B.U.G.S.
“Duh Bwainless Union of Gung-ho Simp-wetons meetin’ is now cawwed to owdew,” union president, Elmer Fudd, shouted. “Aw gwest speaker fow this evenin’ is Mistaw Magoo, head of ouw insuwance company.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” replied Mr. Magoo. “You really should put on more weight Fudd, You’re as thin as a pole. I thought you said there would be more people here. The place is empty.”
An attendant from the side of the stage moved Magoo from in front of an empty mic stand and turned him around so that he wasn’t facing the empty stage.
“Heh, Heh, Heh. Thought you could fool me with the hidden audience trick,” Magoo called out.
Facing a set of music stands in the pit now, Magoo calls out, “So what does everyone here want to know about insurance? Don’t just stand there, speak up!”
From the audience, Wil E. Coyote calls out. “I want to know how much your company makes from the Acme Anvil company.”
“And confound it, What’s that crazy rabbit’s deal,” yelled Yosemite Sam.
“And same goes for moose and squirrel,” Boris Badinov said.
Soon everyone was jumping up and down and screaming, complaining about all the supposed accidents they had claims for. Yet, they all agreed that the birds, the mice, carrot-toting rabbits, the daffy ducks, the moose and the squirrel always got the best deals.
They claimed they were being set up to have accidents and should be getting more from the insurance company rather than funneling all the money to the cute ones and the insurance company.
“We’ve got to eat too, thufferin’ thuccotash!” Sylvester the cat screamed.
Natasha Fatale sitting in the front with Boris Badinov, turned to him and said, “I dink zis Magoo ees a fool, dahlink.”
“What a lovely audience,” replied Mr. Magoo. “I just love to listen to groups that are happy with our company. I will definitely leave now and get started on building that pool.”
Instead of leaving by the stairs in front of the stage, Mr. Magoo starts climbing the side stairs up to the rafters. In walking across the rafters, thinking he’s closing the curtains behind him, he manages to untie the ropes to the massive chandeliers hanging over the complainers.
Below, just before impact, is heard a plaintiff “Thufferin’ Thuccotash!” After which comes a loud crash.
Mr. Magoo, having left the Brainless Union of Gung-ho Simpletons meeting, moves on to his next stop, the Do the Write Thing writing workshop, where he was told he has to speak about Riding Tromps.
