The story of Melonchildey

Once upon a time, now, then and probably in the future:

1. I, Face, was a no-good layabout. I have had quite a few talents, and also special powers of metamorphosis, but not the inclination to use them. There seemed no point really.

Oh, I suppose quite a few Evil Super-Villains have threateed the Universe, Mediocrity, Pollution, God, The Devil, The President of America, all spring to mind, but I just never really cared enough. Also my talents and special powers didn't really lean in the direction of The Combat of Evil Super-Villains anyway.

2. My lover, Jaggy Knusto, was also a no-good layabout with special talents and powers which were laying dormant. He cut a monumentally tragic figure, handsome yet self - destructive. Think of James Dean.

Our apathy fueled itself, we fed off eachother. We were the un-excited.

Mostly we spent our time drinking.



















So, this was all fine and good. We had built a life for ourselves of melancholic inactivity. Regularly we would fall into seperate gloomy holes of deep inky depression.
Sometimes when I got drunk I would become violent and accusatory. I would break it off with Jaggedy on a regular basis at these times, for being a drunk, a layobout, an asshole, and a serial flirter with women. In short, all the things I was myself. Upon waking up sober I would shed tears at the idea of being without him, and the cycle would begin again.

3. Enter a woman. I will call her The Laughing Fluff.
At some time in Joggo's shady past he and The Laughing Fluff had had relations of a sexual nature. Shortly thereafter she had taken off into outer-space, Never To Return Again.
Well, one fine day, she did return, bringing with her a child. This child she claimed was the direct result of her sexual relations with my Lordy Lord. I shall name the child: Melonchildey.

So, she introduces this child to us.

"Melonchildey, look, thats your daaaddy!" She laughs fluffily, pointing at Jiggidy.
"Oh, and, thats some chick your daddy knows." She adds, flicking her chin in my direction.

Jiggidy is inwardly rattled but outwardly calm. The Laughing Fluff notices that his eyes are filling with blood. (This seems to happen when he is perturbed.)

"Oh, don't worry," she says to him, "I don't want anything from you."

Three months later, we are picking Melonchidey up fom kindy every second day and watching her, pupils dilated, as she throws tantrums.

"I don't want you." she tells Jaggedy.
"Oh." he says. "Well..." and walks away.
"I want my mummy, I want my mummy, I want my mummy!" she yells. Somehow she has secreted a megaphone inside her small body cavity.
It is unfortunate for us all that we got to know Melonchildey just as she was reaching that first bermuda triangle of life, The Terrible Twos.
We have no experience with the parenting of anyone, let alone a crotchety stranger. She hates us.

So, now our lives have gone from being quite adequately depressing, to really bloody depressing indeed. This is choice to the max.

I can't wait to find out what will happen NEXT.

Please feel free to speculate, and offer advice, as you all see fit.