Sesame Street: The End
By Dan CheeK
28 August 2006
© Dan Cheek 2006
Burt and Ernie are in their house, playing some mindless game with their toys. They are interrupted by a knock at the door. Burt gets up to go answer the door.
“One second,” Burt says as he does his little puppet walk towards the door. “Gee, I wonder who it could be,” he thinks out loud.
Burt reaches the door and just as he places his silly puppet hand on the door-knob…THE DOOR EXPLODES INTO A BAGILLION SPLINTERS!
“GHAA,” Burt screams in horror. “What’s going on here,” he again wonders out loud.
He quickly finds his answer. Standing in the gaping hole that used to be a door way is a very angry, very psychotic Cookie Monster. His crazy button eyes are filled with rage and he stands there, his body shaking from the psychosis. His words come in a sharp, animalistic growl.
“Me…want…cookies. Now.” Ernie comes plodding over, curious to see what all the noise is about. Burt is cowering behind a coat-rack.
“Well hey there, Cookie,” Ernie says in his cheery voice. “Have you come to play ‘Duck Duck Goose’ with me and Burt?”
One of the Cookie Monster’s black jiggle eyeballs focuses on Ernie, the other one just wanders aimlessly about in the big white orb. A thin line of drool trickles out of the once-passive blue monster’s oversized mouth.
“No,” Cookie Monster says in a low, insane voice. “Me come for cookies. Give me cookies now.”
“Well, gee,” Ernie says in his goofy voice, “I’d sure like to share my cookies with you, but, um, you forgot to say the magic word. Now, what’s that magic word I’m looking for, good buddy?”
The monster’s eyes narrow with rage. With blinding speed, Cookie Monster lashes out and tears off Ernie’s right arm. He then throws it across
the room. “Give me cookies. Now.”
Behind the coat rack, Burt feints from terror. Ernie, meanwhile looks down at the fabric stump that used to be one of his limbs. “Cookie, I think you should apologize. Ripping my arm off like that wasn’t very nice, now was it?”
A blood vessel inside the Cookie Monster’s brain pops from the raw anger. A god awful roar rips past his vocal chords and erupts out of his mouth. He grabs Ernie with both his massive blue hands and starts beating Ernie off of a wall. “Give me cookies! Give me cookies! Me want cookies!”
For several minutes, the insane blue monster bashes Ernie off of walls, floors, furniture, and anything else he can think of. By the time it’s all over, all that’s left of Mr. Ernie is a small, tattered pile of string and fabric.
The monster then plods off, leaving Ernie’s corpse and an unconscious Burt behind. The monster will find cookies elsewhere, or he will kill everyone and everything that stands in his way. Today, Cookie Monster is not in a very friendly mood.
Elmo dances around his living room, looking quite like a lower-level mongloid. He hums some annoying song in his outlandishly high-pitched voice. His idiot dance is interrupted by a knock at his door.
“Who’s at Elmo’s door,” the silly red…thing calls out in his cheery voice. No answer.
Knock! Knock! “Again me say who’s at Elmo’s door,” Elmo says.From behind the door, a rough, angry voice answers, “Me want cookies. Give me cookies!”
“Haha,” the little red idiot giggles, “It Cookie Monster. Yay!” Elmo skips over to the door and opens it. Cookie Monster is indeed standing there in the doorway.
“Hi, Cookie Monster,” Elmo exclaims excitedly. It seems everything makes Elmo giddy, whether it be unwrapping a new roll of toilet paper or finding a hundred dollar bill on the street. It’s all the same to him.
Cookie Monster is in a less-happy mood, however. “Feed me cookies or die,” the hungry, insane monster growls to Elmo.
“Oh, Cookie Monster wants to play game with Elmo,” the silly red moron says excitedly. “What the name of your game is, Cookie Monster?”
“Cookies or your life,” Cookie Monster blurts out in an angry, impatient roar.
“Oh,” Elmo says in a slightly disappointed voice, “Elmo not know that game. How do you play it?”
Cookie Monster is more that happy to demonstrate the basics of the “game”. He reaches down and picks Elmo up by his neck and throws him across the room. Elmo crashes into a book shelf and hits the floor with a thud, right before all of the shelves’ contents fall on top of Elmo.
“Cookies,” the monster roars in a thundering tone. He plods in the direction he threw Elmo, closing in on him. A couch stands between him and the red freak, so Cookie Monster throws the couch out of the way. He makes his way towards Elmo, who is struggling to his feet.
“Haha,” Elmo weakly laughs, “You’re so silly, Cookie Monster. Me not expecting you to throw Elmo.”
At this point, the only word the Cookie Monster is looking to hear from Elmo is, “cookie”. Not hearing Elmo say that, the monster falls back on his next instinct. He tears Elmo’s head off and eats it. Cookie Monster then tosses the now-headless body of Elmo to the side as if it were a candy bar wrapper.
The monster turns and leaves behind him a scene of total puppet-carnage. The house is trashed and Elmo is in even worse shape, being that he has no head and all. Cookie Monster wanders off, looking tirelessly for his cookies.
A terrified Burt comes bursting into Maria’s little store. Maria and Big Bird are standing around chatting about nothing important. Seeing Burt, both stop their conversation and focus their attention on him. Burt is out of breath, having run all the way from his house.
“Burt,” Maria says, “You look horrible! What’s wrong?”
“Cookie Monster has gone insane,” Burt blurts out. “He busted into my house demanding cookies, killed Ernie, and then took off. I barely escaped with my life.”
“What,” Big Bird asks in his helium voice.
“Pay attention, Big Bird,” Burt screams impatiently, “The Cookie Monster is on the warpath and he’s killed Ernie!”
“Oh,” Maria says with a chuckle, “I get it. Big Bird, our friend Burt is playing the ‘Pretend’ game with us.”
“Oh, goody,” Big Bird says excitedly, “I love ‘Pretend’. Ok, Burt, we’re with you now.”
Burt stutters as his gaze shifts between Big Bird and Maria in disbelief. “Have you both had lobotomies or something,” he demands. “I’m not pretending. Cookie Monster killed Ernie!”
Maria winks at Big Bird, “Sure, sure,” she says in a non-believing tone, “But, I’m sorry Burt. I can’t play ‘Pretend’ today. I’ve got to watch the store.”
“I can play,” Big Bird says excitedly, “What do you want me to do, Burt?”
“Find a shotgun or something and lots of ammunition. We need to go slay that deranged monster before he strikes again,” Burt says.
“Will a water gun work,” Big Bird asks.
“No,” Burt says in an angry voice, “A water gun will most certainly not work. We need hollow tip bullets, shotgun slugs, maybe some grenades. We need a fucking cannon,” Burt screams.
Maria and Big Bird take a collective gasp. “Did you just say, the baddest of bad words,” Maria asks slowly, not believing she heard Burt correctly.
“I think he did, Maria,” Big Bird confirms in a stunned voice, “I heard him plain as day. Burt said a naughty word!”
“I don’t have time for this,” Burt stammers. He turns to walk out, but Big Bird steps in his way. Burt stands a little over three feet tall. Big Bird is just under seven feet tall. Clearly, Burt isn’t going anywhere.
“Just a moment,” Maria says. “You said a bad word. That’s not a good thing, Burt. Not good at all.”
“What the fuck are you talking about,” Burt demands. Big Bird tackles Burt and forces him to the ground. “When you say a naughty word, you have to get your mouth washed out with soap,” he says as he pins Burt to the store floor.
Maria steps forward with two bars of Dial Soap in her hands. “That’s right Big Bird. And Burt said that naughty word twice. So we need two
bars of soap to purify his foul potty-mouth. Open wide, Burt.”
There is a muffle scream of horror as Burt has a bar of soap lodged down his throat. “Give him another one,” Big Bird screams as Maria slams the second bar of soap into his mouth. “I just love corrective punishment,” the big yellow bird says in a dreamy voice.
The disgusting creature that is Oscar the Grouch is resting inside his aluminum garbage can/home, watching the television that he somehow managed to cram in there. Whatever show he was watching is interrupted by a “Special News Bulletin.”
“WHAT KIND OF CRAP IS THIS,” the grouch screams at the television. “Special News Bulletin my anal orifice,” he blurts out in rage.Kermit the Frog, donned in his field reporter outfit, comes on the screen and begins his report. “Hello,” the Frog says, “I’m Kermit the Frog and I’m standing outside the home of Elmo. Police tells us that this is
the setting for a horribly unspeakable crime,” he continues.
“Suck my left one,” Oscar yells at the frog. “The only ‘horribly unspeakable crime’ is having my brainless fill of television programming interrupted by stupid news…stuff.”
Kermit continues with his reporting. “We are told that inside this house, the headless body of Elmo is the centerpiece of a totaly destroyed home. We are told that furniture has been turned over, walls have holes punched in them, and everything covered in blood.”
“Shut up frog,” Oscar bellows. “No one cares, and even if they did, I don’t care. So get off my TV!”
Back on the television, Kermit walks up to the muppet police chief and points a microphone at him. “Chief, can you tell us anything more about this awful crime?”
The pudgy looking cop scratched his head and thinks hard for a few seconds. “Um…nope. Can’t really tell you anything.”
“Is that because you can’t comment on the ongoing investigation,” Kermit asks.
“Well, I’d like to say that was the case,” the police chief says, “But mostly it has to do with myself and all the fine police officers who work for me being complete idiots. We really have no clue what we’re doing.”
“Everyone already knew that,” Oscar screams at the TV, “Bring back my show!”
On the television, Kermit continues with his interview. “Uh, Chief, we’re told by sources that the killer wrote ‘ME WANT COOKIES!!!!!!’ in blood all over the walls of Elmo’s apartment. Does this provide any clues on who the killer might be?”
Again, the chief pauses in concentration before giving his well-though out response. “Uh…no. It tells us nothing at all.”
“That’s it,” Oscar the Grouch stammers, “I’m calling the cable company!”
Kermit’s interview continues as Oscar hunts for his phone. “I’m sure this murder will have the local populace terrified. Would you like to say anything that might reassure them?”
The police chief nods and clears his throat. “Yes. I would like to say this; it’s ok to be scared. Actually, you should all be gripped with terror. Somewhere out there, an insane killer is just wandering around, probably not doing anything except thinking about cookies and killing people. We, the people who are tasked with protecting you, are incompetent and we can do nothing to stop him. He could very well kill every last one of you. Uh…that’s all I’d like to say about that.”
Oscar has found his phone and is now talking to the Cable Company people. “Yes, my name is Oscar the Grouch and I’d like to file a complaint regarding your service,” he says in his grumpy voice, “I didn’t get cable so I could watch stupid news shows. I got it for the silly cartoons and music videos. I don’t like news at all. So why do you still have news shows on your station?”
There’s a pause as Oscar listens to the Cable Company Rep talk. “Of course you have no record of me in your customer database. I have stolen cable. How else would I have cable television in a garbage can?”
Another couple of seconds of silence while Oscar listens to the Cable person. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN’T HELP ME IF I’M NOT A PAYING
CUSTOMER!?!? What kind of stupid crap is that? That’s so stupid. I HATE YOU! Have a bad day!” With that, Oscar slams the phone down and hangs
The very, very insane Cookie Monster stomps down the street of some quiet town. Nobody is really around. His eyes jiggle around uncontrollably and his limbs tremble from cookie-withdrawal and sheer insanity. He is fixed on achieving his goal of attaining cookies. Nothing else matters to him.
Just then, Super Grover drops down from the sky and lands right in front of Cookie Monster. The landing didn’t go very well for Grover, because he is incapable of doing anything right, so he has to slowly pick himself up off of the pavement. Cookie Monster just watches the blue idiot dust himself off and straighten the silly little knight’s helmet
that “Super” Grover wears to make himself…super.
Grover clears his throat and strikes a super hero like pose. “I know what you have done, Cookie,” he says in his warbly Grover voice, “I am here to stop you. I suggest you cooperate.”
It takes a second for Grover’s words to register with Cookie Monster. Slowly, almost reluctantly, his eyes fix and focus on the puny blue moron standing before him. “Feed me cookies or die,” Cookie Monster finally says.
Super Grover’s mouth drops in disbelief. “But…what….I mean…who…I am Super Grover! You can not possibly harm me. Now surrender and come peacefully.”
“COOKIES,” the homicidal monster booms. Cookie Monster takes a menacing step towards Grover, daring him to react.
Grover, lacking intelligence, simply stands there. “May I remind you that Super Grover possesses the strength of…”
The silly super-hero’s monologue is violently interrupted as Cookie Monster grabs him by the throat and slams him off of the street. Cookie Monster takes a step back and waits to see what Super Grover will do now. Slowly, Grover pulls himself up from the ground. He is breathing hard and moans of pain and agony occasionally escape from his mouth.
His once gleaming knight’s helmet is now dented and scuffed. “I don’t think you understand,” Grover says in a raspy voice, “I am, ouch, I am Super Grover. Ow. No villain can possibly…”
Cookie Monster lets out an animalistic roar that echoes through the small neighborhood. He reaches forward and, with one oversized fuzzy hand, picks Super Grover up by both legs and begins slinging him around like a rope. Screams of piercing agony and terror are ripped from Grover as he is being spun through the air.
“DIE,” the cookie obsessed monster roars. He sends Grover rocketing through the air with a powerful throw. The flight is a short one, as Grover’s body slams into a nearby tree. The sound of muppet hitting solid wood at one hundred plus miles is sickening.
Super Grover isn’t by any means the smartest muppet or the strongest. He really doesn’t have any super powers and basically he’s just pathetic. However, he does have one admirable trait. He is stubborn to the point of recklessness. It takes him a few moments, but he somehow finds the strength to pull himself back to his feet. His vision comes and goes and when it comes, it blurred and distorted. Severe head trauma will do that. His whole body trembles, threatening to collapse at any moment, and his head wanders about aimlessly.
When his voice comes, it is weak and slurred. Suffering massive hemorrhaging in his skull, his thought process is a bit off, so some of what he says is gibberish. Sadly, most of what he said before the head injury was gibberish anyway. “Cookie Monster,” Grover says, “You can bounce me off concrete and toss me into trees but the rubber ducks I used to have all ate each other and but you see I am supreme and what but just then like I said oatmeal. Just you try that again you big, um, cookie monster. Yeah.”
The opponent with a sense of mercy or morals would have just walked away. It’s an unspoken rule that once you’ve caused massive brain damage to someone, you’ve made your point. Cookie Monster is violantly insane and lacks mercy or morals of any sort. So when he walked over and started slamming Grover’s face into the ground, repeatedly, he really didn’t feel all that bad about it.
When the Cookie Monster finally tossed Grover to the side and continued walking down the street, it wasn’t because he was content with the damage he had already inflicted. It was, rather, because the psycotic muppet monster’s attention span just lost steam and so Cookie Monster reverted back to the only constant thought that he has. Cookies.
This time Grover didn’t get up. He really didn’t even move, if you discount the uncontrollable twitches that occasionally passed though his body. He lay there in the dirt, face down. His cape was torn and his helmet looked something like an empty soda can after a car runs over it. However, it takes more than debilitating brain swelling and massive
internal and external bleeding to shut Grover up. “Come back here,” he says is a weak voice, “I was just about to flog you, villain. I think my nose fell off.”
Cookie Monster is too far away to hear Grover’s words. He continues trudging down the road, searching for his cookies. It’s been a long day already, and while his diseased mind doesn’t fully remember all that he’s done so far, he feels frustrated. He wants cookies and he wants them now. I’m not sure what god Muppets prey to, but the next one Cookie Monster encounters had better be in good with their lord, because Cookie Monster isn’t in a very good mood right now.
All the as-of-yet-not-slaughtered cast members of Sesame Street are gathered around in a circle in the street. Some are sitting on milk crates and others are just standing there, looking stupid. In the back, the wooly-mammoth-like Snuffleuffagus towers over everyone. All their attention is fixed on the guy standing in the center of the circle. It’s celebrity guest host, Bob Dole, former Senator and failed Presidential hopeful!
Big Bird comes plodding into the middle, “Hey everyone,” the big yellow bird says cheerfully, “Let’s all give a big, warm, Sesame Street welcome to Bob Dole! Hi, Bob!”
Everyone in the crowd cheers. The Honkers, the monsters that are damned to have bicycle horns for noses, honk their affection. The Count is waving a tiny American flag. Maria iss holding a sign that said, “I Want To Have Your Love Child, Bob!” Oscar the Grounch leans forward and throws a rotting fish at Dole, who ducks just in time to avoid a direct hit. Dole walks over and kicks the Grouch’s garbage can over, screaming, “You rotten mother fucker….”
Big Bird comes over and breaks it up. “We can all play tag later. Bob, why don’t you tell us all why you’ve come to visit Sesame Street today.” Dole kicks the can one more time and spits on it. Then he walks back to the center of the circle.
“Sure, Big Bird,” he says. “Today, I want to talk to the children about Communism. Even as we sit here, those Red bastards are plotting our doom…THEY COULD BE ANYWHERE. Which leads me to the next subject I’d like to dwell on. Nuclear Holocaust.”
“COOKIES,” a loud voice belts out from somewhere. Everyone turns and looks around, trying to see who interrupted the Senator. Even Dole seems kind of confused as he strokes his pencil that he holds in his crippled hand. He does that when he’s scared.
“COOKIES,” the loud voice booms, closer now than it was before. Everyone now seems a bit panicked. A mangled puppet corpse drops in from the sky, landing at the feet of Bob Dole.
“The hell…” the old Senator stammers and he stares dumbstruck at the dead puppet.
Cookie Monster bursts through the crows, roaring. Puppets go flying. “Give…me…COOKIES,” the horrible blue beast thunders as he plods closer and closer to Bob Dole.
“COME AND GET THEM, YOU COMMY BASTARD,” the half-crippled Senator and World War Two vet booms. He tries to charge at the monster, but because half his body is crippled, he just kind of ends up walking quickly in that direction. Still, he has his war face on.
Now Burt comes running into the scene, brandishing a double-barreled shotgun. Soap suds ooze out of his mouth from the oral torture he endured earlier. “DIE, YOU HOMICIDAL KILLER!”
Bob Dole sees Burt with the shotgun and tries to wrestle it away from him with his one good hand. “Give me that, you damn puppet,” Dole screams.
“Back off old man,” Burt yells back, “I’m killing the Cookie Monster!”
The shotgun goes off and blasts Bob Dole in the face. “OH CHRIST,” Dole screams as he falls backwards, holding his face with both hands, “YOU JUST RUINED MY GOOD FACE, YOU SOME-A-NA-BITCH!!!!”
Cookie Monster is now right up on Burt. He grabs the shotgun and throws it. “COOKIES,” he screams as he lifts Burt up by his throat. Burt, a former Navy SEAL, pulls a knife from his puppet-boot and stabs Cookie Monster in the eyeball. Cookie Monster bellows out in agony and throws Burt into a brick wall, head first. Cookie Monster stumbles backwards. A bloody smear runs down the wall from Burt’s face.
Mass chaos. Everyone is running around screaming. Bob Dole sits in a corner, stitching up his face with yarn he gathered from a dead puppet. Cookie Monster is thrashing about, trying to pull the knife out of his eye.
Kermit the Frog steps in, holding a microphone. “Today’s mass slaughter has been brought to you by the number 4, the letter C, the Diablo tarot card, and the support of viewers like you.” Kermit’s head explodes as another shotgun blast goes off.