V: Dancing Penguin Island

“Let’s down the last of that Damiana and go get us some monkeys!” The shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks stood on the deck of their stolen yacht, the DayDrunk Believer, and high fived, then pounded the last of the liquor in the sexually suggestively shaped bottle that Dixie had been holding. Once they were done, Johnny tossed the bottle carelessly over his shoulder so that it shattered on the deck, and the two climbed over the railing and made their way to the shore. 
They had just run aground on a tropical island, which they assumed was Monkey Pirate Island. Even though they hadn’t done anything to actually navigate because they had no idea how to sail a yacht, they figured that they had ended up exactly where they wanted to be. 
“That dicklick captain,” Johnny said as they climbed. “He acted like we didn’t know how to sail.” They finally made it over the side of the yacht. The water was only knee-deep, and they sloshed their way slowly toward the shore. When they got to the beach, they paused and looked around. 
“Huh,” said Johnny. “I kinda figured we’d have sailed into the port.” 
“Yeah, the one from the brochures.” 
“Right.” 
“Maybe this is the VIP entrance?” asked Dixie.
“Oh, that’s probably it! They know we’re coming here to do a huge business in the monkey labor trade, so they didn’t want to trouble us by making us walk through the riff-raff at the port. That’s actually pretty fucking decent of them.” 
“We’ll have to thank Meredith for it when we see her.” 
“Who?” 
“Meredith. You now, of Meredith’s Monkey Pirate Island?” 
“Oh, that Meredith. Yeah, she’s a hell of a broad.” They made their way up the beach and were heading toward a stand of palm trees when Johnny stopped suddenly. 
“Hey, wait a minute,” he said. 
“Huh?” 
“Well, Monkey Pirate Island. Pirates.” 
“So?” 
“Pirates means rum,” said Johnny, looking at the sand. 
“And rum means buried pirate rum on the beach!” shouted Dixie. They each immediately dropped to their knees in the sand and began digging furiously, in no particular place, sand flying everywhere. 

***

“I guess it must be buried someplace else,” Johnny said, sitting back on his heels in the sand and looking up. Dixie gave one more half-hearted dig with her hands and then sat back as well. They looked around. 
“I get that they didn’t want us to go through the port, but I kinda figured they’d at least send someone out here to greet us. Give us a welcome cocktail, take our bags, you know. I mean, we’re VIPs after all.” 
“Yeah,” said Johnny slowly. He was looking closely at Dixie. “Hey Dix, are you feeling ok?” 
“Other than the fact that I sweated out my delicious buzz from that bottle of Damiana, and I’m fucking hungry and really thought I’d be eating some goddamn jerk chicken by now, I feel fine. Why?” 
“You look kinda weird,” said Johnny. Dixie sat up and looked at Johnny, as well. 
“Wait, you look weird, too,” she said. Then she looked around. “Everything looks weird. It’s like we’re in-” 
“Black and white,” Johnny finished. 
“Why the fuck are we in black and white?!” 
“I don’t know. I mean, the brochures for Monkey Pirate Island are all in color. That’s some bullshit false advertising right there.” 
“Well, this is just great,” Dixie ranted, “No one kissing our VIP asses, no pirate rum, no jerk chicken, and we’re in fucking black and white. Like rubes! If we didn’t need these monkeys, I’d say we should get back on the boat and get the fuck out of here.” 
“For real. But we do kinda need the monkeys,” said Johnny. “Let’s just go get ‘em and then cheese it.” 
“Ok, but we’re not paying full price,” Dixie muttered, getting to her feet. 
“Look, if I have my way, we’re not paying for them at all,” said Johnny. “I’m not letting Chichay guilt me into paying for shit I could just as easily steal.” 
They were about to get up when they became aware of a noise in the distance. At first, they looked toward the water but saw only their damaged yacht and the waves gently lapping the shore. Next, they looked up and down the beach in each direction, but the pristine coast appeared to be deserted. Finally, they looked toward the stand of trees that lined the beach and noticed movement in the brush. 
“Oh, this must be the welcoming party,” Johnny said. 
“‘Bout fucking time,” said Dixie. The two stood up straighter and prepared to have their asses kissed like the VIPs they assumed they were when a small troupe of black and white penguins came out of the trees. 
“Uh,” said Dixie as the penguins approached. 
“Uh,” said Johnny as the penguins got closer. Johnny reached for a large rock at his feet and gripped it, waiting. 
The penguins squeaked and flapped their way toward Dixie and Johnny and stopped in the sand a short distance away. They took a moment to get themselves into position, and once they were, they paused in silent stillness. Dixie and Johnny watched and waited. The penguin in the center was the largest and obviously the leader. After a moment’s pause, he tapped his little penguin foot while giving three distinct squawks, and at that, the penguin troupe began a very practiced and choreographed dance, accompanied by what was clearly a song. Johnny, of course, understood the words, but Dixie did not, although she recognized the tune. They watched this penguin dance number in something almost like interest. 
“What the hell is happening?” Dixie whispered. She listened as the penguins began the chorus of their dance number. “Is this that shit song from State Fair?” 
“Oh god, it is,” muttered Johnny. “Of all the musicals they could have done, they picked the worst song from the worst one.” 
“Why didn’t they just do Singin’ in the Rain?” 
“Because they’re idiots.” But they kept watching the dancing penguins just the same. The performance continued in what promised to be the longest rendition of the worst musical number ever. 
“Hey,” Dixie said softly. “Is it me, or do these not… look like… monkeys?” 
“Yeah, you’re right. They look weird.” 
“They have beaks, I think?” 
“And no fingers,” said Johnny, “These better not be our only options. How the fuck are they going to type on a typewriter if they don’t have fingers?” By this time, the penguin leader was doing a solo dance out in front of the rest of the troupe. 
“Ok, I think I’ve seen enough,” said Johnny. He raised the rock and hurled it at the penguin. It hit the leader in the stomach, and he bounced back on the sand. The other penguins kept dancing, so Dixie picked up a rock and hit another one. 
“BAH!” she shouted, throwing a third rock plus several handfuls of sand. Johnny did the same, and they continued this until the penguins got the hint. 
Finally, they all stood side by side across their little beach stage and, arms across what would be each other’s shoulders if they had them, took awkward bows. They then bowed to one another and filed off, past Dixie and Johnny, toward the ocean, squeaking with delight. When they reached the water’s edge, they all jumped in headfirst and swam quickly away. Johnny turned to Dixie. 
“Fuck.” 

***

Disgruntled and sort of disturbed, not to mention hungry and rapidly sobering up, Dixie and Johnny made their way across the beach toward the stand of trees where the penguins had appeared. 
“That was really fucking weird,” Dixie said. 
“What the hell kind of welcome committee was that? It was the worst song!” 
“Yeah, we’re gonna need to have a word with this Meredith about her brochure. Nothing about this place looks like what was advertised.” 
“Ok, so where do we go? If those were escorts, they’re pretty shitty at their jobs.” 
“I know. They went swimming instead of taking us to the sales department.”
“Ok, so in addition to buying monkeys, we’re getting those little shits fired.” 
“Damn right.” They came to the edge of the trees and stopped. 
“Should we just go through these trees?” Dixie asked. 
“I guess so,” replied Johnny. “I think this is the way those weird monkeys came, so it must lead someplace.” They were about to step into the thick growth of trees when a disembodied voice that was, nevertheless, regal and soothing spoke to them.
“The visitors move on, heading into the thick canopy of the island’s jungle.” Dixie and Johnny looked around. 
“What was that?” Johnny asked Dixie. Then, shouting, “Who is that?!” They waited but heard nothing except the quiet sounds of the trees and the waves. 
“Uh,” said Dixie, looking genuinely concerned, “We didn’t mix the psychedelic milk with that Damiana, did we? Cause I was pretty sure we drank all that milk we had from Ella Titsgerald, like, our second day on the boat?” 
“Oh yeah, we finished that shit right before the mermaid war,” said Johnny, still scanning the trees. 
“Ok, then we aren’t hallucinating.” 
“Nope. Do you think that was some kind of announcement from Meredith?” 
“Well, it sounded more like Morgan Freeman,” said Dixie. “But also, it didn’t say anything useful. It just described what we’re doing.” 
“True. That’s actually kind of creepy.” 
“You’re telling me.” They kept looking around. “Hey, this looks like a path.” 
“Let’s go,” said Johnny, leading the way. 

It was slow going as they walked. A thick growth of plants and vines blocked the path and caught their ankles as they walked. They often had to duck under low-hanging branches and leaves dripping with the kind of moisture so common in the tropics. 
“Don’t monkeys usually climb trees?” Dixie asked as they walked, pushing a branch out of the way so that she could pass. 
“Yeah, I think so. Why?” 
“Well, why is there a path at all? They should just be able to zip through the trees.” 
“Good point. I guess it’s for those weird little fuckers,” said Johnny. “They for sure don’t look like they can climb anything.” 
“They seemed pretty good at swimming, though,” Dixie said. “I was kinda surprised by that.” 
“Well, I guess they gotta be good at something. And it sure as shit wasn’t musical theater.” He laughed, turned, and he and Dixie high-fived again. When he turned forward, he stopped so suddenly that Dixie collided with him. 
“What is it?” she said, peering around Johnny’s shoulder to see what had made him stop short. “Ohh…” In the middle of the path ahead was another small penguin. It looked at Dixie and Johnny, cocking its head to the side thoughtfully. Then it clapped its flippers together with glee. 
“This place is crawling with these weird monkeys,” Johnny whispered. 
“What are we gonna do?” 
“See if you can find a stick,” Johnny said, “I’ll keep my eye on it. Then we can charge it with the stick and hopefully scare it off.” Dixie nodded, turned toward the side of the path, and began rustling in the underbrush. 
“Why didn’t we bring some of those tridents that we got from the mermaid war?” She said as she lifted a large tropical leaf. There was nothing useful under it but a bunch of ants. 
“They disappeared,” said Johnny. “But I am seriously questioning why we didn’t bring any of our own weapons. We didn’t even bring your French horn.” 
“Are we starting to get soft?” Dixie asked, turning back to him. Johnny was still staring at the penguin, and the penguin was still in the path, staring back. 
“Maybe,” Johnny said, “To a certain extent, I still feel like we’re recovering from our time in space. It’s different there. Say what you will about space; it’s so much easier than Earth, and it kinda makes you, you know, a wuss.” 
“Ok, after we get this monkey project underway, let’s head someplace raw and get our chops back.” 
“TJ?” 
“Oh, fuck yeah.” Dixie was about to turn back to scouring the brush when she noticed the penguin begin to move. “Holy shit!” 
“What’s it doing?!” Johnny gasped. They watched as the penguin silently began a little tap dance. Fred Astaire, it wasn’t, but it nimbly moved its feet and kept a good rhythm for a solid minute or so before stopping. The penguin looked up, nodded its head twice, and then gestured in a come with me motion with its right flipper. It turned and took two steps away from Dixie and Johnny on the path, then stopped and turned back to see if they were following. They hadn’t moved. 
The penguin gestured again, this time with more impatience. Dixie and Johnny looked at one another, shocked. 
“Does it want us to come with it?”
“I guess so,” said Johnny. 
“Hell of an escort,” Dixie muttered. 
“So are we gonna?” 
“What, follow it?” 
“Yeah.” 
“We were going that way anyway, I guess, so…” They each took a step toward the penguin. The penguin nodded, then turned and began walking down the path, its head well beneath the low-hanging branches and leaves that Dixie and Johnny had to duck under or move out of the way. Now and then, the penguin would glance back to make sure they were still following, then gesture with its flipper to encourage them to keep up. They continued walking in this way for much longer than Dixie and Johnny anticipated. 

***

“Where the hell is it taking us?” complained Dixie. “We’ve been walking for hours.” 

[Let the record show that it had only been twelve minutes] 

“I don’t know.”  
“If I knew there would be this much walking, I would have insisted that we just arrive at the port like a normal tourist,” Dixie said. “Why is being a VIP more work than being some peon tourist?” 
“I don’t know,” said Johnny, “but this is really weird. Also, I’m fucking hungry.” 
“Yeah, if we don’t get something to eat soon, I’m gonna eat that fucking monkey.” They walked on in silence for a while, watching the little penguin waddle in front of them. Eventually, Dixie and Johnny stopped paying attention to their surroundings and took on a kind of jungle trance. A short while later, though, they were shaken from their separate reveries by the strange, disembodied voice. 
“The terrain is difficult for the visitors. Their size, the shape of their feet, and general sweatiness are not suited for this area.” 
“What the fuck did he just say?!” shouted Dixie. 
“Mu’fucker called us sweaty!” 
“Ok, listen, you garbled skank cushion!” Dixie shouted. She had stopped in the middle of the path and stared up into the canopy as she yelled. Ahead, the penguin did the penguin equivalent of a sigh and stopped, waiting for her to finish. “You think you can treat us like your stupid island VIPs, but we’re actual VIPs, and we don’t have to take this bullshit from you!” 
“Yeah!” added Johnny, “You can take your weird monkeys and cram them so far up your ass that they start making your voice come out monkey speak instead, and all the lice start eating your liver!” 
“As soon as we get back to the boat, I’m gonna get my French horn and give you such a pounding!” She kicked at a leaf along the trail, sending a shower of dew and ants into the brush. “I really want the monkeys, so let’s get those, then we’ll take ‘em back to the boat, then I’ll get my French horn and make you regret the day you called us sweaty.” With that, she, Johnny, and the penguin turned and continued walking. 

***

Shortly after Dixie’s outburst, the path they walked opened up and became more expansive. The penguin waddled a little more quickly, knowing that they were about to arrive at their destination. 
“Slow down, you sploogenugget,” Dixie muttered. 
“I know, just because that fucker’s not starving to death,” Johnny took a deep breath before shouting, “DOESN’T MEAN THE REST OF US AREN’T!” The little penguin didn’t acknowledge the outburst but continued walking without looking back. Dixie and Johnny had no choice but to follow. 
Soon they arrived at a large clearing. The little penguin stopped just at the edge of the trees and motioned for Dixie and Johnny to stand next to it. They looked out across the clearing. 
“What the hell is this?” Dixie asked. 
“Some poor village, I guess,” said Johnny. 
And indeed, at the center of the clearing was an open area reminiscent of a primitive town square. Surrounding the clearing on three sides were small huts, crudely constructed with materials from the forest. 
“Is this seriously what the accommodations are at Monkey Pirate Island? For VIPs?” Dixie asked in disbelief. 
“This is definitely not what the brochure showed. Where are those cool little bungalows that sit over the water?” 
“I’ve been to Holiday Inns nicer than this,” Dixie said. The little penguin looked up at them, then motioned for them to walk into the clearing. They hesitated. 
“No,” said Johnny, “We’re not staying here.” 
“Yeah, we’d rather go back and sleep on our boat.” But whether it understood or not, the little penguin simply gestured again. When Dixie and Johnny still didn’t move, it circled behind them, herding them into the clearing. Dixie and Johnny quickly stepped away from it, and soon enough, they stood in the center of the little village square, looking at one another, unsure what to do next. 
“Uh, now what?” 
“I don’t know. Hopefully someone who speaks human will come out and explain. Then we can just tell them to piss off and go back to the boat.” 
“The visitors are unsure what to make of the village, and they stand, waiting.” 
“No shit, narrator,” Johnny muttered. “We literally just said that.” 
“Who the fuck is this guy?” Dixie said. They stood there for another minute or so, looking around. “Hey, wait a minute. I think we’re in color again!” 
“Oh shit! We totally are!” cried Johnny. “Although, it couldn’t have happened in a more depressing place. Why didn’t these monkeys use any color when they built these crappy huts?” 
“I’m no designer, but I’m pretty sure the drab look is out. I mean, shit, why not just live in black and white world over there if you aren’t going to take advantage of colors?” They turned and looked back at the forest edge where the little penguin stood. Curiously, the penguin was still in black and white. 
“I say we wait a minute. Maybe that weird monkey escort’ll leave, and then we can go back to the boat. If we sail around to the main entrance, we can just get the monkeys without having to go through this pathetic excuse for hospitality.” 
“Fuck, why doesn’t it leave?” Johnny asked, watching the escort penguin. He raised his hand and flipped the penguin off. In response, the penguin did another little tap dance. 
“Why is it always doing that?” 
“I don’t know. Nothing in the brochure said these were dancing monkeys. I didn’t even know that monkeys could dance.” 
“Honestly, I’d prefer they not be able to dance. I just want ‘em to focus on typing.” As they watched the little penguin, they failed to notice that other penguins were emerging from the huts on all sides. From the doorway of each hut rushed several little penguins until the village square space behind Dixie and Johnny was filled with hundreds of them.  
“The visitors begin to feel as if they are being watched,” said the narrator. 
“Yeah, by you, fucklug,” said Dixie, looking up at the sky. When she looked back down, the little escort penguin had disappeared. “Oh good, it’s gone. Let’s go.” 
“Uh, Dix?” 
“What?” Dixie turned and looked back at Johnny and saw, to her horror, saw the mass of penguins lined up behind them. “That son of a bitch! This is an ambush!” 
“I think we can outrun them,” said Johnny, “But we should try to distract them somehow. Give ourselves more of a head start.” 
“Let’s find a rock,” said Dixie. 
“You look for one,” said Johnny, “I’ll keep my eye on them.” 
“Ok,” said Dixie as she turned and scoured the ground for something to throw. Before she had looked very far, a gasp from Johnny made her turn around again. The penguins were dancing. 

***

The penguins had formed two rows. Front row center, two penguins each had on absurd hats. One was a straw boater—the other a flowery, feminine number with a lot of tulle. The one with the tulle hat also held something resembling a torn umbrella in its flipper, although it couldn’t get a good grip without the opposable digits. 
“Uh…” said Dixie. 
“Uh…”  said Johnny as they looked on in a mix of horror and disgust. “They’re not gonna fucking dance again, are they? Wasn’t once enough?” 
“And look, that one can’t even hold the fucking umbrella. How are these stupid monkeys going to type Hamlet if they can’t even hold an umbrella?” 
“Dix, I’m really starting to think that maybe we should-” but the penguins began to dance before he could finish. 
The two penguins in the hats were obviously the stars of this show, and they began the routine before the others. They tapped, swayed, and chattered in what must have been lyrics to the song. It took Dixie and Johnny a while to recognize the song. 
“Jolly Holiday?” Johnny asked. 
“That fucking song from Mary Poppins?” 
“Yeah, isn’t that what this sounds like?” Johnny started to sing softly under his breath. “Oh, it's a jolly holiday with Mary. Mary makes your heart so light. When the day is gray and ordinary, Mary makes the sun shine bright.” 
“Isn’t this the scene with the dancing penguins?” asked Dixie. By this time, the chorus of backup penguin dancers started dancing. 
“Yeah, Dick Van Dyke and the little penguin waiters.” 
“Why would they be doing this song?” Dixie wondered. 
“You mean because they’re monkeys?” 
“Yeah. Wasn’t there a monkey dance they could have done? Something from the Jungle Book if they’re hell-bent on fucking Disney musicals.” 
“Maybe they thought that would be a little on the nose?” Johnny asked. 
“I guess.” They kept watching, and the dance went on and on. Eventually, Dixie sat down on the hard-packed dirt of the village square. She was cross-legged and resting her head wearily on her hands. The penguins had started a furious tap dance that indicated they were just about at their grand finale when there was a loud bang, followed by a bright flash. All the dancing penguins gave the penguin equivalent of a gasp as they whirled around, looking to the village square behind them. Dixie got to her feet, and she and Johnny looked in the same direction, over the heads of the penguins. 
Across the square, a cloud of smoke rose from the ground, and from the middle of the cloud walked a witch. She wore a glittery robe and a hat, which was more of a floppy sun hat and less of a traditional witch’s hat, but she pulled it off. In fact, Dixie and Johnny both thought she looked quite glamorous. 
“What’s Nicole Kidman doing here?” Dixie whispered. Johnny laughed. 
The witch made her way across the square toward the group of now-still penguins, who had crowded together in a tight group. 
“Hello, my pretties,” the witch said. She took another step toward the penguins. The penguins, as a group, shuffled backward. “I see I was right to come hungry. It looks like a buffet has been laid out for me.” She reached forward for the penguin nearest to her. It squeaked and shuffled around to the back of the group. 
“Now now,” said the witch, moving closer, “no sense in running. You know you’re no match for me on land.” The penguins shuffled back again, almost touching Dixie and Johnny.
“Dude, come on!” he shouted. “We don’t want to touch you!” The witch looked up. 
“Well, well, well. What do we have here? A delicacy!” 
“What the fuck are you talking about, lady?” Dixie asked. 
“Oh,” the witch said, looking disappointed, “Human. Never mind, then, I’ll go back to choosing my snack.” She began to walk menacingly around the group of penguins. 
“What the hell is happening,” Dixie whispered, her eyes on the witch. 
“I don’t know, but I’m kind of captivated.” 
“I know, she’s beautiful. But what’s she doing?” 
“I don’t know,” Johnny said, “I think she’s… gonna…” 
Before he could finish, the witch pounced on one of the penguins. She pinned it to the ground with her knees and placed her hands on its head as it squirmed and shrieked. The rest of the group had a moment of paralysis where they seemingly evaluated whether to help their friend or flee. They settled on fleeing, and a moment later, the whole group of dancing penguins was waddling across the clearing toward the trees, the beach, the ocean, and safety. 

***

Dixie and Johnny stood in the same spot, mesmerized by what they saw. Still kneeling on the penguin, the witch began biting the tiny creature’s neck, tearing flesh away and sending up a spray of blood, which splattered on her fair skin. They watched as the witch savagely tore at the penguin, shaking her head fiercely and swallowing large chunks of penguin flesh. 
“Oh shit, she’s amazing,” Dixie said. 
“I know,” said Johnny, “I think I’m in love. Do you think she’ll come with us when we leave? I think we could use someone like her around the ranch.” 
“She might, but she’s pretty into eating monkeys. I don’t think we want her around if she’s going to keep eating our staff? It’ll take too long to replace ‘em.” 
“Yeah, that’s a good point, I guess. But still...” They kept watching as the witch ate, and finally, when there was very little penguin flesh left, the witch stood up and looked over at them. She smiled, and her white teeth looked bright against the red blood covering her mouth, face, and neck. She sat down on the ground next to the carcass, leaning back on her hands. 
“Her hunger sated, the witch sits down to rest,” the narrator’s voice again drifted gently over the trees. 
“Hey lady,” Johnny called, “What’s the deal with that guy?” 
“The Narrator?” the witch asked. 
“I mean, I guess that’s what he’s doing,” said Johnny. 
“But why’s he doing it?” Dixie asked. 
“Oh, because he’s the ruler of the island. He can do whatever he wants. So he spends his days pretending he’s the narrator of a nature documentary.” 
“Wait,” said Dixie, “I thought the ruler of this island was a chick called Meredith?” 
“Nope.” 
“Since when? We literally just got the brochure for this place in the mail. You mean to tell me that Meredith was overthrown already? What happened to all the monkeys?” The witch gave them a quizzical look. 
“My my, what are you two on about?” she asked, stretching and laying back on the ground, her arms behind her head. “I can assure you that there are no monkeys here on Dancing Penguin Island.” 
In a flash, the shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks were on their feet, standing over the witch. 
“Dancing what now?” demanded Dixie. 
“Penguins?” shouted Johnny. 
“PENGUINS!” shouted Dixie, louder this time. The witch lazily opened her eyes and looked up at them. 
“Oh, what fun! You two mistook this dump for Monkey Pirate Island? How? Other than the narrator’s compound, there’s nothing here but crude huts. There’s no market or hotels or restaurants. The island is a fraction of the size; you’re already halfway across it. And, most importantly, there are no monkeys.” 
“Huh?” 
“You mean,” Dixie asked, looking at the penguin carcass on the ground. 
“That’s not…” Johnny trailed off. 
“Are you two fucking kidding me?” the witch asked in disbelief. “Tell me you didn’t think these little penguin shits were actually monkeys?” 
“Uh…” 
“Uh…” 
“Wow,” the witch said before she started laughing. She laughed, without stopping, for the next ten minutes. 

Ten minutes later...

“Ok, ok,” Johnny said, “So we made a wrong turn and ended up on a different island. It could happen to anyone.” 
“Of course it could,” the witch replied, shaking her head and chuckling again. 
“See, Johnny,” Dixie said, “This is what happens when we try to do stuff sober.” 
“For real,” Johnny said. Then, turning to the witch, he asked, “Speaking of which, you got any booze we could have?” 
“Booze? I should think not. Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but for anyone other than the narrator, life here is primitive. Do you really think I would have torn into that little bird the way I did if I had the option to, say, cook it?” 
“We just thought you were into that kinda thing,” Dixie admitted. 
“Yeah, it was pretty hot,” said Johnny. The witch smiled. 
“I won’t lie; I do get a bit of thrill out of it. But I miss civilization so.” 
“Then why don’t you leave?” 
“Oh, you can’t leave,” the witch said, matter of factly. 
“What do you mean?” Johnny asked. “Why not?” 
“That’s the rules here,” the witch said. “The narrator declared that no one can leave the island without his permission. He never grants permission, though, which means that anyone who comes here and tries to leave is sacrificed and eaten.” 
“Huh,” said Dixie. “How long have you been here?” 
“I don’t know, actually,” admitted the witch. “As I mentioned, it’s primitive here, so I don’t have any way of keeping track of the days.” 
“Well, that’s not gonna work for us,” said Johnny, “We have this project we’re working on that we gotta get back to.” 
“Yep, so can you take us to the narrator?”
“I can,” said the witch, hesitantly, “But you did catch the part where I said that the Narrator has never granted permission to leave the island, right? And that those who are denied are sacrificed and eaten?” 
“Oh, that won’t happen to us,” said Dixie. 
“But it happens to everyone,” said the witch. “It happened to my family!” Johnny gasped. It turned out, though, that it wasn’t over that shocking revelation. 
“Anyone ever tell you you look like Nicole Kidman?!” he demanded. The witch rolled her eyes and got up. 
“Look, I’ll take you halfway. But I’ve survived this long without coming face to face with the narrator, and I don’t intend to push my luck today.” The witch started across the village square, leaving the carcass of the devoured penguin on the ground. 
“Come on,” she called over her shoulder, “I’ll take you as far as I can, but then I really need to sleep off this meal.” Dixie and Johnny immediately followed. 

***

“Say, how’d you do that smoke cloud,” Johnny asked as they followed the witch through another thickly forested area, dodging large leaves and branches. 
“Huh?” 
“When you busted up the monkey- I mean, the penguin dance party.” 
“Oh, that. Just your average cheap convenience store smoke bomb,” the witch replied. “A crate of them washed up on the shore here a while ago. Container must've gone overboard from one of those Chinese container ships.” 
“Really?” Dixie asked. 
“You wouldn't believe the stuff that washes up here. It’s possibly one of the only things that keep me going.” They walked on in silence. 
“The witch leads the visitors through the forest slowly,” said the narrator, “She cannot walk quickly, having gorged herself on penguin earlier. Once she drops off the visitors, she will sleep for a long time. None of them notice the penguin following them.” 
“Huh?” exclaimed Dixie, whirling around. The others joined her, and sure enough, a little penguin hopped along, a few hundred feet behind them. 
“What the hell is that thing doing back there?” Johnny asked, picking up a rock. 
“Oh, sometimes they just do that,” said the witch. “There’s not a huge population here, so a few of them are… not that bright. My advice is just to ignore it. Eventually, it’ll wander away.” The witch turned and walked off. Dixie and Johnny kept their eye on the brainless penguin for a moment. Then, Johnny hurled a rock at it, hitting it in the head, and they, too, walked off. 
“The penguin is undeterred.” 
“Hey lady,” Dixie asked, “how does that narrator see everything we’re doing?”  
“You know, that’s a good question. I don’t know how he sees what’s going on, but he does seem to see everything. That’s how my sister was captured.” 
“Trying to escape?” 
“Yes, she had lashed some branches together into a raft and made a break for the beach. But right when she got to the water, the narrator started talking about how the visitor was trying to escape and that the beach guard penguins were quickly closing in. We were all watching from the cover of the trees, and that’s exactly what happened. Those little swimming penguins swarmed her and dragged her underwater.” 
“They eat her?” Dixie asked. The witch winced. 
“Yes, of course. That’s what they do.” 
“So you eat the penguins, and the penguins eat you. The circle of life and all that shit,” mused Dixie. 
“They seemed pretty innocent when we saw them on the beach,” said Johnny. 
“They’re penguins. They always look innocent. That’s the kicker.” 
“They suck at dancing, though,” added Dixie. 
“Yeah, and they have shit taste in musical numbers,” said Johnny. “Who fucking picks a song from State Fair!?” 
“Well, anyway,” interrupted the witch, “don’t trust any of them. They’re all trained to guard the perimeter.” 
“Good to know,” said Johnny. They walked on. 

***

Eventually, they made it through the woods to another clearing. Across the clearing was a grove of trees. Beyond that, on a hill, was what appeared to be an igloo. In keeping with the island theme, it was woven with palm fronds. It was an intense emerald green color. The group stopped and stared across the clearing. The little penguin hopped up behind them. 
“This is as far as I go,” said the witch. “I don’t want that man to think I’m asking him for anything, so I’ll go no closer. You can see the narrator’s palace up there on the hill. It’s a straight shot across the clearing.” 
“Thanks, lady,” Johnny said. “I’d shake your hand, but it’s still really bloody.” 
“I’m also a little afraid you’ll eat me,” Dixie added. The witch nodded. 
“I understand. Now listen, there are a lot of paths that branch off through this clearing and that grove of soursop trees. Don’t stray from the main path, ok?” 
“Got it,” said Dixie, sounding bored. 
“And don’t eat the soursops. Or the leaves.” At this, Dixie and Johnny perked up.
“Why?” 
“They have… unintended side effects.” 
“Do they make you trip balls?” asked Johnny. “Cause I’m super into that lately.” 
“No, it’s not that,” she said, “They make you fall asleep.” 
“Yeah, right,” said Dixie. 
“I’m serious.” 
“Ok, we believe you,” said Johnny, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. 
“Yeah,” said Dixie. They were quiet for a beat. “So, we’re gonna get going now.” 
“Thanks for your help, lady.” The witch nodded. 
“Can, uh, you keep that penguin from following us?” 
“Probably not,” she said. “But he’ll get bored of you soon enough. Plus, he’s not from the same tribe that lives in the soursop forest, so he probably won’t go in there.” 
“Do they...” started Johnny, but he paused and said, “No, you know what? I don’t give a shit about the social structure of the penguin troupes on this island. Let’s go, Dix.” 
“Good luck, visitors. May you be more successful in your negotiations than those who came before you.” With that, Dixie and Johnny started across the open clearing toward the narrator’s emerald igloo on the hill. They had gone a couple of steps when they stopped and turned around. 
“Hey, witch,” Dixie called. The witch stopped and turned around. “You want us to put in a good word for your release?” 
“Sure,” said the witch, shrugging. “If you actually convince the old bastard to let you go. But I’m not holding my breath.” 
“Consider it done,” said Johnny. They turned and walked away. The witch watched for a moment, then rolled her eyes and disappeared into the woods. The penguin hopped after them. 

***

“Why do you think she was trying so hard to keep us from eating these trees,” Dixie asked as she and Johnny neared the grove of trees at the far end of the clearing.
“ I wondered that,” said Johnny, “She seems like she’s living a pretty rough life here. Maybe the occasional trip to another dimension is the only thing she has to look forward to?” 
“I guess. But it looks like a big grove of trees. Does she think we’d eat them all?” 
“I mean, I wouldn’t put it past us.” 
“Maybe you’re right.” A moment later, they reached the first tree in the grove. 
“These are weird looking. They look like if an avocado and a pufferfish had a baby, and it caused hallucinations.” 
“Grab one. Let’s try it.” Johnny reached for the fruit from one of the lower branches and pulled it off. He got to work ripping it open to reveal the cream-colored flesh inside it. While he did that, Dixie inspected the leaves. 
“Did she also say that you could eat the leaves?” 
“Well, she said we shouldn’t eat the leaves…” 
“Works for me.” Dixie broke off a branch and began pulling off the leaves. Soon she had two small piles on the ground before her, and Johnny had managed to open up two small fruits. 
“Let’s dig in,” Johnny declared. “We wanna be just the right amount of fucked up when we enter our negotiations.” They started eating, shoveling leaves into their mouths, and ripping off huge chunks of fruit. 
“The fruit’s ok,” said Johnny, “But the leaves could use a little seasoning.” 
“Well, it’s basically salad,” said Dixie, “What do you expect? No one likes salad.” 
“Starving and confused, the visitors tear into the forbidden fruit.” 
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 
“Why is everyone here so dramatic?” 
“What do you expect? It’s an island inhabited by theater folks.” 
“Their traveling companion keeps watch nearby.” 
“Is he still back there?” asked Johnny. Dixie looked over Johnny’s shoulder. 
“Yeah.” She picked up a nearby rock and hurled it over Johnny’s head. It hit the penguin just below the neck. It jumped back a few feet but stayed standing. 
When they finished their snack, Dixie and Johnny again started walking toward the igloo. They were about halfway through the soursop grove when they noticed they were beginning to feel sleepy. 
“Hey, Dix,” Johnny said slowly, “I’m not sure we’re getting the right buzz from those things. I just feel really tired.” 
“Yeah, me too,” Dixie said. She was walking very slowly now as if each step took more energy and concentration than she could spare. “Maybe we should just sit a spell. Until it passes.” 
“Good idea,” said Johnny, “just until it pa-” He passed out, dropping to the ground like a stone before finishing. Dixie turned in time to see him fall and had taken a step and a half toward him when sleep overtook her, as well. 

Three hours later…

“Realizing that the visitors were not going to wake up, the penguins began a ritual dance. This dance is performed before any sacrificial meal is consumed.” The small group of penguins began a dance around the sleeping Dixie and Johnny that involved stomping their flippered feet while rotating counter-clockwise around them. As the dance grew more frenzied, a penguin would lean into the center of their circle and take a swipe with its bill. Sometimes they caught Dixie or Johnny’s now-filthy and tattered clothes. Sometimes they caught flesh or hair. Neither stirred, and the dance continued until the penguins all seemed to grab for a piece of Dixie and Johnny at once, and they were finally roused from sleep. 
“Motherfucker!” screamed Johnny, grabbing his elbow, which was bleeding and had a chunk missing. 
“Fucking sphincter wallops!” Dixie screamed. Her forehead was bleeding, and a chunk of her hair was gone. The penguin who had taken it stood a few steps back, trying to get the hair into its mouth. 
“These fucking little shits are eating us!” Johnny yelled, jumping to his feet. Dixie followed, and their sudden movement caused all but one penguin to scatter a safe distance away. The remaining penguin stood there for a moment before beginning a dance that very strongly resembled the robot.  
“What the fuck just happened!” Dixie said, inspecting herself for other cuts. 
“We fell asleep, I guess, and these evil shits closed in!” 
“And what the fuck is that thing doing?” 
“The robot?” 
“Alas, the dance has given their prey time to awaken. The penguins shuffle off to look for another meal. Luck was on the visitors’ side today.” 
“Luck?” demanded Johnny, taking a running start and attempting to kick the robot penguin. With a few more robot dance moves, it stepped out of the way, and he fell to the ground on his back. “Ok, I think I’ve had enough of this useless island. Let’s find this narrating fuck and get the hell out of here.” Dixie helped Johnny to his feet, and they made their way along the path once more, now trailed by both the brain-damaged penguin and the robot penguin. 
“I’m pretty pissed that shit we ate only made us pass out,” said Dixie as they walked, keeping a wary eye out for more penguins. 
“I know. Also, look how much time we’re wasting! We could have had these fucking monkeys by now!” 
“I honestly never thought getting monkeys would be so much work.” 

***

Many hours later, after several stops to rest and throw rocks at their penguin entourage, Dixie and Johnny arrived at the foot of the hill, which held the narrator’s emerald igloo at the top. They paused and looked up, shielding their eyes from the sun. 
“So, do we just climb up there?” Johnny asked. “There isn’t a path or anything?” 

“Should we walk around and see if there’s steps on the other side?” Dixie asked. “I’m not sure where the front is, but we probably have to go there.” 
“Will all this walking ever be over?!” wailed Johnny as they headed toward what they assumed was the front of the mountain. 
Eventually, they came to a set of steps with what looked like a slide running alongside it. They stopped and looked up. 
“Lizard spit bucket,” muttered Johnny, “that’s a lot of fucking steps.” 
“I know,” replied Dixie, “But at least we probably don’t have to walk back down.” 
“Yeah, but walking down is the easy part.” 
“Not as easy as sliding down on your ass.” They were about to start up the stairs when a loud squawking from above caused them to pause, their feet on the first step. 
“Oh, now what,” complained Johnny. He was about to ignore the ruckus and start up the steps when a steady stream of penguins began pouring head first down the slide. As each penguin hit the ground, it scrambled to its feet and assembled in a line behind them. 
These penguins seemed to be part of some kind of armed security detail, with formal uniforms reminiscent of the Scottish military. They each wore a kilt and carried guns and swords of various sizes. They all wore medals, ribbons, and other embellishments, as well. The penguins stood in formation, motionless. 
“Oh, for god’s sake. Are these ones gonna dance, too?” asked Dixie. 
“I meant to ask you,” said Johnny, “what you thought the deal was with all the dancing penguins.” 
“It’s dancing penguin island?” 
“I know, but why?” 
“Oh, good question. Maybe-” she didn’t finish because at that moment, the first line of penguins advanced with their swords drawn. It took Dixie and Johnny a moment to realize what was happening, then they turned and sprinted up the steps. 
The penguins followed, swiping and jabbing at them with their swords and guns. Dixie and Johnny kept climbing, reluctant to look back. 
“What the fuck,” gasped Johnny as he started using his hands to climb. 
“Why are they chasing us up?” Dixie said, breathing hard. 
“What happens…” Johnny said through desperate breaths, “when… we get... to the top…” 
“If… there’s no… place… safe… maybe we just… go back down… the slide…” 
“Good… idea… Dix…” They kept climbing, and the penguin army kept chasing. 
When they finally reached the top of the stairs, they saw a large patio with tasteful outdoor furniture. Across the patio was the front door to the igloo, and it stood wide open. Without hesitation, Dixie and Johnny sprinted into the igloo. Once inside, they frantically grabbed the doors and slammed them shut before collapsing on the floor, breathing heavily. 
“I see you’ve met my Scotch Guard.” They looked up and gasped, but this time it was because the source of the voice was the narrator, and the narrator was Morgan Freeman. 

***

“Morgan Freeman!” Dixie exclaimed, sitting up on the floor, her eyes wide. She looked over at Johnny. “I knew it sounded like Morgan Freeman!”  
“You’re the narrator?” Johnny asked. 
“One and the same,” said Morgan Freeman. “I’m pretty good, aren’t I?” 
“Well, yeah, I guess,” said Dixie, slowly getting to her feet. “But isn’t narrating nature shit your job?” 
“And that’s why I moved here to do it full time. You two have caused quite a stir here on Dancing Penguin Island. We don’t get many visitors here. Usually, it’s just the penguins and me, and I narrate their dance rehearsals.” 
“Doesn’t that get boring?” Dixie asked. 
“Yeah, dancing penguins are a novelty and all, but they’re not really good at dancing,” said Johnny. “Also, they’re picking shitty musicals.” 
“I know,” said Morgan Freeman, the narrator. “I keep trying to get them to do The Wiz and West Side Story. Maybe even Chicago or Footloose. They just don’t seem interested.” There was an awkward moment of silence where they all stared at one another. 
“But look at me, being a terrible host. Come in, come in,” he said, waving them toward a modest living room, which was remarkable only because one entire wall was covered in television monitors, which showed various areas of the island. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything? A drink or a snack?” 
“Well, we don’t want to impose, but… Whiskey. And bring the bottle.”
“And you?” 
“Morgan Freeman,” Dixie said, sitting down on the couch, “I’d kill for whiskey and literally anything you have to eat.” 
“Very well,” said Morgan Freeman. He clapped his hands a moment later a large penguin waddled into the room. It wore a bow tie and had a towel over one arm like a formal waiter. “Jonathan, please bring the drink cart and see what we have in the kitchen in the way of hors d'oeuvres. And the usual for me.” The little penguin bowed and skittered out of the room. Morgan Freeman took a seat on the opposite couch. 
“So, uh…” started Dixie. But Morgan Freeman interrupted her. 
“I already know how you ended up here.” 
“You do?” 
“Yes, I see everything that happens here. But I have to say that I’m surprised you didn’t realize that you were on the wrong island sooner.” 
“Would it have mattered?” asked Dixie. 
“What do you mean?” 
“Well, that lady, the witch,” said Dixie, “She said you kill and eat everyone who comes here and tries to leave. So you would have sent your squad out to kill us no matter what. All we did was buy ourselves some time.” Morgan Freeman smiled. 
“You’re sharp,” he said, “I like you.” He turned and looked to the doorway as the penguin waiter entered, pushing an ornate bar cart. He wheeled the cart over to where they sat, bowed, and skittered out of the room again. Morgan Freeman took two glasses from the cart, added ice from an ice bucket, and then reached onto the lower shelf for a bottle of whiskey. Dixie and Johnny were pleased to see that it was a very good bottle of whiskey. Morgan Freeman gave them each a generous pour. He handed them their glasses, then poured himself a tall drink from a tall pitcher. It was iced tea. 
“So,” he said, taking a sip and placing his drink on a coaster on the coffee table, “I’m aware of why you’re here because I see everything.” He gestured to the wall of monitors. “Hear it, too. I know you didn’t intend to come here, and I know you want my permission to leave.” 
“Ok,” said Johnny, not knowing what to expect. He was about to say something else when Jonathan, the penguin waiter, returned carrying a tray with some kind of dip and an assortment of crackers and crudités. He placed it on the coffee table, bowed, and scuttled out of the room. Morgan Freeman gestured to the plate, then helped himself. Dixie and Johnny followed suit. Johnny spoke before taking a bite. 
“So listen, narrator, what’s it gonna take to get us off this island?” Morgan Freeman raised his hand. 
“Now, now. There’ll be plenty of time to discuss the terms of my proposal. Let’s first enjoy some drinks and snacks.” He reached over and topped off their drinks again. Dixie took a bite of cracker mounded with the pink-colored dip. 
“This is good,” she said, “What is it?” 
“Penguin tartar.” Johnny paused with a slice of carrot midway to his mouth. 
“You fucking eat the penguins?” he asked. 
“And you make your penguin waiter serve you its own kind?” Dixie asked. 
“Look, I can see why this might seem truly evil, but from the perspective of this island’s unique culture-” Johnny cut him off. 
“No, I mean, we’re cool with it,” he said. 
“Yeah, no need to give us the lecture on moral relativism,” said Dixie. 
“Yep, we’re strictly anti-morals,” Johnny added. 
“And not really relative.” 
“I’m glad to hear that, I guess,” said Morgan Freeman, somewhat confused by these two visitors to his island. He watched as Dixie and Johnny shoveled more penguin tartar into their mouths. When they finally slowed down, he spoke again. 
“Now you understand that the success of any society depends on the leadership’s ability to maintain order, right?” 
“Sure,” said Johnny, draining his whisky glass. 
“So you know that I can’t just let you sail away.” 
“Uh.” 
“But don’t worry. Because you seem like talented and enterprising people, I have a proposal that I think you’ll find both appealing and fair.” Johnny reached for the whisky bottle and refilled his and Dixie’s glasses. His pour was much more generous than Morgan Freeman’s. 
“Ok, Freeman. We’re listening.” 
“As you’ve seen, the local population here is quite fond of the art of the dance.” 
“Too bad they suck at it.” 
“So you keep insisting. And in light of that insistence, my proposal is this: You win your freedom by beating the island’s top dance troupe in a dance-off.” Dixie and Johnny gasped because, at that moment, a monkey had hopped into the room and taken a seat on the couch next to Morgan Freeman. 
“I fucking knew there were monkeys here!” Dixie shouted. 
“Who, him?” Morgan Freeman asked, looking at his companion and patting him on the head. “This is my old friend Claudius. He isn’t from around here, but he likes to get away from it all, just like I do, so he usually travels here with me.” 
“Ok, Freeman,” Dixie said, “You have yourself a deal. But on one condition.” 
“Which is?” Morgan Freeman asked, raising his eyebrows. 
“We beat your varsity dance troupe; not only do we go free, but we take Claudius with us for our project.” Morgan Freeman looked from Dixie and Johnny to Claudius and back again. Then he nodded slowly. 
“Very well,” he said, “Because nothing I’ve observed from you two yet has made me think you can beat any dance troupe, I’ll agree to those terms. Shall we get started?” He stood up from the couch and reached his hand over the coffee table to shake. 
“You’re on, Narrator,” said Johnny. They stood and followed Morgan Freeman out to the patio. 

***

Outside on the patio, the space had been cleared into a makeshift dance floor. To one side, a DJ booth had been set up and was being manned by a gigantic walrus. 
“Is that Tone Loc?” Dixie asked. 
“That’s DJ Paul Walrus. He’s clearly a walrus,” replied Morgan Freeman. 
“I’m not so sure,” said Johnny. 
“Yeah, I think Tone Loc is in there.” 
“I mean, look at the size of that thing,” Johnny said in awe. 
“Wait, though,” said Dixie, “If Tone Loc’s in there, then where’s the lil’ tiny Imagineer that runs the puppet?” 
“I bet he’s in the booth!” 
“Ok, enough of that,” interrupted Morgan Freeman. “Let’s get this party started. DJ?” He nodded to the walrus, who picked up a set of headphones and powered up his turntables. Music washed over the patio and was loud enough that it could probably be heard across the island. Morgan Freeman walked to the DJ platform and took the mic. 
“Ladies and gentlemen, hens and cocks,” he said to no one in particular, “Today, we bring you an extraordinary event. An epic battle for the very freedom of these visitors to our island. That’s right. In just a few minutes, these visitors will face off against Dancing Penguin Island’s championship dance troupe, The Rock Hoppers, in a dance battle royale. Should the visitors win, they’ll be allowed to leave. But if they lose, they’ll be sacrificed and eaten as is the custom of this island.” 
As he spoke, penguins of all shapes and sizes began to arrive at the patio to watch the spectacle. They circled the patio, surrounding the dance floor, and stood, squeaking and squawking in anticipation. A moment later, a hush fell over the crowd of penguin spectators. Those closest to the steps leading up the mountain excitedly moved aside to allow The Rock Hoppers to enter. 
The Rock Hoppers consisted of ten rockhopper penguins, each with its signature yellow eyebrow feathers greased and shining, a sequined band around its arms and legs. An enormous emperor penguin followed the Rock Hoppers, clearly the coach, who stood sternly beside them as they lined up on the floor facing Dixie and Johnny. Morgan Freeman stepped into the center of the dance floor. 
“Now, the standard Stomp the Yard rules apply. Each team gets seven minutes to dance, including their entrance and exit. No sexually explicit moves are allowed.” 
“Damn,” muttered Dixie and Johnny. 
“No defamation of dancers from the opposing troupe will be tolerated.” 
“Damn,” muttered Dixie and Johnny again.
“No fire.” 
“Damn!” 
“Normally, the visiting troupe goes first, but I’m in charge here, and I don’t feel like doing it that way, so Rock Hoppers, you’re up!” The penguin version of a cheer went up, and The Rock Hoppers stepped forward to the center of the floor. The patio was silent. The captain of the troupe looked over to the DJ and nodded. The DJ flicked a switch. The music started. 
They were good. Imagine all the best dance movies rolled into one, with the intensity and peril found only in Michael Jackson’s live award show performances. The Rock Hoppers were polished, professional, and well-rehearsed. They were talented. Dixie and Johnny almost forgot they were penguins. That shit was tight. 
The dance ended, and the crowd erupted. Morgan Freeman whistled and clapped. Claudius the monkey nodded enthusiastically. Dixie and Johnny looked at one another and shrugged. It was their turn. 

***

The shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks stepped out into the center of the dance floor and took their places facing Morgan Freeman. He raised the microphone to his lips. 
“You have one minute to begin,” he said. They were about to signal to the DJ to start their music when another commotion drew everyone’s attention to the steps. 
The penguin spectators stepped aside once again, and this time entered the brainless penguin who had been following Dixie and Johnny around. Close behind was the penguin that only did the robot, and behind him was the witch. 
“Wait!” the witch screamed. “I’m here to help!” Dixie and Johnny turned to her. 
“You are?” 
“Yes,” she panted, “I’m a pretty good dancer, and I want off this stinking rock. Also, these two followed me. I don’t think they’re going to be much help, though.” Johnny walked to where the two penguins stood. 
“Nope. This one’s practically taxidermy. He’s too stupid to live, let alone keep the beat, and this one only does the robot, which is not what we’re going for today.” With that, he shoved both little penguins back down the mountain, then took the witch’s hand and dragged her over to where he stood with Dixie. The narrator sighed. 
“Are you all ready now? Any other disruptions will cost you points.” 
“One sec,” called Dixie. She turned to Johnny and the witch. 
“Johnny, the usual?” she asked. Johnny nodded. 
“Wait, what’s our music?” the witch asked quietly. 
“We don’t know,” whispered Dixie. “We weren’t allowed to pick.” 
“Well, then what’s the plan? What’s the usual?” 
“Uh, just that me and Dix are pretty good when we wing it. You stand behind us, so we’re like, a triangle. Then watch us for the changes and try to keep up.” 
“But-” the witch started to protest, but Johnny had already signaled to the DJ. Seconds later, the opening notes of This Is How We Do It blasted from the speakers. Dixie and Johnny glanced at one another and smirked. It was almost too easy. 

***

No one on Dancing Penguin Island knew that Dixie Doublestacks had spent many years as a very successful exotic dancer and, for a long time, had been the most sought-after burlesque performer on the European circuit. Johnny Go, of course, believed himself to be the son of the King, Elvis Presley (despite having recently been told otherwise). And owing to the almost psychic connection between the two, plus the sheer number of musicals and teenage dance-off movies that they watched over the years, they did not need to discuss a routine. 
The witch, of course, had gotten her start in musical theater in her native Sydney. 
And so, Dixie, Johnny, and the witch gave the Narrator, the monkey Claudius, and the many penguins of Dancing Penguin Island a performance that they would not soon forget. 
It was impossible for anyone to believe that their moves were not rehearsed or that they were not professional dancers. The Narrator could not believe that Dixie and Johnny had met the witch only hours earlier, such was the coordination of their steps, even though he had witnessed their first encounter. The Rock Hoppers could not believe that humans could dance better than penguins. The emperor penguin coach of The Rock Hoppers could not believe how humiliated she was and how angry she was at her troupe. However, she looked forward to the ass chewing she would give them after the competition. 
They danced as if it was their movement that created the music. They danced as if it was as natural to them as breathing. They danced as if they already knew what would happen next, and indeed when the DJ attempted to throw them by switching the track to Beat It, they shifted their style seamlessly. They danced as if they loved it, which maybe they did (in as much as Dixie or Johnny loved anything). They danced as if their lives depended on it, which they did. 
By this point in their dance, the Narrator accepted that he had gambled and lost. He accepted that he would have to break tradition and allow these visitors to leave his island and that this might cause unrest among the residents. He even accepted that his hubris had cost him his companion, Claudius. But by this time, he was mesmerized by the witch and had other ideas. 
At the end of their seven-minute routine, the three dancers abruptly stopped and struck a final pose. Their chests heaved with exertion. For a moment, there was a stunned silence in the crowd around the dance floor, and Dixie, Johnny, and the witch feared the worst. However, it lasted only for a second before a deafening roar rose from the crowd. Even the dour coach of The Rock Hoppers threw her head back and shrieked. Morgan Freeman the Narrator picked up the microphone, but the noise drowned out his voice. Smirking, the three dancers linked arms and took a bow. 
“Friends,” Morgan Freeman began when the crowd had finally started to quiet down, “Fellow citizens of Dancing Penguin Island, I never thought such an upset would be possible. But if our finest dancers must fall, it is an honor that they fall to the best. In light of that stunning performance, I declare our visitors THE WINNERS!” 
Another cheer went up from the crowd, and a moment later, the entire crowd of penguins swarmed the dance floor to congratulate the winners. This made Dixie and Johnny uncomfortable, as they didn’t want to be that close to any of the penguins, so they stood perfectly still and kept their hands in the air, away from the beaks. The Narrator, meanwhile, used the opportunity to take the witch in his arms and plant a Hollywood-ending kiss on her. Surprisingly, she reciprocated. Claudius climbed up on the turntables and looked across the crown. He locked eyes with Dixie and Johnny and nodded. 

***

Later, Dixie, Johnny, and Claudius stood on the beach near the DayDrunk Believer, which was still bobbing gently in the water. Morgan Freeman and the witch stood with them, hand in hand. A crowd of dancing penguins crowded behind to see them off. 
“Well, you two have certainly made an impression on this island,” said Morgan Freeman. “I think we’re all a little better off now. Especially me.” He grabbed the witch and pulled her close. 
“You sure you don’t wanna come with us, witchy?” Dixie asked. 
“Thank you,” the witch said, without taking her eyes off of Freeman, “But I always thought there must have been a reason I became stranded here so long ago, and I think I finally know what it is.” 
“Whatever floats your boat,” Johnny said with a shrug. “Speaking of which, thanks for calling our driver.” 
“Yeah,” said Dixie, “It’s not that we can’t sail this thing. It’s just that we’re tired from all that dancing, and now we don’t feel like it.” 
“Of course,” Morgan Freeman replied, “And you be sure to take good care of Claudius. As much as I’m going to miss him, he’s really talented, and I think he’ll make a great addition to your management team.” Dixie and Johnny nodded. Claudius walked to the edge of the water and splashed around. 
A few moments later, off in the distance, the sound of a helicopter could be heard. Softly at first, it slowly became louder until finally, it could be seen on the horizon. The crowd watched as it steadily approached the island, stopping when it reached the yacht. Then, with the beautiful rainbow sherbert colors of the Caribbean sunset as the backdrop, a ladder was lowered from the hovering helicopter, and the silhouette of a large orangutan could be seen descending to the deck of the yacht. 

Monkeys Collected: 3