If the room is made dirty, who then shall clean it? For you say, "It was not I who dirtied the room!" Yea, even with marker stains on your hands you say these things, even when the wall testifies against you. It is not to me to clean the room, for I am your mother, and indeed, you should obey my commandments, lest a curse fall upon you, the curse of being grounded from PBS kids.
And when you fall to the ground with a loud cry and ask the earth to swallow you up, for there are too many toys, then I will inquire of you if I should bag them up and give them to grateful children. And the weeping shall be heard across the land. Then you will turn from your ways, and with promises of gratefulness and cooperation, you shall pick up one furry pink dog and put it in the toy bin.
But you are easily distracted, and focus is not in you. For upon placing the dog in the bin, you then pick up a bag of Hot Wheels and pour them in your snow boot, for safekeeping. This is not pleasing in my eyes. And after carrying your snow boot to the other room, indeed you do not return. And my cries fill the house, for my wrath is great toward deserters.
I will come to you. I shall come and find you, in the living room watching Nemo, and I will scoop you up like a mother bird and carry you back to the playroom. Even while you kick wildly at the air, I will carry you. And when you are placed on the ground, I will heed not your pleas.
Yea, and great confusion will be upon you and your sibling. You forget where the toys go, yea and you inquire of me many, many times, though there is only one place to put them. Then violence will rise up in your hearts, and brother shall smite sister, and sister brother, with Buzz Lightyear, yea, and the throwing of small alphabet blocks. Then my anger will burn against you, and I will quit playing Angry Birds and rise from my tiny plastic chair in the playroom.
Then you will relent, and with cries of "ImsorryImsorryImsorry" you will begin putting cars away with great speed.
After a time, and a half time, and a few more times, I will again rise from my chair and begin folding blankets, for my legs have become numb, and if the room is made dirty, who will clean it? I will.
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- On holiday from reason
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- punch to the throat, BOB CARLISLE
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