[STORY TIME]

"YOU'RE HERE, YOU RIBITTY ASSHOLE!  I CAN SMELLLLLLLLL YOUUUUUUUU..!"

Argyle Fox looked like poop.  He smelled like it too; he'd not changed his pants since finding Myrna Mole and the message across her apron.  The message that had led to Argyle's slow, deliberate mental breakdown - and boy, had it been a doozy!

First was the crying, followed by the enraged screaming, a little vomiting, then much throwing and smashing of things around the room (where both Rocky and Stevie took their silent leave of the situation), leading to the crying jag again, followed by the very LOUD swearing, then back to the screaming once more, another round of puking...

This had gone on for some time; the fox had lost track of such things as minutes, and had no interest in how much time as passing while he raved on and on.  When he stopped to take a breath, however... he noticed it wasn't just pouring rain and booming the occasional thunderclap; it was night outside.  How long had he pitched his little temper-tantrum?  Too long to save himself?  To get away?  To set up a trap or several?  To arm himself with some sort of weapon?

He now also noticed how... alone... he was.

So he'd began talking to himself.  At first.  But slowly, the words he spoke went from self-reminders and grumbles, to complaints and creeping paranoia, to all-out lunatic screaming at his imagined (?) opponent.  His coat was matted and disheveled, his face lined and haggard, his limbs trembly-wembly and his tail all floofy-fluffed and quivering like nummy grape jelly cubes.  He was even beginning to nervously shed his limp red fur in small clumps, leaving little patches of pink on his sorry hide.

"DO YOU HEEEEEEEAR MEEEEEEEEE, FUCKAAAAAAAAAA!?  I'm gonna EAT... YER... BAAAAAAAAWLS!"

He grabbed a nearby chair and, with a grand stomp, smashed a leg off of it, brandishing it like a little club, his crazed, jittery eyes seeking a target that wasn't currently there... unless it was, then Argyle was screwed.  But the adrenaline that surged through the fox's brain was now granting him as much bravado as it could - though, to outside witnesses, the stench of his soiled garments threw off the whole intimidation factor; made him look more desperate than dangerous.

"You couldn't kill me BEFOOOOOORRRRRRRRE, you HOPPY GREEN FUCK!  And you knowWHAT!?  Do YOU wanna know WHY I tried to EEEEEEEEAT YOUUUUUUU???  Why would good ol', handsome, charming, elegant old Argyle the Fancy Fox... want to ever EEEEEEEAT YOUUUUU!?!?"

The look on his muzzle was one that only a mind stretched to the breaking point and snapped could conceive of making the horror of a maniacal expression on his slightly mouth-foaming mug.

"BECAAAUUUUUSE... I'M A FUCKIN' CAAAAAAR-NI-VOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRE!!!!!"

Argyle Fox had lost his little mind.

Suddenly, there was a clatter from the back of the room, and Argyle swiveled to look.  Though there was nothing, the paranoid fox decided there was, and with an incomprehensible scream of inarticulate rage, he charged for that end of the room.  Reaching what he thought was... well, who knew?... he began to swing wildly, each solid thump of the chair leg driving the fox more and more to swat harder and harder.  He continued to swing until the chair leg broke, and he collapsed onto the floor, panting.

It's over it's over hes dead hes fuckin dead no more toad no more toad no more toa-

He looked up at his unfortunate target.  It had been the body of Mean Myrna Mole, set up in a chair against the wall.  She was now an unrecognizable mess, so much gooey-blooey jelly all over the floor, the wall, Argyle, the chair, even the ceiling!

The fox's breathing became even more ragged, more frantic as he tottered up from the floor and began stalking his (possibly imaginary) foe.

"Myrna... poor Myrna... YOUUUUUU did that, didn't you!?  DID NOT YOUUUU!?!?  You clever... fucking... TADPOLE!"

Something slammed into the back of Argyle's head HARD, and he reeled as he fell to the floor... however, he was far from crippled, as pure fear drove the neurotic fox to spin and twist to face his attacker directly, ready to destroy who or whatever was there.

On the floor was Shiny's brain; it had been pulled down from above, and was now sitting there on the floor after having struck the fox.  Argyle could almost hear the robot's mechanical laughter, mocking him as he sat there and shook like a leaf in a hurricane.

"DON"T YOU LAUGH AT MEEEEEEEEE!!!!!"

He gave the brain a vicious kick, sending it careening into the kitchen... and making Argyle howl in pain, as the two longest toes on that foot snapped like twigs.  Shiny's brain, after all, was still metal - the fox's toes, however, were most certainly NOT.

He sat down and screamed in pain while grabbing his injured foot, mentally assuring himself that there was no way, shape, or form that the situation could get much worse.

Then the lights went out.

Argyle Fox may have had some pretty nifty night-sight, but he was still as loopy as a bowl of Cheerios - and this new development only further nudged him toward the edge of his sanity, where he already had a feeble grasp, at best.  He rose and, favoring his hurt foot, began to hobble his way back to his shiny throne.

The throne MY throne I am king here YES I AM king here NO fucking FROG is gonna MAKE a FOOL outta MEEEEEEE...

But the throne was occupied.  Dinah Squirrel sat in the throne, her eyes wide, cradling her threadbare tail and staring, non-blinking, at Argyle.

"You earned this."

There was no expression on her face; her vacant stare almost seemed to belie that she wasn't even really here, in a consciousness sense.  But that stare was directed FULLY at the haggard-looking fox, and the lack of her blinking threatened to send him over the edge into Gibbering Crazy Town.

"Reckoning has come to you, you foxy bastard..."

It wasn't angry, nor yelling, nor even pouty - the squirrel's words sounded flat, emotionless... and DEADLY CERTAIN.

"... and that reckoning has green skin."

"SHUT UUUUUUUUUP!"

"You can say you're a big shot... that you're the 'king' around here... but we both know that's a damned lie..."

"SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUUUUUUUUP!!!!!"

"... we both know what you are, don't we?"

He spun on Dinah, murder in his eyes and foam dripping from his muzzle.

"I'LL FUCKING END YOUUUUUU!"

Dinah smiled sadly.  "You ain't shi-"

The fox gave a thunderous howl, and jumped at the poor squirrel - but he was struck right in the middle of his tummy by what felt like a miniature Mack truck.  He flew backwards at an alarming rate of speed, slamming full-tilt into the wall and feeling (and hearing) his left arm give a sharp snap.  Hitting the ground, he wailed in misery and frustration.

Looking down at his midsection, he saw a long, wet and webbed footprint, right in the center of his mass.

... webbed...

He looked up, and as soon as his eyes locked on the figure standing in front of Dinah and the shiny throne, his ears drooped and his bladder released once more.

Big Joe Toad was standing there - big as life and twice as sassy.  No longer clad in just a hankerchief and a satchel, Mr. Toad was now wearing a little leather jacket, tiny little froggy shades, little froggy bluejeans and little froggy brass knuckles.  All this was topped off with a little froggy eyepatch, sitting neatly over the eye that Argyle himself had popped with a crowbar.

His face bore no expression; there would be no negotiation, no pleading, no mercy.  No cutesy little plan to bail him out.  No lackeys to place between himself and his inevitable end.

"MOTHAFUCKAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!" screamed Argyle, flying straight at Big Joe Toad with insanity in his eyes.

The toad, moving fluidly as if he were underwater, simply sidestepped the charge, planting a very powerful knee into the fox's ribs.  The effort was rewarded with a muffled crack, and Argyle's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as he gave only the slightest squeak, unable to scream any more than that.  Flopping over, Big Joe Toad then brought up his webby foot, placed it on the fox's belly button, and pushed as if he were leaping with all his little might!

Argyle FLEW through the room and out the window, coming to a rolling stop on the cold, wet ground.  The rain felt like it was made of stones, and seemed to pound down on the fox as he lie there, panting and gasping for air.  Slowly, Big Joe Toad opened the door and walked calmly towards the prone fox.  His gait even.  His expression fathomless.  Upon reaching Argyle, he stood over him and stared down, a severe frown creasing his froggy face.

"Get up."

The anger redoubled on itself, and Argyle launched himself off the ground, headed straight for that froggy bastard's nec-

Big Joe Toad brought both fists down on Argyle's shoulders, and the fox felt bones in both sides give way under the hard metal of the toad's brass knuckles.  The headbutt simply sent the fox back to the ground, moaning in pain as he tried to wish his world to stop spinning.  Big Joe Toad looked down at the waterlogged fox.

"Get up."

Argyle gave a wet-sounding sob.

"Get up."

"FFFFFFFFFFFFUCK YOUUUUUUU!!!!!"

Argyle leapt up once more, though with his arms hanging limply by his sides, he wasn't exactly certain what he was going to do... but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try.  However, his efforts were completely in vain, as a large green foot slapped him in the muzzle, then held on with a surprisingly firm grip as Argyle's face was shoved down into the mud sideways, the fox feeling mud filling his ear and nostril while the frog's freakishly strong leg pressed down just enough to make the fox's skull bend a bit.  Finally, the toad stepped back, taking the weight off his foot.

"Get up."

Argyle began to cry, great racking sobs that seemed to radiate throughout his entire furry body.

"I can't I CAN'T I CANNNNN'T!!!!!  You won't FUCKING LET ME!"

Argyle covered his muzzle with his paws and cried like the pathetic coward he truly was, and as he sat there in his own urine sobbing like a baby, Dinah came to the doorway and looked out at the two of them.  Her stare was still vacant and blank... but now, she wore a small smile.  Her gaze came to rest on Argyle, and as the fox looked up, she made sure she had eye contact with him before she spoke.

"We all just wanted to live our lives in peace and quiet.  In harmony.  We didn't want to hurt anyone... anyone at all..."

She stepped outside, the rain slicking her fur down.  She slowly made her way to where she could stare down at the bastard fox.

"... but you had to fuck that up, didn't you shitlips?"

Her words had no power in them; she called him the name as if she were reciting poetry from memory for a class.  Argyle looked between them both, his breathing now had a reedy, whistling sound to it.

"B-but I'm... I-I-I'm a... c-c-carn... I... vore..."

Big Joe Toad stepped up and looked down at Argyle once more, the big green face filling the fox's vision.

"Get.  Up."

Argyle, shivering and near-catatonic, let his eyes widen as he stared into the face of his nemesis.

"I... c-can't... anym-more..."

Big Joe Toad stood up straight, and now his expression changed - a look of hard disappointment settled into the toad's features, and he reached into his jacket's inner pocket.  Argyle gave the tiniest of whimpers as he saw the Chrome .44 Revolver slide it's way out, swing though the rainy night, and come to a stop with the barrel pointed directly at the fox's face.  Around them both, the other remaining animals had gathered in a circle, watching and waiting for the promise of sweet vengeance to be fulfilled.

Taki Turtle had his shell back on, and the smoudlering look he was giving Argyle could have curdled lava.  Sherrie Badger was worrying at a patch of Mange as she watched with rapt glee.  Stevie The Stork was rubbing his feathered palms together in anticipation, while Rocky The Rabbit held Shiny' brain in his little paws.  He didn't want their robot friend to miss out, after all.  And Dinah Squirrel now had a wisp of a smile on her lips, watching with anticipation as the fox finally got his comeuppance.

Big Joe Toad stood there, staring down at the beaten, bloody and broken form of Argyle The Fancy Fox.  He looked right into the fox's eyes and the gaze bore down into his furry soul with that chilling reaper's glare.

"Ain't shit."

Five shots.

Right in his motherfucking face.

 

[THE END]

 

{Da Moral}:

Don't fuck with Big Joe Toad.