• MiSTed: The Tale of Fatty Coon, Part I ( 1 / 1 ) (1/2)

    From Joseph Nebus@21:1/5 to All on Sat Dec 31 08:27:27 2016
    XPost: alt.tv.mst3k, alt.fan.mst3k

    [ SEASON TEN opening. ]

    [ 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... ]

    [ SATELLITE OF LOVE. TOM is reading a newspaper and chuckling as MIKE and CROW enter. ]

    TOM: Hee heee!
    MIKE: What's up there, Thomas?
    CROW: He finally noticed they print the 'Jumble' answers upside-down.
    TOM: I'm now a happy subscriber to the Ironic Comics page.

    [ MIKE takes the paper from TOM's hands. CROW peeks at a corner, letting the paper flap over his beak. ]

    TOM: 'Beetle Bailey' as Wagnerian opera! Fred Basset portrayed by a very long duck! 'The Lockhorns' with neither lock nor horn!
    MIKE: Hey, I like this Clip-Art 'Cathy'. She married Irving Berlin.
    CROW: Wait, this is just 'Henry'. What's ironic about that?
    TOM: What's *not* ironic about 'Henry'?

    [ MADS sign flashes. ]

    MIKE: Ahp. Agatha Crumm is calling.


    OBSERVER: I love 'For Better Or For Worse, And It Turns Out, Worse.' [ To PEARL's withering indifference. ] It puts at the end of every strip Anthony whining how 'I have no home!'
    PEARL: OK, Mark Trail. We've tried everything to break your spirits. We've tried bad movies.
    BOBO: We've tried telephones!
    PEARL: We've tried fan fiction.
    OBSERVER: We've tried advertisements!
    PEARL: We've tried the most Ruby-Spearsish Hanna-Barbera Christmas specials! BOBO: I love that one with Goober and Gumdrop!
    OBSERVER: Now let's try ... young-reader animal fantasy!
    PEARL: Your experiment for today is the first five chapters of Arthur Scott Bailey's 1915 piece of ouvre _The Tale of Fatty Coon_.
    BOBO: See if you learn something special from all this adorable animal fantasy!

    [ SATELLITE OF LOVE. MOVIE SIGN and general chaos. ]

    MIKE: Oh, no! Animal fantasy!

    [ 6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1.. ]

    [ THEATER. ALL file in. ]


    TOM: So ... uh ... good night?


    CROW: From Buster Keaton through learning there *is* such a thing as bad publicity.


    TOM: o/` Arthur was born just a plain simple man o/`


    MIKE: Illustrated by Harry L Smith and the New York dancers!




    TOM: Just sitting around the home ...

    Fatty Coon was so fat and round

    CROW: Oh come *on*.
    MIKE: Man, 1915 and they're ahead of our lead joke.

    that he looked like a ball of
    fur, with a plumelike tail for a handle. But if you looked at him
    closely you would have seen a pair of very bright eyes watching you.

    CROW: From the tail?
    TOM: Raccoons can see very well through their handles.

    Fatty loved to eat.

    CROW: And that's all the personality he'll need!
    MIKE: Pretty much all the personality I have.

    Yes---he loved eating better than anything
    else in the world. That was what made him so fat.

    TOM: 'I'm getting ready to hibernate for winter!'
    CROW: 'It's May.'
    TOM: 'I don't want to get caught by surprise.'

    And that, too, was
    what led him into many adventures.

    CROW: Like the adventure of Waffle House At 3 am.
    MIKE: Taking his life and his maple syrup into his own paws.

    Close by a swamp, which lay down in the valley, between Blue
    Mountain and Swift River,

    TOM: Burger King on the right and if you come to the old middle school you've gone too far.

    Fatty Coon lived with his mother and his
    brother and his two sisters.

    CROW: And his mayonnaise.

    Among them all there was what grown
    people call "a strong family resemblance," which is the same thing as
    saying that they all looked very much alike.

    TOM: What, because all raccoons look the same to you?

    The tail of each one of them---mother and children too---had six black rings around it. Each of
    them had a dark brown patch of fur across the face, like a mask.

    MIKE: _Clonus: The Ranger Rick Project_.

    And---what do you think?---each of them, even Fatty and his brother and
    his sisters, had a stiff, white moustache!

    CROW: This is getting near body shaming, Mister Arthur Scott Bailey.

    Of course, though they all looked so much alike, you would
    have known which was Mrs. Coon, for she was so much bigger than her

    TOM: And she had that ISO 9000 consulting job for Lockheed.

    And you would have known which was Fatty---he was so much
    rounder than his brother and his sisters.

    CROW: And he had a bear claw in his mouth.
    MIKE: The pastry?
    CROW: We'll see.

    Mrs. Coon's home was in the hollow branch of an old tree.

    TOM: They were the first wave of gentrification moving in.
    MIKE: Classic cycle. Starving artists, hipsters, raccoons, rents go up.

    was a giant of a tree---a poplar close by a brook which ran into the swamp---and the branch which was Mrs. Coon's home was as big as most tree-trunks are.

    MIKE: Look, it's a tree, all right? I'm Arthur Scott Bailey, I got bigger fish to fry than specifying poplar trees.

    Blackie was Fatty's brother---for the mask on his face was just
    a little darker than the others'.

    TOM: *Blackie* Coon?
    MIKE: Oh dear Lord.

    Fluffy was one of Fatty's sisters,
    because her fur was just a little fluffier than the other children's.

    TOM: *Fluffy* Coon?
    CROW: When Andrew WK visits Anthrocon?

    And Cutey was the other sister's name, because she was so quaint.

    TOM: I feel like I need to apologize and I don't even know who to.

    Now, Fatty Coon was forever looking around for something to

    MIKE: 'Here's a thing!' (Gulp)
    TOM: 'That's a vase!'
    MIKE: Needs honey mustard.'

    He was never satisfied with what his mother brought home for him.

    CROW: 'Crawdads and berries *again*?'
    MIKE: 'No, this is berries and Crawdads.'

    No matter how big a dinner Mrs. Coon set before her family, as soon as
    he had finished eating his share Fatty would wipe his white moustache carefully---for all the world like some old gentleman---and hurry off in search of something more.

    MIKE: 'Fatty, that's a rock.'
    CROW: 'That's a rock with ranch dressing.'

    Sometimes he went to the edge of the brook and tried to catch
    fish by hooking them out of the water with his sharp claws.

    TOM: 'Best case scenario, I catch a snack. Worst case, I touch a goldfish. Either way, a win!'

    he went over to the swamp and hunted for duck among the tall reeds.

    CROW: 'Hey, a little deep frying and these reeds would be good.'

    And though he did not yet know how to catch a duck, he could always
    capture a frog or two; and Fatty ate them as if he hadn't had a
    mouthful of food for days.

    MIKE: 'If I eat enough frog maybe a duck will crawl into my mouth and see what's going on!'

    To tell the truth, Fatty would eat almost anything he could
    get---nuts, cherries, wild grapes,

    TOM: Boring, straight-laced actuary grapes.

    blackberries, bugs, small snakes,

    CROW: Large but depressed snakes.

    fish, chickens,

    MIKE: Buckets of fried dough.

    honey---there was no end to the different kinds of food
    he liked.

    TOM: I believe you, sugar.

    He ate everything. And he always wanted more.

    MIKE: Thing is it's fun cooking for someone who likes eating so much.

    "Is this all there is?" Fatty Coon asked his mother one day.

    TOM: Well, you could merge with Ilia and Captain Decker maybe?

    He had gobbled up every bit of the nice fish that Mrs. Coon had
    brought home for him. It was gone in no time at all.

    CROW: 'Well, you could try the less-nice or the morally ambiguous fish.'

    Mrs. Coon sighed. She had heard that question so many times;
    and she wished that for once Fatty might have all the dinner he

    MIKE: 'Fatty, you're a sphere.'
    CROW: 'And I could be a hypersphere, Mom!!'

    "Yes---that's all," she said, "and I should think that it was
    enough for a young coon like you."

    Fatty said nothing more. He wiped his moustache on the back of
    his hand (I hope you'll never do that!)

    TOM: You eating raw frogs, though, Arthur Scott Bailey's cool with.

    and without another word he

    MIKE: Really, what else was there to say?

    started off to see what he could find to eat.

    CROW: 'This is delicious!'
    MIKE: 'This is an ironing board!'
    CROW: 'With marshmallows!'


    TOM: Episode II: Attack Of The Coons.


    CROW: 'Hey! These things break open!'

    When Fatty Coon started off alone to find something more to
    eat, after finishing the fish that his mother had brought home for
    him, he did not know that he was going to have an adventure.

    MIKE: He just hoped adventure came with cheese fries.

    He nosed
    about among the bushes and the tall grasses and caught a few bugs and
    a frog or two. But he didn't think that THAT was much.

    CROW: [As Bug] Oh, thank goodness, that frog was gonna eat me and now ... Wait, what are you doing?

    He didn't seem
    to have much luck, down on the ground. So he climbed a tall hemlock,

    TOM: A hemlock?
    CROW: I dunno, it's probably some nature thing.

    to see if he could find a squirrel's nest, or some bird's eggs.

    MIKE: 'Maybe I can eat a hemlock?'

    Fatty loved to climb trees. Up in the big hemlock he forgot,
    for a time, that he was still hungry. It was delightful to feel the
    branches swaying under him, and the bright sunshine was warm upon his

    CROW: 'You suppose the sun might be cookie-flavored?'

    He climbed almost to the very tip-top of the tree and wound
    himself around the straight stem. The thick, springy branches held him safely, and soon Fatty was fast asleep.

    TOM: The tree tipping over, cracking under the weight.

    Next to eating, Fatty loved sleeping. And now he had a good nap.

    CROW: 'A nap with bacon cheese!'

    Fatty Coon woke up at last, yawned, and slowly unwound himself
    from the stem of the tree. He was terribly hungry now. And he felt
    that he simply MUST find something to eat at once.

    TOM: Why is Mitchell a raccoon?

    Without going down to the ground, Fatty climbed over into the
    top of another big tree and his little beady, bright eyes began
    searching all the branches carefully.

    CROW: 'Too flimsy, too weak, that one'll snap, that one broke yesterday, that one snapped when I thought about it too hard, hm. Ground broke under me there.'

    Pretty soon Fatty smiled. He
    smiled because he was pleased.

    TOM: It was a quirky habit of his.

    And he was pleased because he saw
    exactly what he had been looking for. Not far below him was a big
    nest, built of sticks and lined with bark and moss.

    CROW: 'Garnished with bark and moss!'

    It was a crow's
    nest, Fatty decided, and he lost no time in slipping down to the
    crotch of the tree where the nest was perched.

    TOM: Thud!

    There were four white eggs in the nest---the biggest crow's eggs
    Fatty had ever seen.

    CROW: Ostrich!
    MIKE: That's an ostrich egg, look out!

    And he began to eat them hungrily. His nose
    became smeared with egg, but he didn't mind that at all.

    TOM: Yum, egg-flavored nose!

    He kept
    thinking how good the eggs tasted---and how he wished there were more of them.

    MIKE: You know in the _Tale of Squawky Crow_, Fatty is one of the villains.

    There was a sudden rush through the branches of the tall tree.
    And Fatty Coon caught a hard blow on his head. He felt something sharp
    sink into his back, too.

    TOM: There it is!
    MIKE: Squawky Crow takes over the narrative! He's getting to be the hero!

    And he clutched at the edge of the nest to
    keep from falling.

    Fatty was surprised, to say the least, for he had never known
    crows to fight like that.

    TOM: They normally confined themselves to snarky comments, often on the Internet.
    CROW: The cowards! Hey, wait.

    And he was frightened, because his back
    hurt. He couldn't fight, because he was afraid he would fall if he let
    go of the nest.

    MIKE: And there was still that meteoric crater lake from the last time he dropped four feet.

    There was nothing to do but run home as fast as he could.

    CROW: Fatty's greatest challenge: running.

    Fatty tried to hurry; but there was that bird, beating and clawing his
    back, and pulling him first one way and then another.

    TOM: [ As Fatty ] Ow! Look, if you want me to go *one* way then don't tug me *another*! Sheesh!

    He began to
    think he would never reach home. But at last he came to the old poplar
    where his mother lived.

    CROW: 'Home! Safety! Security! Oatmeal cookies!'

    And soon, to his great joy, he reached the
    hole in the big branch; and you may well believe that Fatty was glad
    to slip down into the darkness where his mother, and his brother
    Blackie, and Fluffy and Cutey his sisters, were all fast asleep.

    MIKE: You my believe this ... If you dare!

    was glad, because he knew that no crow could follow him down there.

    CROW: To fit Fatty the hole has to be just wide enough to let a Space Shuttle slp through.

    Mrs. Coon waked up.

    MIKE: Waked?

    She saw that Fatty's back was sadly torn
    (for coons, you know, can see in the dark just as well as you can see
    in the daylight).

    CROW: What if I need glasses?
    MIKE: Well, then she wears glasses.
    CROW: That ... Would be adorable.

    "What on earth is the matter?" she exclaimed.

    Poor Fatty told her. He cried a little, because his back hurt
    him, and because he was so glad to be safe at home once more.

    TOM: 'Well, come here, son, let me lick that all. Nothing like raccoon spit to clean open wounds.'

    "What color were those eggs?" Mrs. Coon inquired.

    "White!" said Fatty.

    "Ah, ha!" Mrs. Coon said. "Don't you remember that crows' eggs
    are a blueish green?

    MIKE: Oh no!
    TOM: Fatty's failure to prep for his Raccoon SAT's haunts him!
    CROW: *My* eggs are painted a lovely variety of colors in intricate patterns! TOM: Ya freak.
    CROW: What?

    That must have been a goshawk's nest. And a
    goshawk is the fiercest of all the hawks there are. It's no wonder
    your back is clawed.

    MIKE: [ Mrs Coon ] 'Why is this scratch covered in Superman ice cream?'
    CROW: [ Fatty ] It was an experiment, okay?

    Come here and let me look at it."

    Fatty Coon felt quite proud, as his mother examined the marks
    of the goshawk's cruel claws.

    MIKE: 'I got attacked and ran away just fast enough! Heck, I ran!'
    TOM: I ran so far away.

    And he didn't feel half as sorry for
    himself as you might think,
    for he remembered how good the eggs had
    tasted. He only wished there had been a dozen of them.

    MIKE: So what did Fatty learn about eggs, exactly?
    CROW: That ... He can eat them?



    TOM: Oh, tell me this is about lingerie.

    After his adventure with the goshawk Fatty Coon did not go
    near the tree-tops for a long time.

    MIKE: Not until the trees put some elevators in.

    Whenever he left home he would
    crawl down the old poplar tree in which he lived;

    CROW: Achieving speeds of up to 400 miles per hour.

    and he wouldn't
    climb a single tree until he came home again. Somehow, he felt safer
    on the ground.

    TOM: 'You know, nobody ever drops a pie onto a tree. The ground, though, that's some prime stuff-being-dropped territory!'

    You see, he hadn't forgotten the fright he had had, nor
    how the goshawk's claws had hurt his back.

    MIKE: Emotionally.

    It was just three days after his scare, to be exact, when
    Fatty Coon found himself on the bank of the creek which flowed slowly
    into Swift River.

    TOM: Suppose that's named for how fast it is, or for its discoverer, Carol the Swift?

    Fatty had been looking for frogs, but he had had no
    luck at all.

    MIKE: The frogs' early warning system was in good shape.

    To tell the truth, Fatty was a little too young to catch
    frogs easily, even when he found one;

    TOM: Except for the one he grabbed last chapter.
    MIKE: Hope somebody got fired for that blunder.

    and he was a good deal too fat,
    for he was so plump that he was not very spry.

    MIKE: Also last week he ate the creek.
    CROW: 'Well, last week we had nacho cheese popcorn seasoning to sprinkle on it!'

    Now, Fatty was hiding behind some tall rushes, and his sharp
    little eyes were looking all about him, and his nose was twitching as
    he sniffed the air.

    CROW: 'Wawa has paninis? This changes everything!

    He wished he might find a frog. But not one frog appeared. Fatty began to think that some other coon must have visited
    the creek just before him and caught them all.

    TOM: The lifeless pond can have only one explanation.
    MIKE: Raccoons: nature's own little neutron bombs.

    And then he forgot all
    about frogs.

    Yes! Frogs passed completely out of Fatty Coon's mind. For
    whom should he spy but Mrs. Turtle!

    CROW: What do you suppose her maiden name was?
    TOM: Oh, she kept it when she married Dr Lesser Brown Bat.

    He saw her little black head
    first, bobbing along through the water of the creek. She was swimming
    toward the bank where Fatty was hidden.

    MIKE: She loves the bank with its little chained pens and deposit slips.

    And pretty soon she pulled
    herself out of the water and waddled a short distance along the sand
    at the edge of the creek.

    TOM: 'Well, at least I don't have to worry here about getting eaten by a raccoon!'

    Mrs. Turtle stopped then; and for a few minutes she was very
    busy about something. First she dug a hole in the sand.

    CROW: Um?
    TOM: [ Giggles nervously. ]

    And Fatty
    wondered what she was looking for. But he kept very quiet.

    MIKE: Should we be watching this?
    [ TOM, CROW look conspicuously away. ]

    And after a
    time Mrs. Turtle splashed into the creek again and paddled away. But
    before she left she scooped sand into the hole she had dug.

    TOM: Oh dear, she *is*.

    Before she
    left the place she looked all around, as if to make sure that no one
    had seen her.

    CROW: What was her plan if someone did see her at this point?
    MIKE: Take the eggs back?

    And as she waddled slowly to the water Fatty could see
    that she was smiling as if she was very well pleased about something.
    She seemed to have a secret.

    TOM: Quick, call in Garry Moore to help!

    Fatty Coon had grown very curious, as he watched Mrs. Turtle.

    CROW: 'I wonder if I can use this to become an even less pleasant person?'

    And just as soon as she was out of sight he came out from his hiding
    place in the tall reeds and trotted down to the edge of the creek. He
    went straight to the spot where Mrs. Turtle had dug the hole and
    filled it up again.

    MIKE: Gotta say, Mrs Turtle does not come out looking good here.
    TOM: Yeah, her scouting process could really use some scouting.

    And Fatty was so eager to know what she had been
    doing that he began to dig in the very spot where Mrs. Turtle had dug
    before him.

    CROW: Mmm, turtle poop.

    It took Fatty Coon only about six seconds to discover Mrs.
    Turtle's secret. For he did not have to paw away much of the sand
    before he came upon---what do you suppose? Eggs! Turtles' eggs!

    MIKE: No, she's the last Galopagos Island Tortoise, it's the only hope of avoiding extinction!

    Twenty-seven round, white eggs, which Mrs. Turtle had left there in
    the warm sand to hatch.

    CROW: 'Turtles are goshawks?'

    THAT was why she looked all around to make
    sure that no one saw her. THAT was why she seemed so pleased.

    TOM: *That* was why Mrs Turtle wasn't part of her Species Survival Plan.

    For Mrs.
    Turtle fully expected that after a time twenty-seven little turtles
    would hatch from those eggs---

    TOM: Each egg.

    just as chickens do---

    MIKE: Did kids in 1915 need eggs explained to them?

    and dig their way out
    of the sand.

    CROW: Again, good job checking, Mrs Turtle.

    But it never happened that way at all.

    MIKE: Fatty Coon cackles delighted at his schemes.

    For as soon as he got
    over his surprise at seeing them, Fatty Coon began at once to eat
    those twenty- seven eggs. They were delicious.

    TOM: Do we know whether Arthur Scott Bailey *liked* his protagonist?

    And as he finished the
    last one he couldn't help thinking how lucky he had been.

    MIE: Now we have nobody to foil the evil Shredder's attacks!



    TOM: Not getting editorial approval on this hit piece.

    Fatty Coon was very fond of squirrels.

    CROW: Oh, Lord.

    And you may think it
    strange when I tell you that not one of the squirrels anywhere around
    Blue Mountain was the least bit fond of Fatty Coon.

    MIKE: Is there anybody here that likes Fatty Coon?
    CROW: There's flocks of locusts that admire his work.
    TOM: But even they won't share a room with him.

    But when I say
    that Fatty Coon was fond of squirrels, I mean that he liked to eat

    CROW: Yeah, yeah, we kinda saw that one coming.
    TOM: People reading other stories saw *that* one coming.

    So of course you will understand now why the squirrels did not
    care for Fatty at all.

    MIKE: Because the last three chapters didn't make it clear?

    In fact, they usually kept just as far away
    from him as they could.

    TOM: It's as though they aren't looking for chances to die.

    It was easy, in the daytime, for the squirrels to keep out of
    Fatty's way, when he wandered through the tree-tops, for the squirrels
    were much sprier than Fatty.

    CROW: But then the trees are sprier than Fatty.

    But at night---ah! that was a very
    different matter. For Fatty Coon's eyes were even sharper in the dark
    than they were in the daylight;

    MIKE: And his mouth was twelve hours bigger.

    but the poor squirrels were just as
    blind as you are when you are safely tucked in bed and the light is
    put out.

    CROW: Now I want to get squirrels their own night lights.
    MIKE: I want to check I'm not going to get eaten by a raccoon in my bedroom.

    Yes---when the squirrels were in bed at night, up in their nests
    in the trees, they could see very little. And you couldn't say they
    were SAFE in bed,

    TOM: Are they literally beds or nests or? I'm trying to work out the anthropomorphism level here.

    because they never knew when Fatty Coon, or his
    mother, or his brother, or one of his sisters, or some cousin of his,
    might come along and catch them before they knew it.

    MIKE: Oh, good, it's not just his protagonist he hates, Arthur Scott Bailey has it out for every raccoon.
    TOM: The important thing for children's animal fantasy is make your lead character as much like a serial killer as possible.

    Fatty thought it great sport to hunt squirrels at night.

    CROW: He loves his reputation as an unstoppable random death-bringer!

    Whenever he tried it he usually managed to get a good meal.

    TOM: So frogs stump him but squirrels are easy?

    And after
    he had almost forgotten about the fright the goshawk had given him in
    the tall hemlock he began to roam through the tree-tops every night in
    search of squirrels and sleeping birds.

    CROW: It's like they say, when you fall off a bike you have to get back up and eat it.

    But a night came at last when Fatty was well punished for
    hunting squirrels.

    MIKE: At this point any punishment is a good start.

    He had climbed half-way to the top of a big
    chestnut tree, when he spied a hole in the trunk. He rather thought
    that some squirrels lived inside that hole.

    TOM: 'I'd leave then in peace but it's been two hours since I ate the last five hundred passenger pigeons!'

    And as he listened for a
    few seconds he could hear something moving about inside. Yes! Fatty
    was sure that there was a squirrel in there---probably several

    CROW: Maybe one squirrel, two chipmunks, and a groundhog serving in an advisory capacity?

    Fatty Coon's eyes turned green.

    MIKE: Whoa!
    TOM: Cyborg raccoon!

    It was a way they had,
    whenever he was about to eat anything, or whenever he played with his
    brother Blackie, or Fluffy and Cutey, his sisters; or whenever he was frightened.

    CROW: Or when his laser batteries are running low.

    And now Fatty was so sure that he was going to have a fine
    lunch that his eyes turned as green as a cat's.

    TOM: Cyborg cats?
    MIKE: This is why nature just isn't a good idea.

    He reached a paw
    inside the hole and felt all around.

    CROW: 'Hey, there's nothing in here but a paw-remover!'

    WOW! Fatty gave a cry; and he pulled his paw out much faster
    than he had put it in. Something had given him a cruel dig.

    TOM: A ... ?
    CROW: Somebody really got at his paw's emotional weaknesses.

    And in a
    jiffy Fatty saw what that "something" was. It was a grumpy old tramp
    coon, whom Fatty had never seen before.

    MIKE: Buh?
    CROW: What makes a *tramp* raccoon?
    TOM: Raids the trash bins on a freight train I guess?

    "What do you mean, you young rascal, by disturbing me like
    this?" the ragged stranger cried.

    CROW: He can call Fatty that because 'rascal' is a raccoon word.
    TOM: They've reclaimed it.

    "Please, sir, I never knew it was you," Fatty stammered.

    "Never knew it was me! Who did you think it was?"

    MIKE: I dunno, but I'm reading this with a W C Fields vibe.

    "A---a squirrel!" Fatty said faintly. And he whimpered a little,
    because his paw hurt him.

    TOM: He sees what it's like to get eaten some.

    "Ho, ho! That's a good one! That's a good joke!"

    CROW: [ As the tramp ] 'Thinking a squirrel might be hiding in a squirrel-hole in a tree! A rich jest, yes. Now let me get back to eating these squirrels.'

    The tramp
    coon laughed heartily. And then he scowled so fiercely that poor Fatty
    nearly tumbled out of the tree. "You go home," he said to Fatty. "And
    don't you let me catch you around here again. You hear?"

    MIKE: Or your paw shall get more digs and a few sharply barbed comments!

    "Yes, sir!" Fatty said. And home he went. And you may be sure
    that he let THAT tree alone after that. He never went near it again.

    TOM: Wait, was that his well-punishment?
    MIKE: Sometimes having to talk to someone is punishment enough.


    TOM: It was.
    CROW: Maybe the real punishment was having to be Fatty Coon all along.


    MIKE: A very special episode.

    One day Fatty Coon was strolling along the brook which flowed
    not far from his home.

    CROW: Swift Creek?
    TOM: Foster Brook.
    MIKE: That's ... actually too new a reference for this.

    He stopped now and then, to crouch close to the water's edge, in the hope of catching a fish.

    CROW: 'What if a fish was a goshawk egg pie?'

    And one time, when he
    lay quite still among the rocks, at the side of a deep pool, with his
    eyes searching the clear water, Fatty Coon suddenly saw something
    bright, all yellow and red, that lighted on the water right before
    him. It was a bug, or a huge fly.

    MIKE: Or a tiny flying saucer.
    TOM: Fatty eats the aliens' peaceful expedition before they get started.

    And Fatty was very fond of bugs---to
    eat, you know.

    ALL: We *know*.
    CROW: As opposed to the ones he trains for pets.

    So he lost no time. The bright thing had scarcely
    settled on the water when Fatty reached out and seized it.

    CROW: But he already seezed it! It was right in front of his eyes!

    He put it
    into his mouth, when the strangest thing happened. Fatty felt himself
    pulled right over into the water.

    MIKE: Finally he crosses the Chandrasekhar limit and collapses into a black hole.

    He was surprised, for he never knew a bug or a fly to be so
    strong as that. Something pricked his cheek and Fatty thought that the
    bright thing had stung him.

    CROW: Then this family of nutrias comes up and slaps Fatty silly.

    He tried to take it out of his mouth, and
    he was surprised again. Whatever the thing was, it seemed to be stuck
    fast in his mouth.

    TOM: He's delighted by something wanting him to eat it for a change.

    And all the time Fatty was being dragged along
    through the water. He began to be frightened.

    MIKE: Hungry and frightened: the Fatty Coon story.

    And for the first time
    he noticed that there was a slender line which stretched from his
    mouth straight across the pool. As he looked along the line Fatty saw
    a man at the other end of it---a man, standing on the other side of the brook!

    CROW: 'I don't know how but I caught a human!'
    TOM: 'That'll be eating for *hours*!'

    And he was pulling Fatty toward him as fast as he could.

    Do you wonder that Fatty Coon was frightened?

    TOM: He didn't have a license to catch men.

    He jumped
    back---as well as he could, in the water---and tried to swim away.

    CROW: 'Dive! Dive! Dive!'

    mouth hurt; but he plunged and pulled just the same, and jerked his
    head and squirmed and wriggled and twisted.

    MIKE: *Extremely* Chubby Checker!

    And just as Fatty had
    almost given up hope of getting free, the gay-colored bug, or fly, or whatever it was, flew out of his mouth and took the line with it.

    CROW: I wonder if Fatty Coon will go on to learn nothing from this?

    [continued in next message]

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