ConFusion 2010 - An Attendee's Report - by Jer Lance

I have such a difficult time in writing these follow-up posts after a convention. I desperately want to write everything down immediately, while the memories are fresh and interesting to me—unfortunately my brain is usually such a exhausted, jumbled mess after a weekend immersed in the freaks and geeks that it is virtually impossible to string together a coherent narrative (which presupposes that I have ever before strung together words that could be considered “coherent” or even “a narrative”, but I digress). So usually I wait a week or so and find that my loss of interest and hazy memory of events results in a rather lackluster summary of the weekend. This time I'm going to try to write this out immediately, and hope that the editorial process will make it something akin to readable. This is my “from an attendee's perspective” version…I'll do one from the conrunner's perspective if I'm so inclined later.

Note: I realize that a full con dump is going to be dull as hell to 90% of you, so I have tried to break it by day and bold the focus of each paragraph to make for easier skimming. Hope that helps, otherwise…umm…piss off and go read your picture books?

If the years of the conventions were given names based on their characteristics—like the Chinese zodiac—, I See by my ConFusion would have taken place in the Year of the Storyteller. Our guests of honor spoke to us tales of fantasy, regaled us with anecdotes from conventions past, sang stories of beautiful fantasy, and shared epic tales of space exploration as if yanked directly from a grammar schooler's imagination. Oh, and we had an awesome artist guest who I couldn't make fit the metaphor at all.

Thursday

Ger had to work on Thursday, so I was able to begin my weekend early by picking up Peter Beagle and his Minion/Lackey/Cohort/Friend Connor Cochran from the airport…and giving them the ride back to the hotel began my weekend's story. Peter is a masterful weaver of myth, so hearing of his last time in the area some forty years previous was like hearing the highlights of a great book not like hearing someone's memories. This became more apparent when we were able to join him at his table at the GoH dinner (a fantastic choice by Jess, for the record…an Asian buffet) and hear his and Connor's banter, jokes, and stories. We got a chance to see most of the other GoHs (and more than a few friends that we haven't seen for a long time) before an awkward closing speech (seriously awkward…as in, the phrase “I really don't know much about you” was used to introduce one of the guests, shortly after referring to the the guest's significant other as his “girlfriend-wife-date-thingie”…that kid of awkward) closed things out. At meal's end, Peter had been up for something near to forty hours, so we got him back to the hotel—it should be noted that we got him back to the hotel amidst his protestations that he didn't want to seem ungracious—and let them get some rest before the weekend really kicked off.
Upon our return to the hotel, we met up with Dawn, Greg, and Leane, who hadn't eaten yet. After a bit of discussion, we determined that Ger and I would be happy to accompany the group to PF Chang's to make asses of ourselves while they ate. And oh, make asses of ourselves we did!*

Friday

Friday, I arrived on site to find a bit of a mess. Nothing major was going wrong, per se, but there was a bit of a lack of organization. I ran around for a bit and helped coordinate things with the hotel, while hanging out with friends. The clusterfuck was generally settled within a few hours (with the notable exception of some issues that should have been dealt with pre-con and now were entirely un-deal-with-able). Once that was done, I had time to kill while I waited for my panels to start. Mostly, we just kind of hung out until the first one—Introduction to ConFusion—hit at 6pm, in which I largely sat and gave additional points of information for whatever topic was meandered across during a rather disorganized info-dump by my co-presenter. At 7pm the AASFA board convened to give out on-the-spot grants in a very Dragon's Den style…only with a few less pairs of pants. The proceedings were entertaining, one involved the PF Chang's story coupled with interpretive dance and one involved random acts of randomness, but I hope that in future versions of this people grasp the importance of putting on a good show when they make their pitch. In all, we provided financing for a liquors panel, a massive room party and some liquor beverage to go with, Jello brains for the consuite, and lube wrestling in the pool area (which ultimately got canned by the hotel for liability reasons). That completed my responsibilities to the convention for the day, so we moseyed on to opening ceremonies to be bored.
The boredom was short lived.
After a moderately stumbling opening ceremonies-style introduction to the convention by ConChair Jessi Zerwas, the guests of honor each introduced themselves, beginning with Peter Beagle. Catherynne Valente followed with *the* speech which so knocked the audience on its collective ass…as I said on Twitter immediately following, “GoH speech by @catvalente was the single greatest I've heard...beautiful, literary, funny, and entirely ecapsulating why we are here! **
The normal conventiony-time madness happened throughout the evening (up to and including a noise complaint only mildly more surreal than the noise woes Penguicon is dealing with in that this complaint involved a volunteer staying in the volunteer crash space complaining of noise), but generally we just wandered the (relatively abysmal) party scene. There were, however, two high-notes on the party circuit…the first, a semi-private (in that they did not do much announcing) party themed as a fancy bar full of fancy drinks and run by Tammy, Erik, Kevin, and (I'm told) a fourth person whose name I do not know offhand. I was mixed a non-alcoholic soda beverage (which caused the normal moment of concern for me as I stared at my glass and hoped-hoped-hoped it was going to be non-alcoholic) that was absolutely delicious (thank you Tammy!). I was thankful to see that others had tipped as heavily as I did in thanks for this awesome contribution to the con. The second was the KITH themed party thrown by Moonbeam, Dan, and others (I think) that was entertaining…clearly a lot of thought and time was put into doing it big, and it showed. Ultimately, the length of the day and utter exhaustion got the better of us, and Ger and I passed out around 2am.

Saturday

First, let me say that crashing in a room with the kids is a somewhat different con experience night-wise than Ger and I are used to. That said, I managed to rake in a whopping five hours of sleep on Friday night, which about the amount that I normally manage all weekend at an average con, so perhaps their presence was good for that. It was also great for breakfast, because at con I tend to just fail to eat entirely until someone reminds me, with children I have a built-in reminder that meals need to happen. I will probably not mention the children much in this narrative, if only because Cody essentially existed in the gaming room for every waking hour, whereas Amber spent her time divided between KidFusion (which was yet another amazing effort by Lisa…next year is going to be rough with her as Fan GoH rather than KidFusion awesomeness generator) and hanging out with a gaggle of children doing their own thing. While I don't mention it here much, just assume that periodically throughout this weekend there were all-too-brief visits from the children and constant text message check-ins (“still here in med room” from Cody and “Kidfusion” from Amber, mostly).
As the kids were finishing their game of “cram breakfast into faces as quickly as possible to abandon lame-old-dad in favor of fun” The Ferrett and Gini wandered into the dining area and agreed to join me for a bit. It was nice, actually being able to sit and have a conversation with them without their usual envoy or the hustle and bustle of surrounding con folk as it was ridiculously early by con standards. Discussion of fandom, collectible card games, and Yu Gi Oh thug life ensued until I realized that I was in danger of being late to my first panel of the morning.
The morning version of the Intro to ConFusion panel was in sharp contrast to that of the previous evening. I was on the schedule with Anne and David, our Fan GoH, and both seemed far more prepared and interested in telling our one new participant about the convention's history, how to get involved and meet people, and what to do that is fun at the convention. The only downside, unlike the previous evening, no hot ladies gave me their room number this time (sorry I never made it up ladies…call me!). Shortly thereafter, several of us made our way to the Concierge Lounge for the Improv Panel featuring Carrie, Dawn, and Greg with special guest Josh, who was fresh off a red-eye and utterly exhausted. The panel was hilarious, and had a better turnout than it has seen in the past. Chris' Loch Ness Pterodactyl was a riot, as was Skennedy's paranoid schizophrenic. I, as always, participated…and I was reminded why I don't do improv comedy…I'm just not as quick of wit as people that are actually good at it. If I were to make any improvement to the panel, I would make it an easy hour longer; just when things got going, the panel was done.
Once done, we all made our way downstairs to hit the Social Media panel, featuring Mike Reznick, Cat Valente, Sarah Zettel, Dawn, and The Ferrett, which became the Jer_ show briefly in the middle, prompting Cat to state more than once that everyone is awful to me…needless to say, with my ego, it was a good time for me. A lot of very interesting points were made about how everyone is using social media as a method for advertising one's self or for building community. A particularly amusing exchange between Reznick and Cat then between Cat and Greg resulted in some fairly amusing quotes that stuck with us long into the SMOScast later in the evening…and with any luck, it will be usable when I do the editing. During the panel, I also decided to manipulate some FourSquare locations so that it would be more useful for the convention, so I registered two of the Salon rooms and the Concierge Lounge as individual destinations. With luck, we can use this to help track popularity of certain panels at Penguicon or next year's ConFusion. It won't be great data, but it will be interesting tracking. Oh, it is worth noting that, mid-panel, my hive-mind failed me for the first time by entirely failing to provide me with Sarah Zettel's Twitter ID.
We all quickly bailed on the meet and greet segment of the panel to catch Greg, Anne, and David giving the SMOF: How to Run a Con panel, which was informative and interesting and often funny. Quite a bit of time was spent talking about launching a convention, and quite a bit was spent discussing the facility aspect of the event, which lends credence to my belief that this part of it more than any other is mystifying to many. That fact explains why when I do the relatively minimal amount that I do for the con with regards to the hotel, it is so well received. The single most important fact, however, is that Greg was renamed at this panel and shall henceforth be named “Senor Greggypants the Twinkle-Toed.”
By the time we were done with the panel, it was definitely time for dinner. Since the kids had their dinner covered by the KidFusion pizza party and Ger had duties related to liaising, I was on my own, so I joined a rapidly increasing group of folks to hit a local coney island. By the time we got to Kirby's we rolled deep enough to fill a table that cut a swath down the center of the place; Josh, Senor Greggypants, Dawn, Lucy, Scott, Kirby, Joe, Katie, Rachel, Nuri, James and I all hung out, had fun, were entertaining enough that we were being photographed and video-recorded by a nearby table of teens, and ultimately scared the shit out of those teens.*** Oh, and my wife might have missed an attempted guy-on-guy kiss at some point there.
Dawn, Greg, and I stopped by the liquor store to pick up the brown liquors for the panel and grabbed several nice choices which went over quite well. During the panel, one of my biggest convention pet peeves reared his head—the annoying attendee and his sense of entitlement. About two-thirds of the way into the panel, an individual wandered in, waited about one minute, and interrupted the panelists to interject some random fact that was both not entirely correct and covered about five minutes previous. He immediately turned to walk out when Greg make a sarcastic barb related to hating it when people show up late to a panel and interrupt with useless trivia…because, you know, that's kinda what happened. Instantly, some asshole in the audience interrupted with his Captain Save-a-Douche uniform on display, "I showed up on time, and I've been enjoying this panel, but if that's going to be your attitude, fuck you." At which point he walked out. Seriously. I…fucking…hate…people. Fortunately, Greg laughed it off, snarked, and moved on. The rest of the panel appears to have gone swimmingly.
After that, we all went back to Mr. Twinkle-Toes' room to “rehearse” the scripted portion of the evening's SMOScast…and by rehearse I mean look at it for the first time for all but Dawn and I. After some reading and some light notes, I ran downstairs to print. I was thwarted for about fifteen minutes by some jackhole who was playing Mafia Wars and Farmville on the business center computer. Now, let me preface the following by saying that, while I think both are foolish to the nth degree, I don't have anything against Mafia Wars or Farmville or any other stupid Facebook game. I do, on the other hand, have a problem with some pitiful chump who is so addicted to their pathetic Facebook game that they feel the need to tie up the sole business center computer for extended periods of time to play in the middle of a convention. Sir, go kill yourself, you definitely have no reason to go on. Seriously, this is not a joke, go take your own life. We will wait.
If you are the individual described above (heretofore referred to as “Cockboy”), and you are still reading this, I'm even more disappointed in you than I was before. No commitment sir; none at all!
Once Cockboy was done, I got my printing done and ran upstairs to get ready for the SMOScast…well, I got ready to wait until the Port panel that ran long finished (but fuck it, I wasn't going to rush them, because they appeared to be having a ball and, it's not like we were on a schedule) and until I could get my Ubuntu laptop to notice that I had a microphone (I never did get it to work, we ended up loading the software on Greg's Windows 7 laptop, much to Microsoft evangelist Josh's delight and Ubuntu evangelist Trevor's dismay). Then we were off. The scripted portion, a recounting of the saga of the Penguicon noise complaint done in the style of an old time superhero radio show, went very well. The rest of the 'cast was absolutely hilarious, and almost assuredly unusable. There is this fantastic part, however, where Greg is joking about the social media panel—specifically the exchange between Mike (Reznick), Cat (Valente), and himself—mocking Mike and Cat's responses when Mike Reznick walks in the door saying, "I heard my name."
As Greg reiterated his Mike impression (which involved the phrase “Buy my books then go die”) for Reznick, to which Reznick responded, in hilarious fashion, “That's pretty accurate, actually.” In all, the live show went very well, as it generally does, and editing should be a nightmare, as it generally is. Such is the nature of a bunch of people with no concept of boundaries recording things they think are funny. The part that is most important to me, however, is that some of the funniest people I know got together and had fun with one another. That…is…awesome! After the show, we hung out and conversed for a brief while, but Ger was pumpkining hard so we called it a night around 2, despite some really enticing hot-tub offers.

Sunday

Sunday began as way-too-early as did Saturday, wherein the kids and I grabbed a Consuite breakfast (thank the great gods of Consuite for Pop Tarts, Nutrigrain bars, and cereal) while I was told tales of things that went wrong in the night. After breakfast, I cruised downstairs only to have some more of the events of the evening related to me by some of the hotel staff…all I can say is I hope the convention tipped the staff well, because they took considerable care of us in several ways on Saturday evening—and if the tales I've heard from both hotel and congoers of senior concom's handling of some situations (both by a drunken concom member and a sober-and-should-know-better one) are true, we should be ashamed of ourselves. We mostly hung out with friends, had a fantastic goodbye lunch with Dawn, Greg, and Leane, then killed some time waiting for closing ceremonies.
While waiting for closing ceremonies to begin, Nuri leaned over and asked me if this shindig was in need of a tree. I agreed that it was, so we ran out into the hall to retrieve the Christmas tree left over from the Great Tree Caper** and wheeled it through the crowded hallway into the ballroom where the walkway was not wide enough to get the tree up front. There was a moment where Nuri and I stopped and we considered moving an entire column of chairs to make this work…ultimately, we just parked the tree in the back as a spectator. The GoHs talked about their favorite parts of the convention—Peter Beagle spoke of how spoiled the convention made him feel (which can be attributed directly to my darling wife, despite Peter having said both of our names…I was support staff, she was the orchestrator of any pampering that was done)—and Sooj sang another amazing song, prompting me to note in Twitter that I don't know how I've gone this long without hearing more of her music. Jess thanked select individuals for help then someone from the back (Freon if memory serves) had the presence of mind to ask the convention committee to stand and take their applause. After a few more disorganized add-on thoughts to an emptying room (note to prospective conchairs: have a plan going into opening and closing ceremonies), the con was over.
Nuri, James and I quickly bolted to the back of the room and grabbed the tree to hustle it into its final appearance at the feedback session. This time, Christmassy McTree was able to get a seat up at the front table, so there were no hurt feelings. The gripe session was…interesting, I suppose. Several of us noted that the people in the session might have attended a different convention. Suffice to say that after around 2 hours of mind-numbing torture during which very few actual action-items were discussed, I was ready to leave. Anybody that sat through that probably has a stronger understanding of why Penguicon shuts down the “me too's” so quickly; a properly managed feedback panel is invaluable, improperly managed it is without value—and those don't mean the same thing.
Finally, the lot of us headed to Red Robin for post-con dinner full of back patting, relaxing, withdrawal, and not a small amount of quietly planning for the next convention.

Summary

In all, the first convention I “didn't work” since becoming involved in this community was fun. There were definitely lessons to be learned, but I had a great time. My kids loved everything and could not speak highly enough about the gaming, kidfusion, and consuite. A few days following, we still aren't back to 100% on our sleep and we're still working on recovering; something must have gone right. I had a great time and it was a nice warmup to Capricon coming up in a week and change.

* The story of PF Chang's is a long story, and one that doesn't lend itself well to the written word. Ask me about it sometime.

** Now, the Great Tree Caper is almost assuredly going to be an entry of it's own. I'll link it in here when I get around to writing it.

*** This, too, is a fun story that I'll either write or you'll have to ask me about it. When Greg says “all the big guys, get by the door” there will be a story at the other end.

FOR SALE - by Michael FREON Andaluz

1993 Probe SE with factory ground effects, 16-inch
factory alloy wheels, 4-wheel disc brakes, 2.5L 24v
engine with 5spd Manual Transaxle, ABS, factory
keyless entry, power roof, and body color power
mirrors. In short, this is a Probe GT without the
spoiler or fancy taillight lens.

This car has been in storage for two years after an
unfortunate encounter with two logs, which fell off a
truck in front of it on the street. The first log hit
the windshield and cracked it. The second one went
under the car, took away both fog lights and struck
the oil pan.

The car did NOT leak any oil after the accident, but
the engine oil pressure went to zero when checked, and
it was not started again and immediately parked.
Recently it has been started and oil pressure is
normal but can drop at any time while driving. A
mechanic stated that the dent in the pan might be
shrouding the oil pickup. Whatever that means. The
owner of the vehicle is quite happy with her new
Pontiac Vibe, and now wishes me, a lowly science
fiction writer, to sell it on her behalf.

The car has a very clean interior but the driver's
door panel is loose. The roof has marks on it and
there is a small dent on the right rear corner above
the taillight, little dings along the right rear
fender ahead of the tire, and a small hole in one
ground effect skirt on the right side. The car has no
rust. Everything works but the air conditioning blows
warm air.

The car has four new tires on it which were installed
about eight miles ago and a fresh battery. Just before
the accident the exhaust system was replaced forward
of the catalyst with genuine Ford parts to the tune of
several hundred dollars, and except for the oil
pressure scaring the daylights out of anyone who
drives it, the car is really quite impressive. For
obvious reasons, driving away upon purchase is not
recommended at all, but promises to be an adventure
you may laugh about in the future.

So much for the facts. I am a writer of fiction, so I
will now add the lies.

The car was actually damaged while in pursuit of the
notorious leader of the Kerabusek Underground Psychic
Resistance Front, who is responsible for the mass
hypnosis that makes us believe that Paris Hilton,
Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears are all worthy of
media coverage.

Ringleader Sijhan Valjean, wanted in as many countries
as have international crime investigation
organizations, had just fled a losing gunbattle with
Interpol and Secret Service policemen at our famed
McNamara Terminal at Detroit's Metropolitan
International Airport, in a highly modified log truck,
carrying one ton of dynamite, two tons of pointy logs,
six full gasoline cans of E85, and a seventy-five
pound bulk pack of nailgun ammunition - as well as a
cadre of trained beavers who had been brainwashed into
believing that Boeing 747's were actually earthly
apparitions of G'whalla'dunn, their beaver pagan god
of twigs and soggy boughs.

In pursuit was my friend and confidante, a surly young
lady named Wistralia Davenport, a keen new reporter
for the Detroit News/Free Press and newly installed in
their world renowned investigational reporting squad.
After receiving several encoded messages addressed to
the newspaper's editor, Davenport was dispatched to
cover the arrival of the prime minister of our closest
ally in the war against mass hypnosis, the planet
Wholveer II, which only passes within the range of a
Boeing 747 once every seventy years. Trivia, yes, but
trivia not lost on a fetching young heroine with a few
brain cells to slap together.

Armed with the date, the target, and THIS VERY CAR,
Davenport headed off the multi-pronged and
multi-rodented threat, clashing fenders and trading
hand gestures that would make a sign language
interpreter faint. With speeds of nearly two hundred
miles per hour ticking off the instrument panel, the
two vehicles streaked west on Interstate 94, towards
Chicago and a brood of evil Beaver Cubs who were
mounting a repulsive force as well as surrounding the
Sears Tower with diabolical intent and sharp, gnashing
little buck teeth.

With only minutes to spare, Davenport's burly
cameraman, a husky blonde man named Hurl Bjornsen van
Bjornsen, crawled out the sunroof onto the hood and
lobbed his Hasselblad 35mm with 170mm zoom lens into
the onrushing wind, and therewith unlatched the
stakebed's tailgate toppling the log truck's rabid
cargo onto the highway, and making the most foul
pavement pizza anyone could possibly imagine while at
the same time knocking loose three rather scary
looking pieces of box elder, which had only hours
before been carefully liberated from an eighty-foot
specimen in Muskegon, sharpened to nasty points, and
loaded with four thousand pounds of similar cargo into
the Ford F-700 that was presently very close to
sending one of its forged steel rods through its
crankcase at seven thousand RPM in overdrive. You
should have been there.

To make a long story short, one log caught the truck's
driveshaft, flinging the drivetrain into a very sudden
state of not turning and instantly making a pile of
Brillo Pads out of the engine. The result was a nine
ton steel box doing a horizontal rendition of Scott
Hamilton's gold-winning quadruple-axel finale in the
1988 Olympics at Lake Placid, which took the Kerabusek
chief to his final doom. Skidding to a stop out of
danger but flat-spotting all four original Goodyear
Eagle RS-A's, was young Davenport, at the wheel of
THIS VERY CAR, arriving to capture the final moments
of a doomed plot that could have galvanized the world,
or at least made extraordinarily good television.

Pictures? Well, the camera broke, you see.

Did I mention I need an agent?

Freon writes from Pontiac, and sold the Probe for 12 bills.

URGENT ASSISTANCE -posted by freon

Good for a laugh. If you're familiar with the typical Gold Coast scam,
here's some 'supplemental info' that you can pass on to people to further
'inform' them. Sheesh.

--------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Michael A Andaluz
To: danielibe@yahoo.com
Date: Thu, 21 Feb 2002 09:44:39 -0500
Subject: Re: ASSISTANCE

Daniel, as a poor, struggling editor I can only offer editing assistance. Please feel free to use the following instead and you may have more success!


STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL

DEAR Sir/Madam,

I am engineer Daniel Ibe, a spam acammer trolling for fax numbers, but posing as an engineer with some bogus federal ministry of petroleum Resources. I bought your email address from a bulk mailing outfit which, like myself, thrives on chokers like you. I told them I needed assistance on some information, although I did not disclose the nature of business to him since it demands absolute secrecy and therefore is transparently criminal to email recipients around the civilized world.

The tiny Republic of benin (not to be confused with Benin, a country with a capital letter as well as a capital city) a country in west africa (not to be confused with West Africa or west Africa, or West africa, three separate and distinct entities which for now we will just call 'more likely') discovered crude oil, black Gold, what cha call Texas Tea, that is - in port-novo (which is of course not actually Port Novo as outlined above). Since they are not members of ORGANIZATION OF PETROLEUM EXPORTING COUNTRY(OPEC) and therefore can't be bigger thieves than ourselves, they told me to cut-and-paste the following nonsense:

'request our assistance through our ministry whose subsidiary is the (NNPC),we were able to assist in drilling and excavating of this black Gold and also spot lifting.'

In other, more sensible words, they thought it would be more discreet to have me email THOUSANDS of peopl WORLDWIDE to deal with their huge secret oil discovery - with excruciatingly painful grammar, no less - instead of sending one damn memo that says 'confidential' on it. Sorry. Those beninites are stupider than dirt.

'As a result of the spot lifting an excess of (us$50.5m)fifty million five hundred thousand united states Dollars was recorded and it is in our favour, my colleagues then decided we should look for an honest and sincere person who would clear responsibility of this amount because the law of our country does not allow civil servants to operate foreign account.'

Again, you can probably tell that the foregoing, SINGLE SENTENCE was cut-and-paste shash that the lowly beninites have forced me to recite verbatim. I don't write this crap - but they told me to tell you, so there it is. The gist is that we're all crooks, and we wanted to find one honest and sincere person to supply a fax number so we can cut to the chase and hook you for some scratch.

Presently the money is safely kept in an escrow account secure from all eyes, including any regulatory commission that would ordinarily salt those eyes with warnings, red flags, scam-alerts, and litigation that would make your head spin off like a loose screw on a Volkswagen's carb.

We shall be meeting with you if you accept to assist us, secondly it would also afford us to know what percentage that will be given to you, for your assistance. If you have any questions please send them off a cliff; we're not customer support.

It will take seven working days to actualize this project and safely transfer into your bank account on our behalf and yourself. Oh, did I say 'into'? Sorry again. I meant 'let me know once it is all right to transfer the money'. Forget I mentioned the direction.

I will appreciate your quick response through my e-mail address, and I am open to further question you may wish to ask in respect of this business transaction. Please kindly send the local non-emergency law enforcement access numbers for your city of residence, so that I may be tracked efficiently and cannot do this to thousands of others.

On second thought please report me directly to the authorities. Someone as criminally stupid as I am deserves the international ridicule, as well as a week in a wooden box with no view.

Best Regards
Daniel 'Solitary Bin Beri Beri Good To Me' Ibe


Complimentary Proofreading - it's an Art.

Freon edits the ConUtopian... for now.

When Muppets Attack - Radio Play by Shalla Schmidt

You're listening to Radio Free Fandom...

Announcer: And now we bring you: When Muppets Attack or War of the Pastries! It was a quiet day on Muppetworld...

[Background sound of duck noises]

Burt: 3000 ready to go. Next week's shipment in production. Business is good. Hey! Careful with those!

[Sound of cascading crashes, accompanied by duck noises]

Burt (with frustration): Beauregard!!

Beauregard (dejectedly): Sorry.

Burt: Well, just get it cleaned up. These duckies are supposed to be on the truck in the morning.

[Arrow sound: whistle followed by thunk]

[Approaching feet]

Ernie (excitedly): Hey, Burt, I..Aaaahh!

[Loud thud, with many duck noises]

Burt: Ernie! Are you all right? You have to be careful.

Ernie: Never mind that! Look what just arrived!

Burt: Someone sent a pie to us by arrow?

Ernie: That's right, Burt.

Burt: Nice sling arrangement. But why not just have it delivered?

Ernie: There's a note. Here.

Burt (reading): 'To all muppets: We will crush your weak and pathetic planet beneath our heels. Your

rubber ducky factory is only the beginning. This pie will self-destruct in two days, but note the

lovely crinkly edge on the crust.' Ernie! Someone's trying to take over Muppetworld!

Ernie: Can we cut the pie, then?

Burt: No! It's an exploding pie, for heaven sake. Put it over there.

Ernie: Aaawww.

{Scene change}

[Crowd-style muttering]

Emeril: Nice party, Martha. Bamm!

Martha: Thank you, Emeril. I catered it myself. Have you had any punch? The butter cookies are

excellent. Made with butter. But from now on we are Lt Lagasse and Gen. Stewart! Lt, do you

know Magneto?

Emeril: Nice to meet you.

Martha: Magneto, who have we gathered together tonight?

Magneto: We have some great villains. Lex Luther, Mxzlplx, Sabertooth...

Emeril (in disgust): Oh, not that great slobbering idiot! Look, he's eating food right off the platters!

Martha: Lt!

Magneto: um...and villainesses, of course, Poison Ivy, Hexadecimal, Catwoman, Mystique. Oh, and we

have Barney.

Emeril (incredulously): What for?

Martha: Emeril! He's well known for being able to drive away or incapacitate most people over the age

of three. And he does lovely holiday wreaths. Magneto, who are all the men who are dressed

alike?

Magneto: Henchmen. Every villainous plan need a bunch of henchmen. Speaking of which, what is your

plan?

Martha: Good question. I should call the gathering to order. Have you tried the pastries? (speaking to

all assembled) Welcome, everyone, to my little tea party. Everyone get enough to eat? Good. As

you know, we are going to take over Muppetworld. Our plan is simple. From our base in this

remote region of Muppetworld, we strike at their vulnerable spots. We've already taken down

the rubber ducky factory. The cookie mines are next. After that, the public broadcasting system.

And once we have Sesame Street under our control, President Gonzo will be at our mercy.

Then, let the redecorating begin!! Yes, you have a question, Mystique?

Mystique: Why bother with this world? It's a joke. I don't need a rubber ducky.

Martha (condescendingly): From here we can send messages to all Earth's children. With Barney's help,

they'll be hypnotized. They will all make craft items for ME! I'll be the richest home decor guru

on TV!!...And, of course, you'll all be rich and powerful too.

Poison Ivy: What about the booster system that sends their broadcasts to Earth? We're not bombing that?

Martha (condescendingly) : No, we need that to broadcast our messages to Earth. Have you considered a

floral arrangement, Poison Ivy?

Lex: Martha, do the muppets have any defenses? How will they fight back?

Martha (condes): Well, Lex, they are muppets. Not a very violent group. Our biggest problem will be

Lou Zealand and his boomerang fish. Now, everybody will be part of a mission. Magneto will

hand out your assignments. After dinner, we take over the world! And have you all finished

your woven placemats? Sabertooth, that's not a placemat!

Sabertooth (quietly): Grrrrrr.

Martha: OK, people, enjoy yourselves! Barney, stop that singing.

Catwoman (purrs): Excuse me. I don't have an assignment, Martha.

Martha: I have a special job for you, Catwoman...

{scene change}

[Burning crackley noises]

Announcer: I know you can't see this, but the special effects are amazing.

Kermit: Hiho, Kermit the frog here, reporting from the local rubber ducky factory, which has just

exploded.

Count: One, one burning building, ah, ah, ah.

Ernie (sobbing): We only left it for a minute.

Kermit: I'm talking here with Ernie, owner of the factory along with his partner Burt. Ernie, can you tell

us what happened?

Ernie: We had just left for the day. We were heading back to Sesame Street when we heard a boom

behind us and turned to look. The building was in flames. Burt tried to run back in; I had to

hold him back.

Kermit: Uh huh. And do you know just what made the factory explode?

Ernie: Well, we did get a pie by arrow a couple days ago that said it would self-destruct.

Kermit: What? You got an exploding pie and just left it in there? I don't believe this.

Burt (tired): Ernie, we couldn't save anything. The whole place is a mess. All we could get out was this

one ducky. [Quack] What are we going to do?

Ernie: Take a bath?

Kermit: This is Kermit the frog reporting at the scene of the rubber ducky factory. Sheesh.

{scene change}

Miss Piggy: Oh, those poor boys! Rubber Ducky factory gone! Destructive forces poised to take over the

world! Who will save the day? *pause* I said, who will save the day!

Link Hogthrob: I don't know what you're implying. Are you saying it's my job to save the world from an

unknown evil menace?

Miss Piggy (sweetly): Link, you have leadership experience. The other pigs will follow you into space.

Link: Pigs in space? Hmm.

Piggy: Good. We blast off in three hours.

Link: What? I'm supposed to see my tailor this afternoon.

Piggy: You look fine. Now move! And remember, you're a leader.

{scene change}

Lex: Excuse me, could you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?

Snuffy: Oh, it's just down that road, you can miss it.

Lex: Thank you. Magneto. Mystique. Tie up the mammoth and gag him. We must maintain the

element of surprise.

{scene change}

Pres Gonzo: General Hogthrob, we have to do something. The ducky factory was hit with an exploding

pie. The cookie mines are under siege and the biscotti darts are flying. Flaming saganaki has

Sesame Street up in smoke! Do Something!!!

Link: We have our best pigs on it. My crew is here in space looking for the enemy base. Lou Zealand is

fighting back at the mines. The Swedish chef is guarding the PBS station. We have a veritable

army of chickens marching on the 'Street.

Count: 245 chickens! Ah, ah, ah!

Kermit: We're going to see what Dr Bunsen Honeydew and Beeker have come up with. Over and out.

Dr B: Well, Pres Gonzo, since the enemy is using battle foods, notibly baked goods, we thought we'd give

it a try. This is our own pie granade. Comes in apple, blueberry, and cherry. Also, we have the

projectile crumpets. Deadly. Our catapaults will be firing this three foot wide donut. Powdered

sugar, you know.

Beaker: [Beaker noises]

Pres Gonzo: As a last resort, you can fire me out of a cannon at the enemy.

Kermit: Gonzo! We can't fire you at the enemy. You're the president.

Pres Gonzo: Not even once?

Rizo: Gonzo, Gonzo!! (panting) Some cows in the Elementary District just reported Big Bird was

kidnapped!! A bunch of guys all dressed alike and a woman dressed in black jumped out from

behind a tree and grabbed him. They dragged him into a spaceship and took off!

Gonzo: This is terrible. What will we tell Snuffy? He's still shaken up about the attack on Sesame

Street.

Kermit: Link, I mean General Hogthrob, get us an update every hour. We have to find out who's behind

this. And we have to find Big Bird.

{scene change}

Link: Piggy, arm missiles.

Piggy: You idiot, we don't have missiles.

Link (panicing): What! Don't have missiles? How do we attack? There are 40 enemy ships heading our way!

We're going to die! We're going to die!

Piggy: Some leader. Link, we have lazers! Oh, nevermind, I'll just start shooting when they get near.

["sounds" of space battle]

Announcer: Will the evil Martha Stewart and her dastardly gang take over Muppetworld? Will the pigs in space

prevail against the enemy attackers? Will the cookie mines be saved? Answers to these questions and

more after these messages.

Commercial break: Spatula City.

Announcer: And now we return to When Muppets Attack!

Martha: Now, first we clean the bird and remove it's organs from the chest cavity. These will make a

fine gravy. Next we're going to rub butter and garlic salt into the skin.

Mystique: She's nuts.

Martha: I've prepared the stuffing ahead of time. It's a nice cornbread stuffing with sage and parsley.

There. Now the stuffed bird goes into the roasting pan. Can a few of you help me lift this?

Careful! OK, into the pan.

[Ooofs and grunts of effort]

Martha: We'll roast it covered for the first stage and uncover it for the final browning. All right, into the

oven! Poultry should cook for about 20 minutes for every pound, so we should be eating in about

three and a half days.

Emeril Lagasse: Spice it up! Bamm!!

Hexadecimal: And they call me insane.

Martha: What was that, Hexadecimal?

Hex: Oh, nothing.

Martha: There, now, on to business. #1, what's the latest report?

Emeril: That fish guy at the mines is tough, but we have Seseme Street. Hexadecimal and Mxzlplx are

doing an aerial scan to see what the native have cooking. Also, there's our space fleet. They've

met the muppet fleet in battle. But that stupid dinosaur won't quit singing. We're getting

complaints from the henchmen.

Martha: Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't henchmen of super villains end up either beaten up or killed?

Emeril: That's right! Spices up the villain game! Bamm!!

Martha: Send out a memo, #1: Henchmen who complain will be issued red shirts.

{scene change}

Gonzo: Kermit, it's terrible! We don't stand a chance. The enemy's using battle biscuits and

catapaulting flaming cheese all over the streets! Plus the space battles!

Kermit: Calm down, Gonzo. Gen Hogthrob is reporting from his ship.

Link: Pres Gonzo, do you read me.

Gonzo: Go ahead, Link.

Link: Bad news about Big Bird. A pile of feathers was found not far from where he was taken.

Gonzo: Could it get any worse?

Link: Well, we've taken some losses against the enemy space fleet but we fired back in earnest...

Count: 28, 28 enemy ships falling to the ground in flames, ah, ah, ah.

Link: ...but appearently the ships contained only henchmen. They obviously expected heavy losses. Some

good news: Our spy, the Swedish Chef, has found the attacker's headquarters, in a remote region

west of the Elementary District. After that, he went to check on the mines.

Miss Piggy: We've discovered who the enemy is: Martha Stewart and a bunch of supervillians!

Kermit: That explains the ballistic scones!

Gonzo: Doesn't she know that people who live in marzipan houses shouldn't throw scones?

[General moaning]

Link: I have contacted Major Sam, the Eagle, about the ground forces. His battle hens are formidable.

And they're all angry about Big Bird. I've instructed them to attack the enemy stronghold, but

they'll need a diversion.

Gonzo: It's time to bring out the secret weapons.

Others: Bomm, bomm, bomm!!

[approaching feet]

Swedish chef: Hurda humda fjorda!!! Fishy wishy inda cookie!!

Gonzo: What?

Kermit: He said that Lou is having trouble at the cookie mines and needs help right away!

Chef: Himda apple cherry whooska wooska splat!

Kermit: The pies are flying on both sides!

Gonzo: Where is the space fleet now, Generel?

Link: Orbiting. Should I head to the mines?

Gonzo: Yes! Back up Lou as best you can. He can't have many fish left.

Piggy: I thought they were boomerang fish.

Gonzo: Only if they miss.

{scene change}

Poison Ivy: Can you believe that nutcase? I certainly don't need gardening tips from her!

Lex: She has to go and that lacky of hers. Not to mention...

All villains: The dinosaur!

Sabertooth: My placemat was as good as any.

Magneto: I think we're in agreement. Let's take the remaining henchmen and take her down.

All villains: No more country wallpaper!!

Accouncer: But the villains' plan was overheard...

Emeril: Martha! Martha!

Martha: That's General Stewart, Lt. Lagasse.

Emeril: Stop your foul whining! Our officers have rallied the remaining henchmen against us! They're

on the way to your office. It's mutiny!!

Martha: Well, you wanted it spicy...

Emeril: We're about to be shish-kabobs and you're joking?

Martha: I have a plan.

{scene change}

Magneto: I saw Emeril go this way, toward the Death Kitchen.

Poison Ivy: He's as crazy as she is.

Sabertooth: Nothin' wrong with my placemat.

Magneto: Shut up, Saber. Mystique, what are you muttering about.

Mystique: Did you see the cookie mines? Weird.

Hex: She's crazier than I am.

Catwoman: I didn't even like the way she roasted the bird. Too salty.

Mystique: Tasted like chicken...

Lex: Not really a leader of villains, if you ask me. And I for one am tired of redecorating my den of evil

every other day.

[General chorus of agreement]

Magneto: We'll take care of her. She won't be a problem after today.

Mxzlplx: I could turn her into a newt.

Magneto: No, Mxzlplx, I think a light glaze at 350 for a few hours.

Barney: I love you all.

Henchman: That big dinosaur has to go.

[Sound of doors bursting open]

Catwoman: Where is she?

Lex: Here, Catwoman, she's on the floor over here. Give me a hand, Magneto.

Hex: She has an interesting color.

Henchman: I found Lagasse over here!

Lex: What's that in her hand?

Magneto: A bottle of fixative. Empty! She must have swallowed it. Would have killed her instantly. Is

Lagasse all right, Mystique?

Mystique: Dead. Holding an empty bottle of Dave's Insanity. What a why to go. Spiced up and out.

Lex: What now?

Catwoman: There's nothing on this world that any of us want...

Barney: I love cookies and duckies!

Catwoman: ...Except the purple freak. Let's get back to what we do best. Wreaking havoc with the

Justice League!!

[general cheering]

Henchman 1: I'm pretty relieved about this. Muppetworld is no place for us henchmen.

Henchman 2: You said it. Give me a superhero to fight anyday.

[Sound of breaking glass, with screaming]

Supergrover: It is I, Supergrover, come to stop your evil ways. You are all my prisoners. Come quietly,

or I shall unleash my army of chickens!

Mystique: Don't just stand there, Henchmen, get him.

[Sounds of battle: Biff, Sock, Pow, etc. Pained moaning.]

Count: 12, 12 defeated henchmen! Ah, ah, ah.

Lex: Mystique, they're henchmen. They never win in their first encounter with a superhero.

[a general "Oh, man! sound from the villains]

Sabertooth: I'm getting out of here.

Poison Ivy: A plan with no drawbacks.

[sounds of fleeing, with footsteps and yells, followed shortly by skidding-to-a-stop noises.]

Animal: Animal!!

Catwoman: What the hell is that?

Animal: Woman!! Woman!!

Catwoman, Poison Ivy, Hex, Mystique, and strangely enough, Barney: Aaaaaahhh!!!!

Chickens: Bock, bock, bock.

Sam the Eagle: Round them up, BattleHens! You cannot escape justice, evildoers.

[clucking and yells]

Sam: Good job, ladies! That one was for the Big B. Take them to the jailhouse.

Supergrover: Another battle with evil fought and won. It's fun being a secret weapon.

{scene change}

Judge Fozzy: ...and I sentence Poison Ivy, Magneto, Sabertooth, Mystique, Lex, Hexadecimal, and

Mx..Mxl..the little floating guy to 10 years in the cookie mines. Wokka, wokka. [bangs gavel]

Lex: What about Catwoman?

{scene change}

Catwoman: Where am I? How can that little creature still be tracking me out here. I even went

through a river, ughh!

Animal (distantly): Woman! Nice woman!

{scene change}

Martha: Looks like they fell for it.

Emeril: Amazin' what you can do with couple of carcasses and some paint. They looked just like us.

Martha: I am the best.

Emeril: Your arm is bleeding, Martha!

Martha: Don't worry. A bit of thread and I'll have that sticked right up. Put your finger on the knot, will

you?

Emeril: Amazin'. Field surgery. Who'da thought?

Martha: Everyone thinks we're dead, Emeril. Muppetworld and the children of Earth can't be ours, but I

have another plan. Microtransmitters in my line of sheets at Kmart. We will subliminally

control the world!!

Emeril: Oh, Martha, can't you see I love you!

Martha: Well, bamm!

[swelling music]

Announcer: And so Muppetworld is saved thanks to the bravery of Link, Piggy, Sam, Grover, and the

BattleHens! Stay tuned for more thrilling adventures!!

Shalla Schmidt's play was broadcast live at Radio Free Fandom