Is violence all bad?

I’ve discovered another new skill. Yes, I know you’re getting bored by how clever and wonderful I am, but hear me out.

I am faster than a speeding bullet. I have an effect more powerful than Jedward. I cause mighty explosions of wrath with virtually no effort: I have learned how to hit Mummy and Daddy. And when I say hit, I mean I should be looking at a career in this thing. There must be something? Some way of getting fame and fortune from mindless violence? I’ll invent one.

It’s a great technique. Wait till they’re all riled up about something else, then lash out before they have a chance to blink. Then while they’re recovering from that one, I let the other arm go and bam! One mad parent. You have to choose your targets though. Mummy and Daddy are really the only safe ones – I know they’ll be there to give me a hug later when we’ve all calmed down, and they love me no matter what I do. Heh heh. And you really shouldn’t waste this one on grandparents. They wouldn’t give the fantastic reactions that Mummy and Daddy do, and besides they have other uses. At the minute they think butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth, so Mummy and Daddy tell them about some horrendous thing that I’ve done (their words, not mine) and the only thing Grandma says is “Aw, bless him!” I can do no wrong, and Mummy and Daddy are actually lost for words. And that doesn’t happen nearly enough.

I know they’d quite like me to stop hitting. It has been mentioned once or twice, and I get the impression (call me daft) that they mean it. But really, aren’t they over reacting? I mean, it’s not like I’ve hit other boys and girls – now that would cause a reaction…hmmm. Anyway. And I haven’t yet drawn blood, or left a mark, so they can’t really complain. It could be seen as exercise – every time I hit I’m getting stronger so I’m actually building up my muscles. And, you know, this talking thing is not coming on as fast as I need it to. Oh sure, I’m getting more words. But there are so many more things I need to say, and sometimes actions speak louder than words.

Besides, they’ve had it far too easy up till now. All they can really complain about is the sleep thing, and I’m pretty sure that sometime soon I’m either going to have to give in on that, or they’ll come up with some new devious plan. I heard them talking about letting me cry – where’s the fun in that?! So I need a few more tricks to keep them on their toes, and they’re such a soft pair, a hint of violence seems just the job. When I can debate their arbitrary rules with wit and flair for a couple of hours, then we can talk peace. Until then, I’m practising my left hook.


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