This was based on a Facebook joke I made over a year ago and the actual story was written for an anthology that may or may not ever come out at this point so I thought I'd share it here. Not saying it's great but I think it's kinda fun. Since it's a tad long for a blog post, I'm only sharing part one. If you want to see where it goes from here, let me know and I'll post the rest in two more parts. Enjoy!
(PS-Note that Vicki Lawrence's "Mama," although seen in the above illustration, does not appear in this final revised version of the concept)
MAMA’S BOYS-THE ADVENTURES OF DAVY AND BRUCE-PART 3
By Steven Thompson
© 2013, 2014
At quarter ‘til three, our heroes arrived at the giant hotel
complex where a crowd of celebrity watchers had gathered. Bruce hopped out of
the sleek red customized car and tossed the keys to one of the many young men
who gathered around for the valet parking. “No joyrides, Junior!”
“Oh, no, sir, sir!”
Davy, meanwhile had lit up his million dollar smile for the
crowd and was already signing autographs. Bruce signed a few on his way to
catch up, eyeing everyone in the crowd as they worked their way through it.
Both men were wearing dark suits and sunglasses but were nonetheless instantly
recognizable.
Inside the door, Bruce wondered aloud how come security
wasn’t tighter. “Anyone out there could be our assassin!”
“Let’s not get paranoid,” calmed Davy.
“It’s not paranoia when I’m right! If we don’t know who he
is, then he could be any one of those people out there! Or all of them even!”
Davy knew his partner was right. It made him nervous just thinking about it.
Soon enough, they found themselves ushered through upstairs
security into the Royal Suite. To Davy, it all felt familiar. The throngs of
beautiful people and expensive decorations reminded him of two things—the press
junkets thrown for the Monkees in the early days and the plots of a couple of actual
episodes!
Surveying the elaborate hotel room, Bruce looked for
entrances and exits. Davy looked for the host. Expecting the Middle-Eastern
Prince to be dressed in robes and a headdress, he was extremely surprised when
he saw that he was wearing regular clothes, chatting away with Annette Funicello
with whom Davy had shared a scene in HEAD. Sauntering over, he stood close by
until Annette recognized him and introduced him. “Oh, your Majesty, this is my
friend David Jones. He’s a recording star. Perhaps you’re familiar with his
group, The Monkees?”
“No, I have not had the pleasure,” said the Prince in a
thick but pleasingly musical accent as he extended his hand.
As he grasped it, Davy took the opportunity to immediately
seize on their common ground. “Your Majesty, I can’t wait to see your horse
tomorrow.”
“Ah, yes! Daydream Believer is my pride.”
“I...uh...actually had a hit record called ‘Daydream
Believer.’”
“No...! You jest?”
“Oh, no! Really! It was one of the Monkees’ biggest hits! Written
by a man called John Stewart but I sang the song on the recording.”
“I must hear this song named after my horse.”
“Well, it was actually written a few years ago so it wa...”
“Sing it for me!”
Davy looked around. There were no musicians anywhere.
“But...but...”
“Honored guests, Mister David Jones has a song dedicated to
my beloved stallion, Daydream Believer.” The Prince spoke loudly and began
applauding. Everyone else began to applaud as well. Davy eyed Bruce, standing
near the balcony watching for anything suspicious. His partner nodded his head.
Sighing deeply, the former Monkee stepped to the center of
the room as the crowd opened to allow him a space. Clearing his throat, he
said, “I haven’t sung this in a while. I hope I remember the words.” Then...
Davy Jones began to sing.
“Oh, I could hide, ‘neath the wings...” As Davy sang, he
danced around the crowd, coming face to face with familiar ladies like Margaret
O’Brien, Britt Ekland and Nichelle Nichols. So many familiar faces. In fact,
they were all familiar. Every single one of the 50 or so celebrities in
attendance was a known item. Not one of them could possibly have been the
assassin! Davy cut the last refrain and finished to massive applause as he ran
to the Prince’s side.
“Prince, tell me. How much do you love Daydream Believer?”
“Oh, I enjoyed the song very much, Mister David Jones.”
“No, no! The horse, man! Your horse. ‘Ow much do you love
your horse?”
“That horse is like my equine son. Should anything happen to
him...”
“It would cause an international incident, right?”
“Absolutely. My country would be forced to...”
“Bruce! Follow me. We ‘aven’t got a moment to lose!” Davy
ran out the door quickly. Bruce ripped off his jacket and shirt and sprinted
topless through the door right behind him.
In the elevator, Bruce asked, “What in the world are we
doing? We’re supposed to be protecting the Prince.”
“Trust me,” said Davy. “I can vouch for every single person
in that room. Don’t you see? It’s not the Prince who’s in danger. It's Daydream
Believer! The horse is who they’re after. I’m sure of it!”
When they got outside, Davy looked around at a loss.
“Where’s our car?”
“Parked in some underground garage somewhere.”
“But how are we going to get to...”
At that moment, a Lincoln-Continental pulled up to the curb
and as one of the valets approached the driver, Bruce nudged him out of the
way. “Park your car, madam?” he said with an ingratiating grin.
“Why, yes, but make sure you don’t...”
“Oh, we’ll take perfectly good care of it, madam,” he said
to the matronly driver before turning to Davy and adding, “Get in.”
“But...”
“Get in.”
As her car roared off down the boulevard with Bruce at the
wheel, the woman turned to one of the valets. “Why was that Asian man
shirtless?” The valet just shrugged.
It didn’t have the coolness factor of the Brucemobile nor
did it have the enhanced speed. Still, the black Lincoln reminded Bruce of his
days driving Black Beauty. “Hurry!” yelled Davy.
“What? You don’t think 50 MPH on a main thoroughfare in the
middle of a Saturday afternoon is hurrying? We’re lucky we haven’t picked up a
police escort.”
“I’m sorry, man. It’s just I’m convinced I’m right. They’re
going after that horse.”
It was only about a 15 minute trip and as the car pulled
into the backtrack area by the stables, Davy opened its door and bolted, only
to have a very large man step in front of him, stopping him cold. “It’s all
right, sir,” said Bruce. “We’re here to inspect the premises to make sure the
Prince’s horse is safe.”
“Where’s your shirt?”
“I told you, man! I told you in the car that was stupid
idea!” Davy ran past the security man who turned and reached into his jacket.
“HA-KAAAA!” yelped Bruce as he kicked the much larger man in the chin until he
fell! Then he ran on after Davy. When he caught up with him, he had already found
Daydream Believer.
“I swear to you, sir, this horse is as protected as His
Majesty himself. The only strange men to come anywhere near him today are you
and your shirtless friend there.” Davy turned to see Bruce approach. He
glowered at him. Bruce shrugged.
“ But...Are you sure? Maybe they’ve just not...Hey! Who’s
that going in to the stable with a doctor’s bag?”
“That is Dr. Draiman. He is the official track doctor who
has to sign off on Believer before he will be able to race tomorrow.”
“Stop that man!” yelled Davy suddenly and loudly. Bruce
started to run toward him when an Oriental man dressed in black jumped out of
the tree under which they were standing.
The man surveyed Bruce while Bruce walked around him, sizing
him up. “This is no time for a dance, you two!” Davy cautioned. “Oh, I’ll do it
myself!”
As Bruce and the other man began to yelp and exchange blows,
Davy ran at the man he had been told was a doctor and tackled him. The two
struggled and a lucky kick sent the older man back over and through a stall
window. At that point, Davy mounted the horse bareback and made a clicking
noise with his mouth. “Giddyup, boy! Go!” Daydream Believer kicked open the
stall door and burst through with Davy, although an experienced jockey, having
to hang on tightly. Behind them, the supposed Doctor had pulled a gun and
started firing, spooking the horse. He whinnied and reared a bit but Davy held
on and encouraged him to keep running by nudging his sides with his feet.
Meanwhile, Bruce was making short work of the would-be
assassin. After tossing him around a bit, Bruce flipped the darkly dressed man
over his shoulders and ran screaming at the man with the gun.
“Yiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!” The man was momentarily confused and stopped firing
just in time for Bruce to spin around and toss his cohort at him.
By that point, the security people had arrived including the
one Bruce had earlier gotten around. They held the would-be assassins at bay.
Bruce patted the man on the shoulder and smiled. “No hard feelings.”
It was at that point that Prince Achmendat came screeching
up in a police car. “My horse! Where is my beloved horse??!!” Bruce pointed at
Davy who came trotting peacefully back up the roadway with the beautiful steed.
Bruce smiled and gave him a thumbs up!
Davy dismounted and breathlessly said, “I can explain, Your
Highness.”
From behind him, he heard a familiar voice. “I explained it
to the Prince on the way over.”
“Cass?” exclaimed Bruce in surprise.
“Yeah, I was invited to that party, too, fellas. I was just
fashionably late. Sorry I missed your song, Davy,” she said as she touched his
cheek. “ I figured out the same thing you must have figured out and so I
updated His Majesty and we headed on over here.”
“That’s great,” said Davy. “Whew! That was almost fun!”
“I have to know, though, partner, how did you spot the phony
doctor?”
“You forget. I love horses. I’ve been out here enough to know
Dr. Draiman and I know he is NOT Chinese! When I looked at this man walking directly
toward the stable even while we were all arguing over the possible dangers, I
could see he wasn’t the real doctor. ‘E probably has the real doc tied up at
his office.”
“We’re already checking on that, fellas,” assured Mama
Cass.
“This should get us some great publicity in tomorrow’s
paper, too!”
“Uh-uh, Davy.”
“What? Why not?”
“Yeah! Why not? Actors can always use good press!”
“Come on, guys. Be realistic. If word got out that the
government was using out of work actors to fight spies and foreign assassins,
then where would we be? Naw, your involvement in this will be limited to a
curious incident where Davy sang at the celebration and then ran out, while
Bruce ripped off his shirt and followed him.”
“What?” yelled an outraged Bruce. “That will make us look
ridiculous!”
“Cookies. Crumbling. You know how it is. But...Say, you guys
DO make a pretty good team. Maybe we can use you again sometime. Whaddaya say?”
Bruce and Davy looked sternly at each other, then burst out
laughing and gave each other a high five.
“Freeze frame! Then the closing credits roll by while I sing
‘Daydream Believer.’ So what do you think?”
“Hahahhaa...I’m sorry, Davy but it’s too...outlandish. Too
unrealistic! It was fun to listen to but it would never sell. I mean, come on.
It’s more like a cartoon than a real show!”
With that, Davy Jones gathered up the pages of his proposal
and headed for the office door, crestfallen. “Well, thanks for listening at
least.” Before he stepped out, he turned and asked, “You wouldn’t happen to
have the phone number of Hanna-Barbera handy would you?”
The End
Last year, my son David bought a copy of THE BOOK THIEF by
Marcus Zusak, a book I had not read but had sold quite a few copies of over the
years. I opened it and started reading...and discovered one of the best books I
have ever read.
On-screen, the look and feel of the period is near-perfect,
left incomplete mainly by the necessity of having the characters speak accented
English rather than German. Although the book is itself told in fragments, the
film is also, but that serves to one who’s read the book to make it feel more
like a series of dramatized scenes from the text than the whole story. 
I'm not sure when it's coming out but I just finished reading an advance copy of the collected recent mini-series, THE ROCKETEER AND THE SPIRIT-PULP FRICTION and it was great fun all the way.
Clifford Meth is a modern day Don Quixote, tilting at
corporate windmills with an impossible dream of ever winning a battle. The only
difference is that he is also a bit of a pitbull and he isn’t afraid to drop
his lance and just tear ‘em a new one from time to time when necessary. 
Chronicled in COMIC BOOK BABYLON is the story, told mostly
in its original postings, of how Clifford Meth led the charge to get some
justice for Dave...and WON! Perhaps empowered by that win, he went on to find
ways to assist Wiliam Messner-Loebs (one of the nicest comics creators I have
ever met I might add) and the great Gene Colan when he, too, fell on hard
times. 
Some of my most enduring memories are of having certain comics books in my early life at certain times. It's one of those things that is somehow simultaneously pleasant and sad--in other words, that insidious condition we call...NOSTALGIA. This recent book, HEY KIDS, COMICS! compiled by veteran blogger and webcomics cartoonist Rob Kelly (ACE KILROY), is brimming with it.
