Faith Can Move Mountains... But Dynamite Works Better

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

M Is For Murder, Part Four

A non descript parking garage, some distance from Sesame Street. A muppet steps out of his car, an overweight balding mustached blue muppet sometimes known as Mr. Johnson, Sir, Binky, Blue Guy, or Fred. He looks around, waiting, as if expecting someone. Finally there's a sound in the shadows, and a large shape comes towards him. It's an elephant-like Muppet, with long shaggy hair. It's Mr. Snuffleeupagus, aka Mr. Snuffy. The two come face to face.
Mr. Johnson: You came alone?

Snuffy: Of course I did.

Mr. Johnson: I've been watching the news. Elmo's funeral is tomorrow. Grover has been booked for first degree murder. They're talking about the death penalty. This is the best thing that could have ever happened.

Snuffy: Just the way you planned.

Mr. Johnson: Yes. Good work on snuffing out Elmo, by the way.

Snuffy: Well, they do call me Snuffy. I'm good at that sort of thing.

Mr. Johnson: The final payment was wired to your offshore account this morning. With a twenty percent bonus for good work. I've finally nailed that blue bastard.

Snuffy: So it was all about framing Grover.

Mr. Johnson: Of course. I've hated that muppet for years. If he wasn't in a restaurant annoying me, he was a flight attendant. Or a mechanic. Or even worse. Last year I buried my brother, and you know what happened? He was the funeral home director! He turned the funeral into a disaster! My brother's coffin ended up being tossed off the Brooklyn Bridge! All the while that blue bastard was apologizing and calling me sir! And speaking in that weird voice! And never speaking in contractions! God, I find that annoying! I'm just amazed I didn't die of a heart attack or a stroke from all of the aggravation!

Snuffy: We're muppets. We don't get heart attacks.

Mr. Johnson: We don't? Why didn't anyone tell me that? Never mind. It's time to celebrate. A perfect set up, and murdering that little twit Elmo in the process? Perfect, Mr. Snuffy, perfect.

Snuffy: What can I say? I take pride in being a good hit-muppet.

Mr. Johnson: Just the same, thanks a whole lot. Next time I need a good hired assassin, I'm definitely making use of your services again.

Snuffy: We offer a ten percent discount for every tenth murder.

The muppets part ways. Mr. Johnson goes to his car. Snuffy heads for the exit. And in a jail cell across town, Grover wonders how long it'll be before his cell mate Bubba starts making some unwanted advances.

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