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Bongo McTweedlepants

“This was your idea,” Davey reminds him.

“I was just going to get a wig, Davey, not ‘the most realistic chest hair money can buy,'” says Bongo. “It’s not even for my chest, it’s for an afro! Hey, that is spirit gum you’re putting on my head, right?”

“Yes,” says Davey, tossing aside the superglue. “Now try not to breathe while I shake the hairbag.”

He’s still shaking, two minutes later, when Bongo finally inhales. “ACK PTHAH MY MOUTH,” he says.

“Save the method acting for the audience,” says Davey. “This is going to be the greatest performance of your life.”

Bongo McTweedlepants

“Oh, there you are, Bongo,” says Thaddeus, wobbling in through the swinging door. “Did you get lost?”

“Heh, yeah,” Bongo says. “I’m not used to working in a place anything like this size!”

“You’ll learn your way around the Educational Funtime HQ soon enough.”

“I mean, you guys have like an entire snack bar in here!” exclaims Bongo, waving one floppy arm around the vaulted chamber. “Not to mention the leather couches and the plasma TV… this is the nicest studio I’ve ever seen!”

“This is the bathroom,” says Thaddeus.

“You have a bathroom?” gasps Bongo, eyes full of puppet tears.

Bongo McTweedlepants

“Go over them again, Davey,” says Bongo McTweedlepants warningly.

Profoctor Davey sighs. “Fine. No cussing, although I never cuss and if I did they’d bleep it.”

“Keep going!”

Davey pulls the list from his wallet. “No reading from my dissertation on eugenics. No putting the kids’ names in limericks. No giggling when I quote Balzac. No discussing forced sterilization for Kentuckians. Okay? I promise!”

“Okay,” says Bongo, still edgy. “Terry, are we almost live? Okay, cue music.”

Theme soooong!

“But I can talk about euthanasia for the colorblind, right?” says Davey, as soon as it fades.


Profoctor Davey

Dear Profoctor Davey,

reads the letter,

I keep having bad dreams they are all about our pool in the back yard and I fall in like my sister did and never get out. Every time I smell the laundry room I think about her and cry and cry. Why did it happen? Dougan from Topeka, age 9.

“Well, Dougan, I bet what you’re smelling is the element chlorine,” says Profoctor Davey brightly. “Let’s ask my buddy Bongo McTweedlepants to explain some more! Bongo?”

“The hell we need puppets on a goddamn radio show anyway,” mutters Bongo. “What? Oh, are we live?”