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A Triple Spark of Inspiration

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message 1: by [deleted user] (last edited Apr 02, 2008 05:36PM) (new)

Nappy Wookins and the Diaper Sniper

The Great Butt-Paste Caper

Nappy Wookins crawled determinedly down the old dirt road leading to Rt 1. If anyone had been watching our hero in the cotton loincloth, they may have mistaken his determined path to Scuppy Lake for a pleasure excursion, dressed as he was for sunbathing.

But the truth is that sometime during the night someone had stolen his last precious tube of Butt-Paste, leaving him only the generic Desitine which all petroleum-derivative connoisseurs know has little or no effect on medium-to-severe cases of diaper rash.

Nappy plopped back on his fat little bottom and absently picked gravel out of his dimpled knees while thinking the situation through for the umteenth time. There were no other babies on the east side of the lake, and he had no enemies that he could think of.

Sunlight stippled the grass around him and his tender young skin began to feel prickly from the heat. This brought him back to the present, and the realization that heat led to rash (and rash he had aplenty, with no Butt-Paste for protection) got him trotting down the road again like a roly-poly puppy. He decided to stay in the grass; it was soft and shady; gentle on his bruised palms and knees.

The sun was nearing its zenith when Nappy finally reached the cool, sheltered trail down to Scuppy Lake. He wedged his bottle between two rocks in the dark, cool waters and sighed with relief. Even his cradle crap was beginning to itch as he slipped into the lake, hoping to relieve the stinging in his hands and knees. He unpinned his nappies and soaked his raw little bottom as he watched tiny minnows zipping here and there; now coming to give little nipping tastes to his salty roundness, now vanishing like quicksilver at the slightest movement.

When he judged the bottle was cool enough, he removed the cap, curled up in the moss under a weeping willow and, heaving a great sigh, filled his hollow tummy and soon drifted off to sleep.

He was awakened some time later by the thwock of a pebble pocking the bark near his head. Sleepily he looked around and was soon startled quite awake when a sharp pain bit into his thigh. He gave a yelp of surprise and looked down at the reddening welt where the offending pellet had spanked his tender skin.

Behind a towering oak, he caught a quick glimpse of a peashooter and ducked just in time to see the pebble to imbed itself in the moist ground behind him. Suddenly there was a soft thrashing of long grass and low-hanging branches as the attacker retreated through the woods, following a long unused deer trail.

Nappy Wookins worked quickly, modestly covering his wubbulousness in the nappy he had left to dry on a warm rock in the sun. He gathered up his nearly empty bottle and tried to decide on the best course of action. There was definitely something strange going on here; a baby hiding out in the woods; an unknown baby with a definite purpose. And that purpose was to do harm to his own little self.

Nappy did not believe in coincidences. He suspected that the owner of the peashooter and the Butt-Paste thief were one and the same, and he would have to get to the bottom of this (no pun intended, he thought ruefully to himself). Appraising the damage to his baby-soft skin, he decided it was minimal; if he kept to the mossy bank along the trail he was good for another hour or two. Thank goodness he had had time for a nip or two from his bottle and a refreshing slumber to fortify him in his pursuit.

By and large, the hottest hours had passed, and Nappy's strength was flagging. He had long ago finished the remains of his bobby, and, in a flash of inspiration, had filled it with the cool, clear water of the lake. The day was tilting towards evening and Nappy's head was drooping earthwards when he saw a strange thing on the ground. It was oval-shaped like a very smooth pebble and very colorful. It had many little hair-like legs on each side, and seemed to be climbing over tufts of grass.

Nappy picked it up in his chubby fingers and tentatively popped it in his mouth. It felt funny. He mashed it around with his tongue until it got stuck against the back of his throat. At that point he began to regret the experiment, but managed to swallow it all the way down to his tummy. That felt really funny, because the little hairy leg-things wiggled around for a while.

As evening drew near, Nappy Wookins realized he had reached the end of his strength. His knee skidded out from under him and he landed on his softly rounded belly with a soft whoofing sound. He lay there, taking inventory of his throbbing wounds; his hands and knees were bloody, the soft skin scratched by the punishing branches and slashed by thistles that camouflaged themselves in the surrounding greenery.

But none of those hurts compared to the white-hot agony of the diaper rash that the constant heat and chafing had pushed well past the limits of the medium to severe category. Stoically, he unpinned the soiled nappy and dropped it where he lay and prepared to roll himself into the coolly lapping waves in hopes of some relief, when he heard a soft snuffling sound.

Looking around cautiously, Nappy tried to pinpoint the source when it came again, this time sliding into a ragged wail. Groaning, he warily pushed aside the crackly bushes and saw he was on the edge of a small clearing. The next thing he saw was a baby; a filthy tube of Butt-Paste clutched in one grubby paw and a peashooter in the other.

"Don't you come near me," cried his enemy in a quavering voice. "Don't even try or I'll fill your nappies with pea-shot!”

Nappy Wookins continued his halting crawl towards the baby, observing, "You'd have to drop the Butt-Paste to load the pea-shooter and anyway, you don't look like you're in any shape for a confrontation right now. So let's see about that rash."

Over in the bushes he noted a discarded disposable diaper, and on closer observation he saw a case of diaper rash that rivaled any he had ever heard of. It was beyond rash, it was beyond blisters; there was actually dirt sticking to bloody patches on the poor baby's bottom.

"What's your name, son?" he asked gruffly. "They call me the Diaper Sniper," came the reluctant reply. "Ain't nobody can shoot a pea-shooter faster'n me, but I been discombobulated by this here rash so bad I can't even shoot straight."

Nappy considered the Diaper Sniper quietly for a few moments, and then said, "You know, if you would have asked me politely, I would have shared my Butt-Paste with you. You didn't have to resort to stealing. I'm not such a hard-case that I wouldn't help a fellow baby in need."

"Well, I wouldn't know anything about that, now would I?" sniffled Diaper. "Nobody ever gave me nuthin' for free, an' I got me such a bad case of ras'berries I think I woulda' killed for some relief. An' now I'm so covered with dirt and twigs that I can't...I can't..." and with that, the Diaper Sniper burst into such heart-rending sobs that even Nappy Wookins had to wipe his eyes.

"Okay," said Nappy. "Here's what we'll do. If you can make it through this opening in the bushes, there’s a lake just on the other side. We'll get you rinsed off and cooled down, and then we'll slather lake-mud all over until until it doesn't hurt so bad. Once you're dried off and clean we'll share the Butt-Paste. You may have noticed I'm not completely without my own patch of 'ras'berries'" he added with a small chuckle.

Under the twilit sky, with Scuppy Lake murmuring a soft lullaby as it slapped the sandy shore, Nappy Wookins and the Diaper Sniper lay curled up on the green, mossy bank after sharing draughts of cool water from the bottle. The moonlight drifted down through the trees, with a little twinkle as it came to rest on the one-time enemies, now reconciled, anesthetized and swathed with the cool caress of Butt-Paste.

message 2: by Jode (last edited Apr 02, 2008 05:56AM) (new)

Jode (keehrious) | 4 comments We're fortunate that this chapter was NOT written or explored during your aforementioned "disintegration" last evening. (Anyway - I thought it was a group thang.) We can sometimes get carried away. Thank goodness someone always picks us up and brings us back.

message 3: by [deleted user] (new)

Do you honestly think anyone else will touch this with a 10-ft. pole?

message 4: by Jode (new)

Jode (keehrious) | 4 comments Maybe. With latex gloves. Reminiscent of Captain Underpants. Didn't you meet him once in a parking lot?

message 5: by [deleted user] (new)


Good one...

message 6: by Kathleen (new)

Kathleen | 3 comments I, for one, am very anxious to hear MORE! Please don't stop there, Ette!

message 7: by [deleted user] (new)

Oh, never fear...nothing can stop me once I get rolling....especially if it complete, unadulterated hogwash.

message 8: by Steven (new)

Steven | 5 comments Juliette.

You are absolutely, completely, inexpressibly, ridiculously incorrigible.

That is all.


message 9: by [deleted user] (new)

Yours to command, sir.

message 10: by [deleted user] (new)

Please forgive me, peebles, if I keep this story to myself! I was shown the entire plot, end and all, in a burst of divine inspiration, which supercedes Triple Sparks of Inspiration.

Mea Culpa - Pride.

message 11: by Jode (new)

Jode (keehrious) | 4 comments I wubb it! Happily forgiving, Toe.

message 12: by [deleted user] (new)

I'm Joe
She's Toe
I think that you're
a little slow.


message 13: by Kathleen (new)

Kathleen | 3 comments OK....I have to wipe the tears from my eyes this morning from laughing....

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