A Bedtime Story

Come on, sweetie. Mommy needs to tuck you into bed. Put away Daddy’s power drill. I told you that you couldn’t sleep with that.

Because it’s weird. What happened to that teddy bear that Grandma bought you? Huh? Oh! You lynched it from your ceiling fan? Um, okay. Remind me to mention that to your therapist.

Because that’s the sort of thing your therapist should know.

A bedtime story? I don’t think so, sweetie. Because it’s late, and Mommy’s tired. Because your older brother, Brad, took Daddy’s “special magazine” collection to school, and Mommy had to consequently meet Brad’s principal.

Okay. Fine. I’ll tell you a story, but then you have to go to sleep.

Let’s see . . . once upon a time . . . an evil princess took over the world. Because evil people do that sort of thing. For attention, I suppose.

What sort of evil things did this princess do? She, um, stole cars and made cartoons illegal. Yes, that would be horrible. What else? She . . . kidnapped a poor, defenseless dragon.

The dragon? Well, his name was . . . let’s say Josh. He liked cartoons, so he held a press conference against the evil princess.

What’s a press conference? A press conference is when professional athletes publically apologize for their behavior, or when an idiot announces a presidential run.

It’s also when dragons discuss the evil deeds of spoiled princesses and what ought to be done about them. Yes, the dragon did think the princess’s parents ought to send her to Time Out. Yes, without a circular saw to cuddle.

You really should stay out of Daddy’s toolbox. Brad needs to stay out of Daddy’s nightstand, too. Maybe Daddy and I ought to lock our door when we’re not home.

Right. The dragon and the princess. Well, the princess locked the poor dragon, Josh, in a tall tower to starve and die. The end.

Don’t look at me like that! That’s the end. I pretty sure that is a complete story. The hero’s journey? What are you talking about? Really? That’s what they teach at preschool now? Seems they ought to stick to shapes and colors.

Construction? You think preschools ought to teach children heavy construction? I’ll drop that suggestion in their box.

Okay. Well, President Betty White commanded the United States Marines to assassinate the princess and save Josh the Dragon. She placed Captain, um, Captain Power Drill in charge of the mission.

But Captain Drill didn’t want to lead the mission because she had to return a six-pack of sweat socks to Wal-Mart.

Because she didn’t want the socks. Would the money she received from the returned socks cover the cost of the gas she would spend to return them to Wal-Mart? Where do you come up with these questions, sweetie?

President Betty White begged Captain Drill for her service, though, so Drill finally agreed to lead the mission and return her sweat socks at a later date.

However, Drill was not very good at shooting her rifle . . . so she met with this little girl who knew all about guns. The little girl trained Captain Drill to shoot so she could blow out the evil princess’s brains.

Yes, I suppose that the military would consider it a red flag that Drill learned marksmanship from a little girl. What did they do about it? They made Drill take a test, to see if she was good enough to lead her mission.

Sweetie, stop picking your nose.

The test? She had to win a tennis match. Because it’s the military. Nothing they do makes sense.

Fortunately, the little girl also worked as a tennis coach. Because she needed the extra money. She was saving for college. To become a marine biologist. Because she loved dolphins. All kinds of dolphins. Do you want me to finish this story or not?

Captain Drill won her tennis match and led twenty soldiers towards the princess’s lair, which was an old arcade.

An “arcade” is where my generation played video games when we were kids. We didn’t play them at home because we couldn’t. Yes, the outside world does smell funny, but we had no choice.

Drill and her soldiers broke into the arcade, but the princess had a mini-gun that spat hundreds of round per second at them.

Drill and her comrades hid behind the Skee-Ball machines, but the princess’s mini-gun chewed through the machines. Splinters congested the air. Sparks flew.

The princess ran out of bullets, so she grabbed her grenade launcher. She fired at the decimated Skee-Ball machines.

Captain Drill remembered her tennis training, and she happened to have her racquet.

Far-fetched? I don’t recall asking your opinion.

Drill used her racquet to knock the grenade back at the princess. But the princess also had a tennis racquet, so she whacked the grenade back at Drill.

What? The grenades that shoot out of launchers aren’t shaped like balls? What are they shaped like, then? Giant bullets? Sweetie, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You Google it. I have a story to finish.

Drill knocked the grenade back at the princess a split second before it exploded and blasted the princess to bloody bits. Her guts plastered the ceiling. Yes, it was “totally awesome.”

Drill and her soldiers released the dragon, and President Betty White gave them a metal each. Yes, the dragon also received a metal because he was a dragon, and dragons are great.

That’s the story, sweetie. Now, go to sleep. Yes, you can sleep with Daddy’s power drill. Yes, I’ll sign you up for tennis lessons. No, you cannot have a pet dragon. Because they eat too much. No, your Play-doh spaghetti won’t feed it. Go to sleep.

Yes, I’m sure someone cleaned the princess’s guts from the arcade’s ceiling. No, I don’t think that person received fair compensation. Because janitors don’t command good salaries. Because life’s unfair. Go to sleep.

Yes, you are my princess. No, you’re not evil. Yes, you could become evil if you put your mind to it. Yes, you could most definitely “eradicate the United States military.” No, you can’t have a mini-gun. Because I said so. Go to sleep.

(Catch my movie reviews at moviesmartinwolt.blogspot.com and my novels, such as "Daughters of Darkwana" on Kindle. Thanks for reading!)