Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Kirk Scroggs is one quarter Muppet by birth. As a child, he used his Pigs in Space lunch box for so long, his mom finally declared it a rusty, toxic health hazard and gave it to his little brother. Originally from Austin, Texas, Kirk now lives in Los Angeles where he enjoys doodling, spray tans, and writing important literature like Wiley and Grampa's Creature Features: Hair Ball From Outer Space.

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Tales of a Sixth-Grade Muppet Book 2

Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

CHAPTER 1

Okay, how’s this for an opener? It was the biggest night of my life—the fifth annual Kid’s Pick Awards at Kermit the Frog’s newly remodeled Amphibi-theater. A night of music, megastars, and, most likely, multiple compound fractures. You see, Gonzo and I, along with our super-duper stunt-performing boy band, Mon Swoon, had planned the most dangerous stunt since I made fifty-two jalapeño cheese poppers disappear before getting on the rides at Coaster City.

I peeked out from behind the big red curtain—there was a sea of thousands of people, many of them tween superstars. Little did they know that high above them, perched perilously on a beam and dressed like a giant chicken, was my hero, The Great Gonzo. He was firmly pushing himself back into the world’s biggest rubber band, stretching it to the breaking point, ready to snap him directly toward the stage.

“All clear on my end,” said Rizzo over the radio. He was operating the release lever. One tug and the rubber band would fling Gonzo like a chili burger launched from a slingshot. (Don’t ask me how I know this.)

“Affirmative,” I answered back through my own walkie-talkie.

I have to admit, I was shaking in my boots. But I wasn’t nearly as nervous as Pasquale, my best friend and safety expert. That’s him with the protective goggles, rubber gloves, fire extinguisher, 150 SPF sunscreen (custom ordered from Bordeaux, France), first-aid kit, and fire-retardant boots.

“I don’t know,” Pasquale said, shaking his head. “I’ve been looking over your diagram for tonight’s stunt, and I have to say that—”

“I know, I know… you think it’s unsafe,” I groaned. Pasquale thinks everything is unsafe, from brushing your teeth to crossing the street to rolling in a barrel full of rusty nails down Highway 620—I mean, sheesh! He’s no fun at all sometimes.

“Pasquale, just relax,” I said, patting him on the back. “I’m not the one flying across the auditorium. All I have to do is stand up there, sing my love song, and melt the ladies’ hearts.”

“While a daredevil dressed as a chicken hurtles toward your head at two hundred miles per hour with a pair of garden shears!” he added.

“Minor details.”

“I agree with Pasquale,” said my mom. She and my dad and my evil little sister, Chloe, had been invited to watch from backstage. “Couldn’t you just do a nice bowling-pin juggling act, or maybe pull a rabbit out of a hat or something?” she asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” echoed my dad. “I hear girls dig it when you pull rabbits out of hats. They think it’s really neat-o.”

“Rabbits out of hats? Juggling?!” I laughed. “That’s child’s play. This is a new era of entertainment. People want something fresh, cool, and sophisticated… like giant projectile chickens.”

“Thanks, sis. I now know that the expression ‘break a leg’ actually means ‘good luck.’ ”

“If that’s what you choose to beweeve, so be it,” Chloe said with one of her devilish grins.

Suddenly, Kermit popped his head in and shouted, “Okay, Mon Swoon! You guys are up next. After Pepe introduces you, I’ll open the curtains, and you guys hit the stage. Oh, and one more thing—Danvers, Gonzo says that when you see the giant chicken coming at you, duck.”

“Got it. Chicken. Duck.”

Pasquale handed me my guitar with a worried look on his face. “I hope you updated your medical insurance,” he said. “I’m not sure your policy covers garden-shear skewering.” I just glared at him until he squinted at me and nodded. “Right, I’m worrying too much. We’ll figure it out later… assuming you survive.”

“That’s more like it.” I nodded, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” came a voice over the loudspeaker. “Our next presenter has been spotted in swanky clubs and seafood buffets all over the world. He may be a shrimp, but his personality is muy grande. Please give a warm welcome to Pepe!”

Pepe ran to the podium, grabbed the mic, and shook his fist in the air, saying, “Okay, I don’t know where dat voice came from, but I am Pepe the King Prawn! I am not a shrimp, okay.”

Pepe was having a little trouble with the teleprompter. “Our next act combines tweeny love music with the scary extreme stunts. It’s guaranteed to make you queasy, okay. Here is… Mon Swoon, okay!”

I was about to run out onstage with my guitar when Pasquale stopped me, saying, “Don’t forget your bonsai hat!” He strapped a big helmet with a bonsai tree growing out the top onto my head.

We hit the stage to a thunderous wave of applause as Fozzie Bear and Scooter strutted and did some of their signature dance moves.

Animal laid down a chill, soothing, groovy drumbeat.

Then I started jammin’ on my guitar and singing our latest weather-related hit, “Girl, You Pressure Me So Much, You Broke My Barometer, Yo.”

Then, in the middle of the song, I abruptly stopped singing. I turned straight to the audience and announced, “Ladies and swooning teens, I bet you are wondering why I have a tree on my head!”

“We’ve got something a little more exciting planned for you.” I pointed dramatically at Gonzo, perched up in the rafters. “Please direct your attention to the weirdo in the chicken suit above you!”

The crowd gasped as Gonzo continued. “For tonight’s stunt, I shall hurl myself toward young Danvers at speeds in excess of good judgment and local traffic laws, while wielding these razor-sharp garden shears, which I will use to perfectly prune the bonsai tree on his head—in accordance with Somoku Kinyo Shu principles, as laid forth in feudal Japan—before landing safely in the mound of marshmallow bunnies behind him!”

“Every show it’s the same thing,” grumbled Pepe.

I felt a disturbance on my head, the kind I imagine you’d feel if you were being dive-bombed by a runaway buzz saw. Then there was a large crash behind me, followed by a loud burst of applause. When I turned to look at the mound of marshmallow bunnies, Gonzo was nowhere to be found. In fact, there was a huge hole in the wall in the back of the stage. He had sailed clean through the bricks!

I got on my walkie-talkie, shouting, “Gonzo! Come in, over. Gonzo, are you okay?”

The radio sputtered, then I heard the frazzled voice of the great one: “This is Gonzo, over.”

“Where are you?”

“I think I’m in Block City Park. I must have miscalculated the angle of entry. But on the plus side, I managed to trim some hedges and a large poodle on the way over!”

CHAPTER 2

While Mon Swoon exited the stage...