Coffee Nips Anonymous

"Oh. Good. How do we get there?"

Cat proceeded to direct Whatsisname to the park, and three minutes later they arrived and walked towards a group of punks who were hanging out on or about a fifty-foot long serpentine dragon. The dragon, whose scales seemed to be made from a mosaic of colorful ceramic tiles, which formed intricate patterns and even pictures of animals (both real and fictional) and famous people (both real and fictional), was content to have people climbing on her. In fact, she enjoyed the company.

As they got close to the crowd, Eddie the Screamer approached them. "Hey!" he said with a proud beaming smile, "I put my penis in a plastic bag!"

Sure enough, Eddie's member, protruding from his trousers, was covered in clear plastic. "Thanks for telling us, Eddie," said Bill Nefarious, "we never would have guessed."

"My question," began Squasha as she greeted Fannie Mae with a scratch behind her ear, "is 'why'?"

Eddie shrugged, "I dunno... Nothin' else to do today."

Fannie Mae purred as the rest of the group patted greetings to her, as per Squasha's example, and little puffs of smoke escaped her nostrils as she sighed contentedly.

"Well," said Squasha, "after you put that away, you can help us look for Animal."

Eddie was filled in on the details, introduced to the invisible man known as Arizona Jones, John Q. Publicity, John C. Penguin, Reverend John, Johnny Mnemonic, Jasper Johns or Johnny Who?, and asked by Cat, "Have you seen Newton? We need his nose."

"Yeah, he's fixed himself a nice burrow over by the jungle gym. I think he's still there."

Just then, Newton emerged from a cozy-looking burrow and walked towards the group. "Hi Cat. Hey Bill. Hi Eddie. Hello Squasha," he said, as he nodded to each. He sniffed the air, then "hi Dr. Jones. What's up?"

"We have a lead on Animal's whereabouts," said Squasha, "and we need your nose to help track him."

"Oh. Yes, well, I'd love to, I really would," he said as he pushed his glasses (the tint of which he always insisted made him look 'sinister') up his nose with one finger, "but I'm on my way over to Alain's place to play Cyber-Mech-Punk-Vampire-Warriors™. We haven't played in over three days, and we're in the middle of a really important campaign."

Everyone (besides Talisman) was acquainted with Alain "Alien" Avarice; real name Andrew Ragland. In fact, it had been he who helped Cat and Animal print the first run of PBU all those years ago. He was a nice enough guy, but had a tendency to tell everyone, in extreme detail, about the adventures that he had played in various role-playing games. What's worse, you couldn't get away from him until he'd finished the tale. He'd sit on your lap in the bathroom while you took a dump, if that's what it took to get you to listen.

Not believing his sense of priority, everyone stared at Newton, slack-jawed, and gave him one big collective blink.

"Well," he said, "I must be off. I hate to be late." And with that, he was gone.

It took a few beats for everyone to recover from the shock of Newton's attitude. There were a few exclamations of 'Holy Frijoles!' 'Jumpin' Jehosephat!' and 'Jiminy Cricket!' but then it was time to go back into action.

Cat informed everyone in the park of Animal's situation.

"Don't worry, man," said Emilio Esteves reassuringly from his perch on Fannie Mae's back, "we'll keep an eye out for him."

"Thanks, Repo Man," said Cat.

Mr. Esteves had taken to hanging out incognito, under the name 'David Shepherdspie', after filming the movie Repo Man. He liked to get away from the autograph hounds. We all knew the truth, but he was a really cool guy so we kept his disguise, pretending he just sort of 'resembled' Emilio Esteves.

Bill borrowed Cat's Dick Tracy™ wrist radio communication watch and called Martin, leader of the skateboarding penguin gang known as ClownWatch, to enlist the gang's aid in finding Animal. Unfortunately, all he got was Martin's answering machine, so he left as detailed a message as he could in the time allotted.

"Martin, this is Bill. Animal is--"

"Beep!" said the answering machine.

"Okay, let's go!" said Bill.

****

After a couple of hours of canvassing no one had turned up anything, and the gang was getting rather frustrated.

"I think I've knocked on this door already," said Squasha to Bill.

"Yeah," he answered, "I think yer right."

Just then, a small silver driverless car pulled up alongside them. "Hop in." said a familiar voice from the driver's seat. "Cat just called me. He thinks he found something."

Soon enough, the whole gang was gathered in front of an apartment building and Cat was showing them his find.

"This was on the roof of that building," he said.

"Coffee nip wrapper!" exclaimed Squasha.

"He's gotta be here," said Eddie excitedly.

"Uh-oh!" said Talisman, a tenth of a moment before he became visible. "We can hope, anyway."

"Whoa!" said everyone who saw Reverend Scruffy appear out of thin air.

"Hi," he said.

Squasha blinked, and then took the liberty of opening the front door and began pushing call buttons. She was about to give up on anyone answering, when the inner security door buzzed. Pushing it open quickly, she motioned everyone in.

"It's awfully quiet," noticed Cat as they sauntered down the hall, "I wonder who..."

He was interrupted by the sounds of a door opening.

"Hey," shouted a burly man, "yer not the pizza guy! Yer Jehovah's Witnesses!" He breathed deeply, ready to sound the alarm, but ...

"Wait!" shouted Cat. "We're not Jehovah's Witnesses!" His tone turned reassuring. "We're just here to look for a friend."

The man relaxed visibly. "Whew! We've been getting' a lot of them recently. Heck, just last night we had one on our roof! Fortunately, a big bird came and took him away before he could lube up his cross."

"Could you describe him?" asked Eddie.

"Sure. Big guy about yay high ... pork chop sideburns ... long hair ... wearing a bathrobe..." He shrugged, unable to recall any more detail.

"And you say that Big Bird abducted him?" asked Talisman incredulously.

"Yep. Swooped down and flew away east with him."

Everyone was stunned, to say the least.

"I never would have thought Big Bird would be capable of that," said Squasha, when they'd gotten back into Apricot's car.

"Yeah," said Bill, "I thought he was a flightless bird."

"No!" she shot back. "Well, yes. I thought so, too. But I thought that he was ... I dunno ... nice."

"Well, it's the only lead we have right now," said Talisman pragmatically. "So, won't you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?"

****

After a very satisfying meal of corn-dogs and Ravioli (which Lucky seemed to enjoy with a preternatural gusto), the Hunter-Gatherers (as I'd started calling our little group of gatherers and hunters) were granted a few hours rest, as a family of homeless prairie dogs offered to do the clean up.

I wandered off on my own and several hours later I was sitting by the train tracks, counting my remaining coffee nips. There were two in my pocket and one in my mouth. A small sum to be sure, and it wouldn't last the day. I made a mental note to look for more during the next train robbery. Then I thought about those IOU's that Lucky was leaving everywhere.

Preoccupied, I barely noticed Renée walking onto my lap and cuddling under my arm. I was only peripherally aware of her purring as I reached out to stroke her fur.

But she had my attention completely when she began to metamorph! Her form went hazy and she started growing. Her fur became a sweater and slacks as her tail vanished, and she took on a human visage.

I blinked and looked her over. She had green cat-like eyes and her long straight hair had the same orange color that her cat fur had had moments before, but otherwise there was no trace of the cat left.

"What the ...?" I asked.

"I'm a were-cat, Cuddly-Pooh," she answered, "and I thought you might like my human form better. Please don't tell the others just yet."

After I gave my word that I wouldn't tell, she moved her body close, pressing her sizable breasts against my chest. She kissed me deeply, and I felt stirrings in my overalls.

I must have fallen asleep, because I awoke with a start as a train sped by. Looking around for Renée (in her human or cat form), I noticed I was alone. I wasn't asleep for very long, I was fairly sure, and I didn't feel very well rested. In fact, I felt sort of weakened, but I thought of the soft womanly flesh that had been pressed to me earlier and I smiled.

****

Sesame Street, located in East Nashville, running between North Eighth and Myrtle, two blocks north of Main Street, crossing over Neill Avenue and Ninth, was once part of a ghetto set up in the mid '40's to house the marginalized Muppet population of Nashville. Over the years, the residents of Sesame Street took the initiative and beautified their neighborhood. They painted over hateful graffiti, often covering it with great works of art. They cleaned up the nearby park, petitioned the city for good lighting and made the park safe to play in at any hour of the night or day. They set up art and music centers, free day care and tutoring, and they welcomed anyone who moved to their neighborhood; not just Muppets. This is known as the Muppet Renaissance.

During the mid-1950's filmmaker Jim Henson had begun working with Muppets, in an effort to promote understanding between Muppets and Humans. He met Kermit the Frog in 1959, and Kermit told him about Sesame Street. Henson was impressed with this model of peace and racial harmony, and eventually got an apartment right above Bert and Ernie's and got to know his neighbors. He continued his race-bridging work, appearing with Kermit and other Muppets on the Jimmy Dean show, the Ed Sullivan show, the Today Show and other variety programs, and soon the felt-skinned denizens of Sesame Street, and in fact the world, became known as 'Jim Henson's Muppets'.

With the consent and cooperation of the entire neighborhood, he began shooting rolls and rolls of film up and down the street, and did countless interviews. He showed his footage to a friend with the Public Broadcasting System, and in November of 1969 they aired his first documentary. It was an instant hit, and PBS asked for more. With the help of many different filmmakers, and with funding from such big-name letters as C and W (not to mention a variety of numbers) Sesame Street has been on the air ever since.

But what Cat, Squasha, Eddie, Bill and Talisman saw when they pulled up in front of 123 Sesame Street did not jibe with the idyllic reputation of that neighborhood.

The buildings were in ill repair, and there were unsupervised children playing near some broken glass. An unseemly looking gang of prairie dogs was selling marshmallows (street value well over $1000) in the park, and the streets were littered with coffee nip wrappers.

But worst of all, the residents looked sad. There was an overwhelming feeling of despair over the entire street.

"What do you rabble want?" called a gruff voice from a nearby trashcan. "As if I cared!"

"You're Oscar, aren't you?" asked Eddie, "You are so cool!"

"Thanks," he said sarcastically, "now I can die a happy Grouch. I believe I asked a question."

"We're looking for Big Bird," said Squasha.

"You and the whole flaming street, Blondie. So what?"

"We need to question him about..." she paused. "Did you say the whole street was looking for him?"

"Give the lady a stale crust of pizza!"

"How long has he been missing?" asked Talisman.

"Elmo knows!" exclaimed a bright red furry monster with a very high-pitched voice. "Big Bird has been gone seven days!"

"Oh, he can count!" mocked Oscar. "Yippie! Now what do you yutzes need to ask Big Bird?"

"Elmo sorry Oscar is rude, strange people," apologized Elmo, "Oscar is sad that Big Bird is gone."

"No, I'm not!" protested Oscar unconvincingly.

"Say the truth, Oscar," scolded Elmo.

"OKAY!" he snapped, "if it'll make you happy! I'm miserable, but not in a good way! Big Bird is gone, the street is a mess and everyone in the neighborhood is crabby! There, are you satisfied?"

Cat looked puzzled. "I'd always gotten the impression that that kind of thing would make you happy, Oscar. What gives?"

"Aw, nuts!" he responded, "Do I have to spell it out for you? With the street a mess and everyone in the neighborhood crabby, I just look dull and un-Grouch-like by comparison! And with Big Bird gone and everyone else off to look for him, I've got no one to tell to scram. Now, why don't you all just SCRAM!?" With that, Oscar disappeared into his trashcan and slammed the lid. Three fifths of a second later, he peeked out and smiled a Grouchy smile at everyone. "Thanks, I needed that!" he said, and disappeared again.

"Poor Oscar," said Elmo sadly. "Oscar misses Big Bird, and so does Elmo." He handed Squasha a stack of flyers with Big Bird's picture on it. "Would nice pretty lady help look for Big Bird?"

"Well, actually, we were looking for him anyway, so..." she began.

"Oh thank you, nice pretty lady!" said Elmo cheerfully, as he kissed Squasha on the cheek and zipped off down the road.

"He's a cutie, but that didn't help much."

"Ernie!" admonished a frustrated pointy-headed yellow-skinned Muppet with a unibrow, "Big Bird is not hiding in the cookie cupboard!"

"Oh, I think we should check a few more times before we jump to any conclusions, Bert," answered his orange-skinned football-headed companion, as they climbed the stairs to 123 Sesame Street and went inside.

"Coooookie?" queried a fuzzy blue monster with googly eyes, as he followed Ernie and Bert. "Did me hear someone say 'cookie'?"

A man in a navy blue suit and an ultra-conservative haircut ran past, being pursued by a large angry tuskless Woolly Mammoth.

"Please!" he shouted, clutching a cross in one hand and a tube of KY Jelly in the other, "I only want one minute to talk to you about Jesus!"

"We've looked all over the city, Maria," said a depressed looking frog, hopping alongside an attractive middle-aged Latina. "I hate to say it, but we may have to involve the police."

"The Metro police?" asked an incredulous Maria, with one eyebrow cocked and hands on hips.

"I know. Sorry, I wasn't thinking." The frog hopped to a halt in front of the Elliston folk. "Hi-ho! Kermit the frog here. And who might you be?"

The gang made their introductions, admitting to being fans.

"What can we do for you?" asked Maria.

"This is sort of a touchy subject," began Squasha.

Maria invited everyone in for some milk and cookies, and Squasha recounted the events that lead to their being on Sesame Street.

"Oh, you know Animal?" asked Kermit. "Hmm. And you say he came up missing yesterday? How odd. You'd think that Dr. Teeth or Janice or Zoot or Floyd would have called me by now."

"Same name, different Muppet," corrected Bill. "Just a coincidence."

"Our Animal's a Muppet?" asked Eddie the Screamer.

"Isn't he?" asked Bill.

"Hmmmm," hmmmmed Maria. "You say that an eyewitness had seen Big Bird fly away with your Animal?"

"Yes," confirmed Squasha.

"That's impossible!" protested Maria indignantly, "Big Bird can't fly! And besides he would never...!"

"That's what we thought," agreed Squasha, holding Maria's hands and smiling at her; soothing her, "but it was the only lead we had. Maybe there's something... What happened to Big Bird, exactly?"

"Well, he's been gone for a week," began Kermit, "and he left this note behind." He read the note.

Dear Everybody,

I'm sorry that the ratings have been going down.

I know Barney is going to replace me, so I am going away rather than stick around to be fired.

It's better this way.

Take care,

Bird (the big one)

"Barney!?" asked the Elliston gang in unison.

"I don't know where he got that idea," said Maria with tears in her eyes, "but there you go. And we can't find him anywhere."

"Maybe we can help each other," suggested Talisman. "We'll keep an eye out for Big Bird. Could you let us know if you see our Animal?"

"Of course we can!" exclaimed Kermit, with a reassuring flipper on Talisman's shoulder.

Everyone exchanged contact information and promised to keep each other up to date.

"I feel that you and I are kindred spirits, my friend," said Kermit to Talisman, as the gang prepared to leave. "It's like you have the soul of a Frog." Reverend Whatsisname could only smile warmly.

Maria gave everyone a friendly hug and sent them away with extra cookies.

****

Three days later Lucky and I were making a garbage run. We may all have been homeless, but we didn't want to live in filth. So everyone packed up all the trash we'd created at the brickyard, and Lucky and I volunteered to haul it to the nearest dumpster.

During our walk, a few bars of Crosby, Stills and Nash's Find the Cost of Freedom drifted to us from a car stopped at a red light.

"Oh, I love this song!" I exclaimed. "I heard it for the first time at Woodstock."

"What? When you were three?" said Lucky with a chuckle. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Hmmm," I hmmmed, "that's so odd. I could have sworn that I was there. Want a coffee nip?" Fortunately for me, Big Bird was also a nip addict and he was kind enough to share his stash with me.

"No thanks," answered Lucky. "You do realize those things are fucking addictive, don't you?"

"Yeah, tell me about it." We walked on in silence. "Lucky?" I said after awhile.

"What's up, Cuddly-Pooh?"

"I was just wondering... Why are we stealing from trains? Surely there's a soup kitchen in a city this size."

"There is," he answered with a grin, "but don't call me 'Shirley'. Yeah, the Jesus Christ on a Pizza with Pepper and Onion Mission, right downtown. But a) they don't always have enough for everyone, and b) some people don't want a fucking sermon with their meals. In either case, Simon and Simoné have provided another option."

"Okay, but why rob trains?"

"'Cause they usually have lots of what we need, and no fucking shop-keepers looking over yer shoulder." He looked me in the eye. "Seriously, if we didn't steal it, a lot of those people would have been very hungry the last few days. And what are the fucking alternatives? Eating from trash cans, begging from people who are, quite fucking frankly, not very tolerant of beggars, or a flea-infested pulpit that barely has enough room or food for the people who go there. Don't get me wrong; they do good work. It's just not for everyone."

A tiny man, no more than six inches tall, approached and asked if either of us could spare a few bucks for a meal. He was wearing a tattered train conductor's uniform, and he resembled George Carlin or Ringo Starr (depending on the angle). We informed him that we were in the same predicament as he was and Lucky gave him directions to the Mission and to the Brickyard. He thanked us and started to move on, but paused and asked "Would you happen to have a coffee nip?" I couldn't place his accent. He was either from Liverpool, England, or somewhere in New York City.

I gave him one of mine, and he headed off the way we had come. Hopefully Simon and Simoné would still have enough food for him. How much could a six-inch tall man eat?

"So why the IOU's?" I asked Lucky later, returning to our previous conversation as he opened the dumpster lid.

His whiskers twitched. I could tell he wanted to evade the question, but I'm sure he knew that I wouldn't let it drop.

"I'm doing a freelance piece on homelessness for the Fricassean," he said as we tossed our packages, "and they agreed to pay my expenses."

"What? You're a reporter? So yer not really homeless."

"What kind of fucking hack journalist do you take me for?" he snarled. "I burned my house down so that my story would at least have some authenticity. Well ... not my house exactly." He closed the lid on the dumpster with a slam. "I was renting a room from Bob Sagat at the time."