Puppets, Legends, and Outrageous Returns: Kermit, Piggy, and Uncle Floyd Take Center Stage

Olivia Bennett, 1/24/2026Explore the delightful chaos of "The Muppet Show" revival alongside a tribute to Uncle Floyd, a local legend of Jersey TV. Both embody a spirit of mischief and sincerity, reminding us that comedy thrives in the absurd and unexpected. Join the nostalgia and laughter!

Floyd Vivino, forever “Uncle Floyd” to anyone who caught his peculiar blend of puppetry and puns on Jersey’s airwaves, exited the stage recently at 74. Paterson—never one to fawn over its own—paused nonetheless, remembering a performer who turned the humble trappings of local-access TV into a scrappy, affectionate mess of oddball humor and scruffy musicianship. There was a sparkle to his ramshackle studio; when the lights hit Vivino’s plaid, even the dust motes looked like confetti.

And think about it: Bowie—yes, Ziggy Stardust himself—writing a love letter in song (“Slip Away,” 2002) to a homegrown Jersey satirist. That’s not everyday showbiz. Lennon (as the story goes, unbuttoning a philosophical debate at a grungy Village bar) nudged Bowie, “You have to see this guy.” They toasted a man who, without a network budget, embodied that razor-edge between innocence and irony. The world of Uncle Floyd wasn’t glossy. It was, at times, gloriously shambolic. But its magnetic pull lured not just the kids and the midnight crowd, but crowned icons—and honestly, not a lot of local TV can claim that.

As Vivino’s fans and fellow oddballs pen tributes—Paterson’s mayor, heavy metal bands recalling late-night gigs, Joe Piscopo waxing uncharacteristically sincere—the line between eulogy and love note blurs. It’s not hard to imagine, with a grin, Floyd orchestrating a heavenly mischief—one hand in a sock puppet, the other palming a custard pie.

Meanwhile, back in the land of prime-time flash, The Muppet Show is set for a one-off comeback this year—the 50th anniversary, if anyone’s counting. To no one’s surprise, the old velvet curtain will be twitching anew, this time via Disney+ and ABC, with a mix of star power and clever throwbacks aimed squarely at viewers old enough to remember Miss Piggy’s first slap and young enough to follow Sabrina Carpenter’s TikTok. (Say what you will about cultural gaps—Muppets bridge a few.)

The new trailer doesn’t coax nostalgia; it launches it from a glitter cannon. Kermit, as ever America’s most philosophical amphibian, introduces the evening with his signature blend of deadpan and stage fright: “It’s the return of The Muppet Show back on the very stage where it all started, and then ended, and is maybe starting again, depending on how tonight goes.” A moment later, Statler and Waldorf, still the show’s withering commentators-in-chief, grumble with undiminished zeal: “I can’t believe they’re doing the old show again.” Waldorf, gruff as ever: “Well, if it ain’t broke—” Statler pounces, “No, they are broke—that’s why they’re doing it!” Sometimes, the best punchlines don’t even bother changing their shoes.

But about that guest list. Sabrina Carpenter, pop ingenue with a touch of steel, finds herself exchanging barbs with Miss Piggy—a fur-and-pearls tornado who could flatten a lesser diva with one well-timed “Hi-ya!” Maya Rudolph melts into the Muppet world as if she’s belonged there all along, as though Gilda Radner and Fozzie Bear once co-wrote her career. And then there’s Seth Rogen, the stoner kingpin-turned-producer: a pairing with puppet madness so inevitable it’s almost surprising the collaboration took this long. Somewhere in the haze, Fozzie is likely already noodling a pitch for season two. And Disney, coy as ever, is calling it a “special event”—but if 2025’s endless cycle of revivals has taught us anything, it’s this: never bet against a comeback with enough sequins.

That’s the thing about outsider comedy of a certain calibre: it sticks around, outlasting the tasteful, the clever, even the merely popular. Uncle Floyd and The Muppets—a world apart on paper, and yet, twins in spirit. Both gave audiences permission to laugh at the absurd, the patched-together, the loopholes in grown-up logic. With one, you got locally brewed weirdness, a band playing itself in and out; with the other, you got full-tilt puppet bedlam, but always with a sly wink at the grown-ups peeking in from the hallway. The magic wasn’t just mischief—it was the unexpected glint of sincerity lurking behind the bits.

So, the script isn’t quite closed on Floyd’s plaid-jacket revolution, nor is it fully written for Kermit’s next act. As the red curtain ripples, and Piggy threatens to steal every frame, Hollywood’s heartbeat lingers in those wild, half-chaotic corners where misfits reign. The Muppet Show’s return isn’t just nostalgia—there’s swagger to this reboot, sequined and brash, less bow than challenge. In an age obsessed with firsts and nexts, it’s reassuring (and oddly thrilling) to watch the original pranksters take one more turn in the spotlight.

Somewhere up above, or perhaps backstage, Uncle Floyd may be keeping score, puppets in both hands, toasting the grand spectacle with a smirk. The next number’s about to begin—don’t be surprised if, tonight, it’s a bit more unpredictable than usual.

A pinch of nostalgia, a flicker of irreverence, and—why not?—a glimmer of sequins: Hollywood’s alchemy has long been equal parts memory and mischief. This week, as the Garden State quietly tucks away a local legend, and The Muppet Show preps for a gala return, the industry collectively exclaims, "How’s that for poetic symmetry?"Floyd Vivino, forever “Uncle Floyd” to anyone who caught his peculiar blend of puppetry and puns on Jersey’s airwaves, exited the stage recently at 74. Paterson—never one to fawn over its own—paused nonetheless, remembering a performer who turned the humble trappings of local-access TV into a scrappy, affectionate mess of oddball humor and scruffy musicianship. There was a sparkle to his ramshackle studio; when the lights hit Vivino’s plaid, even the dust motes looked like confetti.And think about it: Bowie—yes, Ziggy Stardust himself—writing a love letter in song (“Slip Away,” 2002) to a homegrown Jersey satirist. That’s not everyday showbiz. Lennon (as the story goes, unbuttoning a philosophical debate at a grungy Village bar) nudged Bowie, “You have to see this guy.” They toasted a man who, without a network budget, embodied that razor-edge between innocence and irony. The world of Uncle Floyd wasn’t glossy. It was, at times, gloriously shambolic. But its magnetic pull lured not just the kids and the midnight crowd, but crowned icons—and honestly, not a lot of local TV can claim that.As Vivino’s fans and fellow oddballs pen tributes—Paterson’s mayor, heavy metal bands recalling late-night gigs, Joe Piscopo waxing uncharacteristically sincere—the line between eulogy and love note blurs. It’s not hard to imagine, with a grin, Floyd orchestrating a heavenly mischief—one hand in a sock puppet, the other palming a custard pie.Meanwhile, back in the land of prime-time flash, The Muppet Show is set for a one-off comeback this year—the 50th anniversary, if anyone’s counting. To no one’s surprise, the old velvet curtain will be twitching anew, this time via Disney+ and ABC, with a mix of star power and clever throwbacks aimed squarely at viewers old enough to remember Miss Piggy’s first slap and young enough to follow Sabrina Carpenter’s TikTok. (Say what you will about cultural gaps—Muppets bridge a few.)The new trailer doesn’t coax nostalgia; it launches it from a glitter cannon. Kermit, as ever America’s most philosophical amphibian, introduces the evening with his signature blend of deadpan and stage fright: “It’s the return of The Muppet Show back on the very stage where it all started, and then ended, and is maybe starting again, depending on how tonight goes.” A moment later, Statler and Waldorf, still the show’s withering commentators-in-chief, grumble with undiminished zeal: “I can’t believe they’re doing the old show again.” Waldorf, gruff as ever: “Well, if it ain’t broke—” Statler pounces, “No, they are broke—that’s why they’re doing it!” Sometimes, the best punchlines don’t even bother changing their shoes.But about that guest list. Sabrina Carpenter, pop ingenue with a touch of steel, finds herself exchanging barbs with Miss Piggy—a fur-and-pearls tornado who could flatten a lesser diva with one well-timed “Hi-ya!” Maya Rudolph melts into the Muppet world as if she’s belonged there all along, as though Gilda Radner and Fozzie Bear once co-wrote her career. And then there’s Seth Rogen, the stoner kingpin-turned-producer: a pairing with puppet madness so inevitable it’s almost surprising the collaboration took this long. Somewhere in the haze, Fozzie is likely already noodling a pitch for season two. And Disney, coy as ever, is calling it a “special event”—but if 2025’s endless cycle of revivals has taught us anything, it’s this: never bet against a comeback with enough sequins.That’s the thing about outsider comedy of a certain calibre: it sticks around, outlasting the tasteful, the clever, even the merely popular. Uncle Floyd and The Muppets—a world apart on paper, and yet, twins in spirit. Both gave audiences permission to laugh at the absurd, the patched-together, the loopholes in grown-up logic. With one, you got locally brewed weirdness, a band playing itself in and out; with the other, you got full-tilt puppet bedlam, but always with a sly wink at the grown-ups peeking in from the hallway. The magic wasn’t just mischief—it was the unexpected glint of sincerity lurking behind the bits.So, the script isn’t quite closed on Floyd’s plaid-jacket revolution, nor is it fully written for Kermit’s next act. As the red curtain ripples, and Piggy threatens to steal every frame, Hollywood’s heartbeat lingers in those wild, half-chaotic corners where misfits reign. The Muppet Show’s return isn’t just nostalgia—there’s swagger to this reboot, sequined and brash, less bow than challenge. In an age obsessed with firsts and nexts, it’s reassuring (and oddly thrilling) to watch the original pranksters take one more turn in the spotlight.Somewhere up above, or perhaps backstage, Uncle Floyd may be keeping score, puppets in both hands, toasting the grand spectacle with a smirk. The next number’s about to begin—don’t be surprised if, tonight, it’s a bit more unpredictable than usual.