The Great Purple Murple

Once Upon a Time there was a mon­ster called the Great Purple Murple. You might have heard of the mur­ple as a small ro­den­tic pet, this was not that kind of mur­ple. This beast was dis­tin­guished from the stan­dard house­hold mur­ple by its gi­gan­tic size and over­whelm­ing pur­ple­ness, and peo­ple feared it be­cause of this. The Great Purple Murple meant no harm though. It was clum­sy and klutzy and un­co­or­di­nat­ed like its brethren but its size made its nat­u­ral lack of agili­ty seem men­ac­ing and more dan­ger­ous than it was. Small chil­dren, emas­cu­lat­ing wom­en, burly lum­ber­jacks, and peo­ple named Fred all fled when the Great Purple Murple ap­proached. In fact, every­one ran from the crea­ture ex­cept for a smelly and greasy lit­tle girl called Cheesefeet. 

Cheesfeet al­so scared just about every­one be­cause her head was flat, she dressed in rot­ten an­i­mal hides and had the un­for­tu­nate habit of not car­ing who was about when she had ex­plo­sive flat­u­lence [which was pret­ty of­ten]. The Great Purple Murple was near­sight­ed and didn’t have a very good sense of smell so didn’t mind Cheesefeet at all. In fact, they be­came the best of friends.

The Great Purple Murple of­ten hurt it­self be­cause it was not-so-very adroit and Cheesefeet of­ten found her­self work­ing strange and sin­is­ter jobs to pay for the care the Murple need­ed. When the Murple was con­sti­pat­ed Cheesefeet had to sell baby bot­tle nip­ples door-to-door; when the Murple had the flu, Cheesefeet had to give hairy-backed men mas­sages with hap­py end­ings; when the Murple broke its foreleg Cheesefeet had enough. She left the Great Purple Murple at a cross­roads, say­ing

I have had enough O Great Purple Murple. Although I sac­ri­ficed the lit­tle dig­ni­ty I had for you, you have done noth­ing but not poop, sneeze on me and be a gen­er­al nui­sance. I find you in­sou­ciant, oblo­quious and rather scro­fu­lous. But no more. I just used you for the hot mon­key love any­way.

She hitched a ride with a pass­ing shrub­ber and went to Castle-Town where she be­came the fa­vorite masseuse of the King. Behind her, the Great Purple Murple let out a mourn­ful yawp and tripped over its own tail. It was prompt­ly shot by a small child named Fred who al­so had enough of be­ing afraid and had come for some pay­back. The skin of the Great Purple Murple made a nice roof for his tree­house.

5 thoughts on “The Great Purple Murple

  1. So the king has a flat­u­lence fet­tish? Or does he just have bad taste? Or no sense of smell?

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