Kermit And Pepe

Dear Uncle Pepe,

Do you remember the good times we had? Remember how we would play banjo and sing upbeat, positive songs together? I miss those times. I feel as if you’ve changed, and not for the better.

I am, by definition, a very anxious frog. You know I’m a chronically nervous “beta male” who would rather be in a toxic relationship than create conflict. But you were always able to put me at ease, just by telling me to place my hand on my chin and say that everything “Feels good, man.”

Of course, we didn’t agree on everything back then. I didn’t like you urinating in public and on random objects and people; that’s what drove the Fraggles underground. But, still, your love of life was infectious, like singing and dancing and making people happy.

But then something happened. You started hanging out with Statler and Waldorf who, of course, are racist in the ways that old people are racist. You joined them in standing on the street corner and booing minorities as they walked past.

This year, they convinced you to support Donald Trump. And you did it. And I crinkled my mouth up in horror as I watched you endlessly monologue about how the green race was being exterminated by the influx of bears, pigs, and chickens coming into our country. You told Gonzo that his weirdo race is naturally predisposed to have lower IQs. You called Sam the Eagle a “cuckservative.” And you built a giant wall in order to keep human guest stars out. How can you deny the contributions that Zsa Zsa Gabor has made to our society?

Look. I’ll admit it. When I sang “It’s not Easy Bein’ Green,” I was not yet aware of my green privilege. But now that I’m woke, I realize that it is my duty to call out systematic oppression. And that means you, Uncle Pepe.

I hate that it’s come to this, but under no circumstances will I be able to sit idly by around the thanksgiving table with you this year. We’ve moved beyond the point of putting politics aside for the night.

Do you really want to go back to the backwards days of Doc Hopper? Well, I don’t. I once sang about “The lovers, the dreamers, and me” not “the lovers over here,” “the dreamers over there” and “me in another room.”

A sincere fuck you,

Your nephew Kermit

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