Kermit ascended the stairs of the nest, rifle strapped to his back. His breath echoed through steel and through concrete, met only by a dull hum from hollow fluorescent lights. Garfield had supplied the rifle. Now, when the full moon ascended, was his chance, their chance, to thwart the MILF hunter in his prime. For too long had that bastard ruled the streets. For too long had he thrived. No more. No more would Kermit allow it.
The door atop the nest creaked open gently. Kermit stepped into the moon. Atop the nest, atop this skyscraper, Kermit closed his eyes and let the wind caress his chill-nipped nose. He inhaled. Crisp air flooded his lungs in a burst of cool oxygen. He knew the MILF hunter's path crossed this building soon, and he knew that was his chance. Perhaps one day, they could've formed an alliance. Perhaps one moment, they could've met in peace. But now, on this day, on this goddamn cursed day, his heart would stop in disgrace.
Kermit set up his rifle and pointed it towards the street. He placed himself parallel to the concrete, perpendicular to his heart, and gazed into the rifle's scope as the roads rushed on below. In a blue sedan, Kermit locked onto his prize, and though tremors wracked his body in shivers no cold could imitate, he lined up the shot with steady lungs and let the night skies slow. The MILF hunter had accepted his hubris and collapsed the streets to chaos. Now, however, Kermit knew. Kermit knew his reign would fall. And so, that night, he lined up the shot and uttered his final rebuke:
"Farewell, Freud, you god forsaken sinner. As I pull this trigger, so too do I wish upon you eternal rest."
YOU ARE READING
Kermit the Freud
HumorKermit the Frog must assassinate Sigmund Freud. Garfield is also there. Will they succeed? This came from an activity in my friend's literary club. She told us to open a random book and point to a random line on a random page, and whatever line we...
