Oscar had been in there for days, beating his meat like he was interrogating it in a country with no human rights laws. The sudden wash of daylight and fresh air in his dingy metal home stunned him into immobility, leaving Ernie and Elmo plenty of time to fully take in the scene before them; comic pages stuck to the walls of the can–only the first few with tape, the rest by other means–so Oscar could have both hands free, the grouch’s fur stained with a stunningly potent miasma of sweat, shame, and jizz in various states of sticky or crusty, and his raw prick looking like a torture puppet from one of the Hellraiser movies.

After a few moments of silent contemplation, the duo wordlessly replaced the lid and left the masturbator to his fun. Elmo was wondering how long it would take Oscar to literally beat himself to death. Ernie, however, was focused on what he was getting Bert for Christmas to fill out his collection of extreme hentai.