unfolding one at a time. 
Dropping neatly but forcefully between the blue curtain and the hanging 
movie screen.  The backdrops had come from a playhouse that had gone 
bankrupt.  They reached all the way to the ground, and stretching far 
beyond the edges of the desk.  They were painted to look like different 
parts of the world.  To give an audience the allusion the actors were 
somewhere else. 

The first backdrop was painted to look like a twilight skyline of
downtown Saint Louis.  The Saint Louis Arch loomed large in the 
foreground, as the silhouettes of the downtown office buildings 
stretched out behind it.  A full moon was shining in the upper left 
corner.  Pinpoint stars broke up the monotony of the night's sky.  The 
sky had been painted in varying shades of blue to black.  Depending on 
how close it was to the spotlights shining up onto the Arch. 

Teddy's head, from the neck up, came into focus in the bottom left hand
corner of the screen.  He had unknowingly walked in front of the camera 
as he tried to get a better look at the backdrops as they fell. 

Turning his head to the left he spoke to someone off camera.  “Did I
ever tell you about the time I went to a convention in Saint Louis?  
No.  Oh man, it was an adventure and a half.  My buddies and I got 
mugged six times between the downtown train depot and our hotel.” 

The next backdrop came down, covering the one of Saint Louis.  This one
was painted to look like the inside of an early seventies disco club.  
There was a tacky looking bar to the left hand side, with poorly 
painted people standing next to it ordering drinks.  They were wearing 
platform shoes, bellbottom slacks that were wide enough that Teddy 
could have easily hid under them, and the guys butterfly shirt collars 
spread out past their shoulders.  Dominating the middle of the painting 
was a raised dance floor.  It had been divided into squares covered in 
white plastic panels.  Every third square was lit up in an array of 
colors.  One would be orange; the next one would be blue, and so on.  
Hanging above the dance floor was a large rotating mirrored ball.  
Around the edges of the dance floor more poorly painted people filled 
in the rest of the club. 

With Teddy's head still in the bottom right hand corner of the screen,
Ernie the Duck's head came into view in the lower left hand corner.  He 
turned to Teddy and said, “I've been there man.  The drinks were over 
priced, the music was awful, and someone stole my jacket.  Ya man, that 
place was a real downer.  Hey I know that guy at the bar.  He owes me 
money.” 

With the back of the guys heads still on camera the third backdrop
unrolled before them.  It was a scene of a Middle East street 
marketplace.  Sitting in front of the shops was an array of stalls with 
hand-weaved baskets filled with varying goods for sale.  People in Arab 
dress were shown milling about looking at stacks of produce, and 
haggling with the shop owners.  Some were carrying canvas bags, or 
rolled up colorful rugs.  Far off in the background, distinct looking 
towers could be seen overlooking the city. 

Teddy and Ernie turned their heads slowly towards each other.  When
their heads came into profile you could see their mouths were hanging 
open. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Teddy said with a shaky voice. 

“Ya brother, I do believe that is a scene of a marketplace in Iraq.  Hey
what's that guy holding?  It looks like an old videogame joystick with 
a button on the top.  There's a wire attached to it leading to his 
suitcase.  What's that sticker on his case say?” 

“I think it says ‘Property of Bin Laden' Ernie.  Oh crap!”  Teddy and
Ernie dove off camera as the backdrop exploded. 

Fortunately it wasn't a very big explosion.  Just enough to knock out a
couple of the stage lights; however, the boom operators hearing would 
never be the same again.  Members of the crew came rushing in from the 
sides with fire extinguishers, and started to put out a couple of small 
fires that were working there way up the disco backdrop.  Just after 
the fires were put out, the right backdrop for the Woodland News at 
Noon came down.  Hiding the charred remains of the other backdrops. 

A map of the world was painted on the backdrop in different shades of
green, with the rest of it a light blue.  Scrolled across the top of 
the map was the words ‘Woodland News.  Were the world comes to you.' 

Clyde's voice returned again.  “It's about time!  Camera two, cue
Charles to start the show.  What do you mean he's not at the desk?  Go 
to Jimmy then.  What?  Where are my co-anchors?  Why would I ask you if 
I knew where they were?  Find them!” 

Chapter Three 

Camera number two swung around to it's left showing most of the studio,
while trying to find the missing co-anchors.  It panned past the 
weather desk.  Then four lighted mirrors were the cast got their hair 
pieces put on, and their stage makeup applied.  Next was the catering 
table that was stacked high with cold drinks, a large metallic looking 
coffee pot, and an array of snacks.  The camera had just started to 
show the control booth were Clyde was in danger of overdosing on 
antacid tablets when the camera rotated back to the catering table. 

There they were in all their co-anchor glory.  A turkey and a squirrel
dressed in light brown suit pants, white button up dress shirts, 
wearing really loud red and yellow striped neckties.  To give them some 
credibility and to complete the anchorman look, they were both wearing 
perfectly manicured salt and pepper colored hairpieces that sat on top 
of their heads.  Every time they took a sip of their drinks, they would 
have to reach up and readjust the hairpieces.  The makeup department 
tried everything to get them to stay in place, but nothing worked.  
Every time the guys moved their heads it would start to slide off. 

The guys seemed to be arguing with each other.  Charles Turkey had his
wings raised to his side with a shocked look on his face.  Jimmy the 
squirrel was shaking his left paw that was balled into a fist, at the 
bird in a threatening manner. 

“Listen bird!  You know it, and I know it.  You're a camera hog.  I've
let you get away with it up tell now, but if I don't get my fair share 
of airtime your going to end up with a dented beak!  Do we understand 
each other?” 

“I do not hog the camera!  Now listen up fuzz brain.  I'm the one who
got you this gig.  I'm the one who made you a news superstar, and I can 
break you down to field reporter just as quick.  Now if I want to read 
some of your stories I will.  Don't you forget who the ‘Big Cheese' is 
around here buddy boy!” 

“I'm only giving you the one warning bird!  You better be a team
player!” 

They two co-anchors had set down their drinks on the table, and were
standing nose to beak.  Charles started to roll up his shirtsleeves, 
and gave the standard reply to these sorts of arguments between 
friends.  “OH YA!”  Jimmy countered this statement with a witty, “YA”, 
while he was loosening his necktie. 

They kept up this level of Shakespearean dialog, while they started to
warm up for the inevitable donnybrook that would follow.  The two had 
been best friends sense they were kids.  In a lot of ways they were 
practically brothers.  Which is why they had such short fuses with each 
other. 

The turkey started shadow boxing, trying to dazzle Jimmy with his
footwork.  He had balled up the tip of his wings, and was showing off 
his uppercut striking abilities.  He'd drop his right shoulder a bit 
while keeping his wing tight to his side in a ‘V' position.  Then with 
all the grace of a running gazelle that had three of its legs tied 
together.  He'd launch the fisted end of his wing straight up, while 
leaning his body low and to the right.  Then repeat the process with 
his left wing quickly after completely the maneuver with his right. 

The bird had no idea how to really fight, but he sincerely believed
himself to be golden glove quality.  Jimmy was always the one to handle 
this sort of thing if it popped up while they were around town.  He 
just stood there trying hard not to laugh at his old friends ridiculous 
show of jungle cat prowess.  It was one thing to knock him in the 
stomach, but to laugh in his face when he was giving it his all would 
be just cruel.  At the same time he couldn't let the bird think he had 
scared him by just standing there. 

Jimmy waited for the bird to finish one of his uppercut maneuvers.  When
Charles was off balance, the squirrel simply reached out and pulled the 
bird's hairpiece down over his eyes.  The turkey had already committed 
himself to another uppercut. With his eyes now suddenly covered his 
wing swung wild, in an exaggerated half-moon arch, coming back to 
strike himself in the beak.  Knocking him to the ground. 

Before either could do anything else Teddy had come over getting between
them.  The turtle folded his arms over his chest, and looked at the two 
while tapping his left foot on the ground.  Occasionally looking down 
to his watch on his left arm, then back at both of them.  Charles got 
up, and stood next to Jimmy.  The two friends looked at each other.  
Then back at Teddy and said simultaneously, “What?” 

“Oh nothing much.  We've just been on the air for the last ten minutes.”


The two friends looked back at each other.  Then directly at the camera
that was pointed at them.  They both scrambled for the anchor desk.  
Jimmy being quicker had gotten the jump on the bird.  Determined to be 
the first to the desk.  The turkey reached out and grabbed the squirrel 
by the shirt collar, and pulled him back.  Giving him the lead.  The 
camera stayed on them while they raced for the desk. 

Charles managed to keep the lead by using his height and bulk to block
the squirrel.  Much like a racecar driver would.  If Jimmy moved to 
pass on the right hand side, the bird would swerve to his right taking 
that option away.  To counter this strategy, Jimmy made a motion that 
he was going to pass the bird on his left.  When the bird sidestepped 
to block, the squirrel went right.  Now ten feet from the desk, they 
were running for it side by side.  With the race being so close neither 
wanted to loose time by going around the desk like any sane critter 
would.  Instead they jumped for it, up and over the middle of the desk. 


Jimmy was smarter about it.  He planted his paws on the outer edge of
the desk.  Using them to keep his balance in the air, as he twisted 180 
degrees over the desk.  Landing neatly in his chair. 

Charles on the other hand simply went for it.  He tried to jump the desk
like it was a giant hurdle.  Not getting the height he needed.  His 
right foot caught the outer edge of the desk.  Hurtling him headfirst 
into his chair.  It was a spectacular crash landing.  The chair flipped 
over, while feathers went flying everywhere. The bird's momentum was 
finally broken when he hit the backdrop, and in turn the sets dividing 
wall. 

The bird popped up, and took his seat like nothing had happened. 
Sitting to the left of Jimmy, he tried to reach out with his right foot 
to kick the squirrel in the shin.  He missed.  With the momentum of his 
kick not finding its mark.  Combined with the fact that the bird had 
compromised the structural integrity of his chair in his landing.  The 
front left leg of the chair gave way, and the bird crashed back to the 
ground for the third time in as many minutes. 

As he was getting back up, Jimmy removed his navy blue blazer from the
back of his chair.  The ladies in wardrobe always put them there for 
the co-anchors.  Perfectly pressed, and ready to go. 

The squirrel had his blazer on, and was ready to start the show. 
Charles on the other hand had just managed to get back up, and was 
looking around for another chair to use.  Finally finding one.  He 
carried it over to his traditional spot behind the desk, and slid on 
his own navy blue blazer before sitting down. 

The guys had been allowed to personalize their sport coats, so long as
it was kept in good taste.  Jimmy always hated being told what he could 
and couldn't do.  He lashed out at this ‘good taste' rule by sewing a 
skull and crossbones pirate flag over the left breast pocket of his 
blazer.  He knew the show's producers were cheap, and wouldn't risk 
ruining the jacket if they thought removing the flag would damage it.  
To this end he had told them he had used super glue to affix the emblem 
to his coat.  It worked they never did try to remove it. 

Charles had always taken the rule seriously.  Each week he would bring
in a new silk handkerchief, and a small gold-plated nametag that read 
‘Charles Turkey Anchorman' to dress up his coat.  Each week he was 
sourly disappointed when he would eventually slide on his coat, and 
find someone had messed with it.  This week wasn't any different.  His 
handkerchief was missing, and someone had changed his classy looking 
nametag for a fast food attendants.  It was large, set above his left 
breast pocket, and read ‘Ask me about our special.  My name is Susan.' 

The bird didn't realize it at first.  He was to upset about his
handkerchief being missing.  While he reached into his pants pocket for 
his backup handkerchief, Jimmy leaned over and read the bird's new 
nametag.  He started to giggle which got the birds attention. 

“What are you laughing about Pirate Joe?  Did you finally see your
reflection in the mirror?” 

“Susan would you be a dear, and tell me about your specials.” 

“What are you talking about peg-leg?  Have you been smoking your
eye-patch again?” 

Jimmy pointed to the bird's nametag, and nearly fell out of chair
laughing.  Charles looked down at it, his face turning a fiery red 
after reading it.  Trying to maintain his cool, he casually reached up 
to take it off.  He didn't realize the pin of the nametag had a locking 
latch to prevent it from falling off.  Getting frustrated he began 
pulling at it harder.  After a minute of this he did loose his cool, 
and ripped the nametag off.  There was now a good size hole in his 
otherwise pristine navy blue blazer. 

“You did this to me didn't you?  Admit it pirate boy.  You just can't
handle reading the news next to a living legend like myself.  I don't 
blame you.  If I had to sit next to myself, I'd be a little jealous 
to.” 

“Listen bird I didn't touch your sissy coat, but now I'm wishing I had. 
You know the producers are going to make you pay to replace it.” 

“That's okay.  I'll get the money from your mother.  She always had a
soft spot for me.” 

Charles started to shuffle a bunch of papers in front of him.  The whole
crew always had trouble reading the teleprompter, so the staff would 
print them out hard copies of their lines.  He was scanning a page for 
his opening line when it hit him.  He instantly knew that he had 
crossed a line with his friend Jimmy.  The enraged squirrel had knocked 
him in the back of the head with the flat side of a wooden clipboard, 
and was repeating the process over and over again. 

Jimmy only stopped because the bird had slid out of his chair, and onto
the floor.  Hiding under the desk he yelled out, “Okay, I'm sorry for 
the comment about your mother.” 

Hearing this the squirrel sat back down in his chair.  Making it a point
not to look in the bird's direction.  He was still pretty hot under the 
collar, but the bird had apologized. 

Charles crawled out from behind the desk looking dazed.  When he went to
sit down, Jimmy coughed and reached for his bottle of water.  The bird 
instantly dove back under the desk. 

Taking out his spare white handkerchief.  He tied it to the end of a
pencil, and razed it up above the desk, so the squirrel could see it.  
A moment later, with his surrender flag still flying, he slowly got up, 
and slid back into his chair.  He never once took his eyes off Jimmy 
until he was firmly back in his seat, and it was obvious to him the 
squirrel had accepted his surrender.  Camera three zoomed in on Jimmy 
who finally started the program. 

Chapter Four 

“Welcome to Woodland News at Noon.  I'm Jimmy the squirrel, and your
soups burning.  Our top story today comes to us out of Washington D.C.  
At nine o'clock this morning, an otter upset about urban sprawl 
attacked the White House.  By the time the Secrete Service had managed 
to place him under arrest, the otter had cut a large hole in the side 
of the White House using an industrial size chainsaw.  Witnesses have 
reported hearing the otter yelling out, “How do you like it when we cut 
your homes down?”  The White House has not released a statement 
regarding the matter yet.  However the hole the otter had cut into the 
building was patched up using a hundred year old tree growing on the 
White House lawn.  Apparently workers didn't want to go through the 
trouble of going to the lumberyard.  They just cut the tree down, and 
made planks of wood from it.  Charles...” 

Charles stopped glaring at Jimmy, and turned towards camera number one. 
Even though he had technically surrendered, he was hatching a plan to 
get even with the little bugger.  Charles was planning on reading all 
of the world news.  That would show the squirrel who's in charge.  He 
readjusted his hairpiece, gave the camera his most charming smile, and 
started reading the world news to his television audience.  
Unfortunately he was supposed to be looking at camera number two, which 
was to his right. 

“Thanks Jimmy.  In the world news today, it has been reported that a
gift basket of fruit had become self-conscious today around 8:15 this 
morning in Rome.  However, the fruit had no way to communicate this to 
anyone, and was promptly eaten by the Vatican's custodial staff.  The 
Pope released a statement giving his deepest regrets to the fruit's 
brethren.” 

Charles realized he had been looking into the wrong camera, and turned
to face camera number two.  He gave the squirrel a quick glance, and 
said quietly “that's a good co-anchor.  You just go right ahead and 
keep practice your lines in your head.  You're inner squirrel is the 
only one who is ever going to hear it.  You fat head!”  The now smug 
bird moved onto his next story. 

“For some odd reason, late last night, all urinal pucks around the world
had disappeared at the same time.  What long-term effect this will have 
on the general populace of the world is unknown.  However, Government 
officials are only slightly worried.” 

Hearing his cue.  Jimmy looked up, and opened his mouth to begin his
portion of the world news.  Before he could get the first word out, 
Charles had started to read his headline.  The squirrel looked at the 
bird out of the corner of his eyes, while giving the camera a forced 
smile.  He cleared his throat loud enough for the bird to hear.  He did 
it in such a way, that even though no words had been exchanged, it was 
meant as a very clear threat.  If the bird didn't back off, Jimmy would 
make him. 

“South American tourist organizations have reported, they have gotten
the howler monkey crisis under control, and that it was safe once again 
to travel to their cities for family vacations.  This was a follow up 
to complaints made to their offices.  Apparently organized gangs of 
howler monkeys, calling themselves ‘The Monkey Mafia', had been robbing 
tourists by shoving pointed sticks in their general direction, and 
demanding they hand over anything shiny that might amuse them.  
Authorities are still looking for The Monkey Mafia's stash of festive 
trinkets, and foil wrapped chocolate coins.” 

Not wanting to give Jimmy a chance to cut in, the bird immediately
started telling the next news story.  Not knowing who they were suppose 
to stay focused on, the camera operators pulled back far enough so both 
of the anchors could be seen at the same time. 

“The United Nations has requested...” 

“That's it!  I warned you bird!” 

“What?  I'm just reading the news here.” 

Not thinking the squirrel would dare interrupt the program; Charles
realized to late how serious Jimmy was about getting his fair share of 
airtime.  The enraged squirrel jumped up from his chair, and tackled 
the bird like they were playing a not so friendly game of touch 
football. 

They both fell behind the desk were the viewers couldn't see them.  The
turkey's head popped up for just a moment with a combination of fear 
and shock on his face.  Jimmy's paw reached up, and grabbed the bird by 
the neck.  Pulling the now helpless turkey back to the ground.  Muffled 
sounds of Charles pleading with the squirrel could be heard coming from 
behind the desk.  A moment later, Jimmy stood up, fixed his hairpiece, 
and returned to his seat as if nothing had happened. 

Clyde's voice came over the televisions speakers.  “Dear God!  Did the
squirrel kill him?  Switch to the remote camera over the anchor desk!” 

The screen switched from camera number two's viewpoint to that of the
remotes.   Set high in the rafters of the studio, facing down on the 
anchor desk, the remote camera zoomed in on the wiggling turkey that 
had been hogtied using electrical cords that ran behind the desk, and 
had been gagged using his own necktie.  Charles was trying desperately 
to get himself free. 

“That's a relief, so long as he isn't dead.  The bird was asking for it
anyways.  Switch back to camera number two, and somebody tell Jimmy the 
shows his until the bird gets himself free.” 

The camera's switched again, and camera number two pulled in close on
Jimmy.   Framing him in the screen from the top of the desk up.  The 
squirrel straightened his tie, and picked up were Charles had left off. 


“The United Nations has requested that all media outlets relay an open
letter to the world, from them.  It says:  Dear world, it has come to 
our attention that some of you are eating monkeys.  Please stop this.  
We enjoy their funny little antics with everyday items, and would miss 
them dearly if you eat them all.  With our thanks ahead of time, the 
Member's of the United Nations.  P.S.  Could someone please send us a 
recipe for spotted owl stew.” 

Jimmy quickly reread the letter to himself with a confused look on his
face.  Then started up again. 

“I'll send them a recipe for a knuckle sandwich.  Scientists have
announced they have discovered 17 new, very rare, and apparently tasty 
varieties of fish.  Japanese fishing trawlers are racing to the scene 
now to exploit these new, and wonderful species for mankind's luncheon 
needs.” 

The squirrel flipped over the piece of paper he had been reading from,
and started to read the next page. 

“Pigeons everywhere have declared open war on all garden gnomes.  They
gave no reason for this unexpected declaration.  We here at the 
Woodland news, believe it's due to the sad fact that pigeons are truly, 
and deeply troubled little creatures.  In other news, a hundred year 
old turtle that had taken a vow of silence eighty years ago finally 
broke that vow today, just moments before dying of a massive stroke.  
His first and last words in those eighty years was, ‘Does anyone have 
an aspirin?  I have a splitting headache'.” 

Jimmy stopped talking, and looked towards the weather desk.  The camera
pans over showing Teddy standing there with a shocked and sad look on 
his face.  The weather maps he had been examining slowly slid off the 
table.  The turtle was looking in Jimmy's general direction, but wasn't 
really focused on anything in particular.  His lower lip started to 
quiver, he mumbled,  “Uncle Johnny?” Sensing what had happened Ernie 
walked over, wrapped his wing around the grieving turtles shoulder, and 
led him back towards the refreshment table. 

The cameraman turned the camera back to the squirrel.  Jimmy was
standing.  He had taken off his hairpiece, and held it in front of him 
as a sign of respect for Teddy's loss.  Charles had managed to get free 
while everyone was focused on Teddy.  The turkey had grabbed a large 
boom-microphone, and was holding it like a club.  A wild look was in 
his eyes.  Without making a sound he kept mouthing the word ‘Revenge', 
and snuck up to within striking distance of the squirrel. 

As Jimmy was replacing his hairpiece, the bird swung.  Connecting hard
with the back of the Squirrel's head.  There was a sickening ‘Thud' 
sound, and Jimmy went flying over the anchor desk.  Landing on the 
ground hard, and didn't move. 

The now gleeful turkey swung Jimmy's chair around, and sat down.  He
giggled a little as he turned to face the camera.  With a smile on his 
face he began the National news. 

“With the threat of terrorism always present, Homeland Security released
a list today of possible events that the terrorists may try to take 
advantage of.  They would like us to be ready for these potential 
threats, so the terrorists will not be able to capitalize on them.  The 
list reads:  1) Yeti attacks.  2) All vending machines spontaneously 
run out of tasty treats.  3) Everyone becomes two-dimensional.  4) 
Wildebeest stampedes.  5) All bookends disappear at the same time.  6) 
Every five minutes, time skips ahead ten minutes.” 

When Charles finished reading the list he looked over the anchor desk to
check on Jimmy.  The camera panned down so the audience could see what 
he was looking at, careful to keep the bird in the shot. 

Jimmy was still unconscious.  Clyde, and his assistant Rusty were on the
floor trying to revive the squirrel.  Rusty looked up at the bird and 
said, “What's wrong with you?”  Unconcerned Charles responded, “He'll 
be fine.  He's hit me a dozen times much harder than I hit him.”  Then 
went back to relaying the National News. 

“In Montana last night gunfire rang out at a county fair.  The gunfight
was brief.  A local militia group had been shooting at their own 
reflections in an oversized novelty mirror.  When they were asked why 
they had opened fire, their only response was, ‘I could of sworn one of 
them reflector people were poking fun at our socks!'  Each of the 
combatants where fined five dollars to replace the mirror.” 

The two bats were making headway reviving the squirrel.  His eyes were
open, and they were trying to sit him up.  Charles continued. 

“In other news, a cheesecake shortage all along the east coast has
forced most cattle ranchers to heavily arm their ranch hands.  
Apparently people are venting their frustrations verbally by mocking, 
and screaming at the dairy cows.  Obviously, this is upsetting the cows 
greatly, and is affecting their output.  Prolonging the cheesecake 
shortage.  The Governors of the effected states have warned that if 
their citizens do not stop harassing the innocent dairy cows, they will 
be forced to call up the National Guard to restore order.” 

Jimmy was back up on his feet.  Working his way off camera on shaky
legs.  The two bats were doing their best to help him keep his balance. 
 Charles did his best to stay in the shot.  He moved his head from side 
to side as Jimmy walked in front of him, so the viewers could see his 
face.  He continued with the news. 

“The Department of Transportation has released the findings of their on
line poll this morning.  The question was ‘All things being equal, what 
would be your preferred mode of transportation?'  The number one 
surprise answer was that people would prefer to travel by rickshaw if 
the option was open to them.  Environmentalists, pleasantly surprised 
by this news, are making plans to build 5,000 rickshaws to test out in 
New York City.  If all goes well, and people actually start using them, 
they will ask Congress to replace all cabs and city busses with the 
environmentally friendly rickshaws.  Their only concern is finding 
enough healthy people to pull them.” 

Camera number two panned from Charles to Jimmy who was now
semi-conscious sitting in a chair behind the anchor desk to the birds 
right hand side.  Rusty was holding a large icepack to the back of the 
squirrel's head.  Jimmy removed a medical oxygen mask from his face, 
and began reading the local news. 

“In an attempt to increase tourism to Woodland the local Police have
asked us to stop doing the following.  1) Holding jousting tournaments 
while on our riding lawnmowers using oversized loafs of French bread.  
2) That we stop paying our Federal income tax in small change.  3) 
Putting paper bags over the tops of all the unattractive houseplants.  
4) Our efforts at mosquito farming.  5) Always whistling out of tune on 
purpose.  6) Miming our drive threw orders.  7) Critiquing peoples 
socks.  8) Holding spontaneous parades for self-serving ice-cream 
machines.  9) Stop selling self-help books on ways to hang on to your 
cash.  10) Advertising sleepovers in a haunted dog house.” 

Jimmy was out of breath, and replaced his oxygen mask.  The camera pans
back to Charles who is eager to take over. 

“Another lawn care worker was attacked today, bringing the total number
of attacks this week up to six.  The only lead the Police have is that 
all the victims describe the attackers as being short, and well 
dressed.  Armed with this information, the local authorities are 
scouring the countryside for a rouge pack of penguins.” 

The camera pans back to Jimmy, for him to read the next story.  He has
passed out in his chair, and his eyes have rolled back into his head.  
Rusty is standing on his stomach doing chest compressions on the 
squirrel.  Clyde flies in from off camera carrying a portable 
defibulator machine. 

The camera quickly pans back to the bird, who is looking in Jimmy's
direction with a scared look on his face.  He started to get up saying, 
“Is there anything I can do to help?  I really didn't hit him all that 
hard.” 

Off camera Clyde yells back, “What do you care bird?”  Charles sat back
down.  Loosening his necktie, not knowing what else to do, he started 
reading the next segment of the local news. 

“Workers at the bagel factory have gone on strike...” 

Rusty's voice cut in from off camera.  “Okay!  Okay!  Is it charged? 
Are you sure?  Good!  Everyone stand back!  Clear!”  Then the sound of 
the lifesaving machine buzzed loudly as they shocked the squirrel.  
Charles dry swallowed hard as a semi-panicked look came across his 
face.  Again, not knowing what else to do, he continued with the news. 

“...gone on strike demanding better working conditions, and a pay raise.
It looks as though the factory owner will try to bust...” 

Rusty's voice cut in again.  “Clear!”  Followed by the sounds of him
shocking Jimmy again.  “Nothing!  Give me more power!  Good!  Good!  
Everyone ready?  Clear!”  A louder buzzing sound came from the machine. 
“Come on Jimmy fight for it!  Don't go to the light!  Clear!” 

Charles just sat there, unable to finish the story.  He shuffled the
papers in front of him for a moment.  Taking the occasional glance over 
towards Jimmy.  Finally he looked up and said, “Now lets have a word 
from our sponsors, shall we?” 

Chapter Five 

The television cut to an old Indian test pattern.  It was replaced by an
image of a small kitchen that was obviously built on a sound stage.  A 
white countertop filled the lower portion of the screen.  Behind and to 
the left of this countertop was a 1960's style yellow refrigerator.  
Along the far back wall was another white countertop; centered in it 
was a small stainless steel kitchen sink.  A matching 1960's style 
yellow stove, with an oversized yellow hood, sat at the far right 
corner of the back counter.  The back wall had been painted a light 
blue, with a tacky hand painted window setting just off center of the 
sink.  Short paisley curtains were hung over the painted window in an 
unsuccessful attempt to disguise it.  The only stage props were a large 
ugly and complicated looking coffee pot, and a toaster that sat on the 
back counter. 

A prairie dog dressed in a lime green three-piece business suit was by
the coffee machine rummaging through the only working cabinet below the 
sink.  “Where is that darn can of very nasty messy coffee grounds I use 
every morning?”  Finding it, he stood up and placed an industrial size 
can on the counter next to the coffee machine.  The can was wrapped in 
white construction paper, with the words ‘Generic Evil Coffee' printed 
in big block letters facing the viewing audience. 

Facing to the side, with his back to the refrigerator, the actor opened
the top of the coffee machine.  Then removed the lid from the can of 
coffee.  Fumbling with a stack of filters, he finally managed to 
separate one from the rest of the stack then set it in the coffee 
machine.  Staying in profile he reached clumsily into the can, and 
began pulling out mountainous scoops of coffee grounds.  Making it a 
point to spill as much of the coffee on the counter as possible, while 
transferring it from the can to the machine.  After the filter was 
overflowing with coffee grounds, he bent down grabbing a short section 
of garden hose from the cabinet under the sink.  Then screwed one end 
of the hose to the sinks faucet, and turned the water on.  Water 
sprayed everywhere as the now drenched prairie dog wrestled the other 
end of the hose into the top of the coffee machine.  When the machines 
reservoir began overflowing, the actor turned the water off letting the 
free end of the hose fall to the floor.  Making it a point to look 
winded, he reached over, closed the machines lid, and turned it on, 
getting a mild electrical shock for his efforts. 

Facing the viewing audience, the actor said, “I wish there was a better
way to get my coffee fix in the morning.  This messy, and 
unsophisticated way of brewing coffee is constantly making me late for 
work.” 

Another actors voice came from offstage.  “Of course there is Mister
John Doe.  Hang on while I show you.” 

The prairie dog looked around in false wonderment.  A bad editing cut
flashed across the screen, and the actor was standing two feet to the 
left of were he had been when addressing the audience.  To his right, 
on the front countertop, was a neatly stacked pile of red and gold 
cans, labeled ‘Uncle Brian's Coffee Juice'.  Standing on top of the 
pile was a white field mouse wearing a black stovepipe hat, and a black 
bowtie. 

The field mouse looked at the camera and said, “Are you tired of wasting
minutes out of your day preparing, and drinking cup after cup of 
coffee?  Well we have the answer for you!  In fact go ahead and throw 
out that old fashioned coffee pot, so you can make room for Uncle 
Brian's Coffee Juice.  That's right, all natural pure Columbian coffee 
juice.  Absolutely no preservatives or fillers are added.  In fact this 
stuff is so potent, and thick with coffee goodness, we couldn't add 
anything if we wanted to.  Not only will you save time everyday, you'll 
save money!  That's right!  You heard me say it, save money!  You see 
our coffee juice is so well made you only need a sip a day.  That's 
what happens when you take the freshest coffee beans, and press all of 
their juices out, and into a can marked Uncle Brian's Coffee Juice.  
What are you waiting for?  Run out and buy a case today!” 

Astonished by the news, the prairie dog reached over and popped open a
can of coffee juice.  After taking a sip, he smiled then said, “This 
stuff tastes great!  Thanks for telling me about Uncle Brian's Coffee 
Juice Mister Mouse.  My house will always be stocked with Uncle Brian's 
Coffee Juice.  Will yours?”  Then he and the mouse held out a can of 
the juice directly at the camera.  They both started to dance around 
the kitchen in an effort to show the audience it was fun to drink the 
stuff.  A flash came from the drenched coffee pot's electrical outlet, 
and the back of the set burst into flames.  While a third actor read a 
disclaimer, “Due to health reasons, this product is not sold in 
twenty-six States, or Bangladesh.”  While the actors were attempting to 
put out the electrical fire using the hose attached to the sink's 
faucet, the Indian test pattern returned. 

Chapter Six 

A second later, the Woodland News studio replaces the test pattern. 
Charles is balled up lying on the floor in front of the anchor desk.  
Jimmy had apparently recovered from his near death experience, and was 
standing over the bird holding a wooden desk chair over his head.  It 
was obvious he had been exacting some revenge on the turkey.  The bats 
were standing on the desk watching and yelling out, “Jimmy stop!  He 
can't help it if he's an idiot!”  Clyde pressed the tip of his wing 
against his earpiece and said, “Oh crap were back on!  Places 
everybody!” 

The bats flew off camera, as Jimmy tossed the wooden chair to his left,
and hopped over the anchor desk into his seat.  Charles reached for the 
lip of the desk, and pulled himself up saying, “Well, I guess I 
deserved that one.”  Then fell back to the floor.  He crawled on all 
fours to the right, around the desk, back towards a chair sitting next 
the squirrel.  As Charles worked his way around, Jimmy smiled while 
looking at camera number two and said; “Now it's time for our farm 
report with our very own Jeb the Forrest Monk.” 

Camera number one picks up Jeb sitting at the far left side of the
anchor desk.  He's talking to someone off camera to his left, “We live 
in the bread basket of the world!  How could we be out of bagels at our 
refreshment table?  I don't give a rat's behind about the strike!  The 
only reason I do the farm report is for the free bagels!” 

Realizing the camera is now on him, he turns his head to face the
viewers.  “Hello, I'm Jeb, and this is your farm report. The National 
Turnip Farming Commission released a study of turnip consumption 
yesterday.  Sad to say the outlook for turnip futures does not look 
good.  They compared this year's consumption rate of turnips, to that 
of the last fifty years.  Breaking it down into ten-year increments.  
It clearly shows that the American public is loosing its taste for 
these root vegetables at an alarming pace.  It is believed that all 
turnip farmers will in fact be out of work with in the next twenty 
years if this trend does not change. On the up side, if turnips do 
disappear from our local grocery stores, they'll have more room to 
display prepackaged overpriced tofu specialty snacks.” 

Jeb puts down his papers that list the other news in farming.  Looking
back off camera he says, “Nope, I'm done.  I don't care if I do have 
three more minutes to fill.  Seriously, who cares about turnips?  I'm 
up here reading this garbage, wasting my viewer's time, and I'm not 
even getting my bagel for doing it.  I don't care what you do!  In fact 
I'm leaving!  I had my heart set on a bagel, and there are none, so I'm 
leaving to go get one.  I bet the cattle and hogs have bagels!  Why 
should I read about them, when they're eating my bagels?  Don't worry, 
I'll be back in a few minutes after I have acquired and partaken in a 
bagel with honey flavored crème cheese on it.” 

Jeb got up and walked away from the anchor desk.  Camera number one pans
back to the co-anchors.  The squirrel and turkey are sitting at their 
seats eating buttered apple and cinnamon bagels.  To make sure Jeb 
doesn't see their snacks; they had covered the bagels with a scattered 
pile of playing cards.  Each of the anchors held up a half dozen cards, 
and would occasionally say, “Go fish.”   To make the Forest Monk think 
they were simply playing a quick game of cards while he did the farm 
report. 

Charles, now completely recovered, introduces the editorial segment of
the show.  “Thank you Jeb for that informative look at the world of 
turnips.  Let us turn now to what we here at Woodland News call, ‘A 
moment with Vern' our houseplant.  Due to some spooky reason, in which 
we can't discuss here, our plant has, unfortunately for us, gained the 
ability to speak.  He has been bugging us night and day sense then to 
put him on the air.   To get him to be quite for a while we had him 
committed to the Woodland Sanitarium; however, he is threatening legal 
action against us, and promises not to sue if we gave him the editorial 
segment.  In an effort to keep our butts out of court, here is Vern our 
Boston Fern.” 

Still munching on their bagels, the two anchors swivel their chairs to
look at the pull down screen behind them.  On it is a file photo of 
Vern.  Charles says, “Your on the air Vern.  How is everything at the 
sanitarium?” 

Vern's voice comes over the speakers.  “Not that you guys really care,
but everything here is just dandy.  The Doctors only performed two 
lobotomies today, and we're having chocolate pudding for our dinner 
desert.  Now be quiet!  I need to address our viewers about a very 
serious topic.” 

Jimmy put his bagel down.  Looking at Charles he asked, “Did that
chloroforming half-pint just tell me to shut up?”  The bird nodded his 
head ‘yes' and put the tip of his wing in front of his mouth to 
indicate that Jimmy needed to be quiet.  The squirrel rolled his eyes, 
and went back to eating his bagel. 

Vern started his editorial.  “Before I start, I thought it would be nice
if you knew a little bit about me, so you can have a better idea were 
I'm coming from with my editorials.  My name is Vern, and I'm an 
eight-month year old Boston fern.  I come from a big family, and up 
tell last month, lived at the Woodland News studio.  My favorite color 
is green, lucky for me, and my main hobby is to hang around a water 
cooler to listen to what everyone else is talking about.  I also enjoy 
sunny days, and light jazz.  With that said lets move onto the 
editorial.” 

Jimmy was making spit wads out of his napkin, and was shooting them at
the picture of Vern.  Charles on the other hand was diligently taking 
notes on a spiral pad.  He had always been a bit of a conspiracy nut, 
and was hoping Vern had a new one for him. 

Vern continued with his editorial.  “You know what really gets under my
skin?  That's right!  Bugs!  They're everywhere in this God forsaken 
world!  Everywhere I look, bugs!  There are bugs to the left of me, 
bugs to the right of me, bugs in front of me, everywhere there's bugs!  
They crawl on the walls, fly threw the air, wiggle over the floors, and 
at the end of the day who gets stuck with them?  Me!  That's who!  
Everyone else at the studio would leave at five o'clock at night, and 
go to their bug free homes!  In fact I bet they caught bugs at home and 
brought them back to the studio to torment me!  No one around there 
likes me!  They have never once said, ‘Good morning Vern.' or ‘Read any 
good books lately Vern?' not once in the six months I was with them!  
I'll tell you this for nothing.  When I finally make it down off this 
hook they got me on, I'm torching the whole place!  Ya, I said it!  
I'll burn all you guys, and your pet bugs to the ground!  Oh ya!  You 
can't keep me here forever Doc!  Hey, get away from me with those 
gardening shears!” 

The file photo of Vern disappeared from the screen, and the anchors
turned back towards the viewing audience.  Jimmy, with a big toothy 
grin on his face said, “Thanks for that informative look at bugs.  I 
sincerely hope you get a fungal disease.  By the way your mother was a 
rubber plant!” 

Charles has an astonished look on his face.  “Jimmy that's just plain
rude.  Besides, I don't think we want to make him any madder.  Did you 
hear him?  He's already threatened to burn us alive.” 

Jimmy looked at the bird, and started shaking the fingers of his paws at
him.  “I'm so scared of the big bad fern.  I can't keep from wetting 
myself.” 

The bird looked down at his pants.  “I did not!  Anyways it's time for
the business news with our very own Ernie ‘the hippie' Duck.” 

Chapter Seven 

Camera number three picks up Ernie at the far right end of the anchor
desk.  Not hearing his cue, Ernie is leaning way back in his chair, 
looking up at the ceiling.  Something in the rafters has caught his 
attention.  “Yep, that looks like structural damage alright.” 

Clyde's voice came over the speaker.  “Somebody tell Ernie he's on! 
Then get one of the grips to check out that crack in the ceiling.  
Teddy just got an update about the storm, and its getting worse.  The 
last thing we need is a bunch of rainwater working it's way in, and 
shorting out our lighting rigs above the desk.” 

As Ernie looked up he started spinning his chair around.  A wadded up
piece of paper came flying at him from off stage.  Hitting him in the 
chest.  He stopped spinning, and straightened out the paper that had 
been thrown at him.  “Oh wow man.  I wish the post office would take 
better care of my mail. I hope this isn't a draft notice.  I still owe 
those dudes in Canada money man.”  The hippie read the message that was 
written on it out loud, “You're on the air!”  Ernie giggled saying, “No 
man.  I haven't touched that stuff in years.  It made me dream in 
colors.  It sounds groovy, but trust me man, it...Oh.  You mean I'm on 
the show.  That's cool.  Just let me know when it's time for me to 
start.  I got my story memorized and stuff man.” 

The duck sat upright, and looked at the camera with a big goofy grin on
his face.  He cleared his throat, then reached over and took a sip from 
a coffee mug.  Still looking at the camera.  He took off his rose 
tinted rounded glasses, and started cleaning them using the lower part 
of his tie-dyed t-shirt.  Ernie put the glasses back on, letting them 
sit low on his beak.  A second piece of wadded up paper came flying 
from off camera, hitting the bird in the side of the head. 

“Hey brother, if you got something to tell me, just say it.  I'm all for
free speech man.  We're just wasting trees this way.”  Ernie 
straightened out the paper, and read the second message out loud also, 
“You sandal wearing, incense burning, tofu eating dirty hippie! If you 
don't start relaying the business news right now, I'm going to take 
those prayer beads of yours and...”  Ernie read the rest of the 
paragraph silently.  The more he read, the bigger his eyes got.  
Finally saying, “...signed, Clyde the bat.” 

Ernie set the paper down on the desk, shut his eyes, took a couple deep
breaths, and started chanting.  It was obvious he was trying to find 
his cosmic center.  A moment later he opened his eyes, and stood up 
from the chair.  “That was harsh Clyde, so much negativity.  I forgive 
you brother.  You can't help it if ‘The Man' has gotten you all wound 
up.  I'm renewing my earlier offer.  Come here brother man, you need a 
big hug, and I'm not taking no for an answer.  It's for your own good 
man.” 

The hippie walked off camera with his wings stretched out wide in front
of him, ready to give the uptight bat a hug.  Before the camera could 
pan back to the anchors, Charles crossed by from left to right.  
Passing Ernie's chair.  Heading off camera to the right with his wings 
up, and open like the ducks.  “Ernie's right Clyde.  You do need a hug. 
 Hell we all need a good old fashioned hug.”  The turkey walked off 
camera. 

Clyde's voice could be heard yelling from the control booth, as the
camera stayed on the duck's chair.  “Lock the door!  Don't let those 
crazy birds in here!  I'm warning you guys!  You lay one feather on me, 
and I won't be responsible for my actions!  I told you to lock it!  Not 
open it!  Get out!  Stop hugging me hippie!  If anyone can hear this 
send help!  I'm at the Woodland studios being hugged in a very 
threatening manner.  Get this hippie off me Charles!  No not you to!” 

The camera panned over to Jimmy, who was sitting at the anchor desk
chuckling.  “Hey Rusty, if you can hear me over all that free love in 
there, would you cut Clyde's microphone?  Our viewers don't need to 
hear that.  Thanks buddy.” 

Still giggling the squirrel began the business news.  “The big news in
business today was when word came in that the bagel strikers were being 
joined by the other local unions in a sympathy strike.  Bringing nearly 
all business in the area to a screeching halt.  The other business 
owners are leaning hard on the bagel factory owner not to break the 
union, and to meet the factories union representatives to find some 
middle ground.  We'll keep you updated as new information concerning 
this situation comes in.” 

The camera pulled back showing Charles had returned to his seat next to
Jimmy.  “How's Clyde?  Did you two get him to let it all out?” 

“No.  The big grouch!  We put ourselves out there like that, and all he
can do is cuss like twenty drunken monkeys on a cargo ship three weeks 
out to sea.” 

“Maybe next time.  I personally don't think you guys should give up that
easily.  Maybe you should go back, and hug him tightly for a really 
long time.  I bet you can crack that corporate shell of his.” 

Clyde's microphone had been turned back on, and his voice boomed over
the set.  “I still have those pictures Jimmy!  You egg those two loons 
on just once more, and the pictures end up on my web page!” 

Before the squirrel could answer, a phone started ringing.  Charles
reaches under the desk, and pulls up a large office style phone.  
Setting it on the desk, he presses the speakerphone option and says, 
“Mushy. Mushy.  This is the Woodland newsroom.  Super anchor Charles 
Turkey speaking.  How may I help you?” 

Vern's voice came over the phone's speaker.  “My mothers a rubber plant
eh?  I warned you guys, but you just wouldn't listen.  Say your prayers 
boys.  I'm free and heading your way.  Be ready to reap the whirlwind 
that is my vengeance!” 

Charles just sat there with his mouth hanging open.  He looked off
camera, and asked one of the staff.  “Would you mind handing me that 
fire extinguisher?  Ya, that one, the really big one hanging on the 
wall.” 

Jimmy calmly leaned in close to the phone to make sure Vern wouldn't
miss anything he was about to say.  “Listen plant!  If you got a 
problem with us then bring it on!  All I've heard so far is a lot of 
tough talk from a bug infested wimp of a plant.” 

Vern's voice rumbled through the phone's speaker.  “You just wait right
there fuzz butt!  I wouldn't want you to miss out on the fireworks.  I 
knew you guys were getting ready to send me away, so I hid bombs all 
over the place as a sort of insurance policy.  When I get with in 
range, all I have to do is press my leaf against the remote detonator 
button, and BOOM!  Woodland News at Noon will be no more!  What do you 
have to say about that squirrel?” 

“I say, not only is your mother a rubber plant, but she's sitting in my
dressing room right now.  Waiting for me to get off work!” 

“How dare you talk about my mother!  I'll dance on your grave for that
squirrel!” 

“Bring it on...” Charles reached out and covered the enraged squirrel's
mouth. 

“Are you insane Jimmy?  He means business!  Listen Vern buddy pal, There
must be something we can do to make things right.  What do you say we 
skip the bombs, and talk about this over a good size bowl of strawberry 
ice cream?” 

Jimmy broke free of the birds grasp and said, “Ya Vern, why don't you
come on in.  I'd love to show you the roof.  Not to mention the 
three-story drop to the pavement below it.” 

A dial tone could be heard coming from the speaker of the phone.  Jimmy
sat back in his chair mumbling something.  Charles reached over and 
hung up the phone by hitting a button.  He turned to face the squirrel. 


“That's just peachy!  Thank you so much Jimmy!  Like my list of things
to worry about today wasn't long enough.  You have to go off and add 
avoid massive explosions to it!” 

“Relax.  He's not going to do anything.  The dummy probably bribed an
orderly to let him make a phone call from the nurse's station.  Besides 
he's a plant.  What could he possibly do to us?” 

“Weren't you listening?  He has bombs hidden everywhere!  It's not like
we tried to hide the fact we were going to commit him.  He had plenty 
of time to build them.  Not to mention, he was here every night by 
himself for hours.  Giving him ample time to plant them, so to speak.” 

“Get over it already bird.  Besides we're late introducing Frank and his
puff piece.” 

Charles looked over to the control booth.  Apparently Clyde signaled him
to keep the show going, because he looked back to the camera and set up 
the next piece for the show. 

Chapter Eight 

“Our ace reporter, and my favorite computer personality program, Frank. 
He was thoughtful enough to go to the local chili cook off, so we 
wouldn't miss out on any of the excitement.” 

The two anchors turn their chairs to look at the hanging screen again. 
A hand drawn picture of a garbage disposal with stink lines coming out 
of its top appeared on the screen.  The squirrel started laughing while 
Charles did his best to repress his laughter, as he cued Frank. 

“How's the food Frank?” 

“What is Jenny laughing about?  Have you guys switched my file photo
again?” 

“No, not at all.  It's just that Teddy is making funny faces for us off
camera.” 

“Whatever!  I'll check the tapes when I get back.  Now Susan, I just
want to ask you one more thing.” 

“Anything.” 

“Why did you send me here?  I'm a highly sophisticated computer software
program dang it!  Not some sort of nursemaid for a bunch of bean 
loving, no shirt wearing yahoos!  I can't taste the food!  My sensors 
tell me it smells here!  Everyone at this cook off is funny looking, 
and I've seen better hygiene habits at a ...” 

Charles cut him off.  “Thank you for that report Frank.”  The bird
looked over his shoulder at the camera.  With an embarrassed giggle he 
addressed the viewers.  “News humor.  Ha. Ha.  He's actually having the 
time of his life folks.  We here at Woodland News just love chili, and 
the people who attend these sort of cook offs.  Please don't turn the 
channel.”  He giggled again trying to convince the audience it was a 
staged joke. 

Franks voice came over the speakers.  “What are you talking about Susan?
Can I come back now?  This storm is getting really bad.” 

Charles, “Sure Frank.  Come on back you funny guy.  I'm sure Clyde would
love to have a word with you.” 

Frank's picture vanished from the screen, and the two anchors turned
around to face the cameras.  Jimmy looks off to his left saying, “You 
ready Jeb?  Hey, the bagel strike must be over.  Okay, I'll set up your 
segment.” 

Jimmy looked back towards the camera.  Charles is grinning like a madman
pounding the end of his left wing on the table.  Using his other wing 
to hold his side.  “That Frank is such a card.  I don't know about you 
at home, but we're all still in stitches here.  He delivered that joke 
perfectly.” 

The camera pulled in on Jimmy.  “Knock it off bird.  No ones buying it. 
Have you been wondering how your favorite sports team has been doing?  
Well you're in luck.  Jeb has managed to get back in time for his 
sports report.  Did you have any luck finding a bagel Jeb?” 

Camera one picks up Jeb sitting to Jimmy's left.  To either side of him
are two towering stacks of bagels.  Before he could start the bird's 
voice came from off camera.  “Ouch!  I got a splinter in my wing from 
this cheap desk!  You guys help me!  This thing is in pretty deep!” 

With out even blinking Jeb started with the sporting news.  “Hello sport
fans.  Tonight I thought we would take a look at an older sport that 
has unfortunately gone out of fashion with the youth of today.  Yes in 
deed I'm talking about that great American pastime of cross-country 
kick the can marathons.  A sport born out of the Great Depression, 
granted Americans were desperate for any form of cheap entertainment in 
those days.  But that's what makes it so special.  Anyone could do it, 
as long as they had one functioning leg and three weeks to spare.  The 
rules were simple as well.  The competitors would start at sunrise at 
one end of a county and kick a can until they reached the other end of 
the county.  Hobo Jim was the undisputed champion of this sport.  He 
came in first place on no less than 17 occasions.  Tragically, the 
world lost Hobo Jim when he refused to pay for a ferry ride when he 
reached the Mississippi River while competing.  His plan was to kick 
the can over the river, then swim to it, and kick it again.  The can 
landed 50 feet out in the water, and Hobo Jim being such a fierce 
competitor went in after it.  Either that or to retrieve the can for 
it's deposit value.  No matter, poor Hobo Jim was sucked under the 
water in his attempt to make it across the river.  They found his body 
three days later downstream.  Remarkably, still holding onto his can 
that he had kicked across countless county lines.  So the next time you 
see a can, give it a good hard kick as a salute to our Hobo Jim the 
undisputed can kicking champion of the world.” 

Clyde's voice came over the set.  “I'm not paying for all those bagels
monk!” 

Jeb got up from his chair waving a skinny piece of paper.  “You want to
bet on that!  I got the receipt right here, and I expect to be 
completely reimbursed.  It's not my fault your caterer messed up.” 

The camera goes back to the squirrel and turkey.  Jimmy is fussing with
the bird's wing trying to find the splinter.  Charles has buried his 
head in his other wing whimpering.  “I think I need a Doctor.  Somebody 
call me a Doctor.  It feels like I got a sharpened two-by-four in 
there.” 

Jimmy finds the splinter and pulls it out.  It's so small the viewers
can't see it.  “You big sissy.  It's out.  I hate to say it, but you're 
going to live.” 

Charles pops his head up like nothing had happened.  “Now it's time for
the weather.  Are you ready to roll Frank?” 

Chapter Nine 

Frank's picture reappeared on the screen behind the anchors.  “I'm a
professional Susan.  I'm always ready.” 

Camera number one has picked up the weather desk, which is to the left
of the anchor desk.  Multiple maps are hung behind it showing close ups 
of the county, and surrounding areas.  The desk itself is a copy of the 
anchor desk.  Except it's squarer, and just large enough for one 
reporter to sit behind.  One of the larger maps is obviously missing 
from the wall.  Ernie is curled up under the map, using it as a make 
shift blanket, on top of the desk. 

Ernie stirs a little then sits up facing the anchor desk. “Oh man, can
we skip the weather report tonight?  I was just getting comfortable.” 

Camera number two shows Charles sitting at the anchor desk examining his
wing were the splinter was.  “Maybe I should get it x-rayed to be on 
the safe side.  It still hurts a little.  Oh sorry Ernie.  What about 
it Frank, is it cool if we skip the weather?” 

Franks voice returns.  “We are in the middle of one of the worst storms
of the century, and you want to skip it so a hippie duck can have a 
nap?  I can't work like this Susan!  I'll wait for you in the car.” 

Jimmy spoke up.  “Your cool Ernie.  We sent Teddy outside to give us a
first hand account of the storm.  Can you hear me Teddy?  You're on the 
air.” 

The anchors kept looking forward as a picture of Teddy wearing a super
hero outfit appeared on the screen behind them.  Teddy's voice came 
over the speaker.  “Thanks Jimmy.  Yes I can hear you, but just barely. 
 It's raining pretty hard out here.  There are reports of golf ball 
size hail just east of us here at the station.  Wait a second.  The 
wind is picking up a bit.  There's a greenish glow to the sky.  Hey 
guys, what does a tornado look like again?” 

A sound like a freight train came over the airwaves.  Charles and Jimmy
looked at each other.  Then they dove under the desk.  Camera two 
started to swing wildly right before the image on the screen went 
black.  It was quickly replaced by the Indian test pattern. 

A second later the show appeared for a brief moment.  The entire crew
was shown hanging onto each other's ankles forming a sort of human 
chain straight up into the air.  Jimmy was at the bottom hanging onto a 
cable that had been secured to the concrete floor.  Taking up the rear 
of the chain was Clyde and Rusty.  They were hanging onto Ernie's feet. 
 Teddy appeared from nowhere grabbing onto Jeb who was third on the 
chain.  The screen flickered.  Then the test pattern reappeared. 

A full minute passed before the show returned.  Camera number one was
facing upwards.  Showing that the roof had been blown off.  It panned 
down slowly.  The screen was filled with images of devastation.  
Lighting rigs were barely hanging on by their wiring from the metal 
rafters.  The Saint Louis backdrop was wrapped around a support column. 
A majority of the outer walls were missing. 

The camera stopped when it reached were the anchor desk use to be.  The
entire crew was sitting on the ground.  Clyde and Jeb were writing 
something on a piece of broken drywall.  Charles got up, picked up the 
piece of drywall, and walked up to the camera.  All his feathers were 
standing on end, and his hairpiece was hanging low on the back of his 
head.  Not realizing the camera's microphone still worked, he grunted 
as he held up the make shift sign.  It read: We are all okay.  Thanks 
for tuning in.  This has been Woodland News at Noon.  P.S.  We quit! 

The bird dropped the busted up drywall, and walked back towards the
group.  “Come on guys, let's go home.”  Everyone got up, and started to 
walk off camera waving at the camera. 

The camera stayed on as an eighteen-wheeler fuel truck came crashing
through what was left of the far wall the camera was pointing at.  It 
screeched to a halt with the driver's side window of the truck in plain 
view of the camera.  The window started to roll down, and manic 
laughter could be heard coming from the other side.  With the window 
all the way down Vern could be seen sitting in the drivers seat.  He 
held up a black box with his thickest branch, and pressed a red button 
on the box with another. 

“I told you guys to be ready to reap the whirlwind!  Who's laughing now
Squirrel!  Wait a second.  Where is everybody?  Well that's just 
typical!  I go through all this trouble of escaping, stealing this fuel 
truck, turning it into a bomb, and they don't have the decency to be 
here when I press the...” 

A bright flash engulfed the screen.  Then everything went, and stayed
black. 

Chapter Ten 

The two brothers got up from their seats.  Earl went over and turned off
the television.  Simon picked up the plates, and set them in the sink.  
He looked out the kitchen window then turned towards Earl. 

“It looks like the rain stopped.  You need any help with that back ten
acres?” 

“No.  I bet the ground is to soaked to get any real work done out
there.” 

“Well what do you want to do?  Play a game of cards, or get to work on
cleaning out the attic?” 

Earl walked over to the coffee pot.  Poured them each another round of
Doctored coffee and said, “Let's rewind that tape, and watch those 
critters again.” 

“Now that's the best idea you've had in thirty years brother.  Make mine
a double shot would you?” 

The brothers walked back around to their seats and sat down.  Earl hit
the ‘rewind' button on the remote control.  They sat patiently without 
saying a word.  A moment later Earl hit the ‘stop' button, then the 
‘play' one.  He had perfect timing.  It was the very beginning of the 
show.  As the show started Simon cut loose the exact same giggle he had 
done the first time around. 

The End. 


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