Tuesday, 25 November 2014

He may have worn the Reebok pumps but I called the shots

"PUMP IT UP!" I cried, for I was their king.

They would come to my kingdom, orphaned daily by their parents, seeking shelter and a home. My mother would feed them, and send them out the backyard to play.

I would command them, boss them, coerce them and manipulate them. They would do my bidding exactly as I asked. I would tell them to jump on the trampoline and count until eleventy-four, and they would jump on the trampoline and count to eleventy-four.

They would ask me for food, and I might give it.

They would ask if they were allowed toilet, and I may grant it.

Or sometimes...

Sometimes I would tell them to sit down and bounce their bum on the ground until the sensation passed. Until they had beat their sphincter into submission.

"Can I please go to the toilet?" they would cry.

I would consider it a second, as if I were being magnanimous. Then I would scream my response at them:

"PUMP IT UP!"

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