Today we come to the second of three parts, with our hero helpless at the hands of his archnemesis, certain to die if luck turns against him. Will he die? Possibly. If so, will it be painful? Most definitely. Will he annoy his archnemesis with his peculiar way of speaking? Absolutely...
The secret headquarters of raving lunatic and Muppet supervillain Mr. Johnson; late at night. In the heart of a large room, Grover the Muppet is still tied up, restrained in a chair. A door opens, and he sees his kidnapper, Fred Johnson, aka Fat Blue, walk in, accompanied by a young man. Something about the man seems strangely familiar.
The two walk up to Grover. Mr. Johnson sneers in contempt. The man stares at Grover with an expression not unlike a predator about to hunt.
“Sir, have you not had enough of this demented scheme of revenge? Can you not find it in yourself to get past the anger inside you, sir?” Grover asks.
“Shut up!” Johnson yells, striking the Muppet in the face.
“You do that a lot, sir. You really must think of what’s best for your mind, sir. It does you no good to be driven by rage, sir,” Grover remarks.
|Two archenemies, back before Mr. Johnson became a supervillain|
“What part of shut up are you not capable of understanding?” Johnson demands.
“Do you want me to answer that, sir?” Grover counters.
“No, I didn’t ask you for an answer!” Johnson snarls.
“But you did, sir, you did!” Grover notes. “And for the record, you should have said I did not ask you for an answer. But in a more polite way. Really, sir, you must not let your anger control you as it seems to be doing, sir.”
“Will you shut up already?” Johnson screams, looking as if he’s about to blow a gasket.
“I will shut up now, sir. Only because I do not want you to have a stroke, sir,” Grover solemnly declares.
“That’s better. Now then, I want you to say hello to the man who raised me from the grave,” Johnson says, nodding to the man. “As I said before, you’ve met him before... in a manner of speaking.”
The man nods. "At least my previous... incarnation." He smiles in a sadistic way. "My name is Damian Hooper, Grover. You recognize me, don't you?" Damian waits. "Well, speak up."
“Mr. Johnson does not want me to speak, sir,” Grover says quietly.
“Well, just keep it to a minimum. You do recognize me, right?” Damian prompts.
“I think I do sir.... you said Hooper?” Grover pauses. “Are you related to that good shopkeeper Mr. Hooper, sir? The one who lived on Sesame Street?”
“Yes, I am. Though Harold Hooper was far more than a shopkeeper, you buffoon. The man was a true genius. A scientific mastermind who unlocked the secrets of genetic replication. All part of his nefarious schemes to cheat death, all of which resulted in me. I’m his clone. All of his secrets, his schemes, his personality... all inside me now. Oh, and by the way, if you haven’t already guessed, I’m evil.”
|Shopkeeper by day, Mad Scientist by night, Harold Hooper with Bert and Ernie, circa 1975.|
“I did get that impression, sir. But you realize that you should say it as I am his clone, and if you have not already guessed, I am evil,” Grover advises Damian.
“I can appreciate why you hate him so much, Fred,” Damian tells Johnson.
“Yes, he drove me up the wall for years on end with his personality quirks. I always hated every moment of it,” Johnson replies. “Well, it’s all coming to an end, my old nemesis. Soon enough, we’re going to kill you anyway, and then we’re going to carry out the rest of our schemes. Damian here still carries the sheer loathing Harold Hooper felt for Big Bird, and he wants to see that bloody yellow bag of feathers mounted on a wall. And we’re not going to stop until we get everything we want! Mwah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”
“Sir, I am truly sorry, sir,” Grover tells Johnson. “I have not seen how angry you were at me. I have pushed you into this, sir, and for that I do truly apologize. Please understand sir, that was never my intention, sir. But you both must step back from this point, sirs. This is madness, sirs. You can still step away from it. If you want it, sirs.” He stares at them both, and continues. “By the way, sir, did you not mean we are going to kill you anyway and then we are going to carry out the rest of our schemes? And in addition, should you not be saying, We will not stop until we get everything we want?”
“Shut up!!!” Johnson and Damian both yell, hitting Grover in the face.
“Ow! Sirs, that hurts. Sirs, you really must curb your anger,” Grover advises.
“What part of shut up do you seem incapable of understanding, you nitwit?” Johnson angrily demands.
“Perhaps, sir, you could rephrase the question, sir,” Grover suggests.
“What is with this whole sir thing you keep repeating over and over again like a parrot, anyway?” Damian asks.
“Well, sir, it is polite to say that to men you do not usually associate with, sir,” Grover explains. “It really is quite simple, sir. I have always tried to be as formal as I can, sir. It is just a matter of good manners, sir.”
"And it's bloody annoying!" Johnson declares.
“I am sure you meant it is bloody annoying, sir,” Grover reminds him.
“Shut up!” Johnson yells.
A voice interrupts them. “Hold it right there!”
Everyone looks to see someone standing at the door. It’s a Mountie, holding a gun. It’s Inspector Lars Ulrich. Johnson sighs. “How the hell did you find us here? I’ve been ever so careful not to be found!”
“I am sure you mean I have been ever so...” Grover starts.