Broody Awful.

Yolanda:               “Morris, I think I’d like to have a baby”

Morris:                 “No sooner said than done my sweet, now let me see who is available: biting the hand that feeds him Johnson, sumo Johnson, utilising everyday objects as lethal weapons Johnson, infectious skin disease Johnson? Any of these take your fancy my little pomegranate express?”

Yolanda:               “Morris, can’t I have a real proper baby?”

Morris:                 Checking in some kind of ragged catalogue “Hmm it would seem cute little thinks he’s a baby Johnson is currently supervising my campaign against the poisonous warcrabs of Atlantis. There may have been some kind of mix up there. How about gluttonous breastmilk fetish Johnson? He might be just what you’re looking for.”

Yolanda:               “Morris! He sounds horrible. No I want a real baby!”

Morris:                 “No worries my sweet, by fortuitous serendipity a real baby Johnson is free to come to your aid indeed you may hear his edacious ululation emitting from the nursery even now as awaits his dinner! You better hop to it!”

ARB Johnson:    “Mwaaerk!” (high pitched)

Morris:                 “On a further note relating to that might I suggest you eat only baked potatoes from now, as otherwise junior may well be less than keen on your lactatious offerings!”

Yolanda:               “Morris!”

Morris:                 “No my sweet thyme and nettle dumpling, there is no need for thank you, your happiness comes before all, now off you hop, I am attempting to watch Miss Marple Johnson’s latest murder mystery.”

She huffs away. After some time she returns looking clutching her breasts with a pained expression.

Yolanda:               “He’s erm a bit big, Morris”

Morris:                 “Is he indeed my little paperweight? Well health of newborn size is supposed to correlate to long life so that is all in his favour.”

Yolanda:               “Well I’m not keen on nurseries and cots so I’ve put him in our bed to settle, co sleeping is so much healthier for babies.”

Morris:                 “Yes my dear, book club next Thursday, Son of Dracula Johnson says he’s coming.”

Yolanda:               “I’m not doing this on my own Morris. You can take him to the park tomorrow in the buggy.”

Morris:                 “Would you look at that! It was Johnson that did it!”

She sighs and goes to bed. The scene cuts to tomorrow morning. A hefty looking Johnson in cute baby blue outfit is tenuously strapped to a buggy which Morris is attempting to heave out of the door.

Yolanda:               “And no nanny Johnson, or Mary Poppins Johnson Morris, it’s important he spends time with his dad!”

Morris:                 “Yes *huff* my sweet platelet cell, no *grunt* problem.”

Eventually ‘Junior’ is shoved out of the door where the going is much easier in taking him down the path to the park. At the park Morris sits around whilst, ERB Johnson sits in the buggy, after a while he notices the ice cream van and begins to point.

ERB Johnson:     “Mwaaerk!”

Morris:                 “Oh ice cream is it Johnson very well you may have a mini milk!”

ERB Johnson:     “Mwaaerk!”

Morris:                 “No you may not have a flaked whippy ice cream, that is not suitable for a child your age!”

ERB Johnson:     “Mwaaerk! Mwaaerk!”

Morris:                 “No Johnson, and cease with this racket or you will have no ice cream at all!”

Johnson:              “Mwaaerk! Mwaaerk!”

Johnson begins to thrash around in an unseemly manner, knocking himself and the buggy over, continuing his screeching. Morris looks on with disdain.

The scene returns to Morris returning home alone.

Morris:                 “A terrible tragedy has occurred my dear. I’m afraid Junior has been burned to death. To spare you the trauma of a funeral I rolled his smouldering carcass into the duckpond and weighted it down with the axle shaft of an old Austin Princess. Anything worth drinking in the fridge or should I send Johnson down the Spar?”

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Published in: on September 4, 2015 at 2:23 pm  Leave a Comment  

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