(Please excuse my missed holiday blog reentry date on 1/5/12 as was previously promised, but I was taken out by a home grown terrorist—thus the subject of this post!)
Do you know what I discovered over the holidays? Pull together a bunch of 3 – 6 year olds and you could form your own terrorist cell that could wipe out anyone, any town, any country, or any nation at your command because they stealthily engage in CBW: Chemical Biological Warfare. Since this is information that is so volatile, I feel it should be conveyed immediately. It works on a Trojan horse system (you only need one carrier depending on the square footage). Send them in as “cute ambassadors” masquerading as little grandchildren or siblings, cousins or nieces and nephews with just a stuffy nose with a gentle sneeze or two, and something equivalent to the bubonic plague ensues on all those with a compromised immune system due to overwork, lack of sleep, auto-immune diseases, just being old, or people who don’t eat meat (vegetarians—you don’t stand a chance).
I’m writing this blog while lying on the floor with a bottle of Gatorade intravenously dripping into my vein after having had my ass kicked by a 3-year-old terrorist who, having spent Christmas with me, simply kissed me on the cheek with a sweet smile, patted me on the back, and then vanished on the Amtrak line headed north.
I’m down for the count with a fever, chills, sinus infection, no feeling in my legs, no ability to stand up for more than five seconds at a time, no appetite (which means you know I’m dying) and no ability to swallow or think. I never saw it coming. Said three-year-old entered my home with no other accomplices except his handler. The “terrorist’s” nose was stuffy and he gently sneezed once or twice (we all thought it was an allergy to the live Christmas tree), but that was it. He was so sweet and entertaining. How on Earth could he have been lethal? We had a very pleasant time with him with lots of activities and games, and he was a champ. The only time I suspected he was a “little off” was when he would stop and “belt” out a perfectly-pitched-full-throated-operatic-Maria-Callas-“A”-note as if sounding a secret alarm to someone, but since that was always done with a smile, we just thought it was hysterical and quirky—nothing more. I didn’t start feeling a little under the weather until the funky “Madagascar Ice Show” we attended on his behalf, but it wasn’t enough to draw my attention.
Ice Show (notice “said terrorist” in bottom right with calculated look of destruction)
Blogger is second from left at top and sinking from weakness in knees and slight dizziness (hoping picture taking will end soon before I collapse)—first sign of CBW attack taking effect
Disclaimer: Sister of blogger top left says to let my readers know—“I AM NOT FAT! One of baby terrorist’s tricks is to make ice parkas puff up to make one appear three times larger than life!”
I read an article some years ago in the Smithsonian magazine written by Natalie Angier about Bonnie Bassler. Dr. Bassler studies microbial communicators at Princeton, and she seems to be a person who has great insight into body marauders and squatters. According to Ms. Angier, Dr. Bassler contends that bacteria can talk, are multilingual, have their own dialects, and can send signals to one another — rallying each other to wage warfare. One of Dr. Bassler’s experiments is to block the little buggers from locating their relatives and ganging up on their human hosts. She contends that while some may be harmless when they are alone, if they can locate their peeps and communicate with them, determining that they have a sizeable quorum, they will engage in a malicious war agenda against the human body. The journalist underscored that their attacks can range anywhere from instigating plaque wars against our teeth or destroying half of Europe in the form of the bubonic plague.
I am convinced that 3 to 6 year olds are in contact with the bacterial buggers disovered by Ms. Bassler, and consequently they are capable of taking over the world by letting the bacteria know they’ve infected a host. But a one-off incident does not a theory make. I did some research and got notification from other friends who were down for the count after visiting their grandchildren and little nieces and nephews during the holiday season, and they provided conclusive evidence that when they returned home they were unable to function or stand, had come down with the strep throat from Hell, the flu from sub-Hell, the sinus infection from Satan’s den, fever and chills from the Devil’s demons, diarrhea from the most infested swamp on Earth, and had become highly contagious enough to wipe out a Metropolis. Most of the sickies (including me) ended up in Urgent Care Centers in lines with hundreds of other miserable souls–or so it seemed.
So here’s my proposal to the Pentagon and other people who want to work mayhem on the Earth. Need more weapons with lower overhead? I’ve got a new weapons system for you—all you need to run this program is tender-loving-care and a strong immune system!
HERE’S WHAT YOU NEED
- Operatives should be a herd of 3 -6 year olds.
- All operatives must have handlers who are mommies, nannies, and nursery school or grandmother commandos (I’m told that these handlers eventually become immune or can be shored up with large doses of vitamin c as long as they are not above 70 or so).
- Send these urchins out in groups of ones, twos, and threes to people you absolutely hate and want to take out—the more adorable the CBW carriers the better the CBW strike
- Best to come in undercover (Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanzaa, a birthday, family reunion) so that activity is not suspect.
- Have operative plant biological infestation with one or two kisses and a delicious hug on the target and the work will be done (I’ve been told by one of my peeps that 14 three-year-olds in a nursery school can return home after a week at play and take out a village in a weekend).
- Send in the drones (whomever you’ve chosen to “kick ass” and clean up) five days later while your enemies are all writhing on the floor and trying to suck chicken soup through a straw to survive.
- Once the bacteria is deposited—remove your operative and handler immediately and return to home base so that no one comes under suspicion.
Our commando came to us with sparkling eyes, a beautiful smile, and a charming disposition. Everything about him was delightful. He laughed on cue, posed on “say cheese,” and danced like a baby Michael Jackson. My operative would stop in mid-stream and his butt would wiggle to the inner perfect syncopation of MJ’s “Thriller” as if he had been programmed with it from birth.
CBW surveying us: Notice sneaky surveillance look when he thought I wasn’t aware
No matter where you took him he stole the show and was perfectly behaved. He was inquisitive and amazingly smart. If you said: “Baby: please stop and pretend to smell the Christmas flowers,” he’d not only smell them but he’d pretend to listen to them as if they were talking to him and sending him coded messages. (Now I think that is exactly what they were doing!)
He seemed so innocent when he collapsed from sheer exhaustion after opening the thousands of presents with his name on them on Christmas Day. Who knew that he was simply resting because his CBW had been transferred to me?
I haven’t been able to drive or walk up and down stairs since the three-year-old operative and his mother departed. When I called his mother about the home grown terrorist, she said she couldn’t talk because he had barricaded her in the kitchen upon their return with an intricate twine contraption, was checking in with headquarters, and was setting up strategy for his next terrorist campaign.
Notice 2-panty head-gear that seems to be de reiguér with convoluted Sippy cup in hand
I am discovering that I don’t know about anybody else’s little terrorist, but my CBW visitor was pretty darn adorable and irresistible, so I’m going to have to figure out a way to reengage with him but with a preplanned infusion of Emergen-C© a month before he arrives. In the meantime, I need to ring the servant’s bell for WW (my husband) to bring me some more chicken soup, have him click “publish” on this post, and take nap number “three” today while WW responds to my blog comments. See you on Thursday (I hope)—our regularly scheduled blog time. And in the meantime: Be afraid – be very afraid!
The Author (still alive after the holidays, thank God!)
Text and photos by Eleanor and John Tomczyk © 2011
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