Thread by @Soundsaboutrig4

Can I just point out how obnoxious neighbors can be.

So our little Vlad the Impaler rendition didn’t work with the first five fraggles, so we had several more attempts on our lives.

Now we have about a hundred out there and I just got a sternly written letter from someone.

https://twitter.com/Soundsaboutrig4/status/1436664648187535360

It reads “You two are literally destroying this neighborhood. No one wants to buy a house on a street with rotting corpses impaled. The smell also is depressing. Please tell us why you’ve slaughtered beloved Saturday Morning characters en mass?

Clean this up or else!”

“Are we the assholes?” I asked Left.

“Uh. Was there any doubt? We spend our days slaughtering and drinking.”

“I think this might have gone too far.”

“It’s either we continue on or we get jobs that pay well enough to buy food. Good luck with that!”

“Wait. Like work work? Making minimum wage during a pandemic just to serve horrendous people who only exist to complain and try and get free food or stuff from said complaining?”

“Yeah. It’s a real ball crusher.”

“Uh. Let’s…okay. Maybe we should clean up a tad.”

“Fine!”

We went outside and, honestly, the smell wasn’t that bad. Depression was a familiar stink, so my nose was mostly numb to it.

“I’ll start on the right,” Left said.

He started to pull up the stakes with the rotting fraggles on it. Bits of them sloughed off.

I started, too.

After we’d grabbed a pile of them, we went to throw them away.

“Mrs Bennington’s or Old Man Chuck?”

“Which one do you think wrote the letter?”

“Mrs Bennington’s it is.”

We headed down the street to dispose of our trash.

“You know maybe we should have apologized to the fraggles after the first assault.”

Left laughed. “Yeah. They’re gonna call off a blood feud because you say you’re sorry you hunted down and ate their friend. Hell. We didn’t even eat them. We threw them in the trash.”

“I guess,” I said.

“I’m just pissed that rent is ridiculous here. How hell can we leave this place if we can’t find something that doesn’t cost the equivalent of a car down payment every month?”

“I just wish we could get jobs that didn’t suck shit.”

“Yeah. I could be an executive. They do nothing but take credit and blame others. Then they convince poor people they deserve to be paid the big bucks. God, people are stu…what the fuck is that?”

I looked where Left was pointing. Standing in the middle of the road….

“Is that a god damn Gorg?”

“Shit. I think it…does he have predator gear on?”

“I think so.”

Then the Gorg spoke “Your death had been written in the stars. You may fall upon the ground and I’ll make your death swift. Otherwise?”

It hit a button and predator invised.

Left looked at me. “Run!”

We dropped the fraggles and bolted. As we did, an energy beam flew by and exploded our neighbor Sal’s car.

I dived behind a large landscaping rock while Left threw himself over the fence.

“I think we fucked up!” I yelled.

“Yep!”

We played a game of cat and mouse with the Gorg. And by that I mean I curled into a ball and cried while the it taunted me.

“Cower you worm! Cower before…” and then I heard a crunch sound.

I risked glancing up and saw a delivery truck covered in blood.

Apparently the dumb fuck had stayed in the road invisible and got hammered by said blood covered delivery truck.

The driver got out and started to check on the Gorg. It seemed to try to lift its arm up.

“I’ll call for help!” the driver said. “My phone is in the truck!”

The driver moved to get into his truck and started to search for it. It was obvious he was panicking.

Before the driver found his phone, though, Left came running up to the Gorg and started stomping on its throat.

It was too weak to fight.

Left made quick work of it and then ran back to dive over the fence. I got up and followed.

When I got over the fence, Left was cleaning off his boots.

“We’re getting jobs and moving.”

“Agreed,” I said.

“So…burn the fraggles?”

“I’ll get the gas.”