'I'm really enjoying this,' said Jack, 'and it hasn't even started yet.'
Before the stage, clockwork cameramen were positioning their clockwork cameras, large and bulky affairs of colourful pressed tin which moved upon casters. The clockwork cameramen appeared to be positioning their cameras in such a way as to create the maximum obstruction of the audience's view of the stage.
Eddie was looking over his shoulder, watching the rude crew pigs herding in the audience of toys. 'Hm,' he said.
Jack pointed towards the large and glittering letters that were painted upon the pretend sky backdrop. 'What does Tuff it on the Tuffet mean?' he asked Eddie.
'Miss Muffett's show is one of those talk show jobbies,' Eddie explained, 'where toys air their embarrassing personal problems on primetime TV. I once wrote a little poem about it; would you care for me to recite it to you?'
'Is it a long poem?' Jack asked.
'No, quite short.'
'Go on then.'
Eddie made throat-clearing growlings and then he began:
'Scandalous secrets and shocking surprises,
'Secreting their persons with silly disguises,
'Or proudly parading their sexual deviation,
'With clockwork and teddy and even relation,
'Recounting their rumblings with famous Toy folk,
'Or confessing the need for the herbs that they smoke,
'All in the hope that the show will bestow,
'Media absolution.'
'Very good,' said Jack.
'Did you really think so?'
'Not really,' said Jack. 'I was being polite. But why would anyone want to come on a TV show and air their dirty laundry in public, as it were?'
Eddie shrugged. 'That is one of life's little mysteries,' he said. 'My guess would be that either they're actors making it all up, or they're very sad individuals who crave- their moment of glory on TV. But who cares; it's great television.'
'And Little Tommy Tucker is going to be "tuffing it", is he?'
'I doubt that. He's probably promoting his new hit single. He's a big recording artiste, is Tommy. He doesn't have to sing for his supper any more. Well, he does in a manner of speaking, but his singing has earned him enough for a million suppers in the City's finest eateries.'
Jack's stomach rumbled once again. But at least his hangover was beginning to lessen. 'Famous singer, eh?' said Jack.
'Top of the charts,' said Eddie. 'Not my pot of jam though. I'm an Elvis fan, me.'
'Elvis?' said Jack. 'Who's Elvis?'
Eddie rolled his button eyes. 'He's the King.'
'Well I've never heard of him.'
'No, 1 suppose not. He's a bear, like me. My cousin, in fact. Tinto has an open-mic night on Fridays. Elvis sings. He's great.'
'What sort of stuff does he sing?’ Jack asked.
'Tommy Tucker songs,' said Eddie, dismally. 'There aren't any others.'
'What, none?'
'Tommy sort of has the Toy City music industry in his velvet pocket. Tommy's always number one in the music charts, because the charts don't have a number two. And Tommy owns the only recording studio in Toy City, and the record company.'
'That's outrageous,' said Jack. 'So you're telling me that the only records you can buy in Toy City are Tommy Tucker records?'
'Or classical music.'
'Which is?'
'Nursery rhymes,' said Eddie. 'Sung by the Tommy Tucker choir ensemble. With the Tommy Tucker clockwork orchestra. That's them next to the stage.'
'Shut up!' shouted a rude crew pig into Eddie's ear. 'The show's about to begin. Shut up!'
'Oi,' said Jack. 'How dare you!'
'Shut up the both of you,' said the rude crew pig. 'And behave or I'll throw you out.'
Jack almost rose to take issue with the rude crew pig, but as he didn't want to miss the show, he didn't.
'It's always the same,' whispered Eddie. 'Paint a uniform on a pig and he thinks he rules the city.'
'Oh, look,' said Jack. 'Something's happening.'
And something was.
The controller shouted instructions through numerous megaphones; some lights dimmed, others shone brightly; those that shone brightly illuminated the stage.
Quite brightly.
From stage-right a figure appeared.
This figure was a clown. An all-rubber clown. An all-green, but for the red nose, rubber clown.
'Morning all,' said the all-green, but for the red nose, rubber clown.
Mumble, mumble, mumble went the audience. One or two folk managed a half-hearted 'Good morning'.
'Pathetic,' said the all-green, but for the red nose, rubber clown. 'That really won't do at all.'
'Who's this?’ Jack asked.
'Warm-up clown, I think,' said Eddie.
'Shut up, you two,' said the crew pig, who had positioned himself in the aisle next to Jack and Eddie and was keeping a beady eye upon them.
'This is The Tuffet!' The all-green, but for the red nose, rubber clown made all-encompassing hand gestures. 'Biggest rating show in Toy City and you the audience must respond. You must cheer, you must applaud, you must react. Do you hear what I'm saying?'
Murmur, murmur, went the crowd.
'Do you hear?'
'Yes,' went much of the crowd, in an embarrassed murmur.
'And do you love Miss Muffett?'
'Yes,' went most of the crowd, quietly.
'I said, do you love Miss Muffett?'
'Yes,' went pretty much all of the crowd, pretty much louder.
'Isaid, do you love Miss Mujfett?'
'YES,' went damn near all of the crowd.
'And you two,' the rude crew pig shook a trottered fist at Eddie and Jack.
'Oh yes indeed,' said Jack, in a tone that lacked somewhat tor conviction.
'And me too,' said Eddie, in a likewise fashion.
'Let me hear you say "Yeah!" ' shouted the all-green, but for the red nose, all-rubber clown.
'Yeah!' the audience replied.
'Not bad,' said the clown. 'But not good; let me hear you say "yeah" once again.'
'Yeah!' went the crowd with greater vigour.
'Yeah!' shouted the clown.
'Yeah!' shouted the audience back to him.
And yeah and yeah and yeah again.
'I don't like this clown at all,' said Jack.
'That's your last warning,' said the rude crew pig in between the yeahings.
'All right!' shouted the clown. 'Now we're rolling. Now let's have us some fun.'
And then the clown went about doing The Terrible Thing. The Terrible Thing is the terrible thing that all clowns do. It is The Terrible Thing that all clowns have always done, since the very dawn of clowning, The Terrible Thing that is ultimately what being a clown is all about.
The Terrible Thing that is...
Humiliating the audience.
Exactly why clowns do it is no mystery at all. They do it because they can do it, because they are allowed to do it, because they can get away with doing it. And they get away with doing it because they wear red noses and silly costumes which make them look ridiculous, make them look like fools, and so people let them get away with doing it — people who would otherwise beat the living life out of anyone else who dared to humiliate them — allow clowns do it.
Which serves them right, really.
But still makes it a terrible thing.
The all-green, but for the red nose, rubber clown began to move amongst the audience. He frolicked up and down the aisles. Here he mocked the leaky over-stuffed seams of a plump rag doll, and there he drew attention to a hint of rust upon the shoulder of a clockwork postman. And over there he scorned a teddy's moth-eaten ear. And right at the back he made light of a wooden soldier's woodworm holes.