O. HENRY, JUNIOR

For a three-year-old kid, our nephew William is developing into quite the little storyteller.

At breakfast this morning, he was regaling us with a tale of Sternutatory Goodness: “The other day, I sneezed out a great big booger onto Uncle Aaron's blankie.” All of this accompanied by hand gestures that indicated that the Booger In Question was roughly the size of William’s head. Neat trick, that.

“It was humongous.”

But when William’s mommy tried to turn the topic of conversation towards the recent Constipation Incident (I will spare you the details, but suffice it to say that it represents a Cautionary Tale that warns of the evils of an all Cheese and Hot Dog Diet), William put the quietus on her right away. “Shush!”

The kid has the makings of a real storyteller. O. Henry, Mark Twain, all y’all better look out.

For that matter, he could start his own blog. Boogerblogging? Turdblogging? Og and Acidman better keep a weather eye over their respective shoulders. William’s coming, and, boy, is he pissed. (Actually, he’s pissed his drawers. Farookin’ toddlers...)