Jo's Story - OR- The Penguins Who Stole Christmas, part four

For Jo, who of course chose "penguin".

J was worried. She knew of Sgt. Maltese's plan to steal Christmas, but was unsure as to how best to thwart the nefarious penguin's plan. J was as brilliant as she was kind and lovely, and she was very brilliant, but she also possessed a will of iron. (Not to mention an impressive Super Soaker collection.)

"And you say you were sent here to steal The Princess's Uranium uber Visa?" J asked Fred (who had been escorted to her Lab by the MIB).

"Correct," Fred replied. (He was somewhat disappointed to discover that J's lab was not secret. "What would be the point?" she had asked. "If I called it a secret lab, then everyone would be trying to discover it. By making it a lab of the non-secretive variety, no one has yet to discover it without my wanting them to.")

J spun idly in her swivel chair (spinning in a swivel chair always helped her think).
"This does not add up, though," she said while spinning.
"What does Maltese want with the uber Visa? I think it's either a MacGuffin or a plot device that the author did not think through properly."

"At least it's not a shovel," Fred muttered under his breath.

I HEARD THAT, a loud voice thundered over all of their heads.

"Moving on," J continued, "I wonder if it's truly Christmas that the penguins are after. Penguins can't be all that bad. They are just misguided. I'm sure that if they looked deep in their hearts, they would discover that all they really want is love and acceptance."

Fred was not convinced.
"No, I really think they want world domination."

"But why would anyone want that?" J queried.
"The world is in a pretty poor state these days."

"Which is exactly the way I want it!" came the (not entirely) unexpected voice of Sgt. Maltese.

J turned her swivel chair to face the evil penguin.
"Ah yes, I was beginning to wonder when you would show up, Mr. Maltese."

"That's Sgt. Maltese to you!" the penguin shouted.

"Well, technically, you're the only one in the penguin military, which has yet to be recognized by any other military, so..." Fred began to explain.

"Silence!" Sgt. Maltese barked.

"And there is something I've been meaning to ask you," J said.
"If you're the only penguin in your military, why did you only give yourself the rank of "Sergeant"? Why not "Major" or "General" or "Major General". That would be rather catchy."

The poor Sergeant's eye had begun to twitch.
"Enough! Do you think it was easy trying to bring some order to you lot? Do you?" he asked.
"It was a nightmare! I never wanted this job. All I wanted was to make it big in musical theatre. "

J was puzzled.
"Then why did you become a pseudo dictator?"

Sgt. Maltese shrugged.
"It paid the bills. It's tough being a starving artist."

J had An Idea.
"You know, there's an opening in the town's Christmas production of The Pirates of Penzance...and while it isn't technically musical theatre, I think you would make a stellar Pirate King."

Sgt. Maltese's beady little eyes lit up.
"Do you really think so?"

"I do, " J replied.

The Sergeant looked skeptical.
"How is it possible that they open in less than a week and are missing a lead?"

J leaned down and whispered the name of the director into the Sergeant's ear.

"Him?!" the penguin cried out.
"Say no more. You'll have to excuse me, madam, gentlemen," the Sgt. said as he pulled out a top hat.
"The theatre needs me." And with that, he raced off into the night.

J sat back down and took a sip from her cocoa.

"That's it?" Fred asked.
"But this all makes absolutely no sense!"

"It doesn't have to," J replied.
"This is one of Meri's stories."

And she was right.

~fin

(Hey, I never said they would be -good- stories.)