Ice Cream is a Dish Best Served Cold. Or Deep Fried.
“Gonna kill Breadbuuter, gonna kill Breadbuuter, gonna kill Breadbuuter.” Thunderfunk chanted this mantra as he stalked through the hallways in his home. In all of their past dealings, he and Breadbuuter had never interfered with each other’s plans directly. Sure there had been anonymous tips and quiet hints to the right people at the right time, but this was different. This was so...so...personal!
He was at a level of rage that he had never felt before. His jaw was clenched so hard it made his beak hurt. His eyes were narrow slits and he was molting with rage. He was also completely lost. He had been searching for the front door for the past half hour and it was nowhere to be found. “Has someone moved it?” he growled at no one in particular.
Turning a corner, he ran into Straw, knocking both of them to the ground in a heap. Clucking loudly, Thunderfunk flailed his arms, connecting with Straw’s jaw at least once. “Get off of me!” he said loudly. Once they had untangled themselves, Thunder rose to his feet. “I have to go kill Breadbuuter,” he said, turning away.
“Hold on a minute,” said Straw, his voice muffled by the swelling in his face.
“What!” snapped Thunder.
“Maybe you should calm down for a bit. You need to plan something, not just go over there half-cocked...”
“What is that? Is that a chicken joke? Are you mocking me?” Thunder balled his hands into fists, prepared to fight.
“No, I’m not mocking you,” said a visibly exasperated Straw. “The fact that you want to fight like a common pugilist tells me that you are in no condition to confront a girl scout, let alone your arch nemesis.”
“Well, to be fair, girl scouts can be pretty tough,” replied Thunder, but his anger was dissipating somewhat. At least, the white hot rage had dissipated. It’s spot was filled with a cold rage, a slow burn, a...you get the picture. “You, of course, are correct, my young sir,” he said calmly. “The time has come to crush Breadbuuter, and it must be done right. Now come - we have preparations to make.” Confidently, he strode to the front door and flung it open, stepping as far onto the front step as he could without stepping on Mrs. Henderson, whom he had not been expecting to see.
Straw had a hard time deciding what was funnier: Thunder’s girly scream of terror or the fact that he peed his pants a little.
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