You know, when I walk the halls of my laboratory at night, listening to the noises my test subjects make as the light hits their eyes for the first time in days, I find myself wondering: Will History respect, or even note the contributions I made as a Doctor of Children’s Studies?
I must say, the thought disturbs me greatly some evenings. And when my assistants come back with a bag of fresh subjects from the Orphanarium, I can barely muster up the enthusiasm to tag them and fire at them with the vaccination cannon.
So despondent am I that one of the little monsters nearly escaped the other evening. He had nearly cleared the second fence by the time Manfred, the simpleton who cleans the cages for me, felled him with a single blow from one of the other test subjects who just happened to be handy at the moment. Disaster was averted, but I lost two test subjects and we’re running out of space in the fruit cellar.
Sometimes, I fear my career is falling apart.
But it’s when I can sit down and practice my craft, writing fear-inducing cautionary tales for evil youngsters, that I reconnect with my muse and feel better. Yes, even though the fools, the simpletons the BRAZEN JACKASSES at “Children Studies Quarterly” had the nerve to call my stories “unethical,” “abusive” and “narrative lobotomies,” I know I am doing the Lord’s work. I have a mandate from Him to purge naughty behavior from the teeming, hateful masses of the planet’s youth. I will purify the world with SCIENCE!
I’m pleased to say I’ve written one that turned Test Subject A46 into an albino. Try this one out on your treacherous little brat today! I call it:
Lipp: The Wasteful Boy who Turned Into a Greasy Splat
There once was a boy named Lipp, who always was a-wasting his money on stupid things.
He would buy puzzles. He would buy toys. He would buy a piece of candy to go with his lunchtime gruel.
Such silly, frivolous things for a growing boy of 5 to have!
So wasteful was Lipp, he once pinched only two-thirds as hard as everyone else during Protestant Penny-Pinching Day.
Which made Martin Luther very cross.
But the worst thing, the absolute, most-awful very worst thing Lipp ever did was to spend his money on junk advertised in comic books.
“Lipp! Oh Lipp!” his poor Mother cried, bawling into her filthy hausfrau mop bucket. “If you keep spending our money on silly things we will get poor and die.”
Lipp kept ordering things through comics and on the day he filled out an order form for sea monkey-flavored Hostess Fruit Pies, The Bank sent armed men with dogs to repossess Lipp’s home.
His mother was sent to the Hausfrau Boarding Academy, a filthy hovel of women with dirty aprons. There, she died of mecha-tuberculosis, underneath the Academy’s sad sausage tree.
Selfish Lipp did not care! He laughed at poor Mother. But – Oh!- how he gasped when he looked into his comic and saw the most wonderful thing he could ever buy. It was the most wonderful thing he could ever buy…
A book that could teach children how to fly!
Silly Lipp filled out the order form and waited. And waited. And waited. He was standing by the mailbox on the day it arrived. It was the most wonderful thing he could ever buy. A book that taught children how to fly!
He opened the package and saw only a sad pamphlet inside.
And inside the pamphlet, only one line of advice: “Just jump off a building, you pussy.”
Stupid Lipp took the book’s advice and climbed to the tippy top of the tallest building in Duisburg.
He jumped. He Fell. And on his way down he could see Martin Luther, pointing, laughing and high-fiving Stan Lee, who gorged himself, sensuously, on a Hostess Fruit Pie.
Lipp hit the flagstones of Duisburg Square and turned into a splat, the ugliest splat in all of Germany.
Then the Duisburg Fire Department hosed Lipp down the sewer drain.