Get in the fucking naughty house you little brat, Todd Dimbleman.
Todd Dimbleman the child, head hung low like a sack of potatoes from a coat-rack, dragged his bare feet across the parquet. He opened the plastic door on his plastic playhouse. He had received it as a present sometime when he was much younger. It was a dream house. He used to venture out into the garden with his mother’s stewing pot on his head and collect the most exotic flowers his botanist father used to store in his old greenhouse. He used to clip the flowerheads, gather them all up in a great big wicker basket, every last one he could reach, and drag the basket back into the house, and decorate his plastic playhouse with his haul.
Sit on the fucking naughty chair in your naughty fucking house you little brat Todd Dimbleman.
Todd’s playhouse became the naughty house the first time he stabbed his mother in the leg with a spike made out of hardened caramel. He had seen an awful tear on her leg earlier that morning after she had gotten out of the shower cursing her razor. He had stared at the jagged red line on her leg, before deciding that she needed to be penetrated by something so sweet and sticky to stop the blood from ever flowing from her again. She was baking something delicious for his botanist father at the time, a caramel applecake. When she turned her back, he took the wooden spoon with a dollop of golden caramel out of the hot pot, and stretched it out into a spike, watching it brown as it hardened. The edges glistened. And he stabbed his mother’s leg, right at the red jagged line.
Don’t turn your tiny fucking head toward me you little brat Todd Dimbleman.
His mother swore like a docksman. Todd Dimbleman hated the word fuck because it was much too short. He liked words multiple syllables like BOOGALOO and CATCHABUNGA, but his mother told him to
Stop speaking such fucking nonsense and learn to speak like a fucking human being.
Todd sat beside the window of his naughty house, but banned from looking outward. He stared at a tiny spot where he had mashed an azure petal on the plastic floor. This petal was the most exotic thing he had ever seen, barring the time he saw a bare-chested woman with tribal makeup climbing a wild palm some weeks previous on the television. This petal, such a beautiful colour! How wonderful! But he hated it too, because he only looked at it if he was in the naughty house.
His father’s face appeared at the window of the naughty house.
OK boy, I have brought you some words you might like to cheer you up.
His father handed him some words through the window (there was no glass). Todd didn’t look up but he knew where to put his hand to collect them. Each word was typed in black on lilac colored card. He slowly read them to himself.
HEVEA BRASILIENSIS
ANNONA MURICATA
DESMODIUM ADSCENDENS
When he turned to the next card he had a fit of laughter
PEUMUS BOLDUS
Todd Dimbleman laughed so loud his father became worried. When Todd did not cease his laughter after six minutes, his father panicked and tried to reach inside the naughty house.
Get him out of there! Something’s wrong. Oh no, christ, not again, please not again. I need help. Help! Help! Anyone?!
Todd did not stop laughing even though he could see his father was in a state of excitement, in fact, even if he wanted to he couldn’t stop. The word
BOLDUS
just got to him in an intensely comical way. It had been too long since he had spotted it last in his father’s greenhouse. The word was an injection.
His mother flew into the room on her broom and roared like a docksman. His father threw himself at the naughty house, reaching in with his muddied hands, fingernails black with dirt, trying to yank Todd Dimbleman out by his neck, but he was much too big to reach the boy. His wife tried to smash the naughty house to fragments with her broom. But no matter how hard she huffed and puffed, the house would not come down.
Todd Dimbleman laughed himself to sleep that night as his parents collapsed with exhaustion around the naughty house.
Todd Dimbleman the child, head hung low like a sack of potatoes from a coat-rack, dragged his bare feet across the parquet. He opened the plastic door on his plastic playhouse. He had received it as a present sometime when he was much younger. It was a dream house. He used to venture out into the garden with his mother’s stewing pot on his head and collect the most exotic flowers his botanist father used to store in his old greenhouse. He used to clip the flowerheads, gather them all up in a great big wicker basket, every last one he could reach, and drag the basket back into the house, and decorate his plastic playhouse with his haul.
Sit on the fucking naughty chair in your naughty fucking house you little brat Todd Dimbleman.
Todd’s playhouse became the naughty house the first time he stabbed his mother in the leg with a spike made out of hardened caramel. He had seen an awful tear on her leg earlier that morning after she had gotten out of the shower cursing her razor. He had stared at the jagged red line on her leg, before deciding that she needed to be penetrated by something so sweet and sticky to stop the blood from ever flowing from her again. She was baking something delicious for his botanist father at the time, a caramel applecake. When she turned her back, he took the wooden spoon with a dollop of golden caramel out of the hot pot, and stretched it out into a spike, watching it brown as it hardened. The edges glistened. And he stabbed his mother’s leg, right at the red jagged line.
Don’t turn your tiny fucking head toward me you little brat Todd Dimbleman.
His mother swore like a docksman. Todd Dimbleman hated the word fuck because it was much too short. He liked words multiple syllables like BOOGALOO and CATCHABUNGA, but his mother told him to
Stop speaking such fucking nonsense and learn to speak like a fucking human being.
Todd sat beside the window of his naughty house, but banned from looking outward. He stared at a tiny spot where he had mashed an azure petal on the plastic floor. This petal was the most exotic thing he had ever seen, barring the time he saw a bare-chested woman with tribal makeup climbing a wild palm some weeks previous on the television. This petal, such a beautiful colour! How wonderful! But he hated it too, because he only looked at it if he was in the naughty house.
His father’s face appeared at the window of the naughty house.
OK boy, I have brought you some words you might like to cheer you up.
His father handed him some words through the window (there was no glass). Todd didn’t look up but he knew where to put his hand to collect them. Each word was typed in black on lilac colored card. He slowly read them to himself.
HEVEA BRASILIENSIS
ANNONA MURICATA
DESMODIUM ADSCENDENS
When he turned to the next card he had a fit of laughter
PEUMUS BOLDUS
Todd Dimbleman laughed so loud his father became worried. When Todd did not cease his laughter after six minutes, his father panicked and tried to reach inside the naughty house.
Get him out of there! Something’s wrong. Oh no, christ, not again, please not again. I need help. Help! Help! Anyone?!
Todd did not stop laughing even though he could see his father was in a state of excitement, in fact, even if he wanted to he couldn’t stop. The word
BOLDUS
just got to him in an intensely comical way. It had been too long since he had spotted it last in his father’s greenhouse. The word was an injection.
His mother flew into the room on her broom and roared like a docksman. His father threw himself at the naughty house, reaching in with his muddied hands, fingernails black with dirt, trying to yank Todd Dimbleman out by his neck, but he was much too big to reach the boy. His wife tried to smash the naughty house to fragments with her broom. But no matter how hard she huffed and puffed, the house would not come down.
Todd Dimbleman laughed himself to sleep that night as his parents collapsed with exhaustion around the naughty house.
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