Puppet Graveyard

8

The Bamboo Lounge.

Ten minutes to midnight.

“Now I ain’t saying you’re stupid, Ronny,” Piggy said to the audience. “But when they emptied the gene pool, you were what was caught in the drain.”

The drunks out there in that smoky, boozy haze were loving it. Laughing and slapping the tables. And the more they laughed, the faster the liquor flowed and the management liked that just fine.

“Night after night, Piggy, I sit up here and you insult me. When will it ever end, I wonder?” Ronny said, shaking his head sadly. “You know, if I had a real job, I wouldn’t need you.”

Piggy laughed. “Sure, and if your dick worked, your wife wouldn’t need me either.”

The place broke up and Piggy grinned under the spotlight, feeding on it, packing away all the energy like a bear swallowing raw meat and storing it as fat. Ronny could feel him thrumming on his knee, sucking it up like a sponge, growing stronger, more daring… and he did not like it.

“What’s with all these jokes about my wife, Piggy?”

The dummy kept grinning, wood that was aware. Wood filled with potential. “I’m just saying you gotta pay more attention to her, Ronny, that’s all. Christ, she told me the other night she feels like Santa Claus.”

“Santa Claus?”

“Sure, she only comes once a year.”

“Now, Piggy…”

“I’m just kidding you, Ronny,” Piggy said. “Your wife comes all year long. It’s her way. Only the Big Bad Wolf has swallowed more pork than that lady. Hell, more men have been lost in her bush than in the Upper Amazon.”

More laughter. Some drunken blonde in the front row, breasts spilling from her blouse, was clapping her hands and giggling in a high, piercing tone that cut through the guffaws like a straight razor. Piggy noticed her as did Ronny.

“Hey, honey, you like that?” Piggy said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong here about Ronny… he’s a good guy. But his wife has needs and all. She told me Ronny’s pecker is so small, she has to blow pepper at it.”

The woman giggled. “Pepper? Why pepper?” she called out.

Piggy said, “Well, she has to get the little bastard to sneeze just to find it.”

The blonde could barely contain herself and some parts of her anatomy. In fact, she was too drunk to even bother.

“Sure, his wife tells me she feels neglected,” Piggy said. “The only way she can get his dick hard is by sticking it in the freezer.”

Applause now. A few whistles. It was hard to say whether Ronny was enjoying any of it or whether it was even part of the act or just random ad-libbing by Piggy… or Ronny.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” Piggy said. “Are you a real blonde?”

Ronny sighed. “That’s enough, Piggy. A gentleman doesn’t ask such a thing of a lady.”

Piggy held his hands up. “Listen, she’s got blonde hair and I’m just wondering if the carpet matches the drapes.”

“What’s your name, honey?”

The blonde giggled and jiggled. “Mona,” she said.

Piggy slapped a hand to the side of his head and everyone roared with laughter. “Mona? Mona? I tell you, folks, sometimes this shit writes itself. Mona, eh? I like that. Mona likes de bona. Giver her de bona and she starts to moana. Honey, in the land of gee-gee, you’re strictly a blue light special.”

Giggling still, the blonde said, “A blue light special? What does that mean?”

“It means your panties are always half-off.”

A waitress went by with a tray of drinks and Piggy latched onto her. Gestured at her with his hand, whispered something to Ronny.

“Leave her alone,” Ronny told his dummy.

“I was just wondering if you like ’em with big asses like that, Ronny. Hell, a girl like that? You put a corn cob in your back pocket and she’ll follow you forever.”

The waitress, a heavy girl, was smiling, but obviously not amused.

Piggy chortled. “Hey, I’m just kidding you, baby doll. Don’t let me interrupt your work… go make that money, honey. You hear that, boys?” Piggy said to a group of salesman well into their cups. “Hear what she said? Five dolla, make you holla.”

The drunks were loving it, even if the waitress wasn’t. But she was new and she didn’t know the ropes yet. The others knew you didn’t go anywhere near the stage when Piggy and Ronny were doing their thing.

Piggy turned back to the blonde. “Honey,” he said, “if you’re in the mood for a good piece of wood, you let me know.”

“Really, Piggy,” Ronny said.

Piggy chuckled his dry laugh. “Hey, Ronny, I was thinking. Remember when you were a kid and they sold those snack cakes with the characters? Twinkie the Kid, Captain Cupcake, and Fruit Pie the Magician?”

“Sure. I recall.”

“Well, they sound like a trio of pedophiles to me. Captain Cupcake liked the kids to lick his icing and Twinkie was always shoving his sponge cake in their mouths so they could taste his creamy filling. I bet when old Fruit Pie the Magician hung around grade schools, fruit pies weren’t the only thing he made disappear.”

“That’s enough,” Ronny said.

“Ah, you’re still mad because I was ribbing you about your wife.” Piggy put his hand next to his mouth like he wanted to tell the audience a secret. “Is it my fault his wife spreads faster than a brushfire? We’re talking the champion sword-swallower of Cook County here, people.”

“Why don’t you quit picking on people,” Ronny told him.

“Okay, okay.” Piggy tapped a hand to the side of his head. “Hey, Ronny, you hear that Newt Gingrich was a test tube baby?”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“It’s true. Even then he wasn’t worth a fuck.”

This was the part of the show where Piggy started launching his one liners and the drunks absolutely loved it. Sometimes Ronny and Piggy would do three or four encores.

“Hey, Ronny, what do you call two lesbians in a closet?”

“I don’t know. What do you call two lesbians in a closet?”

“A liquor cabinet,” Piggy said. “You hear about the two lesbians that built a house?”

“No, what happened?”

“Well, it’s pretty nice place… no studs, all tongue and groove.”

It went on rapid-fire like that for maybe ten or fifteen minutes, but slowly but surely the laughs were milked from the crowd and Ronny was beginning to look uncomfortable. Piggy was getting that shine in his eyes, looking like Howdy Doody from hell.

“I think we’re falling flatter than your wife’s chest here, Ronny,” Piggy said in that squeaking voice. “Maybe what these people want is real entertainment… should I give ’em something they’ll never forget?”

Ronny licked his lips, swallowed. “No, ha, ha, don’t do that.”

The dummy seemed to be grinning. “Got a story for you, folks. Listen closely: Mama, Mama, Mama McBane, she had two children who caused her great pain. She was only happy after they were slain. She had another son who was completely insane. The doctors all agreed there was something wrong with his brain. He began to crack under the enormous strain. So what could he do, old Ronny McBane? He delved in the darkness with knowledge arcane. What he did was wholly profane. He snatched two bodies from where they had lain. And now his life is one ugly stain. Isn’t it shocking about Mama McBane?”

“That’s enough!” Ronny cried out.

“Aw, come on, let’s heat this joint up.”

“Please, Piggy.”

“You don’t think they’d like me doing that?” There was an intensity to the dummy now, an edge there that was somehow sadistic, twisted, and not very funny. “Maybe they want me to pull a rabbit out of a hat? I can’t do that, but I can pull something out of thin air that’ll turn their hair white…”

“Okay, Piggy, stop that,” Ronny said. “It’s not very funny…”

“Oh, you’re wrong, this is going to be a real hot one…”

Piggy was laughing and laughing with that shrill, scratching sound like fingernails on blackboards and it was loud, resounding, echoing, that malefic gleam in his eye.

The atmosphere of the Bamboo Lounge went from being drunk and care-free to somehow savage and deadly. Nobody was laughing, nobody was doing much of anything but squirming in their seats.

And about that time, somebody in the audience started screaming.