(no subject)
muppets out of context scare me. they are fine on tv, doing their thing in the shows. the muppet movies were a little difficult for me to watch because of this irrational fear of mine, but i can even handle that. it's a controlled environment. but i have an overactive imagination sometimes, so walk with me on this little journey:
imagine big bird knocking on your door. he's all yellow and unassuming with his beady muppet eyes, and he really needs to use a phone. you're buddies, right? you've been down with sesame street since kindergarten. so you smile and let him in. show him where the phone is, provide a phone book, and turn to leave him alone to make his call to kermit the frog or gonzo or whever it is he's calling.
but then you notice the knife. the biggest knife in the universe. clenched tightly, poised to strike.
and in this moment, right before that son of a bitch bird puppet pile of shit motherfucker starts slicing you up, your mind starts racing. you realize that big bird has no business in your house, that you know nothing about big bird, and that you only let him in because he was an icon of your childhood. how many other people has he killed? how many more people will he kill? as a matter of fact, what is big bird doing out in the real world anyway?
but wait... it dawns on you as you're lying on your kitchen floor, bleeding from multiple stab wounds, mere moments away from death... big bird isn't even a bird at all. it's a man inside of a huge bird puppet.
he climbs out of the puppet, looking on as you die quietly. he leaves big bird on the floor next to you. he slips out of the front door of the house, shutting it quietly and firmly behind him, as if nothing were amiss. he climbs into his car and cruises off, smiling smugly to himself. at least nobody else was at home, right? who wants their childhood icons shattered? or spattered in blood?
imagine big bird knocking on your door. he's all yellow and unassuming with his beady muppet eyes, and he really needs to use a phone. you're buddies, right? you've been down with sesame street since kindergarten. so you smile and let him in. show him where the phone is, provide a phone book, and turn to leave him alone to make his call to kermit the frog or gonzo or whever it is he's calling.
but then you notice the knife. the biggest knife in the universe. clenched tightly, poised to strike.
and in this moment, right before that son of a bitch bird puppet pile of shit motherfucker starts slicing you up, your mind starts racing. you realize that big bird has no business in your house, that you know nothing about big bird, and that you only let him in because he was an icon of your childhood. how many other people has he killed? how many more people will he kill? as a matter of fact, what is big bird doing out in the real world anyway?
but wait... it dawns on you as you're lying on your kitchen floor, bleeding from multiple stab wounds, mere moments away from death... big bird isn't even a bird at all. it's a man inside of a huge bird puppet.
he climbs out of the puppet, looking on as you die quietly. he leaves big bird on the floor next to you. he slips out of the front door of the house, shutting it quietly and firmly behind him, as if nothing were amiss. he climbs into his car and cruises off, smiling smugly to himself. at least nobody else was at home, right? who wants their childhood icons shattered? or spattered in blood?