“Tell me what is troubling you my dear. I hope you like it here in Chicken Itza.”
This is *not* Chicken Itza, Chesteria Arthur thinks. And I’m not doing this tonight.
“Who are *you*?”
“The Boss,” the other figure whispered while motioning for Little Oakley Annie to pipe down. “Who’d you think?” She indicated her torso. “Hence the color.”
“Okay. I think I get it. But what’s with the tv head?”
“Oh. Sorry. Leftover from the last scene.” Grey Scale Kimball removed the prop, then continued. “I’m obviously here to break you out of this place. This *Northern* Jael.”
“Hal-le-lujah. Let’s hit the roads.” The door opened; Grey Scale was in on the code.
“The South’s gonna *rise* again,” LOA expressed as they left the House of Truth together, gathering up one of the chickens outside for a victory supper later on.
“I told you I wasn’t going back to Jael, Little Oakley Annie. *You* are.”
“Let – me – outta here! What – is this place?!”
“Not so tough without your 6 shooter, huh?”
“Ooo. Your face will be *soo* paste,” she squealed like a grey squirrel.
“I don’t think so,” Big Wanda replied in a confident, bass voice. So sturdy she is now upon those stout legs. And she knows her sign. Big Aries, hence the horns. Horns of Hatton horns.
Big Wanda waves the gun teasingly in sight of Little Oakley Annie. “Gimme. Gimme that! Hand it here right now! And, er, all will be forgiven. I’ll forgive you for Your Mama. I’ll forgive you for Keith B. I’ll forgive you. Yeah — forgive.”
“Then let me ask you one question,” returns Big Wanda sneakily. “And answer it honestly. We’re in the House of Truth, after all. Are you — a Leo?”
For some strange reason, Little Oakley Annie wanted to joke back that she needed to phone a friend (for the answer). Where did that come from? She doesn’t have a sense of humor.
Little Oakley Annie and Big Wanda were foraging for fire kindling in the small forest when they heard the car roar by then suddenly screech to a halt. LOA threw down the sticks she was holding and moved over to the cliff on the edge of the woods. They had prepared for this moment. “The car,” she whispered to Big Wanda, now standing behind her and gazing too. “A *fast* car. We could use a replacement for that old red clunker we’re now using.”
“Which you stole off that farmer before you shot his head off,” whispered back Big Wanda.
“Well — he *sneezed* in front of me. How dare him.”
Despite wanting to protest again for the needlessness of the violence, Big Wanda remained silent. But, like Keith B. in front of her here, she too had a choice to make soon. Sooner than Keith, even.
Little Oakley Annie aimed her ever-present gun at Keith’s head. “I’ll make sure I get a clean hit so we won’t damage the Porsche. The other dude will then run and we can mow him down too. Like grasssss.” She pulled the…
Big Wanda karate chopped Little Oakley Annie’s arm down, making her almost shoot her own foot. “What the…!”, and then she turned toward her partner in crime, gun still in hand. The weapon pointed to the face, the mouth, the nose, while the holder glared. “I should have done this a looong time ago, ” she then threatens, moving toward Big Wanda while the latter retreats, now perched on the edge of the cliff. “You almost disappointed me at the Your Mama concert. 12 years in the future, 12 years in the future, 12 years in the future…”
“Hey up there!” Keith shouts from the road, quickly moving toward the cliff from the car. Jim A. Brown, however, remains frozen in place in the passenger seat. He would always remain frozen in place from now on. Because he was stuck in time.
And there was noone at the cliff any longer. Little Oakley Annie and Big Wanda’s journey through time had also ended, the Big Loop broken.
Keith looked back at the car and frozen Jim B., then back toward the empty cliff. “The Room,” he muttered. “The Room did this.” He dropped to the roads and gave thanks.
Firesign Theatre material was conceived, written, and performed by its members Phil Austin, Peter Bergman, David Ossman, and Philip Proctor. The group’s name stems from astrology, because all four were born under the three “fire signs”: Aries (Austin), Leo (Proctor), and Sagittarius (Bergman and Ossman).
“Ahh, see, there’s the rub, because mother *did* want me to go to school.”
“You know, it all ends here Pete.”
“Stop calling me that Dave.”
Big Wanda yells over the music. “Didn’t you get your symbol!? Don’t you want to know your sign!?”
“Nah!” shouts back Little Oakley Annie. “If it’s anything but Leo, I’d have to shoot the astrologer in the face! Good band, though!”
“So what do you think?”
“Nice. Elements of TILE. This will do. For a while,” she tacked on.
“Of course.” Big Wanda shifted her sturdy legs. “You know you didn’t have to shoot that girl. She wasn’t doing anything but doing her job.”
“I know.” Little Oakley Annie waved her heavily used revolver in the air with this. “I just didn’t like the way she talked. Too nasal.”
“You shot her in the *nose*. You didn’t have to do that.”
“She lived. In fact, she’s right over there at the coffee shop. She came with me. We made up while you’ve been away scouting for a new place. I bought her a new nose. Plastic. New place; new nose.”
Recalling the awful scene, a surprised Big Wanda looked away from Lake Como, searching for the pot peddling girl they’d met in Rethymno behind them. No luck. Instead, Little Oakley Annie and her gun pointed kind of toward her own nose dominated the view. “You do believe me?”
“Umm. Of course, Little Oakley… Annie.”
“Because if you *didn’t*…” Annie positioned her gun more threateningly, the face obviously a target now.
“Of course I believe you,” Big Wanda reinforced, starting to sweat.
Little Oakley Annie then threw herself back on the rainbow colored recliner, laughing. “Because I didn’t… she’s dead.”
Big Wanda gathered her legs under her again. “Oh.”
“Yeah, that face was pizza after I got finished with it. Which reminds me… I’m starved. Any place to eat around here? I’ve had enough coffee.”
Obviously, though Big Wanda, but dare not say it aloud at this moment. Must remember not to buy LOA any 4 shot expressos again. Nor talk in a nasal way in any shape or form. Talk through the mouth, talk through the mouth, talk through the mouth…
“Yeah, we’ll hang out here for a while, Big Wanda, while everything cools down from the gig.
Middle of the continent. Middle of nowhere.”
“I need some weed,” Big Wanda groused to crime partner Ann Lee Oakey. “Fast.”
“No problem here.”
Paranoid Penny glanced down the path from whence they came. “Did anybody follow you here? Did anyone see you coming?”
“Nah. This is free, right?”