Shaking his wings, letting the sun warm his feathers, Big Bird stretches for his usual morning run through of reciting the alphabet and singing songs with kids. Good morning Teddy, he said cheerfully. This is going to be a great day. I wonder what the letter-of-the-day is going to be? Looking up he notices the 123 sign underneath Sesame Street. With a sigh he rejoices in his good fortune at living in such a good neighborhood.
Hey you! Big Bird. Mr. High and Mighty. Mr. I-can-run-the-whole-show-by-myself. Mr. I’m too good to have any help from everyone. Get down here!
There stood Oscar the Grouch, still in his trashcan, fuming at the world and wanting to do something about it.
Didn’t you hear me bird brains? Get the fuck down here!
Why whatever could have gotten you so irritated Oscar? Big Bird asked timidly not wanting to start a confrontation.
Eyebrows knit together and mouth working furiously side to side, he yelled, You remember last week when you took my mocha latte? Huh do ya? I had been waiting on that for an hour. An hour! Man that is the last straw. There was the time you cock blocked me from asking Zoe out on a date and now she’s seeing that red fuzz ball Elmo. Then there was the time that you and Snuffaluffaguswent out to the bars and didn’t think to invite me. Am I not good enough for you? Is that it? Well that latte was the last straw. I’m done with it. I’m done with you!
And with a flourish he whipped out a Glock 19, big, bulky, and black and had it leveled straight at Big Bird like he was some pimped out gangster, ready to take down this good for nothing motherfucker.
What now turkey feathers?! What now?! Telling me the ABC’s ain’t gonna help you now!
He fired off a round into Big Bird’s nest sending him flapping backwards from the bullets. Pieces of his nest come fly up and hit him in the face.
Yea not so high and mighty now are ya?! He said as he fired off 3…4…5 more rounds into the nest.
Plastered against the edge of the nest Big Bird thought hurriedly: No, I can’t give in to this. I can’t give into my past. I left that life behind when I came to Sesame Street. I only wanted to start over. Start anew. But even as Big Bird thought this he knew that he couldn’t talk his way out of this. Oscar was pushed over the edge. There was no coming back from this. Narrowing his eyes, focusing one only one thing, he ducked behind his nest for safety, and dove behind his roller-skates and unicycle to pull out two black standard issue Uzis.
Standing up in the nest, looking down ends of his firearms like a highly trained marine sniper, Big Bird yelled, You wanna play like this? Well then we can play like this ya lil green ball of cat vomit!
He pulls the triggers and lets the bullets rain down on Oscar like chunks of ice in a hailstorm, penetrating his trashcan, ripping the metal to shreds. A high scream escapes his furry green lips as he arches his back and shoots at Big Bird half-hazardly, and then suddenly falls against the rim of his trashcan. Dead.
The air in the street still buzzes with the tension of gunfire. Big Bird’s precious sign hangs from only one chain, rocking back and forth in the wind. A repulsive stench oozes over the trashcan like so many unfinished dinners tossed aside. The stink pervading his mouth and coating it in a palpable taste of hate and carnage. Looking down at the wrecked trashcan and the heap of wholly fuzz within, Big Bird finally lowers his guns.
Just another day on Sesame Street.
