It was a sunny Sunday afternoon, and Irene decided it would be a perfect day to scavange.

Infested
with gypsies, the homeless, and a few Steamsters, the Mech Yard was perfect for spare parts and the
odd treasure buried beneath centuries of grime.

And then there was Meskamia. She would appear almost out of thin air, tug at Irene's suspenders,
and beg to go with her.

'Yer puppy eyes aint gonna work on me,' Irene said.

A small whimper.

'Far too dangerous. You get lost and sold to the gypsies.'

Finally, Irene agreed.

----

'What the feck is it?'

'I think it's a doll...Maybe a puppet.'

Meskamia had found a green frog-like doll in the Mech Yard. Teatime wondered what it was,
perhaps a child's play thing?

'There's a tag on its ass,' Abella pointed out. Her long red nails reached down to grasp the frayed,
dirty strip of fabric. 'Kermit.'

'What the feck is a Kermit?' Irene asked.

'I think that's its name,' Teatime said.

Later that evening...

After flipping on the light switch, he almost screamed.

'Almost undone by a puppet. Nice one, Agma.' Rubbing a hand down his face, he pondered why the
damn thing was on his desk. It was probably the work of Irene.

He picked it up and flipped it over, gaping behind visible for him to inspect.

His glasses fell in.

'I forgot I was wearing those...'

Reaching in, his fingertips explored their new enviroment, trying to find the cold metal that made
up the tarnished brass frame.

'Enjoying yer new puppet friend?'

Irene's voice boomed from the other side of his door.

'Oh, quite. I'm currently wrist deep in puppet ass.'

Bending over to brace the puppet against his leg, something popped out from inside of the doll. A
phallus had been stitched onto its crotch. He suspected Irene.

'Dear god...'

'What's wrong?' She asked, her voice riddled with bemusement.

'The problem is I'm currently neck deep in puppet dong.'

Where the fuck did his glasses go?

'You know you love the puppet dick. Just admit it.'

'I am enrobed in chafing, wriggling god damned puppet pelvis.' He grunted. Irene laughed. 'An
obscenely long, coarse Kermit cock is being dragged across my anguished face.'

Her laughter had erupted in racous bursts of giggling.

'Yeh' enjoying tickling its prostate, Fancy?'

'I dropped my fucking eye glasses in its ass!' He half-yelled.

'Maybe if you tickle it enough you'll find yer glasses.'

'You don't seem to harbour any sympathy for the fact that I've burrowed an arm's length into fluffy
muppet buttock.'

Irene was banging on the door, wheezing from laughter.

'Oh for fuck sake, just come in already.'

He must have looked rather pecurliar in this position for she began to laugh even harder.

'Oh my feckin' god, I have to write a hilarious poem about this. No. I'll sing it right now.' She wiped a
tear from her good eye. 'Prong of flesh bereft of home, found solace 'twixt a cleft of foam!'

'Ok Dickinson, if you could just shut your perfumey trap for half a second and help me...'

A serious look had washed over his face, and she got the hint to grab ahold of its midsection. She
pulled, and his hand was released.

'Lemme see if I can find yer glasses.'

After mere seconds, the glasses were in her hands.

'Looks like your slender hands are more adapted to fisting muppets.'

'Shut up. Here are your glasses.'

The Kermit puppet was quickly thrown into the Bavaria's furnace.