This little scuttlebutt is up to no good. It’s written all over his face. He’s a miniature Mr. Burns, minus the overbite. Notice the eyes, wide with the hedonistic knowledge of others’ impending woes. The hands clasped in absolute diabolicism, fingers oozing sorrows. Excellent.
There’s only one heartbreakingly stark conclusion to be drawn: My son is a terrorist. We have it on solid intel that he has been moonlighting as a single agent for several months now for the world’s tiniest faction, a splinter cell known as…Al-Crya.
Though we haven’t yet ascertained his overall mission objectives, we can report his general modus operandi based on recent brazen attacks. Though not overly powerful in his own right, his strategy seems to be based largely on crying and the natural attrition it incurs. Winning the war on terror one scream at a time.
There’s no discernible pattern to the attacks. He has terrorized every hour of the day equally, and I can tell you from first-hand experience, there is a feeling in the air here, a kind of buzz, that this radical new strategy might just be working.
In a recent video on al-Jateara, he told supporters that the Al-Crya takeover was a marathon, not a sprint. When asked what a marathon was, however, he said simply, ‘Meehhhhh.’
He also made cryptic reference to possessing the ‘keys to the palace,’ though when asked what a palace was, he answered only by defiantly spitting his fikey onto the hardwood. Chilling imagery indeed.
It’s a hard reality for a parent, birthing and then subsequently harboring a terrorist. ‘These colors don’t run’ only because they can barely crawl. We fly our flag at half-guilt. We celebrate Dependence Day. But we get by. Somehow.
But we can tell no one. He would surely only redouble his efforts and increase the insurgency. He claims he once cried for 42 hours straight on a dare. He’s already stated family members are high-profile targets upon visitation. And in a recent, harrowing announcement, he has threatened that at his next diaper change, he will unleash a veritable wee-had on anyone within a three-foot radius.