The spawnage were farting around in the family room after school today, when I heard Miss O let out an anguished cry:
MISS O: OH NO! MR. POOPIE!!!!
One kind of has to steel oneself when something like that is shouted, especially when there's a nice carpet nearby, but I relaxed a bit when I saw what had actually happened. One of the mainstays in their bizarre revolving cast of disturbing characters had a horrible arm stretching accident that resulted in complete forearm amputation:
They asked if I could fix poor Mr. Poopie, but alas, there was nothing to be done. Besides, I think the missing arm was the least of his problems. He's had some sort of amphibian colostomy going on for quite some time, and he's been shitting out these little white styrofoam beads that I've been finding all over the fucking house. Perhaps that's why he's named "Mr. Poopie."
Anywhich, they took the news of his pending trip to the "great trashcan in the garage" quite well, and returned to find a proper replacement for their frog-no-more friend. I'm pretty sure they settled on the Siamese twins from Guatemala: Pee & Poo...