Inside Conan: An Important Hollywood Podcast - Frontier Tween Episode 1: Tilly Mulch Learns A Lesson

Episode Date: September 24, 2019

Team Coco is excited to share the first episode of their new scripted comedy podcast 'Frontier Tween' with you. The show follows 12-year-old Tilly Mulch, who has a simple life working on her family’s frontier farm but dreams of one day winning the big city newspaper poetry contest. Luckily, between her god-fearing Ma, her perpetually ailing Pa, her tiny orphan pal who sleeps in a nest in the barn, and the town pastor whose divine calling is to mooch food off his congregants, Tilly has plenty to write about. Frontier Tween stars the voices of Maria Bamford, Conan O’Brien, Kerri Kenney, and Tim Baltz. To check out more episodes, go to luminary.link/teamcoco.

Hi, it's us, your friends at Inside Conan. Hello. Mike and Jesse. And we are here with a special midweek update. Yes. We have exciting news about a new scripted podcast that's coming out from Team Coco. It's called Frontier Tween. And actually, the star of this podcast is on our Inside Conan episode coming up this Friday.

Maria Bamford. Maria Bamford. Maria Bamford, the one and only. She's unbelievable. But I think you're also really going to like this podcast. It is a coming-of-age comedy series. It's basically an off-the-rails Laura Ingalls Wilder-esque memoir taking place in the frontier Times on the prairie. And it's about a plucky tween and her adventures, played by Maria.

And it's the first Team Coco scripted podcast. It is, yeah. So everyone's very excited to check it out. Yeah, our first foray. It has an all-female writing staff. This is really cool the the writers were also the creators of the onions a very fatal murder which was a different scripted podcast right and it's got a great cast from rhea bamford uh-huh you might recognize this name conan o

brian he plays pa yes he plays pa Who's always beset by maladies. Tim Baltz. Tim Baltz. Who's on The Righteous Gemstones right now. And Kerry Kenney. Kerry Kenney from The State. Yeah. So yeah, it's a lot of comedy heavy hitters.

Yep. And you can listen to the first episode right now, coming up after we stop talking and you can listen to all the episodes from this season of Frontier Tween and get a free month of Luminary at Luminary dot link slash tween. And now we stop talking. Bye. From Team Coco and Luminary Media. This is Frontier Tween. Frontier Tween. Chapter one.

Tilly Mulch learns a lesson. Dearest writing notebook, you are my only savior here on the dismal frontier where I'll either die of boredom or an infected snake bite. Tilly, squirrels don't skin themselves. Coming, Ma! You see, I, Tilly Mulch, am a poet in the making. No one in my family understands me or my earth-shattering verses about ladybugs who wear hats. But everything changes today.

Flambucket's getting full. Tilly, get in here and change your father's bucket. I said I'm coming! Now that I'm 12, I'm finally old enough to enter the Dusty Sentinels Annual Poetry Writing Contest. And if I win, I get to travel to... City, city, city, city. The city! And I'll get to meet my hero, the newspaper man himself, Mr. Jeremiah F. Hinckley.

So every day, I'm going to write in this notebook until it's full of poetry, musings, and descriptions of the dead bodies I see along the wagon trail. Eustace, I do not have time for that girl's antics. Not with the Frontier County Mrs. Modesty pageant coming this Wednesday next. My dress isn't nearly bulky enough to hide my natural curvature. I've got to cross-stitch all of Leviticus onto a pillow, and I've got to find some way

to cover up the rosiness in my cheeks. Ow, Apollonia! God has cursed me with a new plague, and this one may well be my demise. Now don't be a drama queen. You've lived through planter's plague and western demise and drop tooth, jelly foot, fanny disaster, cat's meow. As Ma went about fixing Pa a corn husk tonic, I skinned the squirrels real fast and sloppy.

Then went right back to my writing hole to keep working. Three-hand, want to hear a poem I started this morning? Ladybug, ladybug, where hast thou crawled? Hot dang, that's good. It's like I'm a channel for God. There, in the distance, I saw a friendly silhouette. Pastor! Tilly!

Pastor showed up at our church one day talking about a newfangled religion called Catholicism, which has tons and tons of rules about how you pray and dress and sit and eat and die, that Ma loves to follow. Would you like to audition to be in my new church band? I'm thinking it'll be like an alt-hymnal rockabilly type deal. Your Pa already agreed to be lead footstopper. By the way, Pa and Pastor are in a band. They're always trying to get people to join their band, but they also never let anyone in. And they never practice. And they don't have any merch. Say, can you play the zither?

Oh, I don't know if that's such a good idea. Ma's no fan of artistic pursuits. She insists they make for narrow-hipped women. Yeah, that's a real shame. You know, I always thought your ma would look great behind a high hat. Tilly, your pa is stricken with, well, something pus-filled. And I need to add ten yards of fabric to my modesty bonnet. You should have been yanking the teats on that cow rather than talking to her. She can't talk. Well, this looks like a family matter. I'll just be holding auditions in the kitchen if the spirit moves you to rock.

She's not that cow. She's my bosom freaking friend. Well, your friend is a bad influence with dry nipples. I think it's about time I sell her off. Maybe then you'll finally focus. Oh, whatever. You always threaten to sell Bree in every time I forget to clean out the possum traps or pretend to scalp Pa as a goof.

Well, it won't work this time. I have important business to attend to called winning the poetry contest. Excusez-moi. Eustace? What's that? I know you feel especially rotten, but I need your help today. Can you at least milk the cows while I coil my hair into an immovable bun? Oh, anything for you, my darling.

Now, where'd I put my outdoor pants? Oh, I seemed to have cut myself on a sharp bit of air there, darling. Aye! Oh, gee. Oh, wait. Well, maybe you better just stay right there. Now, let's see. Is Pastor still holding auditions in the kitchen?

Perhaps he can help. All right, Nell. Whenever you're ready. Hava, Nikila, hava, Nikila, hava. Good effort, Nell. But you've got what we call in the business a shit voice. I'm sorry, sir, but I feel as if my services could be better employed as the band's business manager, or perhaps as your personal assistant, sir.

I can make sure your dressing room is full of your favorite candied corn. All right, I'm listening. We could sit side by side as I organize your schedule. This sucks. It sounds a little too corporate. Okay, well... Why, if it isn't Nell Thorpe, the most industrious 13-year-old girl I know. Hello, Mrs. Mulch. My mother wanted me to tell you that.

With all due respect, ma'am, she's going to demolish you in the Mrs. Modesty pageant tomorrow. I'm very sorry, ma'am. Now that's just nonsense, and she knows it. But I do need to practice my restrained head nod, which has me thinking, Nell, seeing as you're already here, what would you say to helping out on the farm today? Tilly invited me over to put on a pretend wedding between a boy and a girl field mouse or some stupid bullshit like that. But this would give me the opportunity to finally earn my Master Farmer badge from the Frontiersmen Club, of which I am a member. Nell is a member of the Frontiersman Club, an organization for middle-aged men who enjoy honing their practical survival skills and sharing fellowship with other self-sufficient men.

As a frontiersman, this I pledge. I shall reject the temptation of cheap, ball-soaked woods. I will treat all lowly farmhands with respect, even the imbeciles. I shall ford a river each morning. She'd be kicked out if they ever found out she was a 13-year-old girl. So every chapter meeting, she sends a note explaining that she won't be able to make it due to a disfiguring logging accident. All right, I will take over farm operations, so long as I can pretend one of the goats has passed her and give it a peck on its hindquarters. Or, sorry, was that weird what I just said?

Never mind. Scratch it. Forget it. I'll just milk the cow. Meanwhile, high in my thinking tree, which is three trees over from my sulking tree, I was hoping I might be left alone to indulge in my agony and write a sad poem about loss and despair and how no one understands me. But I was immediately interrupted by little orphan Billy. Billy is a tiny boy, no bigger than a pussy willow, who came to live in our barn one day after his parents dumped him out the back of a moving wagon or something. Are you trying to get up on that there cloud? I'm just writing a poem. Really? You've been trying to write one of those for weeks.

But I looked in your notebook and all I saw was a bunch of drawings of cows wearing windmills. Everyone just get off my back! Okay. Well, Mom Mulch just sent me out here to tell you that you better do your chores or she really will sell Breanne. She even

got out the cow perfume to get Breanne auction ready. I'm gonna spritz her good, Tilly. Ugh, Ma loves issuing empty threats. Too bad I will not fall for it this time. Well, if you want to pretend the farm tools are guns and fight each other, you know where to find me. In the corner of the barn where I've made a nest for myself to spot everyone my whole life wishing I'd leave. You don't want me to leave, right? You think of me as a... Coming round the bend. Will Paul find his missing spleen?

Will Maul make accidental eye contact with a pageant judge? We'll now grow a beard. As soon as little Billy trotted off, I attempted again to write. I tried my writing hole in the barn, but the cows were loudly gossiping about Mary Elizabeth giving Levi a hoof job. Next, I tried the house, but Ma and Pa were making a ruckus. God bless you. God bless you. Oh, God bless it. The field good. God bless you. That's how he knew. Oh, God bless him.

The field was already occupied by Nell and Billy. Screw this part, Ann. Wow. Hey, can I help? I can work that doohickey. Or I can taste the test corn. Or I can do a cartwheel. Wait, I can't do a cartwheel.

Oh, fuck off, Billy. So I traipsed through the forest, but it was much too loud there. Shut up! I even went to the church to see if Pastor would let me write in one of them confession booths. But he was busy practicing for his band with an overturned bucket. Skibbity-bop, skibbity-bop-bop-bop-boo. Skibbity-bop, skibbity-bop, skibbity-bop-bop-bop-bop. The only quiet place I could find was the old outhouse.

But I'd been afraid to go in there ever since I'd seen a raccoon using the toilet like a person. Nell had nearly completed all the work necessary to earn her Master Farmer badge. Harvest wheat. Check. Harvest corn. Check. Harvest beans. Check. Say, Nell, let's try collecting eggs by running into the chicken coop with a pistol and yelling, stick them up at those old broads. Billy, I swear to God, if you give me one more silly idea,

I'm going to lock you in that raccoon outhouse. All right. Maybe the hens will let me hang out with them. After searching high and low for a quiet place to write, I was at my wit's end. I finally trudged back home, expecting to see Pa with his neck bleeding out and Ma ranking mankind's top 10 worst sins. But the house was actually quiet for once.

I plopped down at once and immediately I knew just who to write about. Matricide by Tilly Munch. I could kill Ma quick or let her suffer. Hmm, what rhymes with suffer? Buffer, fluffer, suffer. No, no, no, that's the same word again. After a while, I gave up on that poem and put it away for later. I began to think about who I didn't want to murder and started writing an even better poem. Breanne by Tilly Mulch.

She's got spots. She's got flair. She's got udders under there. Oh, that is good. Oh, I am in flow. I gotta show Breanne. Hey, what's up, guys? Any of you guys seen Breanne? Oh, my God. Are you sure? No, no, no, no. It can't be.

She really came and took her to auction? No! No! Coming round the bend. Will Billy get to try out his egg-collecting lasso? Will Tilly kill Ma? Will Bran end up with a nice family down the road? In a split second, I was out the door, sprinting towards the auction house, which was all the way on the other side of Bramble Hill.

I hate you, Ma. I hope you die. Meanwhile, Nell was having a melancholy feeling. Well, Nell, you've done it. The crops are harvested. The butter is churned. Mr. Mulch's very soiled underpants are as clean as they'll ever be. Yes, you've certainly done it. The crops are harvested. The butter is churned. Mr. Mulch's very soiled underpants are as clean as they'll ever be. Yes, you've certainly done it all. So why, oh why, aren't you happy? I will treat all lowly farmhands with respect. Even the imbeciles. Oh, fuck off, Billy. I suppose I haven't quite earned my master farmer badge yet. Hey, Billy, I've wrecked my whole big brain, and I can't think of a single way to milk a cow. Oh, I have a great idea. No, wait, I have a better

idea. No, wait, I have a better one. What if I tell you 100 ideas all at the same time? Meanwhile, I was reaching the auction house, and I was struck with horror when I realized that the cow up next on the auction block was none other than my bestie Breanne. She was freshly bathed and powdered and had a brand new nose ring. It was the most tragical sight I had ever seen. And sold to the gentleman with pistols for hands. Yeah!

God damn it! Enjoy your new snake-carrying case, sir. Finally, a home for my snakes. Next up, we have a milk cow, age 3, 1,080 pounds, presented by Miss Apollonia Mullet. Wait! Little girl in the back, this is an adult-only auction house. I just turned 12!

Run on home now. This is for your own good. Technically, ma'am, at 12 years old, she is considered an adult. I can't kick her out unless she's parked her horse illegally. I fought my way through the throng of auction attendees. Make way! I'm a lady! I'm 12! Brianne, I know I let you down today, and I'm probably the reason you are here. But I wrote a poem about you. That's what I was doing all day instead of doing my chores.

Okay, little lady. Before we start the bidding, I'll get a starting prize by demonstrating this here cow's lactation abilities. I'll read it to you. Breanne by Tilly Munch. She's got spots. She's got flair. Little girl, please. You stop that slant, Robin. She's got ud! She's got flair! Little girl, please! You stop that slant-rumming!

She's got udders under there! Come on! Test the teats! But when the auctioneer crouched down to test Brianne's teats, everyone saw that Brianne's udders had suddenly become dry and shriveled like one of Pa's skin tags. And when they were pulled and squeezed, nothing but air came out. Ma'am, is this some kind of joke? No, she's a good cow, I swear it.

She's normally got milk coming out her eyebrows. I love her more than doing chores, like Ma loves Pa with his welts and sores. And with that line of poetry, I saw Ma's face soften, and she began to loosen her grip on Brianne's tether. Oh, bless it. After performing a test, I have determined that this cow's value is...

Zero dollars! Please move aside. Up next, we have a beautiful barrel. Really exquisite. Leather interior, four-door, this barrel is great for a family, folks. I got down on my knees and swore to slay anyone who ever tried to hurt her. Brianne, I swear to God, I will slit their throats in their bed while they sleep. But the moment I laid my hands on my bovine friend, milk started bursting forth from her udders. Thick and white, like the clouds in christian heaven rian's udders appeared bottomless and the more i hugged her the more the milk rushed forth until everyone's mouth was filled with milk and anyone who couldn't swim

was left for dead the rest of us flowed out onto the prairie on a great white wave of dairy. Whoa! Cowabunga! Through the doors and all the way home, where just moments earlier, Billy had revealed to Nell his secret milking technique. All right, Nell, the trick is to use your voice to coax the milk out of him. Oh, glory unto you, lactating army, you are soldiers of the farm. Ma, Brianne, and I came crashing through the barn door in a current of Brianne's milk.

And poor Billy was swept away too, happily singing his lactation song all the while. Cheese and milk. The milk current took us straight through the other side of the barn and into the field outside it, where we all tumbled to the ground alongside a couple bloated corpses from the auction house. Whoa, that's a lot of milk. Pastor came running, a huge smile spreading across his face as he jumped over the corpses. Who or what angelic force is producing that beautiful voice?

Tiny bitty boy, you must be the lead singer of my band. Me? Billy the Orphan? And then Billy fell clean over, losing consciousness as he often does in moments of euphoria. Pastor, Pastor, it looks like you got several gallons of wet milk on your vestments. It would be my honor to wipe them clean with a sturdy sponge or even my tongue. I'm good. Well, Tilly, I suppose you've proven that a child-cow friendship does have some utility on the frontier after all.

Thanks, Ma, even though you did try to sell my best friend. And I will never, ever forgive you. Ever. Hey, zip it. Pastor suggested we make Breanne's milk into ice cream. Oh, it's cold in my mouth. Pa said it felt nice on his burns and Ma allowed herself a small spoonful even though it came back to bite her later at the Mrs. Modesty pageant. Mrs. Mulch, is that sweetened dairy a smell on your breath? It's qualified for gluttonous tendencies. Well, I respect the rules.

Nell sent away for her master farmer badge and gave Billy the honor of de-beaking the turkeys. I gotta do what now? Best of all, I finished reading my poem to Brianne. She's got class, she's got sass, she's got one heck of an ass. Hey, can we use this barn for a band practice? It won't take us long, four or five hours We got one song that we're really working on

I could grab you by the bell or this rope around your neck And pull you out But it'd be nice if you just walked out From Team Coco and Luminary Media, this has been Frontier Tween. Frontier Tween was created by

Jen Jackson, Louisa Kellogg, and Katie Iser. This has been a Team Coco production in association with Earwolf.