The dotard tried to preach us every now and then and would say things in the cadence of a priest high on verses from the ‘Geeta’.
A herd of goats it was, that had gotten on the habit of invading and sabotaging our garden during afternoon siestas.
When finally the door was opened, the room was peppered all over with goat-shit pellets. Finally, we realized it was a losing proposition after all, to hold the mischievous goat captive.
As we sat watching , one night , a mouse called Stuart driving a car on the screen of the television , the T.V. went phut suddenly , all blank – kaput!
The March Hare by now had taught me the art of getting a faulty remote controller to work py pressing the buttons harder.
It was a patch of clover , five bushels sweet and four bushels sour , growing near a pothole lid behind a room in the corner of the playground. We munched on it like cows
The revelation was startling, though , that a nail grown white could be cut out from the body without hurting any more than the burst of a chewing-gum bubble.
What scholars had done millenniums ago with the aid of Christ , I do now , with the aid of Popeye the sailor. Let us now call the ages before the year 2002 as ‘Pre-Popeyeian’ era and the rest as ‘Post-Popeyeian’ era , much the same as ‘ Before Christ and After Christ’.
I had scored a perfect hundred percent !! and the world just looked like a bra strap waiting to be snapped.
Much to my chagrin , the doors of the accursed dwelling were opened loose for us.
“don’t you begin lecturing me now , I’ve brought you up since you scurried around the streets like mowgli in underpants and washed your godknowswhatwhat since the days you made your red underpants turn topaz …. …. …. “
The sister-love which had welled up on her birth soon withered away as we did all we could to get rid of her . Tried to get her married off to an ice cream vendor , a scrap dealer , even a bear , once .
They had inadvertently summoned Satan himself . The Satan that poops. and OOPS ! they had no idea of my unfathomable naivety and the reynolds number of my poop action