The Tragedy of Battle Creek

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It had been a busy week, starting with the Frog. He felt no remorse, but neither did it bring him joy. It was, he reasoned, a task that needed to be completed and he was the man to do it. No one saw him enter the home and no one saw him leave. He’d spent years practicing and preparing for that moment. Countless bowls had been consumed and gallons of milk emptied. He’d collected the prizes that sat inside the boxes and played all the games and puzzles that the manufacturers had printed on the backs of those boxes. He was ready. He’d taken out that stupid red hat wearing Frog in one blow and left only a body in a pool of blood. There was no joy, but there was exhilaration. He knew he’d do it again.

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