'Go away. Or else.'
The rude crew pig took a tottering step or two up the aisle.
'Away,' counselled Jack. 'Hurry up now; I suffer from a rare medical condition which manifests itself in acts of extreme violence when I find myself put under stress.'
The rude crew pig departed hurriedly.
'Well done,' said Eddie. 'Most authoritative. Most assertive.'
'Let's go and find Little Tommy Tucker,' said Jack.
'I can't believe you,' said Eddie. 'We're here in a TV studio. Watching the Miss Muffett show live. And...'
'It's rubbish,' said Jack. 'It's all rubbish. The rude crew pigs, the insulting clown, this patronising woman: it's excruciating.'
'That's entertainment,' said Eddie, in a singsong kind of a way.
'Well, I can't be having with it. Let's find Little Tommy Tucker.'
'He'll be on soon,' Eddie cuffed Jack on the arm. 'Behave yourself and be patient. You're a very naughty boy.'
Jack stifled a large guffaw and directed his attention once more to the stage.
'Good boy,' said Eddie.
'So tell me, Chardonnay,' said Miss Muffett to the big fat pug-ugly dancing doll, 'what it is that you see in Garth?'
Garth, the worm-eaten wooden chef, reached out a wooden hand and squeezed the podgy mitt of Chardonnay.
'He's very sensitive,' said Chardonnay.
'How nice,' said Missy.
'And he does all the cooking and he smells very nice. He has this lovely piney fragrance. Go on, give him a sniff.'
Miss Muffett leaned towards Garth and gave him a sniff. 'Piney, with a touch of cooking lard,' she said.
'And when he gets wood, he keeps it,' said Chardonnay.
'Excuse me?' said Miss Muffett.
'I'm talking about his penis,' said Chardonnay. 'When he gets an erection, it's like a forest oak. A mighty pine. A giant redwood. A great shaft of thrusting timber. A—
'A big log-on?' asked Miss Muffett. 'What about your social life? How have your friends taken to your relationship?'
'Mine are all for it,' said Garth. 'My mates say, "Go on my son, get in there." :
'And so they should.' Miss Muffett smiled a mouthload of perfect teeth. 'But what I mean is in terms of social intercourse.'
'If you're having intercourse,' said Garth, 'who needs to socialise?'
'How true,' said Miss Muffett. 'Someone once asked me whether I liked All-in Wrestling. I replied, if it's all in, why wrestle?'
The audience erupted into laughter.
'Excruciating,' said Jack. 'I really hate her.'
'I think she's fun,' said Eddie. 'And dirty, of course, and I do like dirty, me.'
'Well, I don't. This show is gross. It's all gross.'
'So,' said Miss Muffett, 'do either of you have parents and if so, how have they reacted to your relationship?'
'Well, I don't have any parents,' said Garth. 'I was hewn by the toymaker. And well hewn too.'
'He certainly is,' said Chardonnay. 'Hewn like a rolling pin. The toymaker stuffed me.'
'I'm finishing where he left off,' said Garth.
'Well,' said Miss Muffett, 'it would appear that you two have the perfect relationship.'
'We do,' the pair agreed.
'But,' said Miss Muffett, 'things are not always as they appear and after the commercial break that is coming right up, I'll be introducing several other guests: a clockwork fireman who claims that for the last three years he has been having a gay relationship with Garth, and two dollies who have borne his children. And if that isn't enough, we'll be bringing on a straw dog who insists that Chardonnay is, as he puts it, his bitch. We'll be back in a moment right after this.' Miss Muffett smiled and the controller shouted 'cut', through one of his megaphones.
Chardonnay turned upon Garth and began to set about him something wicked. Garth responded by butting her fiercely in the head.
Rude crew pigs trotted forward and hustled Chardonnay and Garth from the stage.
Miss Muffett arose from her Tuffet. She straightened down parts of her frock that really didn't need straightening down and approached Jack and Eddie upon her preposterous heels.
'You two,' she said, when she had approached sufficiently. 'You two have chatted throughout my first quarter. Are you both mad or just plain stupid?'
Jack gawped at Miss Muffett. 'We're...' he managed to say.
'Yes, you gormster, what?'
'We're really enjoying the show,' said Jack.
'But you feel the need to talk all through it?'
'Very sorry,' said Jack.
'Just shut it,' said Miss Muffett. 'Shut your stupid ignorant mouths. I'm a star. A big star. A famous star. You, you're ' nothing. Do you understand? Less than nothing. Nobodies. Nonsuches. Nonentities. You just do what you're told to. Laugh in the right places. Applaud in the right places. Then get out. Get out and go back to your meaningless little lives. Do you hear what I'm saying?'
'All too loudly,' said Jack.
'What?'
'We hear you, yes.'
'Then shut up.' Miss Muffett's wonderfully wowser blue eyes glared pointy daggers at Jack.
'Very sorry,' said Jack once more. 'We'll be quiet. We were over-excited. That's all.'
'Yes, well, see that you do. Stupid trash.' Miss Muffed; turned upon her pointy heels and stalked back to the stage.
Jack looked at Eddie.
And Eddie looked at Jack.
'What a most unwowserly woman,' said Jack.
Eddie said nothing at all.
Then.
'Three, two, one,' bawled the controller, variously.
The clockwork orchestra struck up once again.
And part two of the show was on the go.
Chardonnay and Garth were back on stage, but this time each was restrained within straitjackets. Various dubious-looking types, a rusty clockwork fireman, a manky straw dog and some barely dressed dollies were hustled into the spotlight to tell their tales of drunkenness and debauchery, point accusing fingers and paws. They soon took to striking one another.
At length these too were hustled away, leaving Miss Muffett alone.
'Trash,' whispered Jack. 'It's all trash.'
'Ladies and gentlemen,' husked Missy, 'dollies and gollies, clockworkers, woodeners, and all otherwises, it is now my very great pleasure to introduce you to a very dear friend of mine: a star amongst stars, making one of his rare live appearances right here on my little show. I am honoured to welcome the supper singer himself, your own, your very own, Little Tommy Tucker.'
And the clockwork orchestra struck up once again, again.
The controller did further bawlings for applause and for complicated lighting-work, but his bawlings were swallowed up by the orchestra's stirring rendition of the Little Tommy Tucker theme and the audience's obvious adulation.
The applause was such as to have Eddie's growler vibrating.
'Grrrrrrrr,' went Eddie. 'Pardon me.'
And then He walked out onto the stage.
He had the look of one who had partaken of the pleasures of the flesh in a manner that lacked for moderation or temperance. He had really partaken of them.
He was indeed Toy City's most perfectly wasted man.
Jack ducked this way and that as clockwork cameramen once more got in his way, but when he finally spied Little Tommy, Jack felt cause to whistle.
'No one can be that thin,' Jack said to Eddie.
But Little Tommy could.
There was very little of Little Tommy. He had the big face of the famous, but the little body was oh-so-little that it was a cause of pain to gaze upon. It was next to nothing. It was a wisp. A wistful whisper.
A willowy wistful whisper.
What little there was of it was encased in a truly spiffing triple-breasted blue silk Oh Boy! suit of the high fashion persuasion. He wore dapper little hyper-exclusive foolish-boy-skin shoes upon his dinky little feet. A nattily knotted pink velvet tie was threaded beneath the high collars of a pale lemon satin shirt. He had the remains of some very big hair piled high upon his head. A studio tan coloured his gauntly-featured face. His eyes were of the palest blue; his lips of the lushest red.