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October
24, 2002 Emmy Fever! - Part Two A foolish continuation of my well planned and documented, debatably criminal, exploits, to be found in Emmy Fever! - Part One.
Previously: “It’s him! He assassinated the cake! It’s him I saw on the balcony!” At that, my mission had been compromised. “He must be the assassin or my name’s not Sir Desmond Peabody the 3rd.” Continued: 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 I’ve 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 my quest!” “You’re 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. “You’ve been a thorn in my plans for too long, but I’ll 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 demise... 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. Fley? “Those morons spelled my name wrong,” she explained, entered the office and witnessing my confusion. “They said it wouldn’t 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 3rd?” “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. “I’d better go.” “We can tell them it wasn’t you who murdered the cake.” “They’ll 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.” She paused. “Hey,” she finally wondered, “what were you doing here anyway?” I paused. “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 I’d just die instantaneously, although I supposed there was a slight chance I’d 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.
The man scratched his head. “That’s odd. I could have sworn I’d put my Emmy down on the humidor in my office precisely two weeks ago. I wonder what could have happened to it... Oh well, it’s only an Emmy. I’ll just take Tina’s.”
The End
Or is it?
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Copyright © 2000-2002 Jacques. All rights reserved. |
