The Unholy Trinity (416 hits)
Category: UberMadness! Entryno reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by T.chow <trcose.at.wisc.edu> (View user info) at 2004-04-05 14:12:11 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
--Thus I spake: Let there be Mac and Cheese. And there was. And it was good.--
"Boys! Lunch!" From the TV room, in a rumbling, bumbling clamor of squeals and inauspicious thuds, the cousins came.
Matty, puffing and motoring like a Peterbuilt, crashed into the kitchen in all his toddling glory. He eyed the Mac and Cheese and let forth a torrent of excited babble, waving his thick arms and drooling. Running to the table, he whacked his head smartly on the edge; but he's a tough guy, a destined offensive lineman. He dragged himself unassisted into a chair and grabbed a fork.
Enter Pandrew, the four-year-old. He's on crutches now, after falling out of a swing and breaking his leg. It's kind of endearing really, like Tiny Tim from that old Dickens story. He milks it well, too. Someday he'll be a theater major, I think. I helped him up into a seat as Bubby slinked past.
Bubby: the ringleader, the alpha-male, the headcheese, the eight-year-old. In my mind, he's always been somewhere between Bart Simpson and Dennis the Menace, the anthropomorphic equivalent of 'snails and puppy-dog tails' loaded into a slingshot with a dirt clod and an indian-burn. He wasn't nearly so dangerous until he developed the faculties of abstract thought; now he's become a criminal mastermind. He's going to end up a lawyer.
"Here. Eat." I grunted. I'm not good at that kind of stuff. At least I've got them for just the afternoon. I'm way too old to baby-sit.
Matty began shoveling it in, like a tiny cement mixer. Bubby poked at it with his fork skeptically. Pandrew's eyes welled-up with tears. Oh jeez.
"Buster Beiner...?" As my aunt so graciously taught them to call me... "Mommy always makes it with hot-dogs..." So? "Can you put hot-dogs in mine?" Oh.
"Alright Bubby, I mean Matty...er...Panda." I nuked a couple dogs and brought them back. Pandrew took one look at the two heat-blistered pork tubes and then back at me with a sniffle. Fine. I'll eat them, for crying out loud. I returned to the microwave and slowly, painfully, attempted to prepare a hot-dog without frying it.
As soon as my back was turned, Pandrew cried out. He pointed a finger at Bubby, who was in turn pointing a finger at the grinning Matty, who was pointing a finger back at me, with all his toddlers' honest logic.
Oh, whatever.
Like a fool, I again turned my back to them. Matty squealed, and when I looked, discovered him plastered with Mac and Cheese, though smiling nonetheless. From the splatter pattern on the wall behind him, the trajectory clearly indicated Bubby, who was looking out the window in innocent daydream at the time.
"Alright. Eat. Seriously." Pandrew hoisted the ketchup bottle overhead with the intention of applying it to his hotdogs. Of course he missed, and instead applied it liberally to the already bespackled Matty. Matty shrieked, Bubby laughed, Pandrew sniffled.
"James, Andrew, Matthew!" But alas, their Christian names were useless against their bawling ruckus. "Fine!" I shout. "One...Two..."
Somewhere at about two and three-quarters I was hit squarely in the eye with a tiny pasta Spongebob, rendering me blind. In that moment of vulnerability Bubby sprang from his chair and wrapped his arms around my neck, undoubtedly trying to strangle me to death. A rumble like an artillery battery careened across the floor with the unintelligible battle-cry that could mean only one thing. Matty was coming.
I braced myself for impact. He hit me like a Mac Truck and I went down hard onto the linoleum. The three of us wrestled fiercely, and just when I thought I had the upper hand, they unveiled their secret weapon. They were biters. I writhed and swore as their tiny teeth and drooly mouths snapped back again and again.
"Pandrew..." I held my hand out "...help me..." Pandrew got down from the table and reluctantly hobbled near our wriggling tussle. He eyed his brothers overpowering me with their shameless brute force and greasy little hands. He eyed my clear disadvantage and helplessness. He made his decision.
Pandrew brandished a crutch on high, it glinted in the sunlight.
Now, brotherhood is a strong bond, yes. But are not cousins a tie of kinship, too? Have I not always been a good guy to my little buddy Panda? Does he not realize how much bigger I am than he? But I was kidding myself. Whether it was the hot-dog thing, or sheer childlike malice, Pandrew's allegiance would not be with me today.
The crutch came down on my crotch. I crumpled and folded into the fetal position beneath a rain of tiny fists. Holy crip, I'd been crappled. They kicked and poked until I stopped responding and they returned to their lunch. I lay broken and defeated on the kitchen floor. I was no match for that unholy trinity.
The boys finished their meal without incident between them and put their dishes in the sink without me telling them. The Mac and Cheese, so it seemed, was good.
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