Puppet Master Possum!

The 3rd story in the Awesome Possum series!

Puppet Master Possum!

By Mike Stevens

     What was he doing here?  Randy Craw was sharing the stage with fricking socks with eyes, or buttons, covering the hands of idiots doing their best to stay out of camera range.  He had used an underhanded technique to win back his job as the man inside the Awesome Possum costume, and it hadn’t taken him 2 seconds to remember why he hated Awesome.  And now, here he was sharing the stage with idiotic puppets!  This was already degrading enough, but now talking socks, looking like they were unhappy having someone’s hand stuck up their a**; oh boy!

     “Say, Mr. Possum; would you care for some cookies?” said one of the a** hands.

     S**t, “You betcha!”  Wow! Such inspiring dialog!

     “Ah, ha, ha!” laughed the children in attendance for the taping of The Awesome Possum Show. Shee-it! thought Randy.  If you think that’s funny kids, you’ll positively howl at my limerick; ‘There once was a lady taking massive doses of penicillin, because she was shtuping a dude who should have been checked by a doctor before they did begin!’

     “We’re going to Farmer Reggie’s house; want to come along?”

     No thanks, I’ve got to go get violently ill from having to listen to this blow-chunk dialog! “You betcha, fellas!” This Hindenburg of a scene is going down in a big ball of exploding not-laughing gas!   "As sure as 1 follows 2!"

     “Ah, ha, ha!” laughed the kids.  These slop-headed sawed-off p****r-children would laugh at anything; “Stick!” ‘ah, ha, ha!

     “Farmer Reggie has strawberries that will knock your socks off!”

     That one was too easy! “Let’s go!”  S**t, people actually get paid to write this crap?  Oh well, I get paid to wear this pathetic possum outfit, and letting moron-kids treat me like an outhouse!

     “I can’t wait to get a taste of Farmer Reggie’s tasty strawberries!” he said.  I sure hope strawberries go well with malt liquor, because as soon as I’m done spouting these bulls**t lines, I’m snorkling at least a half-rack!

     An hour later, Randy was slumped over his dressing room make-up counter, trying to get his hands to respond to the commands his brain was sending them, telling them to finish taking of the possum-s**t make-up from his face. Increasingly, however, the effects of all the beers he had drank had a negative effect. He guessed he shouldn’t have drank so many, so quickly, but anything to escape his dreary reality.

     At last, he had somehow managed to somewhat-rearrange the possum-s**t.  Man, was he drunk! He glanced up at the mess of an image staring back at him.  He looked more like Phyllis Diller on crack, than Randy Craw.

     The blasting noise of too-loud music greeted him, as he walked into The Shaky Bandit tavern. He knew he shouldn't have, but he had decided that the only thing that might make him forget the humiliation of having to become Awesome Possum was more beer.  He had managed to scrape the rest of his make-up off his face, so he once again looked human.

     A couple of hours later found Randy seated at the table of his best friend who he’d never met until tonight, unloading all his frustration of being Awesome. “So, friend, it’s like a living hell, all those sawed-off little p****r-children yelling and laughing.  S**t!”

     “My kid just so happens to be one of those sawed-off little p****r-children, you egotistical p***!”

Oh-oh! he thought.  “Your kid is one of those sawed-off little p****r-children?  Well, I didn’t mean your kid; I’m sure you child is neither sawed-off, or a little p****r-child!”

     But it was too late; Randy’s new best friend took Randy’s head and bounced his forehead over and over off the table, until Randy felt the darkness welcome him like a long-lost pal.

     Randy had a show to do today. After the thrashing he’d received last night at The Shaky Bandit, it ranked right up there with getting a root canal on his list of activities he was looking forward to. He staggered out on stage, and shouted,

     “Hidee-hi-ho, kids; what time is it?”  Hidee-oh-no, not the p****r-children!

     “It’s Awesome Possum time!” they shouted in unison.

     Christ, shut up, you b******s!  "That’s right, it’s me, Awesome Possum, here to answer any question from you kids. Now, which one of you kids has something to ask old Awesome?”

     A looked-to-be 8 year old boy stood and asked, “My Daddy says you're quite the pansy; my Daddy said he kicked your a** last night!”

The End