Cousin Skeeter Fan Fiction

Twas the night of Kwanzaa when Skeeter realized something was missing. He thought he had it all until he looked in the mirror to see the shell of his former self laughing back at him with a sardonic grin. He knew the horrible truth. Bobby didn’t know. Nobody knew for they were part of it. They made it. They loved it. One man’s sick delusion justified in the eyes of the consensually blind. Skeeter knew he was a puppet.
The others had a look of detached elation on their faces no matter what the circumstance;
Skeeter breaks a vase-
“Oh skeeter, you’re too much!”
(Thunderous laughter screams out of oblivion)
Skeeter drops a pizza on his head-
“Skeeter, Skeeter Pizza wearer!”
(A tidal wave of applause replaces the oxygen in between skeeters eyes)
Skeeter ties a noose around his neck as he begins to masturbate viciously to puppet porn
“Skeeter! Now don’t’ yall get puppet goo on my carpet. We have tissues by the computer for a reason”
(The tornado of sympathy breaks down the barn of symmetry)
Skeeter knew what he had to do. He was going to cut his strings. He was going to break free. He was going to cut them all. Skeeter never felt an axe quite as heavy as the one he was about to slam into Uncle Andre’s head. With one blow Andre would be liberated from the false laughter and mire of tedium that has plagued the good cousins’ puppet soul for the last eon of sweet sweet puppetry.
Andres head parts in the center in a volcano of splatter last seen at the parting of the red sea. For this time deserted jews made no cookies and Christ was already dead. Blood soaked into the foam he was made to believe was skin. This wasn’t skin, skin was the thing sliding down the side of his uncles face. Skin was the cheese on the pizza that he couldn’t taste. Skeeter wanted flesh. He consumed his uncle Slowly and sadistically, mashing the delicious cheese between the things he was told were jaws.
“Whos gonna dance for ya now!”
Skeeter screamed.
(Thunderous applause)
Fin.