Careless, remedial little Billy. He got his sea monkeys mixed up with his ant farm and all these horrid, slithery mutant worm things with red antennae started crawling through the holes in his Chia pet and infesting the Lego people. It was like a miniature version of that scene in 'Seed of Azaroth' when the evil sperms are chasing Gloria Perkins across the twisting iron horizons of Cthlonia, the steampunk city.
In the end Debbie got down on her hands and knees and patiently scraped them all up with an old spatula before flushing the whole lot down the toilet.
I don't think that was such a good idea, I told her. Slimy, crime-against-nature type lifeforms like that always thrive in sewers. They will mate with the old rusting soda cans and grow to be thirty feet long with sharp, pointy aluminum teeth. And when the seven sacred squid teats give succor to the Creepy Crawly King then these foul abominations shall emerge from their Stygian breeding grounds to reclaim their ancient Playskool legacy.
Well, Billy's not getting a dog anytime soon, she replied, if he can't even be trusted to look after an ant farm and some sea monkeys.
And so the gates of the messy laboratory of childhood are locked and bolted once again until the pre-pubescent professor can learn to put his test tubes away and clean up after himself.
(This is my response to a quick re-read of Wells' novel 'The Island of Doctor Moreau.' I think I've covered most of major points quite adequately.)
Wouldn't Billy have to do a bit of nifty sea monkey vivisection fully to cover Wellsian plot requirements?
Posted by: Anna | May 02, 2008 at 22:07