Page-View Poison: Illiterate Babies, a Trashy Story, and Alcoholic Poetry

Thank you for making my first edition of "Page-View Poison" a success! I learned several things last week: 1) Even AC's most successful contributors occasionally publish "poisonous" articles-articles that no one wants to read! 2) Most AC contributors would rather brush their teeth with K-Y Jelly than Preparation H. 3) It's a really bad idea to collect plot, character, and dialogue suggestions from fellow writers, and then promise to write a short story using all of their ideas. What the heck was I thinking?!

The Gripes of Roth: Help! My Baby Doesn't Know How to Read!
Have you seen the commercials for the "Your Baby Can Read" program? Am I the only one who's creeped out by the three-month-old baby "reading" the flash cards? And the three-year-old girl reading aloud from a book that looks suspiciously like Wuthering Heights?! Am I a bad parent because I didn't teach my babies how to read before they could walk or speak?

Psst! You wanna know something really terrible? My daughter will be five in April, and she still doesn't recognize every letter of the alphabet...and I'm NOT WORRIED ABOUT IT! I know I should order the "Your Baby Can Read" program immediately and get her "caught up" to her peers...Oh, excuse me, I should make sure she's far surpassed her peers before she starts kindergarten. Gotta make sure she's the best at everything, right?

This I know: My son, who did start reading early (at age four, without the aid of the "Your Baby Can Read" program), has still benefited greatly from the reading instruction he's received in school. And several of the kids in his class who didn't learn to read until they were six are now, two years later, reading just as proficiently as my son.

So what if your baby isn't reading Shakespeare by preschool graduation? So what if your baby isn't "advanced" for his/her age? Who are you, Mr./Ms. Perfect Parent, trying to impress, and why? I understand that you want to give your baby every possible advantage...but some babies-even brilliant babies-would much rather eat dirt than read flashcards. And there's nothing wrong with that!

Creative Writing Exercise
Last week I begged my readers to give me story ideas-the crazier, the better. I promised to incorporate all of these suggestions into a short story because I thought it would be "fun." Well, it is fun, but not exactly easy. I haven't finished yet. Here's what I have so far.

The Trash of Whispering Hills (Part 1)

"Whispering Hills," Urble announced as the garbage truck turned into the posh subdivision. "Keep your eyes peeled for TVs, bro. These people throw out their old flatscreens when Santa brings 'em bigger TVs for Christmas."

Stub grunted. He wasn't looking for another flatscreen TV, but he'd do whatever his big brother told him to, same as always.

The garbage truck's brakes squealed. Urble hopped off the bumper and darted across the street to collect the yellow trash bags piled at the foot of a very long, snow-edged driveway. "Their trash reeks of garlic and fish," he remarked, tossing the bags into the open hopper.

"Hector and Astrid are French," Stub said, lifting a large trash can with his left hand. He'd lost his right hand two years ago, in this very neighborhood.

"So you're saying French people smell like fish and garlic?" Urble laughed.

Stub shrugged his massive shoulders. "Maybe. They're the only French people I know."

"You don't know Hector and Astaire."

"Astrid, not Astaire," Stub sighed. "Mr. Shady says it's important to smile and greet our customers by name."

"Mr. Shady isn't out here at sunrise, splattering baby piss and last week's chili all over his coveralls," Urble said, kicking a trash can across the deserted street. Remarkably, the trash can stayed upright and skidded to a stop before it could harm Jedediah Smurf's custom-painted Kansas City Chiefs mailbox. Stub breathed a sigh of relief.

Old Man Smurf's garage door suddenly started humming; it rose, slowly revealing the old man himself, leaning on a cane-all seven-foot-three inches of him, dressed in ratty slippers, red satin pajama bottoms that were a foot too short, and a sweat-stained undershirt. "Didja foolsh manage ta empty all da trash dish time?" he hollered. His blind chihuahua, Tiger, bolted out of the garage, yapping.

"Dish time I licked your goddamn trash can clean, Mr. Shmurf," Urble muttered, mimicking the old man's toothless lisp. Stub glared at his brother, then smiled and waved to Old Man Smurf. Tiger circled the trash can, sniffing. He followed his nose to a spot of bacon grease on Stub's pant leg, and tried to hump the large man's foot.

"No," Stub scolded, gently removing the dog. "That's just my boot. But I saw Jane Austen taking a dump in the Millers' backyard. I bet she's lonely. Go get her, boy!"

"Jane who? How'd I miss that?" Urble exclaimed, climbing up the back of the truck and peering over the Millers' fence.

"Large Linda's miniature poodle," Stub clarified.

"Oh, right." Urble snorted. "Yeah, she's perfect for you, Tiger." Tiger barked and took off in the wrong direction.

"Dagnabbit, get back 'ere, Tiger!" Old Man Smurf shouted, brandishing his cane.

"C'mon, dude," Urble called to his brother. "Ali and Chantelle's house is next."

That's all Urble had to say. Stub found his foothold and signaled Jesse to hit the gas. Jesse was Mr. Shady's nephew-he looked like a young John Travolta, chin dimple and all, but still managed to repel women with his diabolical knowledge of pop culture trivia. The garbage truck hissed and lurched forward.

Jesse rolled down his window, cranked up the radio and sang along in a piercing falsetto, "Sister Sara...lost her virtue at the St. Anthony Summer Festival...and had her ass...in a jaaaaaaaaam...until Pentecost! Yeah, yeah, yeah!"

Urble cringed. "He seriously thinks he's impressing them, doesn't he? Unbelievable."

"And that Pro Pell song," Jesse cried boisterously, "climbed all the way to number three on Billboard's Top Forty in June of 2006!" The poor guy couldn't help himself.

"It's my turn," Stub reminded Urble as they neared Ali and Chantelle's white McMansion.

"Ooooo, Stubby, you sexy beast," Urble taunted in a cracking Valley Girl voice, "Come on over to my house, big boy, and play!"

Stub was already sprinting up the driveway. As usual, the young women-law students by day, strippers by night-had "forgotten" to bring their trash to the curb.

To be continued...

What's Worse?
You're babysitting your sister's four-year-old son and Yorkie puppy. You're a very responsible person, after all, and what trouble can a little boy and a little dog possibly get into? The phone rings. You answer it, certain that the kid and dog are fine. You just checked on them. It's John on the phone. Oh my God! He's asking you out! "I'd love to, John!" you gush.

Ten minutes later (or longer? Time flies when you're flirting with John!), you hang up and check on the kid and dog again. They're right where you left them, playing in the living room and watching TV. One episode of "SpongeBob" later, your sister picks up her son and puppy, and you have the place all to yourself again. Time to relax...

You head into the bathroom, ready to take a shower, and step on something...squishy. You look down at the linoleum and see:

a) Your last piece of Godiva chocolate cheesecake...ruined.
OR
b) A turd. It's so squished that it's hard to tell whether it's a human or dog turd.

Which is worse? Tell me what you think in the comments section below.

Featured Poisonous Articles of the Week: Under-appreciated Poetry
Thank you for sending me links to your most "poisonous" AC articles. Let me know, in the comments section or via personal message, if you have any stink bombs-articles with ridiculously-low page views (30 or less)-that you would like me to feature in future editions of "Page-View Poison." If you don't see your stinky article here this week, please don't think I've forgotten about you! I'm going to try to group the unlucky articles into themes. I can already tell that I'm never going to run out of poisonous articles to feature.

It's time to send some pity page-views to these talented AC contributors, all of whom were daring (foolish) enough to publish poetry on AC. (Hey, I'm a fool, too! I've published plenty of poems on AC-and they account for about 1% of my total page views. Sad, but true.) Check out these poems! It won't take long, I promise.

"Candace" by Mike Hatz
"Your Smile" by T. Hillukka
"Frosty and Jet" by Langley Cornwell
"You've Still Got Time to Send Me Something for Sweetest Day" by Linda Louise Johnson
"The Booting Brother" by Linda Ann Nickerson
And here are some "beer poems" to wash it all down: "Homebrew Senryu Series" by Brandon Myers and "An Ode to Yeast" by Hally Z.

Have a nice week! Go see Avatar in 3-D IMAX, if possible. Blue people rule!

Sources:
"Page-View Poison" comments section--Thanks for the story ideas, everyone!
http://shop.yourbabycanread.com/?UID=LF1&adid=ybc1008