Elrod McBugle on the Loose by Jeff Strand Page A

we'll get our exposure some other time. Our vocals needed a bit of fine-tuning anyway."
    Scoopy held up his jug. "Then we'll just have to go on without you guys. Elrod will sing, and I'll play the jug."
    "Huh?" I said.
    "Well, good luck," said Andy. "If you want I could beat up some of your competition."
    "No, that's okay," I assured him. Scoopy walked toward the backstage area, and I hurried to follow him. "Are you sure you want to do this? I don't know any of the lyrics!"
    "Make some up! It's not like the original ones are any good."
    "My throat is still sore!"
    "That's good. Lots of rock singers sound like they have sore throats."
    Scoopy pushed through the curtain and we found a nice spot against the wall to stand. A couple girls were standing there, dressed in identical pink dresses, touching up each other's makeup. Mr. Clark smiled as he saw us enter.
    "Ah, Mr. McBugle, Mr. Casson! You're part of Squirrel Rampage, correct?"
    "Actually, we're all of Squirrel Rampage."
    "Really? I thought there were supposed to be five squirrels."
    "The other three couldn't make it."
    "Oh, well I'm sure you two will do fine."
    I looked around. Aside from the girls, there was nobody else in the backstage area. "How many acts are there?"
    "Two. You and the Math Club Women. It was a fairly low turnout this year. If you want to add some extra verses to your song to make it longer, that might be nice."
    Scoopy grinned. "Wow! We can't come in worse than second!"
    "Oh, gee, that's wonderful," I muttered.
    Then I realized something. Scoopy was supposed to be the whiny one. If he was determined to have a good time, well, darn it, I was too. Scoopy could play that jug pretty well if you wanted my honest opinion, and the lyrics wouldn't be a big deal as long as I remembered the words "yeah" and "baby." We'd do fine.
    Mr. Clark went out on stage and made his opening comments, which included instructions that nothing was to be thrown on stage while we were performing, and that booing was a sign of bad manners. Then he introduced the Math Club Women, who went out and began singing something called "How I Love Prime Numbers."
    They sounded good. Really good. Their voices blended in perfect harmony. Compared to them, my singing was going to sound like a dying buffalo clearing its throat.
    But it would all be over in a few minutes.
    The Math Club Women finished their song and marched backstage to wild applause. "You're on," said Mr. Clark, motioning for us to walk on stage.
    Scoopy chose that particular moment to trip, and the jug slipped out of his fingers. It fell as if in slow motion, and I dove for it, trying to catch it before it shattered against the floor.
    The Math Club Women gasped.
    Mr. Clark gasped.
    Scoopy gasped.
    I caught it.
    "Please be more careful," said Mr. Clark. "Broken glass is nobody's friend."
    "Yes, sir," said Scoopy, taking the jug from me. As I got to my feet, Scoopy tripped once again. The jug fell out of his hand and shattered against the floor.
    "I couldn't help it!" he insisted. "My hands are all sweaty!"
    I stared at the broken pieces of the musical jug for a long moment. "I guess The Math Club Women win."
    "No!" said Scoopy. "We can still go on! I can...I can say 'Aaaooogah' in the background while you sing."
    "How about you sing and I say 'Aaaooogah?'"
    "No, that'll be stupid. C'mon, Elrod, let's do it!"
    He marched out on stage. I reluctantly followed him.
    "Hi, everyone," I said, as I looked out at the seemingly millions of people who could potentially throw sharp objects at us. "We're Squirrel Rampage, and this is a song called 'Baby Bring Me Your Love, If It's Not Too Much Trouble.'" That wasn't the real name of the song, but at this point it didn't really matter. I