"Without further adooooo~~~" Carly wiggled her fingers, both girls' faces bobbing in and out of camera view. "WE GIVE YOU:"
(Behind the camera, Freddie was already stifling laughter.)
"GIBBYYY THE TEEEERRIBLE," both girls chorused together, doing TA-DA! arms in the general direction of the back of the studio. Freddie hit the button to bring the letters up and they flashed across the bottom of the screen, Gibby's new title in barbaric-looking lettering.
No one stepped out.
Sam and Carly exchanged a glance, smiles still fixed, and then Carly said into the camera, "I said--"
"GIBBY THE TEEEEEEE~~~EEEERIBLLLLLE!" they both chanted again.
Nothing.
"Gibby!" Sam barked, stomping off toward the back of the studio. "If you don't get out here, I'm gonna break your thumbs and wiggle 'em like spaghetti noodles!" She vanished into the back.
Carly stared wide-eyed into the camera. "Uh..." she said.
"I don't wanna!" shouted Gibby from backstage, and then there were yells and few lower-pitched shouts from Sam's voice. Gibby came flying out into the studio, his two-horned hat askew on his head and covering his eyes, and his furry skirt rustling with his panicked hurry.
Carly caught him by the shoulders and steered him in front of the camera. "It's Gibby the Terrible, everyone!" she said.
Gibby tipped his hat up, raised his plastic sword, and, through his blond fake beard, said a flat, "Arrr."
"That's pirates, you numb brain," said Sam, strolling after him while biting off a hunk of beef jerky. "Not Vikings."
"You guys said if I was gonna do this, I'd get to have creative freedom!" Gibby shot back at her, putting Carly between the two of them.
"And you do!" Carly interrupted, once again with a fixed smile at the camera, in a voice that belonged on a game show announcer somewhere. "He may not be six feet tall--"
Sam jumped back into the script. "--And he may be wearing a horned hat and carrying a cup made out of a skull, which is historically inaccurate--"
"And yet so funny," said Freddie from behind the camera, and Gibby scowled at him.
"--But he's going to perform a traditional Viking ritual! Freddie?"
"La musica!" Freddie trilled, leaning back to the computer and pressing play. A loud pop song filled the studio, and Gibby began doing the macarena with an expression that suggested that he was doing this under extreme duress and threats of epic wedgies.
"Well, that's all we have time for today," Carly said, as the camera shifted back to them and Gibby kept dancing away in the background.
"Uuuuuntil next time," said Sam, bouncing.
Both girls threw an arm up, fists clenched, at the same moment, and shouted, "PILLAAAAAAAGE!"
"Aaaand -- we're out," said Freddie, keeping an eye on the equipment and finally able to laugh, and Gibby groaned and flopped on the floor.
"I will never have a social life again," he said, his voice muffled by the floor.
"Oh, cheer up, Gibbifer; it's not like you had one to begin with," Sam said, and she used his back as a stepping stone to walk toward the studio door.
no subject
"Without further adooooo~~~" Carly wiggled her fingers, both girls' faces bobbing in and out of camera view. "WE GIVE YOU:"
(Behind the camera, Freddie was already stifling laughter.)
"GIBBYYY THE TEEEERRIBLE," both girls chorused together, doing TA-DA! arms in the general direction of the back of the studio. Freddie hit the button to bring the letters up and they flashed across the bottom of the screen, Gibby's new title in barbaric-looking lettering.
No one stepped out.
Sam and Carly exchanged a glance, smiles still fixed, and then Carly said into the camera, "I said--"
"GIBBY THE TEEEEEEE~~~EEEERIBLLLLLE!" they both chanted again.
Nothing.
"Gibby!" Sam barked, stomping off toward the back of the studio. "If you don't get out here, I'm gonna break your thumbs and wiggle 'em like spaghetti noodles!" She vanished into the back.
Carly stared wide-eyed into the camera. "Uh..." she said.
"I don't wanna!" shouted Gibby from backstage, and then there were yells and few lower-pitched shouts from Sam's voice. Gibby came flying out into the studio, his two-horned hat askew on his head and covering his eyes, and his furry skirt rustling with his panicked hurry.
Carly caught him by the shoulders and steered him in front of the camera. "It's Gibby the Terrible, everyone!" she said.
Gibby tipped his hat up, raised his plastic sword, and, through his blond fake beard, said a flat, "Arrr."
"That's pirates, you numb brain," said Sam, strolling after him while biting off a hunk of beef jerky. "Not Vikings."
"You guys said if I was gonna do this, I'd get to have creative freedom!" Gibby shot back at her, putting Carly between the two of them.
"And you do!" Carly interrupted, once again with a fixed smile at the camera, in a voice that belonged on a game show announcer somewhere. "He may not be six feet tall--"
Sam jumped back into the script. "--And he may be wearing a horned hat and carrying a cup made out of a skull, which is historically inaccurate--"
"And yet so funny," said Freddie from behind the camera, and Gibby scowled at him.
"--But he's going to perform a traditional Viking ritual! Freddie?"
"La musica!" Freddie trilled, leaning back to the computer and pressing play. A loud pop song filled the studio, and Gibby began doing the macarena with an expression that suggested that he was doing this under extreme duress and threats of epic wedgies.
"Well, that's all we have time for today," Carly said, as the camera shifted back to them and Gibby kept dancing away in the background.
"Uuuuuntil next time," said Sam, bouncing.
Both girls threw an arm up, fists clenched, at the same moment, and shouted, "PILLAAAAAAAGE!"
"Aaaand -- we're out," said Freddie, keeping an eye on the equipment and finally able to laugh, and Gibby groaned and flopped on the floor.
"I will never have a social life again," he said, his voice muffled by the floor.
"Oh, cheer up, Gibbifer; it's not like you had one to begin with," Sam said, and she used his back as a stepping stone to walk toward the studio door.