Don't trust a Grouch

Many cast a loving look on him. I, still but wary, watch. My arrow, notch on its bowstring. Draw back, align, hold… It starts. Music…Sounds growing… Wait for it… Now!!! My arrow sings its song on its flight towards this foul birds throat. Thwack!! A hit! Blood spurts from its wound, crimson on saffron. Childish wails of anguish, Mix with glorious pain. It falls, blood pouring, onto damp ground.

Now, away! Fly to your sanctuary. Run fast, run far. Don’t look back. Limbs pump and flail. Jump and in! My can surrounds, bulwark of tin, guard my soul. It’s top hid my guilty occupancy from prying sight. Many pass swiftly, my lurking grotto. You, dismissing my habitation from your minds, run on past.

To still your song, I did so. No, you shall not sing your “Sunny Day” again. Thus I did dispatch Big Bird. I, Oscar, assassin of Grouchdom.

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