The dark, sinister clouds invoked an air of terror among the two figures whose tickets of life were about to expire. Night was upon the valley. The only sounds of life were the screams and echoes of lost souls, piercing the silent night.
Perched on the limb of a grotesquely, gnarled oak tree stood a jet black vulture slowly gnawing away at its prize dinner–a small, helpless rodent. Nature itself was foreshadowing the events that would transpire on this horrid night.
As the blood red moon traversed further behind the clouds, the crowd became more dependent upon the light of the hot, fiery flames of the torches that were held in victory by the executioners. In the clearing, the multitude of witnesses watched in utter silence as the blade of the guillotine was lifted up.
Anticipating the inevitable outcome, one captive closed his eyes, held his breath, and prayed for a reprieve. Time was running out. Suddenly, as if provoked, the crowd of thousands began to chant, “Death! Death! Death! Death!” Slowly and methodically, a dark robed man reached for the lever.
“We want their heads!” screamed the blood thirsty crowd. The dreams and fantasies of two poor souls were about to be frighteningly shattered with one slicing blow.
“Well, Pokey,” said Gumby, “I guess this is the end.”
With the flick of a wrist, the sharp blade came hurling down, destroying the careers of two American legends.
Thus ends the world.