Dr. Apopolus

Bobby Ferdinand sat, staring at his sandwich. The crusts had been removed, as per usual. It was served on whole grain bread, also as per usual. Bobby hated sandwiches. Problem was, being two years old, and a late bloomer, he’d had a hard time informing his mother of this.

Bobby wondered what was on the sandwich as he delicately inserted it into the VCR unit. With inquisitive eyes, he was greeted by static.

Bitter defeat in his heart and legs devoid of luster, he focused his limbs and took-to a hallway. Slipping silently into his brother’s room, he fashioned a sloppy seat on a less-than-immaculate rug.

There was a hint of shit in the air. Bobby checked his diaper but found nothing of consequence. Casting aside the pungent aroma, he doodled out a masterpiece on a wall.

“Nice,” he farted.

After a brief moment of topsy-turvy, Bobby braced himself on his brother’s fish tank and, throwing it to the ground, launched himself back into the hallway.

“Mom?” He asked, via a series of taps.

His mother was nowhere to be seen, so he headed toward the medicine cabinet.

The medicine cabinet was the proverbial ‘no-no’ of fun-time. Who knew what mysteries lay behind its misleading palate of reflection, and its sharp, booby-trapped corners of visual rupture?

With quivering legs and heightened awareness Bobby braced a chair against the banister and scrambled toward his prize.

“Jackpot!”. He informed the mirror via a series of abrupt eyebrow movements

Bobby opened the cabinet, removed a brightly colored bottle, and fumbled with the lid.

“Drat, child lock!” He indicated via a brief leg spasm.

He threw the bottle to the floor and grabbed a second. Longing for the delicious nectar, he battled with the lid.

Bobby had almost given up when a sharp, bionic-ear inducing scream caught him off guard. It was his mother. She approached rapidly. Spitting out indiscernible commands, she ceased him, and locked up his contraband.

Several bone shattering punishments later Bobby was aware he’d done something wrong. As to what it was, he couldn’t say.

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Bath tub funeral, trash can reception - A collection of short stories:

The Lover,
The Whistler,
The Kidder,
And The Inquisitor.

FantasyWitch

I quite liked it in a strange sort of way... it was a very good read from a two year olds point of view. It makes you wonder is your son/daughter (in my case) little brother that smart and inquisitive?
Do they really think like that?
Do they lose it in later years?
Ahh the mysteries of wains!

Dr. Apopolus

Receive this:

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James Macaroy ate pineapple for frolics. Be it a lazy, by-the-pool Sunday, or a what-to-do Wednesday, he’d eat pineapple. “Pineapple”, he would say “Is the cornerstone of any good day”.

Today, however, James was not having such a good day. You see, it was November, and the pineapple was out of reach, out of stock, and out of season. James hadn’t had a hit in weeks. He could feel it in his loins. He could feel it in his buttocks. But most of all, he could feel it in his tear glands.

“Gotta get some pineapple” He cried, slapping an elderly passer-by on the bald spot.

And so, down the rabbit hole James went, in search of the elusive fruit.

“I’ll burn this fucking store to the ground!” He threatened in ‘Mr. Partridges Grocer’, “Sod that!” He hollered in ‘Gocerie72’, and “What a cute baby!” He screamed in ‘Toys R Us’.

Aside from a pineapple flavored lollypop and a book with a picture of a pineapple on page 3, the search turned in nothing.

“Sod that!” Cried James, “with the smite of a thousand gazelles, sod that!”.

James burnt Mr. Partridges Grocer to the ground and subsequently spent the next 12 years in lock-up. Actually, an insane asylum… Guess they don’t serve pineapple in prison.

__________________
Bath tub funeral, trash can reception - A collection of short stories:

The Lover,
The Whistler,
The Kidder,
And The Inquisitor.

Dr. Apopolus

Didn't want to make a thread for this, but a post will do nicely.
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Delicate droplets of water slipped from the tips of leaves and onto soft soil, below shady blades, and tangled weeds. They missed the gentle caress of the sun, but certainly not the iron rule of the North-Easterlies. A songbird put forth a hearty tune. A ladybeetle wisped on the breeze. In a cave not far off, two Neanderthals discussed, at length, an earth shattering discovery.

“Want eat?” Questioned Barry

“Not do,” Replied Al.

“Don’t want?” Barry niggled.

“Said no!” Replied Al

“Now know!” Screamed Barry, with a tearful eye

“You go?” Asked Barry

“Not go!” Replied Al

“See this?” Asked Barry

“What is?” Wondered Al

“Is wheel!” Stated Barry

“You make?” questioned Al

“Did do” replied Barry

“I take” Threatened Al

“Please don't!” screeched Barry

“I do!” Stated Al

“Is gone!” cried Barry

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And now for something completely different:

Nothing could cheer-up the Duke, not his mistress, not an apple, not even his favorite jester. He was as sad as the ill-gotten wife of the village laughing stock Paul Weazley.

“Vestigial vestige of united benediction!” He crowed

“Cop a fat wad of marbles, bucket-o-puke, and rumple stilt skin” Offered the jester. Sadly, his items fell flat, as not even they could save the Duke from woe.

“Impending prejudice of uppity school girls” howled the Duke.

“Dog this” sighed the jester, as he slipped from the Duke’s chamber.

In slipped the mistress.

“By the ladle of Red Raven!” Screamed the Duke

His mistress nuzzled by his side and stroked his groin ferociously, beating it black and blue.

“Frivolous friar, be damned!” He howled

“Suit yourself” Remarked the mistress, as she slipped from the Duke’s chamber.

“Sir, perhaps an apple?” Asked a servant

“Oh, delightful” Replied the Duke

Turns out an apple cheered up the Duke, I’ll be damned.

__________________
Bath tub funeral, trash can reception - A collection of short stories:

The Lover,
The Whistler,
The Kidder,
And The Inquisitor.