1. Bath time shall last a minimum of three hours or until I’ve shriveled to one-half my natural size, whichever comes first. ABSOLUTELY NO HAIR WASHING.
2. Bedtime shall no longer be a scheduled event but an organic phenomenon driven by my circadian rhythms. Given the unpredictable nature of nature, I may not feel compelled to lie down in my actual bed, but in the bed of toys that covers every square inch of the house (see: Cleaning up of toys) or facedown in a bowl of cheese puffs (see: Prohibited Foods, Exceptions.)
3. Media shall be consumed no less than one thousand times, preferably in a row, preferably on your device, preferably when you really need to check your work Slacks.
4. Food may not contain any trace nutrients, protein, complex carbohydrates, vitamins, minerals, or any kind of “superfood.” Simple carbohydrates and red dye no. 5 are acceptable. As is sugar, which I hope goes without saying, but given your failure to respond to my demands up until this point, I want to be explicit.
Re: Your “legitimate fear” of me “starving to death;” please refer to the growth charts from my most recent Well Visit, which places me well within the healthy range for height and weight. It doesn’t matter how I manage to survive on the “nutritional equivalent of Benadryl.”
In a completely unrelated demand, please find a more accessible location for your secret stash of Nutty Buddys.
5. Holidays shall be recalibrated in their entirety given the acid trip-nature of their content, which I have summarized according to my understanding as follows:
- A flying hitman will shoot me with an arrow unless I give every “friend” in my daycare class a perforated piece of red cardboard.
- A rabbit who inexplicably poops eggs requires I find the eggs and consume them to prevent the overpopulation of rabbits.
- may not watch PG-13 films, play with the neighbor kids’ semiautomatic squirt guns, or be exposed to “anything with violence.” But in the season called autumn, we all hang effigies of dead bodies and deface vegetables with butcher knives, and at this horror, I should delight.
- After reading turkey books, watching turkey videos, and forming a pretty strong attachment to the idea of a pet turkey, we murder a turkey and eat its flesh. For dessert, we eat the rotten vegetables from the previous holiday baked into a pie.
- A giant white man who travels by airborne deer carriage breaks into our house in the dead of night to eat the cookies we so painstakingly decorated, leaving socks and underwear in their place.
5a. Not a holiday, but of equal concern is the hoarder fairy who flies into my bedrooms to steal my disembodied teeth.
While I remain open to suggestions for improvements on the above, I'm strongly inclined toward more candy and less murder. One non-negotiable: no vegetables, be they carved, baked, or smashed.
6. Toys, procurement of—Absolutely no toy I encounter may break, bend, or behave in any way other than the way I've come to expect from watching other children play with toys on YouTube. If this demand is not met, I shall scream at the top of my lungs according to the following guidelines: 120 decibels per broken part per minute, for a minimum of sixty consecutive minutes per day. (UPDATE: Cheap toys purchased hastily on Amazon are no longer exempt from this rule.)
7. Toys, cleaning up of—I shall not be required to clean up toys, nor may I be asked or expected to clean up toys, ever. If such slave labor is required, see Siblings.
8. Siblings—The procreation of additional siblings shall be strictly prohibited and punishable by one long, never-ending tantrum that will last until I graduate high school. Siblings who were conceived or born before this referendum may continue their existence under one of two conditions: a) immediate dispatch to the nearest orphanage, or b) remain on the premises, residing in a closet or basement, until such time that toys must be cleaned up or I need someone to blame that mysterious carpet stain on.
Slide one lollipop under the bathroom door for every minute of planned deliberation. For each thirty-second increment in excess of five minutes, I shall adhere one wet lollipop to Mr. Jingle’s tail, beginning at the anus and working my way upward.
Mr. Jingles awaits your timely response.
More Like This