My kids have hijacked my remote control, and demand TV. I think I’ll read a book.
I’ve tried to get the remote control back, but they’ve made a suffocating pyramid, like a cheer squad.
The four-story child tower taunted me with a waving remote in hand.
I jumped but it was no use. They moved with cleaver children movements.
I jumped out the window swung on a telephone wire and crashed back through the window, like the Kool-Aid Man. They were not scared.
My children were dressed in football attire helmets and all. Waving their hands at me like,
BRING IT, DAD!
They tackled me from the edge of the couch I fell and banged my pancreas and cracked a rib.
All four children snickered, I decided to read a book.
The children are nestled in their beds. And somehow, they still hold the remote control hostage.
Raccoons were playing in the trash cans again. I run outside in my Scooby-Doo costume and the raccoons are not scared. The raccoons laugh at me, like a cackle of hyenas. I noticed the head piece of the costume was on backwards.
I made a fool of myself.
The remote control lied under the covers with the oldest daughter. The children were working shifts, staying up all hours of the night. To make sure I didn’t grasp the remote control from their possession.
I set up a gauntlet to the kitchen, because breakfast is a must and the children will come running. I hired Storm, Hurricane and Hulk Hogan from American Gladiators. I set them on stand-by in the kitchen.
The children were awake, I could hear them laughing at me. I yelled, “Breakfast!”
But I lied.
The kids came bolting into the kitchen like the Running of the Bulls.
And they easily bypassed my American Gladiators, I had forgotten to take them of stand-by.
The children raided the cupboards and fried the remote control with their scrambled eggs.
I just went to my bedroom and read a book.
I awoke on the couch again. This time there was a Chuck Norris infomercial on the air. They were blabbing about some new excise equipment that combines sex with muscle.
Chuck Norris was showing the audience how easy it was, with his erect penis in hand.
I went to change the channel but then remembered… the kids fried the remote control…
Or did I dream that?
(Originally Published in Meat Grinder-Hybrid Sequence Media)