By Emily Huenefeld
“You were the spaz that used all our money to buy this crappy nightclub, so you’re helping me hire help,” responded his brother, Jo Bob as he slid a desk up to two chairs in the middle of the dance floor.
The dimly lit club was once a prominent nightclub, known for it’s rocking after parties and great music…in 1963. Now into 2005, the club looked more like a museum or a haunted house. Minus the cool ghosts and eerie lighting.
Jo bob sat at the desk, and looked to Pew, “So, no doubt we have a myriad of poor fools wanting to work here, eh?”
“…Uh, actually Bro,” Pew went to the door and opened it, “We have, like, six people.”
“…God…Damn,” Jo Bob smacked his head on the desk and lay there for a moment. The realization that there club was doomed to die dogged our penguin guy.
But, he would not be beaten easily, until violence was used. Then he forfeited.
Pew Pew spoke up, “…Bro?”
Jo Bob waved a flipper, “Bring in the first contestant,” he sat up and watched her walk in.
Her gait was gentle with a slight skip in it. She was dressed like a superhero, a blue body suit with a black mask. Her brown eyes glittered with hope as her wild brown hair bounced around behind her.
She walked right up to Jo Bob, and hugged him.
“Hi!” she said.
“You,” Jo bob stated as he struggled for breath, “Off the penguin.”
The woman released the penguin and sat cross-legged on the desk, “Hi! I’m Homie!”
Jo Bob regained his composure, then slapped his brother to stop starring at her girl parts, as he was often prone to do, “Homie?”
She nodded, “Uh-huh! The Masked Homie! I’m a superhero you know!” She stood up on the desk and attempted a pose before falling backwards off the table.
Pew Pew looked to his brother. Jo Bob looked back.
Homie popped back up, “I sing and dance!” she shouted as she began to spin.
Pew cleared his throat, “Uh…can you do anything else?”
Homie stopped and thought, “I can make eggs.”
“You’re hired!” Pew declared as he shook her hand. Jo Bob shacked his own head.
“Alright, I get to pick the next person,” Jo Bob said as he attempted to bolster Homie on his brother instead of himself.
Pew Pew called to the next person, “Alright, next up dudes!”
A man raced in, wearing a Viking hat, black Speedo and holding his pants. In his other hand was a bottle of suspicious brown liquid.
“NEXT!” yelled Jo as he threw a paperweight at the man.
As the pants-less man ran out, a huge, burly Doberman strutted in. His grizzled features starred menacingly at the trio sitting at the desk.
They craned their necks to stare back, eyes wide with fear.
Jo Bob: Ho-
Homie: -ly
Pew Pew: Poo-gas…
The Doberman spoke with a voice like rolling thunder, “I hear you need a bouncer.”
Jo Bob cleared his throat as he attempted to speak, “Ye-yes, we are. Uh,” He coughed, “do you have any experience?”
The Doberman then conversed rather slowly about each nightclub he had bounced at, with excruciating detail.
2 Hours Later…
“…and that’s the secret recipe for Pepsi Cola*” he finished, licking his lips.
Jo Bob jerked back from his boredom-induced sleep, “Uh, what? Oh! Fine, fine. What’s your name there, Tiny?”
“Sally,” the Doberman stated.
And at that moment, Jo Bob thrust his flipper into his Brother’s face before Pew began his giggle-fit, “Ah, well Sally…welcome to the club.”
Jo Bob gave him his papers, and Pew Pew showed him out.
Homie curled up on the desk and sucked her thumb. Jo Bob sighed, “Well, we’ve got a failed superhero and a guy named Sally. What next?”
A slimy, emaciated, black and orange cat sauntered in. He wore a white tank-top, deep blue pants and black suspenders. He leaned against the table and handed over a card.
Jo Bob raised his bow, “Well hello Mister…” he read the card, “Marcello Kat, is it?”
The cat, Marcello, raised his brows as he attempted to ‘inquire’ about the sleeping Homie before Pew Pew smacked his hand away. Marcello rubbed his hand and smiled, he spoke in a Cuban, French accent, “Si, that is correctimudo. I am a conductor of sorts. I would love to give my talents to this wonderful establishmen-”
“Fine,” Jo Bob said as he handed over some papers and had Pew show him out.
“What a total perv, eh Bro?” Pew said as he moved Homie from the desk to the other chair.
“Yea, but he’s a conductor, and once we get a band that’ll be good,” Jo Bob put his interview papers in order, “Go get another moron, will ya?”
Pew Pew went to the door and let in a fox. He wore a brown trench coat over his skinny features, his tail swishing behind him.
In his left hand, he carried a guitar case and in the other, his brown fedora, “Uh, is this where I audition?”
Jo Bob looked up, “Auditions? What the hell?”
Pew Pew nodded, “You bet dude, come on in!” Pew grinned as he showed him to the middle of the room, “What’s your name, bud?”
The fox cleared his throat as he opened his guitar case and produce a shiny guitar, “Well, my name is Rodney T. Foxton. I wish to audition for entertainment,” he paused to see if they would question him so far, then continued, “I was tutored classically, mostly in jazz and contemporary and-”
“Can you clean?” Jo Bob asked suddenly, writing something on a slip.
Rod was taken aback, “Uh…I like clean things, yes.”
“Good, you’re our new janitor,” he handed over a slip.
Rod was shocked, “What? Excuse ME? I am an artist! I’m not a latrine cleaner! If you think for one SECOND that I’ll subject myself to mopping floors You are-”
Suddenly, he saw Homie laying in the chair and those little cartoon hearts appeared over him. He went all googly eyes and red...er…redder, “When do I start?”
Pew Pew ushered him out, popping some of the hearts on the way. He turned back to his brother, “Well dude, I think that’s it.”
Jo Bob leaned back in his chair and sighed, “Yes Pew, I only wish we could get better…” he looked at the sleeping girl as she fell off the chair and onto the floor, never waking up, “…eye candy.”
The Front doors creaked. A white go-go boot stepped in followed by a green body of a green alien woman with features that normally wouldn’t let a woman walk around unless she was on all fours. She was dressed in some sort of pink fuzzy lingerie, with purple hair, antennas, hazel eyes and a grin that said, ‘What…?’.
She giggled, “Um, excuse me, my name’s Kitten and I-”
“You’re hired!” Jo Bob jumped up and kissed her hand.
Kitten giggled, “Wow And I was just gonna ask to use the bathroom!”
-End
*Line created by Eric Huenefeld. He’s the man, like totally.