Our Hero, as usual, minding his own sepikies, is accosted by the little girl from next door. The following ensues.

  • Hi Baz.
  • Hello Lizzie, it’s been a whi… What the &#@$!!!ing *&^*%$!!!alacious *&^%&#*!!!eplical ^%#@$%!!!ck!
  • Baz, seriously, the language. There are three-year-olds present.
  • Lizzie, allow me to say two things.
  • As long as they can be typed without asterisks.
  • The first is this: Lizzie Puh-leese. How do you, of all people, get to tell me or anyone else to mind their language? The reason we started calling you Screaming Lizzie in the first place is because of those furious tantrums you liked to throw at the maid. Since you learnt how to talk they have taken on a whole new dimension. You don’t shirk away, do you, from exhorting her to do very gruesome things with and to her most private portions…
  • I have an excuse. She provokes me.
  • You routinely cite orifices that are only otherwise mentioned in Biology Ph.D theses.
  • It’s her fault. She’s so stubborn that profanity is the only way to get through to her.
  • The other day you told her to @#$% her $%#^ in the @#$@#$@!%!
  • Yes, but…
  • …while $^%&ing her !#%^&
  • I know but…
  • … with a &*(%#@!
  • You said you had two things to mention Baz. Maybe we should get to the second.
  • Oh, yes. The second thing is actually the first thing, in that it is the one that caused me to erupt into such fiery exclamations earlier. It is the sight of you, jarring at the best of times, now made suddenly more terrible—Lizzie, what have you done with your face? Did you pluck your eyebrows?
  • Yes, I did pluck my eyebrows! You like?
  • Lizzie, you are three years old. You cannot be plucking your eyebrows. It’s wrong.
  • It’s not wrong. It’s hot. Stop being lame.
  • I’m not being lame. I’m being mortified. It’s freakish.
  • It’s not freakish, it’s glamourous. Get with the programme.
  • That’s not the programme. That is a virus corrupting the whole Operating System! You look like an amphibian!
  • I don’t look like an amphibian, I look like a star. I’m gorgeous.
  • You are not gorgeous, you are THREE YEARS OLD!
  • Baz, you and those things of being stuck in the olden days of 2004.
  • What’s with kids these days? Why are you all in such a hurry to be video hoes? The other day I saw a ka-tadpole at Garden City trying to walk in high heels. Of course they were too big for her, reason being that there is no shop that manufactures high heeled shoes for people three feet tall.
  • There is nothing wrong with a little glamour once in a while, Baz. Nothing wrong with a little sparkle…
  • Not unless  you are, and you are, barely post-natal. You are supposed to be toddling around barefoot with a running nose and flies in your bututwa. Instead you are plucking your eyebrows. You  know what? I blame Lady Gaga. This is the influence of Lady Gaga.
  • Lady Gaga is fabulous.
  • That guy is leading a whole generation astray.
  • Hah! I knew it. This whole rant was just an excuse to take a cheap shot at Lady Gaga. Lady Gaga is not a man, you hater!
  • He is a man. A dude. A fella. And the day I learn how to vandalise wikepedia pages, I’ll prove it.
  • Why don’t you aim your cheap shots at Rihanna or Beyonce? Why pick on the white girl? It’s racism!
  • He cut off his penis for fame and fortune! That’s worse than when black African people bleach and forge foreign accents!
  • Okay, Baz. I have never said this before, I know, but you have a point.  The truth is that I didn’t have my eyebrows plucked. That idiot maid let me sit too close to the stove when she was cooking and they got singed off. These two strands are all I have left.
  • I smugly accept this victory and magnanimously offer sympathy
  • And as for Lady Gaga…
  • Yes?
  • Fuck him.
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