Happy, funny storytime with Crazy Stick-Up-Her-Butt Lady

Gather round children. It’s time for this weeks installment of America’s Worst Mother&#153 where the insular brood (Meghan and her children: Athena, Darvon, Westminster, and Whoops) go on a field trip and they all have a merry time except for being exposed to the world they live in, and don’t you hate it when that happens?

As we all know, the Gurdon children are the most delightful and precious children in the whole wide world which is why Meghan has no problems risking the lives of their peers when dropping them off at Miss Stern’s Academy For Precocious Poppets:

Bright one morning, when we’re normally screeching too late into the school parking lot, the children and I make our way through the wheelchairs, bureaucrats, and hollow-eyed residents of a major Washington hospital to the quiet, carpeted floor given over entirely to the care and healing of children.

Yes, it’s time to take the kids in for their annual rickets check-up at the Free Clinic, where Meghan usually wiles away the hours searching through drawers looking for “samples”, but this day is made worse when the children are exposed to streptococcus culturallus crapollas:

“Please will you read, Mummy?” Phoebe asks, climbing up beside me. Violet tucks in on the other side, and Paris beside her. Molly sits on the stool, twirling pensively.

“Oh, it’s a — well, it’s a book of nursery stories,” I begin, in tones of
disappointment. “Once upon a time… um…Duck Woman baked a gingerbread man,” I read, substituting bland nouns for commercial brand names. In such circumstances I do this for my own amusement, but also to thwart corporate efforts to implant brand loyalty in my children. Pop culture is filth, quoth the great Derbyshire; so is mass-market kiddie culture.

“Duck Woman?” Molly inquires from across the room.

I hold up the slim volume of Disney Nursery Stories, and she laughs out loud.

“‘Mmmm, that smells good,’ said Duck Man ? “

“What’s so funny, Mummy?” Violet asks, “Why are you shaking?”

We proceed. Occasionally I have to stop to wipe away tears, and then resume in the gingerbread man’s falsetto, ‘I’ve run away from Duck Woman, and Duck Man, and Funny Looking Dog, and Anthropomorphic Rodent — “

As you can see, the Gurdon children are not to be exposed to anything enjoyable, and particularly nothing from the Disney canon or else Mother Gurdon will have to spend the entire afternoon explaining the Oedipal underpinnings of Dumbo, the gender confusion of Peter Pan, and the Grand Guignol of Bambi when she would rather be smoking Pall Malls and laughing along to Uncle Rush’s Pharmacopeia Hour on the Philco. And let’s not even consider a visit to Disneyland for the Gurdon clan since most every day is either Gay Sodomy Day or NAMBLA Thanks God, It’s A Small World Day.

No, the Gurdon brood deserves better things like Mummy sitting behind the hollowed-out TV and performing A Long Days Journey Into Night with sock monkeys. Or those quiet evenings spent reading from Bill Bennett’s The Book of Virtues or his more popular Secrets of Modern Slot Playing.

And then there are those annual summer trips to Cotton Mathers’ Land O’ Perdition & Filial Responsibility (The Most Unrelentingly Grim Place on Earth!!), where the kids go on rides such as the popular Thunder of Wrath Splash Mountain , the Curse of God-o-Whirl and the Dead Sodomites and Blasphermers in the Eternal Flames of Hell Hall.

So you see, the kids are well-entertained and culturally fulfilled… until that dark and stormy night when the Gurdon girls get ahold of a copy of Jeffrey Eugenides’ Virgin Suicides….and they make a pact.

Hilarious hijinks probably won’t ensue…

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Yeah. Like I would tell you....