Emmy Fever! - Part Two
Wherein Jacques steals an Emmy
And then discovers what the hell an Emmy is.
A foolish continuation of my well planned and documented, debatably
criminal, exploits, to be found in Emmy Fever!
- Part One.
Its him! He assassinated the cake! Its him
I saw on the balcony!
At that, my mission had been compromised.
He must be the assassin or my names not Sir Desmond
Peabody the 3rd.
So it was my foe! Desmond Peabody the 3rd had framed me for the
murder of the cake, bearing a diabolical false witness to the crime.
I lunged forward to silence him and he dodge to the side. As he
turned, I could see it glistening from his back pocket, tentatively
poking out; my Emmy!
Desmond Peabody the 3rd cackled delightedly as I positioned myself
to strike. We have never met, he rasped, yet Ive
known you since before we were born. You are my bane. Every moment
you live, I must suffer your existence. And here you die.
Desmond Peabody the 3rd withdrew the Emmy statuette from his pocket
and stabbed at me with it.
That Emmy is the key to the creation of the master race,
and nothing shall stand in my way, I said.
What of my plans for the master race? Desmond Peabody
the 3rd hissed. Think of the benefits! A world devoid of suffering
and injustice and weakness and Jews and black people! And I will
rule as its leader! We are so much alike, you and I. Join me in
Youre mad Desmond Peabody the 3rd!
Sir Desmond Peabody the 3rd, my good man.
I will never join in your insanity. My master race shall
be all-inclusive. We will adhere to the virtues of tolerance and
equality; because we will all have blond
hair and gold asses!
At that, Desmond Peabody the 3rd lunged his Emmy at my chest as
I jerked away and fell to the ground. As he moved forward, I sat
up and we grappled. I pushed him away and my head jerked around.
Behind me was a mirror, and what I saw in it shocked me.
There I was, and no one else...
In the mirror, I could only see myself! Could it be that I myself
was Desmond Peabody the 3rd? Could it be that I had merely been
fighting with myself? Could it simply be something inherent within
me that I was struggling against? Something profound, yet diabolical?
That darkness that dwells within each and every one of us?
Upon that thought, Desmond Peabody the 3rd bashed me over the head
with his Emmy because he had just been hiding behind the mirror.
I stumbled to my feet in confusion as Desmond Peabody the 3rd prepared
for his final assault.
Youve been a thorn in my plans for too long, but Ill
take care of you now. Just like I took care of that damnable cake!
So it was you!
Desmond Peabody the 3rd raised his Emmy with subtle, gentlemanly
viciousness. And now, my adversary, you will die by that very
object you have coveted most.
I braced myself for the attack. But as Desmond Peabody the 3rd
approached, I heard a voice shouting from down the hall: Here!
And with that, an Emmy, tossed from down the hall, landed in my
hands. Now it was a fair fight, and Desmond Peabody the 3rd and
I were well matched.
As he jumped forward, I pushed back into an office, leading him
inward. He stabbed and I blocked. Our trophies met in a horrible,
effeminate clinking sound. He swung and I dodged. Gradually, I led
him deeper into the office.
In his fury, he ferociously lunged forward, Emmy twinkling in the
sunlight, and teetered for a moment, before falling out the window.
The very window from which the cake had plunged to its ultimate
I moved over to the window and looked out onto the street. It was
a pleasant day as I contemplated my victory. The city air smelled
like a stinky ass. But soon, it would smell like a stinky golden
ass. The ass of a master race, I thought. The ass of---
Just then a hand reached up from the window and grabbed at my pants,
pulling me down! It was Desmond Peabody the 3rd! He held onto me,
but could not pull me down. I grabbed onto his arm and held him
for a moment, considering my options.
No. I could not let him fall. I could not be as evil as Desmond
Peabody the 3rd. I would have to save his life if I could.
With that, I yanked at his arm, and began to strain. Give
me your other hand, I called out.
But slowly, unbeknownst to me, his other hand felt its way down
into his pants, reaching into a hidden pocket.
Give me your other hand, I repeated.
From within his hidden pocket, he silently withdrew a wallet-sized
backup Emmy. Once in his possession, he raised the miniature Emmy
and attacked with it. I could do nothing but let him drop to the
ground below. Even as I had tried to help him, Desmond Peabody the
3rd could not put aside his powerful obsession and hatred. Not until
it had consumed him, just as it had the cake.
I looked into my own pocket for a moment, and examined the Emmy
that had been thrown to me; the Emmy that had saved my life. Upon
it was a name: Tina Fley.
Those morons spelled my name wrong, she explained,
entered the office and witnessing my confusion. They said
it wouldnt be economically feasible to remold the Emmy with
my name spelled correctly. But they did say if a Tina Fley ever
did win an Emmy for outstanding writing for a weekend variety,
music or comedy series performed live, and they misspelled
her name, they would be happy to oversee an Emmy swap. I
asked if they could just give her mine and print me up a new one,
but they said it would be disingenuous.
She looked toward the opened window. Desmond Peabody the
Dead. He was the one who murdered the cake.
Damn, she said. That was a good cake. It deserved
better; much better.
I handed her the misprinted Emmy and moved toward the window. The
police will be here soon, I explained. Id better
We can tell them it wasnt you who murdered the cake.
Theyll never believe that. You and I both know. Desmond
Peabody the 3rd was too clever for that; he would have most certainly
made sure all the evidence pointed to me.
Hey, she finally wondered, what were you doing
Nothing, I responded. Nothing at all.
With that, I perched on the windowsill, considering how suave it
would be if I made my exit by leaping out of the window. The odds
were quite good that Id just die instantaneously, although
I supposed there was a slight chance Id be afforded a brief
moment of horribly painful consciousness.
Upon further consideration, I thought better of it and decided
to take an elevator down. I silently slipped into an NBC tour group
and disappeared within their ranks.
Two weeks later...
The man scratched his head.
Thats odd. I could have sworn Id put my Emmy
down on the humidor in my office precisely two weeks ago. I wonder
what could have happened to it... Oh well, its only an Emmy.
Ill just take Tinas.
Or is it?
Because why else would there be a giant question mark?
So that just when you think its over,
This gigantic question mark appears to elongate your perception
But does this second giant question mark then negate the whole
insidiousness of the ending?
Perhaps it does.
Perhaps it does...