The Toilet Paper Caper: Chapter 15
By: Lon Shapiro
Tags: Fiction, Muppets, Mystery, Toilet Paper Caper, Humor

The Deli

I didn’t know whether to wheeze or laugh at the slow speed chase unfolding as I wove my way through the crowded streets.

I was being followed by the old Whipple boys, who looked like they needed walkers instead of running shoes, with Darling clunking along in those knee-length high-heeled boots that had never been made for walking.

Considering the lunch I’d eaten, the booze, and the need to drop a double, no one was going to mistake me for Frank Shorter — a Frank Forter, maybe — as I pulled ahead of my pursuers.

It was time for some answers, and I had a suspect in my pocket.

Taking him out, I gave Kermit the deepest rectal exam in history to get his attention.

“Owww,” said Kermit, “take it easy on the material.”

“Listen up Frog, start croakin’ or there’s a whole lot more whoop-ass headed your way if I don’t get the straight dope, post haste.”

“Sir, I have nothing to say to you,” said Kermit as he gave me the ping pong ball stink eye.

“You know, accidents can happen when a prisoner is being transported,” I said as I jogged closer to the sidewalk. “You never know when somebody will run into a lamp post…”

“Owww!” screamed Kermit in pain as he rubbed his head.

“…Or a newspaper rack…”

“Darn it, that hurts!” he said after rebounding off the metal frame.

“Hey look, those tree trimmers have a wood chipper…”

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Kermit groaned, “but I need a drink.”

I looked back to see if the three stooges were still on our tail, but the coast was clear.

I ducked into a deli with a sign that read “established 1888.”

We sat in a booth at the back of the joint, and I started to spit out questions like a machine gun.

“How‘d we get from Kansas to that theater?”

“That wasn’t Kansas, it was a sound stage in the back lot.”

“Oh and you’re gonna tell me that tornado was fake?”

“We have a fantastic special effects team.”

“And what’s with the puppet show?”

“Please. It’s the Muppet Show. You wouldn’t compare a lifeless wooden stiff like Ronnie Reagan to Sir Laurence Olivier, would you? You’re the one who crashed the party on our network pilot. We’re going to be huge stars.”

He wasn’t wrong about that, at least the part about calling Reagan a stiff. Everyone knew Bonzo the Chimp should have had the lead in their movie.

I didn’t have the heart to tell Kermit the show was going to bomb hard in the US — twice — only to be picked up for a big run in London.

His answers told me we were still in the Big Apple, somewhere in 1974.

“Whaddaya know about this message?” I spread out the reefer rolling paper with the impenetrable code.

“Honest, I’ve never seen that before.”

“Sure, I believe you, but my wood chipper over there don’t,” I said, sweating the little amphibian.

A small puddle formed on the table.

“Look, I swear to you. I don’t know anything! I’m just a puppet,” Kermit gasped.

“Don’t you mean a Muppet?”

“Same thing. I swear… I…”

Kermit fainted with a theatrical flair. I was impressed by him staying in character up to the point of losing consciousness.

“Okay, froggie, the drink’s on me,” I chuckled, as I put him back in my pocket.

I’d gotten everything I could from that pile of green felt, and it was clear somebody else was pulling the strings.

The question was, who was running the game?

His answers crossed a lot of suspects off my list… the pig… the old guys in the theater… Beaker, the lab coat guy… even Dr. Bunsen.

They all had someone else’s hand rammed up their keisters, calling the shots.

Then it hit me like a sack of bricks.

I flipped through all the Charmin commercials I had downloaded on my phone and found this:

“Mr. Whipple has changed…”

Or had he been changed, or exchanged?

The difference in his expressions and comic delivery was obvious.

Gone was the former standup comedian with those classic eye rolls and subtle double takes, replaced by a smooth-talking shyster salesman who demonstrated how an egg wouldn’t break if you dropped it on a thin stack of NEW Lush Plush Charmin sheets.

Somebody was pulling the strings on this Whipple, just like the Muppets.

I held my head in my hands, looked down at the rolling paper and mumbled to myself, “red herrings… so many red herrings.”

A voice came down from above.

“Ve don’t have ennie red herrings. Could I interest you in some lox and schmear, maybe?”

It was an old waiter, probably as old as the deli.

I was about to order a cup of coffee, when he looked down at the reefer paper.

“Vat da hell is dis?” he demanded. “You think you’re a comedian or something? Who comes into a nice Kosher deli and brings an order for hem ’n’ eggs?”

“Thanks pal, you solved the mystery of The Yiddish Munchies. Too bad, this is a different caper.”

I got up to leave, then remembered it wasn’t 1973 any more, and ran toward the men’s room.

After a pause that truly refreshed, I felt so much lighter, and ready to clean up this Whipple mess.

I approached the old waiter.

“Listen, pal, I don’t need lunch, but I’ll give you a sawbuck for a roll of toilet paper.”

“Vaddaya, meshuggeneh? A roll of toilet paper rose from 39¢ to 69¢ during that fake crisis caused by the Japanese rumor and then repeated by that goniff Senator from Wisconsin. For five dollars, I’ll give you the whole package and throw in a nice rugelach.”

“Deal,” I said, and left with my stash while munching the pastry.

It felt so good to step out into the sunlight.

Nothing was going to spoil today, not even the appearance of those Whipplegangers, panting and holding their knees in front of the deli.

I handed them the monkey and they just stood there wheezing in silence as I walked down the street.

As expected, the Pinto magically appeared just in time for the end of the chapter.

I hopped in, and Darling’s eyes opened wide when she saw my four pack.

“Ohhhh,” she cooed, “can I squeeze it?”

“No Darling, I’m engaged. But I’m glad someone noticed that I’ve been working out.”

“I meant the Charmin.”

“Oh… well, first you gotta take me when I want to go.”

“And that is?”

“1982, and make it snappy, Jack.”

“It’s Rebecca.”

“Whatever, Darling. Mush, baby, mush.”