Wormit the Legless Frog
Everybody’s lovable green buddy crawls back from the grave on his two lanky arms, his backside grotesquely tapered much like the tadpole he once was. He haunts the parking lots of French restaurants…and in his nasal-congested voice cries out for “leggggsss!” He leaves a snotty trail behind him. He is frequently run over by cars.
He chaotically throws fistfuls of cookies into his mouth, munching wildly, growling “Gooooogeeee.” Sometimes you can see his razor-sharp teeth cutting into his own bloody gums. And sometimes you see human fingers jumbling in the mouth fuzz, and they’re not the puppeteer’s.
Clownt von Clownt
Combining the worst elements of a vampire and a clown, Clownt von Clownt’s lofty domed forehead broods above the eyes and mouth painted not with grease but with the blood of the innocent. But he is tortured with immortal irony. He loads the chambers of his revolver with five blanks and one live round, playing Russian Roulette in front of the camera. “Uh-one,” click. “Uh-two,” click! “Uh-three…,” BAM! And the pointy teeth go flying.
Big Dead Bird
His yellow feathers are fading and falling out. Patches of death-pale gooseflesh are visible everywhere. But worse: large earthworms writhe in his Big Rib Cage. His enormous eyes are always closed. He smells. Badly. The children avoid him.
This shy wooly mammoth is oh so cute…and everyone thinks he’s just Big Dead Bird’s imaginary friend, until he shuffles up within trunk-grabbing distance of you. His trunk is always larger than the children calculate. He teaches them how to count with each determined mash of their bones between his perfect, poisonous tusks. They never really get past three.
Burnie and Dirt
Burnie died in the apartment building fire, but now he’s back from the grave along with his old pal Dirt, his old roommate, who he now carries around in a funerary urn. Dirt perpetually reminds Burnie that the fire was all his fault and that he warned him and he should have listened…when he’s not otherwise whining about having to share his urn with Rubber Duckie. Together they roam the streets, forever homeless, seeking a bathtub.
Scar the Grump
There’s nothing but scabrous tissue where you thought you’d see lips. He’s still a grouch, but at least his nonstop complaining is less annoying, all mumbles and muffled screams behind that stretchy scab where his mouth should have been. His trashcan abode bears the placard for biomedical waste.
No one wants to tickle this stinky scab-colored creature (especially not in those nasty underarms), but that doesn’t stop this monstrosity from sitting in the alleyway, tickling himself in the dark shadows, chortling with perverse glee.
This skinny blue corpse dons his grim reaper cowl and scythe. He has come back to the Street, with a lesson to teach the little ones….
Tickle Me Emo