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Feldspar whizzed over the Manhattan bridge on his vivid sunshine yellow Schwinn. Tassles danced merrily at the end of his handlebars and every so often he would give the lever on his bell a little crank ringing a message of good will at passers-by. He was out of the woods. Three quarters of the way over the bridge, and Ewan, the so-called father, had, apparently,given up his pursuit, out of breath.

"He's no match for the yellow bomber, is he schnooky-ooky, nooooo, nooo he's not."

But even as the words came from his lips he knew "schnooky-ooky" would never do. He stopped at the Brooklyn side to arrange the precious bundle in his daisy basket. He moved the pink and yellow striped blanket aside to reveal the little one's wide and guileless brown eyes.

"My but your a sweet one, little Tweedle cakes. No. Bobby scotch. Aha! Summer Sausage, that's it!" He offered this last one with such confidence, he felt sure it had to stick. But the infant didn't appear to be buying it. Her mouth turned down anxiously andher tiny brow furrowed.
"sh...sh...sh...." Feldspar cried anxiously trying to calm her. But it didn't help. She let out a piercing,full-bellied shriek. Feldspar was never adept at pet names....or baby talk either,for that matter.
"It doesn't matter," he said, dandling the tiny package from under the arms, "Because your name is Jonathan. A fine, upstanding name, and who needs a cruddy pet name with a name like Jonathan.”

The infant screamed still louder.

Date Written: February 18, 2003
Author: Jimson S. Sorghum
Average Vote: 3.25

02/18/2003 anonymous (2):
02/18/2003 anonymous (5):
02/18/2003 anonymous (1):
04/2/2004 Mr. Pony (5): Yow. That's a seriously terrifying image.