Page 21 of Love ad Lib
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ he replied. ‘Bruce Bruce. The third.’
Henry put his hand over his mouth as he snorted.
‘Suggestion two,’ Libby continued. ‘We undertake an extensive marketing campaign around sustainable, locally sourced, high protein meat, and champion the use of “Squicken” in our diet.’
Claire leaned towards the audience and played an upbeat jingle on her guitar. ‘Squicken! Like chicken, but grows on trees!’
‘Because, at the end of the day…’ Libby looked bereft. ‘Without the work of RATS, our beautiful red squirrels will be no more. And we cannot allow this to happen, because…’
Claire started the hoedown music again and they sang together.
‘They’re red, they’re chirpy, they’re endangered little mites.
They’re on the run, they’re dying out and don’t know how to fight.
With no-one to save them, you need to join our quest.
They’re cute, they’re fluffy, yes, red squirrels are the best!’
‘Everybody now!’ Libby held up the words for the last chorus on a big sheet of paper. The audience sang with them.
‘Now on your feet!’ yelled Claire.
Everyone stood, singing and stamping as they sang one more time. At the end, Claire and Libby bowed and the audience went wild, cheering and clapping. Henry put his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. Libby caught his eye and grinned.
Claire strummed another chord. ‘Now then, ladies, gentlemen and Australians, let’s have some audience participation!’
Henry shrank back against the wall.
‘Claire and I are keen to sell our jingle and tagline writing services to the highest bidder,’ said Libby. ‘But we need a bit of practice. So how about you give us some suggestions and we’ll give you a jingle or a tagline to match.’
People started shouting ideas.
‘What was that?’ asked Libby. ‘A vacuum cleaner? Hmm.’ She looked at Claire. ‘I feel a jingle coming on.’
Claire picked out a tune, and Libby threw back her head as if she was a singer from the sixties hoping to send her voice into the seventies.
‘It sucks so good, it sucks so hard, it sucks all through the night. Yeah, yeah, get the carpet muncher. It’s the mother-sucking best!’
‘Funeral directors!’ A voice yelled over the laughter and applause.
Libby put her hands in a prayer position and bowed.
‘We deal with your skinsuit,’ Claire said, solemnly.
Henry snorted as someone else yelled, ‘A zoo!’
Libby looked up. ‘Learn about the natural world through your senses. Come and smell two hundred different kinds of poo.’
Claire put her guitar to one side. ‘How about “world’s worst”?’
The crowd whooped and Bruce Bruce called out, ‘Santa!’
Libby’s body became loose and sloppy, and she staggered around the stage as if drunk. Claire stared hopefully at her, hands clasped in excitement.
Libby stumbled closer, pointing her finger. ‘It’s always about you, isn’t it. What about me? Where are my presents, eh?’ She pretended to rummage in a pocket and presented something to Claire. ‘Here’s a five-pound gift card. I’m only here for the booze and mince pies.’
People laughed and clapped, and someone else yelled, ‘World’s worst reality show!’
