The Children's Corner
This section is my contribution to the world of children's literature. It is intended to impart some of the wisdom I think children will need in order to become fine, upstanding citizens. Be advised that this is tempered somewhat by the fact that I hate children and enjoy it when awful things happen to them. Still, with that in mind, feel free to allow any children you might have to come on over to this section and while away their lives with my fanciful tales, lessons and other inspirational blithering.
"Children's Letters to God"
#7
Dear God,
So if you and Jesus are the same person, and he's also your son and you are his father, then does that mean you fucked your own mom? Because that's kind of gross.
Just sayin'.
Sincerely,
Ethel McKenzie, age 5
#8
Dear God,
Do you see this weird birthmark on my thigh that sort of looks like Wisconsin? My brother says that it's your fault.
Your's Truly
Justin Swain, age 7
#9
Dear God,
Could you beat up a pirate? If you can, please respond and I will provide you with his name and present location.
With Love,
Michael Long, age 9
"Children's Letters to God"
#4
Dear God,
STOP LAUGHING AT ME!
Sincerely,
Maria Rodriguez, age 4
#5
Dear God,
I wish that you would bring my mom back. Because having a zombie for a mom would be totally awesome.
With love,
Amy Jenkins, age 6
#6
Dear God,
Thanks for letting me fall off of that bike on the concrete last Tuesday. Broke my wrist and I cried like a girl for an hour while my older brother laughed and kicked me in the groin. Then my mom grounded him and now he's going to kick my ass the next time we're alone. As for the wrist? Not going to heal straight so I won't be able to bend it all the way back. Ever. And it was my good arm to, so I guess I can forget trying out for baseball since I won't be able to throw or bat a ball. Bet you thought that was pretty funny. Hope you got a good laugh out of totally ruining my summer. Have any other small pleasures you'd like to crush while you're at it? Maybe set fire to my stamp collection? Cause my gerbil to escape and get sucked into the vacuum cleaner?
Fuck you, God.
Sincerely,
Jimmy Wilson, age 8
Rules and Regulations of the Dinosaur Bob Play Area:
1. Dinosaur Bob is your friend.
2. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask Dinosaur Bob or a Dinosaur Bob representative.
3. The Dinosaur Bob Play Area is not responsible for hate crimes.
4. Please do not feed the pig. He is a figment of your imagination.
5. The Wheel Slide is for children ages 8 and older. Children under 8 found using the Wheel Slide will be expelled from the Dinosaur Bob Play Area without their complimentary Gouda assortment.
6. Jesus says that saying foul things about Dinosaur Bob is a sin and if you do it you will not be allowed to leave the Dinosaur Bob Play Area until you take them back.
7. Do not eat your complimentary Gouda assortment inside the Dinosaur Bob Play Area. It is intended for after. If Dinosaur Bob finds smoked Gouda in the gears of the Barrel Whirly again, you will all be in trouble and will be made to ride the Wheel Slide until someone confesses.
8. Dinosaur Bob is an enemy of sin.
9. There is no pig. Stop saying that.
10. Heretics are not allowed in the Dinosaur Bob Play Area, on the threat of being tied to the Merry-go-Swing.
"Children's Letters to God"
#1
Dear God,
What the shit is up with penguins? Why ain't they got necks?
With love,
Timothy Williams, age 6
#2
Dear God,
Why do you let all the good shows get cancelled? Is it to teach us some kind of lesson? Something about finding joy in your creation rather than through our own artificial stimulation? Because that's all a bunch of crock. "Arrested Development" was a really good show. It took my mind off the pain for a few blessed minutes a day. Do you remember that? Pain? Another of your brilliant fucking ideas. I guess you really wouldn't understand it, would you? That whole immortality thing must be a sweet gig. Not having to worry about the hurting or the sadness, not having to feel your life slip away in slow increments. I guess I can see why you might not understand how some quality entertainment can ease the feeling that life is just a ceaseless rush toward a meaningless death, so just take my word for it that it helps and show a little mercy for once.
Sincerely.
Suzy Johnson, age 8
#3
Dear God,
You killed my grandpa with cancer, and it was painful and slow. Thank you for hearing my prayers.
Yours truly,
Mike Andrews, age 5
"What Little Mary Margaret Believes"
Little Mary Margaret believed many things. She believed in Santa Clause and she believed in the Tooth Fairy. She believed that bad children went to Hell and good children went to Heaven and got to meet Jesus. She believed that the leaves changed colors because God made them. She believed these things because her parents told her they were true and she always believed what her parents told her. She believed what her parents told her because she believed that all good girls believe what their parents tell them (she believed this because her parents had told her it was true).
Every Sunday morning little Mary Margaret would dress up in her prettiest dress and go to church to worship Jesus with her parents. That evening they would eat dinner at the table. They would eat her mother's special ham casserole, which didn't taste like any other ham casserole. Her father said that this was because her mother was such a good cook. They would eat dinner and then watch television together. Before bed they would pray to Jesus to save them and to send bad people to Hell. Little Mary Margaret's parents told her that Jesus would save all of them if they asked nice, and when they would lock her in the closet for being bad they would tell her to pray extra hard to be saved.
Sometimes little Mary Margaret would get picked on at school for the things she believed, such as the way she believed that Christmas should be celebrated in July and that the meat the school served was of an inferior quality. Or the way she believed that all of her classmates would burn in Hell, especially the ones who picked on her. When the other children would laugh at her and pull her hair she would get down on her knees and ask Jesus to save her.
One day the police came to see little Mary Margaret's parents and talk to them about some of the things they believed. They wanted to know about the 20 foot cross on the front lawn and why little Mary Margaret tried to set her school on fire. Most of all, the police wanted to know where little Mary Margaret's mother got the meat for her casserole, and where the local post man and an electric company meter reader were. The police confiscated Sunday dinner and took little Mary Margaret's family down to the police station.
Little Mary Margaret got to meet a special doctor who wanted to talk to her about some of the things her parents had told her to believe. So she told him about Jesus and about Sunday dinner and the special shows father would have them watch on the television and about Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy and about the homosexual conspiracy to send the entire nation into the bowels of sin.
After the talk, little Mary Margaret was sent to a special home far away from her parents and her schoolmates. They tried to teach her new things to believe, but could not make little Mary Margaret believe her parents were wrong, because her parents had told her they were never wrong. And little Mary Margaret always believed her parents.
"The Little Girl Who Loved to Skip"
Mary was a little eight-year-old girl who loved to skip. She was never happier than when she was skipping down the sidewalk, her knees rising high with each step, waving to those walking by as she bounded past them. Mary's family did not like that she skipped, for they did not have a lot of money and could barely afford to keep replacing the shoes she wore out so quickly. But Mary ignored their complaints, skipping joyfully everywhere she went.
But one day something happened that made sure Mary's family would never have to buy her shoes ever again. Mary was skipping around her bedroom in her Sunday dress, though her mother had asked her not to make such a racket, when she decided she would like to get a cookie from the kitchen. They were fresh cookies and very good. Skipping out of her room, Mary forgot her that her mother had warned her not to skip down the stairs and proceeded to do just that.
After the first leap, Mary lost her balance and fell down the stair, rolling over and over until she landed with a thud on the first floor. Upon hearing the noise, Mary's mother came out of the kitchen and exclaimed, "Oh my, Mary! You've broken your legs and ruined your Sunday dress!"
And indeed Mary had broken her legs. Many times over in fact. But because her family was so poor from always having to buy new shoes, Mary's father decided that Mary's legs would have to come off. So he took Mary into the garage, where there was a drain on the floor, and removed them. Mary soon grew accustomed to living without legs, refusing too let her disability destroy her spirit. Her mother took her out of school for a month so that she could recover from her accident and Mary decided to spend the time learning to walk on her hands. It was very difficult, but Mary tried and tried and eventually she was able to walk around on her hands, her head facing the floor and her stumps in the air. She tried so much in fact that by the time she was back in school she was walking on her hands as well as most people walk on their feet. Mary's parents were so proud of their little girl that they used some of the money they had saved from not having to buy shoes and gave Mary a pair of gloves to protect her hands from unattractive calluses. Mary was so happy with herself that she decided to try and get better at using her arms in place of legs. Finally, after months of practice, she was once again able to do the thing she loved most and came home from school one day skipping just as well as she had before the accident. Soon she was wearing out gloves faster than she ever wore out shoes, and little Mary's indomitable spirit and joy for life was once again a financial burden upon her parents.
The moral of this story: Try, try, try!
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