Wednesday, January 10, 2007

A Bedtime Story!

There once lived a boy named George. His daddy was one of the strongest daddies of all the daddies in the whole wide world. Little George was made fun of because his ears stuck out a little and he wasn't the smartest child in his class.

As he grew up, George would look at his daddy, so strong and smart, and tell himself that one day he'd be just like his daddy. Then he'd accidentally poop in the shower again.

At school one day, George was playing Dirt. Dirt is a game where George would roll around in the dirt and yell out, "Look at me. I'm some dirt. Hehehe. It's me, George. I'm some dirt." Some of the other kids came running to George because they needed help.

"George," they said, "One of the trees on the playground caught on fire. We need your help to put it out."

He sprung up and brushed himself off. Normally, under no circumstances would George let anything interrupt a good game of Dirt, but George knew this was it. This was his time to shine. He was going to make his daddy so proud.

The rest of the children ran back to the flaming tree. They hurried back and forth between the water fountain and the blaze with mouths full of water trying to put it out.

This was working; the fire was going out. But then George approached with notions of showing everybody what a hero he is bouncing around in his head.

He quickly gathered as many twigs, branches and other kindling as he could. He took one of the branches he had gathered, lit it on the wilting fire and placed it in a nearby tree, causing that one to become engulfed in flames.

"Look at me, everyody! I'm a firefighter," he shouted.

"George, what are you doing? This was the only tree that was on fire and now there's that one that you started," a child with long hair, sandals and an overall smell of bongwater and Doritos yelled. George didn't like this boy very much.

"Didn't you see? This tree was about to catch on fire, too. It was pre-emptive." George didn't actually know what pre-emptive meant, but while he was gathering the sticks, his friend Karl told him to say that if anybody asked. Karl was an eight year old with a combover and potbelly.

This new tree was different, though--it was a magic tree. As the children spat their water on it, the fire just grew in intensity, getting larger and larger, burning the children with its flare-ups.

The new fire, now raging in both trees once again, was keeping all of the kids occupied as they tried to put it out, but to no avail.

"But that tree was going to catch on fire," George said. "I mean, it was kind of close to the tree that was already on fire and I have reason to believe that it had weapons of mass destruction."

"You shouldn't state the allegorical intent of the story in the middle, sir," Karl said while cutting open a puppy and spilling its blood into his ever-parched, unquenchable mouth.

"I mean, that tree was going to 'splode and kill everybody, like for serious."

"But, George, trees don't explode. It was just sitting there. Sure, it was ugly and the squirrels who lived in it didn't really like it, but what did it do to you? Now it's on fire and anything we do to try to put it out only makes it worse," that filthy, malodorous boy replied.

"Lalala. I can't hear you." George covered his ears and stomped his feet. This was obviously the only rational response.

The rest of the children kept yelling at George and telling him that he was wrong to set that other tree on fire. Unable to form a good explanation for the fire on his own, George decided to do something about the fire. It was time to call in the snow.

"Mr. Snow. That's his name." George told the ever-increasing crowd of children. "You guys will talk to him now, because I'm done with you. I'm going to keep staring at this fire I started and telling myself that my daddy is so proud of me because I'm as strong as he is and that it was the right thing to do and you guys tell Mr. Snow whatever you want because I can't hear you. Lalala..."

"Listen to me, children," Mr. Snow started, "George is a firefighter and his daddy is very, very strong--his daddy could beat up all of your daddies. Sure, to you it looks like he's making the fire worse, but you all aren't looking at it correctly."

"But, I got an owie from it," one girl said.

"And Josh is fucking dead," another child cried.

After what seemed like an eternity of the raucous crowd yelling at Mr. Snow, he decided to tell little Georgie that maybe he should do something about the fire instead of just looking at it and making it worse.

"Maybe you should do something about the fire instead of just looking at it and making it worse." I told you he said that. I'm not a liar. I'm not even involved in this story. Leave me out of it.

"You too, Mr. Snow?" George huffed. "Fine. I'll put out the fire. I'm still right. This tree was going to 'splode so bad and be all, 'Kapooey.' But, fine. I know the best way to put it out."

Not realizing that it was a magic tree and that the water only fueled the blaze, despite everybody telling him that that was the case, George decided to do the only thing he could do. He called in a favor from his daddy.

He gathered all the children around. "See? My daddy tells a lot of people what to do. So, I will get this fire put out if it's the last thing I do."

Just then, the sounds of a helicopter could be heard on the playground; it was one of those firefighting ones that carries the giant bucket of water beneath it. It was approaching quickly.

"George? What are you doing? That's just going to make it worse. And that much water--it will kill all of us, all of us who have been trying to put it out because you told us to, even though we know it's not working. You're just adding fuel to the fire," all the children shrieked.

"What? Nonsense. You're welcome, America." George nodded his head contently.

As the water dropped from the helicopter, the children tried their best to scatter--all of the children except George who let the water rain down upon him as he whimpered, "Do you love me now, Daddy?"

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