Alright, so I’m off the political ranting until something else pisses me off. Go ahead, rejoice. But something’s sure to piss me off soon. Don’t get too comfy.
I’m thinking since it’s almost Halloween and all (I firmly believe that the Halloween season and all its wondrous trappings – dressing like superheroes, bobbing for apples, eatin’ candy, watching scary movies, telling ghost stories, leaving bags of dog shit on neighbor’s doorsteps – should last from September 1-Festivus), let’s embark on a little creepy-kid-junk journey. First up, nursery rhymes.
Tonight, about midway through a Mother Goose book, the Kaiser and I came upon this:
Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town,
Upstairs and downstairs, in his nightgown;
Rapping at the window, crying through the lock,
“Are the children in their beds? Now it’s eight o’clock.”
I hated it when I was a kid. It made me uncomfortable. Still got that magic, eh Willie? An English version of the Scottish original (mid 19th century), it’s like the kid’s version of the town crier, right? Sure. But it’s still gross. Proof:
- Wee Willie Winkie is some fucked-up alliteration. Couldn’t we call him, “Tall Tom Twinkie?” No? Well it sucks. Also, the words, “wee” and “willie” should never be in the same sentence. Ever.
- Why is this half-mad jackass running anywhere in his nightgown? Put on some trousers. A robe? Anything but a nightgown.
- Stop yelling.
- Get your eyeball away from my door, Willie. Back away slowly.
- Knock on that window one more time and I send the Kaiser out to have a chat with you about Sadan. A long chat.
- How is it your business what time my kid’s going to bed? How’s about you head back to your hovel and shut the fuck up.