For The Kids

Kids, you know what time it is? You guessed it. Time to send mom and dad off to meet with their parole officers and for all the kids to walk through the big green door of Uncle Bloggy's Story Yurt. Come on over, pull up a stool - get out of Uncle Bloggy's recliner, kid- and settle in for today's story and its important lesson. That's right, there's a lesson. What, you think I tell you these stories for fun? Now one of you get Uncle Bloggy a bottle of Boulevard Story Juice and we'll get started. I don't have all day.

Once upon a time there were these two little children type people, much like yourselves. Their names were Hansel and Gret...no wait a minute, these were Irish kids. Their names were Diarmuid and Róisín. They lived in the woods or someplace like that with their mother and their wicked stepfather. While their mother, as all Irish mothers including Uncle Bloggy's dear mother are, was a lovely woman and a saint, their stepfather was a gobshite of the first order. One day he decides that life without Diarmuid and Róisín would suit him just fine so he takes them out deep into the woods and leaves them there without a crumb to eat or a drop to drink. Speaking of which, Uncle Bloggy needs another cold one. You there by the fridge. No, you can't have one. Now where were we? Right, the wicked stepfather has dumped Diarmuid and Róisín in the woods far from home and their lovely mother. And off he goes. Now unbeknownst to him, Róisín, clever girl, was on to his plan from the start and had brought along a pad of Post-it® Notes and a pen. Every so often, she would write down whatever word popped into her head and stick the note to a tree or a rock or a hibernating bear so that after the aul fella left them it was an easy chore to follow the trail of notes back home, collecting the Post-its® along the way so as not to litter. When they got home Diarmuid and Róisín found that the house had been re-sided in candy by their mother who as luck would have it was a witch, but not the bad kind. When they told her what her husband had done she turned him into a 6' 2" Snickers® bar and they consumed him over the span of several days. And the Post-it® Notes with the random words that Róisín had left as a trail, the clever young girl found that when arranged together they made a wonderful story which she entered in the Kansas City Irish Fest story contest and won a great prize. Diarmuid, not quite as clever as his sister, busied himself eating the house. They all lived happily ever, yadda yadda yadda the end. The lesson? The lesson is that the deadline to get your story in for the Kansas City Irish Fest story contest is July 15th so you'd better get moving. I mean it. Get out of the Story Yurt. Uncle Bloggy needs a nap.