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[center][color=8dc73f][h3]Stinkbomb[/h3][/color][/center]
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The little green goblin was sprawled across a bed of dead leaves in the cave, arms and legs stretched out and mouth hanging open with a stream of hot drool trailing down his cheek to his pointy ear. His chest rose and fell with his audible open-mouthed snores. Flies danced and partied over his smelly form. He had slept in a secluded area of the cave due to other goblins complaining about his stench. Stinkbomb was his name, and he had become so desensitized to his own musk that he had actually believed it to be a natural odor that all goblins should have.

The goblin had large hands with rough fingers and large feet. His torso was smaller than his limbs and his ears were the size of mini traffic cones. A sharp and abrupt fart escaped from between the goblin’s legs, causing him to snort loudly and wake in a start. The sounds of machinegun fire and exploding bombs strangely echoed through his head as he groggily looked about the cave, eyes squinting through heavy lids. He sat upwards, motioning to his simian stance, resting all his weight upon his knuckles. He noticed that a few goblins had left already. What? They could go outside now?

Stinkbomb’s eyes opened a little wider with excitement as he scampered over to the cave entrance. He sat down on his bottom like a dog and raised his big foot to the side of his head as he began using his dark, cracked and plate-like nails to claw at the back of his head. After a good scratch, he dropped his leg and a large grin expanded on his face as he took off like a dart into the foliage (and he might have left a green odor-like trail with how bad he smelled—let’s just say the flies were upset that he left).

The ground was wet and cool beneath his hands and feet. The bushes wiggled and the dead leaves leapt to his scampering. The goblin leapt onto an old mossy fallen tree and ran across it up to a broken limb that made a good perch for surveying the forest.

A bird started singing, uttering a musical tune. Stinkbomb’s ears twitched to the sound and he peered up at the bird that was puffing its feathers and singing away. Dragging his tongue across his dry lips, Stinkbomb happily attempted to sing back to the beautiful bird:

[color=8dc73f]“Rah-rah-rah-rah-raaaaah!”[/color] the goblin sang.

His breath gradually travelled on the air, drifting over to slam the poor bird in its face. The bird’s beady eyes bulged in shock, its feathers ruffling as though a shudder had shot up its spine. It couldn’t sing! It couldn’t breathe! To Stinkbomb’s surprise, the bird suddenly collapsed from the tree, legs in the air and curled.

The goblin blinked as he stopped singing before his eyes narrowed mischievously. He looked left and then right before he climbed down from the broken branch and hopped down from the log. He walked over to bird and nudged it with his fingers. The bird gave no response and it was still soft and warm. Score! Snatching the bird within his grubby hand, he tossed it into his mouth. He chewed its corpse, spitting feathers as he happily pranced back into the bushes.

[color=8dc73f]“Rah-ree-rah-raaah~!”[/color] he continued to sing. The bird’s song was now stuck in his head.