Kermit’s escape-by-hanging

The novelty of Count von Count’s incessant counting finally wearing thin, Kermit opts out of yet another Sesame Street maths class taking full advantage of a cord and nearby open window.

The Count looks upwards at Kermit’s corpse later on and laughs: “One dead Kermit! Ah Ah Ah!” before proceeding to see if he can make his leg twitch (hey, they even do experiments on dead frogs in high school, okay? Nothing wrong with poking a dead frog.) The snow is a minor continuity flaw outside of my control; I believe such things have been attributed to von Count’s grandfather in the past (see following Wikipedia quote:)

The Count’s former girlfriend, Countess von Backwards, was known for counting backwards. More recently he has been seen with a new girlfriend, Countess Dahling Von Dahling. His brother and mother have made appearances on the show. His grandparents also made an appearance. When Grandma Count laughs, it rains. When Grandpa Count laughs, it snows.

Fine, you come up with a better caption/explanation for the first image above!

p.s. Muppets are probably the most brilliant animated/puppet characters ever to grace screens across the world. Just to get that out there in case anyone would deny it.

Housefire retention

My room hasn’t smelt like overheating light for too long. It’s the smell of reading well past bedtime, neither of which particularly exists anymore. I’ve probably made other plans by the time this is read, anyway. Allusions are dry things, and metaphors draining… so I’ll pass this time. Simple.

Black White Red Blue

And thus four hours of ridiculousness begins. Insert remarks directed against a certain stage of human development here.

Update: Ah, but one of them is pleasant and mature beyond their years. A redeeming feature of the crowd, perhaps. Just two lines of much-appreciated conversation/observation made the day brighter (yes, brighter at 8pm).

Two, and smoke with[out] fire

And suddenly there the two armies met, clashing noiselessly. Neither side can report any casualties, save the occasional bump — an unintended attaché clash ending in a mumble and an averted gaze: a moment is too long. After the battle, there is no blood, no amulet or token of commemoration. However, two civilians remain, unmoved. One, a girl, sits cross-legged, her back against the wall. Her face is obscured, for there is a man crouching between the observer and herself, resting one hand upon her leg (for balance, if nothing else) whilst his other is no longer visible. He is wearing a dark jacket, loosely fitting, and from its right sleeve a pale grey smoke emerges, its wisping effervescent form a substitute for his hand: this absent member the only victim of this urban encounter.

The bright side

Knowing that no further decline is possible without the aid of heavy machinery, commercial-grade explosives, and the NSW government.