Chapter II.


Naevod lay prostrate over two-week-old copies of The New York Times and The Atlantic. He screamed and felt a tickle in his second stomach . He did not understand yet, but he liked it. He most definitely liked it. 

Naevod was twenty-four years old and was the size of a toddler. He had recently graduated from university with a Bachelor of Science in Learned Helplessness. He helped pay his tuition with a grant from Grant for having large buttocks in place of a head and for being very, very, very happy.

‘Fa-tha Figga-reen! Come on!’ he whined. ‘Come on ’n wipe me!

Father Figurine wore a librarian’s skirt and a jogger and a mopey face. He did not answer Naevod immediately. He sat for several moments and stared into the Mature Meatloaf that lay on the marble countertop, fully intact. 

FA-THA FIGGAREEN! COME ON!’ Naevod’s esophagus sounded raw. He repeated himself a few times and began to cough. 

‘I won’t wipe you if you’re mean to me. Only if you’re nice, all right?’ Father Figurine was rather sensitive. What he wanted was never what everyone else wanted, especially Naevod. 


COME ON!’ Naevod sobbed. Neon-yellow tears of bile began to stream down from his small breasts. 

Father Figurine appeared at the top of the stairs. He looked miserable in a happy way. 

‘Now you gotta wipe those, too.’ Naevod pointed at the glowing puddle of bile that now soaked a page from The Atlantic. The only visible words were ‘Protests’ and ‘Yushenko.’ 

Father Figurine took a massive bottle of baby powder and shook it violently. White dust speckled out at first, though once he began shaking the bottle with rhythm the Mosquitoes started to fly out. The Mosquitoes With Fleshy Wings. Their sticky membranes caught on the side of the bottle. The more rhythmic Father Figurine’s shake, the bigger the Mosquito. The Big Motherly Mosquito fell from the bottle after six minutes. It sucked all the blood from the sphincter area on Naevod’s face. Sucked it dry.


Father Figurine farted.

‘Feel better?’ The Big Motherly Mosquito flapped her fleshy wing gently and insinuated that she wanted to go out on a date.

‘Absolutely. Let’s go to a craft brewery.’

Father Figurine squatted down next to the pile of flesh that was formerly called Naevod. The Big Motherly Mosquito scooped her date up and flew out through the screen window, breaking it apart. She was very careful as to not shake Father Figurine’s skull around much. She knew he didn’t like when Mosquitoes fooled with his head.