Take it Away Binkie

Binkie Berkley, the most adorable child star in the history of cinema, is shooting her latest film on an aircraft high in the skies over California. She is accompanied by her ever lovin’ Momma who rejoices in Binkie, having been a failed actress herself. The plane is loaded with movie extras. Camera man Al Smith and director Stephen Sheeseberg are on board. All breathlessly await the arrival of Binkie as she emerges from the toilet.

“Binkie, are you ready, my darling?” coos Momma.

“Sure am, Momma.  Are my fifty-five ringlets in place? I love this outfit, like don’t I look super cute in short dresses that show my frilly panties? The fans sure think so.”

“Indeed they do, my angel. The money just keeps pourin’ in. Daddy is delighted and so is Stan Goldener.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Love Goldie. Like a second daddy. Are my white socks straight? Tap shoes feel good.  Ready to a-go-go.”

Sheeseberg yells out, “Take one. Lights. Camera. Action.” Binkie swings into her dance as she warbles:

“What a fine day

For the Sugarland Express

Just tapping my way

To the Sugarland  Express

Sweet Marie, my candy bar

For Sweet Marie, I’d sure go far

Strawberry ice cream

Wow, that’s my dream...”

She stops abruptly when two gunmen advance towards her, pointing their rifles right at her head. She stands her ground, stamping her foot indignantly.

“What the hell--don’t you know who I am?’ The masked gunmen remain silent. The movie extras are totally perplexed and Momma is verging on hysterics.

“My baby, my baby, won’t somebody save my baby?”

Sheeseberg tugs on his short ginger beard as he confronts the gunmen.

“We are doin’ a light-hearted remake of a Susie Turcotte movie. The Thirties.  Highjackers weren’t around in those days. Are you sure that you are in the right movie?”

Binkie takes the floor as she yells:

“This is my movie, my movie, my movie because I am a star, a star, a star, the greatest goddamn child star of all time. In your faces, jerks, in your faces.”

Sheeseberg nods to Al, “Okay, let’s get on with it. The guys—at least, they have lowered their guns.  No great threat.” Momma’s eyes are brimming with tears of pride as her spirited daughter launches into the renowned Turcotte ballad, Ode to Pony Joe.

“I love to ride my Pony Joe

Round and round the track we go

Pony Joe is my dear sweet

From his curly mane to his four black feet

Up the mountain

Down the glen

Round and round we go again...”

The gunmen head for the toilet and strange gagging noises are heard. Sheeseberg pulls on his beard one more time as he asks:

“So, Al, what was that all about?”

“Well, Steve, one of them did mutter: ‘Hey, bud, guess we hit the wrong set but after that performance, I’ll take terrorism anytime.’ ”