Womb War Won

A beautiful, picturesque, romantic sunset defined the evening’s mood, challenging the resentful jealous attitude plaguing Get Wasted Management, CEO Weasel the Measle. Driving his fully paid Volkswagen bug, nicknamed Herbert, the conniving, contagious creep put on the emergency brake before stepping out to visit Appleseeds, a place where things are planted and allowed to grow into magnificent gifts. Following the host to a dining room seat, Weasel the Measle spotted a young couple, celebrating receiving special news.

Only a few months ago, Motina Mergele stood under the symbolic spiritual cross magically transmitting courage, empowering confronting any adversity after wearing her mother’s white dress when exchanging vows with her friend for many years. Completing the marrying ritual, a social extravaganza proclaimed, ‘the union official’, and the pair disappeared enjoying the personal bonding holiday. “Tevas,” Weasel the Measle overheard, “Yes, Mrs. Jzadas,” “We are going to have a baby!” Motina announced.

“Is there something I could get you?” The server wearing a surgical mask inquired, interrupting the GWM board room leader’s voyeur recreation game. “I do not want any shot glasses,” Weasel the Measle made clear before ordering, “instead something brewing would be appropriate, so kindly bring a nice long neck I can bite,” “Be right back,” the worker notified.

During the next few weeks Weasel the Measel plotted, planned, and strategized, ‘how to get under Motina Jzadas skin’. When D-Day arrived, the infectious annoyance invaded Motina’s blood system, heading directly towards the womb chanting, “attacke, attacke, attacke”. Upon arrival the two bumped heads which threw Weasel the Measle into a tailspin scaring the microscopic menace, “What was that!” He screamed preparing for a crash landing. “Get out of here,” the overpowering virus invader saw the fetus’ developing eyes send a message and the virus quickly retreated staring a vaccine right in the face, “I said I did not want any shots!”

Time passed and Motina Jzadas gave birth, taking home from the hospital, her bundle of joy, a son named Karys. Counting ten fingers and toes, the nurses stood by doctors sending the parents' home wearing protective loving armor confirming they can combat anything that detours their journey.

Addressing The Damage

Months flew by and Motina carefully placed Karys in his crib, then returned to the bedroom joining her committed loving husband under the covers. “Something is wrong, Tevas,” she whispered. “With our warrior Karys?” “Yes,” she carefully confirmed. “In the morning we will go to the Doctor.” Motina calmly shut off the lights. Last time the pair were together with the health care workers watching over, the trio brought home their bundle of joy but today something was not all right. “I am mystified,” the Doctor told them, “My suggestion is at the University where walls are covered in Ivy, they may have answers.” With that advice, off the family went to the higher education institution decorated in branches and vines, acknowledging the academic crawling message, Motina asked, “Isn’t ivy poisonous?” “Yeah, you can get a awful rash,” Tevas who worked in the field answered.

Dropping their guard, the parents allowed Karys to be studied, playing innocently in the children’s room, scientific agenda driven students observed from above, “I can see a problem?” They commentated, “he cannot walk.” “But what happened to my son?” Motina tearfully expressed, despite no one understanding the plea.

Months later Motina and Tevas received mailed documents featuring intellectual wisdom letterhead. While sitting at the kitchen table they discussed the big name defining the non-life-threatening permanent injury. “Tevas,” Motina glared into her husband’s eyes, “when I wore my mother’s white wedding dress under the cross, I took a vow.” “And the cross gave us the power to confront any obstacle.” “This was not our doing,” Motina continued, “and Karys is not in any way at fault.” It was on that night the young adults starting out life together pledged to raise Karys in the same manner they would if nothing happened, digging in their heels, they prepared their mind and soul.

Retaliation

Parking lot spotlight shined upon the Volkswagen bug protecting Weasel the Measle, strategically sitting in the driver’s seat of the Get Wasted Management corporate issued automobile, the CEO firmly gripped his binoculars, spying on the evening schoolhouse meeting.

“The boy is growing up,” the executive in charge germ noted seeing Motina and Tevas Jzadas fulfilling their child Karys’ registration obligations. “Mr. And Mrs. Jzadas, our job is teaching children, let them identify their own weaknesses and find strength,” the intellectual driven board President behind the podium smiled,

“I just would like to ask Karys a question.”

“Do the other children, answer a question before registering?”

“Motina, please, let us do our job?” The mother heard, feeling Tevas’ supportive squeezing hand.

Grabbing a refreshment area milk carton displaying a missing child the scholastic political leader approached Karys,

“Karys,” she timidly spoke, “can you read this?”

Peering at the word the young boy sounded out the letters, “Paschurliesed,” he exclaimed reading, ‘pasteurized’.

“That is great, the appointed instructor exclaimed, “where did you learn to read?”

“From Neemith the number twelve green frog on television,”

“Neemith the frog?”

“Yeah, he sings about how it's hard being green,” Karys communicated, “he has bad knees, you know.”

“Does he?” Laughing Motina relaxed sitting back in her chair, “Karys, will do fine in kindergarten everybody is equal in the classroom,” the board president signed the paper allowing Karys registration privilege,

“We know,” Tevas replied, “he’s Karys.” Lowering the scopophilia tools, Weasel the Measel allowed his burning jealous resentment terrorizing rage to escalate, while putting the vehicle in reverse.

“I have to get out of here,” sweated the infectious criminal leaving the property, before seeing the vaccine patrol blocking the exit.

“Your busted,” the lab jacket enforcers commanded, “all children are vaccinated before going to school.” Waving the surrender flag, Weasel the Measle reflected upon his youth's report card filled with the letters, CDC and closed the destructive disease harassment reign file, claiming eradication.

A Workshop Theater For Children

After working past the allotted time at the shop Neemith the 12th frog pondered the world, concerned about children.

“I tell you this place is going to kaput,” he mumbled, “if I get sacked again by my offensive line, I tell yah I am going to give them a tongue swatting.”

It never bothered the talented toad the color he was born, it could have been blue but that would not fit the winning character. Despite difficulties always being green, success happened occasionally, making it special.

Turning on the radio to the eights, headline news reported, “Weasel the Measle has been eradicated.” “That is good to hear,” Neemith thought, “now the country’s future will not be hurt by the evil infector.”

Looking around at all the awards, “No one ever thought you could use television in such a positive way,” Neemith reflected about the accomplishments, “and if the youngsters watched my show, they would be ready for kindergarten.”

After a commercial break, the station on the eights announced, “Krys Jzadas the first fetus to be attacked by Weasel the Measel, registered for school, this week.”

“Another great success,” Neemith croaked trying to score a bug, “first you learn, then turn the dial for playtime with Joy Bugalooo, what more does a preschooler need?”

“Excuse me, Neemith,” his life-long pig-headed companion Pork Rind yelled. “Yes, honey,” “It’s Heidi on the phone,”

“What does she want?”

“You’ve been sacked again, time to leave for LA.”

Things Change For The Better

No one ever reported when Weasel the Measle started marching with the dimes only journalistic explanation seemed to be, it kept his senses checked and balanced.

One legend does claim, the charity change tale began, indulging in a hurricane experience while interacting with the spinning French quarters.

“Do you want another one?” an Irishman bartender asked.

“No, I am good here,”

“Have to say that’s a nice Volkswagen Bug, out there,” commented the rag carrying server, “where did you get it?”

“From my German friend, Herbert, I nicked named the four wheels after him,” Weasel the Measle replied.

Silent dialogue took over the pair’s conversation as their attention focused on the television, showing taped delayed war horror highlights, described as police action conflicts, “are they ever going to find a resolution to this mess?”

Both quietly agreed. “Tell me, "The drink concierge sparked up another conversation, “do you do a song and dance?”

“I may,” Weasel the Measle answered, “what are you looking for?”

“Nightly entertainment, you could pick up, spare change.”

After accepting the generous opportunity, a few evenings later Weasel the Measle brought a stool and musical instrument. When the first set finished a strong touring contingent having the last name Jzadas entered the establishment. Feeling the spotlight heat, Weasel the Measle welcomed them, “mommy,” the boy Krys exclaimed, “why does the performer look like a rat?”

Hearing the remark, the talent responded, “I am not a rat, I am a weasel!”

“Table for three,” Tevas the father figure politely requested, and the trio sat down.

“So, kid, what happened, you need those metal crutches?”

“Commanding the wooden soldiers someone pushed them, making them all fall down,” Krys shot back, “I was the only one left standing.”

“Sounds like an incredible inspiring story to me, girls come out later, kid, you should check em out, I can’t, they won’t talk to me.”

Time past and upon the show’s conclusion Weasel the Measle announced, “when you pay your check do not forget to round up, the change goes towards helping ‘kids who are people too’.”

“Such a wonderful idea,” Tevas whispered knowing Motina heard.

“Did you see how that guy watched Krys?” Motina answered, “it was like he wanted him for his keeping.” Tevas did not hear the concern, but Weasel the Measel made a mental note about the potential marketing idea, calling it, the “Give to the Weasel the Measel Offspring Charity.”

Weeks later deciding to patronize a convenience store Karys Jzadas picked up the items his mother needed and notice the ‘Weasel the Measle’ fundraising campaign. “Sir,” he asked the clerk, “could you round up the order and give the change to the good cause, it seems the rat weasel needs money to feed his big family.”

While waiting for his mother a connecting rainbow off in the distance formed and from the misty fog Neemeth the Frog appeared, “all you need is a fighting Irish spirit,” the star suggested.

“And a buccaneer attitude,” Karys agreed.