I've been writing some letters to Max and it seems by his response he has not taken seriously my gentle requests. I have been nothing but forthright and understanding in his burgeoning friendship with Jack Howington and yet here, along with his picture, is his saucy retort:
Dear James, For the record, I had not yet seen said "letters" until tonight when my mommy woke me up from tasty slumber, pushed aside my blankie, shoved her laptop onto my tiny (but muscular) lap and put me to work fixing this PR poopie hole you've stuck me in. What's the deal? I have a reputation to protect, primary kids to smack around. Those sunbeam suckers can't rule themselves, ya know? So stop scarin away the ladies. And just so you know, I have no intention of giving Jack up. He’s my wing man. Do you have a wing man of Jack’s caliber? One that can simultaneously pick his nose and give you that “come hither” look? Oh yeah, Uncle Ben. A close second. So check it: You're like, 50, dude. Shave off the creepy mustache and find a friend your own decade. Unless you’re the James that says choo choo and has a 5 on his side, you don’t stand a chance.
Hugs, Max
The work of an innocent? I daresay no. When I received this letter, something didn't set right with me. I just happened to be doing some freelance reporting on a hippie's commune when one of their blacklights strobed got tipped toward my computer. What I found was this:
Could the Howington family have been bamboozled? Has some devil replaced their darling child with a Hellspawn? Obviously, those horns look way real and those blue things must be his devil wings behind him. Not to mention the flames. The flames! So I took my suspicions to a top authority, E. T. Elliot. Using a complex mathematical formula stolen from the pages of the Necromicon, we were able to decode the secret message beneath the letter. Demon words are translated into Bold.Dear James (WORM),
For the record, I(DEMONBOY) had not yet seen said "letters"(LETTERS) until tonight when my mommy(UNWITTING SERVANT) woke me up from tasty slumber(NIGHTLY TRIP TO THE NETHERWORLD), pushed aside my blankie (MADE OF KITTENS), shoved her laptop onto my tiny (but muscular) lap (EVIL MUSCLE LAP) and put me to work fixing this PR poopie hole (EXACTLY AS IT READS) you've stuck me in. What's the deal(YO!?)? I have a reputation (AMONG THE DEMON LADIES) to protect, primary kids to smack around(WHAT WHAT!). Those sunbeam suckers (DROOLFACED MINIONS) can't rule themselves, ya know(SLANG!)? So stop scarin away the ladies(THE HORNED HONEYS I MENTIONED EARLIER). And just so you know, I have no intention(I'll EAT YOUR EYEBALLS FIRST) of giving Jack (A SWEET ANGEL OF A BOY) up. He’s my wing man(NEXT VICTIM FOR SOUL THIEVERY). Do you (MAN WHOSE NAME MAKES HELL TO QUAKE) have a wing man of Jack’s caliber(BULLET SIZE)? One that can simultaneously(AT THE SAME TIME) pick his nose (BOOGER STORAGE) and give you that “come hither” look? Oh yeah, Uncle Ben (HE WHO MAKES RICE) . A close second. So check it: You're like, 50, dude. Shave off the creepy mustache (OUR RESEARCH IS INCONCLUSIVE ABOUT THE CURRENT STATE OF YOUR FACIAL HAIR) and find a friend your own decade. Unless you’re the James that says choo choo and has a 5 on his side, you don’t stand a chance(A SNOWBALL IN HELL, GET IT? GET IT?).
Hugs,
Max
(BELIAL, DEMON CHILD MOSTLY IN CHARGE OF RUG BURNS AND MAKING PEOPLE LATE FOR THINGS)
Lori and Dave, I'm sorry you had to find out this way. But it's for the best. Have you seen the movie Poltergeist? We can totally get him back. I'm sure he's just in a rumpus room in Hell. No way did I make all this up to trash the name of your innocent son who's never hurt a person in the world.
Oh, and Max, I can say choo choo whenever I want. And I get a 5 tattooed on my body any day. Because I can make good on my impulses. That's what adults excel at. So there!
I take it you got our baby announcement then? haha, well, I cant promise anything, but this will be the last for a couple of years at least! Hope you guys are doing good!
ReplyDeleteDear Mr. Police offither man,
ReplyDeleteMy name is Max and I’m twee years old. I want to tell you bout a bad man named James. He makes me cwy, offither, cwy! He tells my mommy to wooz me at the rest stop, and calls me buttmouf and Maxie Pad. What’s a maxie pad? My big sisther says they taught her bout “funny tummy feelings” at ‘cool and this may qwalify. And I should tell a ponsible adult. That’s you, mista powice? I must admit, howeva, I may have pwovoked him a bit. No matter, tho, I’m only 3 years old and he’s a great big poopie head. Hurry offither, get him quick! He lives in Awesometown.
Sincerewy,
Max Collier
Here’s a picta of him and my BFF Jack. www.mackerbee.blogspot.com. As you can swee, Jack has a funny tummy feeling too. Don’t mind the cweepy man in the back. He’s just my funny uncle.
Dear James,
I hope this helps clear up any misunderstanding we may have had. You’re in over your head, big boy. Have fun in the slamma. I’ll think of you and our sweet correspondence as I tuck Jack lovingly into bed each night, giggle about the day’s exploits, and plan the next day’s version of Mommy torture with my main peep. But don’t worry about your future. They’ll let you write your little episodes for Fraggle Rock from the top bunk in Cell 3. You want to borrow my blankie? And don’t drop the soap. I’m not really sure what that means, but some lady named Valerie says you’re gonna love it.
Mwahahaha,
Max
Listen James, you're in way over your head. This kid knows what he's doing. I think he might have done this all before.
ReplyDeleteJust get out now, before things get any worse. And they're going to get worse.
Alright, Skin-a-Max. You've won this round. But I'm driving down to your little state next week. And you better be scared. Because I'm going to throw a rock at you. And then I'm going to stay up past your bed time. Suck on that.
ReplyDeleteP.S. That police officer came by and I punched him in his face. Then I went to jail and I LOVED it! I didn't cry the whole time! Well, I stopped crying during meal time at least.