a Sesame Street tale

Jon paced nervously back and forth, side to side. His brow damp with perspiration, his turtleneck uncomfortably tight with elastic. This was by far the most emotionally-taxing audition he had ever been a part of. It was ironic that the letter of the day was ‘S’, because Jon wassss sssstresssssed.

He had dressed the part, there was no doubt about that. The vibrant red turtleneck, the goofy hair. The velcro shoes (not pictured). Now he just had to audition for the part. When he got off the Sesame St. trolley stop he had been surprised to see Big Bird smoking a cigarette on the street corner. Jon would have absolutely killed for a drag of that cigarette right about now.

If he could crack the cast of Sesame Street, his lifelong goal would be complete. If he got shafted, well, he’d probably throw a molotov cocktail though Mr. Hooper’s store. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Down the hallway he heard Elmo laughing hysterically. Shit, Jon thought to himself selfishly, that actor who just went in there is absolutely killing it!

Jon felt himself beginning to hyperventilate. He walked outside to grab a quick breath of fresh air. Across the street he saw Bert and Ernie sharing a cup of frozen yogurt. Two muppets, one cup. They were still in their matching PJs, and appeared to be in the midst of a loud and heated argument. Jon watched in disbelief as Bert stood up and smashed the fro yo on Ernie's head and stormed off. 

Around the corner Jon heard the rustling of cans. He peeked his turtled neck around the corner and saw a homeless muppet aimlessly pushing a cart full of empty soda cans. It was Roosevelt Franklin! Sesame Street's long forgotten Muppet homie. Jon knew his muppet facts- he knew that Roosevelt Franklin had been off the show for years. Evidently, Roosevelt Franklin had fallen on hard times. Poor guy, Jon thought to himself. He took a crumpled dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to the muppet. Roosevelt Franklin reeked of cat piss, liquor, and garbage. Probably what Oscar the Grouch smells like, Jon though to himself. He shuddered and went back inside the studio.

Sitting on the couch, Jon picked up a copy of the Sesame Street Gazette. He soon wished that he hadn't. The top story informed him that Cookie Monster's type 2 diabetes had gotten so bad that the cookie addict had to have his left leg amputated. In other news, Miss Piggy had apparently sold out and had joined the cast of the Jersey Shore. To add insult to injury, Kermit had also recently been busted with an ounce of marijuana on his person. It's not easy, slingin' green. 

Jon tugged at his constraining turtleneck. He looked at the clock. Elmo's obnoxious laugh broke the silence once again, echoing up the hallway. But it was no longer the laugh that Jon had grew up with. This laugh was diabolical, nefarious. 

Jon stirred uncomfortably in his slacks. He got up and walked to the door of the studio as calmly as he could. Sesame Street has changed, he though to himself. His childhood dream had morphed into a adulthood nightmare. Jon opened the door and began to walk quickly back to the Sesame St. trolley stop. Somewhere behind him he heard the Count counting down backwards, 3...2...1... then the sound of automatic rifle gunshots peppered the air. Jon broke into a terrified sprint as he rounded the corner and fled towards the trolley station only to discover that it had been completely engulfed in flames!

"CAN ANYONE TELL ME HOW TO GET, HOW TO GET THE HELL OUT OF SESAME STREET?" Jon screamed at the top of his lungs. 

Suddenly out of nowhere, Grover pulled up on a motorcycle, screeching to a halt next to the terrified actor. "Hop on!" the muppet exclaimed. "Let's blow this mother fucking popsicle stand."