And now the next part of my MST3K treatment of The Tale of Fatty Coon.
> FATTY DISCOVERS MRS. TURTLE’S SECRET
TOM: Oh, tell me this is about lingerie.
> After his adventure with the goshawk Fatty Coon did not go
> near the tree-tops for a long time.
MIKE: Not until the trees put some elevators in.
> Whenever he left home he would
> crawl down the old poplar tree in which he lived;
CROW: Achieving speeds of up to 400 miles per hour.
> and he wouldn’t
> climb a single tree until he came home again. Somehow, he felt safer
> on the ground.
TOM: ‘You know, nobody ever drops a pie onto a tree. The ground, though, that’s some prime stuff-being-dropped territory!’
> You see, he hadn’t forgotten the fright he had had, nor
> how the goshawk’s claws had hurt his back.
> It was just three days after his scare, to be exact, when
> Fatty Coon found himself on the bank of the creek which flowed slowly
> into Swift River.
TOM: Suppose that’s named for how fast it is, or for its discoverer, Carol the Swift?
> Fatty had been looking for frogs, but he had had no
> luck at all.
MIKE: The frogs’ early warning system was in good shape.
> To tell the truth, Fatty was a little too young to catch
> frogs easily, even when he found one;
TOM: Except for the one he grabbed last chapter.
MIKE: Hope somebody got fired for that blunder.
> and he was a good deal too fat,
> for he was so plump that he was not very spry.
MIKE: Also last week he ate the creek.
CROW: ‘Well, last week we had nacho cheese popcorn seasoning to sprinkle on it!’
> Now, Fatty was hiding behind some tall rushes, and his sharp
> little eyes were looking all about him, and his nose was twitching as
> he sniffed the air.
CROW: ‘Wawa has paninis? This changes everything!
> He wished he might find a frog. But not one frog
> appeared. Fatty began to think that some other coon must have visited
> the creek just before him and caught them all.
TOM: The lifeless pond can have only one explanation.
MIKE: Raccoons: nature’s own little neutron bombs.
> And then he forgot all
> about frogs.
> Yes! Frogs passed completely out of Fatty Coon’s mind. For
> whom should he spy but Mrs. Turtle!
CROW: What do you suppose her maiden name was?
TOM: Oh, she kept it when she married Dr Lesser Brown Bat.
> He saw her little black head
> first, bobbing along through the water of the creek. She was swimming
> toward the bank where Fatty was hidden.
MIKE: She loves the bank with its little chained pens and deposit slips.
> And pretty soon she pulled
> herself out of the water and waddled a short distance along the sand
> at the edge of the creek.
TOM: ‘Well, at least I don’t have to worry here about getting eaten by a raccoon!’
> Mrs. Turtle stopped then; and for a few minutes she was very
> busy about something. First she dug a hole in the sand.
TOM: [ Giggles nervously. ]
> And Fatty
> wondered what she was looking for. But he kept very quiet.
MIKE: Should we be watching this?
[ TOM, CROW look conspicuously away. ]
> And after a
> time Mrs. Turtle splashed into the creek again and paddled away. But
> before she left she scooped sand into the hole she had dug.
TOM: Oh dear, she *is*.
> Before she
> left the place she looked all around, as if to make sure that no one
> had seen her.
CROW: What was her plan if someone did see her at this point?
MIKE: Take the eggs back?
> And as she waddled slowly to the water Fatty could see
> that she was smiling as if she was very well pleased about something.
> She seemed to have a secret.
TOM: Quick, call in Garry Moore to help!
> Fatty Coon had grown very curious, as he watched Mrs. Turtle.
CROW: ‘I wonder if I can use this to become an even less pleasant person?’
> And just as soon as she was out of sight he came out from his hiding
> place in the tall reeds and trotted down to the edge of the creek. He
> went straight to the spot where Mrs. Turtle had dug the hole and
> filled it up again.
MIKE: Gotta say, Mrs Turtle does not come out looking good here.
TOM: Yeah, her scouting process could really use some scouting.
> And Fatty was so eager to know what she had been
> doing that he began to dig in the very spot where Mrs. Turtle had dug
> before him.
CROW: Mmm, turtle poop.
> It took Fatty Coon only about six seconds to discover Mrs.
> Turtle’s secret. For he did not have to paw away much of the sand
> before he came upon—what do you suppose? Eggs! Turtles’ eggs!
MIKE: No, she’s the last Galopagos Island Tortoise, it’s the only hope of avoiding extinction!
> Twenty-seven round, white eggs, which Mrs. Turtle had left there in
> the warm sand to hatch.
CROW: ‘Turtles are goshawks?’
> THAT was why she looked all around to make
> sure that no one saw her. THAT was why she seemed so pleased.
TOM: *That* was why Mrs Turtle wasn’t part of her Species Survival Plan.
> For Mrs.
> Turtle fully expected that after a time twenty-seven little turtles
> would hatch from those eggs—
TOM: Each egg.
> just as chickens do—
MIKE: Did kids in 1915 need eggs explained to them?
> and dig their way out
> of the sand.
CROW: Again, good job checking, Mrs Turtle.
> But it never happened that way at all.
MIKE: Fatty Coon cackles delighted at his schemes.
> For as soon as he got
> over his surprise at seeing them, Fatty Coon began at once to eat
> those twenty- seven eggs. They were delicious.
TOM: Do we know whether Arthur Scott Bailey *liked* his protagonist?
> And as he finished the
> last one he couldn’t help thinking how lucky he had been.
MIKE: Now we have nobody to foil the evil Shredder’s attacks!
[ To Continue ]