G.G. Undervicker was caught by a frenzied mob trying to get candies out of the Alligator Machine. The Alligator Machine is owned and operated by Charles Landowher. He maintains it for the students of the alternative high school in the area. Its candies are not for grownups. They contain far too much sugar for a man to easily metabolize in this mechanized modern world and would surely advance any existing diabetic conditions. G.G. Undervicker did not care. He feared not the future. A future spent tied to a bed with bayou doctors sawing off limb after limb in a fruitless race against the diabetes while old G.G. blindly gobbles raw sugar cane and drinks Faygo sodas smuggled in by undisciplined orderlies. So Judge Walker decided on behalf of all of us, as he so often does, to banish G.G. to the Turpentine Camps for the winter in the hopes of making his tastes bland and muscles into steel. Come nightfall we left G.G.'s cage at the edge of the Turpentine Swamp. The inmates will free him if his long teeth don't first.

G.G. Undervicker was caught by a frenzied mob trying to get candies out of the Alligator Machine. The Alligator Machine is owned and operated by Charles Landowher. He maintains it for the students of the alternative high school in the area. Its candies are not for grownups. They contain far too much sugar for a man to easily metabolize in this mechanized modern world and would surely advance any existing diabetic conditions.

G.G. Undervicker did not care. He feared not the future. A future spent tied to a bed with bayou doctors sawing off limb after limb in a fruitless race against the diabetes while old G.G. blindly gobbles raw sugar cane and drinks Faygo sodas smuggled in by undisciplined orderlies.

So Judge Walker decided on behalf of all of us, as he so often does, to banish G.G. to the Turpentine Camps for the winter in the hopes of making his tastes bland and muscles into steel.

Come nightfall we left G.G.’s cage at the edge of the Turpentine Swamp. The inmates will free him if his long teeth don’t first.

Chris Weagel

Chris Weagel writes about the intersection of technology and parenting for Wired Magazine. No he doesn't. He can't stand that shit.

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