The morning mist in the swamp was thick enough to chew on, just the way liked it. He had just finished his daily routine of painting "KEEP OUT" signs when a frantic knocking at his front door—a hollowed-out tree trunk—interrupted his peace.
"I’m not a hero," Shrek growled, his voice low. "I’m an ogre. I’m supposed to be feared, not... marketed ." shreak
"Shrek! Shrek! You gotta help me!" came the high-pitched, motor-mouthed braying of . The morning mist in the swamp was thick
Shrek’s ears twitched. His peaceful, stinky sanctuary was being turned into a theme park. He looked out past his fence and saw it: a bright, sparkly sign that definitely didn't belong in a bog. Behind it, a crowd of villagers from were already lining up, holding "I Love Shrek" foam fingers. "I’m an ogre
stepped out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. "It’s a bit much, isn’t it? I just tried to pick some nightshade and a little girl asked me for a selfie."