Fortunately, the cleaning ladies had just stepped out to have their smoke break.
So they were able to attack the Muppet Zombies with butane lighters, causing Bert and Ernie to flee, screaming, “Brains! We’ll be back for your brains!”
The little boy - whose name was Timmy - looked up at Gore and said, “Please, sir, please tell me you’re not going to announce you’re running for President at the Oscar ceremony if An Inconvenient Truth wins…”
“Well, Timmy,” the former vice president said with a droll twinkle in his eye, “I don’t like to lie to children, and I’m trying not to make unwise political moves, so I can’t give you an answer right now, but time will tell.”
Just then, world-renowned geographer, Dr. Mercator Longitude, circumnavigated down the street, exclaiming “Eureka! I’ve found it!”
“Found what, Dr. Mercator?” piped Timmy.
“Atlantis.”
“Morissette?” wondered Timmy.
“No, is an island and they had lasers and stuff way back in the day.”
“Wow! Like Lasik surgery?” asked Tommy.
Looking sharply at Timmy and the boy who had just appeared, the former vice president asked, “This kid your twin brother or something?”
Dr. Longtitude, Mercator, or whatever his name was, began scraping a muppet off his shoe, remarking “Now, if I can just find some way to finance an expedition…and not with that little Tom Swift so-in-so, he screws everything up.”
“I have almost seven dollars in my piggy bank,” Timmy said philanthropically, “but I was saving up for LASIK surgery.”
“That would be a splendid start Timmy, but I wouldn’t want to take money you needed for your…help me get this damned thing off my shoe, will you?”
Timmy ran inside to get a scraper for the nice man, and was surprised to see his mommy and another man he didn’t recognize in the living room.
The man was wearing a red suit and had a white beard, and, yes, Timmy and Tommy’s mommy was kissing him, but there wasn’t a shred of mistletoe in sight.
“This is the child you want to sell?” inquired the red suited gypsy.
“Sell? I’m giving him away for nothing,” replied Timmy’s mother, causing Timmy to realize that her eyes weren’t whiskey-colored after all, but more closely resembled the leavings of the neighbor’s dog on their lawn, and like those gifts, would probably serve their best purpose if they were in a flaming paper bag on somebody’s front steps.
“We need someone to carry water for the circus elephants,” reflected the gypsy, “But he doesn’t look very strong.”
“How ironic,” mused the mother, “since Timmy was conceived in a dry watering trough inside an elephant’s cage.”